The Perfect Woman
Hermione remembered well the hours she had laid awake in her bed, staring at the canopy, listening to Lavender and Parvati's giggles as they mulled over their thoughts of the perfect man. She had stuffed the pillow over her head, told them, rather loudly, to stuff a sock in it, and finally just given up and listened to them, hoping for blackmail. They always had disagreements about everything, from hair color to height, and it became quite clear that their versions of the perfect man were actually quite different. And both quite impossible. Bitterly, Hermione had yelled over to them that the term "perfect man" was an oxymoron and that if they didn't shut up soon, she wouldn't be afraid to take away house points. The fact that, as only a Prefect, she couldn't take away house points was beside the point.
The fact that she was shuffling through magazines in her bed, with papers and books scattered around her like a librarian's war zone, was slightly embarrassing. Crookshanks didn't seem too happy with the fact that his sleeping quarters were being taken over by moving perfume and clothing advertisements. He swiped at a picture of an impossibly thin blond woman, who hurriedly ducked for cover while shouting silent curses.
Embarrassing indeed, except she wasn't looking for the perfect man, she was looking for the perfect woman
For Snape, of course.
She had been brainstorming for the past hour, thinking of his likes and dislikes, trying to discern what he could tolerate. Tolerance was good, at least it was a start. But could love stem from tolerance in just a matter of weeks? She doubted it, but she didn't really have a choice.
Would he be too picky when it came to looks? She doubted it, though she was quite certain that he wouldn't jump at the chance to snog someone who resembled Millicent Bulstrode's great aunt Edna.
After an hour of going through various physical specimens that all somehow looked the same, Hermione gave up and swept the magazines off of the bed. She couldn't be picky. He couldn't be picky. He only had a few weeks. She finally settled on the facts that he would prefer a woman with at least some level of intelligence, preferably a larger IQ, and who was around his age if not a little older. He never did seem to particularly care for anyone younger than him. Or older than him, for that matter. Or anyone, really.
The past week had gone better than their first few lessons. She had given up on the great romances of English literature and had moved on to something that he was more likely to accept, though she knew he wouldn't like it any better. At least he now had taken it upon himself to accept some responsibility and chivalrous values. He was an incredibly stubborn man, but Hermione was confident that she could pound some values into his head.
Hopefully everything for the next day would go as planned. She had already informed him that they were going to be taking a day trip to Hogsmeade the next afternoon. He didn't seem very happy, but she couldn't blame him. She didn't even like the place that she was taking him to.
"Why did you take me here?" Snape growled as they stepped into Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. The place was decorated entirely in pink, quite generous with the lace, bows, and ribbons, with accents of gold and pink hearts wandering around the ceiling, daring every so often to swoop low over the mostly empty shop and hanging above the heads of a few happily snogging couples. Snape's sneer became even more pronounced as a heart upturned and dumped gold confetti on top of his head.
"We're practicing for a date," Hermione breathed quietly, looking around for service. Besides the couples, there didn't seem to be any one present. "What you should do, and such. It's a nice place, isn't it?" She lied, making her sarcasm obvious.
"Charming," he replied. "It looks like someone ate too many candy hearts and vomited all over the walls."
Hermione ignored his vulgar, though accurate, assessment and pushed onward as a smartly dressed blond witch called them from the front desk, having suddenly appeared from the back. She was obviously not Madam Puddifoot; the stout owner must have hired a new employee.
"Hello there," she said. Her voice was high-pitched and sounded strained. "Welcome to Madam Puddifoot's. Where would you like to sit?"
Severus looked at Hermione expectantly, as if waiting for her to say something. She just glared at him back, and muttered through clenched teeth. "Professor, I believe that this is your job."
"Oh," he said slowly, as if he'd known that all along. He turned to the young witch and continued. "Where would we like to sit?" He shot hesitant looks at the kissing couples, and Hermione could practically see his stomach churn. "As far away from them as possible."
