The week had passed slowly for Hermione, eager as she was for Friday and
her date with Professor Snape. The pupils had been surprised to find that
their heavy homework schedule from Professor Granger had faded to a think
trickle. She had other things on her mind than sitting around marking the
scrolls of idiotic children with nothing in their head but cotton wool. She
was uneasily aware that she was beginning to think like Professor Snape,
but it was very hard to retain any enthusiasm for the transmission of
knowledge in the face of so many mouth-breathers.
In her spare time she had been working on a spell that would pass the lesson plan to the scrolls of the children without actually engaging the brains of either her or the children, leaving all of them free to pursue more interesting things in classes. In their case it would be thinking about Quidditch, playing silly pranks, and wondering if the girl in the third row fancied them after all.
In her case, it would be pondering on the deep mysteries of the universe, and wondering whether Professor Snape fancied her after all. Mind you, as she remarked to Minerva one evening, she wasn't sure that Snape didn't count as one of the great mysteries of the universe.
She had been rather bewildered, but pleased, to find that he seemed to be making an effort to be approachable. Well, approachable by his standards anyway. They sat next to each other at dinner as usual, but instead of glowering at this plate as if it had offended him in some way that he was determined to take personally, perhaps by being the wrong colour, he had been chatty.
She and Minerva had dissected his behaviour over many a glass of port and lemon - strictly evenings only - and could only come to one conclusion: he had finally noticed her interest and was subtly trying to encourage her.
Hermione, so long accustomed to being ignored, had been doubtful at first. She had been inclined to put his increased affability down to a statistical aberration, then had seriously considered the possibility that someone had slipped him a cheering potion, but as time went on she had been driven to the inexorable conclusion: Severus returned her feelings.
Alternatively, as Minerva put it after one too many glasses of port - hang the lemon - "young Snapey is up for a shag: you're in there my girl."
Obviously, by dinner on Friday, she and Minerva had planned her strategy with military precision: what to wear, what to say, and what to do. Nothing had been left to chance. Minerva's increasingly graphic suggestions were beginning to make her feel badly out of her depth, although she did provide several useful ideas. Minerva did have another forty years experience on her, and it seemed like she had been a bit of a goer in her youth. She was certainly an almost inexhaustible fund of information on the most useful strategy to adopt, not to mention providing a beginner's guide to the best positions to employ to achieve satisfaction.
"On top is always nice for a change, but don't let the lazy bastard think he can get away with that all the time; make the bugger work for it, that's my advice. I remember when I first started going out with Albus-" at this point Hermione started to feel a little queasy, and it had nothing to do with the half bottle of port she had consumed, "-he wanted me to go on top all the time. He kept saying he had a back problem; the problem was he wasn't prepared to put his back into it at all."
Hermione shuddered but said nothing. She was well aware that most people's reaction to the news that she wanted to make the beast with two backs with Severus would be to swallow hard to prevent their gorge rising: people in greenhouses and all that. Still, Minerva did seem to dwell on Albus's inadequacies as a lover with what could only be called loving detail.
When she started outlining her activities with her current beau, Remus, Hermione suddenly realised that she had to be up early in the morning and called a halt to the evening's reminiscences. She felt like trying to wash her brain out with soapy water; some things should be kept private, and Minerva's sex life was certainly one of those things.
Minerva had wanted her to wear a low-cut robe; Hermione had countered with the fact that the dungeons were damned cold. She hadn't expected the observation that this was all to the good, and she was torn between indignation and amusement when Minerva added that it would make her nipples stand out like blind cobbler's thumbs.
They had compromised; Hermione was wearing a robe that wasn't particularly low cut but was very clingy. Minerva's opinion was that this, whilst ostensibly demure, would afford Severus the best opportunity to 'look her over.'
