Chapter 3
He watched her from afar like a dutiful swain for the rest of the evening.
Nothing too obvious, but obviously discreet. In his long life a as a spy he had learned that if you wanted people to notice what you were doing all you had to do was try to be inconspicuous. People were in general obtuse, and didn't pay attention to their surroundings, other than to notice when something was manifestly out of place. What he was doing was the metaphorical equivalent of wandering around with his hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune, with body language that positively screamed don't look at me. It was tantamount to having a large arrow floating above his head, going, "ay ay, look at this once, he's up to no good."
She didn't stay in any one group long. Just long enough for her to start chatting, falter, and then look wistful. She would complete the pose by glancing up at him longingly, sighing and then moving on. People would notice her actions, follow her gaze, do a double take and then stare in horror at the Potions Master.
He saw the precise moment the boys realised what he was doing. Harry nudged Ron, they exchanged words and then started sniggering. He could just imagine the comments. Something to the effect that the Greasy Git had his eye on Hermione, and how even she wasn't that desperate yet. Arrogant, contemptuous little sods. Every time they opened their mouths they added to the temptation, no, the positive necessity to bring them down a peg or two.
He made sure they were watching when he caught Hermione's eye and signalled to her that it was time to leave. He gave a flirtatious quirk of his eyebrow and cocked his head towards the door. She picked up her cue, and he was amused to see her flutter her eyelashes at him before assenting with a circumspect nod. The boys had clearly never seen her behave like that before, and gaped as she slipped out of the door. He followed a mere heartbeat behind.
She was waiting for him just outside the door. "Did anyone see us?" she asked.
"My dear, everyone in the hall saw us, and those who didn't see us will have been told about it within thirty seconds of our departure!"
"Oh good. I'd hate to think all that hard work had gone to waste."
His spy's instincts alerted him to the fact they were being watched. "Darling," he said in tones pitched to carry, "I don't know how I kept my hands off you this evening, you looked so delectable." Behind us, he mouthed. "How much longer will we have to keep this a secret?"
She couldn't see who was watching them, but the most likely culprits would be either Harry or Ron. "Not much longer, darling," she broadcast to the watchers. "You know we have to wait until my parents are back from holiday before we announce our engagement. My parents really ought to be the first to know."
"You know you've made me the happiest man alive?" They both struggled to contain their mirth at that particular cliché. He decided to go for broke. "I was jealous of every man you spoke to this evening, every casual touch of the arm you gave them and every smile. It should have been me by your side, me that you were smiling at. You are a beautiful goddess among women, my darling, and I wanted to worship at your feet."
He was certainly good at this. She felt light-headed and short of breath and was on the verge of doing something incredibly silly, and not regretting it at all. He looked smug, as well he might, but she couldn't allow the balance of power to shift so far in his favour.
"Do you use those lines on your other women?" she whispered mock- innocently.
"Yes," he smirked.
"Good god. However do you manage to get them into bed? Render them unable to resist due to laughter?"
He pokered up, and for one minute she thought she had gone too far. He leaned in still further to whisper in her ear, and she prepared herself for more seduction by that silky voice. "Either that," he murmured softly, and her breath caught in her throat - what would he say next, what? - "or Stupefy."
She snorted with laughter. Severus knew that the boys would find the sight of them sharing laughter more puzzling than the idea that they might be sleeping together. They still had the image of him as the dour Potions Master; furthermore, they thought they had the monopoly on laughing with Hermione. To find that privilege had been usurped would hurt them more than anything.
He took Hermione's hand and placed it courteously in the crook of his arm. "Shall we go to bed?"
"Yes, let's," and her voice was all breathy with laughter which, from a distance, could easily have been mistaken for passion.
Any temptation to laugh was fading by the time Hermione was standing outside Snape's quarters. She felt oddly nervous, as if crossing the threshold was in some way committing her to something more profound than a practical joke. She had no doubt he would keep his hands to himself; he was a gentleman of sorts. What worried her was that she was no longer entirely certain she wanted him to, and Hermione had never been uncertain about much in her life before. Then she thought of Harry and Ron, and the harsh words they had spoken the last time they met; her back stiffened and she stepped through the door.
