Recipient: Community! (originally intended for RiverTempest, but she had to drop out of the fest)
Title: Logic and Limerence
Pairing: Severus/Hermione, past Ron/Hermione, hints of past Severus/Lucius
Rating: M for content and language, not for smut
Content: Cross-dressing, suggested bisexualism, suggested threesome, voyeurism, betting, reference to gay porn, entirely too many reference notes, some weirdness.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Life gave her avocados, but Hermione ended up with a gaff. A new job at Hogwarts helps her find the love she daydreams about, and the Headmaster is caught unawares. Complete in two parts.
Author's Note: Many thanks to Toblass for fielding the ideas in the first place and making sure I wasn't flat out insane :D Big thanks to Yiggersentia for alpha reading, you helped me turn this crazy idea into an actual story! Special thanks to WorryWart for beta reading, you made this story legible and helped make sure I was saying what I wanted to say! More notes at the end (probably too many). Super gigantic thanks to the SSHG community, for providing sanity in my life, where there is none.
Logic and Limerence by Dena Gray (aka Azalea_Nymph on LJ) in the SSHG Giftfest 2017
Part One
Right. You're going to go in there and just… what. She sighed. Just what exactly do you think you're going to waltz in there and say, Granger? You likely misunderstood his intentions and he'll laugh his face off, then it'll be a pink slip for you, won't it?
But… he'd been so… nice, lately. He opened doors and conjured seats for her. To be honest, he did that for Minerva and Pomona…
He didn't do it for Aurora or Septima or Sybill. Then again, they only arrived back from summer the day before, so perhaps opportunity was a factor.
But he did do it for her...
And boy, did he! Do it for her, she meant.
Oh, what was she supposed to do?! What was she supposed to think? They were just about to start the fall semester of her first year teaching at Hogwarts and she'd gone and gotten herself a proper set of fantasies about the Headmaster.
Her mind instantly ran a mental reel of that set, her favorite being one where Professor Snape leaned in towards her in a deserted castle hallway, with one hand against the wall beside her head and just drawled her name into her ear. She shivered just thinking about it. Sometimes he even brushed his lips against the sensitive shell of her ear when he did it.
So sexy.
Another fantasy was of him pitching himself over her, over and over again in the throes of wild passion, staring his midnight eyes deeply into hers. His eyes only shuttered to half mast when he climaxed with a deep groan of her name.
So gone, was she.
There were so many fantasies that revolved around him, sometimes she couldn't look him in the eye for days.
Of course, it was all innocence in the beginning. She'd just cut loose from a ten year, extremely unproductive marriage to Ron. As a result, her work performance suffered in the Office for Pre-Alphabetic Translations for the Department of Mysteries and she was offered to bow out or be fired. Apparently, her irreverent use of 'degrees' versus 'daghrise' in a medieval Norse transcription was the final straw in a pile of increasingly flippant translations. Being thoroughly done with their pedantry, she gracefully bowed out.
Within the hour, she'd gotten a slew of owls from prospective employers, as well as a blistering, gloating howler from Molly telling her it was only right that she leave and let poor Ron work at the Ministry in peace.
Somehow Molly never got the message that not only wasn't Hermione an Auror like Ron (Pfft! As if!), but that her youngest son was the one to blame for their marriage's failure. Hermione could overlook many things, and was actually quite open-minded about sexuality, but Ron chose to keep his side profession, sex life and preference for men private from his wife. The enormity of that lie was too bitter a pill to swallow.
And so they parted, and Hermione promptly answered to Molly's howler with a copied WVD (Wizarding Video Disc) of Ron's rather avocado sex tapes. The flicks were actually quite good, and Hermione found herself a bit disappointed he felt he couldn't share that part of his life with her. After all, exploration was a key point in any relationship.
The next day, she'd gotten rather tired from the post and hexed her window against owls. They tried the door, to no avail, and since she had no fireplace in her humble little bedsit in Kensington, she felt she was safe.
The splat of a letter landing in her skillet full of vegetables by way of the extractor hood said otherwise.
Hogwarts letters always found their way, didn't they? She smiled a small smile in remembrance of the tales Harry told his kids over and over about the insistent Hogwarts letters when he turned eleven, then ran her wand over it to lift, dry and test the letter for mischief before opening it.
The letter was from the Headmaster himself and shouldn't have shocked her more than Ron telling her she needed a penis and a beard to please him, but it did. Aside from the odd thought flitting through her head to obtain some polyjuice to do so, Hermione just couldn't find a way to tell Ron no when he asked for a divorce, same as she couldn't possibly turn down the offer of a lifetime: Come work at Hogwarts.
Professor Snape asked her to apply for the position of Ancient Runes professor. Why would he offer Hermione a position at all? What happened to Professor Babbling?
Her mind spun all night after she immediately replied with the enclosed application. It was extremely early the next morning when the same delivery method awaited her on the cold electric burner of her cooker top. It only said,
"Ten A.M."
She rightfully understood that to be her interview time and quickly got through her morning ablutions before apparating to the Hogwarts gates.
Since it was the middle of July, she wasn't sure what to expect, but it seemed appropriate that Hagrid was there to meet her.
"'Ermione Granger, what a sight for sore eyes. Are you goin' to be taking over for Perfessor Babbling?"
Hermione smiled at the familiar face and immediately felt the pang of loss for the friendship they'd had during her time in school. "Good morning, Hagrid. I'm not sure. The headmaster asked me to apply, so I assume there's a process to go through first."
