A/N: The first note was very long so I shall keep this one short. All the beta love in the world to aureliandreams and photon08 and all my alpha love to sleeplessdreamer927. And SO MUCH love and thanks to everyone who has read so far and to everyone who has commented. I appreciate y'all so much.

content warning for alcohol use in this chapter

Now on with the show!


Chapter 2: The Brave Little Gryffindor

His feet hit the ground hard outside Spinner's End and Severus roughly shoved his hands in his pockets, stomping through the snow back to his house and cursing wildly under his breath.

What was he thinking? Kissing her like that. He had no right.

Sure, he had followed her successes—casually—in the Daily Prophet throughout the years. Had thought her work was actually quite impressive even as the Ministry tried to stifle her innovation at every turn. Had seen her on that roof and marveled at how beautiful she had become. But he had no place in her life, her world. Why would he do such a thing?

Why would she do such a thing?

It was clear that she had been about to kiss him as well.

And the actual kiss

Severus hadn't felt this much like a school boy obsessing over a kiss since he was a school boy. He had kissed plenty of witches over the years, but none who kissed him back like that.

None whose kiss felt like that.

But he certainly wasn't going to disturb years of peace and predictability with the unknown of one incendiary physical gesture.

He paused to Occlude until Hermione and the kiss were behind his mental walls, secreted away where things he did not devote time to lived, and then resolved to continue his original plan for the year. It was safer. Predictable. Contractual.

It was the only path he saw.

Day -2

Hermione spent the entire day waiting for him to do…something. To send an owl, to show up, to floo call. To do anything.

But Severus Snape vanished as he had after the war. And after angrily cleaning Grimmauld Place in her frustration—at least until Kreacher's acidic attitude at a Muggleborn touching his mistress' things got on her nerves enough to send her retreating to her room—Hermione decided that she did not want to begin the new year trying to parse out the inner workings of yet another man's mind. She would not sit around wondering why he hadn't owled, what he was thinking, or whether she had done something wrong. Hermione Granger was her own witch, gods damn it, and she had plenty to offer the world. She had followed enough paths in her life to recognize a dead end, and decided to dedicate no more of her time to thinking about Severus Snape and the Kiss that Led Nowhere.

And this time, when her friends gathered downstairs to celebrate New Year's Day —though why both sides of such a disappointing holiday needed celebration she couldn't understand—she stayed resolutely in her room with a book.

She was asleep by nine.

Day -1

Hermione knocked on Pansy and Harry's bedroom door. The rhythmic creaking heard inside immediately stopped, replaced by the rustle of clothing. Muffled curses uttered by a masculine voice followed by an unintelligible, but distinctly sarcastic, feminine reply filtered out into the hallway where the curly-haired witch stood waiting, shuffling her feet. Hearing someone haphazardly scramble across the room, Hermione sighed, bracing herself.

A second later, Pansy had pulled the door open just enough to lean around the edge of it, a shirt pulled against her chest, the rest of her out of view.

Hermione averted her eyes, choosing instead to concentrate on a very interesting spot on the ceiling where a spider was making itself right at home.

"How soon can I start?"

Pansy's brows drew together in confusion.

Off her silence, Hermione glanced back at her friend's face and clarified. "Meeting sugar wizards."

She snorted. "Gods Granger, please don't call them that, it sounds awful. If you're serious, we can head to Diagon today and see if they've matched you with anyone." An annoyed groan rang out from behind Pansy and she quickly peeked over her shoulder before glancing back at Hermione with a sly grin. "Just give me ten minutes. Men are so needy, aren't they?"

She closed the door, leaving Hermione alone in the hall once again.

An uncomfortable weight settled into her stomach. While she didn't miss Ron per se, Hermione couldn't help but wish that she had ever been so wanted by a man that they didn't want to let her out of bed. Her relationship with Ron had been many things, some of them even good, at least in the beginning, but she could never claim it had been passionate. He had never looked at her the way that Harry looked as if he wanted to devour Pansy every time she stepped into a room.

