I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank Glorioux, Lima Bean – my brilliant betas. A special thanks goes also to my consultant Ignaty.

To Be a Woman

Chapter Eleven

Reflections of a Pensive Trio or Two Weeks Later

Did you ever notice, my darlings, how different people treat their mirrors? Some people see their own reflection as a companion, admiring it and finding it difficult to take their eyes off such perfection. It is typical for these people to spend a significant amount of time in front of their mirrors and even, to talk with their own reflection occasionally. I would call these people the mirror lovers.

Others use mirrors only for their primary purpose, namely, just to check their reflection, making sure that all is fine and dandy and then go on with their lives. They also spend time with their mirrors, and it is not beneath them to give their reflection an affectionate wink once in a while. The name for this group would be the mirror users.

And, finally, there is the third type of people who almost never use mirrors. They hate their reflection and look at it only when it is inevitable and utterly necessary. The mirror haters they would be called, if, that is, they were ever interested enough to listen.

Lucius – Taming the Lioness

With womankind, the less we love them,
the easier they become to charm,
the tighter we can stretch above them
enticing nets to do them harm. (A.S. Pushkin)

Thursday morning found our blond and oh-so-very handsome wizard in an excellent mood. Lucius Malfoy stood in his private chamber in front of the enormous mirror getting ready for Hermione's presentation. No surprise here, if you ask light-grey eyes were focused on his reflection, while his well-manicured, aristocratic fingers were deftly fixing his silk cravat.

A relaxed smile played on his sensual lips. The wizard was pleased – two weeks had gone by and everything had happened according to his plan. The little witch was moving in the right direction, and he could already recognise the taste of a very near success.

Looking in his mirror, Lucius uttered a soft chuckle – these ten days had been extremely compelling, entertaining and rewarding. For the first time, our Lord Malfoy had been given an opportunity to closely observe the Gryffindor princess.

She was fascinating – witty, sharp and passionate, though in this particular case, about her political career. The power, the life force, radiating from the young witch had enthralled our cool Slytherin snake. Deep in his heart, he felt an irresistible urge to snake himself around her pliant curves and bask in the warmth that she emitted. She was just so lively, so soft, so inviting.

The young lioness, indeed,smiled Lucius at his reflection once more. Lord Malfoy was not in a hurry this morning. He let his mind wander off to what had transpired between him and the little witch during these days of working together.

Sure enough, the young Gryffindor had been all prickly and mistrusting at first. Hermione Granger had come to their first meeting with her defensive walls raised up to the sky. Luckily, Lucius had been ready for that as he knew she would not trust him. And honestly, why on earth should she trust him?

The lunch on their first Monday, almost two weeks before, had been a rather cold and stilted affair. Lucius had seen clearly that the witch was expecting him to jump on her at every moment. This hadn't been that surprising after his behaviour on the day of her first presentation. He had – rather shamelessly, by the way – used all the fine skills in seduction the Malfoy men had acquired over the centuries. Oh well, my darlings, we know quite well, that our blond wizard had had a specific goal in mind at that point – he needed her to agree to their collaboration and to accept his assistance. (Thank Merlin, the witch didn't know about the invitations!)

Now, however, once Hermione had agreed to allow him to help, Lucius had to gain the witch's trust. Unsurprisingly, Malfoy, being Malfoy, knew precisely how to deal with the witch who was distrustful and even somewhat frightened of his sexual advances. He had retreated.

It had been a perfectly thought out plan – he would simply let the woman's curiosity do what needed to be done. He knew the girl would first calm down, then become intrigued, and before even noticing it, the little witch would be eating from his hands.

For the duration of those two weeks, he had kept up a strictly professional attitude towards her. The crafty wizard had given Hermione just enough time and space to get used to him – to his presence, to his voice, to his scent. Not once during the entire ten days had our Lord Malfoy allowed himself to touch her. Nope, he had religiously kept his distance, although, I have to mention, my friends, it was not easy – she was a tasty little morsel after all.

Sure enough, this tactic had worked like a charm. It was riveting and gratifying for Lucius to watch how, slowly, Hermione's defences had been lowered, how, bit-by-bit, the curly haired witch had begun to trust him more and more.

By Friday, Hermione had been comfortable enough to sit near him without being afraid that he would force his male attention on her. By the second Monday, she had felt confident enough to talk with Lucius about general subjects, apart from her initiative. They worked on her project, they talked, and they laughed.

Lucius actually had taken the time and read the girl's papers quite carefully, and so he was able to show the young and eager politician all the weak points. He had helped her to make them stronger, noticing with satisfaction how a spark of appreciation lit up Hermione's velvety-brown eyes.

To Lucius' amazement, they had been able to meet at the Ministry on Saturday and Sunday, as well. Oh, what a delightful surprise that was. Probably Severus had managed to ruin the romance with the young witch once again,assumed our blond wizard. Hence, the little lioness spent a significant amount of time with our Lord Malfoy, as he had indeed been aiming and hoping for, when he tampered with her invitations in the first place.

