Chapter 16

He held her for a long time, wanting to keep her not only safe in his arms, but all to himself. Severus revelled in the feelings of possession and protection that washed over him, unused to having this kind of emotion for anyone or anything.

He had valued nothing in his life thus far; not belongings, not memories, and certainly not people.

Apart from a few fleeting moments of happiness, such as his Hogwarts letter arriving, or passing his Potions NEWT with the highest-ever recorded score, none of his memories were worth cherishing – they were miserable, terrifying and overwhelmingly painful. Severus had little in the way of material possessions, nothing that he would be distraught to lose, his wretched father had seen to that, smashing and breaking his way through his young son's toys and treasures. Severus had quickly learnt not to rely on any object becoming a permanent fixture in his life, mostly due to Tobias Snape's drunken rampages.

Thus, the cycle had continued into adulthood, as he'd acquired relatively few belongings, preferring to use the school's furniture and resources, as his salary piled up in Gringotts, unspent, unneeded. Summers would be passed in frugal squalor at Spinners End, not because he was a miser, but because Severus was a wizard who cared little for feeding or clothing himself, heating the house, or spending time in pleasant occupation.

He felt the warmth of her hand as it slipped between the open folds of his dressing gown, pushing gently through his coarse black hairs and laying palm-downwards on his chest, rising and falling with his own breaths. Severus stroked a hand down her back, feeling the silken material of her own feminine robe under his fingertips as he explored the familiar curves and dips of her spine. Merlin, he loved to touch her, and allowed his lips to brush her forehead, which made her look up at him, lazily.

"I want to know you," he told her, in a deep but quiet voice, knowing not where the words had come from.

"What do you want to know?" the girl replied, her brown eyes open and honest, the flecked caramel surface enticing him nearer.

"Everything."

And it was the truth. He'd told her a potted history of his own past, unglamorous as it was, and she had listened intently, not questioning or pitying, but just quietly hearing his words and taking them in. He was grateful for that. Severus rolled on his side a little more, so that he was facing her, and tightened his hold, drawing her small body against his own, and caressing her back firmly, as if he were a blind man, finding his way by touch alone, his breaths heavy in her hair.

Severus had thought he'd loved Lily Evans. He loved her with an insane passion that consumed his every waking moment from the time he'd been old enough to be interested in girls. He'd always liked her as a child, too, but his teenage devotion to the redhead had been something entirely different; more intense, more soul-destroying, as he'd realised the futility of his desires.

He'd never so much as held her hand, she'd made sure of that. Lily had been pleasant enough to him at school, and was a friend, until they drifted further apart as he sought acceptance from the more powerful members of his house through immersion in the Dark Arts. Once she'd begun seeing James Potter, the writing was already on the wall, so to speak. She didn't love Severus. He hadn't a hope in hell of her ever loving him. But, he'd persisted, and pushed Lily to a point where she had cut him entirely from her life.

The anger over her rejection had consumed him, sent him mad, drove him deeper and deeper into the Dark Arts, channelling his self-righteous rage into unspeakable acts, rather than accept that his devotion had been entirely one-sided. Unrequited love. Lily Evans had not loved him.

For a long time, Severus had believed that his whole life should be devoted to her memory, to protect her son, due to the way she had died. It had taken him a very long time to realise that she had not died by his hand, but by that time, when he'd begged Albus to release him from his vow, it was too late.

He did not love her. He had never loved her. He knew that now. Love was mutual, not sought by one, in desperation from another.

The feel of small fingers threading through the hair on his chest, seeking his nipple and circling it, brought his attention back to the present, and to the very real witch laying here in his arms. Severus exhaled fully, and then took a deep breath, before dipping his head and placing his lips on hers, finally taking the kiss he wanted so badly. As he moved his mouth, slowly opening it just enough to flick his tongue against her lips like a snake, he swallowed the sigh of pleasure that she made before pushing fully into her mouth; and beginning a firm swirl around her tongue.

His head began to spin from the sheer passion of the kiss. They had been laying in their embrace for a long while now, he knew not how long, and their bodies had clearly been impatient. Severus kept a strong arm around her back, feeling her muscles against his palm as she undulated against him. His other hand he dropped to her arse, clutching it hard and pulling her hips towards his own, where she would no doubt be able to feel his keen erection urgently seeking her attention, despite the blow-job in the classroom earlier.

