Author's Note: You are all so wonderful, and your reception for this fic has been so warm and kind that I thought I'd surprise you with an extra chapter this week. (The next one is Tuesday. I hope. I've set an alarm on my phone, even!)

Also, special shout-out to the awesome person who purchased a pillowcase from my Etsy, Stitchumsempra! (Advanced Potions Making pillowcases coming soon, btw!)

As always, thank you for your support and reviews, they mean everything to me. :)


Chapter 4

If she'd noticed his stiffness and the hint of a flush on his cheeks in the few days of testing charms in potions, Hermione did not say anything, and Severus counted himself lucky that the heat of the room could attest to his unusual color. She, on the other hand, had been dressing in what looked to be soft jumpers and Muggle jeans.

Oh, how he wanted to touch those jumpers.

Instead, he shoved a journal and a stylo at her—why risk the splatters of ink in documenting research when he could simply use a damn pen?—and set to work, chopping and slicing.

"Do you think it's going to work?" Came the voice hovering by his elbow, and he gave her a dry look.

"Hermione, surely by now I've impressed upon you that brewing successfully does require some level of conviction for your success?" He slid the oak cutting board aside and selected the maple one before handing her the grater. "If you're going to insist on pestering me, make yourself useful. Two fingers, set in the green glass bowl to your left. Two fingers more, in the blue glass bowl."

"Your fingers or mine?" she asked without thinking, and flushed to the roots of her hair. Thankfully, he'd already turned back to his work bench, and she quickly bent to the task.

"Mine," he replied hoarsely, and she winced at the sound. She shouldn't have made him talk when he was slicing Manganese pepper root.

Severus heard the rasp of the grater and exhaled shakily, willing the blood in his body to return to other regions—namely his fingers, which flexed on the knife handle. Damn being a man and so quick to arousal! He took a calming breath, ignoring the minor irritation of the root. It was worse than chopping onions, but even a mild containment spell on the unprepared root would damage the magical properties it held.

"Have you thought of a face mask?" Hermione asked as she grated, carefully gauging the height. "You know, like a Muggle surgeon's mask? Or one of the ones they use when putting in drywall?"

He flushed. She would ask that. "If you were doing this task, Hermione, I would have procured one for you." He sliced several more thin rounds before admitting: "They do not fit properly for my physiognomy."

"Oh." She pondered that as well, and he heard her tapping the grater against the bowl. "One down—hand me another of these, will you?"

"Cross-contamination." He jerked his chin at the basket in front of him. "Should only take one other. I had the boy harvest four. They keep well enough under stasis."

"Oops." Carefully, Hermione reached in front of him, keeping her hair back and sending the gentle scent of her perfume wafting towards him. It took great control for him not to inhale it, instead slowing his pace so she could safely procure another Sicilian lemon—magical variety, and difficult to grow under hothouse conditions. It was a testament to Sprout's talents that the tree he'd had her plant almost a decade ago was thriving and able to bear fruit.

The tree itself had been a gift from Lucius back before he had lost so much of his fortune—oh, sod it all. Gifts. Christmas. It would be expected this year as he would be accompanying her to her friends': he couldn't just toss any old book at her. Even though he knew enough of her book collection to correctly gift her with volumes she didn't yet have and knew she would enjoy, it would be Christmas as both a colleague and at the bloody Burrow. He was going to be judged on his gift to her.

Frowning, he set aside the pepper root. Was he supposed to find gifts for the Weasleys? Would they accept him not hexing anyone for at least an hour as a gift? Were they even aware that their erstwhile friend had invited him? Scowling, he switched to the plastic cutting board and began hacking away at the lavender. He'd have to ask Hermione.

"Have you made this anti-depressant often? I don't see a recipe book."

"Hermione—"

"I know, I know, you're concentrating. Sorry." She tapped the grater against the second bowl. "What next?"

Sparing her a glance, he nodded towards the cauldrons. "You may decant those if you'd like—Pepper Up for Poppy. I'll take them up later."

For a while the only sounds were his knife, the rustle of the lavender—why it had to be fresh when dried was easier to work with...hmm...he should experiment with that later—and the quiet clink of glass against metal as she carefully measured the potion into individual doses. Once, the potions had been in larger bottles, relying on Poppy to measure each, but Severus had put an end to that for the basic potions. Prefects, the Head Boy, the Head Girl, and the Heads of House had the password to the cabinet holding basic remedies—Pepper Up, Headache Relief, menstrual relief—in individual doses. The potions were mild enough that no measuring for height, weight, or age was necessary, and it had saved Poppy several sleepless nights.

How she'd gotten Horace to comply with Severus's system was beyond him—he rather liked to imagine the tubby blowhard pinned against the wall by the aged medi-witch upon seeing the giant bottles of potions... "Old Sluggy" had been useless when Severus was a student, and the man had only marginally redeemed himself since. Wanker.

