Disclaimer: I borrowed them, I'll put them back more or less neatly when I'm done with them…
Her heels clicked satisfactorily, smugly, on the marble of the dark interior of the vast house she'd arrived at (in style by portkey, covered for by the client of course). A first, fleeting—very fleeting—glance may not have distinguished her from any other woman, except for the impression of extraordinary beauty and an exuding aura of sensuality: she was all woman and she knew it like the back of her own hand. But she carried herself with just enough self-assurance to make others take the trouble to look again, and that's when reactions got interesting. The first man she encountered as she did a slow twirl to take in the place she'd arrived at was a rough-bearded tall Death Eater—one she recognized very well, for she still bore the scar he had gifted her with ages, or so it had seemed, ago. If she had been Hermione Jean Granger, she would have already been holding a wand to his throat. But she was Milena, just Milena, and she was here on a mission.
His reaction was quite amusing, for he stopped, did a double take, and took two hasty steps forward before he regained some measure of his former composure and cleared his throat, trying to look nonchalant. "Who are you and what business do you have here, Ms…"
"Milena." Hermione—no, not Hermione. Milena smiled, lips a pink bow on her lovely features. "You may call me Milena. I am here for a Severus Snape, if you might tell me where he is, sir?"
"Milena. It is a pleasure to meet you. Severus, you say?" Dolohov strode forward more confidently now, sliding his large beefy hand up to catch hold of her hand and shake it.
A strangled sound interrupted them, and Milena half-turned, smiling an invitation at the two men who had entered side by side and were now staring, boggle-eyed, at the stranger—at her. "Gentlemen. I'm enchanted to make your acquaintances. Are you all housemates of Mister Snape?"
"S- s- Snape, yes, it's his house," stuttered the shorter one, and as if from miles away Hermione stirred in momentary anger at the traitor who had betrayed his best friends to save his own hide and lived off the Weasleys as a rat for so many years. Milena locked Hermione away ruthlessly. This was no time for that person to make an appearance. Milena must present a completely united, unflawed persona.
"This is Milena, she's here for Snape," explained Dolohov, still not letting go of Milena's hand. She let him hold it for the moment. Peter Pettigrew's eyes widened, first in shock, then in blatant envy. The man next to him—MacNair, Buckbeak's would-be executioner, supplied the Hermione-information—raised a curious eyebrow, but said nothing.
"Ahem."
All of them—the men starting in surprise and slight guilt, the woman with complete equilibrium—turned to face the newcomer, who had entered through a doorway on the opposite side of the large first floor. "I believe, Dolohov, that I did not give you permission to…touch…the woman I have paid quite a sum to enjoy the company of," the dark figure said sardonically.
Dolohov reddened, but refused to let his lingering hand leave Milena's, and it was Milena who acted, casually slipping hers out of his and moving fluidly, languidly, forward. "You must be Mister Snape," she said. No, purred. "It is certainly an exquisite honor to make your…acquaintance, sir." She took his hand with both of her soft, manicured hands, drawing the taller man close enough to be just slightly socially inappropriate between mere acquaintances before she leaned up and lightly kissed him twice, once on each cheek.
"Milena. Every inch the lovely beauty Madame Merri promised, and much more I dare say. You have met some of my guests, I believe, but I did not invite you here to bewitch my…colleagues. Would you like a tour of my personal quarters and a glass of the very best firewhisky, perhaps?"
"That would be delightful, Mister Snape. Your fellow peers are a charming bunch and quite a gallant crew I confess! If this is the company you keep about you, I shall thoroughly enjoy our tête-à-tête. Good evening, men, perhaps I shall see you again?" Slanting a seductive side-glance through her luxuriant eyelashes at her captive audience, Milena took the solid black-clad arm offered to her and smoothly swept off with her man, reveling in the feeling of three sets of stares glued to the curves of her body from her back. Hermione coughed embarrassedly from the little compartment of her mind she'd stuffed herself into. Milena mentally glared at her until she finally blushed and nodded her understanding of the necessity of completely compartmentalizing and separating the two personas. You have two choices—either go Severus' route and blend yourself with your projected personality, rather like you've been doing all year at school, or completely separate the two identities and keep one set on a trigger and the other dominant the rest of the time. You didn't want Milena's open sexuality and selling of it to bleed slowly into your own self and personality. So give up on the complaints already and let the Milena-self take charge!
