Hermione pushed open the heavy door to Severus Snape's lab with an urgency that sent it creaking loudly on its hinges. Snape, dressed in black trousers and a black jumper looked slightly less forbidding than usual, glanced up from where he was fastening the clasps on a travel case of potions. His fingers paused mid-motion, his expression softening the moment he saw her.

"Hermione," he greeted smoothly as he set the case aside. His dark eyes studied her, the edges of his lips twitching in what could almost be called a smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She grinned, leaning against the doorframe for a moment as she caught her breath. Her cheeks were flushed from her hurried pace, and a loose strand of hair fell across her face, which she absently tucked behind her ear. "Oh, good, you're still here! I was worried you might've already left."

"Left?" Snape's hands resumed their methodical work, closing the clasps with deliberate precision before turning fully to face her. "You underestimate my busy social calendar. How else would I maintain my reputation as a relentless party animal?"

Hermione burst out laughing, the sound light and genuine as she stepped into the room. "Yes, I'm sure you're the toast of every ball in wizarding Britain." She waved her hand dismissively before clasping it with the other in front of her. "No, but really—you don't have plans tonight, do you?"

He tilted his head slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. The faint smirk remained on his face, though his tone shifted to something more curious. "Nothing pressing, no. Why?"

"Perfect!" Hermione's excitement bubbled over as she moved closer, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. "George can't make it to pub trivia tonight, and we're short a person. I thought of you immediately—you're brilliant, you know practically everything, and I'd really appreciate your help."

Snape arched a brow, leaning casually against the edge of his workbench. His posture was relaxed, but the gleam in his eyes hinted at amusement. "Pub trivia? Forgive me if I fail to see the appeal."

"Come on," Hermione urged, taking another step forward and clasping her hands in front of her as if pleading. "The winning team gets ten Galleons each. And besides, it'll be fun. A chance to show off that incredible brain of yours and help me out in the process."

"Incredible brain, is it?" His tone was lighter now, his sharp features softening. "Flattery, Hermione? I wasn't aware I required coaxing."

She blushed faintly, her hand brushing against the side of her skirt as if smoothing it down. "I'm not above a little flattery if it gets the job done. Besides, it's true."

Snape let out a low hum, his fingers absently brushing the edge of the workbench as he studied her. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and the warmth in her eyes made it impossible to say no. "And here I thought you'd be surrounded by eager volunteers. Why me?"

"Because you're the best option," she replied without hesitation, the sincerity in her tone catching him off guard. "And because you're my friend, Severus."

Friend. The word sent a complicated pang through him, though he masked it by shifting his weight slightly, standing straighter.

"I suppose I could be persuaded," he said after a beat, his voice softer. "If only to ensure that your team doesn't suffer the indignity of defeat."

Hermione's smile widened, and she reached out as if to touch his arm but hesitated, clasping her hands together instead. Relief and delight radiated from her as she said, "Brilliant! Thank you so much."

Snape inclined his head slightly. A quiet warmth bloomed in his chest at the sight of her happiness, and he allowed himself the smallest smile. "What time do we depart for this thrilling escapade?"

"Seven sharp," she replied, already backing toward the door. Her hand hovered over the handle, her excitement making her movements quick and almost fidgety. "Don't be late!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied smoothly, his gaze following her as she disappeared through the door, the soft click of the latch breaking the silence.

Snape lingered for a moment, his hand brushing over the workbench before he picked up the case he'd been packing. The corners of his mouth quirked upward briefly as he shook his head. An evening spent in Hermione's company, even in a crowded pub, wasn't something he could turn down.

The Hobgoblin's Hideaway lived up to its name, Snape thought as he stepped inside behind Hermione. The pub was dimly lit, with mismatched wooden furniture that had clearly seen better days, walls plastered with peeling posters of old Quidditch matches, and a flickering neon sign behind the bar that advertised some dubious drink called "Goblin's Gold." Yet, despite the shabby charm, the place was buzzing with energy, laughter, and the chatter of dozens of patrons packed into every corner.