No, don't think that word!

Grateful that she was across the room, Severus fought down the blush. For Merlin's sakes, he was too old for this foolishness. Besides, she cared for someone else, per her own conversation with Irma.

Well, he'd just have to go to the bloody Christmas thing and find out who, exactly, his competition was so he could destroy them. The sudden thought of gifting Potter or Weasley a stack of them-centric filthy novels while their friends and family looked on filled him with malicious glee.


By Friday, Hermione was dreading the weekend. Last Christmas, when they'd first worked together, he'd disappeared to his cottage and hadn't returned to the school until the last possible minute. This year, she'd spent the entire week with him, watching his brilliance at work and trying to attract his attention with jumpers that practically screamed "I'm soft, touch me" and wearing jeans rather than skirts, her hair up and down...

She'd even spent an aggravating hour trying to paint her nails to some degree of tidiness, and had spent another fifteen minutes trying to get lacquer out of her sitting room rug. Hell, she'd worn lipstick and a little more shadow than normal, feeling very not-herself.

Nothing seemed to work, and after the holiday, he was likely to retreat to his dungeons or cottage for a reprieve, and nothing would have changed.

Again.

For another year.

Hermione scowled and sank deeper into her bubble bath. Damn the man. And damn her cowardice. She should just say something to him. Right, like that would go over well. She'd lose her very best friend! Closing her eyes, she could just envision the sneer he'd affix to those wicked lips, could hear his acidic rejection. She just knew which tone he'd choose to put her in her place. Could feel the zing of his wards closing her out...

Even hypothetically, it broke her heart, and she wiped the hot tears from her face, careful not to smear bubbles into her eyes and just make it worse.

I'm a coward.


"What time would you like to leave tomorrow?" Hermione asked from his elbow, her wild hair once again too close to the cauldron for his liking.

Startled, he glanced down at her, almost faltering in his stirring rhythm. "Tomorrow? I thought Christmas, not Christmas Eve."

"Oh, sorry... I didn't explain?" Her smile distinctly said that she had done so deliberately to trap him, and he scowled at her. The chit—that was how she'd tricked him into going to dinner with her and her parents on her birthday a few years back. She leaned back on her elbows, and he used his spare hand to brush her curls away from the burner, annoyed.

"You know you didn't. Either tie back your damn hair or sit at the table."

Hermione just smiled at him wider and pulled an elastic from her pocket, plaiting her hair with absurd ease. "Usually, we have a quiet Christmas Eve, then sleep over. Christmas morning means breakfast and gifts, and, of course, Christmas dinner...I don't show up until late, usually after Christmas Eve dinner, so I can be here for the students. Would you like to go earlier? Later?"

"Am I expected to purchase gifts for your odious friends?" He'd rather not go at all—the mere fact that he was attending was surely broadcasting his feelings towards her. He was likely to embarrass himself at this rate, confessing his feelings towards her.

She giggled, nonplussed at his insults and neatly breaking him from his reverie. "If you did, they'd probably die of shock, you know... I can just imagine all the spells they'd cast to try to verify that you didn't poison them or something. But, no—I've taken care of presents, since you're my guest. Don't worry about it. They're actually all thrilled that you're finally coming."

He snorted, crushing a handful of hartshare and stirring it in. Well, one less obligation to worry about. "As long as no one intends to shove me into something 'cheerful', I would be amenable to arriving at your normal hour."

"I don't know about cheerful, but you should probably wear something a little less severe. I know you have some jumpers." She peered into the cauldron. "That's a pretty shade of green."

"The final product is more of a goldenrod," he said stiffly. "And you are trying to change the subject. Is it necessary to wear something other than my normal attire?"

"Not at all. I just like seeing you in jumpers is all. You look very nice right now, but it's a holiday and even you should relax a bit." Her watch chimed and she swore. He raised an eyebrow. "What? Just because I don't swear often doesn't mean I can't or won't, Severus. I have tea with Minerva in ten; will you be in the staff lounge before dinner today?"

"Perhaps." Her lips twitched into a smile—clearly she knew that meant 'yes'.

"Okay. See you later."

He frowned as she left his lab. She was acting strangely again. If he hadn't been so paranoid with his wards, he would have worried that someone had been pretending to be Hermione. No, that was her magical signature that crossed his wards, her perfume... Maybe it was close to her cycle and that was why she was being oddly flirtatious towards him. Was she using him as practice?

No, that was daft, even by Gryffindor standards. Hermione was above such things, surely, or least she'd outgrown it. He vaguely recalled something petty from her school days, but it was unimportant, he supposed. She was an intelligent witch, and knew better than to work so hard to force him to accept her as a friend just to toy with him.

