A/N: I'm working on the next chapter of Suited Souls, don't worry! But in the mean time, this little thought popped into my head. I've written 2/4ish of the chapters. Now, on with the show, of which I own nothing:

The first time they kissed, he was drunk.

A rather gangly, freckled quidditch player had dropped by his potions store after hours to speak with Severus Snape's associate. It was the 6th anniversary of the death of Charity Burbage and he'd quit the front of the shop earlier than usual. Besides the rather large brewing laboratory and supply cupboard, there was a cramped little room which contained a desk for paperwork and a little table at which he and Ms. Granger liked to take their tea. The walls were covered floor to ceiling in bookshelves, absolutely crammed full of books. To this end, they referred to the room as the library. That was where he sat that evening, nursing a glass of scotch, trying hard to ignore the conversation taking place in the front of the shop.

In the years after the war, Ms. Granger had pursued her Healer's license, then gone on to obtain her Potions Mastery while working part time in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. When Severus Snape had left Hogwarts to pursue his dream of a dunderhead-free existence, she'd followed him, lending her Healers credentials to his potions outfit. Alone, he'd secured a few steady contracts from various alchemical and manufacturing companies. Together, they'd added a number of clinics and small hospitals to their client list. Between their supply business and the store front they kept on a side street off Diagon Alley, Princely Potions was doing very well for itself these days.

Listening to the rising voices coming from his front room, Seveus Snape took a swig of his drink. Judging from the shrill quality of Ms. Granger's voice, the evening was not going the way Mr. Weasley had hoped.

"Hermione, surely you don't mean you'd rather spend the evening with that greasy old bat than with me?"

"Did Lavendar already turn you down, then, Ronald?" Hermione quipped back, tired of Ron's inability to accept a simple 'no.' "Besides, I rather like discussing work with Professor Snape into the evening."

"Oh please, Hermione," Ron said, rolling his eyes and then smiling down at her like he was indulging a child. "No one likes Snape. And you can't believe everything you read in the papers–you know that! Lav and I haven't been an item for ages." Hermione felt her bushy hair beginning to break free from the bun she'd tied it in that morning. Magical sparks tickled her scalp and the tips of her fingers. She took a deep breath, trying very hard to keep her anger in check.

"No, Ron, you're right. If I believed everything I read in the papers, I'd be asking you about Ophelia Mansfield or Tracy Montague or Guinevere Vipond instead." With each name, she unconsciously took a step toward her friend, slowly backing him toward the door. "But I asked you about Lavender because yesterday morning at 5 am, on my way in from the Thursday morning supplies pick up, I saw you slip out of her flat! In evening robes!"

It was no good, her voice had raised in both pitch and volume. With that last word, she'd poked Ron in the chest, releasing a raw shock of energy in doing so.

Ron's ears had turned red, the indulgent grin gone from his face as he scowled, rubbing his chest where she'd shocked him. "What does it matter who I've been with? I thought you'd be happy to get out of here for once!"

"It matters that you lied! You can't just come around here and ask me to spend the night at your place like I'm your last resort to get laid!"

He threw up his hands, then stepped closer to her so she had to crane her neck up to see his angry face.

"So you'd rather spend the night with him than with me, is that it? You know there's a lot of people that think you got that mastery awfully quick. That it's suspicious that a young girl would spend all her time in the old git's shop. Maybe the papers are right after all."

And with that, Hermione slapped Ron for all she was worth. A hand to the red mark forming on his cheek, Ron briskly turned around, left the shop, and slammed the door behind him.

A moment later, Ms. Granger appeared at the entrance to the library. Severus had poured himself another finger of scotch. She went through the motions of making tea. Her hands shook, her cheeks were flushed red, her atrocious hair was fighting to escape its constraints, crackling with magical energy, and she was babbling in that way he hated.

"He's always been such a jealous arsehole! And even when we're getting on he thinks I'm not 'doing enough.' I've got a Healers license and a Mastery and stock in a business for Merlin's sake! What does he have? A bloody broomstick? To think that I should be some sort of Ministry toady! How can he not know by now that I love academia? That working here I get to do experiments and magic all day long? That no one looks down on me for who my parents are. That I work with a brilliant man! He's supposedly known me for 13 years and that imbecile doesn't seem to really know me at all…"

She continued on, calling Weasley increasingly derogatory names. She would not shut up about that prick. Severus finished his drink as he looked at the woman who had called him brilliant in the midst of her ramblings. The woman who had dropped a very prestigious job offer with St Mungos to work with him. The woman who had very decisively proclaimed she was quite happy to spend the evening in with him and who was now holding a saucer in one hand and gesticulating wildy with a teacup in the other. It was a good job the teacup was charmed against spilling or he'd have had tea all over his floor.

On she went, working herself up to that pitch that grated on his ears. He'd had enough. He stood abruptly, took the teacup and saucer from her, and placed them on the table. He stepped up to her, placed one hand on her cheek, the other on her waist, and leaned down to press his lips against hers.

She froze for a moment and then melted against him. She tasted like tea. It was blissful silence as he moved his lips against hers. She sighed against his mouth, resting her own hands on his hips. After a long moment, he pulled back and looked at her. Her face was flushed and her eyes were a little glazed. She smiled shyly up at him.

"Well. That's alright then," she said softly, still smiling. She patted him on the cheek, collected her bag and coat in a daze, and apparated away. As Severus returned to the table and his scotch, he wondered what the hell he'd just done.