Severus frowned at the banners swathing the entrance to the hall. "Ministries United: an International Cooperation and Goodwill event? Circe's left tit. No amount of galleons is worth this."

"Look at this way, you can spread your curmudgeonly ways beyond the borders of Britain." She smirked at him, enjoying the flash of annoyance in his dark eyes. "Severus Snape: a global offence."

A bark of laughter burst from him and more than one wizard turned to stare at them. His familiar scowl had every gaze snapping away again. "Ambitious." He stepped beneath the great arch, only one couple ahead of them. "But achievable. I am, after all, me."

The herald, a wizened little old man with whom they were all too familiar, looked up at them with a smile.

"Busy evening tonight, Herbert," Hermione said, glancing over the endless hall packed with circular tables groaning with golden cutlery, ornaments and flowers. Floating candles bobbed in the thickly scented air. Already, witches and wizard brought the noise level in the cavernous place up to a hard wince. "How's your grandson?"

"Good, good, that potion worked a treat." His voice was rounded and deep, a surprise hidden in his thin little frame. "Enjoy your evening." His blue eyes sparkled. "As you always do."

Severus huffed a laugh. "Thank you."

A sonorous charm lifted the old man's voice. "Miss Hermione Granger and Master Severus Snape."

The solid wedge of chatter faded for a moment and Hermione hated the stares of too many eyes for that stretched second, before reality snapped back again.

"Grow impossibly rich, Severus," she murmured as they made their way down the wide, carpeted stairs to the hall floor. "Then we don't have to turn up here ever again."

He lifted an imperious eyebrow. "We?"

"I'm your friend. You'll lend me enough money to break free of the Ministry."

"But you love the Ministry."

"If you start quoting 1984 at me again, I will hex you."

Severus' mouth twitched. "You have to admit, I did have the Winston Smith look there for a while."

"True." He glared down at her. "What? I'm not supposed to agree?" She ran her index finger over the distinct curve of his bicep, the steel-strength of it obvious beneath the soft layers of wool and cotton. "Not now though. Now you're…delicious."

The sudden and unexpected heat in his gaze caught her breath and the urge, the ache to stretch up on her toes and kiss him burned through her. No strings. She could do it now. Her pulse hammered, her fingers biting into his arm. Her lips parted almost without her permission and his gaze fixed there—

"Hermione, Severus, shit, I lost the bet."

Draco Malfoy, resplendent in a hideously expensive bespoke Italian suit swept though the milling crowd. His grey eyes narrowed and a pale blond eyebrow lifted in an eerie echo of his godfather. "Did I interrupt?"

"A bet, Draco?"

Severus' voice was smooth, unruffled, the familiar silken drawl. She really did envy that about him, his ability to take anything in his stride. Though how he had earned that skill was not to be wished for. Not ever.

"Whether Hermione –and therefore you— would turn up."

Hermione pressed her lips together. Neither she nor Severus were wealthy. Not like Draco or Harry, who had enough galleons between them to sink a small country. They could pick and choose which events to attend, the Ministry unable to hold anything over them. No doubt Draco had dragged Harry along because of the business opportunities this event would present Malfoy Enterprises.

"We do not have your…advantages," Severus murmured.

A faint hint of pink topped Draco's sharp cheekbones. "You're on our table." He waved an arm out to the side. "Which is a relief. With the Ministers from Ireland and France and I think, Belgium. Plus other vastly important personages, of whom I have never heard."

Hermione couldn't help her smile. She liked the Draco who had emerged after the horrors of war. Endlessly elegant and finally able to be the man he truly was. The man who'd wanted Harry Potter in the most desperate way for too many years. And not long after Voldemort was little more than a grease stain, Draco caught him. Light flashed across the simple gold band on his left hand. Caught him forever.

"Harry is holding court and I promised I wouldn't abandon him for long. This way."

Draco pushed back into the slow tide of people hunting for their own tables. Severus took her hand and pulled her after him. This was also a familiar ritual. At least they had Harry and Draco for the next few hours.

Hermione held down a groan as she spied Harry. Their table was already full, the only two vacant chairs being hers and Severus'…and every important personage was male. Fuck. She hated being the only woman. Either she was talked over, ignored or patronised. Or a combination thereof. Oh and felt up. Fuckity fuck.

"Repello tactio," Severus murmured and his magic caressed every inch of her, causing a little shiver to ripple. "The Minister for Belgium is known for his wandering hands."

"I do know that spell. And use it often."

Severus pulled out her chair and she sat. His mouth brushed against her ear and a velvet whisper warmed her flesh. "You do. But this way I can still touch you."

