Despite her outward bravado, Hermione's insides were churning with nerves as she contemplated her cup. It wasn't like her to be impulsive, and in saying yes to Professor Snape's suggestion she had surprised herself almost as much as him. 'Merlin!' she thought, 'I'm not entirely sure how I got here, but I don't want to mess this up now.'

Not that she regretted it. No, she was aware enough of her own sexuality and the responses of those around her to recognise that there was a mutual attraction between them. She'd no idea what he saw in her, but she knew why she liked him. Snape might not be conventionally attractive but she'd always been interested in men despite rather than because of their looks - Victor Krum was an excellent example. The aura of power that surrounded her former Professor was very attractive. No, it wouldn't be a hardship on her part to fulfil her end of the deal. But would he go for it? She really did need an escort to save her from the worst of her prospective suitors at the blasted ministry events…

He was still sitting silently opposite her, contemplating her thoughtfully. She sagged in disappointment, sure he was going to decline her.

"So. How would this work then?" He sneered. "I'm sure you've got it all planned out already, Miss Granger?"

She ducked her head and smiled swiftly in secret victory, unable to stop herself. If he was willing to discuss it then there was a fair chance he was interested.

"Hardly, Professor, you were the one who suggested it after all." She paused to think. "Well… from my perspective, at the obligatory events I'd like you to dance with me when I wish to dance unless I have another suitable partner, and to keep me company the rest of the time so I don't have to deal with the idiots who usually approach me. Of course, if you wish to dance with someone else as well I won't stop you, but I would prefer you to spend the majority of the evening escorting me. At least until the more persistent ones get the message that I'm not available. For that…" She paused again, unsure of how much to offer, given that he was a Slytherin and therefore well practiced in the art of getting the best out of any bargain. "I'm not sure, Sir. What would you want for that?"

Now that was the question! What did he want in return?

"Let's see Miss Granger. Not that I've agreed to this foolishness but… Hypothetically, for every evening I spend escorting you, I think I would like a corresponding amount of time spent with me doing what I please."

"The same night?" She asked, curious.

He frowned and ran a finger around his teacup as he weighed up his options. "No, not necessarily. After all we've not been able to leave some of those damned events until the early hours of the morning. I'm an old man," he smirked at her, "I need my sleep."

She laughed, knowing full well that a wizard in his early forties was well within his prime.

"If I agreed," he continued, his focus still fixed on the teacup in front of him, "What would be your limitations around our time together here?"

It was her turn to look away, slightly embarrassed. "Well, Professor, I don't know. How about we just see how we go? Like I said before, if you suggest something that I don't want to do, I'll tell you and we can negotiate."

"Ah, Miss Granger, but you see, that leaves me at a disadvantage," he drawled. "After all, how am I to know that after you've had agreement from me that you wouldn't declare yourself unwilling to do more than sleep in my bed fully clothed? Thus answering to the letter if not the spirit of our agreement."

She looked up at him with eyes flashing indignantly, finally able to make eye contact. "Professor, I would hope that you hadn't spent the last seven years in my presence to think so little of my honour! I won't slight you on this. If you want it in bald terms then, I Hermione Granger, agree to have sexual intercourse with you, Severus Snape."

He was amused to notice a faint blush spread across her cheeks as she continued, her voice soft now, "I'd have hoped Professor, that with a little consideration on both of our parts it might be fun for both of us. I've no intention of acting like a martyr or lying back and thinking of England. If we don't find a mutually satisfying approach to our interactions in both the ballroom and the bedroom then I'll call the whole thing off."

It was her tone of shy hopefulness that convinced him more than her words. Besides, he did know her. She would be as irritatingly Gryffindorishly honest with this transaction as she was with all others.

"Although you raise a good point, Sir," She looked up slyly, "How do I know you won't change the rota so you aren't attending the same events as me? Maybe I need to be more explicit in my request too?"

He tried to look affronted but really he was too tired to make a real go of it, so he settled for a sneer. It had been a long day and his - cold and empty - bed was calling to him. "Don't you trust me, Miss Granger?"

"Oh yes," she replied, quick as a flash, "I trust you to make the best deal possible for yourself out of any negotiation."

He smirked.