The girl's fake smile faltered, almost as if he had insulted her. But she quickly lifted the corners of her mouth again and said brightly, "Right this way."
She led them to a table by the window, which was beginning to fog, and they sat down uneasily, while Severus asked her to bring two coffees with the sugar and cream separate.
"Good job," Hermione praised him as she walked away. "Ordering for me. A lot of girls like that."
"Do you?" he asked blankly, looking at the ceiling as if expecting another rude heart to come flying through the air.
A little flustered by his question, she answered, "Well, I don't really mind it, as long as he knows what I want. You're lucky I like coffee, otherwise you would be in trouble."
"Would I now?" He lifted his eyebrows. He was actually teasing her.
"You're also lucky I like being teased," she answered, anxious for their coffee to come so she could have something to do with her hands. "So far, Professor, this date is succeeding on luck alone."
"Better than nothing," he said dismissively, thanking the blond waitress as she set the two cups of coffee on the table and placed a silver, heart shaped tray with cream and sugar on it between them.
They began to sip their coffee, black, in silence. It was only after a few minutes, when more couples were beginning to pour in and the room was becoming unbearably humid that Severus asked, "What do I do now?"
"Well, that depends," Hermione answered, taking another sip of her hot coffee and setting it down. "Do you like me?"
"Excuse me?"
"Do you like me?" she asked again. "As in your date. Remember, Professor, that I am not Hermione Granger. I am someone you actually have a romantic interest in."
"Right," he said, scratching just below his ear in an action that suddenly reminded her of Ron. "Since you said that I have a romantic interest in you, then I suppose I must like you?"
"That seems to be the case."
"All right then," he said. "Who ever you are, I like you." His performance was somewhat unconvincing. She knew that he was never one to express affection, but she knew that he most likely couldn't do any better.
"Good, now put your hand over mine."
"You're rather demanding, aren't you?"
"You asked me what you should do," she said, her face reddening. "So I'm telling you. You like me…who ever I am…and I, in theory, like you. Make a move, put your hand on mine."
"Okay," he said hesitantly. Hermione watched with one lifted eyebrow as his large, pale hand inched across the table toward hers. She looked up at him, trying to suppress a smile as she saw that he was focusing intently on her fingertips.
"I shouldn't notice, Professor Snape," she said plainly. "For a being a former spy, you're about as stealthy as Neville Longbottom."
"This is just…difficult," he huffed, jerking his hand away as if he had been burned.
"More difficult than being a Death Eater?"
"Much," he stated. "I'm a Snape, Granger, affection does not run in my veins."
"And yet you're still here, somehow," she shot back, taking a rather large swallow of coffee and wishing that it had been spiked by brandy. "Look, Professor, just relax. Pretend that you're having a good time. For your own sake. I would say it was for mine, but I don't think that that would motivate you."
He almost smiled at her comment. Almost.
"Fine," he groaned, straightening himself up in his seat. Hermione suddenly realized how very small the table was. Sitting up straight, their legs touched under the table. Snape didn't pull his knee away, and neither did Hermione. "So…I do it when she doesn't expect it?"
"Preferably, yes."
"But you're expecting it."
"Just be patient," she huffed. "Wait for a while, do it while we're talking."
"All right." They fell into a silence, while Snape, looking somewhat bewildered, looked down into his coffee cup as if reading his fate in the leftover sips.
"Well," Hermione began, disappointed that she would have to resort to small talk to keep a conversation going. "Severus, what do you do in your spare time?"
His head jerked upward at her mention of his first name. "What did you call me?"
"Severus," she said. "That is your name, isn't it?"
"I don't think it's appropriate for you to be addressing me in that way."
"I'm not Hermione, remember?" she said, becoming slightly annoyed. His foot shifted under the table and he almost stepped on her toes. "It would be somewhat odd if the love of your life called you Professor Snape."
He remained in sulky silence.
She cleared her throat while the waitress came and poured more coffee, looking curious as to why there was no physical contact between them and why the man seemed to be cowering. Eyebrows lifted, she walked away.
