Author's note: I don't own it. I didn't come up with the HP universe, but I appreciate the ability to play in it. Again, no Beta, so let me know if you spot wretched errors, and I'll fix them - or if you want to Beta! This shouldn't be a long story - maybe two to four chapters. It wormed into my head this morning over breakfast. The characters are a little OOC. I don't know if I can actually see Hermione getting into this sort of bet, but.. what if?! It's obviously AU, after the war, and I"m assuming that Dumbledore survived in some slight of hand trick. Well, it is intended to be a bit of a fun diversion. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!
In the Spirit of Competition
Hermione had begun her apprenticeship shortly after completing her term at the Magical University of London. She had double majored in Transfiguration and Charms, and having recently acquired an apprenticeship in Transfiguration at Hogwarts, she was determined to complete her mastery in her favorite subject. It really was a shame, she reflected, as she took another bite of toast, that she couldn't have triple majored. Licking a bit of marmalade from her lip, she contemplated the possibility of majoring in Potion's as well. A quick flick of her eyes revealed that Severus still occupied his chair at the end of the table. He seemed to be glaring at her. What was new?
"I bet he secretly likes you," came a whisper as the chair beside her pushed back. "Abbie!" She exclaimed as the new Charms apprentice joined her. "No," she shook her head. "You have no idea of the history between us."
Abbie shrugged and cutting her eyes askance, said knowingly, "Mmm, maybe, but he always seems to look at you when you come in for breakfast or when you speak up in the staff meetings." The girl said as she smeared marmalade on her own toast and poured herself a cup of tea. Munching on noisily on her toast, she began to speak, and Hermione wrinkled her nose at the site of masticated toast that Abbie presented as she spoke. She giggled at Hermione's expression, "Sorry," She covered her mouth and continued to speak softly, "I think those sneers are a put on," She remarked, looking up at the man in question, who now wore a disgusted look as he glared at Abbie. Hermione gasped as the cheeky girl winked at Severus.
Hermione couldn't see his reaction as the new professor for Writing and Letters sat down next to Severus, blocking their view. The woman was in her late 30's, plump, and quite average. She did have a kind-of pretty face, Hermione thought to herself, but lately she had the tendency of slicking her hair back and putting it in a bun, which did nothing for the roundness of her chin. The girls caught glimpses of them as Severus looked forward and seemed to ignore the woman, talking out of the side of his mouth when she asked a question but never really meeting her gaze. Hermione liked the woman, Calliope. She was kind, and she had worked with Hermione to develop curriculum for the third years that would prepare them better for the work they would need to accomplish in Transfiguration. Calliope was creating a citation manual based on a muggle British Standard citation style she had used in college.
A half-blood, her muggle mother had demanded that the girl attend muggle private school followed by college. So, her father had been in charge of home schooling her in magic. She had majored in Composition and Literature and had loved it. The woman had even let Hermione peruse her overloaded bookshelves, allowing her to borrow many works of literature that she had never read. It was better than a bookstore because the pages of the books were marked with interesting notes that always had her thinking about the characters and settings allegorically.
Abbie snapped her finger, bringing Hermione back to the present. A rueful smile spread across Abbie's face, "thinking about him again?" the young, beautiful woman teased.
"No, I was actually thinking of Calliope," arching her brow, Hermione shook her head at her incorrigible friend and returned to her breakfast.
"Mmph," Abbie commented, her words unintelligible through the toast she struggled to chew. She took a drink of tea washing it down.
"Really, Abbie, your eating habits are worse than Ron's," She chuckled.
"How is he?" The brunette asked, her dark eyes gleaming with interest at the mention of Ron's name.
Hermione had long since decided that she and Ron were not compatible, but Harry and Ron had come to visit her on several occasions. On the last, she had introduced Ron and Abbie, and since, she had continually fielded Ron's questions via letter and Abbie's daily probing about her friend.
Both started as a chair scraped back loudly. Looking over they spotted Severus standing and Calliope following him, though more quietly. "You heard he was giving her lessons?" Abbie narrowed her eyes as they left.
