A/N: Thank you all for your comments and feedback. It makes me so happy to see people having fun with this story.

Beta love to aureliandreams and photon08

cw: alcohol use


Chapter 3: The Cowardly Serpent

Day 2

On the first official day of their arrangement, Severus took her to a museum.

Hermione hadn't been to an exhibit with someone who actually knew anything about art history in, well, ever. Ron had never particularly enjoyed listening to her speak about her academic interests. Harry would listen for a while to be polite before it became clear that it was going to be a one-sided conversation. Ginny was more entertained by sports, Pansy flat out refused to pay to stare at unanimated paintings, and Draco and Theo—the only two who could have held their own against her in both scholastic and niche facts—preferred to go places together rather than with others.

So, as she Apparated to an alley near the British National Art Gallery, smoothing down her dress after the push and pull of Apparition, Hermione found herself truly excited about her plans for the day for the first time since her breakup.

Catching herself smiling far too wide to hide anything, she tried to school her features into something resembling polite interest.

It's not a real date, Hermione, she reminded herself firmly. He's paying for your time because he's bored and no one else will hang out with the miserable git. Just because he's not a miserable git to you does not mean he cares about you. It was one kiss. Forget it. Okay, maybe it was a good kiss, but—No. It was a social custom. A social custom involving lips. And today is a business transaction.

By the time she made it to the front doors, Hermione had worked herself into such a state trying to maintain her emotional distance that she nearly hadn't recognized Severus even as she looked right at him.

Because he was waiting for her, and he was smiling.

It was radiant on him. The light that filled his eyes transformed his face from the stern, distant professor she knew to a man who looked excited to see her.

Severus must have seen the surprise on her face, because he quickly relaxed his features into a more neutral—though still this side of happy—countenance.

"Miss Granger," he said with a nod of the head. He offered her his arm.

"Severus." She took the proffered limb.

"Ready?" he asked, and there was an unexpected warmth to his features.

Hermione made a sound approximating a squeak in affirmation and allowed him to lead her inside.

As he took her through the exhibit, she attempted to refrain from jumping in with all the extraneous details she'd learned about the artists from her own study. She tried very hard to keep her hands by her sides, pressing her lips together to prevent the words from spilling out, but her efforts must have been completely transparent. Severus looked at her with amusement as she bit the inside of her cheek.

He leaned into her side and murmured, "Go ahead, Miss Granger, before you burst from withholding knowledge."

And she was off.

Hermione's soul felt lighter than it had in ages, seeming to recognize a like-minded companion. It was wonderful conversation. She hadn't had the opportunity to really engage with someone on that level, someone clearly her intellectual equal, perhaps ever. It was certainly something she hadn't found amongst her peers. Even as an adult, her co-workers had often avoided the secluded corners of libraries and offices where she toiled, content to let her work and research on her own rather than get caught in the web of a lecture they had no interest in.

Hermione frowned at the thought. She had never meant to lecture—she had simply wanted to share her interests. But when the other party wouldn't engage, she could admit that things did tend to become a bit unbalanced. The only beacons of academic knowledge had been her teachers, and at the time none of them—with the rare exception of Remus—had been too interested in sitting around to chat with a student for hours on end.

A heavy weight settled in the pit of her stomach every time she thought of Remus, the guilt tethering her in place like a ship anchored in dangerous waters, the undercurrent threatening to drown her. How could she lament her situation when he and Fred and Tonks and so many others had lost their lives? What right did she have to complain about her loneliness?

She tried to shake off her somber mood and refocused her attention to watching Severus. He studied the paintings in rapt attention, and she was transfixed by him.

Hermione noticed the way his eyebrows drew down when he first took in a new canvas, as if he were suspicious of the portrait's intentions until he could gather the story. This was especially true for paintings with more than one subject, those that depicted a moment in time where so much was going on that you had to look thoroughly to decide whose side you wanted to take as the viewer. She noticed he was drawn to art that warred with itself, contrary and conflicting by nature, as if each new piece were an opportunity for him to choose correctly this time. The first time. To redeem himself.

