3: The Sauna

Later that evening, Hermione decided it was time to hit up the sauna.

When in Rome, as they said. Or when in Finland, she supposed.

First she downed a few glasses of water in anticipation of all the sweating that was about to happen. Best to be prepared, she thought. Then she donned her blue bikini and wrapped herself in the oversized robe from her cabin. She slipped into her boots, grabbed a linen towel, and dashed through the snow from her cabin to the lodge's sauna. Inside there were several wooden shelves for storage by the door, and then came a wall of showers. After folding her robe and setting her footwear on a low shelf, she poked her head into the hot room.

Though it was dimly lit, she quickly realised that she was the only one wearing anything more than a smile. Everyone was sitting on their towels completely naked, so she wriggled out of the string bikini and folded it up in hers, making herself at home on the lowest of the three levels of seating, at the furthest point from the old iron stove that was heating the place.

After all, she was new to this steaming process. She wasn't going to push herself on her first time out.

Hermione glanced around at the sheer variety of bodies. A grey-haired older couple with sagging bits was perched on the highest level, chatting quietly with nary a drop of sweat to be seen on either of them. What looked like a few generations of the blondest family she'd ever seen were relaxed in the corner in silence; the Malfoys were swarthy by comparison. A few men around her own age were on the middle level, each with a glass in hand that seemed to contain either water or a rather pale beer. The sausages wrapped in tin foil on the stove appeared to belong to them as well, and they were arguing over something in Finnish or Swedish or another language Hermione didn't speak. One was quite fit, and in another setting, she probably would have enjoyed a bit of a flirtation, but it didn't seem like that was going to happen in the sauna. It was just a line that nobody seemed interesting in crossing.

Which is probably why the nudity that would have bothered her in London now seemed right.

Draping her body on one of the lowest steps in the sauna, Hermione dozed in and out of awareness of what was going on around her as she breathed in the hot air, letting her lungs adjust. The couple walked out together hand in hand; a man with curly red hair everywhere entered. An enormous older woman with long white hair manned the stove, pouring more water over it periodically for a little more steam.

At the fifteen minute mark, Hermione zipped outside to scoop up armfuls of fresh, powdery snow. Biting her tongue, she patted herself down with the stuff. Then she ran back inside, took the briefest lukewarm shower she could manage, and reentered the sauna.

The old woman came over with a bundle of leafy twigs in hand, offering them to Hermione. 'You want a vihta, Englishwoman?'

Hermione fought to keep the perplexed look off her face. 'Yes, please,' she said, reaching for the branches. 'What do I—'

Before she had a chance to ask what to do with the branches, the woman began thwacking Hermione's back with the fragrant birch.

Gods, it was perfect.

She felt invigorated and deliciously lethargic all at the same time, and her skin was already so much softer than it had ever been before.

Luna had done it again.

She considered the shop at reception, stocked with linen towels, bath scrubs, and other jars of scented goops. Hermione would have to send her friend a thank you gift along with the regular postcard this—

But then the door opened.

And a man in a towel entered.

A man who looked familiar.

Because he was the same ornery bastard she'd left behind in England just yesterday morning, and what the fuck was he doing on her magical vacation and in her Finnish sauna?

Shocked, he dropped his towel as he stepped inside from the cold.

Hermione slapped her arms across her tits, shielding herself from his view. Gods, she was naked, wasn't she? Suddenly, inexplicably naked. And so was he, which she realised as she took in his unclothed torso for the first time in her life. He wasn't muscular by any means, but there wasn't an ounce of extra anything on the man.

While he scrambled to cover himself, her excellent peripheral vision picked up on the fact that it was, indeed, quite cold outside. Even with that taken in consideration, she could tell that the todger-nose correlation worked in his favour.

He whispered her name. 'Granger? Why the fuck are you here on my holiday?'

The nerve of that man, acting like she was the interloper here. 'Severus Engelbert Aloysius Snape!' she cried, waggling a finger in his face, 'this is my holiday, not yours.'

He frowned as he climbed up to the highest level in the sauna, where it was hottest. 'My middle name is Tobias, woman. Have you lost your mind?'

'I most certainly have not!' She huffed in defiance, and the red-headed man took this lull in the conversation to sneak out the door. 'I am angry with you. As for the middle names? With the way you act at work, you have earned yourself the worst ones I can think of, Severus Hildebrand Leslie Snape. Besides, this is still my holiday, and moreover, it is my holiday from you.'

'Why would you need that?' he snapped. 'If not for my illustrious presence, you would have no place in which to work. O'Reilly would have blown the place to smithereens. I saved your fucking life yesterday, Granger. If you need a holiday from anyone, it's O'Reilly. That moron nearly killed us all.'

She shook her head. 'You're seriously blaming him for the accident? He is absolutely fine when you're not around, no mistakes with any of the assays or experiments I've given him.'

'So that was my fault?' Severus asked, his voice as cold as the icicles hanging from the roof of the lodge.

The rest of the sauna occupants scarpered off then, grabbing their sausages as they headed out, save the ancient woman tending the stove. She wasn't going to let an couple of bickering English tourists oust her before she was ready.

Hermione raised her chin in defiance. 'You know it was. There wouldn't have been explosion if you hadn't been such a bear. I've gotten used to the way you second-guess everything I do, but not everyone can tolerate working with you. I don't have a problem with O'Reilly. He doesn't have a problem with me.'

Snape scoffed, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

So Hermione cast the last blow. 'It's just you. You are the problem.'

Severus stood up, gathering his towel around his waist. 'You are willfully obtuse, Granger.'

And with that, he was off.

The old woman looked at her and raised her eyebrow. 'Hänellä on tiukka peppu.'

Hermione just nodded. 'You can say that again.'

She gathered up her bikini and her belongings, ran to her cabin, and tried to fall asleep. Somehow the sheets were scratchy to her skin and the warmth from the fireplace didn't seep into her bones as it had earlier.

Her holiday was officially ruined.

When the sun rose and she was still exhausted, unable to sleep for more than a few short bursts through the night, she Summoned all her possessions back into her suitcase, gripped the Portkey in her fist, and spun away for home.

A/N: I'm giving this one to everybody early because I am RUUUUUUUNNING on adrenaline. ARYA FUCKING STARK! (Oh! And if that means nothing to you, just ignore it and pretend I never said a word.)