Hermione turned to him, her cheeks glowing faintly pink, whether from the cool air outside or her excitement, he wasn't sure. "Come on, our group's over there," she said, gesturing toward a cluster of tables pushed together near the back of the pub.

Snape followed, his sharp eyes taking in the crowd she led him to. It was larger than he had anticipated, easily a half dozen people gathered around, their faces lighting up as they noticed Hermione's arrival.

"Hermione!" Ginny Weasley called, waving them over. "Took you long enough! Thought you'd ditched us for Victor Thorne."

Snape's lip twitched at the name, but he said nothing.

"We are still just writing," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes before gesturing toward him. "And I brought a replacement for George. Everyone, you remember Severus Snape."

The table quieted for half a beat, the name still carrying a certain weight. Then Bill Weasley rose from his chair, extending a hand with a polite, if slightly wary, smile. "Professor Snape," he said respectually. "Or... I suppose it's just Severus now."

"Mr. Weasley," Snape replied smoothly, shaking Bill's hand with a firm grip. His dark eyes flicked to the rest of the table, briefly meeting each gaze with a subtle nod.

"We're all on our best behavior tonight, I see," Ginny teased, breaking the momentary tension.

"Speak for yourself," Bill quipped, gesturing for Snape to take the seat next to him. "Thanks for stepping in. George and I aren't allowed on the same team anymore—too much bad blood over the infamous Dungbomb Question."

Harry groaned, throwing up her hands. "That's what happens when you both think you're the funniest person in the room."

Hermione slid into her seat across from Snape, unwinding her scarf as she smiled. "Well, now we've got Severus. I think Team Moaning Myrtles might finally have the upper hand tonight."

Snape arched a brow at her. "You place a remarkable amount of confidence in someone who's never participated in such a spectacle."

"It's trivia, not dragon taming," Hermione replied.

Bill leaned closer, with the signature Weasley smirk. "Don't let her fool you, Professor—sorry, Severus. This is serious business. And just so you know, we take turns claiming Hermione each week. She's the ringer."

"She's also a know-it-all," Ron added affectionately, tossing a peanut at Hermione, who caught it midair.

"It's just for fun," Hermione said, glancing at Snape as if to reassure him.

"Fun," Snape repeated, skeptical.

"It is fun," Bill insisted. "Especially when we win. And tonight, you're on Team Moaning Myrtles. Welcome aboard."

"And the others?" Snape asked, gesturing toward the adjoining table.

"Team Slytherin your pants," Harry said with a mock sneer. "Losers, mostly. Especially if Ron's the one answering sports questions."

"You love me," Ron called from the other table, raising his butterbeer in salute.

"Debatable," Harry shot back, though her grin softened the jab.

As the banter swirled around him, Snape allowed himself to settle into his seat. His gaze flicked toward Hermione, who was unwrapping a biscuit one of her friends had passed her. She caught his eye and smiled, a small, private gesture that warmed him in a way he wasn't prepared to admit.

Perhaps, he thought, as he adjusted his cloak and prepared for what promised to be a ridiculous evening, there were worse places to be.

As the trivia master announced that the night's games were about to begin, the tables shuffled into their respective groups. Tonight's teams were divided a bit differently than usual, a strategic move given Severus Snape's presence. His reputation as an intellectual powerhouse necessitated some recalibration.

"It's only fair," Ron teased as they rearranged seats. "With Snape playing, you lot need all the help you can get."

The teams settled: Hermione, Neville, Harry, and Ginny on one side, and Bill, Snape, Ron, and Luna on the other.

Snape arched a brow as Ron plopped down beside him. The boy—no, the man now, Severus had to remind himself—grinned nervously, his hands fiddling with a bottle of butterbeer. Snape said nothing, though he silently questioned how much strategic value Ron could possibly bring to the table.

At least the boy wonder wasn't on his team.

"Right," Bill announced, clapping his hands together as he surveyed his team. "We've got this. Luna's got the weird facts, I've got the history, Snape's got... everything else, and Ron will... um..."