She completely missed the clandestine entrance to her client's quarters, but when he stopped and guided her down a shadowy corridor and pushed open a door to reveal a beautifully decorated and comfortable set of rooms, both the spy within her and the Milena-self without thoroughly approved. Quiet, far away from the rest of the suites, more safety, more privacy, it's not likely we'll be bothered by the others here.
"You have sublime taste in décor, Mister Snape," she murmured, releasing his arm to take her seat but making sure to brush past him in brief physical contact as she took a seat, perfectly at ease in his rooms. He inclined his head in acknowledgement as he moved away briefly to close the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. His back was to her so she couldn't see his expression, but after a moment his shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.
Turning smoothly back to her, he barely looked at her but his voice was abruptly curt as he said, "It's safe now. My quarters are spelled entirely to my privacy and protection, even from the Dark Lord. He does not know that much, at least—that I was able to slide in under his eye with the Prince family wards. We will not have to act within these rooms."
"Thank Merlin," both Milena and Hermione sighed, kicking off her ridiculously high heels and rubbing her ankles and feet in irritation. The next instant, Milena-personality had been discarded by the wayside to wait until they left the room. Well, except for her physical appearance. Hermione grimaced at that. Sure, it was great to be so physically stunning that she had that much of an affect on men, but it just didn't feel…right. Not like herself. She didn't like it at all, wearing Milena's form.
"I don't understand how you women are able to defy gravity to totter around in those shoes," Severus muttered—was Hermione imagining it, or was his voice a trifle hoarse? If it is, he's being far more polite in reacting to this damn body than the others were, she thought sourly. Salazar's toenails, if even Severus reacts hormonally to this body I shudder to think of the power the real Milena/Faina holds over her men, since she has so little scruples.
"I'm not most women," she murmured disagreeably, rubbing her aching feet a little harder than necessary. "I don't wear these stupid death-inviting things if I can help it. The last time I did, my mother had forced me to wear them for some benefit auction of historical artifacts and I nearly destroyed the fine porcelain bowl from China's Han Dynasty when I tripped over myself."
That seemed to break Severus out of whatever brown study he'd been going into while his eyes fixed themselves on her bare feet. He uttered a short, surprised laugh, his eyes coming up to meet hers squarely. "I assume your mother never forced you into the…atrocities again?"
"Not a chance," Hermione grinned, wondering inwardly as she did whether Faina had ever cracked a good smile that wasn't for seductive purposes or not, because it felt curiously unnatural on this body… "I take after my father in my inability to take any sort of change to my center of gravity. Unfortunately as a male and a Muggle, he has not had to deal with either of the two banes of my life, heels and flying brooms."
"I noticed your slight dislike of that method of transportation," Severus said wryly, striding over to the single armchair across from hers and sinking down into the cushions. "I must say you had me just about convinced I'd asked for the real thing by mistake, out there. Congratulations, you've just invited the attentions of several unsavory men. Do you have a way out if they ask for you?"
Tucking her feet up under her, Hermione replied, "I worked it out with the girl whose body I borrowed and with Madame Merri. She won't be taking any customers from the Death Eaters—at least, the ones we know about. Can't do anything if one that slipped through the cracks makes an appointment. I hope the Order has vast resources, since she's demanding a mighty sum for all the lost clients. She has no problem with servicing criminals and fugitives of the law, as long as they don't involve her in their schemes and plots and as long as they pay through their nose."