He was not in love with Hermione Granger, he was sure of that. But he did love doing this.

The girl slid her hand up his chest, towards his neck, where she stroked the scarred skin as they kissed, sharpening his nerve endings as she did so. The top of his dressing gown had fallen fully open now, and he could feel the sheer material of hers against his bare chest. He wanted more, he needed to touch her bare skin.

Pushing her onto her back, Severus fumbled for the sash at the waist of her dressing gown, and tugged on it, with a raised eyebrow, seeking her consent.

"You want to know everything, or do you just want everything?" she asked, cryptically.

"All of that," he whispered, aware that it wasn't really a proper answer, before tugging at the sash and opening her robe, roving his eye over the thin strip of skin that he had exposed, down the middle.

Taking a deep breath that flared his large nostrils, Severus moved one side of the robe to uncover the breast that was nearest to him, bowing his head and closing his lips over her nipple as he supported the full mound with his hand. Granger made a moan of surprised pleasure, which drove him to open his mouth wider, and take even more of the delicious tit in his mouth.

"You can have anything you want, Sir," she told him, her voice sounding somewhat breathless.

"Try again," he growled, his voice resonating against her wet nipple.

"Severus," she gasped, as he uncovered the other breast and began to roll that nipple between his thumb and index finger, then returning his mouth to its task. "Oh … Severus, I meant, Sir."

He chuckled darkly, for she would never realise the effect that just using his given name had upon him. So long that name had been used in derision, in anger, in placation, in coercion. To hear it used in passion, in arousal, in desire … well, Granger was lucky he didn't come every time she said it.

Keeping up his suckle of her breast and his tweaking of the other, Severus became aware that she was wriggling underneath his upper body, as he attended to her. The fondling was entirely his pleasure, but it appeared to be having an arousing effect on the young witch, also. How very interesting. He lifted his head, gently dropping her nipple from his mouth and removing his hand from her other tit, sliding it down her body, opening the front of her floral robe as he did so.

Stroking his fingers over her mound, her hips lurched upwards and her thighs fell apart, immediately encouraging him to delve inside. It would be a stupid wizard indeed, who would turn down such an invitation.

"I want to touch you, Hermione," he told her, his voice low, with every syllable enunciated. "I want to watch you fall apart, under my hand."

Not waiting for a response, Severus covered her pussy with his hand, stroking the soft skin and watching her hips rise and fall as he touched her. Turning himself sideways, he kissed down her stomach so that his mouth met his own hand, and he used his long fingers to open the many folds of her labia, peeling them back like petals on a flower to expose her innermost secrets. She gasped as he swiped his tongue against her prominent clitoris, which was easily accessible since he was holding her open, so that he could grasp the tiny bud between his lips.

"Oh! Ohhh … gosh …" was all he heard from above, and he felt a tremble in her abdomen.

He needed more; and wanted to give her more. Swapping his hands so that the one under his head now held her labia apart, and, dropping his lower hand to push a finger inside her, he thrust gently as he continued to suck and mouth her clit. Her little cries became louder, and less coherent, and Severus felt her hand grab his hair, as if trying to direct his movements, but it felt purely pleasurable to be held by her in such a way.

As he attended to her, the wriggling and writhing became more intense, her juices began to flood his finger, and her clit was swelling hard and red. It was fucking arousing just watching her. Who would have thought that this bookish little girl could be so breathtakingly passionate in the bedroom?

And not just the bedroom, he thought to himself with amusement; the visual of their couplings in the Potions classroom and the corridor alcove still prominent in his mind.

Wanting to elicit the best orgasm he could, he was struck with an idea. Severus removed his finger, and pushed his thumb inside her, slipping his forefinger down to her puckered rear end where he began to tickle and stroke. She actually screamed, much to his gratification. Thank fuck that all teachers' quarters were equipped with silencing charms imbued in the very walls.

"Relax," he muttered, removing his mouth from her cunt for a few seconds. "Breathe. Just feel the many different places where I am touching you; and let me have your orgasm when you are ready. There is no rush. Just enjoy."

He slid her engorged clitoris between his fingers, scissoring them around the nub as he flickered his sharp tongue mercilessly on the top. With his thumb twisting inside her and his gentle irritation of her arsehole, it would not be long.