"Be Ron," Neville supplied helpfully from across the room, earning a round of laughter.

"Oi!" Ron protested, though his grin remained intact.

The trivia master, a jovial witch in flowing purple robes, tapped her wand against a bell. "Teams, are we ready?"

"As ready as we'll ever be," Hermione replied confidently.

Snape's gaze flicked over to Hermione's team. She was already pulling a quill and parchment from her bag, her expression focused and determined. The sight made him feel oddly lighter, though he quickly masked it behind his usual impassive demeanor.

"Alright, teams," the trivia master called out, her wand amplifying her voice. "First round, general knowledge. Let's see who's sharp tonight!"

Snape shifted in his seat, his fingers steepled as he surveyed his surroundings.

"Alright Severus," Bill began. "Now there is my dignity riding on this so the pressure is on. I hope you can handle it."

"I assure you, I'm well-acquainted with pressure," Snape replied dryly. "Though this is much worse than lying to the Dark Lord."

Ron, seated beside Luna, shifted awkwardly. "Just so you know, Snape, this isn't Hogwarts-level stuff. It's... fun. You know, for a laugh."

Snape arched his brow. "I shall endeavor to adjust my standards accordingly."

Luna, perched at the end of the table with her trademark serene smile, piped up, "I think it's wonderful that you're here. Trivia is an excellent way to explore the obscure corners of knowledge."

"Obscure corners, indeed," Snape muttered, though he found himself glancing at Hermione again. She caught his eye and gave a small, encouraging smile.

The trivia master waved her wand, and the first question floated into the air above her, shimmering in golden letters:

"What year was the Ministry of Magic officially established?"

Hermione leaned forward, her quill poised over their answer sheet. "1707," she whispered confidently to her team. "It was established after the International Statute of Secrecy in 1692."

Neville furrowed his brow, glancing between her and Harry. "Are you sure? That seems kind of late."

"Positive," Hermione replied, leaving no room for doubt. "It was part of the reorganization after the Statute."

Ginny scribbled the answer down. "Done. Next."

Across the room, at Team Slytherin Your Pants' table, Snape sat with an air of measured focus, his dark eyes scanning the question while his fingers tapped lightly against the table.

"1707," he said curtly, breaking the brief silence.

Bill nodded, quill in hand. "That sounds right. Post-Statute reforms."

"I thought it was earlier," Ron muttered, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

"Then you would be wrong," Snape retorted, his voice dry but not harsh.

Luna, who was drawing spirals on the corner of their answer sheet, looked up and said dreamily, "1707 does feel significant. Maybe it's because the Snorkack migration also happened that year."

Snape shot her a look, his quill pausing mid-stroke, but he said nothing, merely finishing the answer.

The trivia master announced, "The answer is... 1707!"

Both teams erupted into cheers, though the atmosphere differed. Team Moaning Mrytles celebrated with high-fives, Ginny ruffling Harry's hair as he grinned triumphantly. On the other side, Team Slytherin Your Pants exchanged subtle nods, though Bill clapped Snape on the shoulder.

"Good call," Bill said with a grin.

Snape inclined his head slightly, glancing toward Hermione's table. She caught his eye and offered a small, encouraging smile that he couldn't help but return in the faintest curve of his lips.

The next question floated above the trivia master:

"What is the common name for the plant known as 'Acanthia Veneficum'?"

Hermione immediately perked up, her quill hovering above the parchment. "Witch's Thorn," she said confidently. "It's used in antidotes."

Harry squinted at her. "Are you sure? It sounds like Deadly Briar."

"No," Hermione replied firmly, her curls bouncing as she shook her head. "Deadly Briar is a derivative hybrid."

Neville scratched his head, leaning closer to the parchment. "She's right. I used Witch's Thorn in Herbology for antidotes last year."

Ginny quickly wrote it down, while Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I'll trust you on this one."

Meanwhile, Team Slytherin Your Pants had a similar debate.

