Disclaimer: Still not mine, bugger!
A/N: The prize for the 100th reviewer, Sassyluv, has been put up. Feel free to check out 'One Thousand and One Nights', a SS/HG one-shot of romance in the desert. Be warned, readers - here there be fluff! Everyone knows Michael Flatley, yeah? Youtube him ;-) It cracks me up that Severus knows exactly who he is, but he is very sure that he does, indeed, know the Lord of the Dance. Who am I to argue with the Potions Master? About 2 chapters to go now!
You can thank HatakeHinata for the speedy update of both this story and the new one. I received a message overnight that made me work my bum off to get this to you now instead of in the two days as originally planned. Enjoy, my friends! Fluff awaits you.
Chapter 7: Saturday
She came out of the water
Into my horizon
Like a cumulonimbus
Coming in from the distance
Burning and exploding
Crowded House
.
By the time Saturday afternoon came at her like a bludger, Hermione was frazzled, flustered and flushed. The day had flown by, filled with an endless stream of customers, orders and well meaning Professors from Hogwarts who dropped by to sate their curiosity. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she winced and tugged at a cork screw curl, glad that she'd already arranged to take the afternoon off.
She brushed her hair then jumped in the shower, indulging for once in one of her own privately made pomegranate body washes. It was for her own confidence more than anything else - there was no telling what Severus' intentions with the evening were. Did he simply wish to talk? Or did he invite her because he, too, had been thinking about her with barely any reprieve? With him in mind, she moved the cloth slowly over her body, enjoying the ruse that it was his hand washing her, smoothing the suds away while his front pressed against her back and his hands ran possessively over her breasts.
With a sigh of resignation when she opened her eyes and found no other company in the steaming shower, she briskly finished washing and stalked into the bedroom. She was not so far gone that she hadn't thought to make another reason for journeying to Ireland and she shoved the dog eared Lonely Planet guide into her beaded bag first before turning to the walk in wardrobe, absentmindedly chewing on a mint cream while surveying possible choices.
~0~
Late afternoon on the Irish coast this time of year was pleasant enough. The air was filled with the scent of the just finished rain and dew drops still glistened on the grass. The sun was still poking out from its cover of clouds, bringing just enough warmth that she decided to shed her dark brown jacket and carry it over her shoulder as she walked towards the front gate.
At first glance, he was nowhere to be seen. The cottage was silent and still, though there was a faint glow coming from one of the back windows. That all changed when she took one more step that brought her into his wards, and the opening and closing of the front door on the other side of the house could be heard clearly through the quietness of the end of the day.
Taking a deep breath to quell the building nerves, Hermione smiled at the approaching figure of her former Professor and opened her mouth when he took her hand politely to greet her. She was aiming to be calm and composed, the picture of tranquillity. That aim fled like a rabbit chased by a fox when she raised her eyes from their joined hands to his face.
"Oh! Where's your beard?"
Hermione's eyes widened and she took a step forward, then stopped before her hand could reach out and touch the now smooth cheek of her former Professor. He shrugged and mumbled something about foolish Gryffindors followed by a, "Where do you think it is?"
She grinned. "Down the sink or vanished. One of those two. Is this a good time?" Holding up a bottle of elf made wine, she leaned on the still closed front gate and studied Severus. He wore almost the same set of clothes she'd seen him in last time, though this time the jumper was black; she itched to test the softness with her fingers. His hair was hanging as it normally did, but the bareness of his lower face meant that she couldn't even look at anything other than his mouth.
"It is," he confirmed and opened the gate for her. "You came prepared, I see."
Hermione looked down at the dragon hide boots that her slim back jeans were tucked into. "Well, either that or get myself stuck again," she said, breezing by him with a wide smile. "You've scrubbed up, too," she threw over her shoulder, snorting when he stuffed his hands in his pockets and glowered.
"So, what's on the menu?" she asked once he'd ushered her inside the sitting room. The whole house was filled by a mouth watering scent and the interior of the home was warm and inviting, the fire crackling and the lit candles casting a golden glow throughout the room. She sat down on the chair she'd used last time and toed off her boots so she could tuck her socked feet under her legs; strangely, she was at home and comfortable, despite only having been in the house once before. "Oysters? Suckling pig? Responsibly farmed and hand reared lamb?"
A chuckle left his mouth before he could stop it and he summoned the tea tray from the kitchen before sinking down in the other chair. "Only a roast chook," he admitted, measuring out two and a half sugars into one cup. She watched him with a coil of excitement in her belly, pleased beyond measure that he remembered how she took her tea.
