We are very, very, VERY sorry that this is so late. But the holiday are a massive bitch for writing, as I'm sure many of you know. We did try to make this one shorter but...FAILED miserably 😅 So, not only do we apologise for the length, but we also apologise for some of this chapter's contents... We will try to make the next update on time, however due to Christmas next weekend we can't make any particular guarantees. Not to worry, though. After the holidays our schedule should be back to normal. Regardless of the wait, please let us know what you think? This one didn't get the same level of editing as we normally do for errors, so forgive any minor issues, if you can.

Cover art, as always, by OpalChalice - Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

~ Kristina & Abby

The Ties That Bind

"No cord or cable can draw so forcibly, or bind so fast, as love can do with a single thread." - Robert Burton

CHAPTER VI: The Morning After

Invisible threads are the strongest ties. - Friedrich Nietzsche

~•~

Thursday, 27th November, 2003 – Morning

It took quite an extended amount of time for Severus Snape to emerge from his dreamless – yes dreamless, or to be more specific, nightmare-less, slumber. He had, for the first time in decades, been liberated from the gut-wrenching, spectral images of the events and people of his past; blissfully delivered from the savage reminders of his unatonable transgressions and failures, and even his many forced sins at the decrees of his former, 'self-ordained' masters.

Severus had escaped that ghastly nightly ritual by the bestowment of one redolent with only solaced serenity. He had been swaddled tightly by the protective and meritorious hands of Worthiness and Exoneration. And, perhaps, a foot or so of Self-Love had even dared to light the doorway. In short, it had been the kindest sleep to him in years, and therefore the most difficult to want to abandon. But, relinquish it he must, for he had work to do. And the bitterly sweet familiarity of Contrition's hand to take once more.

And so, finally, Severus gave a remorseful stretch of his arms above his head and emerged from the depths of unconsciousness to that of it's livelier sister and opened his eyes to his dark, still-retired room. And that's when it struck him: the inevitable blow of a pounding headache, courtesy of its owner, the roughish hangover, that his older body, now, failed to be able to conquer through sleep. And, along with it, also arrived the crashing waves of guilt and self-contempt for the enterprise he had allowed himself to yield to. And one, which no number of indulgences, from any church, could ever hope to grant him self-penitence for.

Having gone to 'Cockaigne' was a far more accurate sentiment for the phenomenon, however, that was still putting it lightly. Indeed, for the man had climaxed with greater pussiance of force than he had ever priorly sustained. And his afflatus had been an ex-pupil, an insufferable know-it-all, and worst of all, or perhaps best in his case - his wife. Ah, yes, his writhing, begging, ecstasy-inducing wife that had completely submitted to his adoration of her, and who had – quite suspiciously – achieved the arduous task of doing the same to him. She had topped his top and had induced the most fantastic of physical releases he had ever been host to.

Stop it, Severus. Those images certainly aren't going to help your current condition lessen. You shan't indulge in that again. Ever.

And so, with a moan of minor self-pity, but mostly self-humiliation, The Half-Blood Prince bluntly ignored the unusually hellacious throbbing of his morning wood, and attempted to sit up and begin his day.

Upon running an indifferent hand through his tangled hair and uttering a curse of inconvenience at his cock's unrelenting campaign for attention, he hastily accioed the morning's Prophet (now that he was permitted to read it) from where his beloved crow had left it, and attempted to deflect his concentration from that of his libido to that of his intellect.

Yes, he needed to locate one of the all-too-many rubbish articles of quite questionable journalistic integrity, not to mention quality, in which he could immerse himself via the digestion of philistine reporting. And yet, his left hand's ornament continued to pulse. He flexed it before shaking it so that he might continue his reading of the abhorrent piece of news unencumbered.

Ugh, not a grand idea with respect to his headache, but what else could be done? He grumbled as he shifted the pillows behind his ageing back and covered his groin with a spare one in the aim of trialling the 'out of sight, out of mind' mantra.

Indeed, he had been quite correct in his assessment. For the marriage of the small black and white lettering to the highly agitating, moving images on the front page, immediately caused his dark, bleary eyes to lose focus before finally acquiescing to settle themselves after a few blinks of irritation.

And by Pheme's cheeky, right tit what his eyes found themselves staring at was something to behold, indeed.

Where the bloody fuck had that emerged from?!

~•~

Hermione woke up in intentional, but no less blissful ignorance, at first. She had actually slept a strangely dreamless sleep, even considering the sheer amount of new information she'd had to muse on – which had to be magic if she'd ever heard of it. Normally whatever she had been obsessively over-thinking as she drifted off was precisely what would haunt her sleeping hours as well. Not the case, this time.

But consciousness brought with it both knowledge and pain, apparently - and also heat. Her head was definitely pounding - from the wine mostly, just as surely as her ring was throbbing, but the knowledge bit was actually somewhat worse. The kind she'd sought out and that which had been 'thrust' upon her – oy, literally. Though the very conscious thought of that whole business just made the pounding and throbbing immediately redirect back to its initial, salacious home between her thighs. Apparently, she had not solved that specific problem entirely.

But nevertheless, lying in bed miserable was not going to solve anything. So, regretfully, she downed a pain tonic she had lying around, put on some very strong coffee, and jumped into the shower, having decidedly put herself to bed before bothering with her bath the night before - probably for the best.

It was only as she emerged from the steam that she was met with the unusual, but not entirely unexpected, sight of a large black crow tapping on her window with noted impatience.

Living in a flat and getting post delivered by owl didn't always go together congenially, so she had something of a drop box on the outside of her living room window. So, while most days she got a warning tap or a hoot or two, she was rarely required to let her avian visitors in for casual correspondence. Though clearly crows – or this crow in particular – had no interest in leaving without a response.

Safely wrapped in a dressing gown, she regretfully let in a burst of cold air as she let the bird enter with a hop and a click of its beak, fluttering it's impressive wing span to reveal a small scroll of parchment on its foot which it quickly offered to her.

The message was very short, distinct, and to the point:

Daily Prophet. Now. SS

"Oh, fuck me," she muttered to herself, rushing back to the window to grab her copy of the at times morally questionable, let alone biased, wizarding newspaper.

It was worse than she'd expected. Taking up a healthy segment of the front, fucking page was an instant replay of the kiss that had made them husband and wife. There they stood in front of Kingsley – who would surely be relieved to find himself considerably blocked from the shot – right at the moment that Snape's hand had cupped her cheek and had pulled her in for the meeting of their lips. And just as the looped photo reached its conclusion before going through the motions again, both their faces showed noticeable surprise at the results.

Well, apparently they now knew why someone had been sneaking around.

Letting out a few other muttered curses, she took the paper and the note and wearily began to respond.

Well, I know I'm calling in sick today. They certainly didn't waste any time. HG

~•~

Conversant that they were at least on the same side of the Thames and only a tube stop away, Severus's conviction that Nyx was more than aware of her job and would not leave until her receiver had given her a reply, he did not expect to spend too much time in wait. And, surely given the breadth and weight of the grave situation, an answer from her would arrive far sooner rather than later, unless of course Hermione had decided to throw herself down the stairs at the sheer embarrassment of having her person perpetually tied to his own in such a maudlin manner for all their world to see.

