Chapter 1

Hermione Granger was not, by anyone's standards, a lush. That Friday afternoon while she was at work, however, an owl had brought news of a broken engagement - hers - and she had quickly made up her mind that drinking herself into a state of oblivion was far more admissable than crying. Oh no, she would be damned if she let herself shed a single tear over the likes of Ronald fucking Weasley, who hadn't even had the decency to tell her face to face.

The worst part of it was that she had been completely blindsided. Sure, their five-year relationship had had its ups and downs, but which relationship was perfect? Hadn't they always managed to talk through any differences they had, making it work? Besides, they had returned from a weekend sojourn at a charming bed-and-breakfast in the west end of Glasgow only a few days ago. On the trip, Ron had been his usual self and nothing had seemed out of the ordinary to her: they had enjoyed their meals together, made love tenderly, taken leisurely walks, held each other's hands, visited the attractions in the area... and now he was telling her that he wasn't all that into it, and hadn't actually been for a long time? Screw. Him.

She had headed home and for a quick change, before heading to the pub where she promptly began working her way through as many types of alcoholic beverages as she could. By a quarter past ten, she was well on her way to being properly inebriated; she had lost count of the drinks she'd had after the eighth concoction. She was just contemplating a little visit to Ron's apartment to tell him exactly what she thought of him when she became aware of someone towering over her. She turned and glared at the person who dared interrupt her private little pity party and found that she dimly recognized him. It was only fully registered when the stranger addressed her:

"Getting plastered solo in a bar, albeit a muggle one, doesn't seem particularly judicious - especially for you, Miss Granger."

"You!" Her stupefaction could not have been more apparent.

Severus Snape sneered, both at her expression and her alcohol-induced slur. "You might have had a little too much, don't you think?"

Hermione bristled, not in the mood to be patronized. "Yeah? What do you know?" she challenged. "And just who do you think you are, telling me what to do?" she added acidly, before pointedly downing the rest of her mojito.

Amused at having gotten her riled up so easily, his only response was to smirk.

Then, uninvited, he settled in the chair next to hers. Incensed, Hermione exhaled in a loud huff and crossing her arms over her chest. Ignoring her feeble attempt at protest, he waved a waitress over before ordering the next two rounds for both of them, belying his last comment. As she watched this turn of events, Hermione considered simply getting up and leaving but in truth, she was a little intrigued; here was a man who had all but disappeared from the eye of the British wizarding world.

Fine, she finally decided, her expression surly, let him sit here as he pleases - but if he thinks I'm going to be any proximation of good company, he'll be sorely disappointed.

However, Snape had not deigned to inquire why his ex-student and one of the brightest witches he had ever encountered was embroiled in an obvious attempt to drown her sorrows. In fact, if pressed, Hermione would admit that she honestly could not remember if any more words had been exchanged between over their drinks. They had simply sat knocking back the next few rounds in relatively companionable silence for which Hermione was loathe to admit she was grateful for: the pitiful sight she had surely made while binge-drinking earlier was further compounded by going at it solo. So despite her burgeoning curiosity about what Severus Snape was doing in a muggle bar himself, she had not pried any details from him either.

Instead, she contented herself by observing him out of the corner of her eye. His lank hair was slightly longer than it was when he had been at Hogwarts, and he was dressed inconspicuously in a black turtleneck sweater and dark blue jeans. The casual look was a far cry his all-black, dressed-to-intimidate look from her schooldays, although she rather thought it suited him. To her eye, he looked healthier and his face not quite as gaunt as it had been when she had last seen him - on trial for the murder of Albus Dumbledore for which he had been acquitted. She had never quite noticed before, but in such proximity, he seemed to exude a certain sense of mystery and charisma. In fact, she was more than a little surprised to see a few women cast flirtatious looks his way, although he seemed ignorant of the attention. Whatever Severus Snape had been doing for himself these few years, it was obviously good for him.

It was just after 2 am when she finally stumbled out onto the sidewalk, leaning rather heavily on him for support. Without so much as a goodbye or a parting wave, she had turned and was starting to walk in the opposite direction when he jerked on her arm.

"You're in no shape to Apparate," he stated, looking and sounding impressively sober. "I'll send you home."

"I'm fine," snapped Hermione, tugging her arm out of his grip and immediately losing her footing.

Snape grabbed her by the shoulders and narrowed his eyes. "Where do you live?" he growled, making it clear he would not take no for an answer.

Rolling her eyes, she told him.

In a few moments, they were at her door, his hand at the small of her back for support as she fumbled with her keys. As the door swung open, her keys slipped from her grasp. She snatched it up, realizing belatedly that her dress was maybe just a little too short to be carelessly bending over. Straightening up, she glanced at him and confirmed he had gotten an eyeful: his lips had parted in surprise, his eyes wide and glassy.

There was a pause and then they were moving towards each other like magnets. Their mouths met in a heated kiss, his adroit hands immediately exploring, warm and insistent on her pliant body.

