Chapter 4 - Saturday Night Fever
It was odd, the amount of casualty and coziness they had spent the morning in. Neither of them had spoken more than a few dozen words, and it was well past noon already. It didn't feel awkward at all. It was one of those comfortable silences she had heard of. (If by hearing you mean reading, of course. She was Hermione Granger, after all.)
That is why she was surprised when she heard herself ask him the question, as they were lounging on her couch, each reading a book at the opposite ends.
"Why?"
"Why what?" he asked without turning his face away from the book he was reading, his finger never ceasing to draw random runes on her naked shin.
"Why me? Why now?"
"Why not? You are gorgeous. You are intelligent. You are eligible. You materialised in that blasted bar a couple of nights ago right in front of me, and I knew I had to at least try to have you."
"I thought you hated me, had always hated me, ever since Hogwarts."
He gave her a long look over the top of his book. She was unable to read his eyes well enough to quite know what he was trying to tell with them.
"I was your professor, Granger," he answered simply, trusting her to understand the rest of it, and understand she did. Despite everything, he would have never risked his position in Hogwarts by allowing his thoughts on his students to stray to inappropriate paths.
"You were brilliant even then," he added softly from behind his book, which had caught his attention yet again.
She lowered her eyes back to her own book. Her mind did a small spin, trying to get itself agitated by the shortness of his answer and the implications of that, but she silenced it, concentrating on her book once again, idly noticing that he had drawn the rune for 'bliss' and moved on to something else. Besides, he had complimented her.
Later that evening, they were lying in her bed, trying to catch their breaths. She was on top of him, still straddling him, her head resting on his pale chest. His heart was beating under her ear in a steady if fast rhythm that was hypnotic in its way. He held her against him hard, before letting his arms fall to his sides, exhaling loudly through his nose. She lifted her head, and gave him a small kiss on top of the said nose. He was staring at the roof, his mind obviously miles and miles away. Would she dare to ask him what he was thinking? What kind of a Gryffindor would she be if she daren't? So, ask she did. The answer surprised her, sort of.
"I know I promised to spend the weekend in your bed, but I think I may have to renege that."
She heard herself answer that she would not hold it against him, that he had not really thought he would actually spend the whole weekend in her bed (not that she would have minded it if he did, though), that she did not want him to feel like he was bound to her.
His eyebrow shot up high at that. He lifted his hand to her cheek, forcing her to look into his eye. His eyes were sharp, and she couldn't help but feel like he was staring into her soul - something she knew he was fully well capable of doing.
"Granger, why would I, why should I feel like I was bound to you?"
"If you use Legilimency on me while you're physically still inside me, I'm going to hex your balls blue, no matter how awkward it would be at the office after that."
He barked a surprised laugh at her vehemence, and she knew she should be grateful that he did not push her for the answer to his question. Why would he feel bound to her? They had known each other for most her life, but they had been amiable towards each other only for the past few days - which was, coincidentally, the time they had been sleeping together, too. Was she so broken by her break-up with Ron and all that had followed, that she was somehow projecting her feelings, her need to be loved, on the man who was infamous for hiding his feelings and laugh in the face of love?
He interrupted her thoughts by a demanding kiss, apparently cataloguing all her fillings. (There were four of them, all gained during the year she had spent hunting horcruxes. She had travelled to Australia, afterwards, to have the fillings made by her parents. Not that they had recognised her, of course. She was no Gilderoy Lockhart when it came to memory charms, but her Obliviate-game was far from weak.)
"I trust you know me well enough to know that I am not one for… romances," he all but murmured, as they finally broke for air.
"Of course. I trust you are up to date enough with the gossip to know that I may be a bit… unlike myself due to… things."
"If by 'things' you refer to the ginger baboon who, for some reason, allowed you to escape from him, yes."