"In fact, Professor, I think we need some kind of contract. I'd hate for one of us to forget an important detail after all."

"Miss Granger, not everything has to be written down and defined to the nth degree," he said acidly, his voice rich with scorn. "If it were up to you I'm sure it would be mapped on one of your infernal planners with the time allocated between foreplay, sex and an obligatory 3 minute cuddle afterwards. Heaven forbid we leave anything to chance."

He would have stood and made his exit then had he not seen the brief flash of hurt in her eyes and the way her shoulders slumped imperceptibly at his criticism. He didn't really understand why. After all, he'd been calling her an insufferable know it all, and an irritating chit since she was eleven. Surely she was immune to his comments by now?

"Look, its late," he offered in a conciliatory way, "Why don't we both sleep on it and discuss this further tomorrow. Things might look very different to you in the harsh light of day."

She nodded, her shoulders still slumped. Of course, he wasn't to know how often the nasty teasing around the school had focused on her planner. She'd endured years of sitting in the library listening to groups of snickering adolescents making similar snide comments on how she would schedule a boyfriend in around her studies… that was, if anyone actually wanted to date the straight-laced bookworm. Still, this wasn't school and she was a war hero now dammit - she deserved some fun and if she wanted that to be with this man, then she was going to have it. Taking a deep breath she made a conscious effort to put the hurt away.

Her head came up and he was somewhat alarmed to see a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Professor…" she began.

He groaned inwardly, knowing full well that look boded him no good whatsoever. Flicking his hand to indicate she should continue he scowled at her, waiting to see what trouble she was about to incite.

She got up from her chair and walked around the table back to where he was sitting until she stood as close as she could to his chair, leaning herself on the table in a faked casual pose. He could hear her breathing, and smell a faint trace of the perfume she had worn for the evening. He pulled his chair away from the table in alarm at her predatory look and was about to get up and walk out when her hand on his shoulder stilled him.

"No, stay there please Sir. I was thinking, you and I are working on a lot of supposition right now. Would it be helpful to have some more evidence before we leave this for today?" Her voice was full of as much promise as she could manage, trying to hide her inexperience and discomfort behind a brash Gryffindor approach.

"What were you thinking, Miss Granger?" His tone was stiffly formal as he sat ramrod straight in his chair, arms crossed tightly across his chest, his unease coming off him in waves.

Noticing this, she stepped away slightly to give him some space until he relaxed almost imperceptibly.

"A kiss." She said simply.

"A kiss?" He was faintly incredulous. She wanted to kiss him? Although given their proposed arrangement that would be just the tip of the iceberg, he supposed.

"Yes, one kiss. To prove we don't dislike the thought of touching each other, either on the dance floor or in the bedroom, and to see if there is enough of a spark to make this arrangement of ours a pleasant experience for us both." She caught his eye shyly, all hints of attempted seductress gone, "Professor, please?"

He softened. He could read her easily and could see she was nowhere near as confident as she was trying to make out. Despite her sophisticated robes and touch of makeup she looked very young to him, standing barefoot in the kitchen with bubblegum-pink toenails, biting her lip. No longer the child that had graced his classrooms, 'Thank Merlin!'But not exactly a woman yet either, despite the ravages of the war. 'She's managed to retain an innocence about her. No idea how given what she's seen and done.'Making the decision to humour her, he stifled yet another yawn as he reached out and pulled her onto his lap.

"Professor!" She squeaked, surprised. She tried to stand up but the angle she'd fallen at left her off balance and unable to get up straight away. She couldn't help but notice in a distant part of her brain that squirming against him as she did felt rather good.

"Come on then, pet," he leered deliberately, as exaggeratedly lecherous as he could manage in his tired state, rearranging her until she was seated across him and wrapping his arms around her loosely, "I believe you promised me a kiss."

It took her mere moments to realise what he was doing and she relaxed instantly, giggling at his expression and enjoying the game. "Why yes Sir," she simpered, one hand on his chest, "I do believe I did…" and with that she leant forward and kissed him.

...

He tasted of tea - hot and faintly bitter from the tannin rich brew. She meant to make it a light kiss, something gentle and over in a breath, as she knew she'd pushed him into it.