"Yes, and Professor Flitwick is teaching her charms, right?" Hermione asked, "It's a shame that some people are never able to attend Hogwarts," her eyes followed Calliope and Snape, who seemed bent on keeping some kind of special barrier between them. His long legged stride made it difficult for the petite woman to keep up. "I bet the Headmaster forced Snape to give her lessons," Hermione mused in a thoughtful voice.
Abbie snorted, "Yeah, it's not like he would willingly agree to be locked alone with her for hours. I don't know what's up with her hair, but it's awful. When she got here, she left it down, and it was quite pretty. But with it pulled back like that, and have you seen it? By lunchtime it is positively frizzy and her face gets all oily, must be the potions, but would YOU do something about that?" Shaking her head full of inky sausage curls, she picked up her second piece of toast and began to chew thoughtfully.
"Oh no," Hermione murmured, "You have that look again."
Abbie smirked, turning to her friend slowly. "You know, I've caught him glaring at me too." She wagged her eyebrows.
"It couldn't be due to your tendency to speak while your mouth is full; one could hardly fail to notice, Abbie." Hermione said ruefully.
Rolling her eyes, Abbie explained, "Look, I know he thinks I'm beautiful. I mean, every man I've ever met has said so – not that it means anything to me," She shrugged nonchalantly. And Hermione knew she spoke the truth. Abbie didn't care what she looked like; she was far more interested in Charms and.. Quidditch. She was a very aggressive player, and on the last occasion that the boys had visited, she had joined the pick-up game they had started, summarily slaughtering Ron and giving Harry a run for his money. She took care of herself as well as Lavender, though lacked the sort of snobbish pretense that the popular girl had put on. Abbie was beautiful but very likable, down to earth. Being pretty was just some weird coincidence she accepted … and used when it suited her. She was . . . a Slytherin, after all, and Hermione adored her for it.
"So, you have deduced that because Severus Snapes scowls at you, that he fancies you? And what, pray tell, are you going to do with this information. Mind you, I think your mad and completely off base, but I'm curious to see what your mind has cooked up this time." She said skeptically. Sometimes hanging around with Abbie could be just as bad or worse because of the high jinx she often got drug into. She could put Ron and Harry to shame.
Abbie grinned, "See, that's where you are wrong. I'm completely on base. I've been watching him every time either of us is around, and I've seen the way his eyes follow you and well, particularly the way he catalogs where I am in a room, Hermione." The brunette protested.
Sighing, Hermione explained, "He was a spy, Abbie. It was his JOB to know where everyone was in a room, and I'm telling you he probably knows something is up because of the way you've been acting. He doesn't trust anyone. I mean, you see the way he keeps Calliope at a distance, and she's the kindest, gentlest, most unassuming woman I've ever met!" screwing up her face, Hermione shook her head. I think you're wrong.
"Well," grinning rakishly, Abbie proposed, "Let's say we make a wager, in the spirit of friendly competition?" Sipping her tea noisily and drawing a scowl from Professor McGonnegall, Abbie continued, "I'll wager you my new Vestonian bag. Oh yes, I've seen the way you drool over it, and you, what will you wager?" The Slytherin asked, cutting her eyes at Hermione.
"I'm not about to wager anything without knowing what we are betting on. I may be a Gryffindor, but I wasn't born yesterday." She huffed, shaking her wild mane of curly hair, which age had tamed into thight honeyed corkscrew curls. Unbeknownst to her, she was just as lovely as Abbie, the two, opposite ends of the same coin. Where Hermione was fair and creamy, Abbie's skin was beautifully dusky, a warm color redolent with imagery of spice and nectar. Hermione's hair tended toward a golden brown, while Abbies brown locks were so dark as to seem almost black. Their faces were similarly delicate with finely wrought noses and large eyes. Hermione's amber orbs were clever and fetching while Abbie's smoldered with the dark promise of knowledge and cunning. Any man would do well to be wary when those two heads were put together, and Severus Snape was no fool.
