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Chapter 3: 12 Grimmauld Place

Hermione did not mind Oliver Wood's company. Generally, he was well read and well spoken, and conversation between the two tended to be cordial. However, Hermione was quickly realising that a drunk Oliver was not the sober Oliver Wood the Ministry employee who worked three quadrants above her department.

'And so I said, Ruddy, you dog, that ain't no way to talk about a lady.'

He paused momentarily to quench a burp. Hermione shied away from him, pushing further against the wall - if that was still possible.

'I did that, for you, I did.'

'That was very nice of you, Oliver. I really appreciate it.'

He looked at her, the inebriated version of puppy dog eyes maintaining eye contact with her, slipping only slightly. For the last thirty minutes or so he had behaved himself. And while she enjoyed her conversations with a sober Oliver, that was not the case with the inebriated version. He swayed slightly on the spot he stood, the gelatine slice and the over filled glass of wine swayed with him.

'Really, Oliver. It has been very nice. I should get going…'

After Hogwarts, Oliver Wood had been quick to take a spot at the Ministry of Magic. He had started off in the Department of Medicinal Research and soon, before Hermione had also become a Ministry drone, he had been transferred to the Patent Verifications Quadrant working for the Minister of the Research Validations. Paper pushers the lot of them, that's how Hermione felt, often. It seemed their common place of business gave Oliver some deep seated affinity to her. Not that she minded. On a good day, what she would now think of sober days, Oliver tended to have his head screwed on the right way. However, the present Oliver Wood did not stack up to the man she was accustomed to.

To no avail, Hermione had sought an escape. However, it was hard to convince a drunk that she really ought to be going. Three times she had tried, and had even almost made it during her second shot, but the appearance of Harry to their side had drawn her back into conversation. Harry and Ginny had been making their rounds, making sure to greet and make platitudes to every guest, some more than once.

Hermione, with Luna, had spent the last few evenings at Number 12 Grimmauld Place helping Harry and Ginny get the place party-ready. Many friends and family had made the time to drift through the house over the last week, as Hermione and Luna, to help the newly engaged pair get things prepared.

As Oliver continue, Hermione found herself admiring the hard work that someone had gone to in ensuring that the brass furnishings surrounding the fireplace were cleaned out. Each nook and cranky of the intricate design seemed to have been paid special attention. She doubted most of the others noticed the hard work - but she also doubted that anyone else quite had this opportunity as she did. She swept her eyes over the crowd. Family and friends dotted the mass of acquaintances, colleagues, former school mates and teachers.

Earlier in the evening, Hermione had had the opportunity to converse with Garrick Ollivander, the wand maker. They had talked of Esmeralda Bennett's recent parchment regarding the disparity in wand making and wand core theorisation.

As Hermione thought back to the conservation, she couldn't help but make comparisons to her current situation. It was as she was lost in her own thoughts, politely nodding along with Oliver and echoing the appropriate murmurings, that the dashing red of George and the flash apparition of Fred pushed past Oliver causing the dark-haired wizard to misstep. Unfortunately it was a stumble he was unable to correct for and Hermione was confronted with a messy escape - one which left her covered partially in Oliver's sponge cake.

'Merlin, sorry, 'ermione.'

He reached to help her.

Gently brushing him away and assuring him not to worry, she excused herself. Not bothering to spell it away, Hermione chose instead to deal with it the old fashioned way - with some water, and peace and quiet. Retreating from Oliver, Hermione took the two flights of stairs quickly. She was glad for the silence as she reached the third level. Less of the guests had ventured so far.

She pushed her way through the second door on the left, it remained slight ajar behind her.

Standing in front of the mirror, she properly saw the mess on her blouse. Hermione preferred this particular bathroom. The completely ordinary mirror, much unlike the other bathrooms of the house, had intricate grooves etched fully around the mirror, and the best part was that it did not make comments about her hair or question her choice of clothing. The ordinary mirror was definitely a godsend, especially given she had not had a chance to change after work that day.

As she rubbed at the visible stain left by the creme, a knock came at the bathroom door. It was short and sharp.

'Someone's in here,' she yelled towards the door.

At which point the door pushed inwards.

'Occupied!'

The door continued to swing inwards swiftly even at her insistence.

'I said, someone's in here-'

Within moments Severus Snape stood in the small bathroom with her. The space was already small, but it became cosier with the additional person, towering she added as an afterthought.

'You are a witch.'

Four simple words. Drenched. They caused Hermione to flinch.

'There were many indications, like my voice, that this was occupied.'

'Your wand is all it would have taken to shut me out.'

His eyes bore into hers.

'Or does the Gryffindor need a Remembrall for even such trivial tasks.'

He had invaded her privacy, uninvited, and yet he was treating her as the intruder. Hermione felt frustrated.

'What are you doing here?'

She might as well have growled at him. He merely smirked at her.

'It might be hard to believe but I am an invited guest at this soiree.'

His particular brand of snark evident as he spoke.

'This bathroom is presently occupied.'

'I can see as much.'

'That is my way of politely telling you to get out, Snape.'

By now she was inching closer to him. Her movement going unregistered by her consciousness.

'And still you remain unarmed.'

The quirk of his eyebrow, only infuriated her further.

Now she stood before him.

'I do not need a wand to deal with you.'

With each word she shoved her finger against his chest. Somewhere in her mind she did not miss the fact that his chest was firm to the touch.

'And here I always thought you had a modicum of manners, Hermione.'

He looked at where her index finger remained against his chest.

Her eyes met his. Her hand flattened against his chest. Her breath was laboured. Her heart racing. Her lip caught between her teeth as she looked up at him - the silence in the small room becoming deafening.

He repeated her name, his mouth labouring over it, 'Hermione.'

Her breath hitched.

In a fluid motion he reached out for the nape of her neck and moved in closer, leaning towards her his lips finding hers, their noses bumping inelegantly against one another. She grasped at his shirt and pulled him in closer.

They released momentarily for air, and as their eyes studied one another, the only word spoken was from Hermione, 'Colloportus.'

The odd squelching noise of the door and the noise of her fallen wand went unnoticed by the two. Instead their lips quickly found each other again. His hands traversing her back and arms, as hers pulled roughly at his shirt.