Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Thanks to my beautiful Beta stgulik for always buffing up my stories to a lovely shine. I always hoped for the best – I got her.

Once upon a time I volunteered to pinch hit for the HP_3ForFun community. It was only when I was about halfway through this fic that I realised I was extremely jealous of any woman with Severus other than Hermione! A bit of a bother if the entire objective is to write a 3-way.

I cannot tell you if I succeeded or not. I'm not going to talk much about the reception it received, but I wanted to include it here as proof that once upon a time, I tried to write outside my comfort zone. This story contains explicit sexual content and femmeslash (F/F).

This particular Order reunion didn't bother her at all, so she must have finally gotten used to the situation. It certainly didn't upset her like the last couple of parties. She surmised she was finally over it; she could watch Harry and his betrothed without feeling either sick with humiliation or furious with betrayal.

Ginny Weasley sat off to the side of the room, silently observing the small band of brothers and sisters that had come together for what she thought (hoped!) might be the last of these little reunions. Now that Wizarding Britain had settled back into its routine, and five long and tough years had passed since Harry Potter had defeated Tom Riddle, the Order had become a bit of a relic, surplus to requirements. Ginny knew she was not alone in thinking it was time to formally disband. It had served its purpose and fulfilled its remit; besides, it always reminded Ginny too much of who was no longer there.

The various Order members tended to clump up in groups, and tonight was no exception. She saw her former professors sitting off to one side, chatting away with her parents. Minister Shacklebolt always got saddled with Percy, who, in spite of everything, could still kiss arse with the best of them. Her older brothers and their families always sat at the far end to make room for their children. Her brother George tended to sit with her, and together they lifted their drinks in silent toast to Fred, Tonks and Lupin - gone, but not forgotten. They always saw to that.

Over in the corner, as had become their habit over the past three years, Hermione Granger sat with the newly-reinstated Headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus Snape. They were talking earnestly, the rising and falling cadence of their voices soft, yet intense. Both of them were creatures capable of great concentration, and when they started a conversation, they zeroed in on one another like two Seekers with a bead on the same Snitch.

It was almost impossible to get a word in edgewise with them once they took off on one of their many heated debates and discussions. Ginny smiled. Aside from George, they were her two favourite people in the room. She looked on with affectionate exasperation, and as always, her mind turned to those dark days near the end of the war.

Ginny thought back to her sixth year, when Harry, Ron and Hermione went on the run - when Snape first became the despised Headmaster of the hell that had been Hogwarts. She had hated and fought him with every fibre of her being, until she realised it was exactly what she was supposed to do. In the midst of the fear and turmoil and stolen chances, Ginny suddenly realised that Snape was doing a very good job of pretending to loathe her and Neville and all the others in Dumbledore's Army; she figured out Snape could have done terrible things to entice her to confess what was really going on, but he didn't. Instead, he exercised every option available to protect them from the Carrows and their ilk while making it look as if he were turning the school into a concentration camp.

At first, nothing about Severus Snape had added up for Ginny; he had been glacial, yet passionate, aloof yet protective – unfeeling, yet solicitous. But an incident near the end of the war had served to show Snape's true nature to Ginny.

One night, Amycus Carrow had caught her sneaking food to some of the D.A. in hiding, and in spite of Ginny's insistent reminder that all punishment had to be approved by the Headmaster, Carrow had shoved her into an empty classroom, where he forced her over a desk, pulled down her knickers and proceeded to cane her with a birch rod.

"Cry, blood traitor," he'd sneered lecherously, and in spite of her resolve and determination not to, after five searing blows, Ginny was weeping in pain and humiliation.

She heard the sixth blow sing through the air, only to stop before it reached her blistered backside. In his unmistakable drawl, Headmaster Snape asked, "What is the meaning of this, Amycus?"

Winded and peeved he'd been thwarted, the fat toad of a Death Eater sneered, "This little blood traitor bitch was being openly defiant against school rules. I was administering punishment."

