My entry for the lovedraughts fic challenge; post-Hogwarts but without Hermione being staff. It started off as a one-shot but I'm thinking of adding to it, so tell me what you think. Comments appreciated, and adored.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, unsurprisingly. Still belong to Ms Rowling, in fact, so I'm happy she doesn't sue.
"I'm sorry, I'm just not very hungry," Hermione explained as she looked up at a tutting Molly Weasley. Getting up from the table full of people she made a beeline for the door, hoping to escape back to her room, ostensibly, to spend more time with her books.
She was quite peckish, in fact, but nowhere near enough for her to be willing to stay in the overcrowded kitchen. Even if she had wanted to, she knew her appetite would soon be lost. Not only were the Weasley Boys' table manners dreadful, she was sick and tired of eating the same boring food day-in, day-out. It was just another thing that got to her, such as following the same routine of cleaning interspersed with far too little useful research, having to share a room with Ginny (who talked in her sleep almost constantly), and avoiding being subject to the idiotic pranks of Fred and George. She had previously hoped that her staying here at headquarters meant she could help with the war effort, but had no real idea if were at all worthwhile as she still hadn't been initiated yet. She'd already been here three weeks since leaving Hogwarts and was left thinking it was nothing but time wasted. Then there was the fact that poor Harry was sent back to the Dursley's, for reasons she really didn't understand at all. That frustration, coupled with the option of going out apparently not readily open to her left Hermione feeling stir-crazy, tetchy and thoroughly fed up.
She'd asked Dumbledore at one point if it were possible for her to go out for a meal, perhaps visit a bookstore, or have a walk in the local park. He'd smiled, in that somewhat irritating manner of his, and told her it wasn't possible, not unless a senior Order member were available to accompany her. She nearly decked him; he looked so bloody cheerful about it, and quickly realised that maybe being cooped up in Grimmauld place was getting to her even more than she'd originally thought.
Hermione knew the Order were all rather busy, to put it mildly, especially those who were actually allowed into the Top Secret Meetings, and so had no time to spend with her, outside the house or otherwise. Thus Hermione came to (almost) accept she was doomed to eating the same meals over and over again, looking over books that were in dire need of repair, and glaring at walls that seemed to be closing in on her a little more each time she looked at them.
Once, in a moment of inspiration, she'd offered to have a go at making dinner herself, in hopes of bettering the situation in some way. Mrs. Weasley looked so offended at the thought that Hermione decided to make herself scarce before the already strained relationship between the two turned into a battle of wills over who was the Woman Of The House. An absurd notion, of course, but Hermione did get the distinct impression she was supposed to be careful about encroaching upon Mothering Molly's territory, despite the fact it wasn't her bloody house.
Hermione didn't even want to cook; she just wanted something that wasn't hopelessly bland and horribly stodgy. Deep down, she knew this wasn't really about food or who got to cook it; it was about feeling her summer could be better spent. Most years she would spend time with her parents, go on holiday to France, Spain, or Italy. They'd have lovely dinners together, would spend some time going around local historical sites, and while away a few days on the beach. She'd passed on the option the past couple of years because there was a war going on, she felt better helping than sunning herself, but that didn't mean she wanted to be a virtual prisoner in the impossibly dreary and dank house of Black, the boredom was stifling.
Something had to change soon; she didn't like the idea of going mad one little bit .
..........................
A couple of hours later Hermione was disturbed by a commanding rap on her bedroom door, stumbling slightly over Ginny's usual clutter she made it to the door fairly quickly and without serious injury, which was more than she could say about most days. On opening the door Hermione was more than a little shocked to find Professor Snape on the other side. Wasn't he usually at Hogwarts, even during the summer? He avoided spending any more time at Grimmauld Place than he had to, she'd only seen two glimpses of him in the three weeks since leaving Hogwarts.
"Miss Granger," he greeted her with a slight formal bow that made her wonder if she had indeed gone mad, and ahead of schedule.
"Professor Snape, hello. Was there something you needed or...?"
"Yes, indeed, Miss Granger. I needed to ask your something of utmost importance." He looked a little different; Hermione noticed, looking closer she realised it looked like he'd actually washed his hair, and his billowing teaching robe was nowhere to be seen. It was quite unexpected, to say the least.
