Disclaimer: Still not mine.
A/N: Does anyone fancy a thank you? Whoever gets the 100th review, feel free to pop a PM through and let's chat about a SS/HG oneshot. If I had my way, I'd write one for each of you but that might prove difficult. How about, if you can pick out the Mark Darcy (Bridget Jones) quote here, then please enjoy a lovely dream of Severus on horseback. Thank me later.
I was intending to have more in this chapter, but as you'll see with the ending, the next scene coming is a very long one, so will be in the next chapter. Forgive me.
Chapter 6: Message Text
Whatever fear invents, I swear it makes no sense
I reach out through the border fence
Come down, come talk to me
Peter Gabriel
.
Slim, calloused fingers trailed a line from her neck, pausing to dance over her breasts. Her breath hitched as the rough pad of a thumb brushed over both nipples, the gentle touch full of promise and drawing the sensitive skin tight. A full hand splayed possessively over her stomach before delving lower then lower still until teasingly slow circles were being traced over the skin of her inner thigh.
"Too slow, too slow," she managed to whisper and was rewarded by a low, breathy chuckle that had her mouth dry with anticipation.
Still the movements did not hasten - without any rush they languidly moved to cup her, the heel of his hand pressing down on her bud while a long index finger moved to lazily stroke sensitive folds.
"Severus..."
He bent his head to her ear, breath warm and sweet as it tickled the hairs at her neck. "All in good time, yes?"
Her back arched as he adjusted his hand, his thumb taking the place of the heel while a second finger joined the first, pressing insistently inside her. "Yes, yes," she agreed; there was never any question needed in the first place. "Please..."
At her words, he curled his fingers inside her, pressing down firmly when she exhaled forcefully. Slow circles of his thumb on her clit became sure, rolling strokes, the combination of ministrations sending her heels digging into the mattress, hands searching for anything to clutch. She searched for his shoulders to dig her nails into, to hiss with pleasure, to kiss his open mouth-
She could not find his mouth.
Hermione woke with a start, her heart pounding and legs twisted in the white, cool sheets. Dawn was far off and the light of the low moon through the window illuminated the empty space beside her, leaving her to sigh in disappointment, feeling bereft of the company she craved. Already her hand was pulling up her nightdress until it slipped past the small scrap of cotton.
With the reminder of his tantalising, deep voice in her ear, she moved her own fingers inside herself, working harder to crush the regret that they were not calloused, they were not long and slim and pale.
She came with gasping, heaving breaths but it did not quell the ache. When sleep found her again, it was fitful and full of dreams of a man with his head of long black hair between her thighs as his tongue lapped at her, like the clean edge of a cat's tongue on milk.
~0~
Hermione stepped out of the alley and looked around, finding the quiet suburban street empty. With flat palms, she smoothed down her robes to iron out any creases from the Apparation, nodding to herself with silent approval when her task was accomplished. The dark grey robes were more professional and conservative than what she usually preferred, but they fell around her like protective armour, reminding her that she was here on her own terms to see Draco; no one had ordered her, no one had coerced her.
With a snap of her fingers to distract her mind from focusing on those horrible hours in Malfoy Manor, she began to walk along the rows of identical houses, searching for number twenty three. The address that came in Draco's owled acceptance of a meeting was in the Midlands, and the area itself seemed to be a stepping stone between the industrialised Cokeworth and the affluent streets surrounding Grimmauld Place. When she found the numbers she was looking for, she stepped back to survey the house, searching for clues.
It was well kept, the white paint clear and fresh. The windows on each street facing level were scrubbed clean but the curtains were shut tight. It almost reminded her of the terrace houses in Surry Hills near her parent's dental practice, but it lacked the historical personality of Sydney. The house looked... austere. Lonely, even.
She wished for a moment that Severus had given her advice after all - his carefully composed expression gave her no hints, but his eyes had darkened just enough to suggest that he was unsatisfied with his godson's life, that there was a thousand things he could say if he did not believe in Draco's right to privacy. Hermione respected Snape all the more for it, but it certainly wouldn't make her job any easier.
She hadn't heard from him since being jerked by her navel to his cottage the week before. It had only occurred to her after she'd left that there was no way to get in contact with the man; she'd strained to hear every word that slipped out of his thin lipped mouth, and none of them were ways to contact or to see him. Had he intended that? To speak to her in his smooth, rich tones; speak of her intellectual interests, of his years in his cottage, of her time in Australia, and then to let her leave without a word? It was baffling.
After so many years, the connection between them was a shock - almost like the jolt of pleasure she'd felt when he would take her arm to halt her steps so he could open the door or the gate. In truth, Hermione wanted to kiss him until she couldn't think. He was an arresting man; even more so without the confines of Hogwarts and it wasn't enough to simply know him and leave it at that. No, it was absolutely not enough.