His assumption held true, for just as Severus was rubbing his large digits over his thrumming forehead and daring to think about a spot of coffee or tea, his faithful fowl flew through the opened window of his foreign, makeshift "home" and deftly landed on his blanket-covered knee with a roll of parchment in her beak.

"Did she curse in front of you or on the parchment, my dear? How shall I bet?" He snarked with a steep inhale as he unfolded and read the note, momentarily ignoring his anxiety over the dastardly image of their marriage kiss plastered on the front page, for a bit of sardonic relief.

"To you, it seems. Well, aren't you blessed," he murmured playfully, or truthfully? With a roll of his eyes as he ripped a stray piece from the sheet he had originally used to scrawl hastily upon.

However, just as he was about to put quill to parchment, the grand figure of a rather intimidating, onyx owl perched on his windowsill and began pecking it in impatient fervour, demanding for Severus to promptly heed his master's message.

Kingsley. Must be, Snape concluded as he begrudgingly made his way to the warped glass and reached a hand out through the already divided panes to retrieve the scroll from the owl's massive foot. He began unrolling it uneasily whilst the owl swiftly departed.

"Hmm, well, at least he didn't abandon us completely without guidance. I'd obviously come to the same conclusion even without his remorseful advice. Though, he clearly isn't to blame…" Severus muttered to himself as he crossed back over his bed to revise his initial response to his wife given Kingsley's strict instructions.

I actually would advise that, wholeheartedly. As does Kingsley, apparently – you may have a shamefaced missive from him as well.

Whilst he has his suspicions of 'the party' that was behind this – rather obvious – he suggests we both keep a low profile for a bit. Or, if we are seen out today, it should be together, supposedly as the nosey public will surely be keen to see the 'happy couple' after the 'wedding night'.

I'm sure the ministry will have us play along in the future with this apparent infiltration. Particularly, of course, if it was an inside job…. Either way, we can't damage it now. Therefore, we can't be seen without each other today. Do. You. Understand. Wife? SS

~•~

Reluctantly bringing her fireplace to life to make up for the chill of leaving her bloody window open, Hermione settled in at her desk with her heartily needed morning coffee to write Kingsley a sardonic note back that he should inform her supervisor she won't be in due to a sudden "onset of matrimony". And she had just about finished when Severus' response came in with the arrival of the sleek, black bird's beak.

Logical and surprisingly cooperative, though something about it rang differently in her mind. Well, any application of his voice now rang differently in her mind. Fuck, she had brainwashed herself. Wonderful.

Yes, I understand quite well. No arguments there. If they should broach any, perhaps they should consider saving propaganda for the weekend. Though I presume you'll still need to get to the station safely somehow? HG

~•~

Severus ran a large hand over his mouth to suppress a yawn before wondering why she was being so…thoughtful?

Merlin, this headache.

I'll be fine. Though… kind of you to be so concerned. Between the chaos of the magical world after this morning, a Notice-Me-Not spell, and some careful interim flying, I'll manage. Unless, you'd like to walk me there, yourself? SS

Severus grunted at the proposal, clearly in jest on his part. Or so he had intended, though, the thought of seeing her in the flesh again was both tantalisingly tempting whilst also abhorrently terrifying. What was he thinking proffering such a consideration, even in satirical quip? He most assuredly was not ready to face the witch eye to eye after how he had used her image to sate his famished carnal desires the night before.

However, before he could emend his blunder, Nyx had apparently chosen to take it upon herself to decide what should be contained or not contained in his message to her, and swiftly picked it up in her beak before quickly absconding away with it.

Damn. Well, certainly she wouldn't take him up on his offer. Especially, if by some miracle, the lingerings of the binding magic had had the same effect upon her as well, and so she would be equally as embarrassed, not to mention likely bawk, too, at the contemplation of seeing him in person so soon. Or, she would read it as it had, without doubt, intended to be taken – that as a bloody, fucking joke.

~•~

The next response gave her a certain amount of pause as Hermione considered her reply. The pain tonic had mostly done its work, and coupled with the caffeine beginning to hit her blood stream, it wasn't as if she couldn't think – mostly – clearly. Hermione may not have been intimately connected with the man, technically, but she knew him plenty well enough to know he was far from serious. Still, from her assessment of Kingsley's letter, his glib suggestion did seem the more logical thing to do. And the last thing the man needed after having gotten out of immense legal trouble was the very real risk of making the muggle news.

She wasn't just creating an excuse to see him, surely? No. No, definitely not. In fact, she would much prefer not to look him in the eye at the moment, or for quite a while.

However…

Well, you did just relay that we can't be seen without one another today. Perhaps I should do, with that logic. I'd hate to have wasted my efforts earning your freedom only for you to get a secrecy violation before you even reach your doorstep. I'm sure you could manage it, of course, but it still seems like a risk that should be avoided, and one that I could easily help you with. HG

~•~

Severus raised a debilitated brow at the received message before scribbling back in incredulous disbelief at her valour. Though, it could also very well be, and fuck, more likely was the case, she was only too ready to accompany him because she hadn't been afflcited by the more laviscious arrows of Cupid's bow as he had been. Still, it was curious that she was being so insistent. Almost as if she wanted to see him, despite his prior, immediate thinking. But surely that couldn't really be the case. She likely, in her Gryffindor probity simply wanted to fulfil her duties as his 'wife' and "saviour"

Oh, Merlin's ballsack, he had made a grave grave error in prompting that, indeed.

Well, I believe I've successfully been hoisted by my own petard. I suppose that is the wisest recourse, however. SS

~•~

Hermione actually chuckled to herself as the large corvid returned once again, patting it on the head absently as she put down her response. The crow squawked and seemed to nudge her on. Interesting bird.

Happens to us all. Unless you have full confidence you can adequately dodge the gossip-mongers without bringing on an interrogation, might be best.

P.S. What's the bird's name? HG

~•~

Nyx. And I'd abide by the myth of Zeus towards her cave, if I were you. She is a right terror when she wants to be. SS

As a member of the most intelligent species of her kind, Nyx had a fierce devotion to Severus, not to mention a rather intense protective streak over the isolated man. And as such, was very meticulously observant when it came to vetting the people he was corresponding with. Not to mention that she was far from being intimidated when it came to revealing her august opinions of said persons to him, or even sometimes as the case may be, to the (unfortunate) opposite party, as well.

Severus, he had to admit, was keen to learn from his fowl friend just what her thoughts might be on the woman that he had been forced to marry. He approximated that she'd either take to Hermione instantly, or, just as swiftly loathe her just as a cuckolded mistress would to the newly acquired wife of her proprietor.

~•~

Glancing down at the large, black bird who had perched very snugly beside her left hand, nudging her beak against her fingers in encouragement for attention, Hermione quirked a curious brow. While she certainly had the capability to peck out many an eye, she had shown Hermione nothing but affection thus far.