When she had suggested that Severus might be interested in her personality and not her bra size she was abruptly told not to be an idiot, "Severus has had plenty of time to get to know you, he knows what you're like, now he just needs to now that you're interested and that you have great breasts. I tell you Hermione, wave twenty-year-old breasts in front of a forty-year- old man, and I guarantee you, you'll have his undivided attention all evening."
Hermione, who had pictured evenings full of intellectual conversation in front of a blazing fire, punctuated by lots of hot sex, was rather dismayed by this simplistic approach to romance. For two pins, she would have called the whole thing off and resigned herself to a life of celibacy.
That militant feeling lasted until she saw Severus at dinner that night. He looked neat and tidy, as always, but there was a faint aroma about him and it wasn't potions ingredients.
Severus had put on aftershave, or whatever the wizarding equivalent was - wizard's used a spell to shave. He wasn't relying on force of personality alone to win her over. Severus-if-you-don't-like-it-you-can-lump-it-Snape was making an effort; she could hardly refuse to do the same.
Anyway, she could always square it with her feminist principles, and argue that what she was really doing was displaying her assets so that she could (a) win the chess match, and (b) have her wicked way with him, and that therefore she was (c) exploiting his male weaknesses. Which was fine, and acceptable, and not a betrayal of everything she believed in AT ALL.
Severus was uncharacteristically quiet during dinner - or characteristically, depending on your view on his recent personality change. Either he had revealed his true, nicer self to her and was now retreating back into his shell because he was feeling a bit nervous, or, he had put on a thin façade of civility to lure her back to his quarters, and his quota of niceness had been used up for the week.
There was only one way to find out.
She waited until they had reached the final stages of dinner, and Severus was nursing a scalding hot cup of coffee whilst she chased the remnants of her apple crumble round the plate.
"I'm looking forward to our chess game tonight; we are still on for it, aren't we? You're not too tired I hope," she said.
Judging from the considering look Severus threw her, she had managed to invest that simple statement with enough innuendo to get his mind running in the right direction.
"I'm sure I can manage to accommodate you."
Definitely in the right direction.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like an early night?" she - almost - purred.
"Professor Granger, if I have to stay up all night to give you satisfaction, I will do so."
"I'm very glad to hear it, Severus."
"Shall we?" he said, and courteously gestured for her to precede him out of the Hall.
In her spare time she had been working on a spell that would pass the lesson plan to the scrolls of the children without actually engaging the brains of either her or the children, leaving all of them free to pursue more interesting things in classes. In their case it would be thinking about Quidditch, playing silly pranks, and wondering if the girl in the third row fancied them after all.
In her case, it would be pondering on the deep mysteries of the universe, and wondering whether Professor Snape fancied her after all. Mind you, as she remarked to Minerva one evening, she wasn't sure that Snape didn't count as one of the great mysteries of the universe.
She had been rather bewildered, but pleased, to find that he seemed to be making an effort to be approachable. Well, approachable by his standards anyway. They sat next to each other at dinner as usual, but instead of glowering at this plate as if it had offended him in some way that he was determined to take personally, perhaps by being the wrong colour, he had been chatty.
She and Minerva had dissected his behaviour over many a glass of port and lemon - strictly evenings only - and could only come to one conclusion: he had finally noticed her interest and was subtly trying to encourage her.
Hermione, so long accustomed to being ignored, had been doubtful at first. She had been inclined to put his increased affability down to a statistical aberration, then had seriously considered the possibility that someone had slipped him a cheering potion, but as time went on she had been driven to the inexorable conclusion: Severus returned her feelings.
Alternatively, as Minerva put it after one too many glasses of port - hang the lemon - "young Snapey is up for a shag: you're in there my girl."
Obviously, by dinner on Friday, she and Minerva had planned her strategy with military precision: what to wear, what to say, and what to do. Nothing had been left to chance. Minerva's increasingly graphic suggestions were beginning to make her feel badly out of her depth, although she did provide several useful ideas. Minerva did have another forty years experience on her, and it seemed like she had been a bit of a goer in her youth. She was certainly an almost inexhaustible fund of information on the most useful strategy to adopt, not to mention providing a beginner's guide to the best positions to employ to achieve satisfaction.
