The Long Drive Home

By Olethros

Warnings: some naughty language

Summary: Entry for SSHG Exchange. A Portkey blunder leaves Severus and Hermione stranded in America, doomed to a cross-country road trip with only each other for company. They're obviously perfect for each other, but can they refrain from killing each other first?

Original Prompt: I kind of melded two together, though I have relied more much more heavily upon prompt #2.

1) A detailed Romance explaining the evolution of a relationship between SS and HG, starting as friendship and becoming something more. Happy ending please.

2) Anything involving Hermione and Severus being stuck together in a small space for an extended amount of time, forcing them to get to know each other. Any rating.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Chapter One

Stranded

In which Professor Snape and Hermione Granger are stranded in a frightening place, or why Manchester United fans are evil.

Standing at the mouth of a dark alley in the middle of Muggle London, Severus Snape ardently wished that he was someplace else.

Normally, being a wizard and a rather powerful one at that, he would fulfill his wish at once. However, on this irritatingly sunny afternoon, a more formidable force overcame Snape's ability to Apparate, and his name was Albus Dumbledore.

One week ago, he had sat stiffly in an armchair as the headmaster thrust a bowl filled to the brim with lurid yellow lemon drops under his nose.

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"Ah, thank you so much for dropping by, Severus! You're just the man I was looking for."

The old sot had obviously forgotten that Snape had little choice in the matter. The headmaster's summons had interrupted a promising start to a night of fabulous drunkenness – celebrating now that the dunderheads had finally completed their Leaving Feast.

"I am organizing a trip for our most recent class to leave us, and I need you and Minerva to be chaperones."

At least he wasn't speaking in riddles. Not that that made Snape any happier.

"Surely another professor, Albus. Someone with a greater flair for dealing with children… with these particular children."

His protests did him no good. Dumbledore proceeded to tell him how every professor was unfortunately out of the country or in the midst of a crucial project or undergoing a week-long surgery in St Mungo's. Except for Minerva, of course, who would have followed Dumbledore on any hair-brained scheme he cooked up. Snape felt irked that the other professors had known about the trip for far longer than he and had clearly failed to warn him to make himself scarce.

After all, who else wanted to be the fool saddled with a gaggle of hormone-crazy teenagers who no longer had to worry about losing points for misbehavior?

It was Snape's worst nightmare. He had thought himself rid of his most annoying students a year ago. But in true dramatic fashion, the Dark Lord had invaded Hogsmeade on Halloween and kicked off eight months of hostilities ending with the death of nearly all those Snape had once called friends. Yet even after the second Great War of their generation, the gears of education kept grinding on. That meant bringing Potter and his surviving classmates back to repeat their seventh year. Fortunately, almost all the children had survived.

And now he found out he was still not free of them. All Snape needed was the Dark Lord to rise from the depths of the North Sea, where the Boy Who Continued to Live had blasted him into a million pieces, and his horror would be complete.

At least the bespectacled pestilence would not be as unbearable as usual. He was so wrapped up in Miss Weasley that Snape doubted either of them would even venture from their lodgings for the entirety of the trip.

And as for the other duo, Weasley and Granger… Well, it was hardly any of his business to keep up with his students' – his former students' – romantic lives. But if there was ever a simmering cauldron guaranteed to explode in the nastiest way possible, those two were it. Almost of its own volition, his right hand came up to touch the mass of ragged scars that criss-crossed his right cheek.

No matter. If any student became truly unbearable there was always Stupefy.

"Unfortunately, no one will be allowed their wands for the entirety of the trip," Dumbledore stated as if he had read his mind which, Snape decided, he probably had. Then the meaning behind Dumbledore's words sank in.

"What!"

"Our trip destination is in America, California to be exact. I've always wanted to go to a proper Pacific beach."

Filing away the utter dread that the beach inspired for later, Snape focused on the more important issue at hand. "I happen to know there are a great many witches and wizards in America. I know several colleagues at The Salem Institute…"

"Ah, but we're British, Severus. And according to the International Wizarding Code, Section 4 Paragraph 53, magical folk who travel to regions under different ministry jurisdictions are not permitted to use magic while outside their own region."

"They can't have my wand."

"Nor do they need it. There are wards across the entire country that will prevent a wand with a foreign magical signature from functioning while you are within their territory."

"You're making this up."

"I have the code right here, if you would like to see for yourself." Dumbledore's hand emerged from behind his desk holding a book the size and shape of Hagrid's head. "Apparently each continent's Ministry of Magic forbids magical signatures they do not recognize within their own jurisdiction. The law was passed as a method to ensure peace following the Second Voldemort War. The only way around the provision is to undergo a month-long approval process for a magical visa."

Good grief, they had survived the Dark Lord only to be squashed under bureaucratic thumbs. And Dumbledore had the nerve to call this a holiday?

"Are people so quick to believe that all dangers in the world died with the Dark Lord?" Snape said soberly. "You know as well as I that not all of the Death Eaters were killed in the war."

"And you think they would flee to America? No, Death Eaters would have more pride than that. Not to mention that such activity would have been caught by the Ministry, my boy."

Snape hated being called that.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, using the International Wizarding Code as a headrest. "Stop fretting, Severus. The war is over, and I think it's high time that you had some fun."

Snape groaned and ate a lemon drop.

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Half an hour later, Severus Snape was still standing at the mouth of the dark alley and cursing Hermione Granger under his breath. Everyone else had long since left via Portkeys. Granger was undoubtedly buried in the shelves of Flourish and Blotts and had lost track of time.