"You're an evil man."

She felt his smile, before he dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. "You're only just noticing?"

Hermione caught Harry's startled look and heat flushed across her face. Severus had planted a kiss on her skin, which declared to that table, and the ones circling, that she was with him. Intimately. At least the Minister for Belgium seemed to be leaning away from her now. Obviously Severus' reputation had already crossed the Channel.

Severus sat four places away, a touch of a dark smile still lingering on his mouth. His dinner companions paled somewhat. Yes, she wouldn't trust that look on his face either. Wicked man.

Harry was still staring at her. She couldn't help the soft laughter that escaped. "Breathe, Harry." She mouthed the words as he was too far away for easy conversation. "Blink, too."

"Details." Harry practically bit out the word.

Her "Later" got a frown and another narrowed look.

Hermione had never shared her first experience with Severus with any of her friends. All that they knew was that she was taken ill during the party and locked herself away miserably in her room for two days. It was very telling that no one seemed to notice that a certain Potions Master had gone missing too.

She held back a sigh. Well, she'd known it'd be an interesting conversation she'd have to have with Harry that night.

"Snape?"

Harry grabbed her arm and hissed as Severus' spell fired across his palm. He swore and flexed his fingers. "Damn it, Hermione, take off the tactio."

"No." She lifted her goblet of ridiculously expensive wine and toasted him. Settling herself again in her chair she tilted her head, her lips pressed. "I don't appreciate being grabbed."

Harry flushed and settled himself in the Belgian Minister's vacant chair. The meal was over and people milled about. Soon they'd clear away most of the tables to allow the dancing to start. At that point, she intended to cling to Severus like Devil's Snare.

Her friend leaned forward. His hands were gripped in a bloodless knot over his knees. "Snape?"

She shrugged. "Severus and I have been friends for a long time now…"

"But you're…" The words faltered. "You're…"

"Playing hide the wand?"

He winced. "Hermione…"

She smirked at him. "How about, "He's stirring his big bad rod in my sweet little cauldron', or—"

"Stop!" Harry lifted his hands in surrender. "Merlin's sake, I've just eaten."

"Now you know how I feel when you just have to share how Draco does whatever he does with his tongue." She shuddered and took a sip of wine to wipe out yet more images of Harry and Draco's sex life. "You're like a brother to me. I do not want to know."

"But…"

Harry glanced over to Severus who was caught up in a heated conversation with a bald and wrinkled Hungarian Potion Master. Severus' skin was flushed and whatever their discussion was, it had him enthralled. Would Hermione be able to drag him off tonight? From the way Severus was looking so eager, it seemed as if the little nonagenarian would be the one to get lucky.

She focused on Harry again and decided to answer all his unasked questions. "A few days. No strings. We're friends. It will not get," she waved her hand, "strange."

"It's…" He huffed, still unable to say the word sex when applied to her. "Of course it will."

Her smirk deepened and she dropped the Exploding Fluid in the Size Two. "Didn't before."

Harry choked. "You…" She conjured him a glass of water and he sipped, taking deep breaths. He stared at her. "Before?"

Hermione shrugged. "So… It will be fine. And honestly, it's made this night better already. I've not had to fight off wandering hands. I got to enjoy the food, because everyone was too terrified to talk to me. And I made you speechless."

He laughed and caught his fingers in his dark, messy hair. "You're braver than me."

"O-oh." She leant forward, mere inches from him. Candlelight gleamed against his glasses. "Do tell, Mr Potter. Did you have a crush?"

"No!" He shuddered and pinched his eyes shut. "No. And now you have me imagining Professor Snape naked in the dungeons. No. Just no." He growled and glared at her. "Stop. Stop with the whole s-e-x thing. Now. It's not right."

Laughter rocked her. "Merlin, Harry, you're a happily married man and you still can't say sex to me?"

"When it's you and…" He shuddered again. "All right, here's what I wanted to tell you tonight, before you bludgered me. And I suppose your new…thing ties in. Ron is single again."

"Shit."

Hermione sank back into her chair and took a sip of her wine all humour washed away. She let the sweet berry taste distract her, pulling apart the individual flavours on her tongue. That was Draco's bet: had she known Ron's new status would she turn up? Not that she had any choice. Fuck.

A single Ron meant a Ron who thought they should try again. As if she would. The bastard had cheated on her Merlin knew how many times in her own bloody bed. Her stomach soured. She knew of nine.

"When did he break up?"

Harry let out a long breath. "He got dumped yesterday afternoon. He owled Dean to ask if you were coming tonight."