"It must remain completely confidential, you understand."
"Of course, Professor, ask away." He was being civil, and extremely formal; she wondered what he needed to ask of her, in fact she was sure if he didn't tell her soon the curiosity would kill her.
"Would you-"he hesitated and glanced both directions down the hallway before grasping her arms, with surprising care, and pushed Hermione back into the room before closing the door behind them. He made unflinching eye contact, moved subtly closer, so that the full lengths of their bodies were almost touching. His height was quite imposing, as always, but his demeanour wasn't what Hermione would call threatening.
A little alarmed, and strangely eager, Hermione couldn't help herself from urging him on, "Would I what, sir?"
His gaze dropped a little before meeting her eyes again; more intense this time, and she had the distinct impression he had been looking at her breasts before pushing the thought away as highly unlikely. As if Snape would do such a thing, it wasn't as if he was here to ask-
"Miss Granger, would you permit me to take you out to dinner?"
Oh.
Maybe he had looked at her breasts, then. Maybe he even liked them. Odd thought, that. Snape liked her breasts, and possibly the rest of her too. He knew she was intelligent, and he'd asked her out. For dinner , a date: just the two of them. It was really a quite appealing thought, strangely enough, and not just because she'd get to leave the house for a bit. Maybe she had gone mad, if so... it didn't feel so awful.
Snape, having watched the play of emotions across Hermione's face, started to falter just a little. He was nervous, but Miss Granger did not need to know that. Whatever her answer he vowed he would not regret having asked. It was time he took a risk on his own behalf, and, if she agreed, if she would have him ... it was well worth any potential humiliation, and the imbeciles that were her friends were hardly enough to deter him. He had considered several of the Order members would frown on his decision, but that wasn't a new experience, they often disagreed with his Slytherin thinking.
The fact was, Hermione Granger was no longer his student, and he found her attractive and engaging -- her intelligence was exceptional, and he found her often-forceful nature and hunger for more hugely exciting now that she was older. He found himself impatient to become better acquainted with Hermione than their previous relationship permitted. He had I waited , as close to patiently as he got, and now he would try his hand at being happy . True to his house, his did not lack ambition: to have her was his goal. He did not intend to fail.
If only she would agree to dine with him, he could show her there was more to him than sneering and sarcasm. He was a difficult, peevish sort of man, yes, nothing short of ill natured, in fact, around those he did not like, and even those he did in his more ornery moments, which were frequent. Despite this, he dared to have hope that if she could ever love him, if she would share his bed, he would spare her the worst of his vicious tongue, and said tongue put it to better use.
She just needed to say yes first. He willed her to answer soon: silently urging her to tell him her decision one way or the other, the anticipation was almost painful.
Watching him carefully, Hermione made her decision, he'd made such an effort, after all, and she really was very willing to go.
"Yes, I – I think I would like that, thank you." Her smile was shy, but genuine, and Snape answered her in kind; that almost shook her more than his asking her to dinner.
"I will leave you now if you wish to change," he stated after noting her slightly rumpled jeans and t-shirt.
"Oh! Yes, I won't take too long, I hope. Can't promise anything though, I'm a bit of a mess," she babbled as her small, delicate fingers tucked her unruly hair behind one ear. Severus thought her exquisite; well worth the wait.
Sounding somewhat terse he told her, "Nonsense, you look beautiful," and headed towards the door leaving her reeling, yet again.
..........................
Standing in front of the mirror half an hour later, Hermione decided she didn't look half bad given how nervous she was. She'd managed to charm her hair into a simple (but elegant, or that's what she was going for) knot on top of her head and applied her make up without too many mistakes, despite her slightly shaking hands. The dress was perfect, at least. A dark plum colour, close to black, not too revealing on the cleavage front but leaving enough leg and back exposed to pull off demure-yet-sexy. She bloody well hoped.
This was a date, she wanted to look good, and somehow it'd mattered even more that he'd called her beautiful in jeans because it meant she didn't have to make this amount of effort every time she wanted to hear she was attractive. He liked her in normal, everyday clothes, so who knew what he'd think when she wore something nice. She looked forward to finding out.