"The Order can manage the funds easily enough, with what personal accounts they've access to," Severus dismissed. "They have several extremely wealthy benefactors within the ranks, as well as alliances to those who wish to contribute but do not wish to act. It wouldn't surprise me, though, if sometime further in the future they might go to Potter and ask him for a contribution from his own inherited account—the Potter family have tied their family fortune to the Order for longer than anyone can remember, but Albus—Albus wouldn't hear of taking money from a minor when he came into inheritance, even though as Potter's primary legal guardian in the Magical world, he had the right to it."
Hermione didn't know what to say as the man became silent again, and she irrationally wished she could reach over to give his hand a squeeze. But even she wasn't going to be as rash as to pat Severus Snape's hand. He would probably flay her alive, both with tongue and magic. Luckily, it was Severus himself who broke her uneasy musings. Businesslike once more, he leaned towards her. "What news from the outside world?" he demanded. She couldn't give him much except for the grim acknowledgement that the Order had been consistently losing at every turn to the Death Eaters, and the latest blow was the escaped prisoners of Azkaban—
"Whom, I am sure you noticed earlier, I am currently hosting," Severus said dryly. He paused for a moment, then murmured, "I do have some news for you." She sat up intently, looking at him. His gaze seemed to blur for a moment, almost waver downwards—oh. Gods above, curse this robe and the body underneath it! Sitting up straight had had some…unintended consequences to her appearance, flattered further by the midnight blue silk robes. To his credit, Severus did not allow his gaze to drop, and his eyes cleared rapidly, the entire ordeal lasting perhaps only seconds. Still, she felt her cheeks flaming and in this new body Hermione's usual control over her blushing was certainly not as good as in her trained body—which hadn't been very much control in the first place, since she had only had perhaps a fifty-fifty chance of successfully avoiding displaying her embarrassment in her cheeks.
Severus was carefully not-looking at either her eyes or below her neck-level, and he seemed to have focused his attention on an invisible point on her forehead as he cleared his throat and continued, "As you know all the escaped Death Eaters are currently housed in my manor. The Dark Lord has been noticeably absent since he gifted me with my…family inheritance. He did not mention where he would be going, but yesterday night, Bella was gloating at being the only one told of his location. I provoked her enough to get more information than she knew she was giving away. Her information, combined with the books she was searching for in my library—which she did not find, of course—has given me some slight idea of what he might do in the future."
He paused, and this time it was definitely for dramatic affect. "Well?" she urged impatiently.
"The Dark Lord seems to be researching immortality once again," he said slowly. "He is somewhere in Eastern Europe at the moment on his own personal quest and does not expect to be back for a full two months. That means he has to have either left off altogether on harrying the Order and Britain in general, or he has left the battles and tactics in the charge of someone else. My guess is that he did the former, considering his growing need to tell no one of his plans in fear that someone else will somehow become more powerful or more in control than he. That means we have some breathing room for now, but that this quest for immortality once again is extremely dangerous—no needing to explain why," he finished sardonically.
"Gods above," she whispered in shock. "That means—we'd all assumed that he was immortal already, with the exception of Harry and only Harry. This means that he isn't immortal in the traditional sense…"
"At least not yet," Severus ended for her. "Yes. We've been working under the presumption that only Potter could vanquish him for good. But this suggests a new change of strategy, Hermione. We need a different approach."
He called me Hermione. Without prompting, without frequent reminders, and with this blasted body of Faina on—he called me by my name! With difficulty, Hermione pulled herself back to concentrate on Severus' words, faster-flowing now as ideas began form. "Prophecies are blasted unreliable things. They can mean something entirely different from what they seem to mean, or be an incomplete view of the future. If we can do anything to tip the odds to our favor and give that dunder- Potter, a better chance of finishing off the Dark Lord, we need to prevent him from getting hold of true immortality and solidifying the prophecy as we see it. If he manages to achieve true immortality, he'll be a virtual Achilles, invincible to all but his one heel—Potter. Right now, he is not unassailable from other people, and if we had the power we could all weaken him to the point of not being able to defeat Potter in any way for long enough that the boy can strike the killing blow."