Her heart a little heavier, she dragged her feet to the guest room on the second floor where Ginny often crashed when the Burrow felt too claustrophobic and bodily pulled her redheaded friend out of bed. If Hermione was going to suffer through this probably embarrassing process, she was not going to do it alone.

It would be worth it, she told herself. She would find a man who was pleasant to speak to, someone who wanted her companionship, who appreciated her intellect. Someone who had the ability to help her get back on her feet.

Something simple—a nice time, a nice paycheck. End of story.

Hopefully, Hermione pleaded with whatever gods happened to be listening, she would find someone who would not want to sleep with her. Though she had been able to fool Ron with her well-timed moans, she doubted someone who did this regularly would buy it. She wasn't sure how well her pretending would work on someone new, anyway. She'd only ever been with one person. And she wasn't sure she had it in her yet to try. What if she didn't like the look of this wizard at all? How did sugar babies feel excited by people they wouldn't have dated otherwise?

Lost in her thoughts, Hermione chewed her lip anxiously at the kitchen table while she waited for the other witches. She hardly noticed as Ginny came into the room and sat at the table, taking a quick nap using her arms as a pillow. It wasn't until Pansy came to a stop in front of her, fully dressed and twenty minutes late, that Hermione snapped out of her sugar baby spiral.

It will be fine.

She took a deep breath in and stood, holding herself as tall as her five-foot-three frame allowed.

I am Hermione Granger. I can do this.

The feeling was only bolstered when Pansy and Ginny tucked their arms through each of hers, leading her to the Apparition point with purpose.

~O~O~O~

"Come on, Hermione, you look like you're going to a funeral," Ginny said, hands in the pockets of her bomber jacket, thick red ponytail swinging behind her as she walked through Diagon Alley.

"Yeah, Weaslette looks more lively than you, and I know she didn't get laid last night."

"Oi! How do you know that?" Ginny said, face pinched.

"You're loud, Ginevra, and the fact that I had to pick you up off the floor to put you to bed with a hangover potion myself was a pretty good indicator."

Ginny blushed, rubbing the back of her neck in a habit Hermione thought she must have learned from Harry. "Yeah, I may have lost in the game of who can handle their drinks better, but George has had a lot of practice."

Hermione's lips thinned as she pressed them together. "Don't you think that's—"

"Hermione—" the redhead cautioned.

She shrugged, palms facing up. "I just meant, do you think he needs—"

"We don't talk about it," Ginny quipped, eyes narrowing.

"Okay," Hermione replied hastily, anxiously worrying her bottom lip.

She glanced away, staring at the footprints in the dusting of snow as they walked on in silence, still glancing surreptitiously in Ginny's direction with concern. Despite the snow on the ground, the sun was warm; more people than expected bustled by them as they made their way to the boutique dating service.

"Well I for one am glad you're done sulking, Granger," Pansy offered, side-eyeing Hermione.

"I was not sulking!" Hermione exclaimed.

Pansy quirked a brow in a haughty expression that felt reminiscent of the days before they became friends. Must not underestimate Slytherins, Hermione reminded herself.

"What do you call hiding in your room when there are other wizards to explore?" Pansy asked. "Really, Hermione, you're finally free to shag whomever you'd like and instead you skip not one, but two parties to wake up in your bed alone?"

"I just wanted to read. I was really tired." Hermione shrugged in what she hoped was a casual gesture, trying not to let a petulant tone slip into her voice. "I did go to the roof for a bit on New Year's Eve, but nothing terribly exciting happened."

The lingering embarrassment from that night crawled between her ribs, wrapping around her lungs like devil's snare; it kept Hermione from breathing a word of the interaction with Severus to her friends. She already felt self-conscious enough to have gotten the kiss she had fantasized about many a time during Potions class—and occasionally late at night after Lavender and Parvati had gone to bed—only to have him find her wanting.