Brow furrowing, he added four drops of acid, stirring counter-clockwise with rapid strokes. Damn Hermione and her offhand comments... he'd have to unearth some less formal clothing. A sallow flush stained his cheeks and he found a smile creeping across his face before he quashed it ruthlessly.

She thinks I look nice.


She was waiting for him after Christmas Eve dinner, dressed neatly in a pea coat and a knit cap pulled down to her ears and her hair fluffing out underneath it.

"Hullo! All set?" She beamed at him, small bag dangling from her wrist by one of her mittens. "Dinner went well, and I actually managed to finish up grading those essays. I also took a look at those stories again."

"Not here," he hissed, shifting his own worn black traveling case to his other hand to grasp her arm and drag her towards the doors as she laughed gaily. "Have some discretion, witch! Some of the students remaining over the holidays are underage!"

Her eyes sparkled up at him and she pushed her hair over her shoulder. "Sorry."

"Wait!" She bumped into him as he stopped suddenly. "Where are your things?"

"Here." The wrist from which the small bag hung waved in front of his face.

"Undetectable extension charm?"

Hermione smiled again. "Got it in one. It's really very handy, and it means less luggage for me, especially when I have to cart presents from one place to another."

His hand tightened on his leather bag. Her present was tucked away inside. Would she like it? But she was tugging on his arm now, urging him down the path to the gates and Apparition point, their breath frosting in the air. Vaguely, he wondered if anyone was watching, and if so, what they would think of the bushy-haired Transfiguration Professor dragging their surly Potions Master down a snow-covered path as his heavy traveling cloak billowed behind him, the two of them carrying small bags.

Oh, hell, they'd probably start a horrific rumor that they were dating... Perhaps if such a rumor circulated it would give him the chance to gauge Hermione's reaction to such a thing? Hmm.

She looked so bright and shiny compared to him. He shouldn't have done this, he reflected morosely as she led them out of earshot of the castle. Not for the first time he was grateful for the Warming Charms, and he cursed the distance to the gates. Hermione was so vibrant, always clean and while her clothes were rumpled they were usually in good stead. He, however, was dark and dour, completely unsuited to her. His hair was impossible to keep clean, despite his attempts, and if one looked closely at his clothes, they would find them clearly not-new.

Granted, it was senseless to continuously purchase new clothing when elves or charms could repair damage caused by asinine students, and he'd always been rather frugal, a carry-over from childhood. And it didn't help that Hogwarts had been suffering from a bit of financial difficulty lately, repairs and the like coming before salary raises for staff. But he still couldn't help but feel rather shabby with his slightly frayed cuffs and scuffed travel bag next to Hermione.

"Are we far enough now?" she asked cheekily, intruding upon his thoughts.

Severus scowled, reclaiming his arm to resettle his scarf about his neck. When the cold air hit the scars they ached, and he'd neglected to pack the warming ointment. Briefly, he considered stalking back to the castle for it, but discarded the idea. Pointless for one evening. He could always soak a cloth in hot water and apply it.

"Yes," he ground out.

"Good. As I was saying, I took another look at those stories. I was trying to find a common theme to them, but there isn't, really, so it looks like they're from various authors, or as near as I can tell with the limited sample I have, anyway. I'm not too keen on going back to Madame Puddifoot's and purchasing more, either." Her breath steamed in the air as she paused to gather her thoughts. "So, there must be a way to submit to the publisher."

Merlin, he hadn't thought of that. Damn it! How could they have missed such an obvious thing?

"I still don't think any of them have ever had sex," she complained. "Have you paid any attention to the pacing and positions? It's mad! One minute people are facing each other, then turned around, on a table or counter, then magically on a bed...I tried to twist myself into some of the positions they're describing, and they're physically impossible, unless I have someone remove my bones like Lockhart did to Harry's arm, do you remember?"

That earned a snort of derision from him. "That imbecile. He couldn't have healed a paper cut, let alone a broken bone."

Hermione giggled, her practical boots crunching through the snow as she trod alongside him. His own dragonhide boots left heavy imprints as his cloak swept behind them. The evening air was crisp and so cold it burned through his lungs. He refreshed his Warming Charm: he was too thin to be traipsing about outside so close to dark without his usual layers.

"How do you propose we locate the publisher? It's not like it's bloody emblazoned on the cover," he groused. Hermione pulled her cap down with a shiver and glanced up at him.

"It might be charmed so that the people featured cannot read it. I brought one to show Ginny, see if she can tell me."

"YOU WHAT?" he roared, stopping on the path and glowering at her.

"Save the rage," she told him curtly, tugging on his arms to uncross them. "I brought one of the ones featuring me, Severus. And I'm going to pull her aside and ask her in private. Have a little faith in me."

"I do," he managed, once he'd stopped seeing red. "It's your air-headed friends in whom I lack trust."

