Disclaimer: "There's no sugar in my coffeeeee, it makes me meeeean, it makes me meeeeean"... erm. IE, no characters in my folio?

A/N: Honestly, if no one understands the Chris Isaak comparison at the end of this chapter, I'm going to fall into the nearest hole and never come out. Except maybe to update.

Credit where credit is due - Ginny in this chapter is a testament to one hilarious reader, meg527. And Lavender Brown is really just Angelus in disguise. And if anyone gets the Priscilla Queen of the Desert reference, then take twenty points and a Severus in the bath dream.

Chapter 5: Bad, Bad Thing

What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way

What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.

Chris Isaak

.

Severus knew it was a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Inviting her to stay for dinner? It was all wrong - it made it seem like he'd arranged the whole thing, a premeditated evening of mediocre baked fish and white wine that he'd been wanting to try with it for weeks.

It would have been rude to allow her to leave in the throws of the storm that was raging outside, and he wasn't so far removed from his moral code that he could ignore the rumblings of her stomach. Still, Severus vowed to remain on his guard; he found Hermione fascinating, and her unconventional beauty was certainly a part of that, but what trumped it all was her intellect. It was more than comfortable to stay silent as he carefully removed the flesh from the inside of the fish, then added a salad from his garden to their plates - he was a talkative man, which surprised many; the issue was generally deciding what to say. After so many years of speaking his mind and being encouraged to do so by both masters, it took effort to not let the inner bastard speak out at every opportunity. Thus he was content to simply listen as she detailed her three years of study for her Masters, and the newly opened apothecary.

"And where is this..." he paused for effect as he settled into the straight wooden chair at the dinner table, "apothecary? Surely not in Australia?"

Her answering laugh was a balm to his ears, and Severus allowed himself a moment to admire this unexpected boon - Hermione Granger was more than pleasant company; quick to laugh, witty enough to hold a conversation yet she still retained enough of her youthful curiosity that there were barely any awkward silences. It should have annoyed him; it did the opposite. Not even when she peppered him with as many questions as he had for her.

To tell the truth, she was exactly the type of woman he always found himself interested in - until he remembered her age and his past, which certainly put a dampener on any fond feelings. There was no doubt that a woman like this would prefer a man the same age, a man able to be a point of pride rather than embarrassment. It was easy for him, after so many years of practice, to enjoy her while simultaneously keeping a tight rein on any tentative feelings that were already budding. And on that note, how the fuck did he have feelings for a woman after speaking to her for only a few minutes? He was choosing to discount the lifetime that she had been his student. He himself had always pictured a quiet life; he was living alone on rugged coastline for Merlin's sake, how had it come to be that he had spoken to two women in the past week?

If he had his way, he'd take Maebh's thirty eight years and trade them with Hermione's twenty five. Or twenty six. Whatever she was. He had more greys in his hair than she had freckles on her nose. Though how he had come to count the freckles on her nose, he had no idea. Tightening his resolve, Severus studiously stared at his plate.

"I was inspired by you, actually," she said, tipping her wine glass his way as she took a bite of the fish. "And this is wonderful, by the way. Where on earth did you learn to cook fish like this?"

"One thing at a time," he replied quickly, heading her off before she could get any further and enjoying her blush more than he should. "Why by me?"

He wasn't discouraged by her sudden shyness; a lifetime of being Head of a House that prided patience over brashness made it simple to sit and eat while she gathered her thoughts.

"Well, it's on Diagon Alley - I know, I know, very typical, but we've made it with a second entrance that opens onto Knockturn Alley. So we're proclaiming an acceptance of all customers, and at the same time, we brew for the diversity of people that walk through the doors. We're the Switzerland of Magical Britain," she said with a proud smirk, tossing back another mouthful of wine. "Can you see the resemblance?"

"Between Switzerland and myself? Not at all. But I can see good business sense - I assume it was Miss Brown's idea?"

"Ha!" Hermione stabbed a piece of cucumber and waved it at him with a smile. "You'd be surprised. It's really coming along surprisingly well. I'm shocked, to be honest."