"Witch's Thorn," Snape said immediately, his tone brooking no argument.

Ron frowned. "What about Deadly Briar?"

Snape turned his dark gaze on him. "Do you truly wish to argue botany with me, Weasley?"

Ron held up his hands defensively. "No, no! Go ahead."

Luna piped up, twirling her quill. "Did you know Witch's Thorn can survive in underwater caves? Imagine how pretty it must look, swaying with the water currents."

Snape glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Riveting," he said dryly, though he dutifully wrote the answer.

When the trivia master revealed the answer as Witch's Thorn, Team moaning Myrtles whooped in triumph, Hermione beaming with satisfaction. Over at Team Slytherin Your Pants, Snape merely smirked.

The next question brought a collective groan:

"Which famous wizard once claimed: 'Magic is nothing without precision'?"

Hermione immediately leaned in. "That's Nicholas Flamel. He said it during an interview about his alchemical work."

"Are you sure?" Neville asked, scratching his chin.

"Absolutely," Hermione said with a nod.

Ginny jotted it down, giving Harry a playful nudge. "Let's see if they know this one."

At Team Slytherin Your Pants, Snape didn't even wait for debate. "Nicholas Flamel."

Bill grinned. "You're quick on the draw tonight."

Snape's gaze didn't waver from the question. "It's a matter of common knowledge if one pays attention."

Ron leaned back, tilting his chair precariously. "I was going to say Merlin."

"Of course you were," Snape said, arching an eyebrow.

When the trivia master confirmed the answer, the competition remained neck-and-neck. The room buzzed with energy, the teams trading teasing glances as they awaited the next round. Snape, while initially skeptical of this evening, found himself unexpectedly at ease in the lively atmosphere—especially whenever Hermione's laughter reached his ears.

The rest of the evening played out this way, each team neck and neck. It looked as if for the first time since either team could remember that there would be a tie.

The trivia master strode back to the podium, wand in hand, the tension in the room thick as butterbeer foam. She raised her voice, a sly smile playing on her lips. "And now, for the final question. What is the approximate calorie count of the average Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean, and which year were they first marketed to the public?"

The room fell silent.

"What the actual—" Ron started, but Bill clapped a hand over his mouth.

On Team Moaning Myrtles' side, Harry dropped his quill onto the table. "Calories? Are they serious?"

Neville scratched his head. "Does anyone even eat enough of them to care?"

Ginny sighed, tapping her foot impatiently. "Hermione, you've got to know this one."

Hermione frowned, her fingers steepled as she thought. "They're mostly sugar and some binding agents. I'd estimate somewhere around 6 calories each. As for the year..." She trailed off, clearly uncertain.

"Come on, you can do this," Ginny encouraged, her elbow brushing Hermione's arm.

"Maybe 1935? Or was it earlier?" Hermione murmured.

Meanwhile, on Team Slytherin Your Pants, Snape stared at the trivia master as if she'd just insulted his potion-making skills. "This is absurd," he muttered with disdain.

Bill chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "You've never studied confectionery lore, have you, Severus?"

"No, William, I can't say that I have," Snape replied, dripping with sarcasm.

Ron threw up his hands. "Well, we're screwed. I eat the beans; I don't interrogate them."

Luna, who had been scribbling tiny drawings of winged candies on the corner of the parchment, suddenly perked up. "Oh, it's simple!"

All three of her teammates turned toward her.

"Of course it is," Snape said, folding his arms. "Do enlighten us."

"They're approximately 4 calories each, give or take depending on the flavor," Luna said dreamily, her eyes unfocused. "And they were first sold in 1957, while Bertie Bott was trying to make some sweet treats from food, but it ended up tasting like a dirty sock."

Ron blinked. "From food?"

"Yes," Luna continued serenely. "That's why the flavors are so unpredictable. It was quite a breakthrough, really."

Snape stared at her for a long moment. Then, with a sigh of resignation, he gestured toward the parchment. "Write it down."

