Dedicated to the DivineMissM/Michmatch.
Dinner seemed to be taking ages tonight, mused Hermione. There had been the usual five courses to negotiate – soup, fish, meat, desert, and cheese and port - but it appeared that each course was taking much longer than last night. Even when dinner was over they wouldn't be free; they would be expected to hang around and talk to dull people about dull things. Didn't they realise that she had more interesting places to be, and much more interesting things to be doing?
They had carefully chatted about nothing in particular, but as the dinner was winding to a close all she could think about was the night ahead. Ordinarily she would have regarded the chocolate mousse with a lot more enthusiasm; tonight she had other things on her mind.
"Patience," came a deep voice to the right of her, "is a virtue."
Hermione nearly choked on her mousse. It couldn't be denied that that voice was incredibly sexy, and it couldn't be denied that he knew that very well, not to mention the fact that all his skills at reading minds seemed to be in place. Not that Legilimency would be necessary to work out where her mind had been for the last hour or so, bearing in mind the covert glances she kept giving him and the way she was fidgeting.
Well, playing games could help pass the time; if she played them well enough he might not be quite so keen on that second glass of port. So it was time to get back in touch with her inner minx, and play the game for all it was worth.
A hand on the thigh had worked so well before; it was worth trying again. A light touch, nothing too obvious, then leaning in and asking, sotto voce, so he in his turn had to lean in to hear her, "Don't you think that being virtuous is over-rated?"
There was the faintest flare of his nostrils as he considered the implications of that, and then he retaliated. "I don't know," he said, with every appearance of considering the question carefully, "whilst immediate gratification is always welcome, sometime it's so much better to take things slowly and carefully. Attention to detail is so often vital."
Hermione reckoned that was about one all; and didn't that sound intriguing?
"I do agree, Severus. Sometimes the small things in life are so important and easily overlooked."
That was 2-1 to her; not that she was keeping score.
"Indeed, Hermione; conversely one shouldn't overlook the wood for the trees."
2-2.
Although, bearing in mind what he was hinting at, that was probably another point for her anyway.
A spirit of mischief moved within her. "What sort of tree?" she asked. "A dwarf conifer, a young birch, or a hundred-year-old oak?"
"A giant redwood," he offered blandly.
Definitely a point to him, she thought, as she started laughing, her face lit up by happiness.
Severus looked down at her, his brows drawn together in mock offence. He had suggested that they come to dinner instead of proceeding to a mutually pleasurable conclusion because he wasn't completely certain that embarking on a relationship with Hermione was the right thing to do; and Hermione deserved nothing less than complete certainty.
Not to mention the number of nasty hexes she knew if he slept with her and then changed his mind.
He didn't know what had suddenly made him so certain, what had tipped the balance, but whatever it was had happened; something incalculable had seized hold of his heart and twisted it. There was nothing to be done about it. His last chance to back out had gone somewhere along the line and he hadn't even noticed it passing him by.
Which made him feel strangely giddy.
He turned hot, predatory eyes on Hermione and her smile faded. Breathing was suddenly very difficult, and she felt like someone had cast Stupefy on her. It was intolerable that they should be sitting here, pushing their desserts round their plates, when she could be being snogged into oblivion elsewhere.
"Do you think they would notice if we slipped under the table?"
For a second he thought she was joking; then he realised that she was in deadly earnest. He was being such a bad influence on her. He wanted to find out quite how much of a bad influence on her he could be. "Yes," he hissed, though whether he meant that they would be noticed or expressing his approval of the idea wasn't entirely clear. Probably the former: Severus knew, without looking that the boys were watching them, their little beady eyes constantly assessing what they were up to.
"Then we'll just have to try something else," she said, her mind testing and discarding possibilities, until she hit on the perfect solution.
Turning to her neighbour, on the other side to Severus, who she had been rather rudely neglecting for the evening, she put a hand dramatically on her forehead and faltered, "Madam Pomfrey, I'm afraid I don't feel very well."
Fortunately for Hermione, Madam Pomfrey wasn't the sort to take offence at being ignored, and had spent often enough patching Severus up during the war years to be pleased he had found a little happiness, or presumably was about to.
"You do look a little fevered, dear. Perhaps you ought to have a little lie down."
Hermione was grateful Madam Pomfrey had picked up the hint, and was only mildly embarrassed to find herself being winked at.
"I think you're right," she said gratefully. That would allow her to make a break for freedom; it was up to Severus to find his own method of leaving early. It wouldn't be as difficult for him, as no one expected him to be polite and linger to chat to people anyway.
She had reckoned without the kindly intervention of Madam Pomfrey, who leaned across her and said, "Severus, Miss Granger is feeling a little unwell. Would you be kind enough to provide her with one of your marvellous headache potions?"