Clutching her folder of parchment, she pushed open the neat cast iron gate and strode up the small stone steps, raising her fist to knock three times on the white door bordered with navy blue paint. In the time between her knock and when it was opened, she focused on the little tiles under her feet that had been laid over the entirety of the front courtyard; she had a sneaking suspicion that such an addition would be made with the intention of being child friendly, considering the rest of the houses sported cracked pavement. Filing it away on her mental list of ways to covertly persuade him, she jerked her chin up with a jolt of surprise when the door was wrenched open.
"Draco?"
The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Of course it was Draco - the white blonde hair and smooth fair skin answered that as soon as he'd opened the door, yet the man before her was... different. Tired, almost sallow looking; truthfully, he looked the way Severus used to look.
"Granger," he said, his tone clipped and curt. A nod of his head was all the warning she got before he let the door go, forcing her to catch it with her foot and step inside to see him striding into a door that branched off the long hallway of the ground floor. It was warmer inside the home, with portraits and landscapes lining the walls and a rich red Persian carpet runner under her feet. The exterior of the building seemed to match the man within - the inside was, she surmised, the vision of the wife she hadn't yet seen.
Hermione walked slowly down the hallway, pausing in front of the one open door to take in his study. Taking on an air of professional interest, she surveyed the solid cedar wood desk with two chairs placed in front of it and bookshelves lining each wall. Draco stood beside one of the chairs, and sat after she slid into the one he'd designated as hers. The equal footing was far more preferable than facing him over a desk, and she found that she was leaning back into the comfortable chair with a slight smile. It was not returned, but Hermione was prepared - even though Severus had not said one word to her about Draco, she'd picked up enough from what he hadn't said to know how to go about it.
Pleasantries were exchanged and tea was brought, deposited onto the desk by a quiet (yet, strangely, not unhappy looking) house elf wearing a neat emerald green pillowcase. It soon became an amusing battle of wills, between the man who was not willing to bow to his pride to ask for the position, and the woman that wished to simply get on with it. Finally Hermione grabbed the bull by the horns and inwardly cheered herself for coming up with the spectacular exaggeration of the truth. It was not an outright lie, but she was taking a Slytherin approach today, and an embellishment was handy for her task.
"I've spoken to Durmstrang, you see, and they have said how unwilling they are to allow me to take you off their hands."
Draco leaned forward, one eyebrow cocked elegantly. "Oh?"
The bastard is playing it for all he's worth! Still, I want him just as badly as he needs me...
"Mmm, yes," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "They said they'd be willing to increase your salary to more than I could offer."
Both eyebrows jolted up and he crossed his right leg over his left. "Did they now?"
Hermione nodded, feeling every bit the devious minx but decided that the ends justified the means in this case. "Yes. Except they seem to be of the opinion that the increase would happen upon your promotion. I think they were trying to pull the wool over my eyes, to be honest," she added innocently, watching his carefully assembled expression harden slightly. She knew disappointment when she saw it, considering everyone was aware that a promotion in the educational world happened generally due to death from old age or a cauldron exploding. Sighing softly, Hermione adjusted Lavender's glasses that were sitting just on the edge of her nose; she'd charmed them to be a sophisticated colour of midnight black.
"And what did you say to them, Ms. Granger?"
The polite moniker sent a thrill to her belly and she offered a silent prayer to whoever was listening that she was playing this well enough to entice him to her side, as well as to make it appear from all angles that he was the one in control. She wasn't a complete stranger to Draco - both had completed their apprenticeship at the same time, albeit in different countries, and the Potions community was not particularly large. She'd seen him a handful of times during her three years of further study, and that was enough to know that without the pressure of the War, he was a polite (if somewhat stiff) man, and was as focused as she was. Truth be told, Hermione would even prefer to work with him over Severus - Draco had a quiet confidence that complemented her own tendency to lose herself in her work until she went without sleep.
And there was a very insistent, and very right, part of herself that admitted that any possible relationship she formed with Severus would not be with her as the weaker link, where he was in a position above her. She'd spent years as his student; they needed a blank slate. An equal slate. That is, if there was going to even be a need for a slate in the first place... More than likely not.
Resting her elbows on her knees, Hermione gave her answer with a wry smile. "Well, I was affronted, to tell you the truth. I found them positively rude. I said, and quite rightly I'd imagine, that surely someone with as much talent as yours would prefer to join the private sector for an immediately increased wage that matches your experience and education. They assured me that your preferences lie with ensuring your continued employment with 'a world renowned educational institution'. I really think they were just taking the piss, if you ask me."
If I've read him right, he needs just the right amount of buttering up mixed with honest, Gryffindor-esque babble, plus a little bit of humour so he's well aware that he's not going to be working with old farts like in Durmstrang...