Severus had been aware of her hesitation, and he could hazard a guess as to why she had decided to go through with the charade. He watched her look round the room, obviously curious to see what his private quarters were like. He knew that there was a great deal of speculation amongst the students She would not have been silly enough to expect a draughty and cold dungeon, nor, indeed, as some of the wilder rumours would have it, chains and skeletons; but neither would she expect the room to be decorated in red and gold. Gryffindor colours, no less!
"Did you lose a bet with Professor McGonagall?" she asked, smiling. He smiled back; a soft, gentle smile quite unlike his usual smirk. Both the colours and the smile were unexpected, but made her feel more at ease, until she saw the door the to bedroom.
"I assure you, you are perfectly safe with me," he said dryly, but with a faint note of irritation, and perhaps a little hurt.
"Of course I am," she said warmly; seeing his look of polite disbelief, she continued, "It's just embarrassing, that's all. I hardly think that you are going to be overcome with wild, animal passion and make a pass at me; I'm just slightly worried that I might snore or something."
She hadn't imagined his concern, or the infinitesimal relaxation in his body in response to her forthrightness.
When she had been a child, despite her belief in him a fundamentally being on the right side, she would have scoffed at anyone who said Snape was sensitive about anything. He had always seemed so angry and bitter; it would be hard to imagine him being shy, or lacking in self-confidence in any way. "And besides, you haven't seen my pyjamas yet. That would kill any passion stone dead, I assure you."
Thankfully the awkward moment, on both sides, seemed to have passed. "We'd better see about getting you your things from your room." He briskly summoned a house elf, and Hermione gave the order for her suitcase to be fetched from her room. Dobby had looked very surprised to see Hermione down in the dungeons, and even more surprised to find out that she was intending to stay there for the night.
As far as Hermione was concerned, the gods were smiling on them. She could rely on Dobby to have the news round the castle within ten minutes, and Harry and Ron would almost certainly know what she was up to by breakfast.
Severus went to a tall cupboard by the side of the fire, and brought out a bottle of what looked to be brandy. "Drink?" She nodded. She took a seat on the plush sofa, curling her feet up beneath her, and he handed her a glass. He took a seat next to her, and they both stared into the fire in silence for a couple of minutes.
"So," she said, a little flirtatiously, "is this what you do with all your woman. Lure them back to your rooms, ply them with alcohol and then ravish them to within an inch of their life."
He leaned back on the sofa, and settled himself more comfortably.
"I don't bring any of my women here," he said sardonically, "you are the first."
"I am honoured, then," she said, raising her glass to him in salute.
She wondered idly why that was, but was distracted by him loosening the top buttons of his jacket. She watched in fascination; this was the most informal she had ever seen him. She suddenly realised how right the Victorians were about the erotic potential of the ankle: a mere glimpse of throat and neck, mercifully free of curling hair, and she felt quite warm.
Dobby's arrival disturbed her reverie. She only hoped that she hadn't been too obvious; that would never do. She couldn't help but think that offering encouragement would only lead to trouble. She sighed.
"I'll let you use the bathroom first," he said, waving an arm in the general direction of his bedroom. She assumed from this that the bathroom led off from his sleeping quarters. She quickly rummaged in her suitcase to find her pyjamas and her make-up bag, before heading off in search of privacy to change.
She looked at herself in the mirror once she had finished. She saw a rather pink and flushed face surrounded by a mass of curly hair. She had come to terms with her hair now; not that she was better able to tame it; instead she had decided to give up trying and work with the curl. The pyjamas were as unsexy as she had described: large, flannel, pyjamas, covered in bunnies.
It seemed Severus agreed. When she came back into the sitting room, clutching her clothes to her chest, he stared at her open-mouthed.