"Will you tell me the story of this?" He gestured to the cup of tea that was coasting over the coffee table towards her. She smiled and took a sip.
"Interested in the story behind the sugars in my tea, Professor? Is that not too mundane for your level of intellectual prowess?"
"You'll have to let me be the judge of that. You are my guest, after all - polite 'chitchat' is expected. And I will take that as a compliment."
With flushed cheeks, Hermione bowed her head, trying to push away the nerves that were rising in conjunction with the feeling that she was enjoying herself far too much already. Summoning her courage, she looked up to meet his black eyes, incensed that she was being so obvious. The smoothness of his face was taunting her; she wanted to eat him, she wanted to drink him, she wanted him to bear her down on the navy blue rug on the floor and slide his tongue into her mouth.
Clearing her throat, she offered an innocent reply, "Well, there's not one person that I've encountered yet that doesn't have something to say about two sugars. And no matter what I say, they'll doctor it and give me less. Two and a half gets the same reaction, but they omit the half and give me two, which is was my intention all along."
"Ah," he sounded out with a rumble and leaned back in the chair, his expression unreadable. "How very Slytherin of you."
"Not in the least," she said. "It's purely regressing twenty years. I have to make up all the sweets I missed somehow. My parents are dentists, you know."
"Hm. I gave you two and a half. Not one grain was doctored."
"All the better for it, I assure you."
He hummed in acknowledgement, the sound coming from somewhere deep within his chest. For a long moment they were silent, sipping at their teas and sharing awkward glances when one would look up and catch the other's eyes already there. Severus seemed amused more than anything else and Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that she had dealt her hands far better when she'd been shoved into his sitting room with no warning, rather than having days to prepare. But that was underestimating the talents of a man that knew how to master a conversation as if he were spinning golden threads on a loom.
"Tell me of your apothecary," he ordered when they sat down at the table, the tray of roast vegetables and chicken between their plates. She smirked and filled his glass with the rich red Elven wine before attending to her own.
"Haven't you heard enough already? I must have chewed your ear off last time."
"Not nearly enough," he responded with a slow, disarming smile. "Continue."
~0~
He could talk to her for hours. Every little sound she made, a laugh or a giggle, a snort or a chortle, was delectable. Sitting across from her at the table, he found that he was wishing that this was his night every night; a beautiful, intelligent woman - Hermione - sharing dinner and stories that made him use considerable effort not to laugh, though his control slipped every now and then. When it did, the smile that he was rewarded with was enough to have him shift uncomfortably on his chair, glad for the high table that hid his growing erection.
He hadn't felt so alive in years.
Sod it all, the minx was beautiful. Tight black jeans that left nothing to the imagination, and dragon hide boots had never looked so enticing. While she told him about the layout of the apothecary, he was picturing bending her over the table in nothing but the shining black boots. Perhaps he'd ask her to keep her white cotton top on - it was a sinfully innocent piece of clothing, deceivingly bland from the front but the entire back was filled with patterns of lace and bare skin, save for the white line across the middle that showed him the colour of her brassiere. Gods' fuck, he was walking up to the wicket just thinking about touching one little square of soft, sun kissed skin. Clearing his throat, Severus finished the rest of the wine in one go.
"Thirsty?"
She wore only a small amount of makeup, but the subtle black lines around her eyes enhanced her cheeky wink. If only she knew. That was enough to have him limp again - she would run for the hills.
He grunted and offered to refill her glass, cocking an eyebrow when she declined.
"I've made plans for the evening," she explained, dropping dead weight into his stomach. "I have to be at least a little bit sober."
Severus was by nature a jealous man, though he had had enough years of conditioning himself that it no longer controlled him. Feigning unaffectedness, he asked in a measured voice, "And what are your plans? There's not much to entertain yourself with here, I'm afraid."
"Wrong!" she said, reaching over the table to swat at his arm. "I thought to go into Galway city to take a look at the Claddagh. Have a Guinness, listen to some 'trad' music."
"Good heavens, Granger," he managed to croak between dark chuckles, rather proud that he'd chosen such chaste words to cover his beguiled state. "Did you go and buy a travel guide?" He was insanely pleased by the notion that he'd been the one to spark her interest, and her answering blush was filed away for later lonely nights.
"I might have," she said primly and sniffed. "In my defence, though, I thought it might be enjoyable."
"Enjoyable for whom?" Curiosity piqued, he watched her bite her lip, barely stopping his thumb from reaching out to feel the plump mouth that popped out when she released it.
"Us, of course!"
"Hm? What?" He shook his head. "What are you going on about, woman?"