She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him. "Severus... I'd love for you to come with me, I do... but if you are only coming because you think you have to, I'll stay here with you instead. I don't want to push you into joining me. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

To his surprise, she looked more worried than upset, and he fought the sallow blush threatening to rise on his cheeks. When had she come to know him so well? "I am not attending under any sort of duress," he said stiffly his head tipping forward to better look at her, his hair brushing against his cheeks. "I am merely preparing myself for the onslaught of Gryffindor holiday cheer."

"Well, you managed that without sneering," she said ruefully, reaching up to push his hair back over his ears. Startled, he jerked back. "Sorry. I doubt they'll pester you too much, Severus. Just glower at them and I'm fairly certain you'll only have to talk to me, Molly, and Arthur. Maybe George. Everyone else is still ingrained to obey you."

He barked a laugh and pushed past her. Hermione laughed and followed him, catching up to him and matching his pace walking so close to him that her arm brushed his, and he allowed himself a small smile. "If only you lot had been so manageable in the past."

Hermione glanced up at his severe profile, glad that the cold masked her blush. He'd still chosen to come with her! It warmed her heart, and she fought not to reach out and grasp his hand.


Hermione jerked her head up from her book. What was that? It sounded oddly like Severus, but surely he would have placed a Silencing Charm on his door. The Burrow was eerily quiet: most everyone Silenced their rooms since the war (or since marriage), and Hermione was certain she was the only one awake.

Placing a piece of yarn in her spot as a bookmark, she shrugged a robe on over her thin nightgown and shoved her feet into her slippers, careful to step over the knitting project she had left on the floor, bespelled needles clacking away. The door to Ginny's old room creaked open and she listened, holding the robe closed just under her breasts.

It was faint, so that discounted Ron's room, shared by Ron and Susan. It wasn't likely to be the next room, either, which held George and Charlie – so she crept towards the stairs. Why the Burrow had been expanded vertically made no sense to her – surely a pregnant Molly had had trouble with the stairs!

She stepped carefully down the flight, listening. Well, it wasn't coming from Bill and Fleur. Dead silence. Harry and Ginny in Charlie's room was quiet, too. Percy's old room, though... yes, there it was again. Distressed moans. A soft whimper. She tapped softly on the door.

"Severus?" she whispered. "Severus, are you alright?"

There was no reply, just another suppressed groan, and it tugged at her heart, so she pushed the door open. "Severus? It's Hermione."

Lighting her wand with a soft glow, she pushed it into the room first, Shield Charm on the tip of her tongue. "Severus?"

The light illuminated the room and the narrow bed, allowing her to see Severus in stark relief, his head thrown back as it tossed from side to side. Sweat plastered his already-lank hair to his skull, and his hands balled into fists, tangling the sheets. It broke her heart to see his uneven teeth clenched, his chest heaving and the sounds that escaped him... Hastily, she slipped into the room and closed the door. He wouldn't want anyone to see this, likely not even her, but too bad for him.

Casting a swift Shield on herself, she crept forward, closer to the bed. "Severus?"

She gasped as his wand dug into her neck, his face suddenly looming in front of hers, a snarl on his lips. As quickly as he'd awoken he looked startled, sad, apologetic, and something else, and his wand pulled back. "Granger?"

"Hermione," she chided, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he muttered sourly, sitting up with a protest of the bedsprings. "Clearly, I neglected to cast a Silencing Charm. Too used to my own rooms."

"It's alright. I think I'm the only other one who didn't have one up; I don't usually cast it until I'm able to sleep."

He snorted, pushing his sweat-dampened hair back with one long-fingered hand that trembled in the wandlight. "You? Trouble sleeping? And what, pray tell, renders this a difficulty for you, Hermione? Trying to finish one last chapter?"

"Nightmares," she told him curtly. "I find that it's easier to stay up exhausting myself reading so I have a greater chance at not dreaming."

Severus was quiet for a while. "Brewing."

"Pardon?"

"I brew. Reading does not provide a sufficient distraction, so I brew."

She found herself smiling at his prickly response and reached for his hand, linking her fingers with his before he could protest. "How about talking?"

"Perhaps." Hermione hoped he didn't notice her speeding pulse when he didn't pull his hand away. "What were you reading? Some dry tome on theories to weary you?"

Hermione giggled and situated herself more on the bed with a creak. "No, actually. I find it easier to read fiction or fantasy and get pulled into a story. Sometimes it's romance," she said honestly, absurdly pleased to be sitting in the dark of his room, on his bed. She wondered if he was at all interested in her, and how she could possibly find out. "But usually fiction."

"What sort of fiction do you enjoy?" His thumb feathered absently over her wrist, thrilling her.

"Science fiction, or older stories. I admit to liking Sense and Sensibility and their ilk, but you probably could have guessed that." She let her wand extinguish. "And you? I know you have a ton of books, but you guard your shelves rather jealously."