However, Hermione's mind was on the Vestonina bag. They were very pricy, and they had an expandable charm, a weightless charm, and a lifetime guarantee. It put her beaded back to shame. Not to mention, it was made from indestructible dragon-hide that came in a variety of colors (if you could find one). Abbie's was a sensible warm-brown shade that shimmered like gold in the sunlight, and Hermione had lusted after it from the moment her eyes had caught sight of it. Abbie knew that sealing this deal was merely a matter of formality.
"Alright, the rules of the bet: We have until the end of the summer to fulfill the parameters of the bet, so eight weeks. If the nature of the bet is revealed to anyone, the deal is off." The Slytherin said slyly, "No spells, potions, or trickery can be used to achieve the bargain – other than womanly wiles. That means no polyjuice." She smiled knowingly at Hermione's puzzled expression. "The bet:" She whispered, " Whoever manages to kiss Snape first, wins, and I don't mean forcibly attacking him. I mean – you both lean in and kiss. It doesn't have to involve tongue." She said, wrenching her face as if to suggest that the mere thought was disgusting.
"Abbie," Hermione said warily, "I think it would be wrong to toy with a man's affections like that, if you're not serious." She warned.
Abbie schooled her features, "Yes, but if you have an understanding, you know, 'I'm not looking for anything serious,' and you get a kiss. You can easily continue an association and even turn it into an association that benefits you. It doesn't hurt to know a Potion's master that well or someone who understands the Dark Arts. Just think of what he could teach you." She whispered.
"Yes, but I'm sure if you asked, Professor Snape, however crossly, would teach you whatever you want to know within reason or provide a potion if it was necessary. I'm sure he would ask for payment or something that would benefit him in some way. He is a Slytherin, but if you think he won't smell this plot a mile away, you're barking." Hermione countered.
"You're no fun," Abbie sighed.
The Gryffindor barked a laugh, covering her mouth and giving Professor McGonnegal a sheepish look, "You've only just discovered this?" She teased. "Listen, let's say I indulge you and … bet my Oxeanath boots against your bag." She grinned as Abbies eyes glittered enviously. The black boots in question were dangerous, seriously dangerous, having several magical blades disguised in the heel and toe. They were invaluable for her tromps into the forest. They were imbued with charms that could allow the wearer to almost fly for a short space, time enough to extract ones self from trouble, and the retractable blades worked on voice command to eject and eliminate a target. Hermione had purchased them with Acromantula's in mind. She loved visiting the forest, but she had no desire to become something's lunch.
"You're on," The eager Slytherin agreed.
"I haven't finished," Hermione warned, "So, let's say I agree to this bet. I'll wager you a counter bet that he confronts one or both of us knowing the exact details of the bet. The same rules apply. You can't tell anyone, and you can't use magic or magical devices. So, no memory modification or Occulmancy." Hermione offered.
"What? How on earth is he going to guess exactly what we are up to?" The girl remarked incredulously. By now the great hall was empty, and it was time to leave for their duties.
Hermione rose swiftly, whispering, "He's been a teacher at Hogwarts for just about all of his Adult life. You don't think he's had something like this pulled on him before?" She said exasperatedly, feeling more than a little guilty for even entertaining this bet, but the call of that bag was wickedly enticing. What if she convinced Severus that she needed someone to kiss her to break a spell? Or , well, she couldn't tell him of the bet, but what if she made a deal with him in exchange for a platonic kiss? Her mind raced trying to determine what she could barter with him for a kiss.
"I don't think so, not if you're careful," the brunette replied skeptically, "I mean, you're the weak link, and if anyone is going to give it away . . . " Abbie said only half teasing.
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Have you listened to none of the stories that Ron and Harry have told? I'm quite capable of pulling this off," She said assuaging her wounded pride.
Cocking her eyebrow as if she had just won a prize, Abby asked, "So, deal?" She stretched out her hand and Hermione took it carefully.
"Deal," The Gryffindor agreed, wondering what sort of epic mistake she had just made and all for a Vestonian bag.