Day 2
Snape really does have a nice neck, Hermione thought as she glanced at him over her mobile. She blinked, startled at her brain's wanderings, and, as though he could sense it, he whipped his black eyes to hers. "May I help you, Miss Granger?"
She fought the impulse to wince at the biting sound in his voice and shout, Sir, yes, sir! She wasn't a child anymore, damn it, but ever since he got here, she'd been experiencing curious flashbacks to her tormented Hogwarts years. "No, Professor. I was simply wondering how you were enjoying your accommodations." She made an exaggerated sweeping motion with her arm as she gestured to her home.
Yes, Snape was staying at her home, her bloody home, all thanks to Rita bloody Skeeter. If it weren't for the paid vacation that Snape-sitting afforded her, she'd have had Skeeter sacked immediately. It was monstrous the woman was still considered a journalist in the first place.
"The accommodations, Miss Granger, are adequate. Though certainly not without its... flaws." He made a point to sneer directly at her before he returned to The Daily Prophet. It was an older edition, from several weeks before. 'Snape Returns From the Veil,' it proclaimed, continuing: After Rita Skeeter broke the news that "the bravest man Harry Potter ever knew" was back from the dead, having not aged ten minutes, rumors swarmed over the Dark Prince's motivations. 'It may very well be a terrible curse,' one anonymous letter to the editor proclaimed. 'It may be You-Know-Who in disguise!' another Howler shrieked. It was only when Hermione Granger agreed to monitor the former Potions Professor for a number of weeks did the public breathe a sigh of relief and begin to celebrate- rather than condemn- his return. Neither Granger, nor Snape, could be reached for comment at this time. Hermione sighed and opened her eyes. She knew the article practically by heart.
"You know, Professor, it was either two weeks here or three months in the mental health ward at St. Mungo's."
"May I remind you that I was, indeed, present when I was sentenced-"
"It wasn't a sentencing-"
"When my captivity was scheduled, then." Snape stood, glaring. "I thought I had made myself clear yesterday regarding the issue of us speaking to each other, but it appears that the brightest witch has…" he regarded her with nothing but disdain, "...dimmed."
Hermione thought he expected her to react in some sort of dramatic, teenage fashion. Perhaps call him a wanker, or stalk off, weeping. Or both. But hell, she was the mother of teenagers now. He was going to have to try a lot harder than that.
When she simply raised an eyebrow at him, he stomped closer to her. "Miss Granger, do allow me to reiterate my request. For the duration of my… schedule… let us both pretend the other isn't here. Do I make myself clear?"
She dropped her eyes to his neck, the only bit of skin the Professor displayed, besides his hands and face, of course. Yes, the Nagini bite was there- pale and faded. But there were also the veins and muscles, accentuated by the afternoon light. And his Adam's apple, bobbing. She could almost hear Ginny, doing her sing-song voice. You know what they say about enormous Adam's apples…
"Miss Granger?"
"It's Ms. Granger, sir. We are now nearly the same age, and I am divorced and twice a mother."
"Nearly the same age, Ms. Granger? If I recall, I am still thirty-seven, while you appear much closer to your fifties."
Well, that one did sting, a bit. Hermione prided herself on her impeccable skincare routine. She was just carded the other week in Muggle London! "What the hell are you going on about, Professor?"
"Mr. Snape, since we are now contemporaries, as you insist." He studied her face with a sneer. "You look no older than forty-nine."
"I'll have you know that I drink seven glasses of water a day and get a full nine hours of sleep every-" Hermione had marched to the nearest framed mirror. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
"Language, Ms. Granger." He had taken a step back, but seemed to be curious as to what caused her outburst.
She sighed. "I don't appear fifty, professor. I am merely about to get a migraine. A nasty one, from the looks of it."
Yes, all the tell-tale signs were there. Blue circles under red eyes. Bit of a sniffle. Her lips were all swollen and tingly. She eyed him from the reflection. "You're just in luck, Mr. Snape. Pretending you don't exist should be rather easy for the next three days."
Day 4
Hermione groaned from her bed. She'd just brushed her teeth and changed from one pair of pajamas to the next, and, her body insisting that was quite enough for one day, had plopped right back on the covers. She couldn't believe how hard her head was still throbbing- usually that bit only lasted 12 hours- but she suspected the added stress of her new housemate wasn't helping in the least.
She sandwiched her head with a pillow and was just wondering if she had the energy to pop on season two of Luke Cage when there was the slightest rap. It was so soft, she was convinced she was simply hearing a loud clock ticking out of nowhere, but then it happened again.
"Ms. Granger?" It was muffled, but she couldn't deny it any longer. Mr. Let's-Pretend-the-Other-isn't-There was just outside her bedroom door.
She made to lift her torso, but immediately knew that wasn't going to happen. "Come in, please," she called.