However, the apotheosis, so to speak, had been reached on Wednesday, when Hermione allowed him to take her out for an early dinner. There, sitting in the restaurant, Lucius finally had let his eyes wander. The witch had an amazingly luminous complexion – her peach-coloured skin literally glowed in a softly lit restaurant. Our Lord Malfoy could already imagine how beautiful she would look with her hair adorned with the vintage ivory hairpieces from his family's vaults. How marvellously his grandmother's emeralds earrings would accentuate her hot chocolate coloured eyes. And the thought of how temptingly delicious his mother's pearls would curl around Hermione's long neck made the blond wizard inwardly groan.

She was exquisite. An intense ardour to touch her wild, springy curls had made his fingers itch. He yearned to feel their luscious weight in his hands. Her gentle profile, little pert nose, soft chin line, full bright rose lips – oh, how the wizard was yearning to kiss and caress the delicate features of her face.

With a strenuous effort and active employment of his self-discipline, Lucius barely had managed not to throw his resolve of 'no touching' overboard. A desire to take her beautiful, young face into both of his hands and cover it with feather-light kisses was burning him alive. He had wanted to trace her plump lips with his thumb, maybe even dipping it in her hot mouth. He had wanted to graze the back of his hand over the curve of her neck, her collarbone, her breast...

If there were any doubts in the blond wizard's mind about the witch, after dinner they all vanished. The witch was irresistible, and he wanted her all to himself, the sooner the better.

This thought returned our Lord Malfoy to reality. The cravat that he had been tying looked flawless. Lucius put on his black cashmere overcoat and gave his reflection a last, careful once over. Satisfied with the view, he clicked his tongue, drawled softly, "To the witch," winked to himself and left his private chamber.

Hermione – Trusting the Snake

At the same time, Hermione Granger had been bolting through her London flat, hectically trying to get ready for the day. On this particular Thursday morning, our Gryffindor princess' head was filled by a motley array of thoughts. They jostled in her head unhindered, significantly slowing Hermione's progress in finishing an extremely serious task – choosing an outfit.

Along with a vast number of irrelevant and petty musings, three main thoughts occupied Hermione Granger's mind today. Here they are, my darlings, in order of relevance: the presentation of her initiative, Severus Snape, or, more precisely, the lack of him, and finally, Lucius Malfoy and his freaking niceness.

First and foremost was today's presentation, of course, which had eventually brought Hermione to her mirror this morning. She truly needed to look presentable for her speech, and so, Hermione paid unusually meticulous attention to her outfit. Looking at her reflection thoughtfully, she weighed her options. Her clothes needed to be perfect – not too fashionable and, at the same time, not overly prissy.

After a thorough analysis of her reflection in the mirror, Hermione finally decided on light-blue robes. They were a perfect combination of classic and modern – finely tailored from light wool, they hugged Hermione's every curve, while the clean lines of the contemporary cut and a spring colour gave them a fresh look. With a determined expression, Hermione took the robes out of her wardrobe and put them on quickly. Oh, yes! Excellent,she thought, giving herself a smile of reassurance.

Now, with the issue of the outfit solved, our young witch's mind smoothly moved to the next topic that had been filling her head lately – Severus Snape. At this point, my friends, I have to inform you that the Potions master had quite crudely permitted himself to disappear from Hermione's horizon for a full thirteen days. From the moment our outraged and furious lioness had Apparated home after their fight on that bloody Friday night, she hadn't heard so much as a peep from him.

The anger had carried her through the weekend. However, quite soon – on Monday, to be precise – Hermione had begun to question the correctness of her judgement, her reactions, her behaviour – everything.

Have you ever been there, my dear ones, in that awfully uncomfortable state of mind? At first, you know for sure that you are right, but after a while, those pesky doubts began to emerge and attack you from every corner of your consciousness, and then, eventually, they crawl under your skin, making you annoyingly unsure of everything, especially of yourself and your actions.

Yes, our golden girl had gone exactly into that rabbit hole. Thus, her state of mind, particularly concerning Severus Snape, was not at all peaceful and positive. Our poor witch had played and replayed the whole scene of their confrontation in her head a thousand times, trying to understand where she had gone wrong. Why was he, Severus Snape, still not by her door, begging for forgiveness, or, at least, mumbling some sort of apology? It had been thirteen days, for Merlin's sake.

Hermione drew a heavy sigh and straightened her light-blue robes. She gave her reflection a long gaze and proceeded with taming her curls. She was determined to work them into a tight and elegant bun today.

While she was battling with her unruly curls, her thoughts returned to the one black-haired wizard – she honestly couldn't understand this man. It seemed to our witch that he was purposely driving her away from him. Yet, his eagerness, his desire for her and his passion, were telling her the opposite.

"Darn! What is wrong with this wizard?" whispered our lioness angrily.

There was no use in these musings and Hermione knew that. Severus hadn't come to her, and that was the best indication of how he felt about her. For the millionth time, the young witch told herself to stop thinking about him, to forget and move on with her life.

The brown eyes in her reflection in the mirror became a bit wet, and so Hermione took a deep breath and smiled to herself. No tears today, not for Severus. The presentation should be my main concern,she chastised herself.

She felt confident, at least more confident than she had felt immediately after her first presentation. Lucius Malfoy had undoubtedly helped. No matter how unbelievable it sounded at first, he truly had.