"Severus," she said, startling him again out of his reverie. "I asked you a question."
"My personal life is not very interesting," he stated, surprising her with the fact that he had actually been listening. "I do little more than work on some personal experiments, keep my house elves in line, and tutor an obnoxious, stubborn witch who had the grace to fail my class. My days prove to be quite uneventful, unless my pupil decides to break in to my private chambers and uncover my deepest, darkest secrets."
With this, his hand closed around Hermione's fingers, embracing them gently. His hand was clammy, but it was warm and, all in all, the contact really wasn't that bad. Hermione even found herself trying to hide a blush, though she wasn't quite sure why.
"Well done," she said proudly, allowing him a smile. "Though I would leave the 'obnoxious' part out, if I were you. You never know who might be listening."
There was an intense moment of silence. Hermione reached out a hand to his hair, eyes squinted, and plucked something from the black strands. "Confetti," she said, almost apologetically, as she held up the piece of tacky gold glitter for display. She tossed it on the ground with a sigh.
As if suddenly aware that she, despite what she had said, was actually Hermione Granger, the said obnoxious, stubborn witch, he jerked his hand away and began to dig in his pocket.
"Let's go," he said. "I need to get out of here."
"Yes, I don't think I can drink anymore," Hermione said, staring shyly into her full coffee cup. He tossed a Galleon on to the table and waited for her to get up, escorting her through the maze of the disgusting couples and out the door, quickly rushing away from the blond waitress who was chasing after them with their change.
Hermione was quite certain that they had reached the turning point, and now that they had successfully, for the most part, passed by proper date behavior, she was certain that he was allowed to express his newfound skills in a different, uncontrolled environment. It was for this reason that she pulled him into the Three Broomsticks, forgetting her earlier remark about not being able to drink any more and proclaiming her thirst for a butterbeer.
"At least it's better than Madam Puddlefood's…" Snape muttered as she tugged him by his shirtsleeve inside.
"Puddifoot," Hermione corrected him as they swept through the doors and into the pub. The familiar, warm, wonderful smell of butterbeer, spiced by the scent of Firewhiskey, floated through the air, and Severus felt like he could practically become drunk just from the fumes. They walked to the bar and Hermione took her place on a stool; Severus sat down hesitantly beside her.
Madam Rosmerta's pretty face emerged from below the bar and she set three mugs full of a liquid that Hermione had never seen before on the counter. She broke into a smile as she saw them.
"Why, hello Professor Snape, Miss Granger. You two're the last people I expected to see today. What brings you to Hogsmeade?"
Hermione immediately said "shopping" while Snape interjected with "business".
"I see," Madam Rosmerta said. "I suppose it's nice out?" She didn't wait for an answer but continued, her eyebrows furrowing. "Hermione? I thought you were going to go back to France for a bit of a holiday?"
"Oh, yes," Hermione answered. "I was going to, but something else came up."
"Studying, no doubt," the woman answered, gazing sideways at Snape suspiciously. "What will it be?" she asked, changing the subject and straightening up, her eyes brightening.
"A butterbeer, please," Hermione said.
"I'll have a Firewhisky," Snape added, but Hermione shot him a black glance.
"I'm not dragging you home," she said. "I've had quite a few bad experiences with drunk people, thank you."
Rosmerta's brightness faltered and her suspicious gaze was now coupled with a slow, disapproving tone of voice. "Two butterbeers coming right up," she said, hurrying away as a small group of elderly wizards came in and seated themselves at the window.
"I should be able to drink what I bloody well please," Snape muttered darkly, squinting as he looked around the hazy pub, apparently searching for a familiar face.
"You're lesson isn't over," Hermione said in a whisper, hunching forward over the bar. "I'd rather you have your wits about you at the moment."
"What am I supposed to do, exactly?"
"Simple," she replied smartly. "Find a woman to hit on."
"Yes, simple. Do you suppose I should have made a copy of the key to my private quarters?"