Hm. She seems perfectly sweet to me. Apparently I've made a good impression. What time do you need to leave? HG

~•~

"Bloody tease of a bird," Severus mumbled to himself though could not keep from experiencing a swelling sense of both pride and relief that the two seem to, now, be bonded by both their likeness and their relation to himself. Certainly preferable to having to keep Nyx in her cage whenever Miss Granger were to visit…. If it should happen more than the one-planned time before they were expected to live together, proper, that is.

He didn't want to assume anything one way or the other, of course. Especially given last night, and how often it might or might not occur again….. Yes, the less she was around the better. But, nevertheless, he was grateful that his faithful companion seemed to approve of his newfound one.

Right, stop internally pontificating, Severus, and write her the fucking hell back. In fact, sans your present communication, stop thinking about her at all.

He shook his head and grunted as he shifted his weight in an effort to subdue his steadfastly plumb appendage, and aptly replied.

Minerva's, blessfully, set up for the Hogwarts Express to privately take me back to the nearest station to Cokeworth before sending her off on her way to the school proper. I believe we are aiming to leave at 11:00am. SS

~•~

Hermione glanced up at her clock, mildly relieved that she still had a good chunk of time to get dressed. The rest of her mounting mail would need to wait. She just prayed no one had sent her any howlers, for her window's sake. She presumed not, but who could know the full range of responses to the unexpected news… She could only hope certain individuals would be primed for the information.

She'd have to confer with Harry and Ginny about that later.

Well that gives me plenty of time to caffeinate at least. Merlin knows I'll need it if I'm potentially faced with having to politely tolerate being stalked. HG

~•~

Severus read her message with haste before flicking the parchments full of their exchanges into the fireplace for employment as fuel. Seeing as the events that were about to transpire thanks to his remarkable ability to, every once in a blue moon, put his foot steeply into his usually, self-elected, taciturn mouth, it seemed as if a shower was certainly in order, slowly subsiding hangover be damned. Not to mention, the still-present existence that was the bloody Renaissance of his libido. What a brilliant day to be alive.

I. Think. Not.

And so, hopping into a very cold shower – both by his own need and by the absolute shite quality of the Ministry's flat's turn-of-the-19th century's plumbing system – Severus Snape scrubbed himself as clean as he could, praying that the blast of arctic water might just murder the insolent temper of his manhood. The only thing aiding him through the task was the large reserve of a hangover potion he had thought to bring with him if his trial sentencing had gone pear-shaped – which, it somewhat had, only not in the manner he had predicted it might do. Yes, his tonic and the large cup of coffee waiting for him, that he had charmed in motion as they had been communicating, were going to be his only saving graces this morning, for he himself, was certainly a disgrace.

Shite. He muttered as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel to wipe himself down with before shaking it through his shoulder-length mane. In his dire morning-after state, he had completely forgotten to give her his address. He, momentarily, thought about sending Nyx off again but when he checked his grandfather clock, and her favourite bedroom perch in the corner of his room, he suddenly realised that the bloody bird was nowhere to be seen since she had delivered him his wife's final message. Indeed, the window was still open, with his curtains flapping against the panes in a foiled attempt at escape, and so too, he hypothesised, she must have tried to do – though she had been successful – for there was no hide nor tail of her anywhere in the rest of the room either.

Hmph, cheeky tart, he thought to himself as he concluded that his clever little aviator must have decided to chaperon her new sister to his lodgings as her master had so failed to provide the information needed for Hermione to get there on her own. And, if not, Nyx had simply fancied a little fly in the cool, London air to say goodbye to the metropolis for now, then so be it. The bloody girl – Woman – could find it herself, could she not? She was, afterall, as the bloody wizarding world had cognominated her with being, 'the brightest witch of her generation', let her go on and prove it then.

~•~

Initially she thought that was that, for even as Hermione sat and finished her coffee the crow did not immediately make another appearance. Perhaps he was tied up. Or, perhaps he was already exhausted from their correspondence. For her sake, and their future's sake, she very much prayed it was the former. Particularly, given last night's events.

And so, she headed back to her window with the intention to shutter it once more. Before doing so, however, Hermione scanned her postbox for anything of import, but failing to see anything overt, decided to stick to her resolve to leave it for when she returned.

One issue at a time.

The first being that it was significantly colder now than it was the day before, and she needed to dress fairly quickly. The second, she quickly began to realise, was the fairly vital necessity that she had entirely forgotten to ask for the bloody address. She knew the general location, perhaps could recall the building, but certainly was not privy to the precise flat number.

Before she could actually manage to shut the window however, Nyx suddenly made her dramatic reappearance, though this time she did not come bearing the words of her master. She merely hopped in through the window, and gave a cooing sound as she perched upon the desk, looking at the witch attentively.

"Are you my directions, then?" Hermione found herself asking with a light furrow of her brow, as the bird clicked her beak in an apparent gesture of agreement.

Right then.

By the time she was headed out the door she'd thrown on some black jeans, a red v-neck jumper, a pair of black, blocked-heel ankle boots, a longer charcoal coat, and a nondescript knit hat that though she doubted would do much for any integrity of fashion, perhaps would do something for warmth.

After checking her reflection again – why she bothered exactly, she couldn't say, she'd just seen it five minutes prior – she then headed out, letting the bird fly ahead of her a ways, rather thankful she wasn't far from where she presumed she was going. Though the icy chill of the wind made her wish she'd grabbed a scarf, Hermione wasn't about to turn around and be late; so, she decided to grit her teeth and suffer through it. She did, however, take an extra five minutes to stop for a takeaway latte to make up for the loss.

She continued her walk, following the occasional caw of the crow as she flew ahead and landed on varying walls and signs to ensure her pilgrim was headed in the right direction. She finally paused when the block of flats Hermione had been correct about being his finally came into view.

And so, stuffing her unencumbered left hand in her pocket as she approached the front door of the building, containing some of its bizarre warmth, the 'brightest witch of her age' entered, and after dismissive glance around the initial row of doors on first floor, followed the fluttering of black wings and made her way up the weathered staircase to the upper, coffee in hand.

~•~

Thankful that his arousal had, ostensibly, subsided due to the frigid waters of his shower, coupled with his dogged determination that it should royally fuck off as well, Severus was more prepared to receive the sound of her knocking, indicating her eminent company, than he obviously would have been otherwise. And, feeling loads better than he had been due to his merciful hangover remedy, he almost felt like commending her.

Almost – must first determine if the tactic was actually worthy of such a preeminent 'award', or if Nyx had indeed played a hand in her delivery.

The only slight blunder, likely from the fading renements of said crapulence, he had made before opening the door to interrogate her — er, welcome her — was to fail to finish dressing adequately. Whilst his trousers were – for the love of Merlin –- thankfully on, his white dress shirt was only half done up from the southern end, and his button-infested teaching jacket was draped over the couch – and therefore, nowhere near his current person, let alone on it.

(Though, a blessing for him, as he fully failed to clock these facts until after she had entered the abode, for had it occurred to him any earlier, he likely would have shut the door on her and charmed it locked for an unforeseeable amount of time.)