Cocking an eyebrow, Severus risked a glance at her to say, "And why is that? Your reputation of being a know-it-all extends to the wider community, surely? That would lend itself to customers believing that you are at least an adequate brewer."

Severus had half hoped it would turn sour at that point; Snape the Professor was a mean, snarky sod, more often than not. Severus the man was a witty, mean, snarky person. Not much difference, but it seemed that he had underestimated Hermione Granger. The years had made her into a woman with a sense of humour as black as his own, not that he was complaining. It was not above him to gladly accept another reminder that she was most definitely no longer his student.

Her curls danced around her face as she nodded, emphasizing how delicate she really was; he fancied his hand would dwarf her cheek, maybe even be able to hold the whole of the back of her neck while he kissed her.

Kissed her?

Bugger-fuck!

Blinking, he tuned back in to see her watching him with a calculating gaze. He had just enough time to prepare himself before she spoke.

"More than adequate," she said tartly. "The reputation also comes with a thick skin, courtesy of someone rather special to me, in fact."

Shite - special?

"Special? Miss Granger, you flatter me," he offered blandly, completely deceived by her beam.

"Flatter you? I was speaking of McGonagall - she has such pearls of wisdom to offer. Who did you think I was referring to?"

For the first time that evening, and indeed for weeks, Severus indulged in the chance to laugh. What made it even more amusing was that Hermione looked entirely unsure of how to deal with it, which only prompted him to laugh more, until he suspected that he looked like an idiot. He stopped abruptly.

"Right - Minerva 'bollocks the size of a centaur' McGonagall."

Hermione was nonplussed for a short second, before she caught on and snorted. "One of hers? I much prefer: 'tackle worthy of participating in the Headless Hunt.'"

No woman should look so enticing discussing appendage sizes...

"Indeed," he said eventually, conceding defeat with a smirk.

"Now will you tell me how you managed to make this taste so good? I barely touch a fish and it burns."

"Many years of practice. Didn't anyone ever tell you how comparable cooking is to brewing?"

"Not in those words. I do seem to remember being told that 'Brewing is nothing like cooking, something you lot of dunderheads cannot seem to get your heads around.'"

"I said cooking is comparable to brewing, not the other way round Miss Granger. But ten points for exercising your talent for regurgitating the words of an esteemed educator."

Her fork tapped on the plate while she swallowed and took a long sip of wine, shooting him an impish grin over the glass. "Touché, Severus."

They returned to the meal. The fish was cooked quite well; certainly much better than expected. Even the salad greens were crisp and sweet, benefitting perfectly from the correspondence he still kept up with Pomona after the witch had designed his garden and greenhouse two years ago. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing. And the wine - if he'd known it would be stormy and freezing, he would've chosen a red. But it matched perfectly with the fish, sliding down his throat with the lightness that came with wine that had three digits in its cost. Which was, of course, another thing that he would never admit to. Not to Granger, at least. There was barely anything about their evening that didn't conjure the illusion of a 'date'.

Perish the sodding thought - no first date of mine would be with bland fish and wine bought over the internet.

It was too much. His carefully cultivated existence did not factor in Hermione blowing in like a hurricane, curves in all the right places and some of the not-at-all-wrong, curls bouncing around her face, brown eyes that looked like the prized whiskey on the top shelf of the nearest bookcase. And when the evening ended, as it inevitably did, he didn't want it to. He walked her out, awkwardly holding her back by the elbow so he could reach past her body to open the door for her, all the while trying to pretend that he hadn't realised that she smelled like pomegranates and rose water.

"I've had a lovely time," Hermione confessed, looking almost puzzled. "I didn't expect to. I thought you'd hex me through to next week!"

"For touching a portkey? Surely the destination was punishment enough?"

"Not as much as you might think," she said, eyeing him thoughtfully. "You know what, Severus? I think you should come to the apothecary. I would..." she paused, brown eyes flicking to his shyly before she looked out at the dark garden, "I would love it if you would just come and take a look. Share advice, if you too. Hell, you could even do some damage control if you want."