They reached the door to the establishment sooner than expected, but Hermione wasn't complaining. She was nervous enough about this endeavor without having to spill her guts confessing late night bad decisions she made before she even had a sugar daddy. Sugar wizard. They really need a better name.

Sugar sorcerer?

Hermione snorted to herself, causing Ginny to look at her with a raised brow, but she shook her head and gestured for the younger witch to enter ahead of her.

Inside, Ginny and Pansy proceeded to the front desk with an obvious familiarity.

"Wanda, darling!" Pansy exclaimed, pureblood manners taking over as she greeted the woman with an air kiss to either cheek.

"Pansy! Don't tell me you're back here because you've lost the chosen bloke," the witch named Wanda said with a stern look.

Pansy held up her left hand, and Wanda gasped. Pansy rolled her eyes with a smile, genuine pride coming over her features. "He has good taste."

"I helped him pick out that ring," Ginny whispered to Hermione with a smirk. "But I'd still agree with her assessment."

Hermione laughed. So far it was neither the seedy underground offices she'd expected from sugar dating, nor the stuffy atmosphere of a posh matchmaking place she'd been imagining.

"But, alas, we're not here to talk about me. A friend of mine"—Pansy gestured for Hermione to come forward—"is in need of your services."

The curly-haired witch hesitated, but Ginny gave her a push on her lower back and she stumbled towards the proprietress.

"Uh, hi, yes, I'm—"

But Hermione promptly closed her mouth at the look on Wanda's face—a mixture of surprise and amusement spelling out 'I know who you are. Obviously.' clear as day.

"This will be a piece of cake," Wanda said confidently.

Feeling even more self-conscious than she had when they'd arrived, Hermione squirmed and looked to Ginny, silently pleading for help.

"I don't know," Ginny said, the teasing quality of her sing-song tone not bringing Hermione any comfort. She walked forward, hands in her back pockets with an air of false consideration. "Our girl is pretty picky. You can't choose just anybody. If there isn't a separate allowance for books, it'll be a dealbreaker."

Hermione stared at Ginny, affronted, but the other witch merely held her gaze until Hermione finally huffed in concession. So perhaps she was a little picky. It wasn't like she couldn't compromise—that much was obvious from her dating history of one.

"I would prefer if he was also a reader," Hermione admitted in defeat.

"Sure thing," Wanda replied with a smile, scribbling with haste on a piece of parchment. "I already have someone in mind for you. Lucky thing, he just registered yesterday. Used to be one of our regular customers, but he hasn't been back in a while."

Hermione balked. "Don't you need to know more about my preferences and interests before you select someone for me?"

Wanda looked her up and down for a few seconds, then started speaking as if reading off a chart. "Hermione Granger, 28 years old. Book lover, champion for a good cause, would have worked in social justice if you'd turned out Muggle instead of magical. Failed Ministry career. Straight—" she tilted her head, considering, "possibly bicurious. One lover, not nearly enough orgasms,"—here Ginny laughed at the mortification on Hermione's face—"and you want an intellectual equal. Not someone who will idolize you for your past, not someone who will ask you to carry the emotional and mental load in a relationship just because you can. Someone who is similar, but will challenge you. Someone you can talk to." She paused, looking Hermione over as she settled demurely, hands clasped together. "Sound about right?"

Hermione's mouth was sealed shut from shock, but she did her best to squeak a sound in the affirmative.

Wanda smiled smugly and Hermione saw the similarities between Pansy and this woman; their close rapport was starting to make a lot of sense. It was only then that Hermione realized that smirk looked familiar, and Wanda was the same shade of blonde…

"Are you related to the Malfoys?" she asked, faux casualness straining her tone.

"Yes, Draco's my second cousin," she said as she took a stack of parchment from her drawer and tapped her wand. Hermione's name began to fill several empty lines previously marked 'client.' "He gave me the startup galleons for Sugar Quills. And his firm runs background checks on every one of our clients, so you are in good hands here."

Hermione blanched. "So, he-he'll know I'm, I'm looking for—"

"Relax, Hermione," Pansy said. "He's very discreet."

