AN: It's so great to be back! For the last month, I've been taking a break for the sake of my mental health. To make a long story short, my best friend was dying and needed an organ transplant. The American healthcare system is shit, so he wasn't getting the help he needed. As an added bonus, I suffer from summer seasonal affective disorder, which was messing with me. Fortunately, my friend did get his transplant! My seasonal affective disorder has let up a bit too.
I wrote this story to get through my depression. There needed to be more fluff in my life, so I decided to write some. I decided to wait until I was finished to begin posting this story so I didn't stress myself out. Now that it is finished and I have most of the chapters edited, I decided it was time to post!
Thank you so much for all your support and care! All of you are the best. From the bottom of my heart, I appreciate each and every one of you and the support you give me!
Severus Snape and Hermione Granger were the only two people in Las Vegas who wore long-sleeves in July. Despite their high air conditioning bills, they wouldn't have it any other way.
Severus wore long sleeves out of habit. Twenty-five years of dunderhead-terrorizing fashion sense died hard. Nor should it die. The people of Las Vegas needed to be reminded that there were consequences for being dunderheads, consequences he was willing to dole out, within the bounds of legality of course.
Besides, everyone turned up the air conditioning up too high. Cooling spells may work in Britain, but all the cooling spells in the world couldn't make the desert sun tolerable. Even the staunchest pureblood in Vegas had air conditioning. There were ways of magically operating it, though the Wizarding City of Las Vegas made sure to take their cut. The air conditioning was always on too. Even in the cool of the desert night (assuming you could call eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit a cool night), everyone blasted their AC.
Severus kept his air conditioning on higher than most. The increased bill was worth the looks he received from those who knew he was not a man to be trifled with. His customers joked that if his AC ever broke, he would melt into a puddle of black tar.
One person who never made such a joke was Hermione. Like him, she wore long sleeves, though her fashion of choice was long dresses. Any color would do. So long as the dress was long, gave her some shape, and covered her arms, she would wear it. A few times, she complained about the price of air conditioning in her home and store, only for Severus to note that if she wanted to reduce costs, she could wear shorter sleeves. All she did was glare at him and say he was in no position to judge anyone's fashion choices. After that, the subject never came up again.
What did come up again was a love of muggle card games. Almost every night, Hermione came to Severus' house, enjoyed a meal with him, and played cards, using quarters or pieces of candy in the place of chips.
Severus dealt Hermione the ace of hearts. Turning it upwards, he knocked on the table. "Good luck."
"Thank you," Hermione turned to the dwindling pile of quarters beside her and moistened her lips. "I may need it."
Severus dealt himself a card, the ornate ace of spades. Then, he picked up another card and slid it to Hermione.
As far as Vegas was concerned, they were an odd pair; two British expats playing cards at a kitchen table by only the light of Severus' wand. Neither said much about their experiences in Britain, though few had the courage to ask any questions. While Severus was dour, Hermione was much friendlier, though she still had her eccentricities such as her ability to quote almost any Jane Austen book in existence. Then there was the fact that they rarely left Severus' house in the evenings. Then again, this wasn't as shocking as one may believe. Like any self-respecting Wizarding local, the lights of the strip held no attraction for them. Instead, they preferred the quiet of the city's outskirts and each other's company.
Severus flipped the card over, revealing a nine.
"Not terrible," Hermione scratched her chin.
"Yet it is not a blackjack," he dealt himself a card. Keeping it face down, he asked, "do you want insurance?"
"That depends," she folded her hands "Are you going to need medical insurance because you've cheated your way into another victory?"
He quirked an eyebrow. "Are you accusing me of something?"
"I'm saying you are a Slytherin who isn't above cheating to get what he wants." She crossed her ankles.
"I'm wounded," he put his hand over his heart. "I would never cheat someone who could set my robes on fire, at least not when I've just finished doing laundry."
"Laundry never stopped you from cheating before. I doubt it would stop you now."
"When have I ever cheated you?"
"Last week you took me to the cleaners in poker," she scowled, "I'm still trying to prove you used legillimency on me to know whether I was bluffing or not during that final hand."
"I would never invade your my privacy in such a way."
She furrowed her eyebrows.
"What would be the point? You are horrendous at masking your emotions." He smirked. "It's far less invasive and safer to read your body language and act upon that information."
"Excuse me?" She cocked her head.
"Yes," he purred. "When you have a good hand, there's a gleam in your eyes, as if you've just obtained a first edition of Hogwarts: A History. If your hand is terrible yet you want to bluff, you tap your foot until it shakes the table. When you have a full house, you squirm about like you're eager to answer a question in class."
Her mouth was open.
"And when your mouth is agape like that, you are impressed with my ability to pick up on the subtleties of a witch such as yourself." His eyes gleamed.
"I swear this is the last time I play cards with a former spy," she muttered.
"You've been saying that for the last decade."
"Well, this time I mean it."
"You meant it a decade ago too, yet the next day you were on my doorstep with Chinese takeout as a peace offering."
"It's the damn heat," she exhaled. "It leads one to make irrational decisions, like coming over here every night to lose my money."
"This city makes millions from people on the verge of heat stroke desperate for the cool, so they crawl to the nearest casino to enjoy the AC and slot machines," his eyes glistened. "I am simply mimicking their strategies."
"I'm never playing blackjack again," she grumbled.
"Fine, you're never playing blackjack again. Do you want insurance or not?"
"My insurance is hexing your balls off if I find out you've rigged the deck to produce a jack."
"I'll take that as a no."
"No, I don't want to waste quarters on insurance."
"Okay," he replied in the smoothest voice imaginable. Then he glanced at the card. Chuckling, he flipped it over. "Apparently I've rigged the deck to show the queen of hearts."