"I have told you and your sister more than once: all disciplining is to go through my office. If Miss Weasley has broken any school rules-"

"If? I just told you, Snape," Carrow whined. "She was out past curfew and sneaking food somewhere."

The Headmaster was silent, and Ginny tried to calm her breathing as she heard his boots clicking on the stone floor and he came within her view. "Please dress yourself, Miss Weasley. It is inappropriate to be in such a state in front of your male professors."

Anger and degradation flooded Ginny's heart. She straightened and quickly pulled her knickers back over her bottom, hissing in pain as she made contact with the bruised flesh. She glanced up at him, and saw Snape pointedly looking away from her. At first, she was even more furious, until she realised he was trying to give her some dignity. She wiped her tears away.

Snape plucked the rod from Carrow's pudgy fingers. "I will remain and administer the remainder of Miss Weasley's disciplining, Amycus. Meanwhile, it's getting late." Something like a feral grin passed over Snape's face. "No doubt your dear sister is wondering where you've gone. I shudder to think how she would react to finding you in a dark classroom with a half-dressed student."

Ginny glanced from Snape to Carrow, and in that instant she understood: Snape despised the Carrows as much as she did. With a grumble, Carrow left them, stumping off down the hall.

Snape waited until his footsteps died away before turning to Ginny. He vanished the rod with a snap and then looked her over carefully. In a voice that sounded almost drunk with fatigue, Snape said, "Miss Weasley, you are not helping your cause with this flagrant rule-breaking. Why were you out after curfew?"

Quietly, Ginny answered, "Does it matter, sir? I obviously am, so please just give me my punishment so I can go to bed."

"Professor Carrow mentioned food."

"I was hungry."

"I see," he replied, unsmiling. "And are you still... hungry?"

Ginny blinked. "Yes, sir."

Snape sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Winky!"

With a POP! the diminutive elf appeared. "Is the Headmaster needing anything, sir?" she squeaked, looking up at him with adoring eyes. Her adulation seemed to displease the Headmaster.

"Winky, Miss Weasley is hungry." He looked at Ginny solemnly, and she understood, or rather, she thought she did. "Bring her as much as she asks for." He turned to go. "You will serve detention tomorrow night, Miss Weasley. And you will not mention this incident to any of your little friends, is that understood?"

Tightly, Ginny said, "Yes, sir." He paused at the door. "Do you require..." he paused delicately, "...any healing salve for your – your punishment?"

Ginny bit back a sudden urge to laugh. It was all so absurd, standing in this room, saying things that meant nothing and expressing everything with their silence. "I have some, sir. Thank you."

He nodded curtly and swept silently from the room. The next night, she served detention with Hagrid, who told her in confidence much later that Snape had instructed him to work her hard, but to make sure she stayed safe and well-rested.

Less than a week later, it would all be over: Voldemort, the Carrows, were no more. Ginny, sitting with her family, weeping over Fred, was informed that the Headmaster had also been killed. She remembered feeling sorry for him, and wondered if he'd died well. He certainly deserved to. Had Hermione not gone to retrieve his body, only to find him clinging to life, Ginny knew that Snape would have died thinking himself the most despised man in Wizarding Britain.

Now, as Ginny sat nursing her butterbeer, her eyes turned from Snape and Hermione to her former boyfriend, and she allowed herself a smile. There had been a lot of changes in the years since that awful night, and some had been harder to swallow than others. But the top of that particular list was coming home early to the Burrow one evening, to find her brother Ron in a passionate, sexual embrace with the boy she loved – Harry Potter.

Turning quickly from the bedroom door, with the picture indelibly etched in her brain of Harry crouched over her brother's lap, sucking his erect cock, Ginny had raced down the stairs, grabbed a broom, and was in the sky before the tears started to fall. Harry was in the air seconds behind her, calling her. He chased her until he grabbed the handle of her broom and forced her to land.