He pulled a large red cloth with white polka dots out of his trouser pocket, waved it at her, and wiped his nose with it before tucking it back into his pocket. "Bah. You've a shoe in, that's for certain. Who wouldn't want you teaching at Hogwarts?"
"That's very kind of you, Hagrid, but whatever happened to Professor Babbling? I had no idea she'd left."
"Well...I imagine it had somethin' to do wi' her brother, Suleiman. He took sick in the spring, and she left before the term ended. Never came back, I guess."
Hermione smiled at Hagrid's butchering of Professor Babbling's brother's name ("Sue-Layman", indeed) and tried to search for another topic of conversation as the walked up to the main doors. "How is Grawp?"
He grinned somewhere inside his great black beard, "Aw, now, lookat you rememberin' my baby brother. Grawpie's doing jus' fine, jus' fine, thanks fer askin'. He's made some new friends with a herd o' hippogriffs that settled in."
They were distracted by a series of squawks and what might have been thunder in the distance. Hagrid chuckled. "Heh, sounds like he's playing wit em now."
She bit her lip and smiled, but that faded away as she realized they'd made it up the drive. The great doors loomed over them both.
A shadow, darker than the battle scarred doors, turned just in front to greet them.
"Hagrid," Professor Snape's deep baritone voice dropped out of the shadows, down the steps towards them. "Thank you for escorting our guest. I shall take it from here."
Hagrid's grin faltered slightly, but he nodded in acceptance. "Anytime, Perfessor, anytime. You know that. Place'll be right cheery with Hermione back, eh?" The half-giant's large hand landed against Hermione's shoulder, tossing her slightly forward and stealing her breath. The Headmaster's beetle-black eyes saw her falter and watched her start to ascend the stone steps.
He barely missed a beat in retort, but kept his eyes on her, "Indeed."
When she reached the top step, she turned back to her escort. "Um, thanks for seeing me up, Hagrid. Good afternoon."
He waved and ambled away, muttering about his pumpkin patch. Hermione turned and stared at the imposing man in front of her.
He stared back, stiffening his posture even further as he suffered her scrutiny. She blushed, but smiled. His imposing form seemed somehow less sharpened danger and more controlled power than before.
This was the most magically powerful man alive, some would say. She didn't think anyone would argue that point, seeing what she saw now. His once black, greasy hair was now long and shiny. His afore-renowned sallow complexion shone a healthy Scottish pale. His dark eyes glittered instead of glared and his fingers no longer seemed puffy and jaundiced. He looked professional and powerful, every inch a master of himself and his school.
It was as if he were a different man.
Perhaps it was right to treat him as such.
She stuck out her hand to shake in greeting, as she would any other prospective employer. He stared down at it and hesitantly met the tips of her fingers with his own in a tight short grasp, letting go almost immediately. Her fingers tingled with the leftover sensation, and the charge from the sheer power crackling off his casual touch left her dazed and… curious.
The doors opened to him without the slightest hesitation as he turned away from her, gesturing for her to follow into the darkened hallway beyond and she was left to hurry after him up the copious and familiar stairs. His hand flicked out casually to the right and she thought he was flinging something inconsequential, like lint or a piece of hair off his robes, but no. No, that casual flick of his fingers shut the gigantic doors that even Dumbledore had needed a wand to move.
That was the beginning of her curiosity and fascination with the man. The interview was a disjointed and confusing litany of seemingly odd questions that left her off-kilter and unsure.
He sat her down and stared at her over his steepled fingers as he took up the Headmaster's chair, abyssal eyes holding her captive enough that she missed the first question and had to ask him to repeat himself.
There were some normal questions, like why did she leave her previous job and describe herself in three words, but there were also strange questions. The one that nearly had her in tears was which one of her parents did she like more?
She dropped her eyes at that question and said something like she'd learned very much from both parents, but quickly evaded the topic. Even that awkwardness was offset by her distraction from Professor Snape's steepled fingers rhythmically tapping against his lips. Constantly forcing her eyes up to meet his was extremely disconcerting, especially when he displayed a knowing glimmer in his eyes. It was all she could do to remind herself that this was a job interview, not the classroom.
Astoundingly, she'd been hired almost immediately. He merely signed the paperwork on his desk and spun it around for her signature. She hesitated, waiting for him to hand her the quill, but he seemed absorbed with running his fingers along the vane. Hermione became equally absorbed and found herself hypnotized, wondering if the feather quill would become magically charged with his casual handling. He finally seemed to notice her waiting and staring. Clearing his throat, he handed the quill back to her. A tiny shock of static electricity (does magic even do that, she wondered?) arced to her fingers, causing her to hesitate before grabbing hold of the quill.
She murmured a quick 'thank you' and slipped her gaze down the parchment reviewing the position and its entailments. Once she'd read through everything, she dipped the quill in the proffered India ink and signed where required.
As soon as the last flourish of her regained maiden name left the nib of her quill, the parchment snapped closed and with a brief golden flash and an obnoxious pop, promptly disappeared. She looked to her new employer.
"Is that it?"
His gaze was steady and unmoving for several moments before he inhaled and answered, "It is. Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Granger."
Over the next month, she met with the Headmaster regularly to review her schedules and syllabi. Most of the time, she met in tandem with him and the Deputy Headmistress, still Professor McGonagall. Professor Sprout popped in and out, as well as other professors who came and went throughout the summer, and her initial nervousness relaxed into a happy congeniality.