Hermione thought she would treasure the frozen expression on Severus's face for a long time. It wasn't quite shock, and it wasn't quite amusement, but some bizarre combination of the two.
"I'd be only too happy to oblige Miss Granger," he said, all bland indifference on the surface, and all suggestive promise beneath.
Hermione reminded herself very firmly that smirking would give the game away, people with migraines didn't go around with broad smiles on their faces, and schooled her features into a more suitable expression of pain. Her expression wouldn't have looked out of place on someone dying of consumption.
"You're too kind, Severus," she sighed. She bravely tried to rise to her feet, and staggered artistically. "I'm afraid I feel a little weak; do you think you could help me to my rooms?"
He pasted a look of irritation on his face, and then dutifully offered his arm to her. They made their way to the door – not deigning to reply to Madam Pomfrey's instruction to lie down as quickly as possible, and perhaps Severus could help her loosen some of her clothes – swiftly, but without giving the impression of undue haste.
Unfortunately, their quickest route to the door brought them past the boys.
And, life being what life is, they didn't manage to sneak past them without being noticed. Harry and Ron rose to their feet, and blocked their route to the door. They applied a pincer movement so that they were trapped between the two of them, and began a staring contest with Severus.
Hermione couldn't remember when she had seen a sight so ridiculous; who did they think they were? Severus was hardly likely to take them seriously. He had been menaced by the best, including Voldemort himself and Lucius Malfoy, who Hermione had privately considered to be the more dangerous. It's hard to take someone seriously when they had red glowing eyes, scaly skin and a tendency to hiss; Malfoy, on the other hand, plugged straight into all the Nazi stereotypes in war films and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end.
"Where are you off to so early," asked Ron, seemingly pleasantly, but with what he fondly imagined was a hint of steel in his voice.
Hermione was strongly tempted to inform them that she was nipping off for a shag, just to see the looks on the boys' faces. However, in the interests of keeping calm – Severus and not the boys – she merely replied that she was feeling a trifle ill and that she needed to lie down.
The boys exchanged looks; they clearly weren't buying it. Not that, she thought, it was any of their business anyway; so why didn't they just sod off out of it? She found her hand moving towards her wand; she was prepared to help them sod off out of it, if they didn't take a hint soon.
Only Severus noticed what she was doing; the boys were oblivious. He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "I know it's tempting to hex them, but may I remind you that Azkaban is cold and nasty, and being sent there could put a crimp in our plans for the evening."
It was nice to see that someone was deriving some amusement from the situation. She nodded, and allowed her wand to fall back into her sleeve. By the look on their faces, the boys had not enjoyed that moment of intimacy at all.
Harry said, "Don't you think you should see Madam Pomfrey?"
"She already has, you stupid boy."
Harry flushed a dull red. Severus's tone brought back the humiliating memories of Potions classes, and being berated for nothing more than being a Potter. Which was of course the point: Auror Harry, Harry who defeated Voldemort was a power to be reckoned with. Potter was a mere schoolboy who counted for nothing, and Potter was the sort of schoolboy who went off half- cocked, made mistakes, and, crucially, had a habit of flapping his trap before thinking.
"Don't call me a stupid boy, you greasy git," he snarled in reply. Of course, if he had been thinking he would have realised that was a fatal mistake, that Hermione had no hesitation in capitalising on.
"Harry!" said Hermione, "I'm shocked to hear you speak to Severus in such a way. I want you to apologise, now."
"I'm not – you can't expect me to – apologise to that bastard," spluttered Harry.
"I can and I do," she said firmly. "And I don't want to hear another word out of you until you do," then she swept off majestically. Severus only paused to smirk at the boys in triumph before gliding after her. He waited until he was through the door before he broke into a trot to catch up with Hermione; he didn't want to lose his dignity, but he also didn't want to lose sight of Hermione, although he had to admit the way that dress was moving was very enticing.
Hermione realised that she had left Severus behind and paused to allow him to catch up. She turned to say something about the boys being idiots, and that she hoped they hadn't spoiled the mood when he pounced. Four long strides brought him to her, she barely had time to draw breath, and then she was pinned to the wall, with his long body pressing against her in a way that was almost painful.
Any half-hearted intention of complaining was abruptly smothered when he began kissing her with a passionate intensity that was at once exhilarating and a little frightening.
She lost all sense of time and place; all her concentration was focussed on the overwhelming assault on her mouth, and it was only when he raised his head that she realised there was a very large stone digging into her back, her neck hurt, and at some point tomorrow she was going to have a lovely bruise on her elbow where it had been pushed into the wall.
All that seemed to be of negligible importance compared to the fact that he had stopped kissing her, and now was looking at her with that same expression that he had turned on her earlier.
What breath that remained to her was stolen by his next words.