"Well, well, Miss Granger," he began clippedly upon opening the front door and stepping back to allow her entry, "looks like you've succeeded in locating me…. How. Ever. Did. You. Manage. It?"

It was probably a good thing she was so bloody wind-chilled, because it likely detracted from her flushing cheeks and blinking eyes as she took in the rather unexpected sight of her typically buttoned-to-the-chin former professor in as much a state of undress as she'd ever seen him – in reality, anyway. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure if she'd even ever seen his wrists, much less a glimpse of his chest hair. Save, of course, from the previous night's obscure and obscene fantasies…

Even then, however, there was not a single image of him – no matter how salacious the action he was involved in – induced by her brain or from some other mysterious source, that had ever given her a proper view of anything beneath his stalwart layers. Rather infuriating actually. It wasn't as though the man had anything to hide. His clothes were plenty tight enough to get a well-established idea of the figure he would cut, simply not the details…

No, no. Bad train of thought. How about we not think about what he'd look like naked right in front of him, Hermione… The man can reads minds, for fuck's sake.

"Well, I can't take all the credit..." Hermione defended as casually as she could do and paced in undeterred, running her fingers under her eyes, mostly to keep them from watering from the cold that she'd only recently escaped, just as the distinctive swooping form of his crow flew in from the hallway behind her.

"Minerva had pointed out the building previously, though Nyx did help on the precise flat. Granted, there were limited options. I didn't really think they'd be kind enough to give you the ground floor, one of the others up here definitely looks vacant, and that left one is currently blasting some very bizarre music..."

"Ah, I see, so, you did have some help. And by two parties even. Hmm, I suppose I'll have to refrain from lauding you with my praises just yet. Perhaps. Next. Time., Miss. Granger…" he purred in a mock of chagrin before clicking his tongue against his teeth to put a fullstop to the teasing anecdote.

She had the immediate and instinctive urge to roll her eyes, and though she tried to cut the gesture short, she did not forgo it entirely. Old habits die hard, indeed. Though it did fill her with the familiar and infuriating drive to chase after his approval, which was one habit she no longer thought she needed to keep around, after this whole marriage debacle. She'd surely done plenty.

"I'm sure I'll have ample opportunity," she teased back lightly, just as another cacophony of sound could be heard through the wall.

"Perhaps…" he retorted slowly before his head glanced to the left where the percussion of sounds were emitting from and promptly proceeded to bang his left fist against the wall pointedly.

"Ah yes, my lovely neighbours whilst I've been here," he began with sweet acerbity.

"From what I was forced to endure listening to, it seems that a group of foreign exchange students from both Norway and America have decided to rent a flat together to split the astronomical London letting cost. And, upon discovering that they all have musical backgrounds and, worse yet, instruments with them, have taken the arduous task upon themselves to attempt to fuse the 'Appalachian bluegrass' genre with that of 'Norse Heavy Metal'. And as if that weren't ghoulish a thought enough, they have now given themselves the additional challenge of trying to "infuse" a bit of the 'reggae' genre to boot. Now, before you stare at me in bemused wonder, Miss Granger, please keep in mind how thin these walls are ampt to be, the lack of any telly, the limited number of books they allowed me to bring, and the total deprival of my wand," he paused abruptly for paramount, dramatic effect.

"Plus, the fact that killing myself, whilst very appealing at times during all of this, wasn't feasible due to a lack of any real instrument via which I could have been unreservedly successful, understood?" he raised his brows with as much intimidating challenge as he could assemble as he hastily finished buttoning up his shirt with a thankful, short exhale of breath.

Damn It.

How bloody long had he been prattling with it half open like that for? He felt his cheeks bloom, as much as they ever could allow, and had to expeditiously grab the wheel of his mind's eye before it flashed even more acutely to his fantasy's imagery of the night prior. The sudden onslaught of such uninvited anamnesis was, without fail, due to the fact that he was now face to face with her – not to mention, the addition of his attire being in a state of bloody partialness….

Though, for his own pleasure, he'd really rather it be her that was in the current state of undress. After all, she was the Psykhe to his cursed Eros – not that he was also the god in the pairing to be sure…. But anyways… She had looked glorious in her illicitly-hemmed, school skirt and preposterously tightly-fitted blouse of his Hogwarts illusion from the night before. And as his brain was so taken by its malapropos hostaging by said 'dream', Severus couldn't help but now wonder if her choice of top had been a clairvoyantly deliberate decision to test his stare? Indeed, for he soon gaoled the plummeting of his eyes at a far lower point than they ever should have been allowed to achieve purchase of.

Merlin's left nut, Severus, get your head in the game. And not that one!

Hermione let out something far closer to a giggle than she was truly comfortable with, but that description, on top of his perceptively flustered state, was far too amusing not to. Though her own tint returned when she noticed that his eyes almost took a dive down her shirt. Whether that meant she'd made a very good or a very bad wardrobe choice, she wasn't sure… Before she could actually decipher that conundrum, he seemed to have already corrected himself and continued his hurried re-dressing. As such, she bit her tongue and resisted the gleeful urge to comment. She did feel a certain amount of out-of-place disappointment at the return of his usual level of propriety, though. She could get used to seeing him a bit more…familiar, indeed.

Oy. Stay on topic, Woman!

"I'm assuming that you haven't gotten much sleep lately, because they don't seem to have an ounce of rhythm," she noted wryly.

He looked down at her in stoic silence for a moment or so, pursing his lips in consideration before curtly replying with mordancy as he, ironically, had had just the opposite experience, having slept exceptionally well – However, not that he was about to her be privy to that knowledge. No, indeed.

"That obvious, Miss Granger?"

Again, it was a half-lie due to his own, abiding predisposition to self-insecurity; especially when it came to his outer looks. For, though he had slept extremely well, his hangover, surely, made him look more tired than not. He was liable to that unfortunate denouement on the daily, regardless.

Severus then turned around and crossed over to the couch where his jacket slumbered and shrugged it over his shoulders, however, paused his sometimes preferred method of doing up the buttons manually (versus the magic option) to scowl fastidiously. His dark pupils darted around the meagre, one-room studio in growing anxiety.

"Where the hell is my cravat?" he half muttered, half addressed directly to her.

"Would you mind helping me search? Wife?" he requested earnestly enough despite his uninhibited sneer at his last utterance, whether out of delayed remorse, or more likely, timid fear at the reality, he wasn't sure. Perhaps a bit of both. However, the remorse would certainly only be for her sake.

"Isn't your gender supposed to be better at finding such articles?"

Hermione quirked a curious brow at the request, trying to ignore her mind's newfound, less-than-innocent use of the conventionally proper – even gentlemanly – fabric. Oy. This was going to be a challenge.

"Well, I can give it a try ..."

She stepped further into the flat, setting her coffee down on the nearest table and took a subtle turn round the expanse of the room, scanning the limited options for surfaces first. That first attempt having turnt up nothing of particular significance, she then began to look downward, towards the floor. Still nothing. In fact, he'd clearly redistributed anything but the bare essentials already. She couldn't imagine he'd been living this sparse the entire time.