One could almost say she felt as if she belonged.
As July became August, and the heat baked through the castle walls on the upper floors, Hermione started spending more time in her classroom - which was situated in the dungeons - as opposed to her office - which was situated on the fourth floor. The blessedly cool air in the bowels of Hogwarts was a godsend, but it didn't completely escape the heat. Outer robes were removed, and sleeves rolled up. Even with cooling charms, the heat was almost unbearable.
How the headmaster could survive in his signature full-on wool kit was mind boggling.
It was there, in the depths of the dungeons, three doors down from his old potions classroom, that Hermione was first visited by the Headmaster. Up until that point in time, he'd only met her in his office or they mutually met on the grounds. He'd never taken the initiative to come to her.
She was intent upon back-researching a trade article for use with her seventh year class, when someone cleared their throat in front of her desk. Her head snapped up in surprise, causing her to nearly spill her ink as her quill went flying.
With a deft flick of his fingers, the headmaster arrested the quill and plucked it out of the air, but didn't hand it back, choosing instead to fondle the quill, as he so often did. She marveled at the show of magical mastery and silently vowed to brush up on casting wandlessly.
"Professor Snape, how lovely to see you. May I help you?"
He blinked, and a corner of his mouth tucked up with some unrevealed humor before hiding back in its stark lines once more. She was distracted by his fingers sliding through the feather quill's vanes again and nearly didn't hear his reply. "I was checking with Professor Frost that he'd gotten the start of term potions ingredients inventory up to par, and thought to check on you while I was down here."
Hermione smiled at his thoughtfulness and decided to take advantage of their new familiarity. She stood up as she replied, "I'm sure that thoughts of escaping the heavy heat of the upper floors didn't hurt that decision, either, did it?"
He merely nodded. "Just so. Have you spoken much with Professor Frost?"
"Charles, right?" She waited until Professor Snape confirmed the potions professor's given name before continuing, "No, not much. He seems to keep to Rolanda's group. We greet each other in the halls." When Professor Snape stared at her as if he were waiting on something else, she continued, "Have you found a replacement for Professor Binns, yet?"
His expression shuttered, "I have a lead, yes. They are coming in the next few days to review the post."
She nodded absently while watching him delve his fingers into the downy base of the quill, right near the shaft. "I hope you are successful. It seems frightfully close to the start of term."
"I agree, but not every position has such easy candidates as you."
She blushed and looked down at his hands again. He had stepped forward and was tracing the edge of the inkwell stand with the tips of his fingers. In her amazement at his compliment, she'd missed him placing the quill down on its rest.
Hermione tried to recover some equilibrium by asking, "Won't you sit down-?"
"I should get back-", he said at the same time as she spoke.
They stopped and stared at each other for a moment, but Hermione smiled down to the floor in concession. "I'm sure you've got better things to do than sit for a chat. Thank you for checking in on me."
When he didn't move, her eyes crept up from the floor in curiosity. He was staring at her as if he were coming to some sort of decision. It was rather intense, looking at each other like this.
As the Headmaster stood there likely debating his schedule, looking like intensity steeped, Hermione stood still, held captive by his regard. He then advanced upon her, slowly, until he'd backed her up against the wall behind her desk. Pressing a hand to the stone behind her head, he licked his lips and leaned in to breathe against her ear.
"Hermione … I'd much rather stay here with you, strip you down and lick every inch of your skin until you burned for me, but-"
In reality and from across the room, he merely said, "Perhaps some other time."
She gasped slightly and rapidly blinked her way back out of her daydream. "Y-yes, please, I'd like that."
He nodded from across the room and disappeared around the door post rather quickly.
Her breath left her in a great whoosh and she fell back against her desk. "Lord Almighty, I'm done for."
She looked back at the open doorway and shook her head in wonder. That was one hell of a daydream! Perhaps she could let herself have just this one fantasy. She started fanning herself and thanked God she had the excuse of summer for her heat.
Later that night, she had a terrifying thought. What if the Headmaster, a hugely accomplished Legilimens, knew exactly what had gone through her hormone-starved brain as they stood in her classroom? What if that was why he'd run off?
It was even later that night, in bed, when the idea formed in her head that perhaps that's to what he was referring when he'd said 'perhaps another time'.
Her blush could not be contained the next morning at breakfast, especially when as she sat down at the head table (at the end like a good little ew professor) the Headmaster walked in shortly after. As he passed behind her, he leaned down close to her head and murmured "Good morning." She wasn't sure, but he might have brushed up against her hair before walking away.
Her face was as red as a tomato for hours afterwards, but she'd easily smiled and returned "Good morning".
That one scene whirled through her brain for days, expanding exponentially, affecting every interaction she had with Professor Snape deeply. Staff meetings became filled with opportunities for fantasy.
The best part was, she really thought he might be actively flirting with her. It wasn't just conjuring chairs for her or opening doors. He really listened when she spoke. And whenever Minerva got long winded at staff meetings, he usually shared a quick … well, she supposed she could call it a glimmer, with her. His eyes would go half mast and cut in her direction and the set of his lips would twitch ever so slightly, like they were sharing a joke.
It was hard getting through those staff meetings, but she muddled through with her little fantasies. Sometimes, when she was particularly lost in a good one, the Headmaster would wait until the room cleared, lean down behind her chair and say something witty that usually made her jump and laugh in nervous surprise.