Once on the ground, they stood and looked at one another warily. "Ginny," Harry began, and she thought hysterically, You'd better be very careful about the next words that come out of your mouth, Harry Potter.

He swallowed. "Ginny, I'm not going to insult you by trying to pretend you didn't see what you saw in there." He sighed and sat down, plucking blades of grass and tossing them away absently. "We – that is, last year, when the three of us went on the run, well, Ron and I began to realize we felt - felt more than–"

"Did Hermione know?" Ginny said through clenched teeth. She couldn't help herself. "Did she ever join in with you?"

His silence told her everything she needed to know. Finally Harry said, "Just the once." He dropped his head. "I know it's no excuse, but we were so desperate and scared and for just a moment, it made us feel safe again. We didn't really know what we were doing, any of us. It just helped us all forget for a moment that we -" He stopped, and closed his eyes. "Hermione realised she was..." He slumped. "Ron and I became lovers. Hermione turned a blind eye. She accepted it."

"I would have accepted it, too," Ginny said, suddenly feeling like a fool. All the minute signs had been there. She just hadn't known what she was looking for. Hermione's quiet sadness after the final battle. Her insistence on retrieving her Obliviated parents alone, without anyone's help, and her polite but firm distance upon her return.

Rather breezily, she asked, "Were you planning on telling me before or after we announced our engagement next month?"

"I've been wanting to tell you, Ginny, but, fuck, how could I?" His voice sounded plaintive, not at all like the hero of the Wizarding world. "I never saw myself as gay. I love you!"

Ginny nodded, wiping away her tears. "Just not the way you love Ron."

Harry hesitated, then nodded. "We never wanted to hurt you. I want you to believe that. We were going to tell your family tonight, after dinner." He looked away. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

Ginny sighed. "Me, too." Somewhere within, she dug deep for courage, and she found it, sitting closer to the surface than she had expected. That year apart from him had taught her more about herself than she realised. "But now that I have, you don't have to worry. I'm not going to make a scene. C'mon." She reached for his hand. "We need to call a family conference. You and Ron are going to have to come clean and let everyone know. Today. Before dinner." She looked up at him uncompromisingly. "And you're going to go public. I'm not going to have everyone saying what a fool I was to break up with the great Harry Potter."

Five years on, Ginny had long forgiven Harry and Ron. If anything, she found she could somewhat sympathise with them nowadays, having had a little first-hand experience with same-sex relationships herself. She no longer resented Hermione for keeping the secret from her, nor hated Severus Snape for being who he had to be in order to keep her safe.

In her world, Ginny was now a star in her own right – a Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies, and a damn good one. She traveled as an ambassador for the sport, and she met all sorts of interesting people. Sometimes, looking at Harry and Ron struggling to come to grips with their relationship and their sexuality, or looking at Hermione and Snape doing this futile little dance around one another, Ginny felt older and more mature than the lot of them. At least she knew what she wanted and how to enjoy it when she got it.

She smiled again to see Severus and Hermione talking heatedly. They were clearly enjoying one another, debating with relish, but there was something under the surface – a smoldering ember that looked capable of bursting into flame at the slightest provocation. It was a shame both of them didn't see it, or pretended not to see it. Perhaps they were afraid to. Everyone knew they were good for one another; everyone, it seemed, except themselves.

Snape had obviously scored some telling point in their current argument, and Hermione conceded with recalcitrant grace. Not for the first time, Ginny wondered exactly what Severus Snape was thinking. At that moment, he turned and looked directly at her, as if he'd read her mind, and he nodded, his expression rather bland and inscrutable. He turned back to Hermione, solicitously offering to refresh her drink along with his own. She smiled her thanks, and he rose with impressive dignity and went into the kitchen, where the men were gathered around the makeshift bar.

Ginny approached Hermione with a smile. "Alright, love?"

Hermione returned her smile and gave her a soft kiss, sweetly lingering a moment. "Never better."