"Damage control?" he repeated, concentrating on the way the rain was spattering onto the front gate. The shielding charm worked perfectly well, keeping them dry, then warm when he cast a quick charm to make up for the cold weather. He was doing his best to avoid looking at the way the moisture in the air had caused Hermione's hair to frizz up until it was begging for him to twirl a finger around a curl, and he latched onto her words eagerly. "You've made mistakes already?"

"None at all," she shot back proudly. "But we're looking at poaching Malfoy. Draco, not the father." She gave a delicate shudder and scratched at her arm. "I could use some advice."

"I haven't spoken to father or son in five years," he said honestly. "I confess that I do not have the desire to."

He was referring to her experience at Malfoy Manor - Lucius had soured in his eyes not long after. They had always maintained a strange, strained friendship and it was more than a relief to simply give it up. Draco, on the other hand, had been forbidden to speak with him since - something that he remembered a few times a week when he'd manage to sleep in and wake at the same time that he'd held the quiet, curious looking babe that was his godson all those years ago.

Hermione shrugged, giving him a crooked grin that looked out of place on the sweetness of her face. "Neither do I. Lucius is just a cock in a frock on a rock now, after all."

Merlin's twisted balls, the mouth on this woman...

Severus raised his hands, palms up and made a show of taking one step away from her. He pretended not to notice that she sidled back to his side anyway. "He is in Azkaban, yes, so the cock on a rock is correct. And the frock...?"

"Those gods-awful robes," she said with a shudder. "And the cane. Merlin. But I do want to poach Draco. I want his skills and I want to pay him enough so that he'll come and work with me. Do you think I could do it?"

He fixed her with a measuring stare, lip curling instinctively while he mulled it over. Possibly; the only reason that Draco was still maintaining the Malfoy façade was that his father had magically bound him to agree to contractual conditions before accepting the pitiful remains of what was left of the family fortune. He had not read one inch of the Daily Prophet in years, but Minerva knew enough and Severus was up to date with Draco's affairs, not that the younger man would know it. It wasn't his place to admit to Hermione that Draco was barely making ends meet and that even a handful of galleons each month could sway him her way, not when he had a vested interest in the man cutting all ties with father, as then Severus would be able to see him. And he did want to - very much. The bitterness of failing his godson left an unpleasant taste in his mouth; he wanted Hermione to be successful, to wrench his godson away from the bounds of that shit heap of a contract. But not at the expense of Draco's pride - if he had any left.

"It's not for me to speculate, considering my voluntary detachment from the community. I won't talk to him for you, Miss Granger."

Hermione shook her head. "No, I would never make such demands. Not from you. I meant that if you had the time, you should just pop in, have a look around and constructively criticise it to your heart's content. And it's Hermione," she reminded with a light poke to his arm.

"You know me so well," he drawled, catching her blush out of the corner of his eye. "Regardless - Hermione, I am content for now. Here, I mean. I do not particularly wish to involve myself with the Magical community in the near future. Or at all."

If he didn't know better, he might have thought she was disappointed. But women that looked like she did didn't ever get disappointed by spending less time with Severus Snape - he was surprised she wasn't rubbing her hands with glee. Instead, she scrunched her lips up and her thin brown brows puckered together.

"Right," she said shortly, offering him a polite, albeit curt, nod. "I understand. Of course you'd feel that way. Well, forgive me for intruding on your time." There was no anger in her tone at all, though he wished there was. It would've been nice to have her leave him a reminder of the spirit that he'd admired covertly for years. She made to walk by him to reach the gate, and again he jogged beside her and pushed it open for her, watching almost with regret as she slid out and began to walk to where the wards ended. Christ, all he'd ever wanted was just to retire in peace, brew on his own terms and just do whatever the hell he wished. Yet now he only really wished to take her arm and lead her back inside so she could sit in one of the wingback chairs again.

It was something he did want, somewhere in the depths of him that wasn't a damaged mess. He wanted Sunday mornings with a woman, both reading and looking up occasionally, tea steeping and the windows open to the sun while they savoured the quietness of the morning after getting stiff legs from staying so long in bed. Until today, the woman had a faceless body; after tonight, he had the niggling feeling that it would resemble the woman who was walking determinedly back towards him.