The door creaked open and for a few moments, she heard nothing. A great deal of thoughts fell upon her at once. First, she was glad that she'd picked up her bedroom before his arrival, even though, at the time, she was convinced there would be no bedroom appearances for Snape. She was also glad that it was dark, per the needs of her migraine, as she didn't need for him to take a look at her face and proclaim her thirty five years to now resemble one hundred and thirty five.
And finally, she also was a bit dismayed that she hadn't reached for any lip balm before calling him in. Lip balm? She chuckled to herself. Why the hell would I need lip balm?
"Is something amusing, Ms. Granger?"
He was probably standing just by her bedside, but somehow, the deep gravel of Snape's voice seemed to vibrate directly to her clit. A warmth spread over her abdomen, culminating in the tightening of her nipples. When she peeked at him from under her pillow, she was shocked to find him gazing at her with concern. His lips were pursed, and plump, and pink, and she imagined what they would taste like and nearly gasped when another wave of lust came over her.
Oh, she thought idly. Perhaps that's why I wanted lip balm.
"You are not well," he said.
She involuntarily squeezed her thighs together. "No," she agreed.
"I have brought you a potion."
"Headache potions don't help with my migraines anymore."
"It is not a common headache potion."
She shrugged, pushed her torso up with great effort, and accepted the bottle.
"You will need breakfast with the potion."
"I'm- I'm not very hungry.
"I gathered that from the fact that you haven't eaten in nearly two days."
She glanced up at him and downed the potion. It tasted a bit like root vegetables. All in all, not that bad for a magical potion. "Hmm." A moment later, she glanced around, the throb in her head immediately gone. "Oh, Gods! That's amazing."
Snape flicked his wand and a tray settled itself on her lap. Eggs Benedict with buttered toast. Her mouth watered. She grabbed the fork, and he watched as she took her first bite. She couldn't stop the groan- who knew Snape could cook? "Gods, thank you. This is incredible."
Apparently satisfied, he left her room without a word.
x
It must've been the migraine. Now that Hermione was showered and dressed, she could hardly remember the lusty mood that had nearly ended her an hour earlier. Migraines do weird things to people, she reminded herself. Sometimes she couldn't even speak in proper sentences in the throes of a particularly bad one. So yes, it had to have been the migraine, and now the migraine was gone, and therefore improper Snape-thoughts were well behind her.
She walked downstairs and found him reading, leaning against the fireplace. See, she thought. Just the dungeon bat. Nothing even remotely sexy about the git.
Except that neck, something in her subconscious murmured. She swatted the unwelcome thought away, which prompted the glare of Snape.
"Ms. Granger," he said, sounding genuinely appalled. "Where is your clothing?"
Hermione glanced down at her spaghetti-strap tank top and cut-off short shorts. "What? I'm wearing both tops and bottoms." She eyed him and his thousand-buttoned get-up. "Just because my wrists are showing doesn't mean that I'm not wearing clothes. Besides." She grabbed her floppy straw hat from the entryway. "I'm going into the garden. Care to join me?"
"No." He was back to his book.
She paused. "What exactly was that potion, anyway? I've tried everything for migraines, but nothing has-"
"It was one of my own."
His tone made it clear that was all she was getting out of him. "Fine," she said, stomping past him to the back door.
"Ahhh," she sighed as she shut it behind her, closing her eyes to the scent of dirt and blooms that overcame her. Gardening was one of the things she scarcely had time for since her recent promotion, and she'd been missing it something awful.
She started in the herb spiral, pulling the dried basil to make room for their baby volunteers, then cutting back the mint. She trimmed the spent blooms off the roses- her absolute favorite sort, English tea. Pink and peach and bi-colored orange and white, all stuffed with so many petals, it was hard to believe there was room for them all. She cut several perfect blooms and put them aside.
After harvesting a few vegetables, she let herself lie in the lavender, her favorite gardening past time. The breeze brought the sweet, licorice scent to her nose, and she lazily watched the bumblebees fly back and forth, completely unbothered by her presence.
She felt his eyes upon her as she stretched, her shirt riding up her belly. She glanced at the house, and while she couldn't see his face, his form on the window was unmistakable. He's probably jealous he's not in the lavender, she thought and she pulled her hat right over her head and decided it was high time for a cat nap.
Before she dozed off, she thought, It hasn't been nearly as bad as I thought. Maybe Snape-sitting would be a smooth ride, after all. Although, something in her subconscious added, I wouldn't object if there were a literal ride at some point...
And then, before she could slap herself silly, she was out.
I know. I am MONTHS behind on AASIR & The Lemon Tree, and now I'm putting out a new fic? I apologize, sincerely. I'm preparing for book revisions on a novel that is getting published (omg!) and, out of nowhere, this plot bunny hit me right in the head and wouldn't stop. So one day, while I had a terrible migraine, I slapped a little story together. It's pretty short, smutty, and sweet (I hope), and I hope you all enjoy while I get ready to return to my other fics very, very soon!