Dean worked in the laboratory a few sections down from hers and they'd sometimes meet for coffee in the staff annex. He was often Ron's best contact on her movements. Though Dean could tell him very little, if anything. She and Dean were not that close, after all.

"He said he didn't know. As usual. A parliament of owls later, and I found all of this out just before we were due to apparate here. Sorry we couldn't warn you earlier."

"Ron knows what position I'm in. Just like him, I have to come to these things." Was he owling the world in the hope of convincing some of their friends to support him? Very probably. Little shit. "Well, he could be distracted by the plethora of foreign witches here. He can play the professional quidditch star and suave war hero." She snorted. "And they wouldn't know any better."

Harry hissed. "Sharp."

She shrugged. "He still manages to bring out the bitch in me. Can't imagine why."

A ministry official stepped up to their chairs and coughed, sharply, behind his fist. Dark eyes narrowed on her and his lips firmed into an even thinner line.

Hermione's shoulder's slumped. She was monopolising Harry. If she had any money she could happily tell the little quill-pusher to fuck off. But she didn't. So she couldn't. Damn.

She stood, the chair legs scraping back across the floor. "Later, Harry. I must…mingle. We'll do dinner?"

"Have fun."

She stuck her tongue out at him. She was under the eye of the Ministry, so she couldn't simply hang out with some of her friends. As a war hero her twice-over employers paid her to be available to those who had happily avoided all danger. She was their vicarious thrill.

With her drink in hand, she edged past the nasty little ministry wizard. She ignored his exasperated huff, giving him a tight, socially sharp smile, as she rounded the table to lightly stroke Severus' sleeve.

His attention snapped to her, a hex no doubt already burning his lips. Tension ebbed from him. "Granger. Allow me to introduce you to Master Gedeon Molnar. Master Molnar this is Miss Hermione Granger."

Molnar gave her a clipped bow, the sureness and strength at odds with his wizened frame. "Honoured, lady." His voice was soft and lightly accented. "Severus tells me you are the foremost researcher in the British Ministry. An astounding accomplishment for one so young."

Hermione flushed with pleasure and embarrassment. "I'm honoured that Master Snape has expressed such a view." And she was. She wanted to grin at him and poke him in the ribs and demand "Really?" in the worst Gryffindor way. But etiquette between Masters and those still studying their ancient craft had to be maintained. The ministry wizard was now openly glaring at her. Shit. "I'm sorry, gentleman, but my time here is not my own."

Severus followed her glance and the officious wizard paled. "I will speak to you later, then."

A smile twitched her lips. She bowed her head. "Masters."

She pushed into the crowds with a sigh. Would she still be doing this when she was ninety? Tottering about with a glass of wine, having her memory of long ago poked and prodded? A hideous thought.

And so her night began. Of fixed smiles; interrogations by witches and wizards who'd found themselves trapped on the continent during all that unpleasantness; and long, cool stares as more than one set of hands encountered the sting of Severus' spell. It also made the newly started dancing easier to avoid. She was agreeing to talk to them, not to touch. Her spell was allowed. For now.

They'd pinned the Ministry down to the exact number of minutes that they had to endure their torture and Severus found her in her darkened corner when her hour was up. His long fingers traced a slow path down her spine and she arched into his ached-for touch.

"Weasley has been watching you for the past fifty seven minutes."

His breath whispered hot against the shell of her ear and her eyes closed. After the strained hour, everything about him was a hit of bliss. "He's free. Again."

Severus stiffened beside her. "How many times has be been dumped on his arse now? Eighteen? Nineteen?"

Hermione laughed softly. "Seven, including me."

"And each time, he thinks you'll take him back. What did you ever see in him, Granger?"

"He was always there. And Harry is gay."

"You should be more discerning."

Hermione looked up at him. Sparse candlelight warmed his pale skin, and made his impossibly black hair shine. The darkness of his eyes caught her, endless, intoxicating. Her mouth dried. Her attraction to him had been bubbling under for so long now and been driven to the surface by a single smile in a photograph. A smile he should give only to her.

Oh great Merlin and Nimue, she wanted him. Perhaps she always had. From the moment in Grimmauld Place when he had taken the glass of elf-made wine from her shaking fingers and suggested, in an almost velvet whisper, that they find a less crowded place...to talk. And perhaps –her belly swooped— it was more than simply physical want. She had always admired him. Always. His intelligence, his bravery and discovering his dark, biting humour only sweetened her view.

Dear gods, she was a first class idiot. She loved him.

She was officially in hell. Fuck.

Let me know what you think! :)

Repello Tactio = repell touch (from Google translator)