The blond wizard had actually spent an outrageous number of long hours working with Hermione, helping her to launch her political career. She had been extremely cautious at first, of course, thinking that he was interested in her only because of some weird, sexual fantasy involving a Muggle-born witch. Thus, Hermione had been prepared to hex him into oblivion the minute he tried something.

But surprisingly, he hadn't. There were no sexual innuendoes from the blond wizard, none at all. Quite frankly, my dear friends, the lack of any lewd actions made Hermione wonder. Why was this kind of interest in her lacking? He most certainly had done it had happened? Did he not find her attractive anymore?

All these questions swirled in our witch's mind, plaguing her with doubt. Curious, Hermione began to pay relatively close attention to Lucius. And to be honest, as the week had progressed, Lucius Malfoy had proved to be quite an intriguing companion. He had taught her many little nuances about politics, and had showed her how to improve her initiative. He had even suggested and persuaded Hermione to ask for a better, bigger room for the presentation.

Together, they had remade and resent the invitations. In other words, two weeks had been spent in intensive work and collaboration. She got used to him, to his soft drawls and murmurs, to his light, cool, eyes, to his well-balanced, calm attitude. More than once during these days, Hermione's eyes, seemingly of their own accord, had gazed over Lucius' impressive physique, taking in his broad chest, platinum locks and even – ahem – his scrumptious looking bum in those tight-fitted cashmere trousers. (Oh, yes, he had removed his outer robes pretty often during their work sessions.)

Darn, damn you, Severus Snape, and your stupid jealousy!

Our young witch felt neglected by a certain black-haired wizard. And, to make things worse, Lucius Malfoy happened to be a rather alluring and tempting distraction. Plus, his willingness to assist her stirred a certain degree of appreciation towards him in Hermione's heart.

Double darn, she sighed.

When eventually, the last pin was masterfully inserted into a tightly braided bun, our young politician, after a quick last glance at her reflection, snatched her purse from the toilette table and hurriedly walked to the fireplace. A second later, a green flame of the Floo carried her to the Ministry.

Severus – Overpowering the Dragon

Severus Snape glared into his mirror with annoyance. He had never been particularly partial to his reflection. He did not hate it per se; his self-loathing never went that far. Yet he, nevertheless, limited the number of his encounters with the mirror to the minimum. Shaving, as you can guess, demanded the use of one. Therefore, Severus stood in front of the mirror, forced to look at his , on Thursday, exactly thirteen days after his infamous outburst of jealous rage, Severus Snape finally concluded what he needed. He needed Hermione Granger.

This seemingly simple decision did not come easily to our Potions master. The entire two weeks were spent in tortuously long and excruciating battles with himself, battles, in which there were no winners and no answers in sight. For a prolonged time, Severus was simply furious. When at last the suffocating wave of anger and jealousy had subsided, Severus was finally able to cool down and analyze the situation calmly. Regaining rationality had, however, taken until Wednesday.

After a methodical examination, he understood quite quickly that he had managed to fuck everything up again. Our hapless lover, armed with this conclusion, needed to decide if he wanted to do something about it or not. And that, my darlings, took the rest of the thirteen days.

Even though regret had replaced anger, the fire-breathing dragon of jealousy was still a red-hot ember, burning deeply in Severus' heart. Regret is a terrible thing, my darlings. It could consume a heart, even the most hardened, weathered and rugged one, in no time. Regret and jealousy combined is a simply unbearable mixture. These two strong feelings were tormenting Severus.

He couldn't decide what he wanted, his comfortable and habitual misery, or an uncomfortably unknown, unpredictable and perhaps illusory happiness. If – oh, how easily this bloody 'if' drove our black-haired wizard into an absolute and utter madness – if this freaking happiness was still possible for him. Severus was not sure at all that it was. He had, after all, repeatedly behaved like a complete git. In other words, our wizard was stuck in an impasse.

However, as time passed, our Potions master noticed the disturbing signs. He missed the witch enormously. He couldn't sleep well – the image of Hermione on top of him, making love to him, haunted Severus, dispelling his already rather fragile peace. He couldn't brew his potions. Oh well, he could brew them, but the process no longer brought him calm contentment.

Time made a decision for him – he longed to have his witch in his arms, to feel her writhe in an ecstasy that he and only he had the right to give her. In the end, everything was quite straightforward, really. The wizard wanted the witch, and he was going to go and get her. Therefore, on this Thursday, he stood in his bathroom in front of his unloved mirror, shaving and thinking about the young witch.

The plan was brilliant in its simplicity – Severus would appear at the presentation and try his best to win Hermione back. The fact that he had yet to find a way to deal with his jealousy, possessiveness, and inability to participate in Hermione's life didn't bother him at that moment. There was no time for this now. Other pressing matters were at hand. Severus finished shaving and walked to his wardrobe. After a few minutes, he was fully clothed in his strict, impeccably pressed black robes and ready to leave.

And he had done exactly that, not wasting any time on unnecessary reassuring glances at the mirror. The Potions master didn't need to check his reflection. He knew for certain that everything was prim and proper.