Ginny sat down in Snape's chair. "So, when are you two going to move beyond these great conversations and start having great sex? It's obvious you're crazy about one another."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Obvious to you, maybe. I don't know."

Ginny frowned. "Are you telling me that Snape isn't attracted to you? It doesn't look that way from where I'm sitting."

Hermione glanced at the door, as if waiting for him to re-appear. For a moment, Ginny thought her friend was going to cry.

"I want that, Ginny. I want him. But I'm afraid he is still faithful to the memory of Harry's mum. I can't compete with that." She gave Ginny a watery smile. "Besides, if he's truly interested in anything beyond a good conversation, he's got a funny way of showing it."

Ginny leaned forward and kissed her cheek. It was warm and fragrant. In that moment, Ginny wished with all her heart she could take Hermione to her bed and make love to her until the hurt and rejection went away. She tamped down her desire as quickly as it came. They had spent quite a few nights together, but Ginny knew in her heart that, for all that she loved Ginny, Hermione's heart belonged to someone else. Someone whom Ginny suspected cared just as much for Hermione, but was afraid to show it.

For a split second, Ginny thought she might cry. Instead, she gave her friend another kiss. "Give him time, babe. He's never struck me as a player; I think he's just as scared as you about getting hurt again." She pulled away, and for a moment, she wondered if she was talking more about Snape or herself when she added, "These Potters are hell on hearts."

-o0o-

Severus Snape had told some insanely huge lies in his life, but he'd always prided himself that he never lied to himself. That was perhaps the biggest lie of all.

He told himself that he was no longer a slave to the adolescent urges that had once driven him to do and say things which only resulted in shame and regret. He told himself the passions of youth and body and heart no longer dictated his actions. He was a rational wizard; he had learned what must be lived with, and lived without. A man like Severus Snape was destined to be alone, and he had long ago made his peace with solitude.

He was such a liar.

This lie was proven now as he lay naked in his darkened bedroom at one o'clock in the afternoon, stroking his cock with one large, warm hand, fondling his sac with the other. He could tell himself it was boredom, or restlessness, or he fancied an afternoon nap and a good wank would help him sleep. But it was none of those things. It was the face of Hermione Granger, looming wanton and irresistible in his fantasy, which made him close his eyes and cradle his balls gently, imagining her soft and capable hand caressing him, her sweet-lipped mouth an inch away from his cock, licking her lips in anticipation.

"Open up and suck me, my love. Oh, yes, that's a good girl," he whispered, and he whimpered as his traitorously vivid imagination supplied him with the vision of those lips parting and accepting his iron-hard prick. It slid slowly into her hot mouth, while he buried his hands in her wild mane of curls and pulled her down, all the way down...

He was close now; firm, swift, knowing strokes were taking him to the inevitable conclusion. He let his head drop back as he pictured her, rising to straddle his hips, lowering her lovely body onto his, and he could almost feel the wet heat of her as she ground down on his eager, needy cock. She rode him hard, taking him over, soaking his pubic hair with her juices, the juices he had produced with his tender ministrations. In his mind's eye, he toyed with a velvety nipple while his thumb danced over her clit with knowing precision. In his fantasies, he always knew how to make her come.

"Severus," she moaned, shuddering, head flung back, a Valkyrie riding her stallion to Valhalla, keening, "I'm coming, oh love, I'm-"

"Coming! Oh, fuck, yes, Hermione – oh, I'm coming for you!" he cried, and growled as his cock sprayed his release into the dark room. It burst from him in the same cadence as her name, which hissed from his lips with each pulsing jet of hot semen, like a spell that, once uttered, had to be repeated until it had fulfilled its purpose. He fell back, exhausted, breathless. White spots danced behind his eyes, and it was several minutes before his trip-hammer heartbeat slowed to normal, and he could take a deep, relaxing breath.

It was a damn good fantasy; he hadn't climaxed that hard or that long in ages.