Hermione frowned, but she knew Pansy was right. Draco wasn't the same bully she'd met in school; he'd put in the work to try and change for the better, rehabilitating the Malfoy name through philanthropy and several well-timed business endeavors. He'd also become a licensed barrister, determined never to walk into a contract—any contract—without understanding the fine print ever again. Hermione had actually become rather close acquaintances with the Malfoys after Draco and Lucius petitioned the school board to rehaul a more inclusive Muggle Studies class and add Wizarding Studies for those who didn't grow up in the magical world. But she still hesitated at the idea of anyone finding out what exactly she was going to be doing to pay rent.

Ginny laughed, popping several candies from the jelly bean bowl into her mouth. "Just trust us, Hermione. This is supposed to be fun."

The newly single, jobless, semi-homeless witch sighed, resigning herself to seeing it through at least until proven otherwise. "Okay. So, am I automatically assigned to the first person Wanda chooses or do I get a choice of clients?"

"Not here, babes," Pansy said, walking around Wanda's desk and opening the top drawer, pulling out a sealed bag of Every Flavor Beans. "They mix matchmaking with sugaring. So Wanda will set you up."

"Like a blind date," Ginny added, watching Pansy open the new bag of candy and pour some into her manicured hand.

Pansy met Ginny's gaze with an indignant look. "What? I don't want to touch communal candy." She threw a handful back into her mouth and Ginny held out her own hand for some.

"What if we don't get along?" Hermione asked Wanda.

Wanda smiled at her. "Don't worry, Miss Granger. We have a very high success rate here in both sugaring and matchmaking. If you're not satisfied with your arrangement, we have a thirty-day money-back guarantee."

"I have to pay to get paid?!"

"Relax, Granger, she's very good at what she does. It's a one-time fee. The wizards pay far more, and your payment comes out of your first paycheck."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You're really that good?" she asked Wanda.

Lips curling into a familiar smirk, Wanda answered with all the confidence of a Malfoy when she simply replied, "Yes."

And despite the fact that she'd spent her first twenty-eight years of life cultivating strict control over her circumstances, Hermione swallowed hard and released a little bit of it back into the universe, placing her trust in Wanda—and the fates—with the next step in her life.

She picked up the quill on the desk. "Where do I sign?"

Day 1

Severus looked in the mirror and appraised his reflection, straightening the tie settled around his collar.

And then promptly ripped it off, discarding it in frustration on the chair. Salazar, he hated the stupid Muggle formalwear, but thought whatever witch he met that night might appreciate the gesture. Especially since he was getting on in age—if forty-seven could be considered old—Severus supposed he could use every bit of help. A sneer curled his lips as he pulled a cravat on instead.

His choice in attire wasn't simply to put the other party at ease; his preference for Muggle clothes as opposed to robes was deeply rooted in the bitter, naive stirrings of hope that his date might see him as more than his lauded war hero status. The very thought of enduring sycophantic fawning had acid creeping up the back of his throat. Severus shook his head pathetically. Realistically he knew that besides the Order of Merlin and the exaggerated public praise that came with awards and victories and honor, he had little else to offer.

Smoothing his hair down proved to be an exercise in futility as the fine locks continued to stand on end, charged with static. He huffed in mild annoyance before reaching for his setting spray and oiling the persistent flyaways down. He frowned at his reflection as he eyed the greasiness that now marked his roots. Despite the fact that he was a brilliant Potions Master, Severus had never been able to find or brew a product that locked in moisture and achieved both shine and a look of cleanliness.

Well, if they didn't want him as he was, they could bugger off.

Of course they don't want you as you are, you great ugly git. That's why you're paying them.

He sighed and made his way downstairs, grabbing a scarf to conceal his neck more fully on the way out. It was well known that he had barely survived the snake bite, but he still hated the way people gawked. They stared at the damaged skin unabashed, looking on as if it were a testament of great bravery. He was their Beowulf, defeating Grendel with honor and strength they knew not. They failed to see that his scar was just a bit of disfigured skin, marred first by the beast he would one day slay, only to suffer the venomous bite of the dragon. They thought him invulnerable, and for some reason that made him desirable, as if they had learned nothing from the Dark Lord's rule. Unlike Beowulf, the monsters could hurt him, and did.