A token.

A promise, maybe.

Sure enough, she merely ghosted his lips and pulled back. But as she withdrew his arms tightened around her and he followed her until their lips met again and this time they didn't break apart. Then his hands were sliding down to her waist gently urging her to continue and his mouth opened and his tongue danced across hers…

When they finally came up for air Severus was the first to recover enough to speak.

"Well." He looked at her speculatively with one eyebrow raised as she tried to catch her breath. "Clearly chemistry isn't going to be an issue, Granger."

She smiled shyly, still slightly dazed, and carefully extricating herself from his lap. "I believe that's my cue to leave. Goodnight Professor."

He replied absently, "Goodnight, Miss Granger," his mind on the unexpectedly pleasant kiss they had just shared. He leant back and closed his eyes in contemplation, her scent still surrounding him. With a start he realised he'd dozed off and she was long gone and he was sitting alone in the cold kitchen woolgathering. He stood abruptly and headed off to bed. There would be time enough to analyse the evening's events in the morning.

oOo

The morning came all too quickly for Hermione, who never seemed to get enough sleep. No matter that it had been the early hours when she'd got to bed, she still spent half the night tossing and turning. Then, when she finally did succumb, it felt like only moments later that she heard someone get up to start breakfast and the sound of the ancient boiler galvanising itself into action shuddered through the whole house. She could have put a silencing charm up and shut out the noise but by then the damage was done and she was wide awake.

Insomnia was one of her souvenirs of war, along with the tendency to hex first and ask questions later, and bones that ached in cold weather thanks to Bellatrix's vindictive use of the cruciatus curse at Malfoy Manor.

Hermione didn't rush to get up and join the household. She lay in bed thinking over the surprising events of the previous night.

The ball had been tedious, as they almost always were. With nothing better to do, she'd spent the evening amusing herself by observing Professor Snape whilst being dragged around the dance floor by various men, all interchangeably bland and instantly forgettable. He was conspicuously absent from the dancing after his obligatory turns with Hestia and then herself - where he was as stiffly formal and correct as usual, prompting her to seek him out. He had clearly cast notice-me-not charms around himself as her eyes had slid over his form without acknowledgement. It was only when she made a concerted effort to look into the shadowed corner that she had worked out he must have been sitting in that she was able to make out his figure, barely visible even without the assistance of a charm, given his head-to-toe black clothing. He was relaxed, leaning back in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. She could see him idly rolling a glass of firewhiskey between the long fingers of his left hand whilst his right held open a book.

Unfortunately, before she was able to make out the book title her bumbling dance partner swept her around in an attempt to spin her, before tripping over his own toes and nearly sending them both flying. It was only her judicial application of an anti-tripping charm to both of their feet that saved them from that embarrassment.

Hermione had gritted her teeth and allowed the man to finish the dance but had excused herself as soon as she could to escape to the seating area and a rest for her poor abused toes. She had looked longingly at the Professor's quiet corner and thought how nice it would be to escape to it and hide in the darkness with a book. Alas, being a famous war heroine, not to mention young, single and reasonably attractive, meant her chances of slipping away were nil. The best she could do was to plead tiredness for a couple of dances then snag Neville for the next. He might not be the world's best dancer, but at least he didn't spent the time trying to get into her knickers, or her Gringott's vault.

It had been a very pleasant surprise when the Professor had sat down in the kitchen with her later that night. She'd noticed he was more sociable now than he had been at Hogwarts, even deigning to speak to his former students on rare occasions. However she hadn't had a chance to speak one on one with him for some time. Thanks to Harry's generosity every bedroom at Grimmauld Place was occupied so the house was always busy with people coming and going. It was great in some ways but meant private conversations were limited.

His willingness to chat with her the previous night had been unexpected. Not only that but he had been relaxed and even joked with her. That was what had thrown her... He sat at the table drinking tea and joked. With her.

She had always known in some vague way that he wasn't just her teacher and a war hero but was also a man, but it hadn't been until that moment, when he'd made his comment about having a witch in his bed, that she had suddenly become achingly aware of his masculinity. Not only that but he was brave and loyal, clever and well read, and offering to make her life easier by escorting her to the balls.