"I'll read anything, as you know. My pleasure reading I keep in my bedchamber, whereas I keep most of my reference materials in the sitting room." The way his mouth caressed the word 'pleasure' made her shiver. He yawned. "I do not require your presence—you may return to your room for the remainder of the evening."

"I can stay, if you don't mind. You're more interesting than my book." She winced in the darkness. That was a little blatant.

"Doubtful." Could she hear the hammering of his heart? She was so close, he could feel the warmth of her leg by his. Too close, his mind urged, but he quashed it ruthlessly. He wanted her closer.

"Was this evening too much for you?" Her voice was quiet.

"Not overly. Far too much goodwill, and someone needed to have hidden the Ogden's from your friends."

She laughed softly, the sound trilling up his spine. "They're very affectionate drunks. Luna's fairly entertaining, though."

Severus gave a harsh laugh, and Hermione giggled. He gestured, and she felt the Silencing Charm cocoon the room. It was oddly intimate, sitting on the bed with him and laughing. It was rare that he laughed in front of others, but even in the dark, she knew which grooves in his face were from laughter. He did have a sense of humor, after all.

"I find Arthur to be a very honest drunk," Severus replied. "Which makes it all the more amusing to watch his children steer him away from the topic of their mother's radio preferences."

"Warbeck is awful," Hermione whispered, as if Molly would hear it from the next floor and come stampeding into the room to wreak revenge for the slight to her favored singer. "I can't stand her, and the songs are just hideous. Still, Molly enjoys it, and I can't find it in myself to leave the room when it's so nice to see her smile."

They were quiet for a while, listening to the creaks of the Burrow under the weight of the snow. Hermione jolted herself with a sudden shiver. "It's cold."

"Don't be daft, it's December. Of course it's bloody cold," he groused, and moved over in the narrow bed, heart pounding. "Either return to your designated room, or get your arse under the blankets. If you fall ill, you'll never escape here and be force-fed soup 'til it comes out your ears."

She laughed and lifted the foot of the blanket so she could face him. "Beware my toes, they're cold." The footboard pressed uncomfortably into her spine. "Is there a spare pillow I can bother you for?"

"There was a bloody throw pillow, yes..." Severus leaned over her legs, feeling on the floor for where he'd thrown the ratty thing. "Here."

"Thank you." The bed shifted, and she made a sigh of relief. "This is nice; I think my eyes are adjusting to the dark."

He hmm'd in response, staring out the narrow window. It was snowing again.

"What do you dream about?" she asked suddenly, and he scowled darkly.

"That is none of your business."

"I know." She shifted again, her cold toes pressing against his exposed arm. "Ugh, damn robe, all twisted... just a moment... there." Cloth hit the floor, and his mouth ran dry at the sudden thought that Hermione was, one, in his bed, and two, wearing only a nightgown. Merlin help him, the chit had no sense of propriety.

"Do you often barge into people's rooms, shed clothing, and ask them personal questions?" He spat before he could stop the knee-jerk reaction to protect himself. He winced, but her tone was bemused.

"Nope, just yours. Well, I used to sit up with Ron or Harry, back in the Common Room, but that's not the same thing. And the year on the run, I will admit to bunking with them a few times, for warmth if nothing else." She paused. "And, alright, I suppose I may have pestered them with questions when they were particularly peevish, but, no, Severus, not really. My mum says that keeping things bottled up inside isn't healthy, and you've got demons like the rest of us. I just...I just wanted you to know that I'll listen, if you want. I'd like to think that you believe you can trust me."

Jealousy blossomed in his gut at the thought of her curled into Potter or Weasley, even for survival, and he abruptly changed the subject. "Did you have a chance to ask Ginevra about the book?"

"I gave it to her, yes," she replied, sounding tired. "She said she'd look at it tonight, once the eggnog put Harry to sleep. I have to admit, Severus... I'm actually fairly uncomfortable with the books about me."

"Oh?" He raised a brow, even though she likely couldn't see it in the dark.

Hermione scrunched down in the bed until her head was on the throw pillow. "Well... half of them are very much a helpless me being rescued and showering my rescuer with my affections, and that's not so bad. I was looking through some of the others, and they're...a bit more disturbing. More forceful."

"Fantasy only," he said, attempting to reassure her. He hadn't noticed that, but then, he hadn't been really reading for the lack of a plot. He'd look at them again later.

"Maybe. But it makes me rather unsettled." There was something safe about saying the words to him in the dark. "Severus? Can I sleep here?"

"I can leave," he began stiffly, but she cut him off.

"No, I mean... with you. Like when I fall asleep on your couch, only here. It's safer."

"We're in the bloody Burrow," he snarled, but patted her foot clumsily. "If you feel so unsafe, you may rest assured that anyone entering the room will likely find themselves at the end of my wand."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, and he shrugged.