Severus had no interest in being a hero.

The stairs creaked and the whole house threatened to fall, but he didn't see the point in wasting the galleons Dumbledore had left him on fixing a place he hated. It wasn't like the women he solicited were being paid to care what his home looked like. If they couldn't have an intelligent conversation with him—and that's really why he was doing this, lest boredom addle his brain—because his living room was a bit dusty, then they weren't the right person anyway.

He pulled his cloak tighter around him, stepped outside, and Disapparated.

~O~O~O~

Hermione sat at the booth, fiddling with her butterbeer. It didn't feel like a particularly classy choice, but she truly couldn't stand the taste of Firewhisky. She clung to the hope that her semi-put-together professional ensemble would impress him instead, since her choice of drink was juvenile at best. She wore a deep burgundy sweater that clung to her frame atop a black pencil skirt. Her hair cascaded in curls down her back, and the heels Ginny had lent her accentuated her shorter legs nicely. She had never felt particularly confident about her calves, but she had to admit that she looked rather alluring when she was all done up. With just a touch of Pansy's red lipstick lightly shading her lips, she felt downright invincible.

But the spot she'd worn down on the inside of her lip belied her confidence. She picked at the butterbeer label nervously as she craned her neck to look around for the potential client. The only information she'd been given was that he would be wearing a black cloak. The pub was full of all sorts, Muggle and magical alike, as it straddled the border with half in Diagon Alley and half in Muggle London.

She placed her forehead down on her hands and tried to breathe slower. She was not going to make a big deal about this. No. Witches got paid for the company of wizards all the time. It didn't make them sex workers.

And so what if it did! she chastised herself. Hermione had nothing against sex work—she simply found it hard to believe she herself would be any good at it, having only practiced with one man whose parting shot to her had been how she wasn't particularly good at satisfying a wizard in any way outside of an intellectual conversation.

She blew out a huff at the sting of the memory. It had been a low blow, but to be fair, it had come at the end of a long, protracted fight as their nearly ten-year relationship imploded. She had accused him of cheating on her after seeing a photo in the Daily Prophet where he was, well—kissing someone else. When he got home that day and she laid the article in front of him calmly on the kitchen table, Hermione had already accepted that it was the end. In truth, she felt a sense of relief. They had been more roommates than lovers for a long time by then; she thought—maybe stupidly—that he would own his indiscretion. That he would apologize and they'd part ways, going back to whatever they were when things were simpler, when all they had to worry about was parchment length on essays and how to keep Harry alive. But his reaction was anything but calm. It was explosive—violent in its mischaracterization of everything they had been through. And as she packed her things, Ron had claimed Hermione hadn't heard him out, that he'd been set up, that it was a scheme to get money from copies sold when a Quidditch player was caught in a scandal. Begged her to listen. He told her that they could fix it, that they were perfect together, that they had always been meant to be.

The words were right but everything was wrong and she didn't believe him anymore. And gods, she had wanted to believe him.

But if she were honest with herself, their relationship had been falling apart for years, and each of them had been picking at it like it was a butterbeer label, fraying the edges until it was illegible and unrecognizable.

Hermione sighed, rolling her head side to side where she rested her forehead on her palms, trying to shake loose the thoughts from her head. Now was not the time to be getting lost in regrets about the dissolution of one of her oldest relationships and the friendship she lost along the way.

A man cleared his throat from above her. "Miss?"

Hermione glanced up, the curls that had been covering the sides of her face falling back, and her eyes widened as she gazed into a face she hadn't expected to see so soon—if ever again. Her stomach churned with a mix of nausea and anticipation.

"Professor…"

He looked at her oddly for a moment, not responding.