Though just when she was about to suggest if it could be found in the loo or under the bed perhaps, Hermione finally angled her head enough to spot a hint of black silk peeking out from beneath the sofa, however, she would have to get down onto the floor in order to retrieve the bloody thing. Lovely.

She certainly thought he had been teasing her when he had recalled the former, archaic roles of husband and wife at the ministry. Still, he seemed far too easy to suggest they both play into them when they were more convenient for him, such as now. She certainly didn't really think that of him. However, she did consider pointing that fact out to him for a moment - and, in a teasing, contemporary bout of feminist-defiance, insist that he be the one to actually fetch it… Much to her chagrin, though, between his flustered countenance and her ingrained politeness when it came to authority figures she actually respected, Hermione found herself getting down on her hands and knees in order to rescue the bit of fabric from its mischievous hiding spot.

"This it?" she asked knowingly, pushing her weight back up to her knees as she dangled it out to him expectantly.

"...Er, yes," he grunted, muttering a half-hearted 'thank you' as he stalked over to her transported figure and snatched it swiftly from her hand. He then tossed its length around his neck before beginning to hurriedly tie it in place from pure muscle-memory alone.

The very fact that his eyes had so recently just accosted her upper half, and had then proceeded to study her backside as she was on the floor just now, and finally, were in the current process of sanctioning themselves to recall the very redolent image of when he had last 'seen' her on her knees as such, was certainly not the impudent behaviour that Severus Snape wanted to be fostering. Indeed, for as his own lower half was drinking in the view, the risk of its gluttony of the enjoyment of it, would surely put the rest of him at great peril.

Keep your eyes up. And focus, man.

"Here, please take my hand lest you roll an ankle and make us late…." he muttered with droll delivery, though his intonation, itself, was chivalrous nevertheless as he leant his left hand down towards her knelt figure.

"Oh, thank you," she returned distractedly, realising in that precise moment that she was indeed, on her knees in front of him, eye-level with his belt buckle – if he had been wearing a belt at all. She now knew he wasn't. Not a needed point of focus, Hermione.

Shaking her head, she reached out and took his outstretched palm and allowed him to pull her to her feet, the efficiency with which he did so taking her quite by surprise and causing her to stumble as soon as she reached her full height. And in the process of doing so, nearly knocked straight into the man.

"Careful, Miss Granger," Severus murmured, catching her balance by bracing his hand on her shoulders with firm dominance in deft rescue.

"Now, now, what would the neighbours think if they looked through the windows whilst being on your knees so close to me. hm…?" he murmured lowly, his voice rich and thick like dark hot chocolate on a rainy afternoon.

He'd caught her, just barely, his large hands bracing her shoulders but somehow neither pushing her away nor drawing her closer. Hermione's breath staggered at the comment, though it took her far longer than it should have to actually decipher the words. She cleared her throat, intending to make some kind of rebuttal back, or just to mock herself, or really, anything at all! But his eyes locked on hers in such a way that her entire vocabulary flew straight out of her head through her ears. Before she could break through her lustful paralysis, she felt herself being pulled against his chest – or had she pushed herself forward? – she honestly couldn't say. All she did know, however, was that she was now pressed fully against him. And he didn't seem to be unenthused about it, either. On the contrary, he actually seemed very enthused. His hands shifted from their position around her shoulders to drift down the length of her arms. When they reached her wrists, they held fast, transporting the bits of bone and flesh around to the small of her back – where her person was even more snugly entrapped against him – and finally ensnared them beneath the pressure of his hand and that of her person.

"Probably think you're a very lucky man," she managed to husk in retort with a mime-like arch of her brow to that of his own.

"Well, in order to agree to that attestment, I'd first have to experience it in order to see if it stands to be the sacred truth, now wouldn't I…?" he lifted his left brow even higher in challenge as his hands on her wrists tugged her weight downwards in obvious suggestion.

~•~

Hermione forcibly blinked, her brows knitted in utter confusion for all of a second before realising that she had essentially just had a waking delusion while he was staring at her with growing concern. He probably thought she was about to have a bloody stroke after both nearly falling on him and zoning out for, Merlin knows, how long!?

What the fuck just happened?

"Wow, I'm very sorry. Er, … Note to self: Do not try to potion-away a hangover and chase it with three cups of coffee on an empty stomach." She rallied quickly, shifting back a hair to, ironically, grab her latte from where she had abandoned it.

Having been fixed on her person with affected perturbation, Severus' tensed eyes searched her flushed face for a moment as his left hand flexed with a twitch of disturbance at its gold band, and let out a soft curse of pain, before shaking it at this side.

Odd. Very odd. Why the bloody hell was it so hot?

"Hmph, right….. Well, as the two should never have any such…'diabolic'….side-effects when ingested at the same time, as they so often are – and on empty stomachs as well – I really do insist that from now on you come to me, Miss Granger, for any future tonic or potion needs. Over-the-counter remedies are so easily botched, let alone to say anything about the brewer's integrity….."

He took a moment to scoff before dropping his hands from her shoulders and taking a step back from her person entirely.

"So, I'm assuming you managed to read the half-arsed compilation of what they call an 'article' that fell under the rather titanic photo of us? Thoughts?" he lifted his left brow in agog anticipation eager to move on from whatever the fuck had just taken possession of her. Certainly wasn't his problem. At least, not really ….? And yet, why was he still so concerned?

"Unfortunately," she drawled with a slight roll of her eyes as she moved to perch her weight on the arm of said sofa and scrunched her nose in clear distaste, thankful to have something else to focus on entirely..

"Melodramatic, granted, but mostly nonspecific. Thank Gods. Was half afraid they'd develop some bullshite backstory for us. Though they did make a point of saying we'd been "secretly involved", so I suppose that has to be taken into consideration..."

She trailed off, notably, chewing on her lower lip in reflection on that point. Clearly they were going to have to play off of that, to some extent. Could imply that she'd been secretly visiting him, perhaps? Flooing or apparating, would have to be if so, no need for anyone seeing her around. Should she leave something lying about to back that up, or would it not even matter by this point? Drop an earring in the couch cushions, perhaps?

That series of frankly, unnecessarily, detailed thoughts eventually led her to recalling what she'd just done on her own couch the evening before, and then supplanting the 'action' in her mind's eye onto the one she was currently in contact with. Fuck, why could she not keep her own fucking brain on the fucking tracks? This – whatever this was – was completely unacceptable and extremely worrisome.

What kind of binding spell had that even been?!

"Yes, I suppose, indeed it does. How very kind of them," Severus echoed with extra emphasis given what seemed a somewhat lacklustre tone towards just how seriously they needed to take all of this. Indeed, for it was as if she had left the bloody room entirely, yet again.

"It seems they might be letting us have some autonomy over our backstory. We might as well take advantage as it doesn't seem like we're going to have much of it in our indentured future of servitude, now does it?" he asked scrupulously as his girthy digits finished their errand at his neck.

Realising just how distracted she had probably looked, Hermione nodded and refocused her attention on the matter at hand and not where her mind had been intent on meandering to. Clearly this was a point for focus and strategy.

