Hermione was well aware that Ron was watching her. This was Ron. He wasn't exactly…subtle.

This hard, narrowed glaring had been going on for days and it itched under her skin…but, she didn't want to bring up their diverging futures. To have that talk. To confirm that she was betrothed —very happily— to the Headmaster. Both times they'd talked, it'd been horrible. And the first time. The first time he'd almost cost her Severus. So no. Not seeking him out.

At least her position as Septima's apprentice lifted her to eating at the High Table. That had spared her Ron's food-filled rant.

Hermione's thumb teased the underside of her ring, wanting the easy warmth of the Gaia stone to flow through her. Because there was an extra tightness in Ron's jaw as he sat at the Gryffindor table that night. He was working himself up to exploding…and she would not have Severus embarrassed by Ron's…infantile moods.

She pressed her lips together to deny a smile and toyed with the remains of her dessert. She really was channelling her soon-to-be-husband.

She flicked a glance to him, the candlelight gilding his pale skin and shining over his blue-black hair. Her heart squeezed —and tightened— as his quick, dark eyes found hers. A split second. Holding her. Making her pulse race. Fuck, how did he do that…?

His lips quirked upwards —wicked man— and then he slipped seamlessly back into his conversation with Minerva.

Hermione drew in a long breath and glanced back to the riot of the Gryffindor table. Lavender was frowning at her. Shit. That meant the volcano that was Ron was about to spew lava.

She twitched a smile. "If I may be excused, Master?"

Septima looked up from scribbling notes on an astronomical chart she shared with Aurora. Her Master waved ink-stained fingers. "Yes, yes, you're free for the night, my dear." And if that was a spark of devilment in her eye, Hermione ignored it.

Septima had been told of the betrothal as she was Hermione's Master. The rest of the staff were still in the dark, with the exception of Minerva. They'd agreed that it would be easier for Hermione to settle in to her role as Apprentice without the blaze of her relationship with the Headmaster clouding her position. To delay their betrothal announcement for a few weeks. At least. Though this was Hogwarts. Would they be that lucky?

Hermione stood and Severus flicked a glance at her, his dark eyes unreadable. But then there was a dart of a look to Ron. Severus was aware of how he would deal with the news of their binding. And how one Ronald Bilius Weasley could completely balls up their plans.

Rita Skeeter was still on the prowl. And someone had slipped money to the Registry to backdate her Animagus status. Which meant the foul beetle was free of the threat Hermione could hold over her to ensure her cooperation. And Ron was often…loose-lipped when he was slighted. Eager to spread his version of how he'd been wounded or overlooked.

She slipped into the darkness of the staff entrance to the Great Hall and out onto the main corridor. Ron would've seen her leave. Alone. Dinner was over. So, if he packed away his snacks for later, added another cake, and an éclair, stood, took five chocolate biscuits…and finally pulled himself away from the table with a cauldron cake for the journey, he'd be through the doors…and now he'd be running, and there just off to the right—

"Mione!"

It was scary to be so accurate. But she'd had years of Ron —and his eating and hoarding habits— to back her up.

"I prefer Hermione."

He blinked at her, his face flushed as he staggered to a stop before her.

They were in a main corridor with peering portraits. And soon the Great Hall would empty of nosy children, children with access to quills, parchment and all too willing owls.

A few weeks. That was all she wanted. To settle in and announce their news, their way. She could already feel that luck slipping away.

She lifted her shoulders, straightening her spine. "If you want to talk, we should—"

"Talk…?"

And suddenly Lavender was there and was manhandling Ron into a small classroom, with Hermione —after a quick glance around the empty corridor— hurrying after them. She shut the door and threw a heavy warding and silencing spell around the room.

Ron pulled himself free of his girlfriend and glared at her. Lavender lifted an eyebrow and met his hard look. "Do you want this news all over The Prophet, Ron?"

He huffed. "Well they're ashamed. Keeping it secret—"

"Private," Hermione broke in, her lips pinching. "And I am not ashamed. We've agreed that it would be easier for me to start my time as an Apprentice without the splash of my betrothal."

"See?" Lavender flicked her manicured fingers. "It's what I, and Ginny and Luna and Harry, have been trying to knock into your lunk of a head for a week."

"But Snape, Mione?"

"Hermione," Lavender murmured.

Hermione lifted her chin. "We…suit."

"And so," he waved his hand, "you don't want your fistful of brats now? You wanted to fuck Snape, so your imaginary...horde was just a way to throw me over?"