Slipping on her shoes and putting some perfume on, she grabbed her bag and headed downstairs. Halfway down she realised there were other people in the house and maybe she should have tread more softly: the heels weren't exactly quiet, but it was too late now.
By the time she reached the bottom stair she could hear Ron, Ginny and a few others heading towards her from the kitchen, and decided if they made a fuss she would ignore it. She'd said she would go out with Snape, and she would. That was that.
"Hermione, what're you all dressed up for? Sneaking out?" Ron snorted, seeming to find the idea highly unlikely.
"No, I'm going out for dinner. I am not sneaking ."
"Out? Like a date , out? Who with?" Ginny inquired looking quite interested in this turn of events.
"But- Hermione, Dumbledore said you're not allowed out, none of us are."
"Not strictly true-" the crowd was getting bigger, this was silly, where was Snape?
"Miss Granger, I thought I made myself quite clear, dear. Your safety can only be assured if you are with an Order member," Dumbledore butted in. Hermione was getting irritated now.
"And I will be, since he's my date. You don't need to worry." She spotted Snape standing in the doorway of the sitting room, looking rather amused. He raised one dark eyebrow as their eyes met and she smiled despite her irritation.
"There you are, Severus , I was wondering if I'd been stood up." She mock glared and then made her way towards him, happy that he hadn't objected to her calling him by his given name.
"Never," he murmured before he pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Hermione blushed with pleasure as he took the same hand and led her towards the front door. She looked back to take a last look at the silent group gathered by the stairs.
Ron had turned a funny colour, Ginny's eyes were huge, Dumbledore looked confused, which meant he didn't know what was going on, for a change. Professor Lupin looked like he was stuck between laughing and frowning, and Mrs Weasley, who'd just arrived and caught up with what was going on, looked like she was about to start shouting but Hermione had no intentions of sticking around for that: it was all oddly satisfying.
Hermione laughed softly as the door swung shut and decided it best not to call back "Don't wait up!"
But it was a very near thing.
..........................
Snape could be almost charming, in his own twisted way, and most fun when he relaxed a little.
At the start of the night he'd continued on with the polite formality, but Hermione felt it better for him to be more like his usual self, she was used to his cutting remarks and dry wit after all, she'd explained, a date with Severus Snape wouldn't quite be the same without it. He seemed more at ease, then, seemingly comforted in some way that she didn't mind his tendency to be less than congenial.
"I see the Gryffindor bravery is very much apparent tonight," he'd stated, looking at her with a sort of longing that made her feel butterflies, she'd though that would never happen to her, she'd never felt them before.
"Well, it seems I've thrown my nervousness aside for the night, I think that scene back at headquarters broke the ice." The wine is also helping she mentally added, as she took another sip from her half-full glass. It was her third.
"Indeed." He looked smug for a moment and Hermione realised he liked throwing people off balance; enjoyed keeping them guessing as to what his motives were, she wondered if that was why he'd asked her out, to create some drama and confusion, or if he did genuinely like her.
Snape must have sensed something about her doubts because he reached for her hand across the table and rubbed soothing circles that sent tingles up her arm. "I must admit, I did quite enjoy the reactions, but I had not anticipated they would.. see us off, as it were. I had hoped we could slip out unnoticed."
"Oh, yes, you didn't want me to tell anyone. Confidential. I forgot." She looked uncomfortable, that would not do.
"No, you misunderstand me, Hermione," he enjoyed the shudder her name on his lips provoked in her, even as he savoured the taste and shape of the word, "I wanted you to be comfortable with telling others of our.... excursion" he seemed disdainful of the word 'date', "but I must admit, I was not entirely sure you would agree to such a thing, nor did I know if you'd be open to what it could lead to." The word 'sex' seemed to echo in Hermione's head so loudly she almost missed the rest of his speech "If you had refused, then I would have preferred that you kept to yourself I had asked, I do not take ridicule well."
"You think people would poke fun at you for wanting to be with me."