Hearing her gasping and swearing above him, Severus kept up his movements, pushing her bit by bit towards the orgasm that he wanted from her. It was only when she finally went rigid, on the absolute cusp of her climax, that he knew he had her, keeping his fingers and tongue going as the fluid dripped from her, holding her hips firmly so that he did not lose his grip. He was so involved in his task, that it took a while before he became aware that she was tugging his hair, trying to move his head away from her over-sensitive cunt.

"Stop, please," she begged. "Enough."

Half-wanting to lick her to a second orgasm, he reluctantly released her clitoris from his lips, and drew his fingers from where they were dabbling in her wetness, gently stroking her inner thighs as she came down from her peak, not wanting to end the contact with her.

Severus thought that one day he would try to give her a multiple orgasm, for he knew it was possible, if not from a very pleasant source. During Death Eater revels, when the Muggles were being raped, and made to orgasm around the cocks of their tormenters, the female Death Eaters had always managed to force climax after climax from the unwilling victims, pushing them beyond their limits by twisting their red, swollen clits until they had no choice but to come repeatedly, despite their screams of protest. They would then be set upon again; once the jeering crowd had laughed at their helpless predicament, watching their holes contract in climax around the invading cock. Their clits would then start being masturbated by the next Death Eater even as they pulsed with the aftershocks of the previous orgasm.

It was always a despicable show, and one that he had been helpless to stop. It sickened him. But, could he use this ill-gotten knowledge to bring them both extreme pleasure? If he pushed her limits, with tenderness and affection, rather than force, and obviously with consent, could he send her higher than she'd ever been? There was nothing he enjoyed more than watching this succulent little witch shake in orgasm by his hand, tongue or cock.

Severus would think upon it. Probably whilst having a wank in the privacy of his bedchamber, on a lonely night when his arms were empty of Hermione Granger.

-xxx-

Snape's head lay on her stomach, which was still jumping with the final twitches of her orgasm. Hermione stroked her fingers through his black hair, falling in long strands across her tummy, and he seemed to lean into her touch. He was gently caressing her thighs, in a way that was sensual rather than sexual.

After a while he sat up, banishing the tray of wine and cheese to a side table, and dousing the candles, leaving the fire on a low burn before summoning a huge, soft blanket to cover them both.

"You don't want to …?" she started, thinking that they would be having sex.

"Are you satisfied?" he replied.

Hermione could not help the smile creeping to her lips.

"Well, yes, very much so, but …"

"Then so am I, Hermione. I would be very happy if you allowed me just to hold you, as we were doing earlier."

"I'd love that."

He joined her on the neighbouring pillow, wrapping them both in the blanket, and leaving their thin dressing gowns open as they were, as if he did not want to disturb where she lay. Finding his hands, Hermione drew them nearer, encouraging him to fold his arms around her as he'd done earlier, before doing … all those things that had made her come so hard.

Sneaking a look at him, she saw that his eyes were already closed, although he was unlikely to have fallen asleep so fast. Even at rest, the magical power emanated from him so strongly that Hermione swore she could feel it, and it felt protective, and comforting, not that she needed protection. But just because she didn't need it, that didn't mean she didn't want it.

This wizard, who had previously terrified and infuriated her on equal levels, was now the first man she'd had sex with, who she had given her virginity to, willingly, and taken his own in return. No one would believe it, even if she told them, which of course she wouldn't.

Just seeing him around the school, hurtling soundlessly down the corridors with his famous black robes billowing behind him, sent a lurch of such force to her stomach that she usually had to take a few deep breaths to quell it. She was excited by him. The danger they'd placed themselves in made her heart race and her chest pound.

Frustrated by the banality of everyday life since the end of the war, and the end of seven frenetic years where she, Ron and Harry had hurtled from one life-threatening disaster to the next; Professor Snape had brought a frisson of danger, the promise of excitement, and the undeniable distraction of sexual activity.

Snuggling closer to this mysterious wizard, and feeling his strong arm tighten around her, Hermione was struck with a worrying thought. Was she … using him? Using him as a neat little pastime to while away the long weeks at school? That would be an awful thing to do to a man who had been through so much. However, the alternative would be that she actually liked him, which was an equally perturbing thought. She was hardly going to finish school, start work and enter the wizarding world with Severus Snape as her brand-new boyfriend.

Was she?

-xxx-

Midweek, and Hermione was experiencing the weirdness of celebrating one's nineteenth birthday whilst still at school. Ginny had been waiting at the senior end of the Gryffindor breakfast table with cards and gifts both from herself and her family. Red ribbons festooned everything – Molly had outdone herself, no doubt compensating for Hermione's lack of parental gifts, just as she had been doing with Harry all these years.