When time was called, the trivia master reviewed both answers.

"Team Moaning Myrtles," she said, raising her eyebrows at their submission. "Answered 6 calories and 1935."

Ginny groaned softly as Neville muttered, "Well, it was a guess."

"And Team Slytherin Your Pants answered 4 calories and 1957." The trivia master paused for effect.

"The correct answer is... 4 calories and 1957!"

Luna clapped her hands, her face lighting up with delight.

Ron gaped at her. "How—how in Merlin's name did you know that?"

"Oh, it's common knowledge if you've ever spoken to Bertie's portrait at Hogwarts," Luna replied matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Snape's lips twitched at the absurdity. "A most unorthodox source, but effective nonetheless."

From across the room, Hermione watched him, her brow furrowing in mild suspicion even as she smiled. "Next week," she said quietly to Ginny, "we're getting Luna on our team."

The group settled into a large corner booth, snug and full of energy after their victory. Snape, ever deliberate, made sure to position himself at the end of the bench, his back to the wall and his gaze naturally falling to Hermione, who slid in beside him with a rustle of her robes.

The pub was alive with chatter and laughter, other tables bustling with wizards and witches unwinding from their day. A jukebox in the corner played a jaunty Celestina Warbeck tune, slightly out of tune but charming in its way. The scent of butterbeer and fried snacks lingered in the air, mixing with the faint tang of spilled firewhiskey.

Hermione leaned toward Snape, her shoulder brushing his arm as she turned to him with a sly smile. "So," she began, her voice low enough to make it feel like a private joke, "do I get a finder's fee for bringing you along and guaranteeing our victory?" She placed her elbows on the table, her fingers loosely clasped, tilting her head to catch his reaction.

Snape's brow arched slightly, the flickering light catching the sharp angles of his face. "A finder's fee?" he echoed, his voice soft but wry. "Are we negotiating now, Miss Granger?"

She shrugged, a playful glint in her eyes as she propped her chin on her hand. "I think it's only fair. I mean, you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me."

Snape allowed the faintest of smiles to play on his lips, the kind that would vanish if you blinked. "Indeed. And what, pray tell, do you propose as adequate compensation?"

Straightening, her hair caught the candlelight like a cascade of gold. "Well," she said with mock seriousness, "if you're feeling particularly indebted, you could start with a butterbeer."

Snape tilted his head slightly, the gesture almost indulgent. "Butterbeer? Not Ogden's Finest?"

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head as she absentmindedly traced her finger along the rim of her empty glass. "Oh, no. My alcohol tolerance is embarrassingly low. One glass of anything stronger and I'm under the table."

Before Snape could respond, Harry leaned in from across the table, his chair screeching slightly against the floor. "Which is why she's currently drinking two shots of firewhiskey."

Hermione groaned and dropped her face into her hands, her elbows planted firmly on the table. The rest of the group erupted into laughter, Ginny clapping her hands together while Neville nearly knocked over his butterbeer in his excitement.

"You're drinking firewhiskey?" Snape asked, his deep voice cutting through the noise. He leaned back slightly, arms crossing over his chest as his dark eyes settled on her, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"She is," Harry said, smirking as he leaned one elbow on the table. "Because we all want to hear two Shot Hermione's impressions again."

Neville lit up like a Lumos charm, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he leaned forward eagerly. "Oh, yes! Two Shot Hermione does the best Hogwarts staff impressions!"

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, the barest hint of intrigue flickering in their depths. "Does she now?"

"They're brilliant!" Ginny added, her cheeks flushed from laughter—or perhaps the remnants of her own firewhiskey. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and beamed at Hermione. "Last time, her McGonagall was so good, I was actually scared she'd take points from Gryffindor."

"And the Trelawney!" Harry chimed in, nearly doubling over with laughter. "She nailed the voice. Nearly choked on my drink."

Neville nodded vigorously, his chair creaking beneath him. "She's got everyone down. Even Hagrid—though she can't quite do the beard justice."