"I haven't forgotten anything," she said hurriedly, heading off those exact words. "Here. Try this. It's not named and hasn't been approved yet, but it's not far off. Follow the instructions." She produced a small vial from an inner pocket of her robes, offering it to him in the center of her palm. He stared at it for a moment, attempting to examine the clear liquid but plucked it out of her hand when she shifted her weight to the other foot.

"What is it?" he asked and turned it over in his hands, looking up to see her eyes trained on his movements before she smiled slightly.

"You'll see. Anyway, thank you." With a half wave, she turned on her heel and he realised that he might not have the chance to ask the question simmering just under his surface.

"Hermione?" he called softly, just loud enough to be heard over the rain. She paused and looked back.

"Did you come all the way here just to ask about Draco?"

If he had surprised her, she didn't show it. Instead he watched as her smile grew into a grin; he had the horrible suspicion that his own mouth was doing the same ridiculous thing when she shook her head.

"No - it was the last thing on my mind," she admitted slowly, pressing her lips together with an unreadable expression (which was saying something - he was still the foremost Legilimens for thousands of leagues) and striding out into the darkness.

In the privacy of his head, he could admit that after years of being content and even, dare he say it, happy with his own company, he was now more lonely than he'd ever been. She'd been dangled in front of him like bait, and he wanted to lure her back like a cork on the tide.

Severus stayed until he heard the soft pop of Hermione Disapparating, then stood outside for a little longer, running his thumb over the vial in his pocket. Without another thought, he strolled back inside. He may have even still been smiling.

~0~

He wasn't smiling the next morning.

He'd inspected the vial closely upon returning, uncapping the lid to take in the scent of pomegranates and rose water - just like her, his traitorous mind reminded him. He read the list of ingredients she'd stuck on the side, not that he needed to - he could smell the combination on the third try. Still, he was nothing if not adventurous when it came to testing promising concoctions, and Granger wasn't one to fuck up.

Humming under his breath, he'd walked back through the house, pausing to wave a hand to increase the strength of the candles, and reached the bathroom with a smile. It was his one indulgence, bar the greenhouse that had been added on to the side of the house with charms up to its invisible-to-the-Muggle-eye roof. He'd transfigured it to resemble the bathroom from when he had been Headmaster; it was the only place that he'd been able to shed his coverings, literally and metaphorically, to have some peace and quiet.

He'd turned on the taps, then tipped the bottle into the bath, nodding approvingly at the lack of bubbles. He was not a bubble man. Clothes discarded, he stepped into the bath, sinking into the warm water with a gasp of surprise as his senses were filled with the exotic scent of the oil, combined with its magical properties. It wasn't just a relaxing mixture of ingredients - nor was it a healing potion. It was a mind numbingly good combination of both, leaving him to lie against the edge of the bath, his head resting on the tall end that he'd hit long ago with a cushioning charm.

It was like being enveloped in warmth and peace and stillness. His whole being was wrapped in what felt like a blanket, though in reality he couldn't see anything but the clear water.

Severus stayed in the water for hours, casting warming charm after warming charm, torn between wanting to sob with the relief that he was being held and wanting to sneer at himself for being such a pansy that he could've scratched out Snape and written Parkinson and it would've stuck.

Relief won out. When he'd finally collapsed onto the bed, drained emotionally and physically from the tears he'd never admit he'd shed, he fell asleep.

And slept.

And slept.

With no nightmares at all.

Not one blink of disturbed sleep.

He woke with the constricting delight of thrusting his long absent and now returned with a vengeance erection into the soft mattress, still in the delicate plane between sleep and waking, while he pushed inside Hermione, easing into her slowly, languidly, her long hair curling around his fingers as he kissed her. Fuck, she was so tight and so wet that it only took five agonising thrusts before he was spent inside her, and in turn lying on the evidence that he'd just wanked off to a former student who was a goddess, a queen, compared to his lowly, hook nosed pawn.

~0~

"You know..." Ginny narrowed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "If you squint a little and look at it sideways, it almost seems like it was a date."

"It was dinner!" Hermione protested, groaning inwardly when Lavender smirked into her glass of red wine.