She groaned before handing him the last of her quarters.
"Thank you madame," he purred. "As always, it has been a pleasure playing with you."
"As always, I leave a much poorer woman than I entered."
"Perhaps you should cease betting against the house," he leaned back in his wooden chair. "You would have less difficulty keeping a hold of your money if you understood that the house always wins."
"That's it," she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm getting a feline. Then, I'll have something reasonable to socialize with instead of always coming over here and interacting with you."
"Are you implying that a cat is more reasonable than me?"
"Infinitely so."
"I would wish you luck but you won't need it. Given how many strays there are in Vegas, getting a new companion will not be too difficult."
"No it won't be," she turned to the kitchen window, where the full moon glowed over the mountains.
"Still, I shall miss you," he answered. "Nobody orders Mexican take out the way you do. Your otter darting into the night with an order for tacos never ceases to amuse me."
"You do need someone to order food for you, don't you?" A smile crept across her face. "Left to your own devices, you'd brew all through the night and not eat a crumb of food until you collapse from low blood sugar."
"I would waste away from starvation without the pleasure of your company," the gleam returned to his eyes.
"You would also lose your ability to socialize. I mean, what would life be for you if Ricardo was the only man you spoke to?"
"Given that he is now married and less likely to embark on adventures with me, my life would be dull indeed."
"What adventures did you two embark upon before he was married?"
"Ones which would make any casino manager blush."
"What did you do, lose seventy dollars at a slot machine while intoxicated on one too many Pina coladas?"
"No, I do not play slot machines. They make me feel like my brain has been removed from my body. If I'm going to do something so mindless, I would prefer not to lose money doing it."
"I feel that way when playing them too," Hermione answered. "Still, Ricardo may have told you a story where he lost seventy dollars, and you inserted yourself in the retelling to make it sound as if you have first-hand knowledge of the incident."
"I would never insert myself into such a ridiculous story. Besides, Ricardo would never be so careless as to lose seventy dollars at a slot machine," Severus argued. "He only lost fifty."
"Wait," she drawled. "Ricardo is a gambler?"
"If by a gambler you mean his now husband took him to the Westgate for the third anniversary of the day they fell in love and he decided to tell me every little detail of the night despite my desperate attempts to divert the conversation as to whether or not he filled my order for bat wings," Severus grinned. "Yes."
"Oh good," Hermione relaxed. "I was beginning to get offended."
"Offended?" Severus raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, I was beginning to think your ingredients supplier was more worthy of a night on the town of gambling than the person you actually spend every night gambling with," she sat up straighter. "I at least deserve a wine at the Bellagio for tolerating you as much as I do."
"If I ever decide to go on the Strip for the sole purpose of gambling, I will take you with me so that someone will stop me from spending my last dime on Welcome to Las Vegas trinkets."
"You would buy trinkets at souvenir shops?" She quirked an eyebrow.
"Why not?" He crossed one leg over the other. "If I've lost my mind enough to blow a thousand dollars at the Bellagio, a trip to an overpriced gift shop would be in order."
"Which means I must continue coming here, just to ensure you do not lose your mind from loneliness and the heat and don't do anything stupid with your money."
"Indeed you must," he chuckled.
She covered her mouth as she yawned. Then, she shook her head. "I apologize. It's been a long day."
"I figured, given how many people entered your store today."
"Who would've known that Tales of a Blighted Maid would be in such high demand?"
"It sounded intriguing enough. I am interested in a copy."
"Oh?"
He shrugged. "It has been quite some time since I've read a good mystery. I would not mind reading the book."
"I will give you a copy tomorrow." She stood.
"Fine," he rose from his seat. "How much will I owe you for the book?"
"How about you pay for Pizza Castle the next time I come over and we will call it a deal?"
"Pizza Castle?"
"Yes, and I want a sausage and pepperoni pizza."
"You drive a hard bargain."
She laughed.
"But I will capitulate to your demands, I will pay for the next pizza." He moved the quarters towards her. "Here, keep these. You may need them."
"Oh no, you won those coins fair and square," she scowled. "Much as it pains me to admit it, it's only right that the victor keeps the spoils."
"Yes, but it wouldn't feel right stealing quarters from a lady."
"You are the only one who has ever considered me a lady."
"If that is the case then most other people in your life must be dunderheads, for you are a wonderful, intelligent, kind, and wickedly hilarious lady. If other men cannot see that, then they are dunderheads."
"I must admit that aside from you, most of the people in my life have been dunderheads."
"Indeed," he approached her.
She relaxed. "That being said, you are the sneakiest, snarkiest, and most difficult man I have ever met."
"It almost makes one wonder why you come here as often as you do."
"Punishment, and a sense of obligation that someone has to ensure you eat properly."
"By stuffing me with fast food."
"Better than eating no food because you are a workaholic."
"Tell that to my healer when she says I must lower my cholesterol."
"That day is still far away," she gave him a small grin. "Goodnight Severus. I will see you tomorrow when I deliver that book to you."
"I will see you then and tomorrow evening for more lessons on why gambling is a filthy, dirty habit."
"Or at least lessons in why one should never play with a Slytherin former spy."
"Do you want to play poker tomorrow?"
"Against my better judgment, I do."
"Very well then," he turned to the doorway. "I will show you out."
"Thank you," she followed him through his living room, careful not to bump into his new, leather furniture.
"Good night," Severus' voice was soft.
"Good night," Hermione waved before apparating away.
Severus stared at the spot where she had stood before sticking out his left arm. He made a fist, his eyes glued to his inner left forearm. With a sigh, he lowered his hand and closed the door behind him, alone once more.