Hermione peeked out from between her fingers, her face flushed a deep pink. "You're all terrible," she muttered with exasperated fondness.

"Terrible," Harry agreed, raising his butterbeer in a mock toast. "But also right. So, drink up!"

Ginny slid the shot glass across the table with a cheeky look, her fingers tapping a rhythm against the wood as she leaned back. The group watched with gleeful anticipation, the atmosphere electric with their collective amusement.

Snape remained still, his posture rigid but not unkind, his gaze sharp as it moved between them. "I must admit, this... tradition of yours has piqued my curiosity."

Hermione gave him a mock glare, picking up the glass and holding it aloft as if it were a toast. "Fine," she said, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress a smile. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

As she downed the shot in one swift motion, the group erupted into cheers, Neville pounding the table with enthusiasm while Bill whooped loudly. Snape allowed himself a faint, private smile as he watched Hermione set the glass down with a theatrical wince. She never ceased to surprise him.

The room was buzzing with energy, the group of friends laughing and talking over one another, but it was Hermione who was the loudest. Her cheeks flushed from the firewhiskey, her laughter a bit more tipsy than usual. With the second shot, her confidence grew, and soon enough, the group was egging her on to do her best Hogwarts staff impressions.

"Alright, Hermione, you have to do McGonagall! It's a classic!" Neville urged, a grin on his face as he leaned forward, clearly anticipating the fun.

The brightest witch of her age just giggled and slurred, "Oh, oh, yes, McGonagall..." Hermione took a deep breath, her face suddenly becoming much more serious as she adopted the familiar stern expression. "Five points will be awarded to each of you for sheer… dumb… luck!"

Grabbing the edge of a tray holding some chips she slid them over towards Harry. "Have a biscuit, Potter."

Everyone erupted into laughter, Ginny clutching her stomach as she laughed so hard she nearly choked on her drink, as Harry simply slid Hermione a butterbeer. Even Snape, who had been sitting back and observing the spectacle, allowed the smallest of smiles to cross his lips as he watched her mimic the stern professor.

Hermione was just getting started, her drunken state only adding to the chaos as she leaned in, eyes wide with excitement. "And then there's Flitwick!" she exclaimed, her voice jumping in pitch as she clasped her hands together like a tiny, excitable professor. "Come on, Miss Granger! Just a flick and a swish! You can do it! I believe in you!" She nearly bounced in her seat, her drunken enthusiasm bubbling over.

Ginny snorted, nearly choking on her drink. "That's way too accurate," she said, wiping a tear from her eye, and everyone at the table joined her in fits of laughter.

"Oh, don't forget Trelawney," Ron added, already preparing for his turn to make a fool of himself. "She's my personal favorite."

Hermione, already holding her butterbeer too tightly, grinned wickedly. "Oh, yes," she said dramatically, her eyes going wide as she tilted her head back, hands waving as if she were seeing the future. "The Grim... the terrible Grim! There is something in the stars tonight... something terrible, something fated!" She flourished her arms for effect, her butterbeer sloshing dangerously, causing a few droplets to spill over the edge.

The table was already laughing too hard to care, and Hermione's slurred words only made it worse. Snape, whose usual stoic face was locked in a tight, controlled mask, allowed a small exhale that almost passed for a chuckle. His gaze softened as he watched Hermione, captivated by her carefree energy.

"And then, of course, there's Professor Snape," Harry said, nudging Hermione, his face lit with mischief. "We can't leave out Snape, can we?"

"Ohhh, you want Snape?" Hermione said, leaning forward with too much intensity, her words a dramatic, deep whisper. She lowered her chin and scowled, raising one eyebrow just like Snape always did. "Are you always an insufferable know-it-all," she mimicked dangerously close to a growl. "Yes, it is easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. Ghosts are transparent..." She paused. "I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses."

Everyone burst into another round of hearty laughter, but Hermione's gaze darted to Snape, daring him to say something—anything. Snape was quiet for a long moment.