As he muttered a cleansing charm, he felt at once sated and yearning, and he knew that, even though his longing was in vain, he could no more turn away from it than he could his duty. At one time he was more disciplined; now that the war was over, he had no real reason not to pursue a relationship. The only thing holding him back was his own surety of rejection.

He groaned and forced himself to get out of bed and dress. It was the first week of the summer hols; Hogwarts was preternaturally quiet, with only a skeleton crew of teachers around. Even Argus was absent; he and Mrs. Norris had gone to visit his niece in Crewe. Argus would return a month before school reopened, pudgy from stodgy food and little exercise, pink-cheeked from taking long walks, and sporting several new jumpers. Argus' niece loved knitting patterns even more than Albus had.

Thoughts of Albus always followed him at the end of a school year. It had been about this time of year when Severus had been ordered by Voldemort to return to Hogwarts that final year of the war as Headmaster. It had been the most horrific year of his life; it was then he had learned the true measurement, weight and colour of solitude. It was roughly the size, shape and breadth of Headmaster Nigellus Black's portrait – the one that kept him company while Potter, Weasley and Granger went on the run for their lives. He'd had to play the waiting game in his prison and keep the children safe while appearing to do anything but.

"A walk will do you good," he said quietly. Like all loners, he often talked with himself when no one else was around. Of course, he wouldn't be caught dead talking to himself in front of anyone else, but at least he was still free to carry on a conversation while alone.

Severus walked down the steps of the main entrance into the Scottish June sun. It was almost warm; summer was finally upon them. He acknowledged Hagrid with a friendly nod as he passed by his hut. The half-giant smiled upon seeing Severus and threw up a massive hand in greeting.

"Afternoon, Headmaster, Sir! Takin' a stroll to enjoy th' weather?"

"Clearing the head, more like, Hagrid," he replied, mildly. "I fancied a walk around the Black Lake. Any messages for the giant squid?" It was an old joke between them.

He could see white teeth gleaming through the tangle of beard. "Tell him to stay away from the mermaids. People are startin' to talk. Enjoy yer walk, Perfesser, and feel free ta stop by fer a cuppa when yer done."

With a nod, Severus went on his way. The day grew warmer; he removed his cloak as he walked, and his thoughts strayed back to Hermione Granger. He permitted himself the indulgence of continuing to think back to those dark days. He could do so now without the sickening tang of remorse tainting his every memory.

As the grisly events of that year played out, Severus had gone from most wanted wizard to Headmaster of Hogwarts, and the nightmare that was his life had threatened to break him utterly, every day, in a thousand different ways. The students rebelled and caused disruption constantly. His colleagues despised him and thwarted him at every opportunity.

The only comfort he had was receiving reports about the 'Golden Trio' from Headmaster Nigellus Black's portrait, the one whose extra frame Hermione was dragging around with them in some sort of bag she'd charmed with undetectable extensions. Clever little chit had used the portrait to spy on him, knowing he was doing the same. It was a notion that Severus found almost comforting, as if the portrait was their little unacknowledged communication link, and she was speaking directly to him through the canvas.

Only his conversations with Headmaster Black gave him any sort of feeling of hope. Black often told him of the trio's exploits, their narrow escapes and their trials. Granger and Weasley seemed to have an on-again, off-again relationship that somehow managed to rub Severus the wrong way every time he thought of it. All he could think was that Weasley was not good enough for a brilliant and resourceful witch like Granger.

One morning, Severus arose and, after his morning ablutions, greeted the Headmaster in the portrait, who cocked a baleful eye at his counterpart. "Well, if you've been saving yourself for the chit, I wouldn't bother."

Severus sighed as he got dressed. "Phineas, what are you babbling about? I realise I haven't had my coffee, but this is cryptic even for you, I fear. What exactly am I saving for whom?"

Headmaster Black scoffed. "Your maidenhead, you love-struck fool! The silly witch decided to play house last night."

Severus blinked, but managed to sound indifferently interested. "So Weasley wore her down at last?"