"Regardless, Draco - it's completely up to you. I want you to work with me - not for me, but with me, so we can run the business together. We've just been granted a fantastic research grant from St. Mungo's - did you hear about it in the Prophet? Oh, good. Anyway, I need someone with the same passion to sink their teeth into the Potions side of the research, while I can take my time with the arithmancy work as well as the overall running of the business. I need a partner, and I think you are the best wizard for the job. In fact, the position is yours, if you want it. It's in your hands, though, as I do understand that you are already gainfully employed..."
Hermione wasn't a Legilimens - far from it. She had barely any talent in such things, save her self taught Occlumency shields that she really only used nowadays to aid with party tricks. But there was no mistaking the gleam of Draco's blue eyes; his face remained unchanged, a mask of polite interest, but she could almost see the whirling possibilities running through his mind.
"Ms. Granger-" he began, cutting off abruptly when she waved a hand while sipping her tea.
"Hermione, please."
"Right..." he cleared his throat as he began to wade into new waters. "Hermione. This is a significant decision for me, and for my family as well. My wife is comfortable with where we are in life, and I am not one to jump into things - your apothecary is only just getting off the ground."
She stayed silent, hoping to Merlin that he wasn't finished and mentally cracking open the champagne when he opened his mouth again.
"It's a decision that I would need to take time on and certainly I need to speak with my wife. Perhaps we could spend the remainder of our meeting discussing the research avenues that you're currently pursuing and ones you are entertaining for the future? I have had some ideas myself that would be quite ground breaking if given the chance to bring to fruition, of course I expect that yours would be of a similar calibre and..."
Hermione listened attentively, barely able to restrain her lips from widening into a catlike grin as his eyes never left hers while he spoke. He had indeed changed - there was no trace of the pompous boy of her youth left. In fact, Draco was almost a more polished and refined version of Severus himself.
She left in the best mood she'd been in all week. The effort to not skip all the way down Diagon Alley to the apothecary was too great, and so a great many fine and upstanding citizens paused and looked about them in confusion while they tried to make sense of the young, wild haired woman twirling and whooping her way down the street.
~0~
"Twenty five, you say?"
"Or twenty six. I can't remember when her birthday is."
Conan gave an appreciative whistle. The men were seated in front of the fire, the rain yet again drumming on the roof. Sunday afternoon had never come so slowly - Severus had spent the week dithering between picking up a quill and throwing himself into the ocean. Depending on the day, both options were equally as attractive at this point.
"And you've spoken to my girl, then?"
Severus swallowed and nodded. "She said I'd be a right 'eejit' if I didn't do something about H... her."
"Well, that's true. You've got yourself a friend in Maebh, don't forget tha'. But you and I, boy, we need to talk. Man to man."
"Right." Severus stared blankly at the burly man, wondering if his landlord was about to invite him for a duel or a pint. One could never really tell with Conan.
After a tense moment, the older man grinned. "How's the arse?"
"...What?"
"Yer not senile yet, boy. The arse! There's a place on a woman's body between her-"
"I know where a woman's arse is, Conan."
And Merlin knew that he was well aware where Hermione's was...
"So?"
With a huff, Severus looked down into his whiskey. "I am not about to describe it to you. It would be... inappropriate." And I do not like to share, you perverted sod...
"Ghaw, Severus. Alls I'm askin' is whether there's enough to park your pint on, or if it's flat as a board. What do you think I'm going to do with the information once you tell me? It's bonding, boy."
"Bonding?" Is that a Muggle thing? Shrugging, he took a sip and swirled the liquid around his mouth, his words coming out in a rush of breath, "Youcanparkabikeandbeeronit."
"I'm sorry? Park a beer? A what? Use your words, sonny Jim."
"Fuck me, Conan, I said: it's one you can park your bike in and balance a pint of beer on."
Conan's answer came in the form of a splutter and a rough cough, followed by a bellow of laughter. "Well, that's good, boy. When are you seeing her again? Yer going to have to bring her over, you know."
Cheeks a furious shade of red, Severus grimaced and shook his head. "I won't be seeing her again. She's... She's not for me." Most definitely - she is leagues above me.
It had never been more apparent than when she'd sat with him, eyes alight with interest and passion as they'd talked over the last six years. Gesturing wildly with her hands, she told him of Australia ('so hot that the white light of the sun could be nigh on blinding'), her apprenticeship ('like a child in Honeydukes!') and even the news that he hadn't thought he wanted to know, like Potter's second child with nails like grains of rice in his mother's belly and how Ron Weasley was now playing Quidditch in Canada and hadn't spoken to Hermione in years. Apparently the two had not let their friendship morph into a relationship; Hermione had left for Australia not long after the Battle of Hogwarts, and Weasley hadn't forgiven her for never returning. Even at the time, his inward wince had surprised him - he'd covered it up with a cough, but it left him unsettled that already he was identifying with this woman, wanting to take her in his arms until the sad smile left her pink, soft looking lips.