"Dinner and wine," Lavender pronounced, taking a pointed sip. "Severus Snape. Who knew he'd be such a smooth operator?"

"Oh, Gods," Hermione moaned, taking a moment to look around the closed shop and ignoring Ginny's muttered, "I always knew."

It was Monday evening, and her meeting with Ginny and Lavender had been moved back, not that she was complaining. The apothecary had been so busy that morning that there was no time for anything that even resembled a meeting, unless a meeting meant processing payments. With that in mind, she traced her index finger around the rim of her own glass.

"It wasn't a date. He was as surprised as me - and I was bloody mortified!"

"As you should be! Whatever happened to CONSTANT VIGILANCE?"

"He said the exact same thing to me, Ginny. I almost died of embarrassment. I was wet through, robes a mess and there he was in a jumper and jeans."

"Jeans?" Lavender perked up, interest piqued. "Did you get a look at his arse? I always thought it'd be delicious underneath all of those robes - obviously he needed to billow so we wouldn't be distracted from our studies. And that voice..."

"The arse works well, not that I'll say anything further on that note. His voice is still the same," Hermione said with a smirk. "Even deeper, if that's even possible."

"And what does he look like? The same?" Lavender leaned forward eagerly, elbows on the counter.

"The same, but different," Hermione began, holding up a hand when Ginny snorted. "He's the same man in a way, but he just looks so much better. Healthier. I mean he's still tall and dark-"

"And handsome!"

"Shut up, Lavender. So he's still tall, still thin although he's filled out a bit. And his hair is shorter, though only by a little bit. And he has some greys."

"Oh, I love a light dusting of grey," Ginny said dreamily. "Just the right amount can mean the difference between an old codger and a sophisticated, older man who knows what to do with his hands."

"I'm choosing to ignore that, Ginny Weasley. Anyway, he even has a bit of a beard now-"

"Merlin's pink perfume, a beard?" Lavender was close to swooning; Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Not a beard per se. Stubble - a week old stubble, if you know what I mean. No moustache, thank the gods for that."

"Mmm. Yes. It's a bit of a pity about the beard... his skin was always so clear, almost translucent. His cheeks would be as soft as a baby's. But I can deal with some pash rash. No pain, no gain. Good about the moustache, though. It'd muffle his voice."

"Drink, Lavender. You're this close to spilling all of your secrets and it is my place as the boss of a third of this business to advise you to up your alcohol intake immediately." Ginny pushed the bottle across the counter, smirking at Hermione who simply mouthed: 'self refilling glass!'

"I just can't believe it didn't all go tits up," Ginny said, shaking her head. "I know you - you would've yelled your little heart out, and the Snape I know would've spelled your mouth shut."

"Obviously he didn't," Lavender put in. "And Hermione - such a good idea to invest in these glasses that refill themselves. Bit dangerous for a Monday night though."

"Dangerous? Are you even Lavender Brown? Should I check for indications that she's under the Polyjuice, Ginny?"

"Hmm, possibly. This is red wine, Lav-Lav. It's medicinal."

Lavender batted her eyelashes coquettishly and grinned. "Medicinal indeed. Bottoms up then, ladies."

"Lavender, the point is that there is no bottom."

"Give it up, Hermione," Ginny advised. "Just accept that she'll be in late tomorrow."

"Gods, not tomorrow!" Hermione winced and picked up her own glass, waving a hand to summon vials of her variation of the Sober Up potion. "I need to prepare to meet with Draco. He said he'd see me on Wednesday - not at the manor, thank all that could possibly be holy, but at another one of his houses around here. The man is still made of money, Ginny. How on earth are we going to get him on side?"

"Easy. He's an Assistant Professor at Durmstrang - he's waiting on an old bat to die so he can get his promotion and his boss is only eighty seven! He'll want to get out, believe me. Did Snape say anything? Give any hints?"

"None at all. He didn't even want to discuss it. I don't actually think I'll be seeing him again."

"Piffle poffle," said Lavender, crossing her arms. Her stylish purple glasses flashed with the movement of the shake of her head. "You'll see him. After years of being more celibate than a Muggle monk, he won't be able to think straight after seeing you. He'll be here one day, you'll see."