Does she want to spend time with me? Me? Merlin's standing cock! Occlude man, occlude!
"Stop occluding." Her order was deliciously commanding, but the tightness of his jeans had him regretfully disobeying. She continued on with a smile, "I thought we could go out together. You've been here for years - you can show me some new things, surely?"
You bet I could.
"New things? You think they all sit around with whiskey and fiddles while warbling along to 'The Parting Glass'?" That actually wasn't too far off the mark, if one considered Conan.
"Something of the sort." She grinned dangerously. "If I'm wrong, then you'll have to prove it, won't you?"
"I don't have to 'prove' anything. I've been around since before your mother was reading you Byron Barton, witch. I've no obligation to partake in such things."
Her answering drawl brought a word to mind that he hadn't thought of in years: sexy. "You'll enjoy yourself - don't you think it'd be fun?"
"What's in it for me in return?" he asked baldly, giving in to the urge to display his well honed expression that was a mix of a sneer and a smirk. She swallowed and took a sip of her wine, gathering her thoughts.
"My company, for one," she said eventually, mock scowling at his dry snort. "But also - I'll tell you everything about my meeting with Draco. If you'd like to hear about it, that is."
She had him by the balls and she knew it. He gave it all he had, even washing the dishes and clearing the tea tray from the sitting room, dilly dallying over tidying a pile of books on the coffee table. Finally, he disappeared into his bedroom and slid his feet into his own dragon hide boots then eased his arms into a black coat. A quick look into the mirror sent him to pinch the bridge of his nose, wondering why he was acting like it was truly a date. He'd even shaved, for Circe's sake! The beard that had been his more than adequate disguise over the years was gone. He peered closer, slightly chuffed that he appeared younger, then harrumphed at his reflection and strode out of the room.
"Come along Hermione," he called, grinning as he noticed that she hadn't moved an inch from the dining chair. He offered her his arm and smirked when she wound her little hand around it. His voice was only just a tad hoarse when he closed the door to the house and began to lead her to the gate. Dare he ask the question? Would he be taken for a fool? He asked it anyway. "Do you trust me?"
Her answer had him dry mouthed and nervous and his hands were clammy when he pushed open the gate.
"I always have."
If he held onto her just slightly tighter than needed when he took her on the Side-Along, neither said a word.
They landed at the end of a little alleyway behind one of the guest houses in the village near Severus' home. The sky had darkened during their dinner and after a surrepticious Lumos, he took a step away from her body but maintained his polite hold on her arm.
"Where are we?" she asked, looking around but finding nothing that answered her question.
"Somewhere better than the city," he said, pressing down on her arm lightly to encourage her to begin to walk with him. They strolled to the edge of the street, and the buzz of triumph and satisfaction in his stomach was mightily encouraged by her little, "Oh!" of surprise.
"This is wonderful!" she crowed, looking at the quaint little village.
It was certainly a sight to see - when he'd first decided to make the journey, Severus had simply gone to Muggle newsagency and trawled through the post cards before coming across one of a peaceful looking collection of brightly coloured houses near the sea. The photo had been a few years old and by the time he actually found the place, there were more houses, white washed cottages now with small pots of flowers on the windowsills, but the overall feel was still of an area that could swallow him up and let him stay as long as he liked. He'd neglected to realise that such a small place would be teeming with gossipy harridans that could put Minerva and Poppy to shame, hence his reasoning for choosing to stay in a house that was a half hour drive away. Hermione, however, was enchanted if her bouncing feet were anything to go by.
"Well, yes," was his gruff response. "It could be worse."
"Brr!" she said immediately, wriggling against him in a way that should be illegal.
"Are you cold?" he asked politely as he led her down the street, aiming for the pub at the end, completely unprepared for her response.
"No!" She gave a little chortle and clicked her heels. "But you are! Lighten up, Severus - we've got a serious job tonight, which is to get completely sloshed and perform better than Michael Flatley. Are you up to it?"
"Christ, Hermione," he groused at the giggling woman on his arm. "You've been watching Riverdance all week haven't you? I bet you've even been practicing in front of the mirror."
On cue, her dragon hide boots tapped smartly on the pavement while she twirled around, coming to a stop in front of him with wild hair that bounced around her laughing face. She was beautiful; he wanted to turn right back around and lock them both in his home and not open the door for a week.
"Fucking hell," he said instead, wiping his forehead. "Just don't do that on a table or I'll have to take off fifty points."
"Only fifty?"
"One hundred now, for your cheek Miss Granger."