This time, it was clear.
She'd been imagining him stealing her away into a dark alcove and having his wicked way with her, and she was just about to slide south for some cock-a-licky soup when her ears tingled with a soft, baritone chuckle.
"I should just carry you down and throw you in the Black Lake. Perhaps that will slake your thirst."
Her nerves zapped through her body and she cried out in surprise, "Oh! Headmaster, I'm terribly sorry for not paying attention. And, um … well I'm not thirsty…?"
She turned her head to stare in confusion, but he hadn't moved. They were inches apart and his eyes were roaming her face, finally landing on her lips. "You were sighing and licking your lips like you were adrift in the desert. If you are not thirsty, then…?"
Her blush stung her cheeks and she looked down at her hands. She couldn't possibly say the truth, so what could she do? "I… um… I'm sorry, I won't do it again. You must be frightfully frustrated to have to constantly snap me out of my daydreams. I can't imagine what you must think of me."
He stood up and she took the opportunity to do the same, gathering her notes close to her chest in a sort of protective defense. When he said nothing else, she started to leave, but he stopped her with a feather-light touch on her sleeve.
And oh, that sleeve burned her. The heat of that slight touch made her whole body quiver. She gulped and turned her head towards him.
"I think very well of you, Hermione."
Her eyes widened and she held her breath. He'd said her name! It was lovely in his mouth and she couldn't help the immediate thoughts as to what else would be lovely in his mouth. Her face stained dark with embarrassment again, but before either of them could do a thing about what just happened, Minerva popped her head around the door.
"Severus, don't forget you've got your second interview for the Histories Professor in a few minutes. I just saw the back of Argus taking someone up to your office."
She left without any further ado (or adieu, for that matter) and the moment was lost.
The Headmaster inclined his head and sighed, "Good evening, Professor Granger. Duty calls."
Smiling in ill-concealed disappointment, she replied, "Of course, Headmaster. Have a good evening."
After a few moments hesitation, she trailed after him as far as the fourth floor, and then departed for her rooms, watching him smoothly climb the stairs above her as far as she could.
That man had a wonderful arse, she just knew it. If only she could figure out a way to see it. Hermione smiled at her silly self and gave her password to a portrait of a lovely lady and her Cavalier King Charles spaniel.
"Limerence."
The lady in pink smiled her acceptance, and the dog barked until she petted its painted head. Hermione slipped through the portrait hole and leaned against the wooden door that backed it on the side of her living quarters.
What was she going to do?
.o.
Severus wanted Hermione. He wanted her like nothing else he'd ever wanted in his adult life. It was maddening.
He climbed the seemingly endless stairs to his office and wondered when the hell it had happened? Of course, she'd been interesting to him as she showed her mettle in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. They didn't keep her much secret since it would be foolhardy to try and hide one of the Golden Trio among their ranks, especially since her speciality had been runic translations, and it was easy enough to keep her works under wraps.
Every now and again, however, she'd make a brilliant connection between languages both written and spoken, and she'd publish a paper for it.
He'd read them at first just to keep up on gossip. Minerva came into his office that day, having kittens over her star pupil. He'd reminded her quickly that Madame Granger-Weasley was no longer her pupil, and asked her to please focus on her current batch of cubs. The girl's marriage had remained a point of contention amongst the teachers, so throwing that in Minerva's face to distract her from his interest was easy.
Once he'd actually read that first publication, it was natural he'd read the next...and the next.
Her mind was really quite brilliant. No wonder she'd embarrassed him with the speedy solution to his logic problem in her first year. With logic leaps like that, her chosen profession was a fait accompli.
Apparently, so had boredom been. Within ten years (he thanked Rolanda graciously when she delivered that pot of winnings), she'd gotten bored of both husband and job.
His mind warred with itself for several hours after he'd been informed of that little bit of intelligence. Should he invite her to fill Babbling's position? Should he not try and impose his own self interest in a Hogwarts teaching position? Surely it wouldn't be such a crime to have someone new and interesting to talk to on staff.
It wasn't until she'd arrived alongside Hagrid, looking matured and beguiling, that he'd realized it might possibly have been a mistake in inviting her to interview. Her gangly, boyish body had filled out into soft, womanly curves that were only emphasized by the prim cut of her robes. Where her hair had once resembled a bramble or a tumbleweed, sticking out in nearly every direction, it now fell in soft waves, heavy down her back from the combs used to pull it away from her face. She used to be brash and bowling in her behavior and that seemed now tempered into a more considerate and concerned disposition.
Even the air between them seemed crackling with anticipation. The moment their fingers touched on the front steps, he felt the arc of something new and intriguing speed up his arm. Granted, he was more in touch with the castle's magic than he had any right to be, but the old girl had embraced him as her protector and so graced him with a connection to her magic. He'd thought that perhaps it was the castle hinting that she accepted Madame - no - Miss Granger as a professor.
As the weeks went by, he wondered.
At first, it was courteous to hold a door open or hold out a chair for her, but soon it became a bit of a game with him. How deeply would she blush? Would she look him in the eye when she thanked him this time? He listened for the changing pitch of her voice, each response coming lower and more breathy with each passing day.
He was especially curious as to what sent her eyes off in a faraway daydream so often. He'd never pegged Miss Granger as a dreamer, but it was more often than not that he'd ended a staff meeting prematurely simply to sneak up behind her while she was still caught in the web of her daydream to try and glean some semblance of the subject.
