A/N:  This is the final edit.  Endnotes and acknowledgements follow, as per usual.

 

Summary:  Hermione Granger and Severus Snape have been partners for years.  When Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter decide that their friends are Made For Each Other, nothing good can come of it.  Or can it?  An unplanned trilogy certainly has.  WARNING -- As fluffy as a one-eyed baby turkey.

 

Rating:  PG-13, for language and mild innuendo

 

Disclaimer:  I can categorically state that I don’t own any bits of the Harry Potter franchise -- believe me, I checked ...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dastardly Schemes and Drastic Measures, A Severus Snape/Hermione Granger Romantic Comedy

 

by:  Hayseed (hayseed_42@hotmail.com)

 

 

            Part One:          Just Lie Back and Think of Switzerland

 

            Part Two:         What Does Quidditch Have to Do with It

 

            Part Three:       When Fiji Mermaids Attack

 

            Endnotes and Acknowledgements

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just Lie Back and Think of Switzerland ...

 

 

“No!” Hermione Granger cried as she opened the envelope.  “No, no, no, no, no,” she moaned, pulling out the envelope’s contents and frowning over them. 

 

With a sigh, she pulled a fresh sheet of parchment out of a desk drawer and scribbled a quick note on it.  Rolling it up, she beckoned the owl that had just delivered the first message over and gave it a beseeching look.

 

“Will you please take this to Hogwarts?” she asked.  “I know it’s a bit out of your way, but I know Albus Dumbledore will give you a sweet if you do.”  Looking at the bird hopefully, she was gratified when it held out a leg with what could only be described as a look of resignation on its face.  “Oh, thank you,” she told the owl politely.

 

Hooting noncommittally, it flew out the open window.  Hermione returned to perusing her latest missive with dismay.

 

“Please,” a male voice said from her fireplace.  “Please tell me this is some sort of joke.”

 

Not even bothering to look up, she waved her hand at a nearby chair.  “You can come on through, Severus,” she said.  “And I expect not, as I got one as well.”

 

Severus Snape fell out of her fireplace with only a small thud, dusting soot distastefully off his robes.  “Your fireplace is filthy,” he said, flinging himself into the chair in question.

 

“Discourages Ministry visits,” she replied, looking up to grin at him.  “How are you today, Severus?”

 

“Invited to the Weasley wedding event of the year, as it seems,” he said, holding up his invitation.  “For reasons quite beyond my scope.  How are you?”

 

She threw her own invitation on the desk with a grunt and began twirling a quill in her fingers absently.  “I’ve had better days, to be honest.  But I wouldn’t worry about the wedding much--I’m taking care of it.”

 

“Oh, I’m not worried,” he said blandly, propping his feet familiarly on her desk.  “I have no intention of attending.  I just wonder why on Earth Ginny Weasley wants me at her wedding.”

 

Frowning at his feet, she stood up and made her way around the desk toward the tea things sitting on the hearth.  “I think it has something to do with the fact that you brought them together in the first place.  Tea?”

 

“I did no such thing,” he said with a scowl.  “And yes, tea would be nice.”

 

“I can ring up Twinkly for some biscuits, if you’d like,” she said, sitting the kettle on a stand in the flames.  “And yes, you did.”

 

“Biscuits would do,” Severus conceded, removing his feet from her desk so that he could turn and properly scowl at her.  “But to return to the subject at hand, all I recall doing to those two was assigning them both a rather nasty detention after they managed to set each other on fire during one of my more dismal lectures.”

 

“And if you’d ever bothered to notice,” she replied, “they’ve been inseparable ever since.  Ginny told me ages ago that if you hadn’t basically locked them up in the same room for a night, she and Colin would never have come to an ... understanding.”

 

If anything, the scowl deepened.  “You mean started shagging like rabbits.”

 

“How romantic of you, Severus,” she retorted tartly, ringing the bell for the resident house elf.

 

“Yes, Miss,” a tiny voice squeaked from somewhere around Severus’ kneecaps.  “Is Miss wanting something?”

 

Hermione smiled down at the long-eared elf.  “Yes, Twinkly.  Would you mind bringing up a few of those biscuits you were baking this morning for the professor and myself, please?”

 

“Of course, Miss,” Twinkly piped.  “Biscuits for Miss and Miss’ professor.  Is Miss’ professor needing anything else?”

 

Taken off guard, Severus did not reply instantly.  But after a few moments of expectant silence, he managed to look down at Twinkly and give her what passed for an encouraging look.  “No, thank you, Twinkly.  That will be all.”

 

“Yes, Miss’ professor.”  And with a crack, she was gone.

 

Hermione smiled at the obviously disconcerted Severus sweetly.  “Shut up,” he said preemptively.

 

“What?” she asked innocently.  “I didn’t say anything ... Miss’ professor.”