"On top is always nice for a change, but don't let the lazy bastard think he can get away with that all the time; make the bugger work for it, that's my advice. I remember when I first started going out with Albus-" at this point Hermione started to feel a little queasy, and it had nothing to do with the half bottle of port she had consumed, "-he wanted me to go on top all the time. He kept saying he had a back problem; the problem was he wasn't prepared to put his back into it at all."
Hermione shuddered but said nothing. She was well aware that most people's reaction to the news that she wanted to make the beast with two backs with Severus would be to swallow hard to prevent their gorge rising: people in greenhouses and all that. Still, Minerva did seem to dwell on Albus's inadequacies as a lover with what could only be called loving detail.
When she started outlining her activities with her current beau, Remus, Hermione suddenly realised that she had to be up early in the morning and called a halt to the evening's reminiscences. She felt like trying to wash her brain out with soapy water; some things should be kept private, and Minerva's sex life was certainly one of those things.
Minerva had wanted her to wear a low-cut robe; Hermione had countered with the fact that the dungeons were damned cold. She hadn't expected the observation that this was all to the good, and she was torn between indignation and amusement when Minerva added that it would make her nipples stand out like blind cobbler's thumbs.
They had compromised; Hermione was wearing a robe that wasn't particularly low cut but was very clingy. Minerva's opinion was that this, whilst ostensibly demure, would afford Severus the best opportunity to 'look her over.'
When she had suggested that Severus might be interested in her personality and not her bra size she was abruptly told not to be an idiot, "Severus has had plenty of time to get to know you, he knows what you're like, now he just needs to now that you're interested and that you have great breasts. I tell you Hermione, wave twenty-year-old breasts in front of a forty-year- old man, and I guarantee you, you'll have his undivided attention all evening."
Hermione, who had pictured evenings full of intellectual conversation in front of a blazing fire, punctuated by lots of hot sex, was rather dismayed by this simplistic approach to romance. For two pins, she would have called the whole thing off and resigned herself to a life of celibacy.
That militant feeling lasted until she saw Severus at dinner that night. He looked neat and tidy, as always, but there was a faint aroma about him and it wasn't potions ingredients.
Severus had put on aftershave, or whatever the wizarding equivalent was - wizard's used a spell to shave. He wasn't relying on force of personality alone to win her over. Severus-if-you-don't-like-it-you-can-lump-it-Snape was making an effort; she could hardly refuse to do the same.
Anyway, she could always square it with her feminist principles, and argue that what she was really doing was displaying her assets so that she could (a) win the chess match, and (b) have her wicked way with him, and that therefore she was (c) exploiting his male weaknesses. Which was fine, and acceptable, and not a betrayal of everything she believed in AT ALL.
Severus was uncharacteristically quiet during dinner - or characteristically, depending on your view on his recent personality change. Either he had revealed his true, nicer self to her and was now retreating back into his shell because he was feeling a bit nervous, or, he had put on a thin façade of civility to lure her back to his quarters, and his quota of niceness had been used up for the week.
There was only one way to find out.
She waited until they had reached the final stages of dinner, and Severus was nursing a scalding hot cup of coffee whilst she chased the remnants of her apple crumble round the plate.
"I'm looking forward to our chess game tonight; we are still on for it, aren't we? You're not too tired I hope," she said.
Judging from the considering look Severus threw her, she had managed to invest that simple statement with enough innuendo to get his mind running in the right direction.
"I'm sure I can manage to accommodate you."
Definitely in the right direction.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like an early night?" she - almost - purred.
"Professor Granger, if I have to stay up all night to give you satisfaction, I will do so."
"I'm very glad to hear it, Severus."
"Shall we?" he said, and courteously gestured for her to precede him out of the Hall.