They moved through the exhibit with an ebb and flow of conversation. The further Hermione noticed his interests, the less she shared random facts or dates about a work and instead tailored her contributions to the more subjective aspects of a piece of art. And she was quickly gathering what impressed him, what held his interest, and where he felt disinclined to linger.

Her heart fluttered when his nose scrunched at the paintings that showed a gluttonous abundance of wealth. And her stomach clenched when he squinted nearly imperceptibly at the portraits of women, as if he didn't trust them by design. She was glad to see that even the art he enjoyed reflected the man she had come to know.

If she were a little bit sad that he didn't trust the feminine subjects in the oil and turpentine displays, she reminded herself he had been through two wars and had been subject to two masters all for the sake of love—so he must know something of it.

And if Hermione caught herself thinking for too long about his inner workings, she told herself it was necessary as his partner in this arrangement. She was just doing her job.

She was enraptured by him; his mind held no comparison even when he was silent. And if his hair hung just so that his jawline appeared even sharper, it only added to the overall effect.

He was a formidable wizard to behold.

A small whine escaped her throat as Hermione realized just how attractive she found him—compounded by the knowledge that it was surely a one way street. Even as a man attuned to detail, she doubted he could list her features the same way. She must remember, it was only a job.

So what if it was the best job she'd ever had?

All too soon, their date drew to a close. As Severus walked her back out and onto the steps of the museum, hands clasped behind his back, Hermione couldn't hide the smile from her face.

"That was…lovely," she said with a glance at his eyes, hoping to see her own satisfaction reflected in them.

"Indeed." Coming to a halt, he reached into his coat, removing a crisp white envelope. "I would prefer that we exchange this in monthly installments, if that's agreeable to you." He passed her the envelope with a perfectly amiable expression on his face, and Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

This was not what they had agreed to. She hadn't wanted to be paid at the end of the month. What if she found herself not wanting to continue the arrangement? It was something she had decided before she had even met him, and their original agreement to have him pay her weekly instead seemed reasonable enough.

"At the beginning of the month, of course." He smiled, reading her apprehension.

Hermione exhaled, taking the envelope. "That works for me, thank you." At least this way, if everything went sideways, she would already have been paid.

Severus nodded to her, then stepped back. It was a strange vantage point to see him on the steps below her, nearly eye to eye. He seemed to hesitate, taking in her features before speaking. Hermione's pulse raced beneath his scrutiny.

"Thank you for a pleasant afternoon, Miss Granger."

"You're welcome," she breathed, a grin stretching across her face. "I enjoyed it very much."

He smiled in return, but this time it didn't reach his eyes. After one last nod in farewell, Severus turned, disappearing into the crowd.

~O~O~O~

When Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place, she found Pansy sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a pint of ice cream with Ginny.

"Don't you two find it a little odd how close you are, given the circumstances?"

They both looked up with confused expressions—Pansy's more offended than Ginny's.

"I'm sorry," Pansy said in a haughty tone, pointing a spoon of mint chip at Hermione. "Do you think I'm going to let something as fragile as a penis dictate who I can and can't be friends with? Weaslette here is far funnier than I gave her credit for in school, and I'll be damned if the Boy Who Lived tries to tell her she can't be here. He won't be the Boy Who Lived for Very Long."

Hermione grinned, speechless but impressed, and turned to Ginny.

"Pansy makes really good food, 'Mi. And she's far more clever than the rest of that Slytherin lot. No offense to Draco," she added quickly to Pansy.

Pansy shrugged, flipping the end of her bob over her shoulder. "None taken. It took three years of shagging me for him to realize he was gay, and three more for him to work up the nerve to talk to Nott. Only to bungle it up so badly that I had to go in and fix it for him. Gorgeous, yes. Clever? Well, the Wizengamot is still out on that one."

Hermione rolled her eyes with a grin, sliding off her coat and sitting at the table to steal a biscuit from Ginny's plate.

"So," the younger witch said. "How was your date?"

"Who was your date?" Pansy added.

