A/N: Thanks again for the favs/follows/reviews! And thanks to ozma914 for beta-ing; if you like Buffy check out some of his fics.
Disclaimer: If I owned Snape or anything else from Harry Potter... well, I wouldn't be here!
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Hermione heard a clatter and a curse from the living room. She winced into the foggy bathroom mirror; if there was a door to the floo network to be slammed, that's what it would sound like.
She exited the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and leaned out from her bedroom door just enough to see down the hall. "Everything okay in there?"
Snape was walking her direction, probably back to the master bedroom; his eyes widened and he swiftly turned to retreat to the other side of the house. "For God's sake, Granger, put some bloody clothes on!"
Hermione quickly shut the door and went about drying her hair and getting dressed. She pulled the unruly curls into a loose ponytail and checked her decidedly muggle outfit: sensible shoes, her favorite broken-in jeans, and a red t-shirt. It wouldn't have done to walk out with an awkward hole or stain or something else to embarrass herself minutes after the exchange they just had. She frowned; she knew he wore an awful lot of clothes with an awful lot of buttons, but was he really so much of a prude that her exposed… shoulder? collarbone?... had offended him?
She found him sitting on the sofa in the living room. He stood quickly and awkwardly at her approach.
"Come." Without a glance to see if she followed, he headed back down the hall she'd just come out of. He led her through one of the doors they'd passed over on her first night here.
She instantly knew why he hadn't shown her that night; she'd have never gone to bed. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with built-in bookcases that were absolutely brimming with tomes. Two plush chairs sat in one corner with a reading lamp and coffee table, and a large desk and work table sat on the other side of the room. An assortment of pillows, poufs, and throws draped over the nearby couch. The pièce de résistance was a rolling library ladder that allowed access to the topmost shelves.
Hermione stood in the doorway with her mouth dropped slightly open until a gentle pressure pushed her jaw upward. She shook her head and looked over to Snape, but he was clear across the room from where he'd been standing next to her. The hell? No wonder he caught so many students after curfew.
"You may have free use of the library while you're here. However," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone, "Under no circumstances are you to touch anything on the far left shelf." He pointed to the bookcase in question; unlike the others, it had small rails along the front of each shelf and glimmered with wards.
"Why?"
"Because I-" He was totally going to say "because I said so"!
"Because it contains things far beyond what you've encountered in the worst books of the Restricted Section."
Hermione wasn't happy with the limitation, but nodded.
"I assume you're ready to get planning. What did Mr. Malfoy have to say?"
Snape ignored her question and sat down at the shiny-surfaced worktable. A stack of parchment and selection of quills appeared at his elbow. Hermione looked at him quizzically.
"Wulfric," he explained. "Sit." His voice was clipped and terse.
She sat in the chair next to him and repeated her question. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"It is of no importance."
"It is clearly of some importance," she said.
He turned to glare at her through slitted eyes. She held his gaze for what seemed like minutes.
"Fine. He wanted to know what was going on in regards to our situation and our plan. I neglected to tell him anything before Draco attended the meeting."
"And?"
He sighed. "Miss Granger, rest assured that I do not have a secret agenda, other than the one I have with you, and that I will share any… pertinent… information."
She opened her mouth, but closed it again as his scowl deepened. Baby steps, Hermione. He's been secluded from the whole wizarding world until just recently and he probably already maxed out his conversation quota for the day at Malfoy's.
"Let's just get started, then. What's at the top of the list at the moment?"
Snape paused briefly, then pulled out his wand and waved it at the parchment and quill. They came to attention in the air and poised themselves to take notes.
"Making an actual list to begin with, for starters," he said. He sneered when the quill wrote 'make a list' as the first item.
"As I'm sure you're aware, we need to sort out your residence. It will quickly become clear that you're not only no longer sleeping there, but no longer living there at all. In hand with that, we also need to secure any other properties or funds of yours, lest it eventually be tracked or seized by the Ministry."
Hermione chewed her bottom lip in thought. "Luckily I'm renting, but not tied down with a lease. If we could fabricate a reason for me to be in financial trouble, that would explain suddenly dropping the house and emptying my accounts."
The quill scratched away, but Snape looked doubtful. "There is still the problem of where you'll be living officially. I could set you up at Spinner's End, but the subsequent media inflammation at our relationship's sudden jump forward would be too risky."
"The Burrow," Hermione said. "It's perfect. I've stayed there before, they'll all vouch for me, and the constant activity and sheer number of people would more easily cover my absence."
"Their home is also imbued with powerful, old magic from the generations of Weasley ancestors before them."
"Oh?" Hermione leant toward him in her chair, her knees nearly touching his. She'd never heard this before.