"I did warn you," she said.
"Let me guess, a present from the boys?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
He just raised an eyebrow at her.
'Yes, well,' she thought. 'Who else indeed? Who else would make their opinion of her lack of sex appeal so blindingly obvious in the form of a gift?'
"You really can't be seen by the house elves in the morning if you are wearing them you know. I have a reputation to maintain."
She didn't make the obvious comment, although she was sorely tempted. He did have a point. "I have what you might call a company nightdress I could put on for the delight and edification of Dobby, but its far too chilly to actually wear it to bed."
He seemed mollified by that, then his eyes came to rest on her clothes, and an evil smile flickered across his face.
"What?" she said.
"I was just thinking that we could give the house elves a real show. Let me see." he turned this way and that, seemingly checking trajectories and running through some imaginary seduction scene, ". we would sit on the sofa. We'd have a drink, then we'd probably start with a little light snogging. My jacket should come off here." He threw it across the arm of the sofa. "We'd move to go to the bedroom, I would obviously be overcome with excitement about here; so we should place your dress here." He plucked it from her arms and tossed it to the floor.
She squeaked in outrage. "That's a very expensive dress."
"Hermione, if you were in the grips of an overwhelming passion, would you stop in the middle to hang up your clothes?"
"Probably not."
"I can assure you, you definitely wouldn't."
He looked very certain of himself. He was probably right. She decided to enter into the spirit of the thing. After all, there were charms to deal with creases, and house elves to deal with the tidying in the morning.
"Well in that case, bearing in mind we were in the grips as you say, I don't think we would have made it off the sofa. Not the first time, anyway."
He had an odd gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps you are right." He artistically re-arranged the dress on the floor, and then advanced on her. "If it was a particularly spectacular night, then rather more of your clothing would be scattered over a wider radius." She didn't resist as he took her underwear from her slack grasp, and then carefully took aim. Her bra ended up on caught on the edge of the cabinet by the fire, and her knickers were draped over a bust of what could have been Salazar Slytherin.
She grinned. "Perfect. Now all you have to do is get changed, and then we'll do the same with your things." It may have been her imagination but his smile seemed to have dimmed a trifle at that.
He was gone for barely ten minutes. When he returned he was swathed in a very smart green dressing gown. At least in this he was living up to his image. She didn't feel brave enough to do as he did, and so Severus arranged his own clothes around the room.
"No underwear?" she asked, noticing that an important piece of clothing was missing from the tableau.
"I don't wear any," he smirked.
Well that answered the age-old question of briefs or boxers. She succeeded in keeping her eyes above his waist, but it was a hard fought battle.
He stood back politely to allow her to enter the bedroom. The bed was enormous. She hadn't noticed it before, but now it seemed to dominate the room. A four-poster, of course, hung with heavy velvet curtains.
"Which side of the bed do you sleep on?" she asked. He look puzzled. She remembered what he had said about her being the first woman in his quarters. "Ah, you sleep in the middle, you bed hog. Well tonight you have to pick a side. And no stealing the covers either."
"The right hand side, then," he said.
Decision made, Hermione slipped under the covers. She turned round just in time to see Severus remove his dressing gown and place it carefully over a chair at the side of the bed. He was wearing a long grey nightshirt; and he had the cheek to tease her over her nightwear. She bit her lip; she would not laugh. She had the feeling he would never forgive her.
He got into bed and extinguished the lights with a simple Nox.
She shivered. "God, it's cold in here. It's a wonder you don't get frostbite."
"I'll warm you up if you like."
"I beg your pardon."
"A warming charm, Hermione, nothing more," she could hear the amusement in his voice.
"I can manage that by myself, thank you," she said primly. She cast the charm nonetheless; it was a good idea.
She wriggled around a bit trying to get comfortable. Something hard was pressing against her. "What is that poking into me?" "I don't know. Probably a book."
"You sleep with books? I knew there was something I liked about you," she paused to give the follow up more punch, "other than your knees, of course."