"Whether it was intentional on their part or not, we should definitely take advantage, yes. Nothing they could concoct would be very believable anyway. Though it wouldn't stop them from printing it."

"Thank you for joining the class, Miss Granger," Severus was unable to keep himself from sneering with a light tone however, as he was growing somewhat more worried. His tone, though, was still pregnant with enough ridicule so as to not be uncharacteristically charitable. He turned to face her now, more properly, before returning to the labourish task of buttoning up his jacket.

"So, therefore, we should determine at least a fraction of what we want it to look like from the outside. Especially as we are far more likely to get accosted today, if seen together by any other second and/or third party journalists. It is the day after our "wedding", do keep in mind. And as such, the chance to lay some pavement for our little dalliance's past shall be present. We'd be remiss not to act on it. Considerably, as they seem to have damned us all with that photo this morning. More so you and I, of course, than Kingsley or Minnie. Still, I can't help but feel somewhat sorry for them as well. Minnie, I am assured, must be livid. Anyways," he shook his head and regained the focus of his prior thought.

"So. What. Would. You. Like. It. To. Be. Hmph?" Secerus directed towards her pointedly.

"And before you try any honourable Gryffindor gobshite, we both know that this noble, little sacrifice you put upon yourself has far more implications for you, your life, your person, and your character, than it does any of mine. Therefore, what would you like this to look like from hindsight, Mrs Granger-Snape?"

Her brow arched sardonically at his tone of condescension, but Hermione let it descend despite continuing to eye him with mild impatience. Or, perhaps something closer to subtle blame for her distraction, though she didn't permit that to linger for long either.

"Apologies Professor, you're not the only one who couldn't sleep."

That was a total lie of course, she had slept perfectly – it was what had kept her up beforehand that was the problem. And continued to be so.

"Well, for the specifics, I'd say stick to vague details if we grant them any at all by appearances, because let's be honest. No matter the duplicity of the circumstances, we are still ourselves and neither of us are exactly the type to go blurting out intimate details in front of the media. Even if we are ever inclined to let things "slip" to humour the ministry…."

Her pointed air quotes notwithstanding, she let her hand fall back to her lap to fiddle with its ring almost instinctively at this point as she finally took another gulp of her cooling latte, before immediately continuing on.

"The timeline, at least, is pretty limited for options… So, theoretically, either we somehow had gotten involved whilst you were on trial, or, somehow or other, had met up shortly before you returned and it was already in evolution at the trial…."

Severus listened to her findings with patience, pacing softly for lack of anything else to keep his agitated energy moored to, though paused, finally, as she seemed to conclude her pontifications.

He finally stared down at the young witch, who was glancing up at him almost – as ever – for some sort of approval. Though whether she wanted it for her wit, adroitness, or her amenity he could not state for his eyes were violently hijacked by a bit of foam that had settled itself quite profanely at the corner of her left lip. Yes, quite profanely, indeed, for it immediately conjured up an image that he had so cherished mid-yank the night before with another milky-coloured substance of liquid that had also graced the corner of her mouth. One, which he would have much preferred to be the present 'offender' now.

And so bolstered and bullied by his salacious thoughts, Severus eshewed all concept of propriety or common-fucking-sense from his frontal lobe and wavered not once before he reached out a large hand to cup her face preciously for a moment, before wiping away the suggestive bit of condensation with the pad of his thumb.

What happened next, however, he was absolutely unable to comprehend. For as soon as he had done the forward act, her eager-to-please-, bloody doe-like eyes, soon adopted a far more Venus-like gaze, narrowing at him darkly. In confused refute, his own piercing, onyx eyes, too flexed in concern back at her.

He was even about to say something, and retreat from her figure, when her deliciously-small, pomegranate lips found their way fully around his thumb before sucking its content from its surface and swallowing the aforementioned foam showily.

"Wouldn't want to waste," she purred after she'd abandoned his digit, licking her lips as she fully lacked any 'innocence' she was attempting to portray.

"Certainly. Not, no…." he husked back as the fire that he was scorching from his manhood erupted for a moment before he painfully sequestered it away with a fierce closing of his eyes and with a resolve of will and physical control that only he could ever have called upon to practise with.

~•~

"Oh. Thank you," Hermione murmured a bit sheepishly in his grasp, her face blushing for probably the tenth bloody time since she'd gotten there.

"I am a bit of a mess today, clearly…."

"'...You've…made a bit of…a mess…?' Wha–?" he queried before realising that he still had the errant bit of foam resting on his thumb. Which, furthermore meant that his digit had never had the honour of being annexed by her lips in such a fashion, which, then, even further informed him, with growing doomed anxiety, that what he had been convinced had just occurred, actually, hadn't at all!

So, therefore, what the bloody fuck had just taken a hold of him? And where was he now?

But more importantly – far more important than his inward lamentation of the lack of the event itself having happened – was the sudden realisation of what he had just misquoted her as having said to him. Oh, Hera's nipple clamps, NO. He had not just insinuated that particular kink of his to her in the sober light of day, no matter how veiled in ambiguities? Had he?

Fuck.

"Sorry….. Bit hungover myself…." he muttered and swallowed the knot in his throat as he also tilted his pelvis at an angle away from her, for, despite the ungodly amount of self-restraint that Severus did have, he wasn't actually a demi-god. No, he was aroused, yes. But thankfully, only just. The varied inclination would help. He prayed.

He innocuously then wiped the bit of foam on his trouser's leg, rolled his eyes internally at that second little fuck-up with regards to it's own lewd indiscretion, before backing away to retrieve his wand, coat, scarf, and finger-gloves from where he had strewn them about the bed half-drunkenly earlier in the morning. His trunk of meagre belongings he had had sent ahead of him, sometime around his fourth drink pre-indulgence the night before. So, with great thanks, given his fraying mindset, he did not have to concern himself with the cumbersome addition of that burden to carry.

Hermione frowned slightly in instinctive confusion, though frankly she was somewhat relieved. At least she wasn't the only one who was a little bit off. Dare she hope he was suffering from the same sort of infuriating affliction? Or was that just wishful – or malevolent thinking? She laughed slightly, regardless. There wasn't much else to do.

"Well, at least I'm not alone. What was I saying before?"

"Er, I'm not sure. I uh, my mind ran away as well, it seems. I suppose we both got far too little sleep…." he answered in turn, still reeling a bit from the mirage that had, seemingly, just occurred before his very eyes.

"Oh yes, the bloody article. Er, look," he began with an irreverent tottery of his head.

"Seeing as I've no idea how I could possibly finesse any credible story that wouldn't involve my being a bloody pedo without strictly endorsing one of those notions, and the former seems highly unlikely, I think the latter clearly needs to be the favourite. It allows us to hide the lie in plain sight, as it were. And for your other point, I also agree that even if 'vindicated' as we both are now – within the confines of this fairytale – we, as you've so keenly mentioned, Miss Granger, would hardly be the types to do a 'tell-all' about how such an ineffable – well, honestly, vilely impossible – love affaire may have commenced. In fact, being secretive about it would surely keep the public on tenterhooks trying to squeeze more information out of us – which, I'm not sure about you, though I do have a suspicion – sounds like the only bit of potential fun we might both have together. Merlin knows the consummation night won't be anything to look forward to….."