Her little gurgle of laughter had him chuckling in spite of himself and he exhaled in a long breath, leading her the last few steps towards the pub doors. Music could already be heard, though he couldn't discern the tune; something modern at any rate. He nodded to the secretary of the tiny local school, a portly woman with a ridiculous penchant for clove cigarettes. True to her nature, she was smoking one of the funny smelling things and eyeing Hermione with a great interest that meant her every move would be spread around the village by dawn the next day.
Trying to hide his boyish pride because of the beauty he was escorting, he looked at Hermione, decided that her smile made the inevitable oncoming discomfort worth his while, and pushed open the doors.
~0~
In truth, he enjoyed the evening more than he thought he would. Conan was there, already half pissed by the time they'd walked in the door. There was no short sense of relief when his landlord was the one to embarrass himself first, not Severus.
"Christ on a cracker, Severus," he deadpanned, before spluttering a greeting to the witch on his arm. "Yer've outdone yerself. Conan O'Sullivan, my girl; yours to command." He bowed with a flourish, then immediately sat them both down at one of the booths on the side of the room. "I'll be back!"
Hermione stared after the man heading to the bar before turning to Severus with wide eyes saying, "Who is that?"
"That," Severus said pointedly, gaze directed at Conan's burly back so he wouldn't look down at her breasts, "is my landlord."
"No!"
"Mmm. Yes." He accepted the pint of beer with a nod, passing Hermione's PoitÃn along the table. They sat beside each other and Conan drank half his glass of Guinness before shaking his head.
"S'been a long time since yer've brought a wo-"
Severus cut him off with a growl; it had the reverse effect, though, and Hermione snorted while Conan grinned smugly.
"In fact," the Irishman continued, "I don't even think yer've brought a woman here. Ever!"
Grimacing, Severus turned to Hermione after she lightly squeezed his arm while whispering, "Bottoms up!" Quite the image, that.
Resigned to the ribbing, he obliged her and downed most of his glass before returning his attention to Conan.
"There's a first time for everything, old man. That being said, I am merely a guide this evening. Hermione here has ne-"
"Her-miiiiiiiii-o-neee," Conan sounded out, red cheeks stretched with his smile. "A lovely name for a lovely girl! Never heard a name like tha' before in my life. One of a kind." He dipped his head and rose his drink in the air, ignoring Severus' groan. "A toast, then, to our gorgeous guest!"
Their drinks were finished in a matter of minutes. Conan took it upon himself to source more and when Hermione leaned closer to him, Severus let his head fall back against the back of the booth, savouring the lazy lust that spread over him when her breath ghosted over his neck. "I like him!"
"Do you now?"
He turned to answer her too quickly and found that her face was still close. His senses were filled to the brim with witch and woman; all he had to do was close the tiny distance between them and he'd feel the soft, sweet lips of his dreams against his. He fancied that her brown eyes darted to his mouth that was parted in surprise at her nearness, and he soon found that he was leaning closer to match the tilt of her head, the desire in his blood swirling and curling in a storm that only she would sate-
"Love birds!"
Conan's booming voice had them both snapping back, leaving a respectable distance between their bodies like they were fifth years caught in the corridors after dark. He crossed a leg over his knee and resolutely stared at his now full glass, sure that if he looked at her he'd see revulsion among a million other variations of disgust.
~0~
He would have kissed her. He was going to, if they'd just had five more seconds-
Oh, gods.
Hermione pressed her lips together and smiled at Severus' white haired landlord that plopped down opposite them with a grin. The black haired wizard himself was staring studiously at the table, his body as still as stone. She wanted to say something to break the ice, but there was no trusting her mouth to form words that didn't say: 'Finish what you started,' or 'Take me home this instant or I'll kneel under this table and chase every single virtuous thing from your mind.'
What would he have tasted like? Dinner, obviously. The tangy, sour taste of the dark beer in his hand. Perhaps even the same sandalwood scent that clung to the warm jacket he wore.
Did he even want to kiss her? It seemed that way, but Hermione knew from her own experiences that alcohol and closeness made friends do things they might not have considered under normal circumstances. But she wasn't drunk and neither was he. Despite what she'd said earlier, she did not even wish to drink much more than she already had - all she wished to do was grab his chin and pull him back.
In time, she thought. All in good time.
The trio drank and talked (or rather, she talked, Conan bellowed and Severus mumbled or muttered, depending on his mood) until the pub was full with people. Everyone was eyeing their little group in the booth, though Hermione could thank the stoic, brooding wizard beside her because no one approached save some of Conan's friends that darted away after Severus fixed them with a look similar to his morning glower in the Great Hall. She made a note to practice it in the mirror when she got home.