He watched her from afar like a dutiful swain for the rest of the evening.
Nothing too obvious, but obviously discreet. In his long life a as a spy he had learned that if you wanted people to notice what you were doing all you had to do was try to be inconspicuous. People were in general obtuse, and didn't pay attention to their surroundings, other than to notice when something was manifestly out of place. What he was doing was the metaphorical equivalent of wandering around with his hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune, with body language that positively screamed don't look at me. It was tantamount to having a large arrow floating above his head, going, "ay ay, look at this once, he's up to no good."
She didn't stay in any one group long. Just long enough for her to start chatting, falter, and then look wistful. She would complete the pose by glancing up at him longingly, sighing and then moving on. People would notice her actions, follow her gaze, do a double take and then stare in horror at the Potions Master.
He saw the precise moment the boys realised what he was doing. Harry nudged Ron, they exchanged words and then started sniggering. He could just imagine the comments. Something to the effect that the Greasy Git had his eye on Hermione, and how even she wasn't that desperate yet. Arrogant, contemptuous little sods. Every time they opened their mouths they added to the temptation, no, the positive necessity to bring them down a peg or two.
He made sure they were watching when he caught Hermione's eye and signalled to her that it was time to leave. He gave a flirtatious quirk of his eyebrow and cocked his head towards the door. She picked up her cue, and he was amused to see her flutter her eyelashes at him before assenting with a circumspect nod. The boys had clearly never seen her behave like that before, and gaped as she slipped out of the door. He followed a mere heartbeat behind.
She was waiting for him just outside the door. "Did anyone see us?" she asked.
"My dear, everyone in the hall saw us, and those who didn't see us will have been told about it within thirty seconds of our departure!"
"Oh good. I'd hate to think all that hard work had gone to waste."
His spy's instincts alerted him to the fact they were being watched. "Darling," he said in tones pitched to carry, "I don't know how I kept my hands off you this evening, you looked so delectable." Behind us, he mouthed. "How much longer will we have to keep this a secret?"
She couldn't see who was watching them, but the most likely culprits would be either Harry or Ron. "Not much longer, darling," she broadcast to the watchers. "You know we have to wait until my parents are back from holiday before we announce our engagement. My parents really ought to be the first to know."
"You know you've made me the happiest man alive?" They both struggled to contain their mirth at that particular cliché. He decided to go for broke. "I was jealous of every man you spoke to this evening, every casual touch of the arm you gave them and every smile. It should have been me by your side, me that you were smiling at. You are a beautiful goddess among women, my darling, and I wanted to worship at your feet."
He was certainly good at this. She felt light-headed and short of breath and was on the verge of doing something incredibly silly, and not regretting it at all. He looked smug, as well he might, but she couldn't allow the balance of power to shift so far in his favour.
"Do you use those lines on your other women?" she whispered mock- innocently.
"Yes," he smirked.
"Good god. However do you manage to get them into bed? Render them unable to resist due to laughter?"
He pokered up, and for one minute she thought she had gone too far. He leaned in still further to whisper in her ear, and she prepared herself for more seduction by that silky voice. "Either that," he murmured softly, and her breath caught in her throat - what would he say next, what? - "or Stupefy."
She snorted with laughter. Severus knew that the boys would find the sight of them sharing laughter more puzzling than the idea that they might be sleeping together. They still had the image of him as the dour Potions Master; furthermore, they thought they had the monopoly on laughing with Hermione. To find that privilege had been usurped would hurt them more than anything.
He took Hermione's hand and placed it courteously in the crook of his arm. "Shall we go to bed?"
"Yes, let's," and her voice was all breathy with laughter which, from a distance, could easily have been mistaken for passion.
Any temptation to laugh was fading by the time Hermione was standing outside Snape's quarters. She felt oddly nervous, as if crossing the threshold was in some way committing her to something more profound than a practical joke. She had no doubt he would keep his hands to himself; he was a gentleman of sorts. What worried her was that she was no longer entirely certain she wanted him to, and Hermione had never been uncertain about much in her life before. Then she thought of Harry and Ron, and the harsh words they had spoken the last time they met; her back stiffened and she stepped through the door.