"You don't know?" Ginny asked in surprise.

Hermione looked up, fear making her eyes wide. "Do you?"

Ginny shook her head. "No. I just assumed Pans would since she lives here."

"It's not like I brought him home and shagged him on the table, Gin!" Hermione bit the cookie with more force than it required.

"Well. Did you shag him somewhere else?"

She sighed, her hands falling in her lap, the rest of the cookie suddenly unappetizing. "No," she replied petulantly. "And I hardly think that's going to change."

Pansy snickered. "Wow, Hermione. Just the other day you accuse us of trying to turn you into a slag, and now your mystery wizard won't fuck you and you're actually upset about it."

Hermione pouted. "I'm not upset about it."

Ginny pushed another biscuit her way. "Sure."

"I'm not! It's just…" Hermione bit her lip, debating what to tell them. She looked down, unable to meet their eyes, and when she spoke her voice had gone up several octaves. "He's very attractive. And we get along very well. I actually think he'd be a good, I don't know, change of pace for me?"

"You mean you'd actually come," Pansy deadpanned, teeth snapping through a ginger biscuit.

"Oi, that's my brother! I don't want to hear about that!" Ginny exclaimed, hands covering her ears.

Hermione turned beet red and slid down another inch in her chair. "Yes, that too." She stole Pansy's teacup and brought it to her mouth. "I'm going to bed." She took a sip. And promptly choked. Spluttering, she coughed, "For fuck's sake, Pansy, warn me next time."

Pansy shrugged with a grin. "I like a hot toddy. So sue me."

A heavy thud sounded as the front door closed. "I'm home!"

"And a hot body. If you'll excuse me, ladies." Pansy stood, running out to the front of the house to kiss her fiancé.

"They work oddly well together," Ginny remarked.

"They do," Hermione agreed.

Ginny hugged her friend. "Don't worry, Hermione. You'll find your perfect match too. Maybe it's even this one."

Hermione looked thoughtfully at the hot toddy in her hands and took another sip as Ginny slipped on her jacket, kissing her friend on the forehead before heading out the back door.

"Maybe."

~O~O~O~

Severus sat himself down in his living room with a glass of Firewhisky in hand and stared into the fire.

It had been an…enjoyable afternoon. Very enjoyable.

He couldn't see her again.

Severus had come to that realization as he had watched her curls bounce over her shoulder, as she had turned to look at him, eyes alive with excitement over the painting she had been looking at. Something caught in his chest, a split-second flash of possibility, and he knew he couldn't allow it to continue. Right now, they were oil paint on canvas; flexible, malleable, not yet set in their ways. But all paint had to dry eventually, and in the setting, their colors would become inextricably linked—mixing and blending to create something new. To cut out the offending hues would destroy the artwork as a whole in the process.

Severus could not allow his rancid soul to taint hers. And even if he could guarantee that the layers stayed separated such that she would escape entirely unharmed, he could not deny the more pressing truth: the longer he entangled himself with her, the harder it would be to let her go when she found someone else—and she eventually would—without his heart breaking.

Severus knew the money was a lame apology for wasting her time, but he had nothing else to give. If he stayed too long, he'd give her something he couldn't take back, and he wasn't sure he could afford to lose any more.

Day 3

Hermione cleaned her room at Grimmauld Place with a spring in her step. She hadn't felt so alive in ages. She dusted off the cabinets and opened the windows; spruced up the garden in the back with a few waves of her wand as the wind surrounded her, lifting her spirits. Her mother always taught her that guests should leave a home cleaner than they found it, and Hermione had a feeling with the way things went the night before that she would not need to call on Harry's charity for long.

Severus' smile crossed her mind again and her face broke into a wide grin; she was utterly giddy with the power of connection. She'd send him an owl.

Day 4

The feeling of peace and optimism lasted for exactly two days.

Severus hadn't replied.

Day 5

Still nothing.

Day 6

There was still no answer, and Hermione was seething. Grabbing her cloak, she stormed toward the Apparition point with Diagon Alley in mind, determined to make the bastard face her in person.

