"What did you do, Hermione?"

"I don't know what you mean, Severus. As if I planned this."

Hermione and Severus walked as quickly as they could, given Hermione's ankle, behind the woman leading them through the spa.

"Then how did we come to have reservations in our names?"

"Goddammit…" Hermione trailed off, clearly coming to some realization.

"Granger?" His voice took on that edge he normally reserved for students, and he couldn't bring himself to care. "What do you know?"

She looked evasive. "Nothing. But I suppose if Luna wanted us to both take care of that boggart, there must be some connection to this and her…"

They made it to the lobby, and it became abundantly clear this was a Muggle establishment – slick, metallic-cased computers, signs for Visa and MasterCard on the door. What could Lovegood have been thinking?

The woman who had led them turned toward them. "I'll leave you with Michel now. He will be in charge of your stay with us."

"Stay?" Hermione yelped. "How long are we to be here?"

"You have reserved the two-day package, Miss Granger. Are you feeling quite well? How is it you have forgotten your reservations."

Hermione glared. "I have no idea."

The woman walked away, looking puzzled.

The man who must be Michel approached them. "Hello! Let me escort you to your rooms. We apologize for your troubles. How did you find yourself in the steam room without your clothes?

Severus couldn't take much more of this. "I have no bloody idea. We're not even supposed to be here!"

Michel smiled knowingly, as if he had heard many men dragged here with their partners say that many times before.

"Anyway, come with me. Here are your schedules." He thrust a folder into each of their hands. "Your first appointment is in thirty minutes, so if you would like, freshen up and meet me back in the lobby then."

They approached a door with a keycard entry. "Your cards are in your folders. We'll see you in a bit!" Michel walked away before they could demand any more information from him.

Hermione opened the door, and Severus rudely stormed past her, throwing his folder onto the desk before locking himself in the bathroom.

A spa? Really? Two days of close quarters with Hermione with no wand… in France? He hadn't even looked to see if the room had one bed or two. What could that Lovegood girl possibly be thinking?

You know exactly what she's thinking, old man. You had hoped that one night of drinking had left her blackout drunk, but she clearly remembered your whinging about wanting to impress Hermione and how maybe you just needed to figure out a way to get her away for a few days…

"Are you okay, Severus?" he heard her call through the door.

"Fine!" he barked out, turning on the shower. Five minutes under a cold spray ought to solve most of his problems.

He emerged from the bathroom with about ten minutes to spare to find Hermione lying prone on the bed (the bed, singular), feet kicking in the air, chin in hand, perusing their schedules.

"It looks like we have massages first, followed by hair and nails…"

"You seem to have resigned yourself to this quite quickly, Hermione."

"Well, I believe we have no way of returning. I assume Luna will eventually rescue us when she finds our wands and realizes we may have no way home. Might as well enjoy what someone else is paying for!"

Snape groaned. "Nails, though?" He couldn't even imagine what that could mean for him.

She grinned. "Don't worry, I'm sure all they'll do is just trim and buff yours. Though some black nail polish may help with that tall, dark, and mysterious thing you've been trying to make work…"

Cheeky…

They lay parallel to each other on massage tables, divested of clothing under what he thought to be a gratuitously thin sheet. He really tried not to think about it. He was relieved to find his masseur was a man. He did not even want to contemplate how much worse this would be if a woman were rubbing the knots from his back and shoulders as he lay there thinking of Hermione.

Hermione's masseur was also male, and he found himself both jealous and annoyed, wondering if Hermione was enjoying this far too much.

He tried to relax—it had been decades since anyone had bothered to try to relieve the tension he constantly carried in his muscles, and he had to admit he might have to find access to this during the school year. If only Hermione…

A moan brought him abruptly from his reverie. His body tensed, ruining all the masseur's work as he listened.

Another moan. "Oh, God, right there." A third moan of pleasure…

He attempted to lift his head to find out what the devil was happening to Hermione, but his masseur pushed his head back down.

"She's fine. Some people just get more vocal as we work."

Great, that's just what I need – to listen to another man bring Hermione pleasure…

The torment didn't stop. Hermione's response became a little louder, and it was clear she had forgotten he was even there. Severus was relieved he was laying facedown; the sheet covering him would do nothing to cover his latest erection (this was getting ridiculous) if he were supine.

"Roll over."

Bugger

"Um, no, I'm fine…"

He felt the masseur's breath on his ear. "Don't worry," he whispered. "She's too far gone to notice…"

How the fucker knew, he had no idea. He rolled over, horrified. He'd faced down Death Eaters, the Dark Lord, the Marauders, Muggle bobbies, and his least favorite, flight attendants, and nothing had terrified him more than this spa.

The spa truly was dangerous. Constantly being nearly naked around Hermione was bound to end poorly. And they expected him next to cut his hair. He had had the same hair style since 1978, and it worked for him. He had seen something on the schedule about mud masks and acupuncture, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't make it past this massage.

Think about Hagrid. Think about Umbridge naked. It was starting to work. iThink about Remus Lupin. His erection came back suddenly. Fucking A. Think about cold weather; think about Percy Weasley in a Speedo

Combined with the masseur's ministrations, his thoughts calmed him down. A soft buzzer began to sound, signaling the end of their session. A screen lowered between them, and he donned his robe. He could see the outline of her form through the screen, and his problems began anew.

Damn you, Lovegood…

center~~ ~~/center

He found himself in quite a comfortable reclining chair, still clad only in a ridiculous terrycloth robe, his feet currently being manhandled, his hair tied back from his face in a low queue. Luckily, he couldn't see anything, as he was currently sporting cucumber slices on his eyes. Some sort of green mud was slathered on his face, and as soon as he saw Lovegood, he would demand to know why he had been subjected to such barbarism. The attendants had told him that mud from the Dead Sea was quite good for his skin. He supposed he was happy, at least, that given the mud was from the Dead Sea, he didn't currently have fish feces spread all over his face.

The trimming and buffing of his toenails was beginning to annoy him. They had finished with his hands earlier, yet no one but himself had touched his feet in who knew how many years. He heard the nail clippers clack onto a surface and figured his current torture was over.

Until smaller hands moved his feet into their lap and began massaging the arch of his foot, thumbs digging in slightly, sliding up to his toes. His fingers gripped the arms of the chair; he had not been expecting this, and it felt good, damned good.

The hands moved from one foot to the other, and he melted, feeling as gooey as the mud on his face.

"I don't think I've seen you look this relaxed, Severus."

Hermione?

He ripped the cucumber slices from his eyes, tossing them to the side. And to be sure, there she was, his foot resting on her thighs, her hands still working their magic, a mischievous grin on her face.

"Though I must say, the green look works for you. It really highlights your nose. Say 'I'll get you, my little pretty!'" she dared.

Oh, I shall get you, my little pretty. I certainly shall.

He tipped his head back into the cushion of the chair and closed his eyes. "Soldier on, Granger. I believe the other foot could use a bit more work."

And, surprisingly, she continued.

AN: Couldn't resist a Wizard of Oz joke…