His entire body froze for only a moment or so, but surely she clocked both his last words, and his body's sudden arrestment, entirely.

Why. Had. He. Just. Said. That?

Was he trying to convince himself that that surely would not – could not – be the case? Even despite the electricity of arousal that the ceremony surely had inspired in (at least) him and upto – though Eros-willing not for much longer – this very moment? Was he so rattled for the need for insurance of this marriage's failure in that regard, due to last night's sins and the illusions that had just bewitched him, that he had felt the need to proffer the likelihood of that fact aloud, hoping that she would, logically, agree?

Or worse, much worse, was he hoping, by being so unabashedly dour about the prospect, that she might pipe up about how he had no way of possibly knowing that would be the case? And then, proceed to pull out a list of detailed reasons why it might, in fact, be just the opposite? Being because she was who she was, how could Hermione Granger not have some such list stored in the recesses of the catalogue that was her brain? Especially, should she want to ever prove him wrong on such a count for whatever prolific reasons she might have.

Fuck a unicorn sideways on a Quidditch broom. This. Was. Not. A. Good. Development. Severus – At. All.

Hermione's brows shot upward at his seemingly thoughtless deduction, caught somewhere between amusement at his immediate regret and nearly taking offence. Granted, it seemed at least, in part, self-directed, if not completely dramatised for the sake of negativity. That did seem to be his bread and butter, with regards to just about everything. Understandable enough, though she couldn't just let it lay there either.

"Well not with that attitude," she endeavoured to return with a wry quirk of her lips.

Severus Snape was about to refute her almost virginal response to his statement, or perhaps, just ignorantly advantageous – though she was far from ignorant as to who and what he was so even that was a bit of reach in itself….– when his wide-set cupid's bow was firmly latched to his lower lip. Their imprisoner? None other than that of her petite forefinger.

What the devil was 'she' up to now? He scowled at her through his wizened brows.

"Now, now, husband, let's not make assumptions," she began, swiftly leaving her perch and stepping even further forward to close the already beleaguered distance between them. Her fingers slid slowly off his lips once his shocked visage gave no immediate response.

"You may feel that way – very unfortunate if so – but I certainly don't. Surely you can think of something to make the occasion... memorable for me?"

"Wh–….I've no idea what you're going on about, Miss Granger. Anything I have to offer you…. I hardly think you'd like…" he answered in turn, his face redding somewhat, or was it growing ashen? Or both at the same time, perhaps? What he did know was that a vixen had seemed to erupt from his formerly 'docile' – at least at this moment in time – wife and taken her, and himself, both captive.

Hermione's lips formed into a profane mockery of a pout before devolving back into a smirk of clear and inarguable scepticism, her hands pressing into his chest as she pushed herself directly against him.

"I highly doubt that. You've practically been talking dirty to me since the moment we were first alone together. I refuse to believe that you don't have many, many useful ideas in that head of yours. In fact, it's one of the things I'm most looking forward to…." Her gaze dropped briefly in teasing acknowledgement.

"I'm. Flattered….. Wife. Or, perpetually disturbed….. Still, I suppose…. I do have more up my sleeves than you might reckon…. Not to mention my 'bite'..." Severus found himself murmuring roughly, a sudden onset of primitive machismo coursing through his veins though his intention to show her just exactly what he meant by that was abruptly sustained.

~•~

"I'm not sure which of us you're trying to insult with that insinuation, but I think as two relatively intelligent individuals we'll manage," Hermione continued to defend both logically, and because, quite frankly she, especially now, couldn't view it any other way.

"Though I agree, taunting the masses does sound like a major perk….."

Had he just fucking hallucinated, again? Unable to tell if he was asleep, awake, in a coma, or on his fucking deathbed, or worse, Hades? – though, at one point in his life this certainly would have qualified, no offence to her – Severus found his eyes staring dumbly at her despite himself.

"Right. Yes. So… at least we're agreed on that then…."

He wasn't able to tell with any amount of comforting certainty, even once he'd managed to separate what had actually come out of her mouth versus what definitely had not, if she were merely doing her conditioned, female duty to play harp to the fiddle of his fragile male ego, or, if she actually meant what she was saying. For, if the latter were the case, that could easily suggest that she had been — perhaps still was, too – suffering from the magical effects of the binding ceremony? Which, again, if so, gave him both an immediate sense of comfort, and an enticing amount of trepidation.

Though, a last option could be that she was simply trying to say whatever the hell she needed to in order to charge past the subject with the hopes of never having to deal with it again. And that option, certainly, would be both the best, and the worst, for him. For many reasons on either side. Mostly pertaining to his ego, however, to be sure.

It hardly mattered, though, for they both needed to move well beyond it at this point.

He was at a great risk, he reckoned, at having either a bloody heart attack, or a complete mental break from the apparent inability to define reality from delusion. If there was nothing to be done about this new consequence – then the sooner he was out of her sight, the better.

Cocksworth – fuck, Cokesworth couldn't come soon enough –

Double fuck.

And so, bundling up his shock and dismay before shoving them as far into the outback of his mind as he could, Severus, with much gratitude that she'd finished her thoughts with reference to his prior point and seemed just as invested in the amusing qualities it could provide them with, gave the witch before him a small smirk of sarcasm. Might as well go to his default, he reckoned. Or hell, at this point regain the upper hand entirely and test his theory as to whether he were the only one having mid-day hallucinations, sudden onsets of arousal, etcetera, etcetera.

"Right. So that's settled then. Regardless, clearly wherever we were in this fake relationship prior to my getting caught, put on trial, and then given this 'deal', we must have been on the path towards marriage anyways. Otherwise they'd hardly paint us as being 'oh, so agreeable', not to mention, happy, about it all."

"What the bloody fuck was the headline again?" he asked her with a small frown as he pulled on his fingerless gloves and then coat, and did utmost to coax both of his heads from thinking on any lascivious moment from either last night or, more vitally, just now as he perchance could do.

Hermione gave a hopefully subtle roll of her eyes at his eager leap over the subject, but made no attempt to back track. An issue for a much later time, to be sure. A much, much later time, for both of their sakes, decidedly, given how spooked he appeared for a moment there. Thankfully, he seemed to be coming back to himself. Praise be to Merlin for that. The signs were certainly pointing to a certain shared experience, but she was not about to ask.

"Um… 'War Heroes Secret Wedding', was the big bold print, the sub-line was something about our having endorsed the marriage act by 'making it official'. Predictably obnoxious."

"Not to mention damage to character but, alas, that ship sank ages ago by this point," he remarked as he buttoned his coat and went to reach for his favourite, black, large-knit scarf to swathe his neck with.

He paused, however, as he righted his tall frame and took a few steps towards her, his eyes

dangerously dancing just north of her chest to where her bare neck was displayed even through her feeble attempt at holding her coat closed.