"Go to sleep, Hermione. I am aware that my nose presents a tempting target, but do try not to kick me if you have nightmares." He tried to lighten his tone so she'd know he was teasing, but she snuggled into his legs and sighed softly.

Just like my sofa, he told himself sternly. How often had Hermione come to pester him, only to lose herself in one of his books she'd filched off a shelf while he wasn't looking and fall into slumber, staying a Saturday night on his small couch in his cottage or the one in his chambers? Often, he knew. 'Safer', she'd said. No one felt 'safe' with him. That was why he spent the majority of his free time alone, was it not? He was a spy and a Death Eater, not to be trusted. The Bat of the Dungeons. And now those ludicrous tales featuring him all had that edge of 'danger'.

She sleeps on my couch. He pondered this, listening to her breathing even and slow. She claimed to suffer from nightmares, but he'd never heard them from her. 'Safe'. Hermione felt...safe with him. Safe enough to chase away her nightmares.

Then again, he mused drowsily as sleep began to grip him, he hadn't had any nightmares while she was nearby, either. If only he knew his feelings would be returned, they could spend more nights with each other...


"Morning," Hermione muttered sleepily, belting her robe tighter and stumbling down the last few steps. "Happy Christmas."

"Mooooorning," George leered, handing her a mug of tea. "Happy Christmas. Nice robe, 'Mione."

"Thanks?" she mumbled. "Budge over, Gin."

Ginny obliged, pressing closer to Harry, and Hermione plopped into her seat. "Happy Christmas, Hermione. Did you, ah, sleep well?"

"Hmm? Yes, once I got there." She reached for the sugar, dumping in a few spoonfuls and stirring it.

"Nightmares, still?" Harry asked, lips quirking into a smile.

"Not last night, thankfully." Brushing her hair out of her face and pushing up the sleeve of her robe, she lifted the mug to her lips. "Thank goodness for tea...George, stop giggling."

He just grinned back at her and passed the plate of toast to Charlie, who grunted and dunked a piece in his coffee.

"Good morning!" Fleur sang, carrying Victoire into the room, followed by Bill. "Eet is a wonderful Christmas, non?"

Bill dropped a kiss on her head, holding out the chair for her and sitting next to her. "Charlie, your toast is in your coffee again."

Charlie grunted again, but removed the toast, head drooping again. Clearly, the second-oldest Weasley boy wasn't a morning person, either, Hermione thought, sipping her tea carefully. Ron thumped down the stairs next, Susan bouncing cheerfully after him, and Hermione winced. She'd forgotten Arithmancy with Susan-the-morning-person. As much as Hermione had liked the class, she was not one to function well in the morning.

"'Mione?" Ron blinked at her.

"Happy Christmas, Ron."

"Yeah, yeah... new robe?" Ron straddled the chair by Harry, Susan going around the table to sit across him. He started dishing up some sausages and eggs. "Hi, Harry. I'm starving—Mum, is there bacon?"

"Coming up," Molly replied, setting a pitcher of juice between Arthur and her own seat. "Hermione, will Severus be joining us for breakfast?"

She frowned. "I imagine so, he's never missed breakfast at Hogwarts."

Ginny waited for Molly to leave before leaning over. "'Mione, you're wearing his robe."

She choked on her tea at the whisper. Dammit! She glanced down at her sleeve. Yes, definitely a warm, black robe, not her usual dark blue velvet robe she'd picked up on a whim. Mortified, she wondered if she could run upstairs and change before everyone noticed—no, definitely too late, judging by Ron's wary glances and George's knowing grin.

Blushing, she hissed, "Nothing happened."

"Uh-huh," Ginny whispered.

"Shut it, Gin, I'm not joking." The redhead grinned at her mischievously.

"So you told him then?"

"No," Hermione said miserably, then raised her voice. "Pass the jam, please, Ron?" Ron handed it to her gingerly, being careful not touch the robe, and she glared at him, snatching the jam from his hand. "Oh, grow up, Ronald!"

"Good morning, Severus," Molly chirped, returning with the plate of bacon, and the blood drained from Hermione's face. She hadn't even heard him descend the stairs! No one had, judging by the surprised faces of the Weasleys.

"Indeed," he replied, taking the open seat next to Hermione. "I thank you again for your hospitality last evening."

"Oh, it's no problem, we're so glad you finally accepted our invitation!" She bustled about, refilling the toast soldiers.

Severus glanced down at Hermione. "Good morning, Hermione."

"Good morning." She was certain her face was as red as the jam she'd spread on her toast. "Did you sleep well?"