Mrs Weasley's parcels contained homemade chocolate truffles, a wizarding romance novel and a knitted hat, scarf and gloves in a matching set, ready for the harsh Scottish winter, which were actually really nice. There were cards from herself and Arthur, sending much love and congratulations on her birthday, and hoping that they would see her at the Burrow for Christmas.

"Of course, you'll be there with Ron anyway," Ginny scoffed, pulling her mother's card out of Hermione's hands and replacing it with one of her own, a self-made lurid pink affair accompanied by a bottle of perfume. "And this is from him."

Ginny handed her a third card.

"He says he'll give you his present when he sees you in Hogsmeade on Saturday," she said, with a leery wink. "It's a bit too valuable for him to send it with me, apparently."

Oh no. Ronald hadn't bought her any expensive jewellery, had he? He knew she never wore such trinkets, preferring to dress simply and modestly. She opened his card, which had an odd picture of a floral arrangement, something you might send to your grandmother, not your supposed girlfriend.

Happy Birthday Hermione!

This is just to say – have a great day, and I'll see you at the Three Broomsticks for lunch on Saturday; twelve-thirty, yes?

Don't be late.

Happy birthday again! Nineteen!

Ron x

Hermione rolled her eyes. As if Ronald Weasley had ever known her to be anything less than compulsively punctual. She would likely be still waiting for him, sipping irritably at her drink, at gone one o'clock. Helping herself to some breakfast, there was a flurry of wings overhead as the entering owls delivered the day's mail, and she saw a strong brown post owl swoop down towards her, dropping a thick golden envelope on the table in front of her.

The writing was clearly Harry's, still as messy as it had been in the first year. Opening the envelope with a smile, for she knew what would be inside – a card, and a generous gift voucher for Flourish and Blotts, which she would make good use of on a shopping trip during the half-term holiday.

What a nice start to the day. Hermione took a mouthful of porridge and made the mistake of glancing around the Great Hall, finding herself locked eye-to-eye with Professor Snape, who looked as if he was being forced to watch something particularly unpleasant.

Ah yes. He didn't do birthdays, did he? Oh well. He wasn't being forced to participate, and she did like birthdays, very much. She didn't have Potions today, so Hermione this would be another day that she didn't see him, and for some strange reason this thought disappointed her, and left her wanting.

What had she expected, for him to break the habit of a lifetime and burst into singing 'Happy Birthday' in the middle of the Great Hall, then present her with a bouquet of flowers? The thought made her giggle, and Ginny had to thump her hard on the back to prevent her choking on the mouthful of porridge that she'd absently spooned in.

Hermione had left Snape's chambers on Sunday morning, well, it had been more like Sunday afternoon, really, when they'd finally dragged themselves apart. They'd awoken late, having missed breakfast and wrapped in the blanket that he'd covered them with the night before. She'd turned to face him, and found the professor already staring at her, his eyes burning with an intense lust that had set fire to the blood in her veins.

With no words, he had moved on top of her, nudging her thighs apart and guiding a hard morning erection into place between her legs. Not breaking eye contact for even a second, he'd pushed wordlessly inside her, stretching her blissfully, and begun a devastatingly relaxed thrusting movement, languorously in and out, in and out.

She'd placed her hands on his naked shoulders, pushing the thin robe down his back and squeezing the firm muscles of his upper arms, feeling them flex and release as he made deliciously slow love to her, his hips curling and rotating against her own.

The desire in his black-hot gaze seared her own eyes, and try as she might, Hermione could not close her eyelids, not wanting to erase the sight of this dark wizard labouring above her, his inky hair hanging loose around his pale face, undulating with the same rhythm that his body was. As Snape neared his climax, she had watched how his features changed; his jaw became set and his teeth clenched behind his lips - an unseen, urgent need pushing him further and further.

When he came, he uttered a gasp of sheer relief and fell forwards, murmuring her name and stroking her hair with thankful reverence. It had been the first words that had been spoken, and the intensity of the wordless lovemaking was not lost on either of them. It had been very easy for him to simply remove himself from inside her, move to the side, and for them both to fall back asleep once more, only woken by the lunch bell.

After that, she opted to return to her room via the Floo, to shower and then to head for the library for the rest of the afternoon, to ensure that all her homework had been completed, and to undertake extra study, of course.