No wonder she had felt a fierce longing to know him better and see that side of him again. No wonder the idea of bedding him was so very appealing.

oOo

For Severus the lure of coffee ensured he was up and out of his bed at his usual early hour, greeting the other occupant of the kitchen with a brusk "morning" before he filled a cup and disappeared back out of the room into the relative peace of the library. Experience had taught him that the last place he wanted to be before he'd consumed a substantial amount of caffeine was the kitchen. On week days, it bore a striking resemblance to Piccadilly Circus with everyone rushing in and out, grabbing toast and juice on their way to the floo. At weekends someone usually got a fry-up going and people tended to slope in late and linger over toast and the sunday papers. He wasn't in the mood for breakfast or conversation so a swift retreat was definitely in order.

Despite the intriguing developments of the previous night, he purposely didn't dwell on them. Instead he settled into his favourite battered leather armchair by the fireplace and cracked open the charms book he had picked up the previous evening. He wasn't worried about Granger. She was a typical Gryffindor… there was no way she wouldn't come find him and initiate a conversation once she was ready to do so. All he had to do was wait.

'Although odds-on she's going to come tell me it was all a big mistake, or point blank deny any knowledge of the conversation. Not that I care.' He thought snidely, unwilling to admit to himself that he was actually interested in the little witch and that he would be disappointed if she backed down.

It wasn't long before the grey-tinged light of dawn that he had awoken to was replaced with yet another sunny day. The optimism of the wizarding world post-war (along with the banishment of the Dementors) was ensuring that the summer was looking to be the most temperate the UK had experienced in years. Long hot days were followed by cool drizzly nights - perfect. Unless, of course, you wore a lot of black and spent most of the year in a castle dungeon in the Scottish Highlands. In that case, the glorious sunshine was more of a hazard than a pleasure. Still, there was no point being a wizard if you weren't proficient in the little spells that made life more comfortable, such as cooling charms and potions to avoid sunburn.

He put down the book when the sunlight reflecting off the pages became too bright. It would be no effort at all to wave his wand and close the curtains but for once he was loath to sit in the dark. If he was honest with himself, he knew the sunlight was merely an excuse. He was actually feeling rather lazy and that the book he'd chosen, although undoubtedly fascinating, was rather heavy going and required an understanding of arithmancy just beyond his comfort level. Instead he closed his eyes and basked in the rays warming the old brown leather seat he was in. 'This must be what it is like to be a cat,' he thought idly, 'Snoozing away the day. It's really rather pleasant. No wonder Minerva spends so much time in her animagus form.'

Of course, with little to occupy his mind now, his thoughts drifted back to the interesting kitchen encounter of the previous night. He was still a little bit in shock in all honesty. He hadn't meant it seriously when he'd said about wanting company in bed. Well, he'd meant in, but he hadn't meant it. Not for her anyway. But then she had responded. With enthusiasm.

Severus was well aware that his new reputation as the love-lorn spy who spent twenty years pining over his childhood sweetheart made women go weak at the knees - something he'd used to his advantage many a time when he wanted an easy lay. But this was Miss Granger, who surely only thought of him as her grumpy old Potions Professor? Surely as someone who had spent time with him, and as someone not given over to excessively romantic flights of fancy, she knew he was just as curmudgeonly as he had always seemed. Unlike the women he met now who thought it was all an act, and that he just needed a woman who understood.

He snorted in dry amusement. He knew himself very well thank you and wasn't about to change for anyone, least of all some floozy he'd just met. Although he would never admit it to anyone, he was actually quite content with his life, especially now both of his masters were 6 foot under. He would prefer less of the socialising he was being forced into at the present time, but that would taper off quickly once the summer ended and term resumed at Hogwarts. Besides… if Miss Granger actually went through with her foolish bargain then even those evenings spent trying not to hex the dunderheads who tried to talk to him would have their own reward.

"Despite myself I do feel a little sorry for the girl,' he thought, remembering how many evenings she had come home looking pale and weary from having to fend off unsuitable wizards - the rest of the Golden Trio far too self-centred to notice that she needed a little support. 'Perhaps I'll make an effort to stick by her side for a week or so,' he mused charitably, 'It wouldn't exactly be a hardship and might just thin the herd a touch for her. Give me a chance to cast silent hexes too - I'm getting out of practice,' he thought with a smirk.