If he can bring himself to cast the Killing Curse, Hermione thought to herself. She wasn't blind or deaf—she'd seen the reticence Harry had shown after her duel with Danielle. "Can you find out how the Dark Lord plans on attaining this true immortality?" she questioned.
"Lucius might know more," Severus mused. "I think it is perhaps time for my old friend to pay me a visit in my new home." He hesitated. "Have you heard anything on what has become of Draco? The only thing I know for sure is that he is safe and sequestered by the Order."
"I don't know anything either," Hermione confessed. "The Order has me working overtime with all the seventh-year work, and with maintaining contact with you, as well as the fact that living with Harry and Ron and spending time with them tends to swallow up all your free time plus time you haven't got to spare." Severus snorted, but refrained from making a derisive comment. "How are you adjusting to all the changes?" she asked.
"Acceptably," he answered. When he seemed disinclined to expand, she sighed and decided it wasn't worth it to go digging around with more questions. If Severus didn't want to tell her something, it wouldn't get told no matter how much effort she exerted extorting him. Instead, she stretched her legs out before leaning comfortably back into the soft sofa.
"Do you—ah, would you care for a cup of tea in lieu of the firewhisky I suggested earlier?"
Startled by the sudden question—in another man, it might have almost sounded as if he'd blurted it out, and that was completely unlike the sharp drawl of wit and sarcasm that she was accustomed to from Severus—Hermione blinked and her mouth opened slightly for a brief moment before she remembered how to use it. "Oh—yes, please, tea I mean. If you wouldn't mind—"
"No trouble at all," the man said hastily, turning from her to call for a house-elf. "Mippy!"
The elf appeared. It was the same one, she recognized, as the one she'd encountered in Spinner's End. Had he acquired any more elves? She didn't think so—all the books she'd read had been explicit about their value and how hard it was to acquire one. It was illegal to sell or buy house-elves in Britain, but it was not illegal to possess them—if you could afford the phenomenal amount of money to purchase and transport one from the country that had a monopoly, apparently, on the house-elf trade: Romania. Not to mention that one had to have the right influence within the upper circle in Romania to even have a chance at a house-elf that wouldn't die within the first year of purchase…
It made Hermione sick, the way house-elves were similar in almost every way to the blacks of America not too long ago in the history of time—as slaves, lower than animals. The difference, perhaps, was that house-elves themselves insisted that they enjoyed their servitude. Did they? Hermione didn't know, but after Minny and the Hogwarts house-elves had confronted her, she'd given up her Gryffindorish crusade. If she was to ever give them some measure of freedom, she'd have to think and work the way they did—which, at the moment, she had no time to do. Blasted war. Blasted Dark Lord—Voldemort. Blasted Death Eaters with blasted notions of prejudice blinding them to the real world. Blasted Ministry. Blasted…well, everything. Life. I had to prioritize, and placing the house-elves on a lower priority rankles like a sore tooth.
"Hermione?"
She looked up out of her reverie, and realized that Mippy must have come and gone and brought back the tea already, because Severus was holding out a steaming cup with a questioning quirk in his eyebrows. "Thank you." She took the offered tea, and blew gently on the surface of the liquid before sipping. Mmm…whatever Mippy did to the tea, it certainly eases the constant ache of Harry's anger. Thank goodness Ginny managed to talk enough sense into Harry that the vomiting and migraines stopped. Those days had been awful, with Harry sequestered away and unwilling to talk to anyone, and Ron and Hermione spending their entire time either in bed or hunched over in the toilet, allowing their innards to turn inside out. Now only a dull ache that Hermione found almost similar to low level menstrual cramps lingered, Harry's suppressed fury—he'd certainly not dealt with his bitterness or rage, simply dropped it and blocked it from even himself out of concern for his friends. We're going have to deal with that sometime too. I'm glad Molly is more than willing to let Ginny visit Harry every day. If Ginny talks to him daily, maybe one day what she says will actually penetrate his brain and stick.
