I apologise for the delay; I had no time to finish this until now. Hope you like it :)
"What do you mean you can't make it??" Harry screamed through the Floo.
"Err, calm down Harry. Something came up, and I really, have to take care of it."
"We'd planned this for weeks!"
"Harry I know!" she rubbed her forehead, should have known Harry was going to make a racket, "but this is more important!"
"More important than two whole days at Majestic Magical Massages??"
Sure spending two whole work-free days, relaxing and being pampered, at the most expensive Spa Resort in the magical community was appealing, but this thing with Snape was (Hermione forced herself to think) was more appealing, and not to mention, important to her career.
Harry was fuming, and it was not just the effect of the fire, Hermione was sure. He had paid a fortune for this no-expense-spared trip, and the bookings had to be made nearly a month in advance.
"Harry…" she reasoned with him, "This is important to me."
Harry deflated a little, but not too much.
"Can't you just put it off till, I don't know, next week or even next weekend?"
Hermione imagined herself talking to Snape to let her postpone their sessions so that she could go to a spa.
If Harry wasn't so serious, Hermione was sure she'd have died laughing.
Asking Snape to take a break.
Unwittingly, a snort escaped her, and Harry gained full force.
"It's not trivial! It's certainly not funny!"
"Harry! No! It's not funny, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way, I was, err… laughing at my own geeky-ness in placing extra work over rest, but, I really can't get out of this."
She could see he crossed his hands. "Move."
It took a moment for her to understand what he had meant, and she barely made it out of the way before Harry's boots came out of the fire.
Hermione was therefore, forced to dive sideways from a kneeling position, which meant she didn't miss the sofa leg, not by half.
"OW!"
"''Mione?" Harry was looking around.
"Down here!" She snapped, raising herself on one elbow, as best as she could without bumping into the back of his legs.
On second thoughts, maybe she should send Harry flying across the sitting room table.
Harry sympathetically winced at her position and helped her up to the sofa.
"I did tell you to move."
"Half a second before your boot barely missed my face!"
Harry looked properly apologetic.
He helped her make an ice pack, and perched on the table.
"What's this 'thing' about anyway?"
"Err… you know how I'm required to earn a Master in Transfiguration to keep this post, yes?"
"Uh-Huh."
"Well, I thought I might as well get a Master in a few other subjects as well, after all, I did pass all the NEWTs I sat for."
"What? That means," Harry counted silently, "Four??" He looked as if his eyes would pop out, "'Mione, it could become really, very, very heavy!" He weighed down every word with dread.
Not to mention, Hermione under such stress would become, really very, very unmanageable, and hysterical; not to mention depressed and paranoid. They had enough of that during their (delayed) NEWT exams. Harry and Ron had concentrated on passing Defence and Charms, and both had managed Defence, but Harry had managed Charms too. Ron, was pretty happy with one.
"I know," Hermione sighed and slumped a little, "But I really need to finish this, and its better that I take them together."
"Are you sure? Who's coaching you?"
"Err, yes I'm sure, and oh, well Minerva of course, Dumbledore will help and a few others."
"Hmm," Harry frowned, "It's strange."
Hermione gulped; did he figure out something was out of place?
"What's strange?" she asked nervously.
"Calling the professors by their first name," he chuckled, "imagine if that old bat of a Snape was here; he'd have an aneurism if you called him Severus."
"Professor Snape, Harry."
He waved about, "yeah, yeah; the git."
Hermione was surprised at her internal need to defend said Git, but she bit her tongue and said nothing. She was relieved that Harry didn't suspect a thing; but of course, the paranoia always kicked in.
"He's a great man, Harry," she admonished him.
"Hang on, Hermione, he WAS a great Git."
"Err, right, Was a great Git, err, Man."
"Are you sure you're alright? You look a bit flustered."
"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be fine?"
"Well, you are turning red at the ears and looking flushed. Did that fever come back? Need more potions?"
"NO!" she calmed down as best as she could, "no, I just need some rest."
"Right," Harry looked at her dubiously, "oh hey!" he brightened, "maybe you can come next weekend? I'm sure the spa will make special consideration for Harry Potter?" he tapped his chin.
"Harry! Using your fame like that. I never thought!"
He shrugged and smiled lopsidedly, as if to say, "Can't hurt any."
"Besides," she continued, "Weekends are the only time I will get to study, so they're out of the question."
"'Mione!" Harry groaned and flopped down next to her on the sofa, "you've got to be the most obsessed person ever!"
"Hey! I'm not! Besides, it will be over as soon as I can do it, and I hope to finish by the next school year."
"A WHOLE YEAR?? MIONE!" Harry's head hit the back of the sofa and he theatrically threw his arm over his eyes.
"Please Harry. You know I need to do this, especially after all the mess with Ron," her eyes misted, and Harry melted.
"Alright, 'Mione," he hugged her sideways, and stuck his face into her hair, "I get it, and I promise I will be here to nag and get you to take a break."
Hermione smiled and leaned into the embrace. It was good to have some physical contact after so long. It wasn't like she could go hug any of the teachers at whim.
Imagine the look on professor Snape's face if she hugged him impulsively, Hermione giggled. She'd probably be splattered all over his pristine house.
"What's funny?"
"Nothing," Hermione giggled, "Just thinking how Professor McGonagall would react to a random hug."
Harry snorted into her hair and sent strands flying. Hermione wiggled when his breath glazed over her neck; she was very ticklish.
Which Harry promptly noticed, and took ruthless advantage of.
They both landed in a giggling heap, poking and tickling each other mercilessly; Hermione squealed and laughed, gasping for breath, and barely having recovered before Harry went at it again.
A few minutes later, Hermione pleaded with Harry to stop, and he finally relented. They didn't move, trying to gain some bearing, and their breath back. Harry was half on top of Hermione, with one thigh between her legs and Hermione had curled a leg around it. Harry's hand was on her stomach and one of hers was playing with his hair.
His face was buried in her hair and was therefore not visible to Dumbledore, who had arrived just then, and found the two curled in such an intimate position.
Naturally, he misunderstood.
Had he known that it was Harry, he might not have stuck that titbit of a scene into his arsenal for later gossip.
Had he known it was Harry, he might not have chosen one supposedly dead grumpy potions' master as one of his targets for said gossip.
It was of course, an established fact that an innumerable number of completely jobless portraits would contribute to the current standing position of Hogwarts, as the most outrageous gossip factory, in all of England.
Of course the French had Beaubaxtons to represent the gossip capital of France. No one knew what was the case with Durmstrang, and frankly, no one cared. Durmstrang had been romanticised with Hermione Jean Granger's short but well publicised affair with Krum; it quickly lost appeal.
And while Jonathan AK.A. Severus Snape denied any interest in the juicy news that the former headmaster shared so generously with him, he did file it away to use in future insulting statements against the poor victim that was one Hermione Jean Granger.
You couldn't kill a portrait now, could you?