With that thought in mind he settled back in his chair and daydreamed about the most inventive time-delayed hexes he could recall that would be appropriate for the ministry gatherings.

oOo

He woke with a start when the door of the library swung open and a voice called "Professor, I-" and then at a significantly quieter volume, "Oh, sorry Sir, I didn't mean to wake you."

He opened one eye to see Granger standing in front of him, smirking slightly at having caught him so off guard. 'Blasted snake bite - the sooner I'm fully fit again the better.'

It was a toss up between dignity and brazening it out, and the latter won. Frankly, he couldn't be arsed to care any more - she wasn't his student any more and had seen far worse than him enjoying a quiet nap. He shut his eye again and drawled, "Ah, Miss Granger, I did wonder when I'd see you this morning. Here to thank me for my offer and politely decline?"

He could feel her hovering in front of him for a moment longer, then she moved to the side and sat down in the chair on the other side of the fireplace.

"No, Sir, not quite."

He raised an eyebrow in query, sensing that she was watching him.

"I…

"That is…

"Um…"

With a sigh he opened his eyes and fixed his stare on her. "Miss Granger, I haven't got all day."

At her amused look at him and the closed book on his lap he had the grace to look mildly abashed. Still, he waited for her to get to the point.

"I-think-it's-a-good-idea-and-we-should-do-it," she said in a nervous rush.

He looked blankly at her for a moment before he managed to process what she'd said into english.

"So a night's sleep wasn't enough to deter you from this foolish path?"

"Oh, come on Professor," she chided, her confidence returning now she'd made her position clear, "It was your suggestion anyway, so it can't be that foolish. I want a break from all the idiots standing on my toes, and you want no-strings sex with someone who doesn't think you are some Byronesque hero who needs saving from himself."

At that bold comment he went as far as to open his eyes and look at her more closely. "Indeed."

"Well," she justified, "It doesn't take a genius to work out what they all think of you, not given the gossip at the dances, and the ridiculous editorials the Prophet insists on writing about you. Anyone who has spent any time actually with you knows full well you…" She trailed off, suddenly aware of how the words sounded now they were out in the open. It had all sounded so much better in her head.

"No, go on, Miss Granger," Snape's voice was silky smooth and very dangerous, "Tell me, what is it everyone knows about me."

'In for a penny… he can't hex me too badly here anyway,' she comforted herself. "Well," she replied carefully, "What I meant was that anyone who has come through your classroom is well aware you are not one to suffer fools gladly. So I don't expect you appreciate the attention on your previous actions, especially by some of the simpering idiots I've seen fawning over you."

"Maybe I like the fawning," he returned, deceptively mild, unsure whether to be amused or outraged at her opinion of his love life. "Have you considered that Miss Granger?"

"Well yes," she told him blithely, "Of course I considered that, but if that was the case you'd have spent the last few weeks tarting around the ballroom like Ron does, chatting up all your eager groupies. Instead you hide in the corner with a notice-me-not charm and a book. And you wouldn't be interested in a girl like me. I might have managed to convince Gringotts I was Bellatrix," she looked down at herself wryly, "But I don't think I could pull off empty-headed bimbo for longer than about five minutes, let alone look at you adoringly for being such a brooding hero."

Amusement won out and he chuckled appreciatively. "Touché, Miss Granger. All right, you win. Next ball, I'll be your escort. Then you can accompany me to my bedroom the following night. We'll call it a trial run… if the arrangement is to our mutual satisfaction we can hash out the details for a longer agreement then."

She managed to refrain from letting out a girly squeal, but only just.

"Now. Go away. As you can tell I am very busy and need some peace and quiet, not interruptions from little Gryffindors like yourself." He waved a hand at her in dismissal then shut his eyes and settled back in the chair, fully intending to resume the rather pleasant nap he'd been taking.

Hermione sat for a moment longer, enjoying the quiet of the library before standing and making her way over to his chair. Taking a risk, she leant over and pressed a light kiss on his forehead as he sunned himself. "Thank you, Professor," she whispered before letting herself out.