As Hermione sipped gratefully at the hot tea, a peaceful sort of stillness fell between the two, and Hermione found herself actually relaxing, drifting just slightly. It was more comfortable than she would ever have expected, sitting in the simple company of Severus Snape, drinking tea companionably in silence—not awkward but rather, natural, a shared enjoyment of the tranquility that had been increasingly infrequent and rare in their lives. Certainly not something I'd ever have imagined doing with the fearful bat of the dungeons, etc etc two years ago…well not even last year, really! But then who would ever imagine the way my life has turned out to be? It's a good thing Mum and Dad don't know what exactly I'm doing for the Order, or else I'd be locked up in the highest and most remote tower they could find, with double-locked doors—or none at all, a la Rupunzel! That made her smile fondly, if a little sadly. Oh Mum and Dad, if you only knew what your little girl has done already and will do in the future! She hadn't told them about her ordeal and side-trip to a different parallel existence—nor of what she'd done there. She was sworn not to reveal it to anyone and besides, how do you tell your parents, who had potty-trained her and taught her how to read her first letters even before she began to go to school, and had seen their little girl slowly grow up, that said little girl had killed her best friend coldly and without remorse albeit an enormous guilt for the younger other version and what had been or could have been? How did you tell your own parents that you'd seen people not only die, like Sirius Black's sudden fall into nothing, eyes wide with cut-off shock and glazing with death, but atrocities like men literally being whipped to death in the streets of another universe or your friends' severed heads staring blankly from their mounted position on the wall of the tyrant king's abode?
Rapunzel had it easy. She had a loving, if controlling 'mother' who kept her safe until the prince came, and then she only had a short while of torment before she was reunited with her love and lived happily ever after. I would willingly be locked up in an unassailable tower and shut away from the world for the next decade or two if it guaranteed a happy ending to this gods-curst war. Oh, Mum, I wish you were here to give me a hug and tell me that I didn't need to take on so much responsibility and then poke Dad to say something comforting. I wish you were both here. I may be an adult now, but that doesn't mean that I don't need my parents anymore, far from it!
"Hermione?" She looked inquiringly at Severus across the coffee table. He hesitated, and then injected a tone of dark humor as he commented, "Is my company really so boring as to bring that frown to your face?"
Hermione's eyes widened, and she realized that her brows were furrowed together and her expression, indeed, very close to a frown as her thoughts had taken a more serious turn. "Oh. No, it's not you," she assured him. "I just…was thinking, that's all."
"Is there anything wrong?" he wanted to know.
"No! Not really, nothing that I'd trouble you with," she hastily cried. Don't ask, don't ask, she mentally chanted. Her sudden homesickness for something ordinary, something Muggle and commonplace and familiar and reeking of home and reality was not really something she wanted to discuss with anyone at all. Oh, he'd intellectually understand my need for a grounding, for the love and security that my Muggle attachments and my family provide—he's the one that taught me to always have a secure place and people to retreat to for reassurance and recharging if I wanted to remain sane in the spying business. He might even empathize with my need for my family. But…I can't tell him. Or anyone. It will make the distance and the obstacles between me and that ordinary life and my parents and even Julia and Sofi seem more solid, more real, and greater than if it remains unspoken, in my head. It didn't make logical sense, and Hermione hated the illogical—but it was the truth, and the truth was not always straightforward and willing to fit into boxes.
"If you are sure…" Severus raised an eyebrow. She remained firm.
"No thank you."
"Very well. I would advise you to eliminate whatever has you worried. It is a distraction, one you can ill afford and may well cost you your life or the lives of those around you." His voice was sharper than it had been their entire meeting, and Hermione drew back, slightly wounded. But then this is Severus Snape. What did you expect, Hermione, that after declaring that we could be friends he'd miraculously become a charming, pandering flatterer made of fluff and fairy dust? She had to smile at that image. Severus as a sparkly, cuddly teddy bear! No, Severus is Severus and unlikely to change his harsh words or personality just because he was foolish enough to give in to the offer of friendship. And I wouldn't have him if he did change—he wouldn't be my Severus anymore. Hermione caught herself there. My? Hermione, just because you're his handler doesn't mean you're allowed to call him "yours!" Down girl, he's no person's property.