It was distracting, and never more so than after his first visit to her classroom. The new potions professor seemed to have everything in order, and at the time, Severus had a few extra moments available. With a free moment at his hands, it seemed like a good idea to find out if Professor Granger was settling in.
As soon as he'd stepped into the nearly empty room, he was arrested by the sight before him. His new Ancient Runes professor had buried herself in scrolls. One of the clerestory windows high up on the walls was beaming late afternoon sunlight over her shoulder, reflecting the soft ivory parchment back up to her face. Her heavy curls were twisted up and listing from atop her head where three white quills - matching the one she was writing with - were homed.
He didn't think she was aware, but she was muttering to herself. He stepped closer to catch her attention to no avail, and then cleared his throat politely.
She continued to ignore him and he considered leaving, but he was interested in what she was so intent upon. He shifted closer to her desk, tilting his head to try and see what she was writing on a loose piece of onionskin next to a heavy parchment scroll that looked Pictish, if his memory served him right.
She started rummaging through the layers of scrolls on her desk and he started to leave again, but she murmured with a low growl, "Son of a troll." He stepped almost up to her desk just as she pulled out a trade publication he couldn't see the title of, and quickly flipped through the pages to find something specific. "How can they say that Pictish runes are a written language, they're clearly..."
He narrowed his eyes. Why wouldn't the runes be a written language? The repetition of size and lack of progression always seemed to him to be saying something in a planned manner, rather than merely triggering an entire theme. Severus opened his mouth once more, but paused when she stopped tapping the quill at her lips and started writing furiously, the nib scratching dry before she realized she needed more ink.
Her mutterings continued and she pulled out an L-shaped ruler that looked like his da's old framing square without the long leg of the triangle and proceeded to use it to block off sections of the runes, one at a time.
"They are…" her voice wandered off in a haze of thought, and Severus blinked in growing admiration of the woman before him.
He'd normally have to spell out his ideas to people to get them to think along the same lines, but she'd intuitively gone down the same path without provocation. He knew he'd made the right choice in hiring Miss Granger, but she had all the markings of a scholar.
She'd just started tapping the quill to her lips again, when he finally realized he was wasting time and cleared his throat loudly. Her concentration imploded, sending her quill flying, which he'd amended with a deft flick of his fingers. He was looking at the quills in her hair just before she spoke,
"Professor Snape, how lovely to see you. May I help you?"
The entire mass of her hair that had so precariously sat atop her head was slowly sliding down to the right and stopped just shy of tumbling completely down by sheer stubbornness.
"I was checking with Professor Frost that he'd gotten the start of term potions ingredients inventory up to par, and thought to check on you while I was down here."
He shifted back slightly as she stood up and came round the side of her desk to face him. Her teasing smirk was delightful, but her tone of voice was downright inspiring, "I'm sure that thoughts of escaping the heavy heat of the upper floors didn't hurt that decision, either, did it?"
Fighting to control his response, he merely nodded. "Just so. Have you spoken much with Professor Frost?"
"Charles, right?"
Ah, so she knew the man's name. Granted, Professor Frost was a handsome young man with dark skin and hair, so it wasn't too surprising that Professor Granger made an effort to learn about him, but then again, he seemed more interested in Quidditch than he remembered her being (aside from that Bulgarian seeker, of course). When she hadn't continued, he nodded in encouragement.
Her smile was not exactly enamored, "No, not much. He seems to keep to Rolanda's group. We greet each other in the halls."
What did that mean, 'keep to Rolanda's group'? Perhaps the young man was more bent on sports than he previously realized? His mind wandered down the possible rabbit trails associated with figuring out Miss Granger's words, but he was brought back to the conversation when she asked another question, "Have you found a replacement for Professor Binns, yet?"
Yes, that had been annoying, to say the least. Two days after he'd signed on Professors Granger and Frost, Cuthbert Binns awakened from his centuries-old stupor and decided to cross over, leaving him with a gaping hole in the staff that would be hard to fill in the next few weeks. He'd written to Lucius immediately. The elder Malfoy was a renowned historian, among the other things gossip rags hounded him about recently, and if he wasn't interested in the position, then he could surely send someone Hogwarts' way. Lucius had written back almost immediately that he wanted the position for himself.
What that meant for the notoriety of his staff and his Ministry relations, he wasn't sure, but needs must. "I have a lead, yes. They are coming in the next few days to review the post."
She nodded and stared at him absently, then looked up to meet his eyes, her trust evident in her expression. "I hope you are successful. It seems frightfully close to the start of term."
"I agree, but not every position has such easy candidates as you." He was surprised at how easily that came out, but it was honesty. Her blush was charming as he busied himself with replacing the quill to her inkstand. It was an attractively chased piece of silver; he wondered who would give her such a thing. Did she buy it for herself, perhaps?
He chastised himself. There was no reason he needed to know these things about her. "I should get back-", he said at the same time as she spoke,
"Won't you sit down-?"
She-what? She wanted him to stay, so wasn't that a sign she was interested in his company? She certainly didn't act disinterested, he'd gotten enough of that from several of the younger professors over the years, Longbottom included.
Her voice was a little smaller, perhaps a little shy, when she amended her question to his statement, "I'm sure you've got better things to do than sit for a chat. Thank you for checking in on me."
What should he do? Should he stay? Should he leave? Wouldn't she give some further indication if she wanted him to stay for more than just scholarly discussion? 'Thank you for checking in on me.' Wasn't that invitation enough? She wanted him to attend her, wasn't that what she was saying?