"It's nice to see you again," she heard herself saying, her breathing accelerating, unsure when her mind had given her mouth the instruction to start speaking. She had wanted to see him again after that night on Harry's roof, but the reality of essentially getting stood up by her former teacher was humiliating. And now, to finally see him as she waited for her date— shit, what if her date saw him standing there next to her table?

Or worse—what if he saw them?

"Yes," he replied, dragging out the word. She couldn't get a read on him. He hadn't moved a fraction since she had looked up, standing stone-still as her amber eyes held his dark ones.

"Would you…like to sit?" she asked, unsure of what she was doing. She was supposed to be there to meet a sugar daddy. Someone who could provide her with good money, good companionship, and if you asked Luna—which Hermione certainly did not—the good shag she so desperately needed.

"Ah…" he started.

Oh. So he really hadn't intended to see her again after their kiss. Hermione's cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"It's okay, I'm actually waiting for someone," she backtracked. "Please don't let me hold you up." She stared fixedly at the label, scratching at it more aggressively than before.

Severus sighed, settling into the seat across from her, and her chest tightened. She wasn't interested in his pity.

Without looking up, she said, "Please don't trouble yourself. I understand you were never going to—that New Year's was—that—well, it doesn't matter." She waved her hand dismissively through the air. "As I said, I am waiting for someone." She finally dared to meet his gaze and her hardened mask fell as she watched his uncomfortable expression. He didn't seem intimidating. He seemed… mortified.

"Yes, I know." He smiled apologetically but it looked like a grimace on his face.

Hermione's eyes went wide. No.

"I'm not here for sex," she rushed out.

If he'd had a drink, he would have choked on it. "No, Miss Granger, I would not have assumed so. Most witches who seek arrangements like this are not actually looking for sex. Nor am I, or at least, it is not my primary motive in this case."

He moved only his eyes to look at her, head tilted down towards his hands. She was lovely. And the color on her lips drew his thoughts to how soft they'd felt…how he'd like to feel them again…

But that wasn't what she was there for, as she'd said. He couldn't imagine Hermione Granger resorting to this sort of thing just to meet her physical needs. Not when she was, well, her. A swot, yes. A know-it-all? Of course. But stunning in both mind and body, she could easily obtain any wizard she wished to pursue. So, why? What was she there for?

Ah. The realization hit him soundly in the chest. She was there for the money.

"Would I be correct in assuming you are here primarily for financial gain?"

Her cheeks threatened to match her dress.

"I'm not a gold digger, either," she asserted quietly, staring him down.

He held up his hands in surrender. "I never would have accused you of such. However, you are here to meet an older wizard in exchange for monetary compensation. And…?"

Hermione sighed, deflating as the truth of her situation crashed down around her. "And for conversation. For friendship." She blushed. "I…was told that anything more, uh, physical, was an anomaly. Not required."

Severus pulled a face. "Any wizard who requires a witch to put out, even if he is paying for her time, should have his wand snapped in half and be sent directly to whatever hell the dementors have taken up new residence in."

Hermione giggled, despite herself. She stopped trying to turn her label into papier-mâché and gave him a small smile.

Severus swallowed, unsure of how to proceed.

She shifted in her seat and looked at him. "All right. My first motivation in signing up for this service was for the money. I lost my job at the Ministry, as I mentioned on New Year's Eve, after they decided my 'greatest attributes' as a war heroine were actually causing them a bit of a headache in the office."

Snape smiled knowingly. "They didn't like that you championed causes for those they found undeserving of their time."

"Correct. And in the end, they found me undeserving of it too." Hermione looked down, nail scraping directly at the glass bottle.

Severus didn't like seeing this defeated look on the Golden Girl's face.

"And then Ron got the flat when we split, so I also find myself a bit homeless at the moment. It's hard to let a new place if I don't have a solid income."