Banging on the door to Sugar Quills, Hermione tried to calm her breathing in a fruitless attempt not to appear like a deranged stalker.

Wanda opened the door with a bright smile. "Hermione! What a pleasant surprise. Come in."

Hermione gave a thin smile in return and followed the woman into the office. "I'm actually not staying for long today. You see, I was supposed to meet my, um, my wizard at his home, only I've been rather forgetful all day and managed to misplace his address," she rambled, swallowing against the lack of air as she persisted. "And my owl has been out hunting for days so I can't even write to him to ask where he lives. I'm terribly embarrassed, but he seemed so kind, and I really don't want to let him down. Would you be able to help me?" She sucked in a breath at the end, feeling almost dizzy.

Wanda had stopped walking halfway through her spiel and watched with transparent amusement.

Hermione swallowed nervously.

"Do you think you're the first witch to pursue a wizard who has terminated an arrangement?" Wanda asked gently, amusement lacing her tone. She softened before adding, "Believe me, darling, it's far less painful in the end if you let it go."

Hermione's face fell. "He…he terminated it?"

Wanda's grin immediately disappeared. "He didn't tell you."

"No."

Turning toward her desk, she tutted, "I'm sorry, Hermione. It happens now and then for one reason or another, but it's usually a conversation first. Don't worry, I will get you your refund promptly. Thirty-day money-back guarantee, remember? And I can start searching for another wizard for you whenever you're ready." She was already shuffling through a file cabinet full of resumes.

Hermione stared at the ground, willing the tears not to fall. "Oh, no, I think that's all right. I don't think—I don't—that's all right. Thank you for your time, Wanda. This has all been, um, very enlightening." She stepped backwards. "I enjoyed myself actually. I had—yeah—I had better—" Her voice cracked at the end and Hermione coughed, turning to hide it. "I have to be going now."

She turned and walked full speed back to the door.

"Hermione, wait!" Wanda hurried after her and Hermione paused, but didn't turn around to look. "If it means anything to you, I felt really good about this pairing. Maybe he'll come around."

Hermione laughed, the sound caught somewhere between anger and anguish. "No, he has years of experience holding onto the past. I'm sure I was never going to be good enough."

~O~O~O~

Hermione sat at Harry's kitchen table with a butterbeer in her hand and two empty bottles in front of her. Her head rested propped up on her hand and she hiccuped as she stared at the table with a glazed look.

Pansy walked in, fastening the last of her earrings on, when she caught sight of Hermione.

"You look like hell," she stated bluntly.

Hermione barely raised her head, a small insincere laugh escaping her. She raised her bottle into the air. "Thanks, Pans."

"What's got your knickers in a twist, Granger?" Pansy sat down at the table, stealing Hermione's long forgotten tea—it hadn't done the trick, not that the butterbeers had much improved her mood either—and warming it with a wave of her hand. Taking a sip, she smiled coyly, "Or is it that a certain wizard isn't getting into them?"

Hermione put her head down on her arms and mumbled.

"What's that?" Pansy asked, leaning in. "Sorry, your Gryffindor courage must have gotten caught in the door because this witch is sulking like a first year Hufflepuff who got her candy stolen by a Slytherin."

Hermione looked up at her, amused even in her annoyance. "You know your house really is the worst." She snorted, realizing that covered Snape as well. "And I'm including professors in that."

Pansy raised a brow, leaning against the table as she sipped from the teacup. "Go on."

"He ended the relationship—if you could even call it that. After one date. After paying me for the entire month. I had to find out from Wanda," she added, hurt slipping further into her tone. "He knew what he was doing. He took pity on me, so he paid me off like a good little whore and called it quits."

"Did you fuck him?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, affronted, butterbeer held tight to her chest. "No!"

"Then you haven't even come close to being a good little whore." Pansy's lip pulled up in half a smile as she moved closer, encouraging the other witch to be in her confidence. "Who is it, Hermione?"

