AN: Here there be limes... or lemons? Limonade?

Chapter 7 – A Temptation of His Own Creation

Wednesday, 27 October 1999

Dear Ms. Granger,

I am surprised to admit that I very much enjoyed our dinner on Sunday. I am under the impression that in such situations the accepted social convention is to invite said person "out."

Please consider this missive a fulfillment of that requirement.

Regards,

S.S.

He couldn't believe he'd sent her such a badly worded note. He'd been shaken since Sunday—partly by Draco's inopportune timing and partly due to how… nice it had been to have someone actually listen to what he thought. He'd given what felt like thousands of reports of Death Eater activity during the war. And to be sure, the Order listened intently to those statements.

But once he was done delivering the information, the listening stopped. Because, clearly, listening to a former Death Eater who regularly attended their meetings for ideas on how to defeat the Dark Lord made no sense? Certainly not to Mad-Eye and rarely to the other Order members. He would often give his opinions, but he could always see that look of derision on so many faces. Never from Arthur or Albus, but from so many others. And with Albus gone... and no real reason to talk to Arthur much these days, there were very few people in his life that he talked to. Draco put up with him, but he never was engaged in conversations about his work or his ideas.

But Granger had listened. Intently. And it had felt damned good.

It was just these sort of feelings that were quickly making him insane.

He could at least take solace in knowing there was no way she would say yes. Between their history as teacher and student and their abysmal first dinner together, there was no way that Sunday's fluke would be enough to convince her to see him again. That's all it was: a fluke.

When she responded the next day in the affirmative, it turned his mood from bad to worse. He had no idea what he was supposed to do next. He began doing the only thing that ever gave him peace when he was upset.

He hid from the problem. By cleaning.

Well, not exactly cleaning—more like stomping throughout the house and moving things for no reason. He straightened, to be sure. But no dust mops accompanied his trudging.

Draco tried to make him talk, but he only snarled. He'd taken to muttering under his breath as he slammed around stacks of books and moved chairs; however, the house was not all that large, and this only kept him occupied for most of Thursday.

By Friday morning, his nerves were shot. He wrestled clothes from his closet, hoping something appropriate for the night's festivities would magically put itself together. When that clearly didn't happened, he conjured hooks on his bedroom wall and floated clothes from hook to hook. Does the blue shirt look better with the black blazer? Or, with another flick of his wand, with this navy suit…

"Some foolish wandwaving, I see."

Severus whipped around to see Draco leaning lazily against his door frame.

"I'd go with the blue and the navy suit, Sev."

He shot Draco the dirtiest look he could muster.

"I'm just saying, now that you've actually introduced color into your clothing, you should go with it! Swooping in, wearing your quintessential bat-suit might not garner the response you're hoping for."

With a swish of his wand, the door to his bedroom slammed shut.

"Dammit, Severus! You almost got my fingers!"

Severus smirked before grabbing his towel and heading for the shower.

The hot spray from the shower made him realize just how tense his shoulders were. He rotated them a few times before tipping his head from side to side. He made a mental note to take a Tension Potion before too much longer.

He reached forward and grabbed the shampoo of the ledge at the back end of the shower, hating the way cold air drafted in from the window. Who puts a window in a shower?

He squeezed shampoo into his palm and brought it to his scalp before he realized yet again he'd apportioned too much for the job. He still wasn't used to his short hair. He didn't think he would ever like it short. But Hermione had given him a few apprising looks over her pasta and had even once remarked that he looked different when she could see his eyes.

The soft water made it difficult to remove all the excess suds from his hair. But at least his shoulders were less tense.

He palmed the soap and passed the bar between his hands, noting the fragrance as the suds formed. The soap was a tester—a new blend he had made a few days prior in an obsessive-compulsive need to control something in his life. Between Draco needing to pass this ARDEC therapy and Granger causing him such confusion, he felt like the life he had made for himself over the past year was spiraling out of control. And he'd run out of furniture to move about.

He placed the soap back down on the ledge. As he lathered his body, he tried to relax—tried to push the impending failure that he expected would be dinner from his mind.

He failed. He couldn't get her out of her mind. His hands moved over the planes of his chest, his fingers working the soap through the hair. The draftiness from the window whispered over his body, causing his nipples to pucker; for once, he didn't curse the architect who placed the window in the shower. His hands ghosted over his stomach before moving downward.

Lathering up his hands one last time, he grasped his cock in his left hand, drawing his foreskin back from his glans. He tightened his grip, moving his fist over his shaft with increased urgency. The movement of his hand was quickly releasing the essential oils in the soap. He quickened the pace, both in response to the sensation and in the hopes of surrounding himself more with that scent… there was something, something captivating about it… that reminded him of…

He leaned his head against the cool porcelain tiles, savoring the trickle of condensation down the bridge of his nose. He envisioned Granger in her skirt, so taut over the curves of her arse. He hated the way she had walked out of the restaurant, but loved watching her hips sway as she did.

The tension that had wracked his body was lessening with every stroke. His other hand moved up to cradle his balls. As gently as she had cradled her wine glass between her hands…

A few more thrusts and the last of the tension left him as his orgasm ripped through his body. He turned and slumped against the wall of the shower, sliding to sit on the floor, water flowing over his frame.

Hermione.

That's what the soap called to mind. Of course it fucking did. Yes, the head and heart chords were different, more masculine, more earthy.

