Chapter 14

"Why? You don't even like Slughorn," Hermione says the next morning, Saturday, when she gets back from breakfast and Snape hands her the invitation. Bad enough enduring Slughorn's stupid Christmas party, but now he's having another party for the Vernal Equinox. Seriously? Who does that?

"Albus has requested I attend, and as I am a married man, it would appear odd if my wife did not attend with me."

"All right then." Hermione has spent enough time with Snape to know what those stiff, Victorian cadences mean. The more he sounds like a vicar in an Anthony Trollope novel, the more uncomfortable he feels.

"I can accompany you to Madam Malkin's this afternoon," he says.

"I can Transfigure something."

"You can, but you will not. My wife is not going to wear some tacky Transfigured hand-me-down."

"All right, but you don't have to go with me."

"Yes, I do. First, God only knows what you'd come back here with, and—"

"You think I have no taste? Just for that, I'm wearing pink."

"And second, you are a target."

"Oh." That stops her in her tracks.

"And you will not wear pink."

"Green?"

"Or black," he smirks. "Either will be acceptable."

"Red?"

"Out of the question."

"Gold?"

"Legilimens!"

"What the hell?" she gasps, shoving him out of her mind. She doesn't want him to find out about the Horcruxes like this. She wants to see if she can keep it from him, and then tell him when she chooses to.

"I told you I was going to start testing you at random times, without warning."

He did. But he hasn't done it till now. At least she was able to throw him out. Then it hits her. "You let me do that."

"I did."

"Why?"

"If you want to know, find out," he taunts.

She picks up her wand. "Legilimens." When her head stops spinning, she's sitting on the floor. "Ow. Fuck. What was that?"

"That was what happens when curious witches want to know things that aren't any of their business."

She gets to her feet. "Git."

"So they say."

"If I can get in, and stay in, I wear red to Slughorn's party, and you wear a red cravat."

"I most certainly will not."

"So, you're worried I can get in?"

He narrows his eyes. "If you can get in, and stay in. Which you will not."


Hermione looks at the selection of black and green dress robes hanging in Madam Malkin's fitting room. House affiliation aside, she doesn't actually like red all that much, and in truth she looks better in green or black, but she couldn't resist the idea of teasing Snape.

It took two and a half bottles of headache potion to dull the pain after her fruitless and embarrassing attempts to get into his mind and stay there long enough to see anything. She'd got overconfident, and that was a salutary reminder. She isn't anywhere near ready for the Dark Lord, but she damn well will be.

"How long does it take to put one of those on?" Snape complains from outside the fitting room.

She finishes tugging the too-tight green robes over her hips. The neckline is so low she might as well go topless. "This one's a no," she calls.

"I'll be the judge of that."

"No, you won't, unless you want your wife looking like she works at a Knockturn Alley brothel." She takes it off and puts on another. This one is black satin, covering enough of her breasts to meet the demands of modesty, but Merlin, the way it hugs her curves. It's beautiful, but is it appropriate?

"Come on, Granger, we don't have all day."

What is it about men and shopping that turns them into two-year-olds? She opens the fitting room door and steps out. Seeing the dress in the full-length three-way mirror, she realizes it's even more provocative than she thought. Though it's not only the way the dress looks that tells her. It's the way that Snape looks. From three different angles, it's unmistakable that he's staring at her the way Ron stares at the last piece of treacle tart.

She licks her lips and swallows. His eyes slide down the length of her body and back to her face.

"I'll go put on the next one." Her voice comes out shakier than she'd like.

"That won't be necessary. This one is…acceptable."

"It's not too…?" she searches for the right word.

"I said it was acceptable," he says, Occluding now.

But why? Hermione turns back to the mirror, back to the view of her in that dress from all sides, and she knows why.

"What are you waiting for, Granger?" Snape sounds bored. "Witches. You'd spend all day shopping, if you could."

She smiles as she goes back into the fitting room. He knows she doesn't waste her time on fashion magazines and shopping. This show of boredom, like the Occlumency and the sarcasm and the Victorian vicar syntax, is part of his armor.

She draws in a breath. Armor. That's all his insulting remark before the Binding was. It was his way of deflecting and defending when Ron and Harry implied he was a dirty old man for marrying her. That's why he acted as though he wanted nothing to do with her. Not because he actually found her disgusting, or even unattractive.

When she drapes the black dress robes over the top of the fitting room door, Snape takes the garment so he can pay for it and says, "I'll meet you up front."

"All right." She steps into her jeans.

Before Snape said what he did about her in the Headmaster's office, she was nervous about the consummation, naturally, but also, if she's being honest, curious. Once they agreed to marry, she was determined to make the best of it, and since that included learning something new—and there is nothing Hermione Granger loves more than learning something new—well, then she might as well be all in and learn it properly.

Until she realized—wrongly, she knows now—that her husband found her repulsive. At that point, her wounded pride won out over her curiosity, and she became silent, refusing to look at him, her body language telling him in no uncertain terms that she was lying back and thinking of England. That was her armor.

And then, adding injury to insult, she chose not to tell him it was her first time. Small wonder he…deflated. Who wouldn't have, under the circumstances?

During the weeks since, they've both avoided any mention of that horrendous night, and have, for the most part, been courteous and considerate toward one another. They've gotten past the initial embarrassment, and the more time that passes, the less awkward things are. Since that night, her husband has given not the slightest hint that he sees her as a sexual being.

Until today, when he looked at her in those dress robes. She's not entirely sure how she feels about that. In the moment, her first reaction was surprise, followed immediately by a flush of satisfaction—what woman doesn't want to feel attractive, after all? Then—and she really would prefer not to admit this, even to herself—just the tiniest smidgen of arousal, accompanied by the thought that Snape wasn't actually as unattractive as she'd always thought. Which is absurd. He isn't the least bit attractive, with his greasy hair and beaky nose and insulting remarks.

Only now that she thinks about it, she realizes that his hair hasn't been looking all that greasy lately, and there are no more insulting remarks now that she isn't his student. There's still the unfortunate nose and crooked teeth, but on the other side of the ledger are his exquisite hands, and that incredible voice. Also, she's come to realize after spending so much time looking into them during Occlumency lessons, he has rather lovely eyes.

Wonderful, she thinks. One more thing she has to hide from him during Occlumency lessons.