The portrait's expression grew obscenely lecherous. "Apparently the poor girl couldn't make up her mind. All three had a go at one other. Ménage a trois, they call it. Scrum, I call it. I've never seen such a tangle of arms, legs and arses."

Severus kept his face carefully neutral, telling himself his heart had not started pounding. "Indeed?" he drawled. "The earth moved? The angels wept? Did the trump sound?"

Black chortled. "It barely farted. Poor girl, she tried her best to lie back and think of England, but she barely had time to get to the Channel Islands before it was over. A few grunts, a couple of muffled cries, and the boys were rolling over and snoring before the girl could get out from under them."

"Did they hurt her?" Severus could hear the anger in his voice, and Black, the consummate Slytherin, heard it as well, and was already looking for ways to exploit it.

"Well, she didn't sound like she was being sawn in half, if that's what you're wanting to know."

"Don't be so crude, Phineas! Was the girl forced?"

"Don't be such a prude, Headmaster! No, she wasn't forced. She was originally… enthusiastic enough. But I'm afraid the boys' enthusiasm was a little more, erm, hair-trigger?" Severus sighed. So she had succumbed to the hormonal tide of too much loneliness and fear. "It was inevitable, I suppose," Headmaster Black was saying, watching Severus covertly. "Of course I didn't see anything, but it sounded like it was pretty much over after the girl was breached. However..."

Severus almost ignored him. He hated being the straight man for this pompous arse. "However...?"

Black smirked. "The young men weren't exactly through with one another. When the poor girl took the watch, they went after one another like rabbits. I haven't heard so much buggery performed since the Slytherins won the last house cup."

It was too much. "Enough!" Severus snapped. "I don't want to hear about this." He finished dressing in murderous silence. The painted Headmaster watched Severus carefully, and finding nothing he could use to pry open the clamshell-tight exterior that was Headmaster Snape, departed in huffy bad grace back to the other portrait.

Alone, Severus faced the mirror as he combed his hair and he studied his face. He looked no different than before, but he found himself wondering if Hermione was facing a mirror today, and seeing a different person. A woman, made so by the breaking of her maidenhead. It irritated Severus to find himself so disgruntled that the girl had given herself so carelessly to these so-called 'friends' of hers.

It irritated him that they used her, when it must have been obvious, even to her, what they had really wanted was one another. He found himself jealous they'd had her first, and wondered which had done the 'having.' Weasley, most likely. And what of poor Ginevra Weasley, who had mooned over Potter since her first year? Rumour was they had started a relationship last year before the trio was forced into hiding.

In spite of Headmaster Black's accusation, Severus was by no means a prude. If two men found comfort and pleasure and love with one another, it was no one's business but theirs. But he found himself thinking more of the women who had depended on that love. If Headmaster Black was telling the truth (and Severus saw no reason he would lie), then Potter's and Weasley's selfishness would destroy the faith of two fine witches.

As the weeks followed, Severus found himself feeling very protective of Hermione, traveling alone with two hormonal, horny boys, one of whom very recently had professed his love for her. He came to accept the essential truth: he wanted her for himself. More than that, he wished he could give her something back - pleasure, the rapturous feeling of being cherished. Hermione deserved it – the simple act of lying with a man, and knowing that she was the only one he wanted in his bed.

Severus began to fantasise about what her face would look like, rosy and flushed with passion, how she would sound when she came. It was an idle fantasy, something to think about on the long nights when sleep would not come, and Lily Evans' face only brought more remorse and guilt. Walking into what should have been the last hour of his life, his only thought was that he would have liked to have seen Hermione again before his death, before discharging the last of his duties to the woman who had broken his heart many years before.

But finding himself quite alive, recovered from a near-mortal snakebite and returned to the more-or-less grateful bosom of Wizarding society had actually not changed him much. It certainly had not quelled the fantasies at all. If anything, they allowed him to finally let go of the past and the knowledge that he was no longer living to die for Lily.