Severus had been aware of her hesitation, and he could hazard a guess as to why she had decided to go through with the charade. He watched her look round the room, obviously curious to see what his private quarters were like. He knew that there was a great deal of speculation amongst the students She would not have been silly enough to expect a draughty and cold dungeon, nor, indeed, as some of the wilder rumours would have it, chains and skeletons; but neither would she expect the room to be decorated in red and gold. Gryffindor colours, no less!
"Did you lose a bet with Professor McGonagall?" she asked, smiling. He smiled back; a soft, gentle smile quite unlike his usual smirk. Both the colours and the smile were unexpected, but made her feel more at ease, until she saw the door the to bedroom.
"I assure you, you are perfectly safe with me," he said dryly, but with a faint note of irritation, and perhaps a little hurt.
"Of course I am," she said warmly; seeing his look of polite disbelief, she continued, "It's just embarrassing, that's all. I hardly think that you are going to be overcome with wild, animal passion and make a pass at me; I'm just slightly worried that I might snore or something."
She hadn't imagined his concern, or the infinitesimal relaxation in his body in response to her forthrightness.
When she had been a child, despite her belief in him a fundamentally being on the right side, she would have scoffed at anyone who said Snape was sensitive about anything. He had always seemed so angry and bitter; it would be hard to imagine him being shy, or lacking in self-confidence in any way. "And besides, you haven't seen my pyjamas yet. That would kill any passion stone dead, I assure you."
Thankfully the awkward moment, on both sides, seemed to have passed. "We'd better see about getting you your things from your room." He briskly summoned a house elf, and Hermione gave the order for her suitcase to be fetched from her room. Dobby had looked very surprised to see Hermione down in the dungeons, and even more surprised to find out that she was intending to stay there for the night.
As far as Hermione was concerned, the gods were smiling on them. She could rely on Dobby to have the news round the castle within ten minutes, and Harry and Ron would almost certainly know what she was up to by breakfast.
Severus went to a tall cupboard by the side of the fire, and brought out a bottle of what looked to be brandy. "Drink?" She nodded. She took a seat on the plush sofa, curling her feet up beneath her, and he handed her a glass. He took a seat next to her, and they both stared into the fire in silence for a couple of minutes.
"So," she said, a little flirtatiously, "is this what you do with all your woman. Lure them back to your rooms, ply them with alcohol and then ravish them to within an inch of their life."
He leaned back on the sofa, and settled himself more comfortably.
"I don't bring any of my women here," he said sardonically, "you are the first."
"I am honoured, then," she said, raising her glass to him in salute.
She wondered idly why that was, but was distracted by him loosening the top buttons of his jacket. She watched in fascination; this was the most informal she had ever seen him. She suddenly realised how right the Victorians were about the erotic potential of the ankle: a mere glimpse of throat and neck, mercifully free of curling hair, and she felt quite warm.
Dobby's arrival disturbed her reverie. She only hoped that she hadn't been too obvious; that would never do. She couldn't help but think that offering encouragement would only lead to trouble. She sighed.
"I'll let you use the bathroom first," he said, waving an arm in the general direction of his bedroom. She assumed from this that the bathroom led off from his sleeping quarters. She quickly rummaged in her suitcase to find her pyjamas and her make-up bag, before heading off in search of privacy to change.
She looked at herself in the mirror once she had finished. She saw a rather pink and flushed face surrounded by a mass of curly hair. She had come to terms with her hair now; not that she was better able to tame it; instead she had decided to give up trying and work with the curl. The pyjamas were as unsexy as she had described: large, flannel, pyjamas, covered in bunnies.
It seemed Severus agreed. When she came back into the sitting room, clutching her clothes to her chest, he stared at her open-mouthed.
"I did warn you," she said.
