Author's Note: Plot bunnies are distracting.

CHAPTER 11

Severus lay in his bed, allowing himself a chance to smile unguardedly. It was quite early in the morning and he was very certain that it was already the most wonderful Christmas he'd ever had even if wasn't technically Christmas morning yet. It was more wonderful than the first Christmas at Hogwarts – he'd been so relieved to be away from his father that he hadn't cared that he'd never gotten a present in his life - and until tonight that had been the best experience of his life.

He'd shown Hermione the downstairs of his newly-welcoming home, for that was what it was now, and he'd made them tea with the blend he'd refilled for her Christmas present. (He'd neglected to mention that this time, he'd put a refilling charm on the canister, linked to the one in his cupboard that he'd keep stocked.) They'd sat in peace, watching frost on the kitchen windowsill as the kettle boiled.

She'd admired his home, called it 'lovely' and 'warm', and said that it 'suited him'. She hadn't brought up Potter, hadn't even asked. Oh, he'd tell her eventually, in a letter – just because she wasn't asking now didn't mean that curiosity wasn't bubbling inside her know-it-all mind. It was a reward, almost, for her, to let him tell her things in his own time. He could tell she had burning questions, but she respected him, his privacy. She hadn't asked to see the upstairs, hadn't even asked for the loo.

Reasons, each of them, to love her. Facets of Hermione. Merlin, if he compared her to a jewel he was going to need to throw himself off a cliff.

But it had been wonderful. Wonderful Christmases did not happen to Severus Snape. They did not involve being asked on a date, kisses by the fire, or forays into sign language. He wondered when reality would come crashing down upon him – but he ended that train of thought.

In the darkness of his bedroom, he didn't want to think about when things would go wrong. He wanted to think of her lips on his. Those lovely, beautiful lips. He wanted to think of the way she'd held onto him, how she'd tasted of tea and smelt faintly of smoke from the fire... Right now, he would allow himself some relief.

Closing his eyes, he reached down to grasp his cock. His feelings were reciprocated. She loved him and clearly desired him... it would not be so terrible, after all, to allow himself some small pleasure.

Christmas morning, well, afternoon, after such a late evening and extended night's rest, was quiet for Severus. He continued through the book Hermione had given him, glad no one was around to see him gesturing and scowling when his pinky wouldn't flip quite the way the illustration depicted.

He'd already checked the tea canister, and had been pleased to see she was using her tea, and had been truthful about enjoying it. True, she wore her heart on her face, and had admittedly lit up when she'd seen her present before throwing her arms around him with a kiss to his cheek, but to see that she did use it as much as she claimed warmed his heart.

A simple soup and sandwich sufficed for his lunch – he wasn't about to make anything special for himself alone, and the cauldron of soup would stay warm long enough for dinner, or even lunch the next day. Easy, accessible...and lonely.

He missed Hermione. Merlin, they'd never even been on a date, and she'd spent only hours in his home, but already it felt empty without her here. He'd even settle for her flat. He'd volunteer to meet her parents (properly) if he had to. Hell, he'd sit at the Burrow and let every Weasley – including Potter-the-honorary-Weasley – hug him if it meant he could spend this day with her.

Scowling, he rose and retrieved his reading glasses. He absolutely, positively did not, would not, spend his Christmas mooning over Hermione Granger. He would spend it with a captivating tome. Something interesting.

Alright, fine, and it was something he could later lend to and discuss with Hermione.

By tea time, he was distracted and angry with himself. So she'd kissed him. She'd made the first step and asked him out on a formal date. She'd told him she loved him. She'd kissed him, again, and it was her bloody fault he couldn't think straight.

Hermione hadn't abandoned him, or any other such nonsense. Nor had they made plans to see each other that day. So why was he so desperate to see her? He didn't need her. He didn't need anyone.

He was not lonely, the notion was absurd.

With the fiercest frown he could manage, Severus set to work on a set of Arithmancy equations for one of his personal shop projects. He really detested the abominable line of love potions George insisted sold so well on principle. They were far from "harmless" and had no business in a prank shop that sold to children, let alone the general populace.

For perhaps the thousandth time, Severus thought his employer was a dunderhead.

It was nearly dinner time when his mobile vibrated. His quill sailed across the room, equations forgotten in his haste to reach it and flip it open.

'Are you this Severus fellow that my little girl can't shut up about?'

What the fuck? Curious as to which parent, but fairly certain it was the father, he typed back, 'I am'.

'Good. What do you need to do that fancy teleport thing your type does?'

Definitely the father. Severus hesitated, and wondered about the ramifications of texting about magic. Was the Ministry aware? If not, he wasn't going to tell them, hell no, he wanted nothing to do with the Ministry. He'd have to look into it discreetly. He and Hermione used it to arrange meetings, but he couldn't remember them ever openly discussing their world.

'If I have the address, I can generally find my way where I'm going.'

'Well beam you up, Scotty.' A pause, then it vibrated again with what must have been her parents' house.

I get to see Hermione, his heart sang, and he quashed it. He halted his motions halfway through donning his scarf. If her parents had invited him over – using Hermione's mobile – he should bring something.

Dashing into the basement, he rummaged through boxes until he located the crates from his years at Hogwarts. One year, Albus had given him an 'exceptionally fine Muggle scotch', along with a tin of lemon drops. He'd kept the scotch – some Potions did use alcohol as a base, and at one point he'd considered testing various types in comparison to effectiveness and overall taste. It would have to suffice.

Back in the living room, he swept across the floor to the table and picked up his sign language book as well. No point in leaving it behind. As he closed the door, he couldn't help but be worried. Mr. Granger had meant to invite him, hadn't he? Did Hermione know he was coming? Would she want him there?

Scowling, he slammed the door stalked towards the park he used for Apparition.