But it had also served as a reminder of his own pitiful lack of potential as a lover. And now, like a fool, he constantly found any excuse to sit near Hermione when circumstance brought them together. He followed her around like a third year; he could not seem to help himself. The fact that she indulged him made him both grateful and humiliated that he should treasure her scraps so ardently.

But it was not meant to be. Hermione was too many things – too smart, too clever, too Gryffindor, too young, too good for him. He hated feeling inadequate; he hated even more she never made him feel inadequate around her; he performed this service well enough for himself. Their similarities and their mutual admiration made him long all the more for something he knew he could never have. The last Order reunion was a perfect example. They had sat at the same table for almost the entire time, talking, debating, arguing. Severus had thoroughly enjoyed himself. Too much.

He sighed. He was going to have to stop going to these meetings. His pleasure when he was with her only served to throw up in sharp relief how difficult it was when he returned to his sterile, monk-like existence at Hogwarts.

The next time Molly invites me to one of these functions, I'm going to say no. I mean it, and I won't cave in and relent, like this last time...

-o0o-

Hermione dropped her quill and rubbed her eyes. It was no use. She had dawdled for the last thirty minutes and finally managed to write only one sentence of her proposal. One sodding sentence. And it was due in forty-eight hours.

She got up and turned on the Wizarding wireless, tuning it until she heard the strains of one of her favourite Wizarding groups, Nu Wauge. She closed her eyes and allowed the soft, almost hypnotic sound to wash over her. Its low, vibratory hum seemed to wind into her, and she stirred restlessly. Her fingers slid over the tips of her nipples, sending a pulse of desire through her, but she stopped before she gave in and started seriously playing with herself.

She really needed to get laid soon, or she would go spare. She resisted the temptation to call Ginny; she would be more than accommodating, and it would be enjoyable, but Hermione knew in her heart it would be nothing more for either of them than relieving tension, a sort of masturbation-by-proxy. She felt guilty in engaging her friend to do nothing more or less than she could do for herself with a good vibrator.

Hermione sighed, and thought, of course, about Severus Snape. Damn him! He was the reason she'd written seven words in the last hour. Spending such an enjoyable afternoon at the reunion the previous week was almost as bad as not seeing him at all. Each time she came to one of these do's she ended up feeling like the worst sort of masochist for deliberately seeking him out and monopolising his time.

He didn't seem the least bit interested in her as a woman, and that hurt. At the party, she'd practically thrown herself at him. He had been polite, attentive, solicitous, engaging, witty, sexy as fuck... but there was no interest, not a flicker. She'd given him every available opportunity, short of crawling on his lap and molesting him, and he'd treated her with the same pleasant inscrutability as he did Molly. No - he was actually more affectionate with Molly. Thanks for that, Hermione. Now you've really depressed yourself.

Hermione was usually above picking up dates in Knockturn Alley for one-night stands, but she thought she might be close to pondering it seriously. She made a face as she wandered into the kitchen for a snack. No. She might be desperate, but her desperation seemed to centre on one wizard only: Severus Snape. She might be gagging for a shag, but there was only one man she wanted to do it with.

Once she'd realised that Ron and Harry were serious about only each other, she had found it easy to let them go. Why couldn't she do the same with Severus Snape? After all, he had never loved her, he didn't want her or need her. When did infatuation and interest turn into a longing that was dangerously close to tipping over into obsession?

It would have amused and dismayed her to know how close her thoughts mirrored Severus'. She, too, thought of the past; that last, horrific year before the end of the war.

The months that Hermione, Ron and Harry spent on the run were sort of a blur. Even to this day, there were blank, fuzzy spots in her memory, as if she'd been poorly Obliviated. Anyway, most of what she could remember wasn't exactly a trip to Alton Towers.

She remembered feelings, emotions, more than actual events. The gut-churning fear of being one step ahead of the Snatchers and the Death Eaters, the painful hunger when food was nonexistent. The frustration of looking for Horcruxes that didn't want to be found, and the agony of being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange.