"I'm going to show you that patience really is a virtue."
Dinner seemed to be taking ages tonight, mused Hermione. There had been the usual five courses to negotiate – soup, fish, meat, desert, and cheese and port - but it appeared that each course was taking much longer than last night. Even when dinner was over they wouldn't be free; they would be expected to hang around and talk to dull people about dull things. Didn't they realise that she had more interesting places to be, and much more interesting things to be doing?
They had carefully chatted about nothing in particular, but as the dinner was winding to a close all she could think about was the night ahead. Ordinarily she would have regarded the chocolate mousse with a lot more enthusiasm; tonight she had other things on her mind.
"Patience," came a deep voice to the right of her, "is a virtue."
Hermione nearly choked on her mousse. It couldn't be denied that that voice was incredibly sexy, and it couldn't be denied that he knew that very well, not to mention the fact that all his skills at reading minds seemed to be in place. Not that Legilimency would be necessary to work out where her mind had been for the last hour or so, bearing in mind the covert glances she kept giving him and the way she was fidgeting.
Well, playing games could help pass the time; if she played them well enough he might not be quite so keen on that second glass of port. So it was time to get back in touch with her inner minx, and play the game for all it was worth.
A hand on the thigh had worked so well before; it was worth trying again. A light touch, nothing too obvious, then leaning in and asking, sotto voce, so he in his turn had to lean in to hear her, "Don't you think that being virtuous is over-rated?"
There was the faintest flare of his nostrils as he considered the implications of that, and then he retaliated. "I don't know," he said, with every appearance of considering the question carefully, "whilst immediate gratification is always welcome, sometime it's so much better to take things slowly and carefully. Attention to detail is so often vital."
Hermione reckoned that was about one all; and didn't that sound intriguing?
"I do agree, Severus. Sometimes the small things in life are so important and easily overlooked."
That was 2-1 to her; not that she was keeping score.
"Indeed, Hermione; conversely one shouldn't overlook the wood for the trees."
2-2.
Although, bearing in mind what he was hinting at, that was probably another point for her anyway.
A spirit of mischief moved within her. "What sort of tree?" she asked. "A dwarf conifer, a young birch, or a hundred-year-old oak?"
"A giant redwood," he offered blandly.
Definitely a point to him, she thought, as she started laughing, her face lit up by happiness.
Severus looked down at her, his brows drawn together in mock offence. He had suggested that they come to dinner instead of proceeding to a mutually pleasurable conclusion because he wasn't completely certain that embarking on a relationship with Hermione was the right thing to do; and Hermione deserved nothing less than complete certainty.
Not to mention the number of nasty hexes she knew if he slept with her and then changed his mind.
He didn't know what had suddenly made him so certain, what had tipped the balance, but whatever it was had happened; something incalculable had seized hold of his heart and twisted it. There was nothing to be done about it. His last chance to back out had gone somewhere along the line and he hadn't even noticed it passing him by.
Which made him feel strangely giddy.
He turned hot, predatory eyes on Hermione and her smile faded. Breathing was suddenly very difficult, and she felt like someone had cast Stupefy on her. It was intolerable that they should be sitting here, pushing their desserts round their plates, when she could be being snogged into oblivion elsewhere.
"Do you think they would notice if we slipped under the table?"
For a second he thought she was joking; then he realised that she was in deadly earnest. He was being such a bad influence on her. He wanted to find out quite how much of a bad influence on her he could be. "Yes," he hissed, though whether he meant that they would be noticed or expressing his approval of the idea wasn't entirely clear. Probably the former: Severus knew, without looking that the boys were watching them, their little beady eyes constantly assessing what they were up to.
"Then we'll just have to try something else," she said, her mind testing and discarding possibilities, until she hit on the perfect solution.
Turning to her neighbour, on the other side to Severus, who she had been rather rudely neglecting for the evening, she put a hand dramatically on her forehead and faltered, "Madam Pomfrey, I'm afraid I don't feel very well."
Fortunately for Hermione, Madam Pomfrey wasn't the sort to take offence at being ignored, and had spent often enough patching Severus up during the war years to be pleased he had found a little happiness, or presumably was about to.
"You do look a little fevered, dear. Perhaps you ought to have a little lie down."
Hermione was grateful Madam Pomfrey had picked up the hint, and was only mildly embarrassed to find herself being winked at.
"I think you're right," she said gratefully. That would allow her to make a break for freedom; it was up to Severus to find his own method of leaving early. It wouldn't be as difficult for him, as no one expected him to be polite and linger to chat to people anyway.
She had reckoned without the kindly intervention of Madam Pomfrey, who leaned across her and said, "Severus, Miss Granger is feeling a little unwell. Would you be kind enough to provide her with one of your marvellous headache potions?"