"Molly would die for any of her children, Weasley or not. Imagine the magic that protected Potter multiplied by that number, going back as far as the fertile line of Weasleys has inhabited the Burrow."
"But what about… Bill's wedding?" Hermione looked nervous as she recalled the day Death Eaters had invaded the Burrow.
"Fortunately for us, we're not dealing with a homicidal madman and his leagues of dangerous, hardened followers this time around. This is… different. We need only the illusion of compliance to the Ministry regulations, including keeping them out. Arthur is above suspicion at the moment – no one doubts any of the Weasley spawn will stay single and refuse to bear children – and they can quite easily create a fake room for you at the Burrow. I assume it would not be too much of a burden for you to occasionally take meals there?"
Hermione nodded. "Mrs. Weasley would love that. I'm sure we can stage some other domestic events. However…"
Snape stared at her. "What? Spit it out, Granger." His tone softened slightly. "You may speak freely here."
"Well… I think we'll need to, um…" She trailed off again as she tried to collect her thoughts. Her eyes darted around the room, avoiding Snape's eyes. "You'll have to come to dinner sometimes, so we'll be able to "see" each other. And we'll probably need to…"
When Hermione blushed, Snape began to pale. Then faint pink spots spread ever so slightly across his high cheekbones. It was quite possibly the scariest thing Hermione had ever seen, though it was nice to see a more human side of Snape. He cleared his throat.
"Oh! I didn't mean… you know… I just meant we should practice things couples do so we'll look more natural together, especially if we get photographed or bump into a Ministry loyalist, and-"
"Hermione." The gentle pressure under her chin returned and she lifted her head to see Snape's eyes searching her face. His voice was deeper again. "We should start by addressing each other by our given names."
"Okay… Severus." It sounded so foreign, yet so natural on her tongue. "And then?"
If that hadn't been true Gryffindor bravery, she didn't know what was.
"Well, Miss – Hermione… why don't you tell me? What are these things couples do that you think we should… acclimate… ourselves to?"
She'd always liked his voice, especially when he lectured about various aspects of potions and a tinge of passion slipped in. But this… this was different: more sultry than sarcastic; more velvety than venomous. He was clearly enjoying taunting her.
"Realistic versions of all the things Severus Snape would never do in public," she said cheekily. "Hand-holding, hugging…"
His right hand still hovered near her chin, but his left moved up to take hold of the hand she had rested on her thigh. Slowly he turned her smaller hand in his, brushing the pad of his thumb across her palm. His long fingers were slightly cold, and bore light calluses from years of preparing potions ingredients (she assumed).
"Like… this?"
Hermione swallowed a little harder than normal and hoped he hadn't noticed. All her hormonal thoughts from fifth and sixth year flooded back to her: the hands, the voice…
"I will assume by your lack of complaint that you are fully satisfied with my hand-holding abilities."
"I… yes."
"Good. Now… what other activities would you like to try?"
"I… um."
"Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger," he chided, "how do you ever expect to convincingly do what you cannot even say aloud?"
Hermione chewed her bottom lip as her own personal war raged internally. The part of her that had a schoolgirl crush on Snape, along with the adult part that hadn't had any physical contact in months, screamed that this was her chance. The shy, awkward part, backed up by her memories of just how dangerous Snape was when he was angry, had her in a state of paralyzed fear.
"Hermione." His index finger tilted her chin up again, but stayed with it this time. He looked at her with knitted brows, as if she'd just taken all the fun out of their exchange. "Are you nervous because of… inexperience?"
This conversation was not happening. This conversation was not happening. This conversation was not happening.
"No!" she blurted. "No, I have… I'm experienced. Shit! I mean, that is to say, I've had experiences but I'm not some super-experienced –"
The rest of her words vanished as Severus' lips pressed softly into hers. The hand on her face gently pulled her ever so slightly toward him, the thumb stroking over her jawline; the other still held hers. After a moment of shock, she deepened the kiss. He tasted vaguely of mint and some herb she couldn't place at the moment; she leaned in closer and their knees bumped together. He pulled back; she inwardly cringed at the fact that she already missed his touch.
"Was that… sufficient enough to allay your worries?"
"Yeah." She smiled, then blushed. "Not that I thought you-"
His kiss this time was a bit more forceful. It was quick but complete, and he stood up as he pulled away from her.
"Go take care of your rental agreement and speak to the Weasley matriarch. Send a patronus – not an owl – if you require my assistance."
He swiftly strode out of the room and, presumably, into the master bedroom. With a last wistful but shell-shocked look around the library, Hermione headed out into the hallway. As she crossed to her bedroom to gather her things, she heard the shower in the master bath kick on.
She might need one herself.