Hermione looked at Pansy and considered the repercussions of telling her the truth. While at one point in time their friendship would have been as unlikely as an empty-handed Niffler, now Pansy was one of her most supportive friends—even if she did have a funny way of showing it at times.

Deciding the chance of any repercussions was slim to none since the entire thing had ended before it had even had a chance to become something, she sighed and said, "Snape."

Pansy's eyes went wide, her red lips falling open ungracefully as the teacup froze halfway to her mouth. "Well fuck me with Salazar's wand. Snape? Professor Snape is a sugar daddy?"

Hermione snorted again, taking a sip of the sickly sweet butterscotch-flavored beverage. "Sugar daddy. Sugar sorcerer. Tomato, to-mah-to. Either way, he called the whole thing off."

"But why ?" she pressed, bemused. "Why is he even a sugar daddy in the first place? I can't see that man wanting to spend time with anyone, let alone someone he has to pay."

"Dumbledore left him money. He doesn't want it." Hermione ticked off the reasons on her fingers. "He thinks witches don't want him. So it becomes a business thing. Show up, get paid, leave."

"So your date was just for sex?"

"No." Hermione scrubbed her face with her hand. "Our date was lovely. We went to a museum and he was very nice to talk to. I actually enjoyed myself for the first time in years—it was—" She met her friend's gaze, imploring her to understand. "Pansy, I didn't even know I could have that much fun conversing with him. I mean, it's Professor Snape! But at the same time, it's Professor Snape. He's brilliant. Of course he is."

The other witch watched her with a perplexed expression. "And you don't want to fuck him because…?"

Hermione grimaced. "I didn't say that, exactly. Rather, he made it very clear during our first meeting that he wasn't looking for sex, though it was obvious he meant with me."

Pansy's eyebrows furrowed. "Why do you think that?"

She blushed, looking down. "Because he kissed me on New Year's Eve, and then he never wrote."

Pansy slapped her on the shoulder, entirely disregarding Hermione's protests as she rubbed the spot. "You bint, you didn't tell me that!"

"It was embarrassing!" Hermione groaned. "I lived out my childhood fantasy of kissing my former teacher, and then he found me so repulsive he was gone before I even opened my eyes. And now—"

"Now you think he ended your relationship because, despite what I'm sure was riveting conversation, and his assurances that he is not doing this for easy sex, you think he finds you…?"

"Probably as insufferable as he always has," Hermione finished miserably.

Pansy leaned back, arms crossed as she sucked her teeth, deep in thought. "No. He's a Slytherin. That would be a very forward thing to do."

She looked at the other witch with a pinched expression. "So he's toying with me?"

Pansy shook her head. "Quite the opposite. I think he likes you."

Hermione choked and, when Pansy didn't immediately retract her statement, she couldn't help but laugh. "You've lost the plot, Pans. Seriously, I think you've been spending too much time with Harry and his conspiracy theories."

"Most of those were right, when you look back at it," Pansy sniffed.

"Nevertheless," Hermione continued, rolling her eyes dramatically, for the entire thing was preposterous to even entertain, "Severus Snape does not like me. He can't even tolerate me. I guess it's better that it ends now before I—"

Hermione cut herself off, quickly bringing the butterbeer bottle to her mouth and taking a very large gulp.

Pansy watched her carefully, a smug grin slowly spreading across her face. "Before you get hurt. Because you like him. A lot."

Any blood left in Hermione's body that hadn't been shunted to her cheeks quickly rushed to join it and her head swam as she stood. "I'm going to bed."

"Hermione Granger, sit your arse down now. We are not done here."

Quickly moving towards the door to the hallway, Hermione barely made it halfway across the kitchen before Pansy sent a binding curse at her feet and Hermione tripped, catching herself as she landed hard on the floor.

A strangled noise escaped her as she whipped her head towards the other witch in disbelief. "Good gods, Pansy! What the hell!"

Pansy ignored her, instead choosing to levitate Hermione back into the chair where she'd been seated before releasing the spell.

"We are not done here," she repeated. And with a twinkle in her eye that could only be described as scary, she smiled. "We have a wizard to woo."