For want of something to do, he felt carefully within the many pockets of his Muggle trench coat (he refused to wear clothes that required abandoning his dramatic flair) to ensure that he had not left anything behind. There was nearly $1,000 of American Muggle money, two pounds of proper English breakfast tea, a small sewing kit and extra buttons, one bottle of what the Muggle chemist swore were the strongest headache pills available, and a crowbar. He had prepared for every possible eventuality.

In other words, Severus Snape was scared shitless.

An entire week in a strange country babysitting former students without magic. His wand hand began to shake.

Snape nearly jumped out of his skin when a group of Muggle teenagers almost plowed int him, whooping and shouting loudly. He snarled after them and glared at the Muggle wristwatch he had just purchased.

Where is that infernal girl?

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"I'm… here… Sorry!" Hermione gasped as she ran across the cobblestones, her shopping bag banging against her shins and her rucksack slamming into her back.

Professor Severus Snape was waiting for her at the mouth of a dark alley and barely turned to acknowledge her existence as she huffed and puffed her way like an accordion to his side.

"Sorry, sir," she blabbered. "The line at Flourish and Blotts took longer than I thought, and then a horde of Man U fans nearly ran me over outside the Leaky Cauldron. I barely saved my books and—"

"And we have only thirty seconds before the last Portkey activates. The others have already left for our final destination, so I suggest you cease your infernal chatter before we are left behind."

Hermione gasped once more for air and then clamped her jaw shut. "Yes sir," she managed to say with minimal lip movement.

Teacher and student walked quickly into the dark alley. At the end was an empty dumpster. An unshaven man in ragged clothes leaned against the dumpster's side, perusing a grimy newspaper.

Snape's eyes went wide. Hermione noticed and opened her mouth. "Sir, is that…?"

Snape pointed his hand at the incredulous beggar, a gesture that was less commanding than he hoped without the threat of a wand. "You! Old man, I demand that you surrender the paper to me at once."

"Here now, chap, I hadn't finished the story on the European Cup…"

"Now!" Snape abandoned gesturing and simply wrenched the paper out of the man's startled hands.

"Wanker," the beggar muttered. Hermione shot him an apologetic look. She thought she saw him slip something underneath his wrinkled jumper.

"Five seconds, Miss Granger!"

She jumped at his harsh voice and turned around so she could lay a hand on the newspaper Snape proffered to her. It was an edition of The Guardian, and the headlines proclaimed Manchester United's latest European Cup victory in bold, black letters. The newspaper felt oddly light.

Hermione remembered the beggar tucking something under his clothes. Her eyes went wide. "Fuck," she said.

Snape's eyes went even wider than hers. "Ten points from Gryffindor for cursing in front of a teacher, Miss—"

The rest of his sentence was lost as she felt a jerk behind her navel and the world spun into a jumbled haze of Technicolor.

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"Fuck me," Snape said.

Hermione could think of no response that would not get her into trouble, so she bit her lip and waited.

Snape tore his wand from his sleeve and waved it around wildly, concentrating so hard that his cheeks flushed red. As he had dreaded, not so much as a spark. His wand was useless for anything except poking someone in the eye.

"You're making this up. Fuck!" Snape kicked wildly at a pinecone, which splintered against a nearby tree trunk.

"I would have no reason to lie, sir," Hermione responded, personally impressed at how steady her voice was. She held up their copy of The Guardian, now a useless piece of trash. "The sports section is gone; the beggar must have stolen it. So the Portkey was not complete, which explains why we're… not where we're supposed to be."

"Not where we're supposed to be? According to you, we are in the middle of a forest in Tennessee, about two thousand miles away from the western coast. Aren't Portkeys transformed from pieces of junk under the assumption that Muggles won't pick them up? Especially not beggars who are rabid and… and literate Man U fans!"

Snape's voice had gotten higher and higher with every word, and Hermione was growing frightened.

"Sir, it – it's not as bad as it may seem. We seem to be near the entrance to some park. I'm sure we could find someone and—"

"And tell them what, Miss Granger? That we're foreigners who were accidentally dropped off two thousand miles before our destination and could we please get a ride to California? And, yes, we realize that we have no idea where in California we are supposed to be, but doubtless we'll figure it out as we go."

Hermione zeroed in on one word amidst Snape's complaining. "A ride…"

"Bugger the Ministry's laws. We can't Apparate, can't send messages… And I'll be damned if I'm asking everyone I meet whether they know what Floo Powder is. Cornelius Fudge can take his head and stick it up his—"

"Both of us have experience in the Muggle world, Professor. I'm sure we can arrange transportation somehow. I've brought enough money that we could get plane tickets…"

"Absolutely not."

"We would get there in four hou—"

"Have you failed to learn the meaning of the word 'no' after seven years and eight interminable months in my presence, Miss Granger?"

"Well, I'll be damned if we're walking, so that leaves driving. If we start on our roadtrip now, you'll be free of my presence in just under forty hours."

"And just how do you propose we commence this 'roadtrip,' Miss Granger? Did you happen to pack a spare automobile in that gargantuan rucksack of yours?"

Snape's uncharacteristic display of panicked vulnerability had woken a previously dormant devil in her. And he technically no longer had any power over her. Those were the only reasons Hermione could find to justify what she said next.

"No," she replied. "But is that a crowbar in your pocket, sir, or are you just happy to see me?"

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About two thousand miles east of London, a man dressed in ragged clothes appeared on a beach in Cyprus clutching a wrinkled section of newspaper. Several topless sunbathers screamed as he materialized out of thin air.

"Well," the beggar said to himself, perusing the white sand beaches and sparkling blue water. "This is certainly an improvement."