"Quite. If I were turned down flat, certainly. Lusting after someone who has recently been your student invites comment, if I had been unsuccessful and word had gotten out the labels 'pathetic sod' and 'letch' would likely be applied in short measure."
"Lusting? You've been lusting after me?" Hermione exclaimed, sounding quite taken with the idea. Snape's wonderfully arched eyebrow raised again. "Don't ask silly questions, Miss Granger, such things are beneath a young woman of your intellect and character."
"That's a yes, then." Hermione beamed, as she tried to restrain herself from bursting into helpless laughter.
She got an indulgent eye-roll, and she shook her head at how surreal this all was.
"What about now?"
"Now, Miss Granger?" She had no idea just how he could imbue so much innuendo into such a short phrase, but it was enough for her to lose her train of thought for several seconds.
"Don't distract me with that tone of voice yet, Professor," she retorted playfully, flushed pink, "the main course hasn't even arrived yet."
The smile he gave her then was so suggestive she almost smacked him. "I will do my best to restrain myself until after dessert."
"You do that." She told herself that suggesting they skip dessert so he could have her instead was wildly hypocritical – she'd be showing no restraint at all -- and so she left the thought unspoken. She could wait .
"I was saying: what will they call you now, since I accepted your offer, and all that could potentially follow it." She sounded slightly breathless for the last bit, a glance in his direction told her he'd noticed. His eyes glittered darkly and she fought the urge to fidget.
"'A lucky bastard' would be my best guess," he stated with an expression of utmost seriousness.
She did smack him that time, but thankfully he didn't kill her. Sodding wine.
..........................
It was really very enjoyable, sharing a meal together, some compelling conversation, and some well-spent time. Eventually, several bottles of wine were shared, too, and then the wicked sense of humour each possessed came into play again, seemingly leaving them closer to friendship that they had ever hoped to be. Several dinners were shared this way, neither deigning to tell others what it was, exactly, that they enjoyed about one another's company. Both were content to think of these evenings as an oasis, private time. Their waiting for the next step. It slid between them, raising goose bumps on skin, tugging on the corners of their lips, creating a new awareness, a new frisson between the two. It was irresistible.
Hermione knew, to most people, Severus Snape was not an attractive man, he in fact often went out of his way to be as unappealing as possible to those whom crossed his path, but...
For her, there was the certain softness in his eyes she found captivating, the dark fall of his hair about his face appealed, too, and the smile he bestowed upon her (unexpected, breathtaking, hopeful) was a sight that always left her reeling. His elegant, meticulous hands, and the antiquated clothing suited the fluid way he moved so well, he simply flowed . His voice could make words sound inviting, terrifying, teasing, or several things at once. She couldn't bear to be without it.
Hermione found him an odd, unknowing and utterly devastating sort of beautiful, she found him addictive and, for all his (many, obvious) imperfections, he was her ideal; sod what any other person thought or said.
She wanted to see him at an ungodly early hour, sleep ruffled, undone, defences down and open to her. Completely, wonderfully vulnerable; wanted to know he could be that with her. For her. Ached to press benevolent, desiring kisses against his stubble-rough skin, wished to wrap him in an amatory embrace that left no more doubt, or space, between them.
She imagined that he permeates her very being; she hoped he thought the same of her. She wanted him to breathe her in, fuck her senseless, and read her poetry in a silky contented purr.
She wants so much, and this, this she thinks could be within reach.
She's entirely aware her perhaps desultory thoughts on him are at least in part due to the wine, but the truth remains: she'll still want Severus Snape in the morning, every morning, and despite the fact that this is a somewhat terrifying prospect, she's happy that it's the truth.
..........................
Snape started to actually use his room at Grimmauld Place, finding comfort in knowing he and Hermione slept under the same roof again. He spent his days there, too, when he could, enjoying Hermione's company in a quiet sort of way, showing affection towards her that would easily be dismissed by most as casual, but from Snape meant everything.
Much to the shock of Harry when he had finally escaped the Dursley's, Hermione was enamoured with Snape, just as he was with her.
Snape lost none of his venom towards anyone other than Hermione; he didn't seem at all changed to most, and so they wondered what she saw in him, even as she wondered how they didn't see his behaviour, his armour , for what it was. It was there to keep people away, but she he held close.