"Couldn't hurt…" Hermione said distractedly as Madame Rosmerta, with lightning speed, shoved the butterbeers down the table towards them. Snape nearly missed his and brought it tightly into his grasp as if he was afraid that it might escape. Hermione was beginning to worry about him…had she been too hard on him? Had she completely crushed his ego?
"I suppose I could always give her your room," he stated before taking a rather large gulp from his mug.
Decidedly not.
"I'll be right back," Hermione said, worming off the stool. "Watch and make sure that no one puts anything in my drink. And don't you put anything in it, either."
"Pray tell where you're going, Miss Granger?" he said as a force of habit, not seeming to really care.
"To the bathroom," she answered, plainly annoyed that she had to answer his every question. "Does that bother you?"
"No," he said dismissively. "Go. But I can't promise that I'll watch it."
She grumbled and sauntered off through the crowded pub, shooting a backwards glance at him as she went through a swinging door in the back. He only watched her go with a plain façade of indifference, sipping thoughtfully on his butterbeer and playing the taste of butterscotch across his tongue.
"Severus Snape? What are you doing in Hogsmeade?"
Startled, Snape twisted around in his chair to see a witch, in her mid-fifties with light brown hair cut in a bob and spectacles pushed up her nose, dodging tables and walking nimbly toward him. She was dressed in plain black robes with a necklace in the shape of a telescope hanging around her neck. Professor Salome Sinistra, the Astronomy professor at Hogwarts, somewhat eccentric but the least bothersome among the staff, according to Snape's memory.
"Good afternoon, Professor Sinistra," he said, trying to soften the edge in his voice as much as possible and swinging out on his stool, still clutching to his butterbeer for dear life.
She, being a rather short woman, climbed up on to the stool and sat beside him, declaring, "Surely, Severus, we've known each other long enough to be on a first name basis? Call me Salome."
"Salome then," he said blandly.
"Well, how are you?" she asked eagerly as Madam Rosmerta stood behind the bar, trying to make eye contact so that the flighty woman could make an order. Sinistra seemed to be unable to sense that she was there.
"Never better," he replied, taking another sip of butterbeer and wishing vaguely that he had never even thought that she was the least bothersome. She was quickly climbing his least popular list, edging ever so close to Flitwick, who had the odd habit of getting into Severus's laundry at every opportunity.
"That's good," Sinistra breathed, uttering a squeak of surprise as Rosmerta prodded her with a pen, desperate to get her attention. "Oh! Sorry, my head's always up in the stars. Um…let's see, do you have cherry syrup and soda?"
"Sure do," Rosmerta said, cocking an eyebrow.
"With an umbrella?"
"If you wish as much." Madam Rosmerta was becoming increasingly confused…that was a known favorite drink of Professor Flitwick's. Perhaps this woman had been around him too much.
"Oh, I do." Sinistra turned back to Snape and said, "Well, I said it once and I'll say it again, Severus, what are you doing in Hogsmeade?"
"Professor Sinistra?" Hermione posed from behind Severus, startling him and making him jump. She shot a look at Snape with a lifted eyebrow, clearly transmitting the fact that this was his chance. From the expression on his face, she could tell that he already knew, but he didn't seem too happy about it. "What are you doing here?"
Sinistra broke out in to a genuine smile at the sight of her former pupil. "Why, Hermione Granger, I didn't expect to see you here, either. I just stopped by for a drink, and, as a matter of fact, I was just asking your dear Potions Professor the same question. She looked momentarily confused. "I thought that you were in Paris?"
"Yes," she said, sounding slightly bitter. "That seems to be a common misconception."
As if the fact that Professor Sinistra was a woman suddenly dawned on Severus, his face brightened. "Ah, Salome," he said, waving his mug toward her as if he had also suddenly become very drunk. "I didn't know that you had…ah…Miss Granger in your class."