"It was a mutual decision, and had it not been, it would not have been for him to keep me from escaping, as you phrased it, had I not wished to stay. Ron remains to be a dear friend of mine, despite the awkwardness of our current relationship. Please, do not refer to him that way."
He kissed her, softly this time, before rolling them over.
"My apologies."
"Apology accepted."
"It does not change the fact that I am now forced to leave the confines of your bed."
"I will see you on Monday, in that case. I have a brew, which I was unable to finish on Friday, due to being distracted by a tall, dark stranger."
"I trust you have become quite well acquainted to me by now, Granger, though I do not know if that means I distract you less in the future. You are, however, correct, as usual."
He pecked a quick kiss on her forehead, got up, and soon enough, after some impressive spellwork, he was dressed. The drowsy glint in his obsidian eyes was the only sign of the fact that he had spent the most of twenty-four hours doing indecent things that were likely illegal in many parts of the wizarding world.
"I require a kiss goodbye, Master Snape," she told him, stretching languidly.
"Is that so?"
He kissed her nevertheless, before he left the apartment without a further word. Soon, she heard the telltale crack of Apparition, and knew he was gone. She wondered idly, why he had not stayed overnight, as it was already well past 6 PM. Why did she even care? They had had more sex in the last twenty-four hours than she had had the whole year prior to that, and this time quantity and quality went hand in hand. She did not fancy him, not like that. They were a good match in a way, but a relationship with him was unthinkable, no matter how nice the morning with him had been. She was not ready. He would remain her dirty little secret (and she his), while she sorted her priorities, finished her research, got her parents back, and -
The sound of her Floo activating interrupted her, before she even knew where she was heading with her thoughts.
"Hermione, are you at home?" Harry's voice sounded a bit off.
"What do you mean, is she at home, Harry? Oh bloody…" It was Ginny's voice, followed by a strange, groan-like voice.
"Hold on guys, I'll be with you in a jiffy!" Hermione shouted. She Accio-ed her bathrobe and cast an Aguamenti on her hair, as an afterthought. An interrupted bath seemed like the best reason for her current state of undress. (She would later blush at the thought of not having simply used a spell to get dressed. Some witch she was!)
Harry seemed to be fidgeting, even as a disembodied, green head, when she entered her living room and faced the fireplace, drying her hair with a towel.
"I was taking a bath. Is there something wrong?"
"Ginny's in… The baby is… Would you, please, come to St. Mungo's with us?"
"Sure, Harry, just give me a few minutes to get dry and dressed. I wouldn't want to give Skeeter more reasons to make me look like a madwoman. You can Floo there ahead of me. Tell Ginny I'll be right there, with you guys."
Ginny had asked her to be the tending Healer when it was time for her to give birth, but she had declined, claiming she was unable to do the right decisions if the situation got dire, if the patient was too close to her. She had, however, promised to be there, as much or little Ginny wanted her to be. Truth be told, she did it mostly for Harry, knowing he had been freaking out about his skills to be a father ever since Ginny got pregnant.
She Apparated straight to the delivery ward at St. Mungo's, being well familiar with the place after having spent a part of her practical training there. Harry was waiting by the door of one of the rooms, and waved her in. Ginny was leaning against the windowsill, humming in a tone so low Hermione could already tell it wouldn't take too long before Baby Potter would join them. She noticed Harry was giving her some rather odd looks, but that was probably just him trying to see how she reacted in the proximity of a Weasley. Ron was sure to show up soon after the baby was born, and she had not had a chance to discuss the whole engagement business with Harry quite yet. She flashed him a reassuring smile, before walking over to Ginny, starting to ask her questions in order to define the stage of labour she was in.
By the time Molly Weasley arrived about half an hour later, Hermione had left the delivery room in order not to intimidate Healer Pettigrew (a peer of hers who never forgot to make a point of NOT being related to the Death Eater) and to give the parents to be some privacy. They had met a handful of times since her break-up with Ron, and the encounters had been somewhat awkward by nature. She knew the Weasley matriarch was disappointed with them and their decision, although Molly had hidden it surprisingly well. Molly Weasley was, after all, a woman full of surprises, as was proven once again, when she all but ran to give Hermione a warm hug.