Her eyes narrowed on him. What had she ever seen in him? When something did not go as he wanted…this was always, always the reaction. She didn't envy Lavender her future if Ronald Weasley did not grow up.

"Severus wants a large family just as much as I do."

"What he wants is to stick his diseased dick in an uptight virgin cu—"

Ron yelped as Hermione slapped him. Hard. She glared at him and he cringed. The stink of metal was in the air and no doubt her cloud of hair was going for the full writhing Medusa. "I'm making the future I want. Go out and make yours."

She turned away and pulled in a steadying breath. And another. "You are my friend, Ron. And I thought, once, we would have a life, a future together. But what we want is too different. I have…moved on. You have the support of a brilliant witch." She twitched a smile at a solemn-faced Lavender. "And I have a wizard who will be the father of my children. Children he wants as much as me. Children he will love, unreservedly."

"Scarecrows."

Hermione shrugged. "Our scarecrows."

Ron shook his head and caught his fingers in his hair. His face was mottled red, the imprint of her hand fierce on his cheek. A twinge of guilt pulled at her. But not much. Not much at all.

"Give us our time to announce this ourselves, Ron, please."

He scowled at her.

Lavender pressed her hand to his arm and he flinched. She seemed unmoved. "Or would you prefer to have Severus Snape all too aware that you blabbed to The Prophet?"

"Let me out of here. Now."

Hermione dropped her spells and Ron surged from the room. He slammed the door and the frame shook. The crash of wood boomed and echoed against the stone. Hermione sighed and fell back against an old desk. She scrubbed her face, letting out a long breath. She looked to the other witch and gave her a small smile. "I'm sorry if this is causing you trouble, Lavender."

Lavender shrugged. "He'll come around. He always does. And you?"

"Me?"

"Do you love the Headmaster, Hermione?"

She winced. That just sounded…wrong, didn't it? "Severus…is brilliant and kind and…and sexual." She blushed and pressed her lips together as Lavender laughed softly. "He makes me feel…" She shrugged. "Like no one else ever has. Yes," she looked up at her old roommate and her chest was tight and warm, "yes, I do love him. Very much."

"Good." Lavender patted her knotted fingers. "And he adores you. I saw those looks at the High Table, Apprentice Granger!" She smirked, her eyes dancing as Hermione's face grew furnace hot. "Have lots of fun making your babies. That's all I can say."

"And you? Ron…" Hermione could only shrug again. Ron was a lot of work, even for a dedicated witch like Lavender Brown.

"I love him. I always have. More fool me." She drew in a breath. "He has so much potential. If he'd only…"

"Get his head out of his arse?"

The witch snorted. "Oh yes. Now I will go and console my wizard." Her smile was sharp and wicked. "Angry sex. Yum."

And with a flick of a wave, she was gone from the classroom.

Hermione let out a sigh. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into Severus' lap and hide from the world for a few hours.

Her floo was connected to his rooms, so it was feasible…but he often had work to catch up on. He could hardly devote time to her because she was feeling… Delicate. Worn. Maybe grieving for the life she thought she would have, even as she wanted everything in the life that had fallen to her.

Her thoughts swirling, Hermione left the classroom and began the trek to her room off a secret passage on the Serpentine Corridor. Severus had flicked the revealing spell over her himself, one given to all staff members to see the extra layers within the Castle. Often where their suites of rooms were hidden from prying eyes…and foul little pranks.

She stepped off the staircase, absently patting the newel post, and headed for her room. A wave of her wand over a rather unflattering tapestry of Adelard of Bath and the narrow, shadowed passage to her rooms revealed itself.

A hot bath and pulling out more research, until Severus let her know he was free. She hoped that was soon—

She shrieked as a large hand pressed to her mouth and she was pulled back against a tall, hard body. "No nose in a book, but you are distracted, Apprentice Granger."

Severus low, silken voice threaded over the wild drumming of her heart and despite wanting to jab him with her elbow —hard— she melted back against him.

His hand had already slipped from her mouth and his fingers were busy drawing up the full skirt of her robes. A silent charm wrapped around her, lifting her up, pinning her up against his body.

Hermione's thoughts snapped back. "I could've hexed you!" But it came out on a hiss as his cool fingers played across the warmth of her exposed skin.

"It would've been worth it."

"Severus!"

He smirked against her ear, and his breath was hot and slow. It pricked at her skin and the familiar curl of want coiled ever tighter in her belly. He was fulfilling the little fantasy from days before. To trap a distracted apprentice and perform thoroughly wicked acts on her.