And then there was the ache she didn't think about. Ron and Harry gradually discovered their love for one another during their enforced time on the run. Their clumsy effort to include her one night had been a lame attempt to assuage their guilt. At the time, she'd been so frightened and desperate and needy and insecure, and lying between the two of them had seemed like the most beautiful way for them to cement their relationship. She was fully certain that at least one of them wouldn't survive the war; she certainly wasn't going to go into the final battle a virgin. She honestly wasn't thinking beyond that.

And so, fueled with several glasses of purloined firewhisky, the three of them found themselves in bed one totally awkward and extremely unsatisfying evening shortly before Ron left her and Harry. As she returned from her watch to lie beside the snoring boys - who, if she were perfectly honest, had enjoyed each other more than either had enjoyed her - she felt more and more resentful for the more-than-pleased-with-themselves look on their sleeping faces.

Hermione had felt… well, cheated. Where were the fireworks, the lights bursting behind her eyes during the peak of her ecstasy? Where was the feeling of becoming one with her lover, the aching, desperate need to feel him, to be pleasured and pleasure in return? All Hermione felt was a dull ache between her legs and a distinct feeling that a cleansing charm wouldn't quite cut it this time.

Having sex for the first time had felt like – like hunting for Horcruxes: terribly important, but since they didn't know what they were doing, mostly unsuccessful and rather boring. And like hunting for Horcruxes, she couldn't rid herself of the feeling she was missing something fundamentally important about the way she was going about it.

So, she had smiled and pretended from then on to be too tired, too stressed, too busy, too menstrual. In the end, it didn't matter. They never noticed all the times she returned from watch to find them tangled together. The love on their faces told her all she needed to know, and after the initial shock of Ron leaving them, she felt so sorry for Harry she learned to love them both enough to accept it, even though she wanted to kill Ron for leaving him so bereft.

A year later, Ginny confronted her after finding out the hard way about Harry and Ron. And somehow, she'd found herself in Ginny's bed, and was shocked to realise that Ginny not only knew a lot about sex, but enjoyed teaching Hermione as well. It was lovely, but it wasn't love, and they were both realistic enough not to shoehorn it into a pale imitation of love.

Ginny walked into the shop just at closing time, and gave her brother George a smile. "Hello, baby sister," he called, waving a cheery goodbye to his last customer. "What brings the hero of the Holyhead Harpies to Diagon Alley on this lovely summer day?"

Ginny smiled and pecked George on the cheek. "I need something really special, George. I need to play matchmaker for some friends."

George rolled his eyes heavenward. "Excellent, and about time, too! I wondered when you were going to get as sick as I am, watching the clueless wonders blundering about."

Ginny started. "Wait – who – what are you talking about?"

He laughed. "Granger and Snape, of course! Merlin, I've never seen two more inept people! They fancy the hell out of one another – I don't know what they're waiting for. So," he said, warming up to the subject. "What do we need to do to get these two out of their comfort zones and into the bedroom?"

Ginny sighed. She's known somehow George would understand. "I'd like to do something for them. In a way, they were both there for me when I needed them, and I want to be there for them to discover they're both on the same page about one another."

"This sounds wickedly fun! I almost wish I was in on it."

Ginny nodded. She wasn't about to tell him her entire plan. "I think I need something really special for both of them. I want… oh, something that combines the truth-compelling properties of Veritaserum, coupled with the inhibition-suppressors of a lust potion, mixed with a sincerity elixir of the True Love Certainty potion."

George thought for a moment. "So you want them to only react to this if they truly feel an attraction to one another; it needs to make them confess their true feelings, and it will lower their inhibitions to the point where they will be tearing at one another's clothing in five minutes?"

At Ginny's broad grin, George rewarded her with a beatific smile. "Step into my parlour, little sister. I've got the perfect solution."

Ginny walked out of the shop twenty minutes later, a beautifully-wrapped box under one arm, and a very pleased smile on her face.