"Let me guess, a present from the boys?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
He just raised an eyebrow at her.
'Yes, well,' she thought. 'Who else indeed? Who else would make their opinion of her lack of sex appeal so blindingly obvious in the form of a gift?'
"You really can't be seen by the house elves in the morning if you are wearing them you know. I have a reputation to maintain."
She didn't make the obvious comment, although she was sorely tempted. He did have a point. "I have what you might call a company nightdress I could put on for the delight and edification of Dobby, but its far too chilly to actually wear it to bed."
He seemed mollified by that, then his eyes came to rest on her clothes, and an evil smile flickered across his face.
"What?" she said.
"I was just thinking that we could give the house elves a real show. Let me see." he turned this way and that, seemingly checking trajectories and running through some imaginary seduction scene, ". we would sit on the sofa. We'd have a drink, then we'd probably start with a little light snogging. My jacket should come off here." He threw it across the arm of the sofa. "We'd move to go to the bedroom, I would obviously be overcome with excitement about here; so we should place your dress here." He plucked it from her arms and tossed it to the floor.
She squeaked in outrage. "That's a very expensive dress."
"Hermione, if you were in the grips of an overwhelming passion, would you stop in the middle to hang up your clothes?"
"Probably not."
"I can assure you, you definitely wouldn't."
He looked very certain of himself. He was probably right. She decided to enter into the spirit of the thing. After all, there were charms to deal with creases, and house elves to deal with the tidying in the morning.
"Well in that case, bearing in mind we were in the grips as you say, I don't think we would have made it off the sofa. Not the first time, anyway."
He had an odd gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps you are right." He artistically re-arranged the dress on the floor, and then advanced on her. "If it was a particularly spectacular night, then rather more of your clothing would be scattered over a wider radius." She didn't resist as he took her underwear from her slack grasp, and then carefully took aim. Her bra ended up on caught on the edge of the cabinet by the fire, and her knickers were draped over a bust of what could have been Salazar Slytherin.
She grinned. "Perfect. Now all you have to do is get changed, and then we'll do the same with your things." It may have been her imagination but his smile seemed to have dimmed a trifle at that.
He was gone for barely ten minutes. When he returned he was swathed in a very smart green dressing gown. At least in this he was living up to his image. She didn't feel brave enough to do as he did, and so Severus arranged his own clothes around the room.
"No underwear?" she asked, noticing that an important piece of clothing was missing from the tableau.
"I don't wear any," he smirked.
Well that answered the age-old question of briefs or boxers. She succeeded in keeping her eyes above his waist, but it was a hard fought battle.
He stood back politely to allow her to enter the bedroom. The bed was enormous. She hadn't noticed it before, but now it seemed to dominate the room. A four-poster, of course, hung with heavy velvet curtains.
"Which side of the bed do you sleep on?" she asked. He look puzzled. She remembered what he had said about her being the first woman in his quarters. "Ah, you sleep in the middle, you bed hog. Well tonight you have to pick a side. And no stealing the covers either."
"The right hand side, then," he said.
Decision made, Hermione slipped under the covers. She turned round just in time to see Severus remove his dressing gown and place it carefully over a chair at the side of the bed. He was wearing a long grey nightshirt; and he had the cheek to tease her over her nightwear. She bit her lip; she would not laugh. She had the feeling he would never forgive her.
He got into bed and extinguished the lights with a simple Nox.
She shivered. "God, it's cold in here. It's a wonder you don't get frostbite."
"I'll warm you up if you like."
"I beg your pardon."
"A warming charm, Hermione, nothing more," she could hear the amusement in his voice.
"I can manage that by myself, thank you," she said primly. She cast the charm nonetheless; it was a good idea.
She wriggled around a bit trying to get comfortable. Something hard was pressing against her. "What is that poking into me?" "I don't know. Probably a book."
"You sleep with books? I knew there was something I liked about you," she paused to give the follow up more punch, "other than your knees, of course."