"Excuse me? I didn't order this."

Hermione Granger sat at the bar alone, fidgeting slightly on the tall wooden stool and folding and refolding the napkin that had been left under her first drink. She'd looked up to notice that she'd been silently gifted a second Firewhisky by the bartender.

She had chosen this particular bar, located in depths of a renovated section of Diagon Alley, because, oddly enough, it was a place where she still had to pay for a drink. At all of the other pubs nearby, famous war heroes drank as often as they pleased, and as much as they pleased, without concerning themselves with starting a tab. The only price was recognition.

Tonight, however, she craved anonymity. She knew she would never truly achieve that—she was recognized wherever she went—but there were times when she deeply appreciated when those around her acted as though she was just another witch. She was just another witch. Sometimes she didn't want to be seen as a war hero and the best friend of the savior of the wizarding world. Sometimes she just wanted to be a witch sitting at a bar nursing a drink. This was one of those times.

It was Saturday evening, and surprisingly, the new bar was mostly empty, which was perfect for what she needed to do: mourn what she thought she had found in Ron.

The problem with breaking up with Ron was that on nights like this one, she lost Harry too. Well, she never truly, fully lost him of course, but she was certain that somewhere tonight, Harry and Ginny were snuggled up in a booth enjoying free Firewhiskys and fawning attention from the waitress and Ron was chasing anything nearby sporting a skirt and a hefty rack. Harry hadn't invited her to tag along.

Hermione supposed her best friend was trying to spare her from having to witness it all—how happy he and Ginny were, and how much of a rat Ron turned out to be. Harry's instincts were right of course; she didn't have the strength to endure one of those nights. Everything was still to raw.

"Compliments of that wizard," the barkeep nodded toward the dark corner of the room as he picked up a glass to polish it clean.

She followed the bartender's nod to see him seated in dark corner of the bar, alone at a table with his drink. His obsidian eyes met hers as she turned to look in his direction.

She remembered the last time she had seen him...

He had been surveying her all night, staring at her unabashedly from the corner of the room as he stood with his back leaning against the far wall. Even when others approached and spoke to him, he didn't turn towards them when replying; his black eyes remained on her no matter what happened around him. He had done this since the end of the war, at every single party, at every single gathering, at Grimmauld Place or not…he simply stared at her. Relentlessly.

It was partially unnerving, partially intoxicating. He seemed to be publicly claiming his desire for her. People had begun to talk.

And it had infuriated Ron.

The celebration party where she had seen him last was yet another wild one. The party was noisy and raucous; wizards and witches were out of control, drunk with the madness of victory, trying to fill the gaping hole left from the war with lighter memories. It was an empty endeavor of course; drunken revelry never truly soothed the ache of loss that continued to blanket their lives. But they were going to try, nonetheless.

Presumably, he had followed her when she had gone to the bathroom. When she came out of the toilet, he grabbed her and pulled her into the adjacent room and warded the door.

"What are you doing, Professor?" she managed through the fog of drink.

Instead of answering her, he pulled her to him and kissed her, deeply and passionately, and, after the smallest of moments, she felt herself respond in kind, wrapping her arms around him, her tongue responding urgently to his, her breath quickening, her panties becoming wet with desire.

Eventually, she broke off and breathed, "I have to go."

"I will allow it…for now." She looked at him through the fog of the butterbeer and realized…he's serious. Just as she thought to turn and go, he took her by the nape of the neck and pulled her into one last deep kiss. She closed her eyes, and by the time she opened them again, still dizzy and breathless, he had already turned away and was leaving the room. She collapsed onto a chair for a moment to regain her composure. When she returned to the sitting room, he had already left. And that was the last time she had seen him.

How long had it been since that night? Had it truly been a few months since the last licentious victory party at Grimmauld Place? On an impulse, she grabbed her cloak and her drink and rose, striding towards him, not knowing if he even wanted company. He must, right? He had sent her the drink, hadn't he?

"Thank you," she said as she approached the table.

"Certainly. Would you care to join me, Miss Granger?" He rose to pull out a wooden chair for her and she settled into it. "It's a rare evening that sees you here. And alone. Are you well?"

She smiled ruefully looking down at her drink. "Ronald Weasley is a fucking bastard."

"Indeed. If for nothing more than conspiring to leave such a stunning creature as yourself alone in this hovel on a Saturday evening. It's unconscionable."

The look on his face said he wasn't exaggerating. She huffed a laugh, trying to hide her embarrassment at the outright compliment. No one had ever called her stunning before, least of all, Ron. "I'm afraid it's far more than that. But this isn't exactly news to you, is it, Professor?"

"Severus, Miss Granger. I am no longer a professor, as I'm certain you are aware."

"Severus, then." She paused, noticing his drink was almost empty. "May I buy you another, Severus?" His given name on her tongue was…delicious.

"Indeed."

"What would you like?"

His eyes glittered dangerously while openly surveying her. You, his infinitely dark eyes said. It was the imprecise words she had chosen. She must be better with her questions, more careful. "For now, Lagavulin. Neat."

Scotch, she supposed, by the sound of it. She got up and went to the bar to get him one. She returned with the partially full glass, its smoky scent intriguing her.

"Thank you, Miss Granger."

"Hermione."

"Thank you, Hermione," he said, something unreadable in his dark eyes.

"Certainly."

After a moment, he said simply, "Let me help."

The situation with Ron, she assumed. "It's complicated, far too complicated to explain." She took a swallow of her own drink.

"Try me." His lips curled in a smirk. He was not asking her to explain the complications of her relationship with Ron, was he?

She decided to ignore his innuendo, for now. "He's indecisive. Self-absorbed. Obsessed with fame. He prefers…well, the closest witch who lifts her skirt. I found that I couldn't live that way. It doesn't matter. It was short lived, and we are no longer together. And for that, I'm relieved. More than relieved. Grateful that it's over."

"You need someone single-mindedly dedicated to pleasing you."

She huffed another laugh and took a swallow of her Firewhisky. "Does that wizard even exist?"

"He does," he said seriously, shamelessly staring at her.

Music started, a slow, sultry tune, and she turned to gaze longingly at several couples on the floor who had started to walk to the dance floor.

"Dance with me," he said, standing and holding out his hand to her.

She was too stunned to react at first; she just stared at his hand. He wants to dance with me? Regaining her composure, she stood and took it. "Thank you."

As they reached the floor, he pulled her close. She could smell the essence of him on his raven frock coat, the Severus of him. His hand settled into the small of her back, guiding her, commanding her steps. It was…intoxicating. He pulled her even closer, leading without hesitation, then leaned to breathe in her ear to say, "Have dinner with me."

"When?" The single word was all she could manage.

"Now."

Without awaiting her answer, he led her from the floor by the hand, stopping at the dark corner table for their cloaks, then exiting the side door into a dark alley. He pulled her to him and they spun away.