"Of course," Salome said, eyebrows furrowed. "I believe that almost every student at Hogwarts goes through my class at least once. It's rather popular…"
"I see," he answered, raising his eyebrows at her over his mug. "Are you staying at Hogwarts for the summer?"
She let out a light, chortling laugh. "Of course. You know me, Severus, I live in the Astronomy tower. You wouldn't find a better place to spend your nights in the whole of Britain."
Yes, and Hermione was quite certain that many of the students fourth year and up were also aware of that fact.
"Say, Severus, are you going to the staff party next weekend?" she asked, reaching forward and touching a hand to his arm. He seemed like he was trying very hard to not look at it and instead concentrate on her.
"Oh…oh, yes." Actually, he had completely forgotten about it and when he had heard about it, made it quite clear that he wasn't interested in going. "Saturday at seven, right?"
She nodded. "Right. Well…I'll look forward to seeing you there. I better get going, I still have a few things to pick up. Have a good day, Severus." She glanced fleetingly at Hermione. "Miss Granger." With that, Professor Sinistra worked through the anxious maze of people and exited the pub.
"Where did she go?" a flustered Madam Rosmerta asked, seeing that the woman had disappeared. "Don't tell me she left without her drink."
"That seems to be the case, yes," Hermione said, sitting back at her customary seat and glancing suspiciously at her abandoned butterbeer. Its color now seemed slightly…off, to her, though she knew that was probably because of her paranoia.
"Do you want this, then, Hermione?" she asked. "I don't know anyone else that can stomach these things, besides her and Flitwick."
"All right," Hermione obliged, taking the martini-glass shaped cup from the woman and setting it on the bar, rotating the umbrella through her fingers. As soon as Rosmerta had left, she cast a sideways glance at her tutor. "She'll look forward to seeing you there, eh?"
"Yes," Severus sniffed, downing the last few sips of his butterbeer in one last gulp. "I believe that is what she said."
"Lucky you," Hermione said with sly smile.
"Don't mock me. I did what you told me to do, and I succeeded. Shouldn't you be happy for me?"
"Oh, I am." The cherry soda was gone within a few minutes, and she kept glancing forlornly at the mug of butterbeer until Severus pushed it at her, proclaiming "Oh, for Merlin's sake, no one's done anything to it."
He sighed.
"She's a friendly, attractive woman," Snape stated after Hermione had taken the mug into her hand and sniffed it suspiciously. "Definitely a possible candidate."
"Yes," Hermione said, swallowing her own sigh as she sipped carefully on her butterbeer, sweeping it across her tongue and searching for any unusual taste. "Definitely."
She just pretended that the substance eating away at the pit of her of her stomach was the mild alcohol or maybe the odd effects of the cherry syrup, and not the bitter beginnings of jealousy.
Thanks to: Aindel S. Druida, Akasha Ravensong, hp-lover-fifi, Lana Manckir, crystalclear8050 (quite, actually), oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo (nope), Audrey, Cow as White as Milk (characterizing Snape actually isn't that difficult...he's a lot like me), Kim, angelfish2, Kaliae, pickles87, Blatant Discontent (Hermione holds love in some sort of an ideal...hence Romeo and Juliet, the most unrealistic "love" story ever told. Maybe she'll come to her senses some day and let him borrow Jane Eyre (a personal favorite of mine, also), Fou Fou (I agree whole-heartedly. Snape's opinion on Romeo and Juliet is exactly the same as my own), CEA, Lily of the Shadow (Yeah...I don't think the Holocaust Museum would supply the mood that Hermione wanted to set), Kaaera (I haven't either. Even my fictional characters are more experienced than I am. Ah well, it's not a huge deal. Glad, actually...get to spend more time writing fanfic ;) ), Zvezdana, magictwinkle, yeoldecrazy1 (very possibly, but...), Rylee Smith, CassandraTheEvil (nope, don't mind at all, as long as you're not selling it ;) ).
Thank you all for your kind and abundant reviews. Look for the next chapter approximately August 1st.