Hermione thought she would treasure the frozen expression on Severus's face for a long time. It wasn't quite shock, and it wasn't quite amusement, but some bizarre combination of the two.
"I'd be only too happy to oblige Miss Granger," he said, all bland indifference on the surface, and all suggestive promise beneath.
Hermione reminded herself very firmly that smirking would give the game away, people with migraines didn't go around with broad smiles on their faces, and schooled her features into a more suitable expression of pain. Her expression wouldn't have looked out of place on someone dying of consumption.
"You're too kind, Severus," she sighed. She bravely tried to rise to her feet, and staggered artistically. "I'm afraid I feel a little weak; do you think you could help me to my rooms?"
He pasted a look of irritation on his face, and then dutifully offered his arm to her. They made their way to the door – not deigning to reply to Madam Pomfrey's instruction to lie down as quickly as possible, and perhaps Severus could help her loosen some of her clothes – swiftly, but without giving the impression of undue haste.
Unfortunately, their quickest route to the door brought them past the boys.
And, life being what life is, they didn't manage to sneak past them without being noticed. Harry and Ron rose to their feet, and blocked their route to the door. They applied a pincer movement so that they were trapped between the two of them, and began a staring contest with Severus.
Hermione couldn't remember when she had seen a sight so ridiculous; who did they think they were? Severus was hardly likely to take them seriously. He had been menaced by the best, including Voldemort himself and Lucius Malfoy, who Hermione had privately considered to be the more dangerous. It's hard to take someone seriously when they had red glowing eyes, scaly skin and a tendency to hiss; Malfoy, on the other hand, plugged straight into all the Nazi stereotypes in war films and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end.
"Where are you off to so early," asked Ron, seemingly pleasantly, but with what he fondly imagined was a hint of steel in his voice.
Hermione was strongly tempted to inform them that she was nipping off for a shag, just to see the looks on the boys' faces. However, in the interests of keeping calm – Severus and not the boys – she merely replied that she was feeling a trifle ill and that she needed to lie down.
The boys exchanged looks; they clearly weren't buying it. Not that, she thought, it was any of their business anyway; so why didn't they just sod off out of it? She found her hand moving towards her wand; she was prepared to help them sod off out of it, if they didn't take a hint soon.
Only Severus noticed what she was doing; the boys were oblivious. He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "I know it's tempting to hex them, but may I remind you that Azkaban is cold and nasty, and being sent there could put a crimp in our plans for the evening."
It was nice to see that someone was deriving some amusement from the situation. She nodded, and allowed her wand to fall back into her sleeve. By the look on their faces, the boys had not enjoyed that moment of intimacy at all.
Harry said, "Don't you think you should see Madam Pomfrey?"
"She already has, you stupid boy."
Harry flushed a dull red. Severus's tone brought back the humiliating memories of Potions classes, and being berated for nothing more than being a Potter. Which was of course the point: Auror Harry, Harry who defeated Voldemort was a power to be reckoned with. Potter was a mere schoolboy who counted for nothing, and Potter was the sort of schoolboy who went off half- cocked, made mistakes, and, crucially, had a habit of flapping his trap before thinking.
"Don't call me a stupid boy, you greasy git," he snarled in reply. Of course, if he had been thinking he would have realised that was a fatal mistake, that Hermione had no hesitation in capitalising on.
"Harry!" said Hermione, "I'm shocked to hear you speak to Severus in such a way. I want you to apologise, now."
"I'm not – you can't expect me to – apologise to that bastard," spluttered Harry.
"I can and I do," she said firmly. "And I don't want to hear another word out of you until you do," then she swept off majestically. Severus only paused to smirk at the boys in triumph before gliding after her. He waited until he was through the door before he broke into a trot to catch up with Hermione; he didn't want to lose his dignity, but he also didn't want to lose sight of Hermione, although he had to admit the way that dress was moving was very enticing.
Hermione realised that she had left Severus behind and paused to allow him to catch up. She turned to say something about the boys being idiots, and that she hoped they hadn't spoiled the mood when he pounced. Four long strides brought him to her, she barely had time to draw breath, and then she was pinned to the wall, with his long body pressing against her in a way that was almost painful.
Any half-hearted intention of complaining was abruptly smothered when he began kissing her with a passionate intensity that was at once exhilarating and a little frightening.
She lost all sense of time and place; all her concentration was focussed on the overwhelming assault on her mouth, and it was only when he raised his head that she realised there was a very large stone digging into her back, her neck hurt, and at some point tomorrow she was going to have a lovely bruise on her elbow where it had been pushed into the wall.
All that seemed to be of negligible importance compared to the fact that he had stopped kissing her, and now was looking at her with that same expression that he had turned on her earlier.
What breath that remained to her was stolen by his next words.
"I'm going to show you that patience really is a virtue."