Chapter 4: Dismantled

When he set out that morning to London and Diagon Alley, he found a note beneath his wand, and in careful feminine handwriting had been her measurements, bless her or curse her, for he had not been able to ask those details the night before. Or that morning. Or possibly ever. Head of House and her (former, now) teacher that he was, he was still a man and she was a young woman, and he was not about to open any can of worms that involved Hermione Granger's panties.

Forget the Dark Lord Voldemort, it was Granger who was truly going to be the death of him.

After a quick stop at a pharmacy for her first request, and then an even quicker stop at a ladies' store for her second (he'd passed the paper to an clerk and asked her to choose for him—and had completely ignored her when she had asked if he had any preference for sports-wear, comfort, style or cut, finally adding a scathing, "Whatever a young lady would like best, and be quick about it"—much to his later dismay), he found himself pausing outside a shop he had not deliberately meant to encounter, but found rather convenient. Perhaps too convenient.

Was he worrying too much, showing too much of his concern, if he were to enter and procure something from this particular shop, he wondered? Would it send the wrong message, or indicate he was worried he was not coming back, if he were to bring home a long, rectangular box with the familiar signature cover?

Or was he having premonitions again, and simply being practical?

Going on instinct, he pushed the door open and found the old man at the counter look up rather suddenly, openly suspicious.

"Can I help you?" the thin man behind the scarred counter asked coldly.

"Yes, unfortunately," the potions master replied, his hand already on his money pouch. "I believe you are familiar with a certain Hogwarts student witch who went missing some time ago? Prominent, Muggle-born, remorselessly precocious...?"

She had a book of Dark magic open on her lap and a cup of tea in her hand as he opened the door early that afternoon, and immediately placed both on the end table beside her to help him bring in his purchases.

"You've been busy," she took several of the proffered bags from him, moving them into the sitting room.

He held out another few bags for her, keeping several at his side, and went to drop his shoes at the rack at the side of the door.

"Most are for you," he explained in a pained voice. Really, when had women's undergarments become so ridiculously expensive? He was amazed they wore anything under their robes, if this was how much it cost. No wonder other men bought their lovers lingerie—it was obviously as much of an investment as jewellery.

Raising an eyebrow, Hermione peeked into a bag and let out a girlish squeal.

His heart seized in his chest. Oh gods, had he bought the wrong stuff? Fuck it all, he was not going back to that awful place; he would just need to transfigure them into fitting if they were wrong.

"These are perfect, thank you!"

—And then he nearly had heart failure when she threw her arms around him in a spontaneous embrace.

"And so many! Oh, you got me some shirts and trousers, too! Thank you so much, Professor Snape!"

She was still holding on far too tight to be appropriate, and all the bouncing and jiggling were doing awful things to him, and it was far too hot, and really uncomfortable, and had she just called him 'Professor'? Oh sweet Merlin—

"Severus will do," he explained in a strained voice. "Now release me."

"Oh! Sorry, yes,… Severus. Thank you again," she beamed up at him.

After that display, he was a bit worried about how she would take the rest, but felt it better to get it all out of the way in one go.

"Here are your razors, as requested."

Another squeal, but at his glare she calmed and refrained from bouncing or throwing her arms around him again, thank the gods.

He passed her another few bags, pointing out other items that he thought she may need while he was away. More quills, ink, books, even some snacks and, much to her amusement, a bottle or two of Muggle soda pop, after hearing her mumbling complaints to herself a few mornings back. Even a hairbrush of her own, for which he nearly suffered another enthusiastic hug, much to his chagrin.

The long box in his robe burned against his side as he considered the last gift.

He knew she was not defenceless as she was—if she thought he had not noticed her growing inventory of poisons and assault potions, liquid hexes and fire-spray hidden away behind the bathroom cupboard, she was a sorry spy indeed. But he also knew his presence was what kept away the worst of any possible offenders who may seek to do her harm. With him leaving for an extended, continuous, period of time, there was no guarantee his position as her keeper would be enough to protect her. All it would take…

He pushed the thought away firmly, and that thought was all it took for him to take out the last item.

He took her hands in his, and looked at her meaningfully, placing the box in them and clasping them over the cover.

"I intend to come back," he said, already sensing the panic that had seeped into her at her realisation of what he had put in her hands. "And you can defend yourself quite well without me," he admitted wryly, "However I am not stupid, or trusting or naïve. You are a very capable witch. But you are not invincible. Do nothing stupid," he intoned severely, holding her gaze meaningfully. "I expect you to take care of yourself, Granger."

"Hermione," she said automatically, her eyes never leaving his.

He frowned in confusion.

"You said to call you Severus, so call me Hermione… We are… sort of sleeping together, after all," she said, just as dryly as he had earlier.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her bite her lip a bit nervously, but she stood her ground.

He was a little impressed with her audacity, truth be told, and felt the corner of his lips turn up slightly.

"Very well, Hermione. Promise me you will do nothing stupid with this."

"You have my word, Severus."

He would never admit that those five words made his stomach flutter as much as they made his heart relieved. Perhaps moreso.

Eyeing the wand she now held, she lifted it up and made a few experimental flicks in the air, the sparkles and showers of twinkling mist that spat from the tip, smiling more and more intently as she felt the magic in her respond immediately.

"It's a good fit then," he said, half-statement, half-question.

"Oh yes," she said throatily.

And there went his stomach again, tripping over itself for no reason at all.

"Well then, I'm going to have some tea. Don't hex me with your new toy," he said off-hand, and went to put the kettle on.

"Okay." She paused and watched him go, then her face lit up deviously.

"I'm going to try on my new underwear!" she exclaimed, and ran off with her bags rustling beside her.

Said kettle banged loudly on the stove, and he distinctly heard Hermione snicker from their room.

The woman did not need to use a wand to curse him, damn her.

AN: As this is a shorter chapter, we'll have to see about arranging an extra update for you later this month, shall we?