"My dear girl! I was hoping to see you here."
She had no idea, what the reason for that might be. Her relationship with Molly had never been overly warm, although they both loved each other in a way. They were just too different, she guessed. Molly's family was everything for her, and while Hermione shared the sentient when it came to those she loved the most, she harboured no dreams of having a family of her own. Of course, she got a bit broody every once in a while, and little Baby Potter, who would make their grand entrance before sunrise by this rate, would most certainly cause another bout of baby rabies, she would likely never mother a child of her own.
"I'm glad to see you, too, Molly," she offered with a rare, genuine smile when the older woman finally let go of her. She had gotten more physical contact than she really was comfortable with during the day, being a rather solitary person, after all. "I hope everyone in the Burrow is well."
"Yes, yes, my dear. I just… How are you dealing with everything?"
"If by everything you refer to Ron and Lavender, let me assure you that I am very happy for them. They make a lovely couple, and Merlin knows they both earn the right to be happy."
"Ah, well, yes, that's very nice, of course, but I was referring to… Ehm."
Was Molly Weasley, the very woman who had taught her the contraceptive spells and those that she needed in order to deal with her menstruation, blushing? She definitely was, in addition to not quite meeting her eyes. What was going on in here? (Ginny's howl of pain from the other side of the wall answered a part of that question, but she did not really mean that.)
"Hermione, dear, have you read today's Prophet?"
"No, I've been… otherwise occupied."
"Well, yes. I thought as much."
Seeing that the older woman was not likely to get to the point fast enough, Hermione reached for her wand and cast an Accio. The first page did not, luckily, show any sign of what might make Molly Weasley blush, but a couple of pages into the newspaper, she had a pretty good idea what the reason was.
The picture was a surprisingly sharp one, considering how dim the Ministry lobby had been last night. It showed her and Snape, leaving their office in their crumpled, hastily reclad robes. Even the hickey she had half-accidentally given him was visible, and her lips looked positively swollen from all the snogging. His lips moved (he had called her by her first name) as she offered her his arm, which she grasped with both her hands, smiling like the cat who ate the canary, before leaning in to give him a kiss before they Apparated away. After a fraction of a second, the image repeated itself over and over again.
"The Unlikely Lovebirds Seen Leaving the Ministry Together
After the announcement of the engagement of Ronald Bilius Weasley (O.M. 2nd Class) and Miss Lavender Brown, it appears Hermione Weasley (O.M. 2nd Class) and Severus Snape (O.M. 1st Class), who was thought to have left the Wizarding Society but was spotted and photographed at the Ministry just yesterday, have chosen to crawl out from under the rock they had been hiding under. The Healer who is known to enjoy tinkering with potions and the renown Potions Master are likely a good match, both of them known for their intelligence, and unpleasant character. One can but wonder if the infamous Death Eater seduced the young, promising witch when he was her Potions Professor in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
We contacted Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, who was Granger's Head of House all those years ago, as neither Granger nor Snape could be reached, being no doubt busy doing the horizontal mambo. The Headmistress (pictured below) told the reporter to drown herself in the Black Lake, which can only be considered a telltale sign of guilt. (One can also question if the old witch is finally starting to be senile enough to be considered a threat against our young witches and wizards, given to her care for most of the year. That remains for the school board to decide.) The portrait of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was notably absent during this exchange, likely administering some foul deeds even from beyond grave.
Mister R. Weasley, the best friend of Harry Potter and a renowned War Hero, was lucky enough to dodge a figurative curse when he broke up with the witch. He also refused to comment on the news, although an observant reporter was able to see a touch of doubt and, perhaps, of broken heart on his handsome face. "
The story went on, offering a brief glimpse of her and Snape's actions during the War, speculating wildly about their loyalties, suggesting that they had continued their affair through all those years, behind Ron's back, of course, and so on. At the bottom of the article, the portrait of Rita Skeeter winked at the reader.