"It's not something I can easily 'get rid of,' as you so casually put it, but I will see that it does not cause any grief or problems," she replied to his reprimand.
"Good," he stated curtly. "See that you do."
Unsure of what to say in response, Hermione looked down into her almost finished cup of tea, the dregs of it swirling and littered with tiny particles of black bits—the leaves of whatever plant had supplied the flavor. An image of silly Trelawney unexpected popped into her head as she gazed at the undecipherable mess. Divination…what a load of rubbish! At least, the way she taught it. Besides, I'd rather not know the future—it would make me feel like I'm being directed like a limp puppet on the strings of fate, or the gods, or whatever deity or non-deity you ascribe yourself to. Like you're being controlled, helpless and unable to make a movement of your own ever! How horrible—and—and Hermione had the suspicious inkling that her roundabout thoughts had brought her back to the man sitting in front of her, staring just over her left shoulder at the tightly shut curtain of the window behind her with a veneer of opaqueness. Severus. I'll bet half of Harry's inherited galleons that that's how Severus felt. His life has been spent serving either one master or another, or both at the same time. What has he done that wasn't done with the express permission of at least one of those masters? He's given up more than anyone else—his friends, his reputation, his personal life, his own values—and yet he retains that spark, that aspect that makes him him and not…some faceless Death Eater or traitor or nameless spy. She felt a surge of protectiveness for her mentor and more recently, her friend. No one would jerk him around like some doll again if she could help it, least of all herself!
Sometime in her musings, Hermione had missed the low tone of Severus' voice—not that she'd really missed it, as his unique timbre never failed to register and resonate in her bowels—but she'd failed to react or really pay attention to what the voice was saying, and it took him three tries before she came to. "Oh, sorry Severus, I was in another world altogether. Could you repeat what you just said?"
He gave her a quizzical glare, somehow just as patently puzzled to Hermione as it was recognized and feared by students in Hogwarts as the pay-attention-you-moronic-imbecile look. The one that usually came just before he took twenty points off your House—unless you were a Slytherin, of course. Out of habit, Hermione suppressed a shudder. How queer, the glares he uses around school don't usually give my stomach vertigo, she thought absently. Must be Harry's temper. I hope Ginny gets through his thick nut once and for all tomorrow, it's getting annoying to deal with when I have better things to concentrate on.
"You are really quite unfocused today. I said, Miss Granger, that you should finish up your tea in the next few minutes and conclude our official discussion. It is past time that my…guests…would be expecting to see you walk out the door," Severus informed her snidely.
"Oh." Hermione's heart solidified and fell with a clunk. Already? "I'm done with my tea, thank you. Is there anything else you needed to tell me?"
"No—but we do need to set up another appointment, Milena."
He was already retreating into his glacial and uncaring Other, retreating back to the pretence. Hermione stifled a keen regret, pulling herself up primly and bending over to pick up a vivid gold stiletto. "Sure. Do you think you'll need to meet before a week from today?"
"Better not to establish a routine," he murmured, and Hermione, straightening momentarily after fastening the first shoe to her protesting foot, caught his shadowed eyes fixed on the shoe. Or at least she assumed it was the flamboyant footwear that he was staring at. The intensity of the look that Severus bestowed on her foot—no, on her stiletto—sent a current of adrenaline down her spine. Hastily stooping down again to pick up the other heel, Hermione listened without looking as she industriously slid her other foot into the second slipper. "It makes us predictable, easier for them to judge what we will be doing if they suspect something. It is impossible to be wholly unpredictable, but we shall have to try. Let us set the appointment exactly eleven days from today."
That's too long! "Fine, I'll tell…the girl," Hermione said to her toes.
When she finally sat up, wiggling her feet unhappily, Severus' gaze was on her face appropriately, with no indication that he'd been ever engrossed in the godforsaken gold heels. Who wears shoes that are gold coloured? It's extravagant, splashy, and overdone. Even if they do make my…Faina's…feet look good. "Very well." Severus paused, and then said slowly, his eyes never leaving Hermione's, "You will have to amend your appearance, Hermione. Most women do not leave a bed looking that perfect."