The first time he kissed her she thought it terribly awkward, until he angled his head just so, and then it was perfect, his nose pressed against her cheek, his warm firm lips moving against her own, and the glorious slide of his tongue into her mouth. She'd told him afterwards, dazed and happy, that he should teach more than just Potions at Hogwarts. He pretended not to be deliriously happy that she thought him so talented, while she pretended she was just joking.
..........................
Two weeks after their first dinner together, she decided it was time to move the relationship beyond the kissing stage, as wonderful as it was she was ready to move on to bigger things . Severus, despite his sometimes-suggestive quips and sensual manner hadn't taken the initiative yet, he'd likely felt he shouldn't rush her, this meant she'd need to show him she wanted to be rushed , as it were, because if she didn't get him into bed soon the nearest horizontal surface would do. Or vertical, for that matter, she was open to suggestions, really, which was why she hoped he'd make some. She didn't want to have to wait much longer, and she expected him to do better than leave her wanting.
Which was why Hermione nearly screamed (in fear before she realised who it was, and then delight) when, on her way back from a nice long shower, wrapped only in a towel, Snape had pushed her against the wall of the hallway, his kisses harsh and dizzying. He was demanding and thrilling in his intensity, his hands seeking to help her towards the fevered state he was in, as he pressed, hot and hard, against her stomach.
He soon decided, despite his advanced state of arousal, that it could wait until they made it to his room. He liked an audience for many things, but not for this.
She took delight in the feel of the cool cotton sheets against her overheated skin, she'd thought it among the most pleasant feelings in existence, but then there was the feel of Snape on top of her, moving over her, and then he was there, just where she'd wanted him, moving, rocking, pushing her towards a climax that made her feel weak and exhilarated, and burning all at once. When she had opened her eyes again, a couple of minutes later she saw him, dark eyes consuming, staring down at her. Reverent, beautiful Severus, moving slowly against her, creating a wonderful friction with a luxurious slide and a hitch of his hips.
Moisture beads on his skin called to her and she pressed her lips against his collarbone, licked a meandering line along his throat and he groaned, a delicious aching sound, and took his time enjoying the feel of her, before speeding up, urgent movements, hitting her at an angle that made the room spin a little, her fingers curled against his shoulders, traced down his spine, and dug into his buttocks as he thrust hard, and she rejoiced in the look on his face as he came, almost sobbing her name, the pressure that had been building again inside her exploded outwards as he pressed down on her pelvis, and they enjoyed the aftershocks that faded slowly, ebbing away, leaving them breathless and whisper-close on crumpled sheets.
As Severus curled his fingers in her damp hair, mouthing loving sentiments into her ear (those she knew not to expect from him any place other than the space between mind-blowing sex and sated sleep) she vowed to never underestimate Severus Snape again.
..........................
The next morning, as they practically tumbled out of bed and headed towards the bathroom for a shared shower, before going down to breakfast, they end up dodging knowing looks, disgusted grimaces, and undisguised interest from various parties. It was then that Snape murmured into Hermione's ear, right at the breakfast table, that he had forgotten to apply the appropriate silencing spells last night, and it's entirely likely half the house heard them.
She didn't feel terribly hungry anymore, at least not enough to eat the porridge Mrs Weasley brought to the table.
Torn between dealing with a house of people all too knowledgeable about the status of her relationship, (right down to the, how-many-times-a-night and how-loud-are-you-in-bed questions) and going back to Hogwarts with Severus to help with his very interesting research they'd discussed at 4am that morning, she chose the nice, big, almost empty and nosy-parker-free castle. There they probably wouldn't have to worry about anyone listening in during sex, which suited Hermione perfectly. She supposed that had been what Snape had been counting on, but she'd let this one slide.
If he wanted her to move in with him so badly, he only had to ask; no need for 'accidents' with silencing charms, honestly . At least she hoped it was Slytherin guile at work, and not at indicator that where sex was involved he forgot to work even the most basic of spells. She thought the former more likely.
Either way, if he got around to proposing she fully intended to make him wait for her answer: no matter she'd already decided to say yes.
It'd serve him right.