"I did," he muttered, his eyes soft, almost fond despite his attempt at keeping his usual severity.

The group dissolved into more laughter, oblivious to the subtle shift in the air around them. "Alright, now you've really done it," Bill chuckled, leaning back in his seat, wiping away tears. "If you're going to do Snape, you've got to do the real thing. The look of a thousand poisons, the death glare... the famous snarling at everyone."

Hermione immediately crossed her arms, adopting a posture as stiff as a broomstick. She narrowed her eyes, glaring at the group with such intensity that it was as if she could actually curse them all into oblivion. "Why did I ever think I'd get away with this?" she muttered in a low voice, giving a perfect imitation of Snape's brooding, venomous tone. "Why do I even bother trying to teach you... dunderheads anything? You should all be in Slytherin—it's the only house where competence is actually recognized."

The laughter was immediate, with even Snape blinking slightly at the unexpected accuracy of her impersonation. His gaze didn't shift away from her this time, lingering for a moment too long. Despite himself, he couldn't quite mask the warmth in his eyes as he watched her.

"I always thought he'd say something more sarcastic," Ginny said from across the table, a grin spreading across his face. "Like, 'Couldn't even find your way out of a dungeon with a bloody map.'"

Now looking somewhat dazed from all the firewhiskey and the steady stream of jokes, Hermione grinned wickedly. "Oh, and don't forget the best part," she continued, her speech slurring a little as she raised an eyebrow. "'Your stupidity knows no bounds, Mr. Weasley, but it does have its limits. Now leave me be and go do something—anything—useful.'" She waved her hand grandly for effect, knocking her drink again, but at this point no one was really paying attention to it.

"What, no comment?" she teased, her posture loose and relaxed now due to being fully flushed with alcohol. "I thought you'd have some snarky retort by now."

Snape allowed himself to lean in just a fraction closer. "Five points to Gryffindor. You've outdone yourself tonight, Hermione. I... may need a moment to recover from that performance."

"Nope, sorry Severus," she slurred just enough to make his heart flutter. The way she said it, so carefree and confident, stirred something in Snape—a warmth that was both unexpected and entirely out of place. For a moment, he was consumed by the thought of how easy it would be to lean in, to kiss her right there, but he quickly shut it down.

"What are you going to do now, then?" he asked, trying to regain his composure.

Hermione's eyes gleamed with mischief as she stood up, wobbling a little before catching herself. "Move, Severus," she said, pushing lightly at his arm with a tipsy grin. "I need to do my Hagrid impression."

Snape stepped aside, though he couldn't help but watch her with a slight, intrigued frown as she maneuvered her way to the bar. She climbed up with surprising ease for someone so drunk, her determination only slightly hindered by the wobble of her movements. She adjusted her stance, then, in the deepest, most exaggerated drawl she could muster, declared, "Fluffy shouldn't've said that!"

She paused, staring out across the room, waiting for the reactions she was used to getting. But the bar was slick, and her foot slipped out from under her. Hermione let out a small squeal as she began to fall backward, the world spinning around her.

Instinctively, Severus was right there. His hand shot out, catching her around the waist with surprising gentleness, though the grip was firm enough to stop her from toppling over completely.

Hermione blinked, staring up at him. The closeness, the softness in his touch, and the way his breath caught for a split second sent a thrill through her. She looked down at his lips—almost in a daze—and the words that came out of her mouth were completely unfiltered. "If I didn't know better, Professor, I'd think you were about to kiss me."

There was a pause, and her grin turned flirtatious as she added, "And I think I would like it. But then you'd be fired from Hogwarts, since I'm still a student." She chuckled, slightly breathless, unaware of how much her words had affected him.

Severus froze for a moment, his breath catching in his chest. His fingers lingered at her waist, reluctant to let go, and his mind scrambled for a proper response. Of course, kissing Hermione Granger was beyond out of the question, but that didn't stop his heart from beating wildly in his chest.

He cleared his throat, his voice coming out a little rougher than usual. "Let's get you home," he said, his hand still resting against her side to steady her.