Oops. Hermione tried not to giggle—Merlin forbid!—at that. Shrugging, she shook out her hair, tousling it vigorously as if she had just stepped out of the shower. She adjusted her robes to be slightly askew, and then looked up inquiringly. "Is that okay?"
Although his eyes widened slightly, Severus nodded and stood in one lean, conservative movement. "Come along then." She took his offered arm, cursing under her breath as her legs tried to remember how to walk in high heels. At the door, as he reached out to open it, Severus turned once more to Hermione. "In a minute, we shall have to put on a convincing show, even more so than the beginning," he told her. "Please go along with anything I do, and forgive me for any liberties I might take."
Before she could answer, he had swung the door open and pulled her gently with him out and down the hall.
Sure enough, there were hordes—or so it seemed to Milena—of people now lounging semi-casually in the receiving room that they'd had to pass through earlier. Certainly many more than the impromptu greeting party. She recognized the visages of Dolohov, Pettigrew, and MacNair, but added to the group were at least three other men Milena didn't recognize—and Bellatrix Lestrange. Unconsciously, Milena instantly contoured her body to best show off her curves, and she relished the instinctive dilation in all the males' pupils with a smirk playing around the edges of her lips at the lone other woman's reaction.
It was satisfying to see the older woman's mouth part just slightly, to see her chest moving more erratically with each breath, to note the fists by Bellatrix's side white from clenching. Milena inwardly raised an eyebrow and poked her metaphorical elbow into Hermione's equally figurative side. Bellatrix, depraved and crazed Death Eater and hated and feared to all of Great Britain, is aroused at your body! That's useful, isn't it? Now you know she swings both ways and file that away for your future reference. Maybe it's a weakness you can take advantage of later, to neutralize her. Revolted, Hermione tried to shut out the Milena-personality that had suddenly taken a life of its own.
It was Dolohov again who spoke first. "I presume Severus gave you no trouble, Ma'am?" His tone was overly solicitous.
"No, he was a perfect gentleman." Milena sighed with content and a hint of mischievous breathiness, a brief flirt of her gaze to Severus. "Quite perfect indeed."
"And you the best company I've ever kept." The inky-toned drawl, rich as chocolate cake, alerted her seconds before his hand slipped from her arm and soothed its way up the small of her back, glazing over her spine up and up until it hit the base of her neck, and then stopped before abruptly plunging itself into the depths of her hair. A tingling sensation followed in Severus' hand's wake, and Milena arched a little and tilted her head up, heavy-lidded and languid to his touch. Oh…
The pair to the wonderful hand that had, with a simple stroke, left her like a lump of malleable clay, reached out to cup Milena's cheek. It was curiously erotic, despite the innocent placing and gentle, casual motion. Dry skin rasped against her cheekbone and stuttered under her chin—and then both hands raced down her shoulders, over her arms, to clasp both of her hands in his.
"I shall call on you again, Milena. I hope you are acquiescent with this?"
Somehow, Milena managed to reply with the skin of her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and her nerves a gibbering mess. "I shall be waiting, Severus."
A.N.: You guys are the wonderfullest, magnificentest, brilliantest, bestest people in the world!
Seriously, I was not expecting such an outpouring of support about my real life woes, and I cannot thank all of you enough for boosting my self-confidence and reminding me just why I continue to write. If you reviewed and left a note of encouragement for me, I'm giving you the best gift I can think of at the moment, which is Severus Snape in all his glory and a side of chocolate syrup and ice cream. :) If you don't like Snape—well, I assume no one doesn't like him here simply because he is a main character, and if you prefer you can just take the ice cream and chocolate syrup and leave Snape for me. :) Anyway, everyone who reviewed and those who didn't but continue to read my updates, my sincerest and most grateful thanks. I hope you enjoyed the anticipated meeting between 'Milena' and Severus!