"Oh yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
His breathing bottomed out as she deftly stepped very close to him and slid her hand up his chest, her eyes like silken chrysoberyls shimmering up at him with their pupils blown wide. "I want you to...attend me."
He swallowed hard and inhaled, taking a step back out of the fantasy realm. His Occlumency shields slammed in place out of natural habit and, as he looked over to where she was actually standing, quite calmly, he realized that he wanted to...attend her.
From a safe distance several paces away, he tried to smile, but failed. Now that he realized he wanted her, truly wanted her, for more than just conversation and lively staff meetings, he needed time to think. "Perhaps some other time," he'd said.
For a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of himself in her eyes. Some leftover figment of her apparent imagination flit through her brain, and he was astounded to see himself invading her personal space against a wall.
And the only thing she'd said was, "Yes, please, I'd like that."
She'd like that.
Aside from her own thoughts, could she possibly know what he'd fantasized? If not, what did she mean? Was she so direct that she'd merely deferred to his wishes? Could he sit and simply chat with her, now that he knew he wanted more? That she wanted more, too?
He didn't know how to answer those questions at that particular moment, so he fled to bury himself in duty.
Those thoughts never left him that day, and he found he needed to stalk the halls for hours that night, calming his mind and thinking through his position and opportunity. If he were to keep it discreet, they could pursue whatever this was between them. How to start, though? Perhaps… perhaps if he were more direct? Hmph. He didn't want to be too direct, it might have the opposite effect to what he intended. Scaring her off would be counter-intuitive.
After wracking his brain for quite some time, he decided he'd merely be himself, just… interested.
Yes. Interested.
So he'd approached her the next morning at breakfast and wished her a good morning. She seemed pleased, and he'd had the added bonus of stealing an opportunity of brushing against her hair. That morning, it was pulled back with combs again, and it had tumbled over her shoulder, invading his nose as he leaned close to convey his greetings.
It smelled like almonds and honey.
He found himself addicted to the scent and took every opportunity he could to greet her the same way. Every damned time, she startled and blushed - her smile coming in varying degrees, depending on the day. He watched for telltale signs in her body language and he'd so far been gratified. Her pupils were dilated, her breathing became slightly shallow and, by gods, she leaned.
He wasn't sure if she even noticed, but whenever he was talking to her, her body tilted ever so slightly in his direction. Every time he noticed it, his heart sped up, wondering if she'd ever say anything or approach him. Perhaps he was too shy for his own good, but with his past, it was difficult to put his own heart on the table before being one hundred percent certain of her interest.
Today had nearly been the decision-maker, however. The moment he'd snagged her attention from wherever her mind wandered, he'd had a brief, perfect opportunity to catch another glimpse of her thoughts in her eyes. He stopped just shy of the gargoyle that guarded his final steps, and put out a hand to the wall to steady himself against that memory.
Her thoughts had been hazy...dark. Most of the brief image was black, save for a silver row of buttons and her hands. Those lovely, delicate hands of hers, with their India ink-stains, were creeping up the front of a man's trousers beneath that row of silver buttons.
He looked down at the front of his frock coat, more specifically to the line of tightly sewn, Hogwarts crest embossed silver buttons.
So shocked was he at the recognition of himself in her daydream in such a compromising position, that he'd barely realized she'd stood up and moved away towards the door. Without thinking, he reached out to touch her sleeve in an effort to regain her attention.
It took a monumental leap of faith to tell her that he thought very well of her, and she seemed interested. He was just about to step closer to her when that old battle-cat, Minerva, interrupted them with news of the arrival of the next interviewee.
The tension between him and Hermione - he reiterated to himself it was acceptable to call her by her given name - dissipated with Minerva's leaving, and he gathered his cloak and his dignity around himself. He vaguely remembered saying something about duty calling, but he remembered very well the look of disappointment on Hermione's face as she bid him good evening.
That brought him back to himself, and he felt a soft pulse of encouragement from the castle wall. He smiled and patted the gray granite in affection, then pushed himself away from the wall towards the gargoyle guarding his stairway. The stone beast bowed in deference, opening the passageway without hesitation. The door at the top was open, so he could clearly see the sole living occupant of his office as he rounded the end of the escalating stairs.
What appeared to be a very well-dressed blonde woman sat relaxed in one of the soft leather armchairs leftover from Dumbledore's legacy. Her legs were crossed at the knee, and her arms were perched on the armrests, which left Severus with a view of her very bony, stocking-clad ankle beneath a froth of white lace and silvery green velvet.
Severus thought back to his schedule and blinked, stepping laterally towards his desk to get a better view. White-blonde hair was dressed in affected ringlets atop the woman's head and a silvery green velvet choker wrapped around her neck. To a casual observer, she looked like an eighteenth century portrait of an aristocratic woman, but to Severus, he was very familiar, indeed.
He sat with a long-suffering sigh into the high-backed Elizabethan leather and wood chair behind the headmaster's centuries-old oaken desk.
"Lucius? What the devil are you wearing?"
With a convincingly effeminate pitch to his voice, Lucius Malfoy tittered and asked, "Do you like it? I modeled it after Grandmother Lobelia Malfoy's portrait. She was flattered."