The last contact they'd had was when Snape had held her face in his large hands, standing before the fire in his sitting room, as he kissed her lips with a tender farewell. No words. Just that kiss. Perhaps he had spoken too much the night before? Hermione knew not. But she would not see him today; and should not expect to. He was still Snape, after all.

The bouquet of flowers did arrive, however, so huge that they hid the grinning face of Neville Longbottom, who had clearly harvested them from one of the greenhouses that morning; blooms of all sizes and colours, with a red ribbon tied around the stems. As he walked towards the Gryffindor table, Hannah jumped up and joined him, passing Hermione a birthday card, and a gift box of Honeydukes' fizzing sweets.

"They're both from both of us," she grinned, seemingly thrilled to be giving a joint present with her new boyfriend.

Hermione thanked them both warmly, thinking she would have to leave breakfast early to get the flowers back to her room and into a vase, before the bell rang for the start of first period.

-xxx-

In her pyjamas and ready for sleep at the end of her birthday, Hermione touched the soft petals of Neville and Hannah's brightly coloured flowers; and popped the last of the fizzy sweets into her mouth, knowing that she would have to clean her teeth before bed, for years of lecturing about sugar damage were too much to ignore.

What would she give, to hear one more lecture about cavities? How much did she want to be wrapped in the warm embrace of her mum and dad, enjoying her position as their precious only daughter? A second birthday had come and gone with no word from them, not that Hermione had expected it, of course she hadn't. Richard and Jean Granger were no longer aware of her existence.

She startled as the Floo glowed green, and Snape requested entry to her room, which she agreed, stepping over to the hearth rug as he cleared the grate in one long stride.

He was casually dressed, wearing no coat or robes, probably due to the lateness of the hour. The white shirt was open at the neck, revealing a large portion of the ugly scar that had almost claimed his life. In his hand, he held a book, tied with a dark green ribbon that was clearly conjured, for it sparkled with magic.

"For your birthday," he said, gruffly, holding the book out to her.

"Thank you," she replied, taking the offered parcel. "But, I thought you did not participate in birthdays?"

"I don't."

"What's this, then?"

"You are the first, Miss Granger."

Wow. Hermione was astounded that he had done this; and the awkwardness in his posture, the uncertainty in his face, was a bizarre difference from the arrogance of his classroom persona. She needed to be careful to react appropriately, lest she destroy his very first present giving.

Pulling open the wide magic ribbon, however, she could see the familiar cover of a brand-new copy of Advanced Potion Making, their NEWT textbook. Well, that was an odd gift, but Hermione wasn't really sure what she'd expected. Perhaps he thought she needed a new, pristine copy? Shit, now she didn't know what to say.

"Thank you, Sir. That's really lovely."

"Don't be puerile, Granger. Open it."

The green ribbon hanging from her fingers, she opened the front cover of the book, and turned to the first page.

This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince.

What the hell?

Hermione flicked through the pages, the bound parchment yellow and old, every single one annotated with hints, corrections, self-devised spells … in short, everything that had made Severus Snape a true Potions master. She looked up at him, utterly confused.

"I retrieved that book from the Room of Requirement on the same day that Potter hid it there. He offered me the information as to its whereabouts, right there at the front of his mind, as I questioned him over his attack on Draco Malfoy. Might I suggest that you do not use Sectumsempra?"

She smiled, turning the book over in her hands. The innards were all his old book, but the outside was a brand-new cover, so that to anyone else it would appear a normal textbook, purchased from the bookshop. Snape had provided her with an absolute goldmine of information, teachings that she could never have hoped to receive. The results of years of his own hard work and ferocious studying, all given to her. What an amazingly thoughtful and generous gift. It was truly one of the best presents she had ever received.

He was still standing there, awkwardly.

"I am not familiar with gift-giving protocol," he explained. "I can only presume that the notion is to provide the recipient with an item they do not already possess. I know very little about you, Hermione Granger, other than your thirst for knowledge. I trust that you will make better use of the information contained within, than your friend Potter?"

"I will. And Sir … Severus. This is a wonderful gift. Truly. It's better than anything you could have purchased in a shop. You've given me a valuable piece of your knowledge, and you don't know how happy you've made me, by gifting it."

"Show me."

"I'm sorry?"

His mouth twitched at the corners, and he leaned in towards her, placing his lips close to her ear.