"As well as can be expected in an unfamiliar location. Ah—I see you've found my robe. I'd left it on the back of the washroom door. I seem to have picked up yours by mistake." Relief made her smile, and she offered him the coffee pot, which he accepted. George lost his grin, and Ron looked relieved. Ouch, Hermione thought. Ginny, however, was waggling her eyebrows in a way that Hermione knew spelled trouble in her next letter.

"It's quite comfortable," she said, toying with the cuff of one sleeve. "I'll return it once I'm dressed."

"As you wish." Severus plucked the jam from in front of her and spread it meticulously from edge to edge of his toast.

"Now, Severus, don't be shy, dig in!" Molly spooned several eggs onto his plate as Hermione watched him covertly from under her lashes. His freshly-shaven jaw twitched in annoyance, but he looked marvelous. Clearly, he'd listened to her not-so-subtle nudge towards clothing, because while he still wore his customary black boots and trousers, he'd also worn a black oxford shirt under a dark green jumper. Still severe, yes, but at least slightly more approachable, if not festive. The faint shimmer of a glamour over his neck was only slightly distracting, but no one else seemed to really notice it.

Painfully aware of her own rumpled nightgown, stolen robe, and tangled curls, Hermione hurried through breakfast and made her escape to shower. She wondered if Severus would eat more than he usually did, or if she'd find him grazing from whatever food Molly set out for Christmas snacking before the early dinner.

She snorted as she started the shower, then paused, heat flooding her face and loins. She was wearing Severus's robe. She'd slept next to him, albeit not in his arms, and he was the last one in the shower, and—oh, dear. She sagged down to sit on the loo, wishing for nothing more than a great deal more privacy (along with a Muggle showerhead) and the courage to tell Severus how she felt.

"I'll make it a New Year's resolution at this rate," she muttered, inhaling his fragrance from the robe. Something herbal, smoky, and musk mixed with soap. She sighed. "And maybe this time I'll keep it."

Coward, her mind reminded her. Feeling rather bitter, she resolutely stripped and stepped under the spray before tears could fall. It would take quite a bit to get her to risk her friendship with him by confessing. Happy Christmas indeed. Bah, humbug.


With a slight frown, Severus watched Hermione come downstairs, shower-fresh, her hair restrained in a plait. She looked slightly ill-at-ease, even in what appeared to be comfortable Muggle jeans and a jumper and sensible flats. Surreptitiously, he palmed another quarter sandwich and moved to the edge of the room, munching thoughtfully.

Breakfast hadn't given him any clues, either. She'd sat away from Weasley and next to Ginevra rather than Potter. Damn. Even now, she headed to Lovegood, rather than Longbottom or her other imbecilic friends. Perhaps it was simply because the pair had arrived after she'd gone upstairs, he mused, though that was unlikely, as Percy had also arrived and she'd walked right past him and his date. What was the girl's name again? She'd been in Ravenclaw, that he remembered. Something to do with liquid. Pond? River? - Clearwater, that was it. Something Clearwater. Surely, someone would say her name at some point and he'd be saved the annoyance of having to recall it.

Hermione was paying her friends no more heed than she usually did. Which one of them did she care for? It was impossible to glean anything, he shouldn't have come. This was ridiculous. A waste of time. He shouldn't want to be her second choice of wizard, anyway. Scowling, he Levitated a sweet bun from the table, keeping it close to the ceiling to avoid detection before allowing it to drop into his hand. He inspected it for tampering before indulging his sweet tooth.

Over the years, he'd filched several of Molly's sweets at Order meetings, even having gone so far as shrink a plate and take it back to Hogwarts just to finish off the biscuits it held some twenty-plus years prior. Damn—that reminded him, he still had the plate. He just hadn't been able to think of way to return it without incriminating himself.

And it was a nice plate, certainly nicer than anything he'd ever owned at that point. Ah, well, it was a trophy now, he supposed.

Hermione bent next to Ginevra, and he saw the flick of her wand that meant she'd cast a privacy charm for the two of them, none of her attention on his possible rivals. As much as she was talking to the girl, he'd have worried that her affections were for her if he hadn't distinctly heard her using male pronouns to Pince. Ginevra laughed behind the charm, and he watched Hermione swat her in the arm. His eyes narrowed.

Molly hurried into the kitchen, and he inclined his head. "You're welcome to sit in the living room with the rest of us, Severus. Can I get you anything?"

"No. But thank you," he amended. Molly beamed anyway and fixed him a plate, pushing it into his hands.

"She's so happy you're here, by the way. About time." She winked at him before waddling off and Severus frowned, picking morosely at the food. Hermione was happy? And about time what? Just then, Hermione turned, pushing her hair back over her shoulder, and smiled at him. The wisps escaping caught in the firelight and made her look ethereal and angelic; she was so stunning that he nearly dropped the plate as all the blood rushed to his cheeks.