Hermione blinked at him, her expression turning more thoughtful. "Hmm, okay. Can you... can you take me home?" A bit more vulnerable than it had been a moment ago. She looked over at Harry, who had been watching the whole interaction with an amused grin.

"Harry," Hermione began, just a bit slurred, "can you give Severus my house?" She was still slightly off-balance, leaning on Snape more than she realized, but her words were clear enough.

"What?"

Her face scrunched up in frustration. "My house Harry. Severus needs my house to take me home!"

Harry nodded and quickly scribbled down her address on a napkin. "Sure," he said with a smile,.

Snape took the napkin from Harry with a brief nod, his attention never straying too far from Hermione. She was still standing much closer to him than he ever expected, and the slight sway of her body against his had a profound effect on him that he was desperate to ignore.

He straightened up, gently guiding her away from the bar. "Come on," he muttered, more gentle than Hermione would have expected. "Let's get you back to your flat."

After the swift Apparition, Severus glanced down at Hermione, her balance uncertain as she clung to him for support. He'd braced himself for her to lose her stomach after the journey, but to his surprise, she held herself together, though she still swayed slightly on her feet. The night's drinking had clearly taken its toll, and Severus couldn't help but feel a pang of protectiveness as he guided her carefully toward her flat.

When they arrived at the door, Hermione fumbled with her keys, the motions slow and uncoordinated. Severus watched her closely, stepping in to offer a hand when she nearly dropped the bunch of keys. After trying a few before landing on the right one, the door creaked open.

As they stepped inside, a ginger cat darted out of the shadows, its eyes gleaming in the dim light of the hallway. It let out an angry screech, as if it had been waiting all night to express its displeasure at being disturbed.

The cat, despite its protests, made a beeline for the other room as Severus ushered Hermione in.

"You should get some rest," he suggested softly, leading her into the bedroom.

Hermione nodded with a sleepy smile, still holding onto him as she leaned into him for balance. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"Let me help you get comfortable," he said, though his gaze shifted to the bed, a clear reminder that she needed rest. He paused, trying to hide the awkwardness. "You need to change into them on your own."

Hermione nodded again, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. "I can do it," she whispered, and Severus found himself, despite everything, wanting to make sure she was comfortable, needing to make sure she didn't feel too vulnerable in this moment.

"I'll be right outside," he said, his hand lingering on the doorframe for just a second longer than necessary. He left, though his feet felt heavier with each step as he made his way to the kitchen to find her a glass of water.

When he returned with the water and a small trash bin—just in case—he found the door to her bedroom slightly ajar. The sight that greeted him made his breath catch. She had already slid under the covers, her clothes discarded carelessly across the floor. There was a soft vulnerability about her that made Severus hesitate for just a moment before entering.

He placed the glass of water on the nightstand, followed by the headache and sober-up potions he'd swiped from his lab before they had left for the bar. She would thank him for those in the morning, though he wasn't quite sure how to explain to her his sudden need to look after her so thoroughly.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

But just as he was about to step back and leave, he heard her call his name in a sleepy, quiet voice.

"Severus?" she said, and his name on her lips sent a strange jolt through his chest.

He turned. "Yes?"

She looked up at him through half-closed eyes, a small, slightly drunken smile plastered her lips. "Thank you... for taking me home." She reached out, her hand soft as it brushed against his arm. "I don't know what I would've done without you."

Before Severus could reply, Hermione leaned in slightly, her eyes closed in an attempt to kiss his cheek. But, in her inebriated state, she missed and instead grazed his jaw.

For a split second, their faces were so close that Severus could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. The moment stretched on, as if the world was on pause, but Hermione, clearly oblivious to the shift in the atmosphere, simply rolled over, pulling the blankets closer around herself.

Severus blinked, fighting the sensation spreading in his chest that was altogether too unfamiliar. He didn't stay long after that. He made sure to ward the door before he left, his heart beating a little faster than usual as he stepped into the quiet of the night.