His long finger teased across her mons and Hermione sucked in a breath. Magic and his strong arms held her against him. "You are tense, my witch. I believe…"

Hermione mewled at the smooth and sinful darkness of his voice into her ear, the ghosting of his lips and his clever fingers inching closer to her aching sex.

"I can break that tension, if you desire it...?"

"Yes…"

"Such an easy little witch."

She growled at him, but that fell into a groan as he slipped a finger into her knickers, vanished them to Merlin-knew-where and slid a slow path, down, down…

Hermione sucked in a breath at the first light brush of her clit. The flare of hot pleasure. The desperate ache for more.

"Trust my magic to hold you. Wrap your calves around my thighs… Spread yourself for me, Hermione."

A shimmer of glass formed into an oval before her, the low light gleaming over a mirror-like surface…to reveal her, curled across his front like a…a wanton, with his pale fingers plucking between her wide-parted and bared thighs.

The heat, the desire, in his glittering back eyes caught her breath, raged her pulse. To be so…wanted— Oh…oh, fuck…

"That's it, my witch. Chase the fire in your flesh. Come. Come for me, deliciously naughty girl."

His voice, his dark velvet voice flowing over her and his fingers—

Oh, shit, fuck…yes… There. There. Hermione arched against him. Hard. Against the sweet burn of his magic and the power of his arms. Fuck... Fuck. A grasping cry escaped her. Her body shook and the white fire of her release surged and still his wicked, wicked fingers…

"Another. Give me another, Hermione. Fuck, you're beautiful when you come."

And his words spiralled, catching the dip and stroke of his relentless fingers...and…and she obeyed, a deeper, fiercer orgasm careening after the first, until she was a limp rag, held up only by him. Gods... That was... She laughed and sighed and twitched, her words lost.

Merlin, she could just sleep…for a week. He'd have to pour her into her room, as there wasn't a bone left in her body. She wet her lips, her mouth parched. "Wicked…you are so very wicked, Severus Snape."

He met her gaze in the soft shimmer of the magicked mirror. "Of course I am."

Hermione let out a long sigh and felt the curl of his spell ease away. Her feet touched the stone floor, her apprentice robes falling into place and her heart slowed, the wild rush of her release little more than sparks in her sated flesh. She wobbled back against him, wanting his strength, his heat, everything about him. She smiled at him as the mirror faded. "Thank you."

"I promised I would never leave you wanting."

A hand eased over the front of his trousers to the fiercely hard line of his erection. "And you, Severus?"

He hissed and moved her curious fingers away, much to her disappointment. "We shall see." He nuzzled her neck. "Now, bathe, relax, I will join you later."

The loose pleasure in her flesh was a relief. "Honestly, thank you, Severus." She turned, stretched up onto her toes and pressed a light kiss to his lips. Her fingers stroked the smoothness of his cheek. "I needed you."

His dark eyes warmed, until the familiar crease formed on his brow. "Will Ronald Weasley stay silent?"

"Who knows? Lavender will certainly keep him," she frowned, chasing away the unwanted images, "busy."

"I would rather not know."

Hermione huffed a laugh and pressed herself against him, breathing him in. Her wizard. Hers. Reluctantly, she drew back, her fingers weaving a final tease between his infamous buttons. "The quiet —possibly— before the detonation." She smirked up at him. "Not that I've changed my mind. Not for a second. You, me and our impending tribe. Always."

Severus gave her a silent nod and a brush of a warm kiss. "Until later, little witch."

And in a swirl of black robes, he vanished into the shadows.

Hermione caught her fingers in her hair and grinned, the glow still warm around her. No, no one else would ever her feel quite like that.


Ron added his signature in a slash to the hastily written note to The Prophet.

He called an owl, a bland little brown bird hopping onto the quickly opened window. Securing the parchment, he stroked the owl and it stabbed at the missed chunk of cauldron cake caught on his sleeve. Little shit. He shooed it out of his room and it left with an indignant hoot.

Ron collapsed back into his chair. He glanced back to his bed, Lavender's hair a long trail in the low light. Her soft, sleep-filled breathing was the only sound in the room. She'd wanted him to leave it alone, but he couldn't. Not for her. Not for anyone.

She didn't understand. Everything had been set. Everything. His perfect life. The one he'd clung to through the time in that fucking tent and after, through fear and pain. It was his reward. But no, Mione ripped it all away with her insane urge to copy his mother, of all people.

Well, if Hermione was so happy with her brat-filled future…then, why shouldn't the wizarding world know it?