"I really don't think so..." Hermione was almost completely sure she'd scarred the man for life. Could she have been any more obvious? Sweet Circe, she'd even batted her lashes à la Lavender at some point. And then given him a vial designed to utterly relax the body and mind whilst in the bath.

"The only thing that I do know is that my dreams have stopped," she said eventually, easing out of her chair and leaning against the shop counter to survey her tiny little kingdom.

It was amazing, really - they'd bought out Mr. Mulpepper's on the Knockturn Alley side for the space, managing to find a spare shop almost directly behind it that faced onto Diagon Alley. A few sweat ridden days of charms work had seen the place expanded and linked together perfectly, until there were two levels - one large open plan ground floor, filled with shelf after shelf of ingredients, brewing accessories and hundreds of books, whilst the stairway led to Hermione's office, laboratory and private living quarters. On the top of the entire building was her favourite place: the greenhouse. The entire shop was a testimony to the pooling of three Order of Merlins - Hermione's, Ginny's and Harry's, as well as her parent's gift of the excess from the sale of their practice in Sydney. And it was paying off marvellously - she was never in it for the money, but when the research scholarship she'd managed to snag for the apothecary from St. Mungo's was combined with the newly minted demand for customers to be able to move comfortably between Diagon and Knockturn, they were looking at never having to write one single red number in the books at all.

Thinking of the books brought her back to Lavender, and she realised that Ginny and her fair haired bookkeeper/assistant were staring at her, befuddled.

"What?" she asked, hands spread. "It's true. They stopped... well, funnily enough, they stopped on Friday evening."

"After you had dinner with Snape?" Ginny clarified, letting out a low whistle of amusement when Hermione nodded.

"What?" she said again. "It's perfectly normal. I studied it in Australia, remember... the psychological aspect of the sodding War. There was always the possibility that I was so fixated on the man that the minute I saw him, I'd make such a fool of myself that I'd be mortified enough to stop dreaming about him. Seems I've achieved that, at least." She saluted the air sarcastically, feeling the red burn of her flushed cheeks.

It was a relief for the dreams to end - even though they'd become a part of her life by now, she still didn't enjoy them one bit. It just left her with one more thing to thank Severus for: 'thanks for saving all of our hides, thanks for staying at my bedside after I lost my marbles, and thanks for ridding me of dreams of you dying every night'. She was onto a real winner there.

"If you say it's normal, then it's normal," Ginny said, taking a drink of her juice, her green eyes never leaving Hermione's brown. "But I do think it's more than just your fixation... I think you're finally putting everything to rest. Why else have you settled so well here? It's all coming together for you, Hermione. Just shave your legs once in a while so you're ready for your love life to come together too, hmm?"

"Oh, fuckall, Weasley," Hermione hurled back with a pealing laugh. "Bugger off, the both of you. I know it was about closure, and I've got it. Closure, I mean. I don't think it means anything more than that."

Lavender tittered and tossed a grape into her mouth, adjusting a falling black bra strap underneath her blouse, then gasped.

"Well, I do. Have an idea, that is. Not that I can remember it now. Who's for some Chris Isaak, hmm?"

"I know what you're doing, Lavender," said Ginny, smirking mischievously. "You just want to hear the closest thing to Snape's voice."

Lavender danced over to the Muggle stereo and fiddled with a few buttons and dials, before the base notes began to pulse through the apothecary. Hermione smiled in spite of herself - she really couldn't have picked better business partners, even though they did make an odd group.

"Besides," Lavender said, gesturing to Hermione's wine in encouragement and Ginny's fresh juice, "when is he ever going to tell me that I've done a bad, bad thing? This is as good as turning up to an overnight detention. Almost."

"Mmmm," Hermione sounded, tapping her foot in time with the music, allowing the wine to cloud her judgment for one delicious moment. "I think a weekend would be better."

"You're right," Ginny agreed. "He's so tall. So much man, so little time..."

"Don't worry, Hermione," Lavender sang, "he'll come 'round. Just you wait."

She made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement, though remained disbelieving.