She never should have come, Hermione thought morosely, stirring cream into the mashed potatoes for Molly. She'd been hoping to spend time with Severus, not watch him brood. She hadn't been able to come up with a reason to stay at Hogwarts and invite him to her quarters, not that she'd decorated for Christmas this year, and if she'd opted to stay and drink with him it would have been far too obvious. After all, he'd been sitting right there when she'd received her invitation, and claiming she'd rather remain with him would have prompted him to reject her.

Still...it was nice to see him. She kept migrating from the others to his side, joining him with a book or mug of mulled cider. He was eating, she noticed, and he wasn't too dour, at least, though he did seem bothered by something. Molly peered over her shoulder, tossed something into the potatoes, and bustled off. Hermione looked into the other room longingly at Severus's stiff back in a lumpy orange arm chair.

Next to her, Susan chopped carrots and made small talk with Ron, making cows-eyes at him while Luna dabbed glue of some sort onto thin paper, sticking random wood shavings to it. If Hermione hadn't known Luna as well as she did, she would have thought the other girl was a core short of a wand.

"Let me take over," Ginny murmured, taking the masher with a knowing smirk. "Go spend some time with the man you love. It's Christmas."

Her teeth sank into her lip. "What about you and Harry?"

"Oh, please." Ginny snorted. "I've had all last night and this morning and this afternoon, you've had a handful of time."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, plucking some biscuits from the table. Nervously, she crossed the room and sat on the edge of the chair, ignoring the looks from the Weasleys (and Harry, who just grinned knowingly at Arthur and moved his bishop into certain death). "Biscuit?"

He plucked one from her hand, closing his new book that he'd been perusing. "Ah, ginger and molasses."

"With the crunchy sugar." She bit into hers with relish, watching as his eyes fell closed and his head tipped back as he chewed. "Your favourite."

George raised an eyebrow, turning away from tinkering with something in garish colors, likely a new product. "'Mione, what's Harry's favourite biscuit?"

"Chocolate chip?" she guessed, frowning.

"And Ron's?"

"Any, I suppose." She glanced into the kitchen, but Ron wasn't listening. "Why?"

"Wrong on both counts," George replied calmly. "Just trying to prove a point. Hey, Neville, hand me that spring?"

Hermione blushed and hastily took another bite. Severus frowned, not quite comprehending. How could she not be certain of her best friend's favourite biscuits? Well, then again, she didn't live with them or see them as often. Instead, she remained at Hogwarts or pestered him. Of course she'd be more likely to know his favourites. With a quiet snort, he took another bite of biscuit, enjoying the moist chewiness with the bite of ginger.

Neither of them noticed Arthur flick his wand, but Severus did notice when Hermione lost her balance and toppled into his lap, her pert bum precariously close to his groin. "Sorry, Severus!"

An eyebrow raised, he assisted her to perch back on the arm of the chair, his hands on her warm waist. "Do not make a habit of it."

Her shoulders sagged, and a look of sadness flitted across her features. Odd. George made a rude noise and threw up his hands, storming out of the room, muttering something about density and testing a product.

"Dinner in a few," Molly called. "Wash up and head to the table, if you don't mind!"

Grumbling, they acquiesced, filing into the kitchen and washrooms to clean hands before fighting for seats at the table. Hermione promptly sat herself at one end and snagged Severus's jumper in passing; he dropped into the seat indicated without protestation, feeling more ill-at-ease than he had during presents that morning once they'd all showered and dressed.

As he'd suspected, he hadn't received much, although Molly had forced a jumper on him and Arthur had found it necessary to give him some odd assortment of screws. Hermione had, of course, given him a book he'd had on order at Flourish and Blott's for months, though he was unsure how she'd convinced them to sell it to her instead. Thankfully, no one else had seen fit to bestow anything else on him. Hermione, however, had gotten sweets, a scarf, a necklace of Butterbeer corks (Lovegood), and a jumper, as well the set of quills he'd acquired for her.

He'd treasure her smile, the pleasure in her eyes, for weeks.

"Pardon, Professor," Lovegood said serenely, sitting next to him. "Will you pass the butter, please?"

"You don't even have anything on your plate yet," Ron protested around a mouthful of turkey. Severus grimaced at the sight, but he noted that Hermione looked rather disgusted as well.

"I know." The blonde calmly began painting the butter across her plate. "If you don't put the butter down first, though, the towlies can infect your food, giving you stomach cramps and rather painful gas."

Longbottom just smiled and Severus fought the urge to squirm. Merlin, this was difficult. He hoped that Hermione appreciated that he'd yet to verbally flay anyone as of yet, despite being crammed into such close quarters with so many bloody Gryffindors filled with holiday cheer. He hadn't even sneered...much. Mental diatribes aside, he actually was pleased with his own restraint.

...As soon as this bloody holiday was over, he was going to the damn Room of Requirement and practicing dueling. This was ridiculous.