They barely made it to her room.

Hermione was struck by the rather surreal situation only as he was sliding into her, a guttural groan escaping his lips. He began to move his hips rapidly, inciting her to buck wildly against him, fuelled by her simmering anger and humiliation from having being dumped through owl. At the back of her mind, she acknowledged a sort of satisfaction as she imagined what her ex-fiancé would say if he could see her now, shagging his least favorite teacher back at school.

A few minutes later, these vindictive thoughts were replaced by a different kind of gratification as she gasped and dug her nails into his back, her vision erupting into a blinding flash of light.

She had barely caught her breath when he jerked away from her. He reached out and deftly maneuvered her, positioning her on all fours before gripping her waist and plunging back in. She cried out involuntarily before recovering and moving back against him to meet his thrusts. It wasn't long before she was riding out another orgasm, her breath catching in her throat and fists clutching the sheets so hard her knuckles turned white. His own climax followed soon after; he grabbed her hair as he hissed through his teeth. Then, he collapsed heavily next to her and, sated from the sex and drowsy from the drinks imbibed earlier, she had fallen asleep.

When she awoke the next day, she found herself alone. Realistically, she had no expections of seeing him but she found herself distracted at work more than once, mentally replaying the unexpected night she'd had. It had been unlike anything she had ever experienced with Ron and if she was being completely honest, a part of her wanted an encore. So when she answered a knock at her door two nights later to find him leaning rather nonchalantly against the doorframe, a bottle of Merlot in hand and an eyebrow cocked questioningly, she let him in.

And so they had fallen into an unspoken arrangement for the next two months.

Both of them dispensed with the pretence of being friends but were cordial enough. Their exchanges were confined to analyzing news articles, discussing the latest acadamic journals or recommending literary material. Otherwise, their conversations included no more than a few perfunctory details such as the business he had established after his convalescence, although she had no idea what his specific dealings were, and she had mentioned her volunteer sessions at St Mungo's once or twice.

Then at the end of September, a thirty-something banker employed by a newly-established subsidiary of Gringott's, approached Hermione as she was leaving the establishment after having settled a few transactions and asked her out to dinner. After Flooing him to update him of the newest development in her life, Severus' visits had ceased and like before, she hadn't expected to hear from him.

Thus, the reason for her distress this morning was unmitigated. The day before was Halloween and she had come home from a wonderful trick-or-treating date with Klaus, whom she'd been seeing for a few weeks by now, to find him sitting on steps up to her house in a maudlin mood, his breath reeking of liquor.

In high spirits from her date, she had invited him in against her better judgement. Furthermore, she was well aware of the significance of the day and had thought he could do with some company, maybe even opening up if he needed to. Instead, he had ignored the cup of tea she placed on the table before them and remained staring sullenly at the wall above her fireplace. Her good mood and patience had worn down after nearly twenty-five minutes of trying to coax him to talk to her and she had risen from the sofa in annoyance.

She turned on her heel and was about to stomp off to bed when he had grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into his lap. In one swift motion, his lips closed down on hers, desperately seeking comfort. She had instinctively responded to the kiss, her hands going up to cup his face.

By the time a voice in her head reminded her of a certain blonde banker with whom things were going quite well, she became aware of the dampness seeping between her fingers. She pulled back and gazed at the silent tears trickling down his face, astounded at his emotional display. Her heart reacting on her behalf at his unfamiliar expression of vulnerability, she had drawn him into her arms and kissed the man who had lived almost unflinchingly through the Dark Lord's terror twice but could not vanquish his personal demons.

Now, in the cold light of the morning after, the impact of what they had done was hitting her. She was furious. She glared unseeingly at the roof of her four-poster bed, trying to calm her thoughts. He had been aware of her relationship - she had made it clear to him that Klaus was a real thing - and he had crossed the line! Granted, she wasn't entirely blameless, having allowed him to push her back into the sofa cushions, slide the hem of her nurse's costume up and take her... but really, didn't he know better?

She sat up abruptly in bed and shoved his arm off his face. "Severus! Wake up!" she hissed.

Severus emitted a growl at having his sleep interrupted as he turned and squinted up at her. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

His expression bordered on incredulous. "What?" he repeated.

"I mean, this - last night... you, in my bed", she could barely conceal the rising hysteria in her voice. "Klaus."

Severus shrugged. "He doesn't have to know," he answered, as if it was the most obvious answer, and closed his eyes.

Hermione gave him another shove. "That's not the point! This, this isn't what we - I do, and you know it."

"Do I?" He glared at her, all traces of sleep gone. Hermione's cheeks flamed at his insinuation. "And so what? What do you want me to say? It's done."

"So what? I'm seeing someone!" she sputtered "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Severus expression was a blank mask. His unspoken No hung in the air between them, taunting and defiant.

