Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise, I'm making no profit, etc.
Author's Notes: You know how it goes, the runt of the plot bunnies hops by, bites, you gotta do something about it. This lighthearted bit just flowed freely - a welcome respite from my scrambling to write the sixth chapter of Masquerade, which let me tell you, is scaring me a bit! SO much pressure. Anyway! This is Post-DH, Snape lives, sometime after the war, definitely EPE, and I suppose could be considered fluffy. You've been warned!
"Well I heard, from my brother's flatmate's cousin who works at the Ministry, that she broke up with Severus Snape because she was keen on Ginny Weasley of the Holyhead Harpies."
"What? Snape from Hogwarts? No, last I heard from my mum's friend who works with Harry Potter's assistant in the Auror Office was that Granger dumped Ron Weasley to go out with Draco Malfoy."
"Look, all I'm telling you is that I know for a fact, through a friend, that Snape actually encouraged Granger to get herself a girlfriend so he could fool around with both of them."
"Yeah well, Harry Potter would probably take Snape down. Everyone knows Potter attends every Harpies match to see Ginny Weasley."
Severus Snape snorted in derision. The rest of it was pathetic tripe and beneath his acknowledgement, but Potter defeating him in a duel was an untenable rumour he would not abide.
He made to rise from his shadowy seat in the pub booth, but a wild mane of curly brown hair suddenly overrode his every good sense, and he settled back down into his seat as Hermione Granger joined him in the booth.
"Mother of Merlin," she panted heavily, removing her scarf and shedding her cloak. "It's nasty out there today."
He gave her a sardonic smirk. "I'm afraid it's no better in here."
She looked around and her shoulders slumped when she saw the evening edition of the Daily Prophet on almost every table in the pub; its front page featured a picture of she and Ginny embracing warmly, and Hermione drawing back to give her a peck on the cheek before Ginny accidentally moved her head too soon and their lips met.
"Shite," she muttered.
"I'm curious," he mused, dark brow arched. "How is it you get yourself into these situations?"
Hermione huffed a tendril of hair out of her face. "Rita Skeeter has had it out for me since my fourth year. That hag is relentless."
"Am I to assume, then, that you haven't switched teams?" he quipped.
She growled at him. "Severus. Stop it. Can we move on please?" She dug into her bag, retrieving several books along with a parchment and quill.
"My, my, we are in a hurry this evening. Do you have a secret rendezvous planned?" He was mercilessly teasing her, but he found himself genuinely curious, even if he knew he didn't have a chance with his younger sometimes-colleague.
Hermione waved to Smith the bartender, who always seemed to know exactly when she needed a pint. She took the floating mug from the air and gulped at it greedily, then set it down to glare at Severus, who was watching her with amusement.
"I must say, you wear a moustache quite well," he drawled, his eyes caught on the froth that had gathered over her upper lip. He had the ridiculous urge to lean over and lick it off. What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Severus?
With an embarrassed little gasp, she used the back of her hand, covered by her Muggle jumper, to wipe the froth from her lips.
"Next trial run dates for this project?" she barked in demand, trying to get down to business and forget all about the crazy day she'd had.
"What if old Snape wanted her to snag Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter for his infamous depraved sexual desires?" one of the patrons at the next table asked loudly, then burped.
Hermione's eyes turned fiery, and Severus was shocked that daggers didn't fly out of the honey brown orbs straight into the chest of the man who'd uttered such rubbish.
She turned her glare on Severus who held up his hands in mock surrender.
"Doesn't any of it bother you?" she questioned him, before taking another gulp of her ale.
"Rumours have been circulating about me for many a year, my dear. I'm wholly unconcerned about the flagrant drivel I hear." He was more concerned about her reputation, being so young and brilliant and out to prove herself in the Wizarding community. But he kept that to himself.
And why are you keeping it to yourself, Severus? You've been friends for nearly a year now. She obviously enjoys working with you. Tell her! It was as if there were two of him inside his head, one battling in favor of revealing his feelings for Hermione to her, and the other immediately chastising himself for even thinking about it.
His eyes roved over her and he felt his heart thud in his chest. Damn, she was a sight when she was riled. She had a froth moustache again, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to resist the urge to remove it with his lips and tongue.
Another patron from the same table speculated in a near-shout over the noise of the pub, "Granger was once with Harry Potter. D'ya think Snape stole her from him? Maybe when she was still in school?"
"That does it," she ground out.
Before Severus could stop her she was on her feet and approaching the round table next to the bar where the gossiping wizards sat.
"You've got some nerve," she raged, her hands waving wildly in the air. "Severus Snape is braver than all four of you Neanderthals combined! He's brilliant and kind and he saved all of your arses, and your family's arses, and your friends' arses, and-"
"That's enough," came a deep voice behind her, and large hands clasped over her upper arms and drew her away. Severus practically dragged her back to the booth and then pushed her in, sliding in beside her so she couldn't get out again.
"I will not stand for it, Severus, I really will not. I've had quite enough!"
He was smirking at her, enraging her further. Shaking in righteous indignity, she curled her hand around her pint and chugged, hoping the alcohol would work quickly to soothe her frayed nerves.
She noticed Severus was still staring at her, and she jutted her chin up as she stared right back, unrepentant.
"What?" she demanded haughtily.
"Forgive me," he drawled, his deep voice washing over her as his hand cupped her chin. "This will probably give them something to talk about."
And his dark head dipped, and his tongue traced over the bow of her upper lip, before his lips enclosed hers and he sucked any remaining froth away.
When he drew back, she blinked up at him in disbelief.
"What in the hell, Severus?" A blush was rouging her cheeks, creeping down her neck to the sweetheart line of her jumper.
A camera flashed and she cursed; Severus rolled his eyes skyward.
"Happy now? You've certainly given them something to talk about." She eyed him warily.
"I shall owl Miss Weasley and ask her forgiveness for stealing you back," he said mockingly.
"No but, what in the actual hell, Severus?" She gazed up at him in puzzlement.
He steeled himself, finally deciding to man up, for better or for worse.
"The truth is, Hermione… I'd be willing to give them a lot more to talk about, if you'd be in agreement."
Her eyes widened. And then a smile lit her face, and she scooted closer to him in the booth. "Rumour has it you have taken a fancy to me, you know." She reached up tentatively, stroking her hands up his chest to rest lightly on his shoulders.
"For once, the rumours would be true," he murmured, his gaze boring into hers. "And I also heard," he ventured hesitantly, "that you fancy me, as well." He arched a brow. "From my employer's friend's girlfriend, obviously."
Hermione grinned. "I think you can trust that source."
He bent his head to find her lips once more, kissing her properly this time, his hand tangling into her hair as their tongues met eagerly and she pressed her body to his.
Another camera flash went off, and they pulled away from one another, breathless.
"Let's get out of here," Hermione suggested. "Before the entire morning edition is about us."
"Indeed," Severus agreed, inwardly smiling at his rapid pulse. Us with her sounded so damn good.
As she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the exit, he found himself oddly grateful for the rumours printed by the Daily Prophet for the first - and most likely the only - time.