"I'm confused. Do you intend upon simply dressing as your grandmother, or are you applying for this position as a woman? You'll find we have a hard enough time keeping the children's attention without such a distraction as… large… as this, if this is simply a ruse." Severus didn't care much, himself, how Lucius wished to present his appearance. It had become rather obvious over the years that one's appearance mattered not, once the public opinion made its judgment.
"I wish to start over, and, after several periods of experimentation, I've decided I've become rather fond of living as a woman. I am applying to you with my own credentials, but I intend to teach at Hogwarts as my cousin: Miss Tres-Cerise Malfoy. Pleased to meet you."
Severus closed his eyes and narrowed his brow in an internal plea for patience and understanding. When his eyes opened, he tried to see what exactly it was that Lucius was trying to do. Far be it from him to deny someone's path to happiness, but… "Are you serious about this, or is this some flippant manner in which to gain more attention to yourself now that the wizarding public is less than enthusiastic about you than your son? Does Draco know you're doing this?"
Hesitation wavered in Lucius' gray eyes, and Severus knew his friend was serious about at least a part of this charade. "I - I haven't told Draco, no, but it is the main reason Narcissa and I separated. She...found me..."
Severus held up his hand when it seemed Lucius was having a hard time finishing that sentence, "I apologize for being harsh, old friend, I didn't mean to pry. Sometimes my protectiveness of the school overwhelms my duty to my friends." Among other things, he thought to himself, remembering leaving Hermione in the staff room.
Lucius watched him for several moments, seemingly regaining his composure. When he spoke next, it was with all seriousness, "Severus, I've never felt more… free. I'll admit the name is a bit plebeian, but it's meant in good fun. I intend to dress and behave as a woman related to myself, not to be the notorious Lucius Malfoy everyone knows and… and hates."
Leaning back in his chair, Severus thought through what was and wasn't being said. "Are you… alright? Not the drag-thing, I couldn't give less of a damn, but… you seem like you're… I'm not sure. I mean, I've known quite personally for quite some time that sexuality was rather fluid for you, but this seems a little extreme… even for you."
A dark smirk and a snort were his initial responses. Lucius leaned forward, uncrossing his legs and scooting forward in the soft leather chair. "Would it be too cliché to say I'm running from myself? I'm tired of being a social pariah, Severus. I've paid for the wrongs I committed under that noseless monster, tenfold if you consider the financial donations alone. It's as if, no matter what I do, everyone just thinks I'll always be evil. My son can change and be welcomed to the fold, but not me. Never me."
"That's no reason to cross-dress, Lucius."
"Perhaps. Then again, you know my proclivities just as well as I do."
"This is a commitment to a lifestyle, not some costume party."
"Aye, but I've been doing this for about six months, now. Three, constantly, and it's been grand! I've even given myself an alibi: Tres-Cerise is an unfortunate cousin employed to care for the now house-bound and agoraphobic Lucius. She only needs to take care of correspondence and such, so there is enough free time for a teaching position to better earn her keep."
A silence sat between them for several moments in which Severus gathered his decision on letting a well-known historian and economist teach his students versus the thought of his old friend likely needing more time to adjust to a new lifestyle that perhaps wasn't stable enough to be tested round the clock. Then again, Lucius just told him he'd been doing this constantly for three months and had carefully thought through his own alibi. The headmaster was torn. Lucius - hmm, Tres-Cerise - was more than qualified to teach magical history, but…
He stopped and looked at what his eyes saw and not what his mind projected. Before him was a beautiful, composed woman with vast knowledge and intense dedication. He sighed and nodded, pulling the contract out of his top drawer and signing his name to it before turning it around to hand off to… Miss Malfoy.
He toyed with the quill for a moment, deciding if he should employ the person in front of him as an old friend or a new one.
Lucius smirked and disrupted his thoughts, "Are you fucking with me, or are you that interested in feeling up the quill?"
"What?" Severus looked down at the quill in his fingers and handed it over to Lucius without thought. "I don't know what you mean."
"You were fondling the damned thing right in front of me. Were you perhaps remembering that lovely night in my dungeons? I teased you with that ostrich feather for hours."
"And I sneezed for three days afterwards. I told you, I'm allergic to ostrich."
"Here I was, thinking you were merely protesting to heighten the mood. You never used the safe word, after all."
"Miss Malfoy, no one can ever remember your ridiculous safe-words. Sign the damned contract and begone with you. I expect you to be here with your full course of syllabi outlined by Monday at ten."
"As you wish, my dear Headmaster."
They shared a conspiratorial smirk across his desk and in that moment of silence, a very small, mouse-like gasp could be heard, just before the light tapping of feet down the stairs.
Severus' eyes spun to the peering glass immediately to his left hand to see who was exiting his staircase and saw… "Hermione."
"Granger? Wasn't she married to that Weasley boy who made those delightful gay porn flicks?"
Severus was very nearing devastation and all Lucius could think about was that? Months of planning and tip-toeing, gone in a moment's unguarded conversation with someone he'd not shared sexual favors with in several decades. He blindly looked around his desk for an answer and exhaled heavily, "Fuck."
"Well, if you say so."
He glanced up sharply at Lucius' flippancy and ground his teeth. "No! Lucius - dammit - whatever your name is! She just overheard our conversation, and I'm sure she thinks the worst of it."
"And?"
He returned a stony look to the blank nonchalance of his old friend.
It was only a few short moments before Lucius realized what was really going on and a smile spread quickly across his lightly rouged lips. "Oh, really! How very fascinating!"