Hermione's guilt was irrepressible. "Promise me it won't happen again, Severus. I can't do this otherwise."

"Do what, exactly? Pity-fuck me behind your boyfriend's back?" he sneered. Then, acutely feeling his own shame at having cried in front of her the night before, he spat out, "Don't be obnoxious," before swinging his legs neatly off bed and stalking out of the room.

"Bastard," she muttered angrily, getting out of bed herself and stomping into the bathroom.

He knew what she meant and he was being deliberately odious. They had both understood that hooking up the past few months had been a conveniently-presented opportunity for indulgence and distraction. Now that she was in a relationship, however, she expected him to know the limit. Him seeking her out in a drunken state while morose and clearly lonely, and making a move on her far bypassed any semblance of boundaries. Hermione repressed a shiver. Not for the first time since Ron left her, she wasn't sure she knew who she was anymore.

As she got ready for work, she decided she would not tell her boyfriend. The night before had strictly been a one-off thing and what he didn't know couldn't possibly hurt him, right? Determined, she resolved not to let it happen again.

Two nights later, Hermione found herself strolling along the Thames after a lovely dinner with Klaus, admiring the lights from the cruises and buildings reflected in the water. She had always loved London. It reminded her of jaunts in the bustling city with her parents when she was younger, bringing to mind the idyllic days of her childhood: trips to numerous renown eating places, visiting established book stores and catching plays at the theatre.

On that particular Saturday evening, the air was a little chilly and she would have regretted her choice of attire - a white eyelet sundress with a bright vermillion cardigan and sandals - if not for the fact that she could do magic; whenever the cold became a little unbearable, she would surreptitiously cast a warming spell. Her date, having succumbed to being swathed in a woolen scarf, had been rather amused at her ingenuity.

Feeling a little tipsy from the wine Klaus had plied her with earlier, she impulsively paused by a streetlight and leaned over the barrier to wave back at one of the tourists when he put an arm around her and pulled her in for a kiss. Hermione reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him lesisurely. She hadn't felt quite as contented in awhile.

She was just getting lost in the taste of the moscato on his tongue when he pulled back and murmurred, "Shall we go back to mine?"

Hermione hesitated. They had not crossed that milestone in their relationship yet, and while it had only been a month, Klaus seemed like a personable, intelligent man and she like dhis company a lot. However, she was still feeling the pangs of conscience from her recent tumble with Severus and the thought of jumping into bed with Klaus right now seemed a little crass.

As if you being fuck buddies with Severus is any smarter, a snarky voice in her head whispered. She blinked at how unnervingly close that voice sounded like the person she was thinking about and felt uncomfortable.

Quickly, she pushed all thoughts of the acerbic man aside. She lifted up her chin and kissed Klaus, her warm breath coming out in a yes against his lips. He circled an arm around her waist and Apparated to his apartment where, without further ado, they got down to shedding all their clothes and climbing into Klaus' bed.

In no time, Hermione was on her back with her fingers tangled in Klaus' hair, her breathing getting more labored as he kissed and licked a trail from her mouth down to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. He finally made it down to the curve of her hip when the image of herself from a few nights ago popped into her head: she was straddling Severus on her couch, her hands skimming over her own breasts, riding him into oblivion. The guilt overwhelmed her again. This wasn't right - if she went through with this, she would be a terrible person. Moreover, she knew firsthand what being cheated on felt like; could she really inflict it on someone else?

She sat up abruptly, simultaneously pushing Klaus away. "I'm so sorry, I've got to go," she mumbled. "I can't do this."

Ignoring the hurt and confusion in his eyes, she gathered up her undergarments, and stuffed them haphazardly into her purse before throwing on her white sundress and light cardigan in quick succession.

"Is it me?" he managed to say before she left.

Hermione paused in the doorway, biting her lip nervously although he only saw the tense line of her back. "No, of course not," she said quickly. Then, without a backward glance, she rushed out into the street, shivering slightly.

She walked aimlessly down a few blocks, her thoughts a jumble, before finally finding a deserted alley. Glancing over her shoulder to ascertain no one was watching, she turned once, disapparating. When she opened her eyes, she was only half-surprised to find herself staring into the unseeing eyes of a brass knocker in the shape of a serpent. She lifted a fist to rap against the door.

Severus answered after she knocked none-too-gently a few times, and when he saw it was her, his nettled expression rearranged into that of a sardonic nature. Under his scrutiny, Hermione felt like an open book and she had to consciously refrain from flinching. Her despair that the sudden turn of events the night wrought was evident on her face and it didn't take long for him to put two and two together.

"Already?" he smirked.

"Shut up," she snapped, the ire in her voice discernable. "You know this is your fault."

He crossed his arms over his chest in his dissent. "Is it?"

"You can be such an arsehole," she mumbled before leaning forward, one hand grabbing him by the collar, the other snaking down to undo his belt. "But I just want to forget."

They made it as far as his kitchen table.