Hermione could feel the magic bristle in her hair (which was already in quite the state after her impromptu shower), as she allowed herself to momentarily drown in the pure hatred she felt towards the so called journalist. She should have crushed her all those years ago, when she had a chance, or left her in the jar to rot.
She was brought back by Molly's warm hand on her shoulder. The older woman led her to the side of the waiting room, to have a seat, all the while murmuring under her breath, that naturally no one in their right mind believed a word of it. The man in the photo did look a bit like Snape, she heard Molly tell her, but the photo could be altered, they have a new charm for that, and no one would ever believe that she would have cheated on Ron back in the day, everyone knew she was too honourable, simply too good to ever do such thing.
Sweet Circe, Snape would most certainly be livid when he saw the article. For a person as private as he was, for a thing as new as whatever it was that was between them… Oh yes, livid would not even begin to cover it. She hoped Skeeter had her wards properly set up - or not, in which case she herself might pay the bug(ger) a visit.
Ginny's raw, animalistic roar - that's the only way it could be described, Gryffindor-pun or not - from the other room made Hermione pause her plans of revenge. Skeeter would have to wait, there were other things at hand, more important than paying back to a scumbag of a reporter.
When James Sirius Potter was finally born, after three more hours of labour, and a sea of red-haired relatives had flooded the small room, Hermione could no longer stifle her yawns. The activities she and Snape had engaged in, now apparently the cause of speculation of the whole British wizard-kind, had happened at the expense of sleep. She whispered the new parents her goodbyes, pecked a small kiss on the forehead of little James, and wished the rest of the Weasley clan good night, before excusing herself out of the room. She was too tired to Apparate, so she started heading towards the Floo. She did not quite make it to the fireplace across the room, when she heard someone run after her.
"Wait, 'Mione!"
It was Ron, of course. Circe's little pig, she really didn't want to deal with this right now. She barely had the energy to stay upright, the exhaustion having hit her full force. Stifling a groan, she turned around to face her ex.
"Ron, hi. Congratulations on your engagement!"
"Eh, hi, thanks. I was meaning to tell you before it hit the Prophet but…"
"Yeah, it's okay. You make a lovely couple. I'm happy for you guys."
"Thanks, 'Mione. It means a lot to me, but I, erm…"
"You didn't want to talk about that, right? You wanted to talk about today's Prophet - or yesterday's it should be called, I guess."
"Well, yeah. Don't worry, I'm not going to question you about if you slept with Snape before we ended our relationship. I know you well enough not to think that of you."
"That's kind of you, Ron. I knew I could count on you on that."
"Yeah, I guess. Bloody hell, 'Mione, I'm sorry, I know it's none of my business, but is it true?"
"Is what true? That I'm sleeping with Snape?"
The grimace on Ron's handsome face was all the answer she needed.
Suddenly, she didn't have the energy to hold up the facade of the Hermione Granger. She was suddenly just very tired, very human, very vulnerable, very Hermione.
"Trust me, Ron, I was initially as surprised as everyone else apparently is, but I couldn't be more satisfied with the situation. We are not in a relationship nor are we ever likely to be, it's just a way to blow off the steam. The sex is amazing, and even though he's still not a treat to the eye nor a very pleasant person, despite being more intelligent than probably every other wizard combined, I sort of enjoy spending time with him and our chemistries work very well in the bedroom. In case that answers your question, I wish you good-night, because I'm quite tired. I'm sure you can imagine by now, what I did last night and with whom. Tell Lavender my best."
With that, she stepped into her own living room through the Floo, leaving Ronald Weasley alone in the waiting room, his face pale and his jaw slack, desperately trying to keep images of his former girlfriend and potions professor away from his head.