"If I do not know, then show me, Hermione, how happy I have made you."

He needed her affirmation, and she was only too pleased to give it. Slipping her arm quickly around his neck, Hermione pulled his head down and grabbed his mouth in a surprise kiss, moving her lips so that he opened his mouth to her, allowing her to slide her little tongue inside and provoke the serpent within.

He did not leave her room for another hour, the precious birthday book set on a side table, the magical green ribbon coiling around it like a protective snake, just like the gift-giver, who was doing much the same thing with the recipient.

-xxx-

Waking up in a bad mood on Saturday morning, mostly because he'd not been able to have Granger in his room the evening before due to some errant Slytherins that had opted to cause chaos during his night patrol, that had ended with two fifth-formers in the hospital wing and a third in detention for the rest of this half term. For fuck's sake. You think that at nearly sixteen these dunderheads would know better. Apparently not.

The miserable day loomed ahead, and he was anticipating it like a dose of dragon pox to the testicles. He was on Hogsmeade supervision duty, courtesy of Minerva, and were that not enough, he had to undertake the duty with the predatory Andrea Masters, who had been suspiciously quiet since he refused her offer of marriage. Severus wondered if she was planning to approach him again during the Hogsmeade visit, as he did not believe that she would let her grand plan drop so easily.

He stalked down the long road that led from Hogwarts castle to the all-wizarding village, a throng of students behind him, trailing in his wake. The weather was fine, and he was already too hot in his usual armour of coat and cloak. When they reached the shops, he indicated with a terse nod of his head that the students may go ahead, and Andrea approached him, for she had been bringing up the stragglers at the rear, mostly unworldly third-years who were on their first Hogsmeade visit.

"So, what do we do here, Severus?" she asked, brightly, a smile on her admittedly rather attractive face.

"Our remit is to ensure that none of the students stray out of the village, cause any trouble in the streets or shops, and to provide a point of contact should they encounter any problems," he replied, not returning her smile.

"I see that most of them have headed straight for Honeydukes. Would that be a good place to start?"

"If you wish," he said, lazily. "Most of them fall upon the confectionary like locusts."

Except Miss Granger, he had noticed. She had turned sharply left and entered Scrivenshafts, an exquisite shop that sold artisan quills alongside the normal ones, and all manner of parchments, inks and other stationery items. Perhaps she'd eaten too many sweets on her birthday, he thought, grinning internally, although his face remained grim. He'd noted the familiar pink-and-white striped Honeydukes box on her desk, the night he'd delivered her gift, and tasted the sweet sugar of Fizzing Whizbees on her tongue when she'd kissed him.

How deeply she had kissed him to thank him for the book … her velvet lips stroking his, and her clever tongue teasing violent reactions from his own. His dick twitched at the memory of snogging this outstanding girl in her own bedchamber. And the rest. He'd returned to his chambers an hour later, sated and exhausted.

"Shall we arrange to meet for lunch in the Three Broomsticks?"

Andrea was still there, and looking at him, inviting him for fucking lunch, of all things. Severus was taken aback. How did she know that the supervising professors would luncheon together in Rosmerta's pub? One of the cackling old crones back at the castle must have told her. Shit.

"If you wish," he answered, nonchalantly.

"Of course I do! We have much to talk about, Severus. A relaxed atmosphere, outside of the school, could be just the place to come to a sensible resolution of our current conflict."

Andrea squeezed his arm in an overly-familiar gesture, before heading across the narrow road towards Honeydukes. He sighed; and wondered if it was too early to go and order himself a large firewhisky.

Severus pushed open the low wooden door of the Three Broomsticks, ducking his head and entering the familiar pub with something approaching pleasure. He would just sit here and drink, ostensibly cups of tea, but maybe with the odd chaser thrown in, and let Andrea Masters run around the village after the students.

Ordering both from Madam Rosmerta, he sat at a window table so that he had a good view of the street outside; and unfolded his newspaper that he'd brought from the castle for just this purpose. The owls still delivered his Daily Prophet each morning.

It would have been a fine plan, had not the ginger head of one Ronald Weasley entered the pub, ordered two Butterbeers and sat down at the next table, not noticing Severus, and opening a Quidditch publication before slurping deeply from his bottle.

What the fuck was Weasley doing here, on a school exeat weekend?

Severus had a sinking feeling that it involved Hermione Granger.