"Please tell me you didn't go out in that, like that, Miss Granger?" he prematurely scolded, clearly, already knowing the answer and outcome given his earlier faux pax. Still, as wanted to test some of his hypotheses out, and still had yet to fully feel as if he had re-conquered the place of power, he decided to lean into his rather rakish tone just now and see if he could procure a reaction of some kind.

Hermione gave an attempt at a dismissive shrug even as she glanced down at herself, perhaps in reflex, and perhaps just to however briefly escape the heat of his suddenly penetrating gaze. The coat diminished the exposure due to the neckline of her rather faultily chosen jumper, but even so she had certainly felt the chill. Ergo where that third coffee had come in.

"Yeah; it ended up being a bit nippier than I expected and I didn't want to backtrack for a scarf…" She nearly winced. Wonderful choice of words. Suddenly everything in the English language was a euphemism. Her eyes flicked back up to his.

"I'm sure I'll live."

"Yes, thanks to me — many times over, need I remind you — you shall," he snarled with puckish flirtation back at her, taking a step forwards to loom over her even further. Yes, 'Daddy' was back now, and he was going to prove just which of them, here, was in charge. (Or so he prayed).

He suddenly untied the half-enveloped thing from his neck before wrapping it around hers gingerly, his eyes held steadfast with her own as his fingers continued to languidly weave the article about her neck, taking in any note of any hitched inhale, dilation of pupils, quickening of speech at his closeness and at his haste dominance of their persons.

"Thankfully, it's not the one I used to don at the astronomy tower when Minerva and I would have our 'fag/gab sessions'. In between your students' misadventures, the imbeciles, 'Dumblewhore's' reckonings, Voldemort's mind-numbing meetings, and my blessed few moments of bliss docking house points, of course. My other only form of real release. Er, I mean, pleasure … uh, enjoyment, rather…"

Fuck. Regroup, refocus, regain control, Severus. Now.

"Meaning, that it shouldn't smell of tobacco. Well, I hope."

Letting out a self-deprecating and slightly flustered chuckle, she tilted her head back to grant him permission to wrap the soft scarf around her bare throat, doing her utmost to ignore yet another suspiciously prominent reminder from the previous night as his fingers ghosted her neck, all while maintaining almost studious eye contact with her. Trying to calm her renegade pulse from beating a bit too obvious staccato rhythm beneath his fingers, instead she endeavoured to mull over his words – not that it ever helped. She had never seen him smoke, but it didn't sound entirely out of place for him and the image wasn't entirely unpleasant... At least it was a fairly innocent image for once, though no less attractive. Strangely.

"Well, thank you many times over then. And no, it doesn't… entirely. Actually smells quite nice, I may want to take it home with me and sleep with it."

Fuck. That came out very wrong. Considering it definitely smelled like him, anyway.

She could feel the bloom of her cheeks, once again, though at this rate she might as well just accept that it was clearly the theme of this entire interaction, and the whole day beyond, probably. If she knew herself, this was going to haunt her for quite a while.

"Quite cosy, I mean... Um, isn't it time to go?"

Whatever options Severus assumed might be in her repertoire to respond with, the statement that she uttered most certainly was not to be found amongst them. And why on earth his ring finger burnt as it had last night, in the midst of his self-indulgence, he couldn't say. Granted it wasn't as intense by any means, but it was certainly present. There must be some link to its… 'activation'. Especially, when it seemed to be happening during rather titillating moments. Sentimental or….physical. Regardless, that was a hypothesis excavation for another time. What did seem to be the case, however, and what he was pleased to have been able to record from his testing was the obvious effect he had had on her person. One that was awfully suggestive of some form of arousal, to be sure.

He did pause his hands, however, as his brows tensed softly, and the rhythm of his heart seemed to go into atrial fibrillation –for just a moment – as the ever-hungry ego-seeking part of his mind replayed the tender words that she had just spoken. So much so that Severus Snape stared in sheer bewilderment at the creature before him for having done so.

Had she really just said that? Or were his own misgivings simply getting the better of him? And, furthermore, why was his instant reaction upon hearing her murmur that sentence to lean down and kiss her? That surely was not part of holding the upper hand. If anything, it would be giving it back to her… And at this point, he wasn't sure 'which' one of her he was even still beholding. Phantom, or visceral? Who could any longer say?

Now, that was the most startling thing of all.

He recovered nimbly, however, finishing the wrapping of the scarf with proficiency as his confusion turned into a mollifying scowl as he considered his retort. Having concluded his little experiment, he figured it probably wise for both of their sakes, that he step back a bit from being such the instigating rogue. Yes, he certainly didn't need to be hoisted by his own petard for a second, directly inflicted, time that day. Time to revert, fully back, to dourly distant, though grateful, ever-indifferent Professor Snape.

"Whatever you fancy doing with it in the privacy of your home, is your business, Miss Granger. And, frankly, something I neither need, nor care, to know about. However, as you've breached the subject of whom its owner shall become, or remain to be, I'll address that by inviting you to consider it as a paltry wedding gift from your undeserving husband."

The relatively short pause he took to most likely contemplate the sheer stupidity of that comment felt like an eternity, and she exhaled only a twinge audibly in relief as he returned to a somewhat normal expression of disinterest, though attempted to disguise it in a chuckle. Still, her eyes certainly drifted away from his prying gaze once again.

"Well then, I accept, thank you. I do get cold easily."

She made a point of glancing down at her watch, since she'd apparently detracted from her own point, even whilst her other hand began to flex against the tingling of her ring finger once again. Honestly, at times it seemed to make sense, and at others, the sensation seemed absurdly random.

"Anyway, we should probably head out, if you're ready."

"Yes, we likely should," he echoed with a slight hitch of his breath as he straightened his figure and stepped away from her with modesty.

"Right, as I've just said, this is all up to you... But I must ask, how...er, affectionate do you want me to be? Our narrative to be, Her – Miss Granger?"

Hermione failed to muffle a crooked smile at his quick correction despite her own awkwardness. It was still comforting to see some mutual awkwardness, even if his methods of handling it ran the gamut, so to say, further than her own.

"Well, for starters, you could try using my name. It comes off a bit odd should someone be eavesdropping, though could just play it off as irony," she pointed out logically as she stood upright and adjusted the scarf lightly with the collar of her coat, and began to actually button it this go round.

"Otherwise, we should probably at the least hold hands or something akin? We're about to be apart for a bit after all…Under scrutiny people tend to pick apart the minutest details."

"Yes, of course. And it is the day after our wedding night, the common plebeian is likely to assume we're enraptured with one another more so than ever before…." he rolled his eyes as he flicked his hair back, grabbed the ancient keys from the hearth, pocketed them, and opened the door for her.

"Beauty before age," he commented with a skew-whiff take on the original colloquialism, waiting for her to pass in front of him before shutting the door and locking it. He glanced round to make sure there weren't any leering eyes of magic-folk of any kind just yet, before offering her his hand adroitly.

Well, that had all gone about as badly as it possibly could have after the events of last night. Well, perhaps that wasn't quite true, at least it had all happened, only internally….. Regardless, if he was very lucky, perhaps a storm grate would falter and swallow him, and his self-loathing, whole?