The Ministry was full of vile little leeches; he wasn't surprised they'd drained her before casting her out on her arse. But that didn't quite explain the homelessness. Given that they had kissed only days earlier, he had already known the youngest Weasley boy was out of the picture—though the fact that he left his former girlfriend without a roof over her head only solidified Severus' previous opinions of the boy—but was there really no one else she could turn to?

Severus' brows drew together and his face held a stormy expression. "Potter wouldn't allow you to stay with him?"

"Oh, no, he is actually, but I don't really want to live with Harry for free forever either. It doesn't sit well with me." She shifted in her seat, a familiar look of determination suffusing her features. "I want to make enough to be on my own."

He respected that. "And your first thought was…this?"

She flushed a lovely shade of red. "No, this was—well, it wasn't my idea. A few friends of mine have done it before. They thought it might be a good way for me to get out and meet older wizards who might share a desire for good conversation and have the means to support someone they enjoyed being around. Though one of them," she said, remembering Pansy's words, "I think was rather more interested in the experience that older men have in general."

"But not you, Miss Granger." It wasn't a question.

Hermione blushed deeper, unwilling to share just how lacking her experience was. She looked up at him as something occurred to her. "Why are you here, Professor?"

He cringed. "First of all, I think if we're even going to entertain the idea of something like this, then I'm uncomfortable continuing to be addressed as your professor. You may call me Severus."

Her eyes went wide. Had he misread? Maybe she had no desire to entertain any of this. Maybe he was a fool. Maybe—

Oh well, in for a knut.

He continued quickly. "Second, I have found myself in possession of a large sum of money over the last few years, from an old family estate. Not mine," he answered at her questioning look. "Albus…thought it would help. Should I survive the guilt, of course." He looked down. He had never disclosed that to anyone. What was it about her that made him so loquacious?

"Talk about blood money." She took a swig of her butterbeer.

Severus laughed. Her cheek surprised him. "Indeed."

"So it's purely philanthropic?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Of course not. Even in the limited capacity that you have known me, you should know I do not do anything purely out of the goodness of my heart."

The cold way he said it sent a chill through Hermione.

He continued. "I do not find myself in possession of endless opportunities to entertain witches. Many do not want to associate with a former Death Eater"—he held up his hand to stem the flow of words he saw about to fall from her lips—"even one that has been lauded as a…hero." Severus sneered. "This service suits my needs. I get to converse with interesting witches when I find one—few and far between. I have a date should I get dragged to another insipid Ministry party. And, when the connection is right, I have a warm, willing witch in my bed. It is a transaction, plain and simple. Clear cut. Nothing more."

Hermione was stunned, feelings oscillating so fast she felt she might have whiplash. He was paying for company because he believed himself unworthy? Or because he didn't want the responsibility of something more? And yet he had kissed her—though he had no plans to follow through on any physical pursuit of her. She shook her head, trying to stymie the jealousy pooling in her stomach, envious of the witches he had seen fit to take to bed as she made sense of her perplexed emotions.

"You kissed me," she said, and he flinched at her words. "On New Year's Eve. You kissed me, and you never even tried to follow up. So why is this a more suitable option?"

He tried to smile, but there was no humor to it. The cold truth of it was that Severus knew how unagreeable he was, how unappealing the package of his life looked once the wrapping was torn off, and Sugar Quills' services had provided him a way to meet some of his needs. "I am under no impression, Miss Granger, that I'm anyone's idea of a gentleman. I am not a proper suitor. I have no fanciful thoughts of a future in which I lead a normal life. And I would not ask nor expect any witch to saddle herself with such low expectations. That does not mean I don't enjoy spending time with intelligent women while passing on some of the wealth I neither wanted nor deserve."

He watched her swallow, clearly debating asking something else.

"And the sex?"

There it was. The heart of the matter. She would not be interested in that with him. Severus felt the air leave his lungs as the last shreds of the illusion he'd entertained for the briefest of moments during their kiss—the one he'd tucked away to save himself from any impossibly painful outcomes—exploded into confetti and rained down around him like the world's saddest party.