But the base chord was the same as that damnable perfume she tortured him with—a temptation of his own creation.

He stood, shaking his head to try to clear his thoughts. Summoning a bar of Palmolive from the cabinet, he scrubbed the evidence of his release from his body, trying to mask the scent of the soap he had created clearly with her in mind on some level.

It didn't help. She was ubiquitous. He prayed she didn't notice.

Nearly a week had passed since Draco had seen what had been giving him nightmares every evening. Severus and Granger… He still couldn't quite fathom it. But it was clear he had walked in on something that night, based on the glare on Severus' face and the quick way Granger had grabbed up her belongs and mumbled, "Send you a note tomorrow," as she hurried out the door.

He had tried talking to Snape about it in the days since, but he just growled and grumbled something that sounded like "too much wine" and "peas in her pasta." Draco had spent much of the week either picking up shifts at work or hiding in his room, Silencing Charms in place. Severus' stomping through the house at all hours did not lend itself to sleep.

And now, he sat once again in Granger's office, staring at her even dustier tchotchkes. They were seated in front of the fire in wing-back chairs, her bag propped up against the leg of her chair, and he could see his test poking out of it. She stared anywhere but directly at him, looking more uncomfortable than ever.

"Look… Hermione, I know you're itching to apologize to me again, so you might as well spit it out."

She had the decency to look guilty, but actually managed to make eye contact.

"Well, you had a point about your parents, and I'm sorry for what happened, and I know you probably think even worse of me, and then I was in your kitchen and—"

He groaned. "Please. You're no worse than I was—believing what you were raised to think without questioning it. The only difference between us is that I started realizing the problem with self-imposed ignorance before you did." He paused. "So, no, I don't think any worse of you—if anything, on some level I'm impressed that you are apologizing. That definitely wouldn't have happened when we were at Hogwarts." He rubbed his slightly crooked nose for emphasis.

"I suppose not… Draco." She smiled and scooted her chair a little closer to his. "Come now, let's go over your test and see where you can improve, shall we?" Reaching down, she pulled the test from her bag.

"So, Draco, do you have any questions?"

He thought for a moment. "Yes. Why are Muggles so fond of acronyms? Everything in this department that you've created is known by an acronym. ARDEC? MAT? Why can't you just call things what they are?"

"It's just a way of shortening things. They're popular in the military both here and abroad. Sometimes they become words themselves—scuba, snafu..."

"Snafu is an acronym?"

"Yes, it's an American Army acronym meaning 'Situation Normal: All... Fucked Up.'" She blushed at her own cursing.

"You know, it's too bad Severus didn't know that during the war..."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"I just think he would amend it... 'Situation Normal: Albus Fucked Up.'"

She giggled before becoming somber. "Any other questions?"

"I don't believe so."

She stood and glanced at her watch before walking to a bookshelf. She began removing some volumes on Muggle economics and politics.

"Before our session next week, I want you to read these books." She walked across the room and dumped them in his lap.

"Seven books, Granger? Are you mad?"

"One for each day of the week. Nothing you can't handle, Malfoy."

He glared. They may be getting along better, but he still wasn't a fan of her inability to understand that some people were just not like her in the reading and studying department.

She checked her watch again as she sat down. "And Malfoy, if you would, read them in that order. They build upon each other."

He shifted the books from his lap to the floor. "Yes ma'am." He smirked as she twitched slightly—yes, that wound was still fresh. Not one to ever pass up an opportunity, he continued. "I actually do have one more question, Granger."

"Yes?"

"What time is your date with him tonight?"

She turned that same shade of puce from their first interview. "Mr. Malfoy, I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, 'Mr. Malfoy' now, is it? Let me see, first, I catch you two sharing the same carton of ice cream. Next thing I know, Snape's banging around the house as badly as he did my common room sixth year—he's cursing about everything, I might add. This morning, I actually caught him putting together outfits. You keep checking your watch, and I must say, Granger, I've never seen you show this much cleavage." Her hand jerked to the scoop neck of her sweater and gave it a tug.

He never broke eye contact. "So, if the two of you aren't fraternizing... then I can only assume you and Percy must have a special arrangement of which I am unaware."

She grimaced. "Absolutely not! I can't believe you would insinuate something as foul as… relations with my superior!"

"Nice attempt at deflecting. Where's he taking you?"

She made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a growl. It almost made her adorable. "He hasn't told me. He's meeting me here shortly, in fact." She stood and moved towards the door, placing her hand on the doorknob. "Now if you would excuse me?"

She opened the door and was nearly hit by Snape's fist as he made to knock on the door.

Draco stretched out in his chair, crossing his arms and ankles, as amused as a spectator at any circus. "'lo, Severus! I see you went with the blue shirt and the navy suit. Well done!"

He looked at Granger, who seemed to be noticing as well... He shifted his gaze to Severus, whose jaw was clenched so tightly it was a wonder he didn't give himself an immediate migraine.

"Draco. Leave. Now."

"I wouldn't want to be rude. Granger, same time next week?"

She looked so embarrassed and nervous. He loved it. "Absolutely, Malfoy."

He scooped up his books and stood, walking as slowly as he dared toward the doorway. "Oh, Granger. Do you mind if I take my last test home to study?"

She made to answer but was cut off by Severus. "Leave us!"

Draco flashed him a cheeky grin before exiting.

AN: Thanks to clairvoyant. She knows how hard this was for me to write... Hope you're still enjoying it, kerravonsen!