If she hadn't wanted Weasley, why would she want him? Although, he was sure he hadn't imagined the way she'd looked at him at the kitchen table, a teasing gleam in her eyes as she glanced at him sideways under her lashes. Curious, indeed.
Conan's growl had him shaking his head minutely until he was listening again.
"Fuck off she's not! Get your head out of the sand, Severus. She came all this way to see you, suffered through your miserable company and said she enjoyed herself! Saints like that are for weddin' and beddin'. I'll tell you what - if you go and send her somethin' right now, your next month's halved."
"Halved?" Severus rubbed a hand over his eyes and groaned. "Money isn't an issue, Conan, I'd pay you double if you'd let me. This is just one big sodding nightmare."
"All right, then I'm tellin' you - just go and do it! Send her somethin'. Ask her 'round. Or if you're too scared, then just leave her be and wait for the next lucky bastard to have a chance wit' her because you won't. I'm too old for this shite," he said vehemently, booming voice accompanied by a wince as he bent to push out of the chair. Severus didn't even look into his mind to know the old man was having him on, but he grabbed his elbow and shoved him back down anyway.
"Fine," he barked and stormed out of the sitting room and into his bedroom. He stared at the discarded letters he'd started over the last week, and summoned a fresh sheet of parchment with a scowl before he bent over the small writing desk and let the quill fly with barely any effort.
"Miss Granger,"
Merlin's left tit! He tore the page and started again.
"Hermione,
Allow me to congratulate you on the concoction you presented me with on Friday evening. It was well made, even though it made my bathroom smell like a boudoir.
SS."
If Hermione knew him the way she seemed to, she would understand. He hoped. And if not... Well, that would be the end of it. Whatever 'it' was, anyway. A low click of his tongue had Moonshadow appearing through the rain with an answering hoot, and he attached the letter, directing the owl to the address of the new apothecary.
As he recited the address, he allowed himself a moment to think. Would Draco accept the proffered position? All it would take would be the signing of the contract for the young man to be able to formally reject the Malfoy inheritance (pitiful that it was) and be free to be contactable again. But would Draco even wish to speak to his godfather? Would he forgive him for dropping off the face of the earth, when Draco had, for all intents and purposes, run himself into the ground? It was unsettling to know that the boy he'd held as a tiny little thing was struggling so much; Severus flexed his fingers, remembering the small pink hands that curled around his thumb all those years ago... Would that boy even wish to see him again? Perhaps Lucius had finally done it - pushed his son so far that he'd wrenched him back under his iron hold, a puppet yet again. Even in Azkaban, he controlled the boy. Draco taking on Hermione's offer would be the only way such a hold could be broken, at least in the foreseeable future. Draco had to be the one to reject the magical bindings of his inheritance contract, and he would only do such a thing if he had a way to better himself.
There was a very small, yet rather loud part of him that worried over how the meeting between the two of them would have gone. Hermione seemed eager and confident, but there was no telling how Draco would react if she'd gone in with Gryffindor brashness. Severus blatantly ignored the rising of concern he felt for her, as he thought over verbal jibes Draco might have used to upset her if she came on too strong. The boy's pride had always been a sensitive button to dance around; another drink would certainly be in order if Severus was to avoid picking up the quill again to enquire as to her wellbeing.
Nerves had him storming back into the sitting room.
"Done," he said, glowering at the grey haired sod in Hermione's chair.
Conan frowned and tilted his head to the side. "That was fast," he said frankly. "What'd you use, a magic bloody pen? The postman won't be round 'til tomorrow!"
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Severus sank into his own chair and topped up their glasses. "I sent her a message text, alright old man?"
"Ha! You're the old man, you limp prick. It's a text message, not message text."
"Bugger off."
~0~
"Dear Severus,
It's delightful, isn't it? The Potions Mistress that I studied under was quite fond of improving the taste of potions, and I admit to taking on the habit. Your Sober-Up potion, for example, has proved quite the test subject.
Hermione."
\\
"Hermione,
Attempts to entice my curiosity enough to make me wish to visit your apothecary shall always fail.
SS."
\\
"Dear Severus,
Thank you for the reminder. It was not, however, meant as an effort to 'entice' your curiosity. I have included a sample with this letter and your thoughts on it are welcome. Try not to have too much fun with preparing yourself to test it.
Hermione."
\\
"Hermione,
The taste is not entirely unpleasant. I have enclosed the empty vial in return.
SS."
\\
"Severus -
Have you turned the vial into a portkey?
H."
\\
"Hermione,
Possibly.
S."
\\
"S,
Saturday?
H."
\\
"H,
Acceptable.
S."