"As I said, I do this for many reasons. Sex is not a dealbreaker. It has happened in the past, on occasion, that an arrangement leads in that direction, and when it has it has been very welcome. But that kind of relationship occurs less often than you would assume and is not what I am seeking here. If I simply wanted sex, there are easier ways to meet those needs. I would hold no expectation of that happening here." He crossed his arms; there was no need to let her know that he would have been delighted, thrilled, to be allowed in her bed. He had some pride.

Hermione exhaled. He really didn't find her attractive then. That much was clear, after making such an exquisitely precise point of letting her know that they would not wind up tangled in each other's limbs in the course of their untraditional relationship. What had started sounding like a chivalrous acknowledgement that she obviously didn't owe him sex had ended with an embarrassingly clear message that he had better avenues for physical release than her.

She wished that the earth would open up and swallow her whole right there so she could leave without having to acknowledge that not only did she feel no pressure from him to sleep with him, but she was now also acutely aware of the depths of his aversion to the idea. The kiss must have been truly horrible for him to make no endeavor to contact her after and decide that he would rather confine himself to an expensive but purely intellectual relationship. Well, she wouldn't let him see how it had wounded her ego. She would not show him that her schoolgirl crush—which he had blissfully, if unwittingly, fulfilled on the roof of Grimmauld Place—had been dashed in the span of the short new year.

She smiled instead. "Wonderful. As long as we're on the same page, perhaps we can find this mutually…agreeable. Severus." She tried out the name, finding it salacious and foreign and far too casual on her tongue.

He gave her a timid smile that he quickly schooled to neutral.

They spent the next half an hour negotiating the terms. How much she would be paid, when, how often they expected to see each other. And finally, monogamy.

"I would not expect you to be faithful to me as we are not in a sexual relationship, but I do ask that you inform me if you form a romantic attachment with another wizard so that we can dissolve our arrangement amicably." He sipped at the Firewhisky he'd ordered.

"Of course."

Hermione didn't ask if he would be sleeping around. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

But there was one question she couldn't ignore.

"I have to ask, Professor—" He glared at her and she amended her choice of words. "Sorry. Severus. I have to ask. Do you really think you'll be able to tolerate me for that long? I wasn't exactly your favorite student."

He thought about her question before answering, deciding that informing her she actually was one of his favorite students, despite her obnoxious praise-seeking, was unnecessary.

"Well, I hope to find that age has softened you."

She snorted, smirking into her drink. "Not bloody likely."

Taken by surprise at her impertinence, he laughed, a deep genuine sound. She threw him off-balance, but he couldn't look away. "As long as there is less frantic hand-waving, I shall be satisfied."

"Should we shake on it?" she asked.

He glanced down as she lifted her small hand from where it lay on the wooden table, fingers slightly curling in as she waited for him. He slotted his own hand into her soft palm. He could feel her pulse quicken where his fingertips rested against her wrist.

"To a new beginning," he said with the barest hint of a grin; a secret reference between…friends? "Hopefully one in which we both find the type of companionship that so many other dunderheads seem content to go without."

A laugh bubbled up in her chest and shook her body as their hands remained tightly in each other's grasp. "To new friends," she agreed. "With…benefits."

"Not traditionally how the phrase is used, Miss Granger."

"Hermione."

He held her gaze—a challenge. Seeming to relent, he finally released her hand, sitting back and lifting his glass to her before he pressed it to his mouth. "We shall see," he said, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

This would be different than he was used to, and she didn't know what to expect either. But a familiar warmth settled over them as they ordered another round.

~O~O~O~

As Hermione found herself sneaking back into Grimmauld Place after her first encounter with Severus, her smile faded, normality settling back in.

How in Godric's name would she tell the others whom she'd been paired up with?

Wariness swept through her stomach; how long would it be before her attraction to the surly Potions Master—who, despite kissing her, had made it clear he had no interest in her in that way—threatened to become something more? How long could she keep things professional enough to ensure that she spared her heart?

Hermione had a sick feeling she might be putting more on the line than could be paid for with galleons.