It was all more than pleasant - the drinks were good, the company was wonderful and she knew she wouldn't have found the name of the pub in the travel guide. Shyly, she reached over mid conversation and tapped his thigh under the table. He flinched, his eyes jerking up to meet hers before resting on the sight of her hand on his leg.
"Thank you for bringing me here," she said lowly, removing her hand and returning it to her drink, only just picking up his stunned, "You are more than welcome."
The rich tones of his voice had her insides doing somersaults - it was extremely flattering to see his responding uncertain smile.
"Would you like to dance, Hermione?" Conan's loud voice cut into her thoughts. She looked up, surprised that a little band had formed in the corner of the pub, complete with the fiddles that Severus had teased her about. Meeting his black eyed gaze, his mouth quirked as if he knew what she was thinking of. Come to think of it, he probably did.
"Off you go," he said quietly into her ear to be heard over the music. He gave her space to get out of the booth, and when his hand gave her a gentle push on her lower back to guide her, she looked back at him to see two twin spots of red on his cheeks. Lavender would say he was a man for marrying, with his natural sense of politeness and chivalry. Hermione already knew her own opinion: he was a man to be loved. What woman on earth could resist the attractive planes of his face, his kind smile, and biting wit?
She certainly couldn't.
Conan was a fantastically hilarious dance partner - he whirled her around the room, light on his feet despite his massive frame. When they would pass Severus, it quickened her breath even more to see him watching them like a hawk, his black eyes trained on her hair that followed in their wake. He held her jacket over his lap and sipped his whiskey slowly and even a smile or two graced his lips when she inevitably stumbled once or twice, unable to wholly keep concentrating on the steps when his gaze was darkening by the minute. It would be so easy to love him. Far, far too easy.
"He's a good man, Severus," Conan commented when the music slowed and they had moved to the edge of a newly formed circle to watch a group of young men link their arms and dance. "Better than most."
Hermione tilted her head up to see the older man looking her way with a kind smile. It pained her to think that there might not have been anyone else to give her such a speech, and so she nodded firmly. "He is - I know it all too well."
"He's been through a shite storm, that one. He's a right bastard half of the time, and a quiet one the next. He doesn't do things by halves," he reminded her.
"No," she agreed quietly, turning to where Severus was still sitting, watching them with a puzzled expression. "He doesn't."
"Think he's keen on you, eh?" Conan waggled his eyebrows, hands linked behind his back while his foot tapped out a rhythm to match the dancing men. Hermione wasn't deceived by his act of nonchalance, even though it amused her more than anything else. It seemed that even wizards in their mid forties had wingmen.
"I've no idea," she said breezily. "You should ask him and tell me the answer."
"Now, now!" He dragged her out to dance again and ignored how Severus was rolling his eyes. "Wouldn't want to cross any lines now would I?"
"Mmm," Hermione crooned, giving in to the urge to giggle. "No. Wouldn't want that."
~0~
He Apparated them a small distance away from the cottage. Selfishly, he didn't want the evening to end, but he didn't know what to do about it. He could have asked her to tell him about Draco, like she'd offered, but it wasn't talking that he wished for. Besides, that gave him a reason to contact her again.
It was too soon to initiate physical contact, surely? Would she accept such advances? Did he have it all wrong? He could have sworn that he didn't imagine the way she looked at him over her shoulder while she danced, the way her hips swayed invitingly or the way her teeth caught her bottom lip when she caught his gaze.
In the end, she shivered against the cold and he wrapped an arm around her, tucking her against his side, forgoing a warming charm. The remaining ten minute walk was pure heaven, and it was all too short. The feeling of her slim arm snaking under his coat and around his waist stayed with him even after he bid her goodbye at the gate and watched as yet again, she walked to the border of his wards.
But even the feeling of her arm around him and her moulded to his body was trumped by what she did next. He cocked his head to the side when she stopped dead in her tracks and swivelled around. He couldn't work out what on earth was going through her mind but it soon became apparent when she sucked in a breath and strode back to stand in front of him, a fierce look of concentration on her face.
"Goodnight, Severus," she said softly and before he knew it, two warm palms cupped his cheeks and she stood on her toes to brush the lightest of kisses on his mouth.
He only managed a bewildered, "G'night Hermione," when she leaned back and beamed at him as if the sun had come out in the middle of the night, then she ran back and disappeared with a quiet crack.
Severus stayed at the gate for a long time, a hand on his mouth as he tried to rein in his thoughts - his flesh burned as if her lips had been one hundred degrees, and all he wanted was more, more, more.
It would be so easy to love her.