Severus turned pleading eyes to Malfoy. "I had just gotten to the point of - now she's surely - Damn it, Malfoy, don't just sit there, do something!"
She- he- whatever the hell pronoun the person in front of him was, sat back in surprise. "What in the nine circles of hell am I supposed to do about this?"
The panicked headmaster flung his arm towards the stairs. "Go tell her we're not involved!"
Lucius merely tilted her head. "Why don't you?"
He buried his head in his hands, tugging slightly on the dark locks. "It'll sound better coming from you."
"Oh? As Lucius or as Tres-Cerise?"
He threw his hands down to the green leather desk blotter and growled, "I don't give a damn!"
It was a moment, but Lucius' face curled into a smile. "Very well."
Severus' head tilted in surprise. "What? You will?" Honestly, he was only panicking and surely Lucius knew that, but if he actually would go talk to Hermione, it would pave the way for when he worked up the nerve to do it himself.
Lucius' smile softened and for a moment, the headmaster was convinced of the femininity before him. "Severus… I can't remember the last time you were interested in someone. I also don't have any other friends that wouldn't have blinked an eye at me showing up to a job interview, much less, dressed as some Georgian Era gilflurt."
Severus' eyes narrowed, searching his vast vocabulary for the term and coming up empty. "A what?"
His old friend unhooked a silk fan from somewhere on his skirt. "History-obsessed, remember?"
"Lucius-"
The fan snapped open with a sharp sound. "Never mind, dear. Just let old Tres-Cerise take care of this. You'll have your darling Hermione back before you know it."
"Well, we haven't exactly-"
"Shush." Tres-Cerise closed her fan to her palm with a confident smile and pointed it at Severus. "Before. You. Know it." At that, she flounced out of the office and down the stairs, in the general direction Hermione had gone.
"But you have no idea where to find her." His call fell to an empty room. Severus sat back in his chair, covered his face with his hands and groaned, "What have I done?"
Several mutterings were heard from the portraits, but most were shut down by the harsh admonishments of Headmaster Black. "Let the man think, for Merlin's sake. Do you want him to break out the turpentine again?" Several painted eyes likely darted to the curiously white-blank section of Dumbledore's portrait where a candy dish full of lemon drops should have been.
Silence prevailed.
His mind ticked away through all the possible outcomes and ways he might be able to rectify the situation with Hermione. By all rights, he should just use the castle's magic to find her and go explain, but when it came down to it, he was unsure of his reception. Perhaps he should try to stop Lucius - Tres-Cerise - whatever.
He was about to do just that, when he saw movement in the peering glass by his side indicating someone coming up the headmaster's stairs. According to the obnoxious pile of white-blonde ringlets atop the interloper's head, Lucius had turned around after realizing he'd not been able to find Hermione so easily.
He didn't even bother to knock, just breezed in as if he...she owned the place. At first, he thought that she'd come back to lecture him, but she was ignoring him for digging through the cushions on the soft leather chair she'd occupied previously. After several moments of rummaging through the upholstery, Severus was about to ask if she needed help, when she stood, triumphantly grasping her wand in her left hand.
"Aha! Damned nuisance having to keep track of this thing without sleeves."
Before he could wrap his mind around that, she whirled around to face Severus. Once the flurry of skirts rustled to a stop in front of the massive headmaster's desk, Tres-Cerise practiced her pout in full force. "You could at least give me a hint as to where to find the poor girl, if I'm to go fix this debacle of yours."
Caught mid-rise from his seat, Severus' right eyebrow slid up in question. "Poor girl? Debacle of mine?"
Tres-Cerise rejoined with an eyebrow of her own and a downward tilt of her maquillaged face. "Do you want me to help, or not? I believe the words were, 'don't just sit there, do something!'"
As the headmaster formulated his reply, Tres-Cerise took her seat again with a very feminine descent and a fan-pop.
Severus was slightly disconcerted at how easy it was to think of Lucius as a woman. "It's probably for the best you didn't." Before Tres-Cerise completed the affront forming on her face, he continued, "I'm sure it'll be fine. Besides, she likely didn't hear anything… She's a smart woman."
Her fan folded slowly down to rest in her lap as her eyes narrowed. "Do you hear yourself? Are you so concerned for her reaction that you'd rather avoid it?"
"No!" Severus grimaced as he realized how defensive that sounded. He softened his tone and continued, "Not at all. I just… prefer not to jump to conclusions if I can help it."
"Hmm." Miss Malfoy's face was rather doubtful. After a few moments of awkward silence where the two old friends tried to outwait the other for a response, Tres-Cerise/Lucius shrugged insouciantly. "Well, if there's nothing left for me to do for your highness, I believe I shall retire to the manor. As you so gracefully requested, I'll return at the start of the week."
Still standing, the headmaster just tossed his head towards the door. "Get."
The apparent woman before him stood with a huffed, "Git."
Catching the difference, Severus crossed his arms over his chest and blandly retorted, "As you say."
Tres-Cerise tossed her curls back over her shoulder and conjured a traveling cloak to spin about her shoulders. "I do say."
"Lucius-"
She waved her hand in dismissal, "Fine, fine, I'm leaving. Please save me the gossip on any further developments with the girl."
Without even caring to find out Severus' take on that, Tres-Cerise left once more. This time, he took care to glare at both her back as she left and her image in the peering glass. As he waited to feel Lucius leave the grounds, he sat back in his leather-padded chair and sighed a correction, "Woman".