 

“Would you like to find Veritaserum in your morning tea the next time you’re at Hogwarts?” he asked in a deceptive tone.  As she shook her head, still grinning at him, he apparently decided to change the subject.  “I never thought I’d see you coping with a house elf, of all people.  Not after all the fuss you pitched at Hogwarts about them.  You were practically a permanent bullet on the agenda for faculty meetings, you know.”

 

“I didn’t have the heart to talk to her about it,” Hermione admitted.  “She started crying when I offered to pay her and promised to do a better job.  I think it might undo her permanently if I offered her clothes.”

 

“Not to mention that she’s bound to the house,” Severus said.  “Not to you.  If you freed her, she would still have to stay here.”

 

She shrugged.  “I doubt I’ll be here much longer.  I’m sure Albus will pull us all back into the Headquarters before long.”

 

“He persists with the delusion that the Order is one big, happy family,” he said with a grimace.  “I’m sure Albus sees himself as the grand patriarch, presiding over a clan of rollicking grandchildren.”

 

“Eurgh,” she replied, shuddering.  “That would mean I was related to Draco Malfoy.”  Taking the kettle off the fire, she poured steaming water into a nearby teapot.

 

Sighing, Severus picked up the two cups on the table and cast a Cleansing Charm on them.  “Some of us are, you know.  Much to our eternal chagrin.”

 

“I saw that, Severus Snape,” she cried.  “Those cups were perfectly clean, I’ll have you know.”

 

He sat them back down and gave her an unrepentant stare.  “You do get awfully wrapped up in work sometimes.”

 

Their banter continued as Hermione poured tea and Twinkly returned with a plateful of biscuits and another one of sandwiches.  “Just in case Miss’ professor gets hungry,” she’d said.  He’d ignored Hermione’s laughter as he picked one up and pronounced it edible. 

 

They were discussing the developments in the Johanssen case when an owl flew in through the window and landed on Hermione’s desk with a little chirp.

 

“Well, that was fast,” she said, untying the note on the bird’s leg.

 

“What was fast?” Severus asked, draining the last of his tea and leaning forward.

 

Ignoring his question, she unrolled the parchment and scanned it, face falling.  “Damn him,” she cried with conviction.  “That horrible old bastard!”

 

“I’m fairly certain Albus’ parents were happily married when he was born, if that’s who you’re talking about.  And it usually is,” Severus said dryly.  “What has happened?”

 

“Here,” she said angrily, thrusting the note under his nose.  “Read this!”

 

Eyebrows raised, he complied.  “My dear Hermione,” he read out loud.  “I’m afraid that I cannot spare my Potions master next weekend.  Your reconnaissance mission will simply have to be put off longer.  I would not worry much on it as Johanssen is not likely to fly the coop any time soon.  Albus.  Oh ... and there’s a postscript.  P.S.  The wedding is sure to be lovely, isn’t it?  Shame I can’t stay for all of it myself.”  Severus frowned at the parchment in his hands.  “I hate him.  That was your plan for getting out of the wedding?  That was it?”

 

“What d’you mean, ‘that was it?’” she mimicked crossly.  “It was perfect!  Ginny couldn’t have possibly expected me to be at her wedding when I had to go chase down a horrible Death Eater.  That’s practically ironclad!  Damn Albus.”

 

With a shrug, he handed the letter back to her.  On impulse, she set the missive on fire with a single word, watching it burn with relish.  “I thought you liked Ginny Weasley,” he said cautiously.

 

“I like her well enough,” she replied.  “But everyone will be mad with this wedding nonsense.  What’s more, I can’t think of a tactful way to explain to Molly Weasley that spending the weekend at the Burrow would drive me out of my mind.”

 

“I did wonder at that note on the back of the invitation,” Severus said.  “I couldn’t figure out why they would extend that sort of familiarity to guests they were inviting only a week before the actual ceremony.”

 

Sighing, she bit into a sandwich and chewed heavily.  “I’m sure all of Colin’s relatives have the Muggle hotel in town booked up,” she said after swallowing.  “And I know they wanted to keep it small, so Molly probably thought they could fit all of the wizarding relatives at the Burrow.  They probably can, if people don’t mind sharing beds.”

 

“Sharing beds?” he asked with something akin to horror.  “I’m certainly glad I’m not going, then.”

 

“What do you mean, you’re not going?” she asked heatedly.

 

He brushed a few crumbs off his robes and cocked an eyebrow at her.  “I have no particular attachment to either the bride or groom and I have no intention of potentially sharing a bed with a Weasley.  My invitation was perfunctory at best, Hermione.”

 

“Oh, no,” she said, coming out of her chair to loom over him as dangerously as she could manage.  “You’re not going to abandon me to an entire house full of Weasleys, are you?”

 

“That was my plan, yes,” he responded absently.  “You’re the brilliant Auror, you know.  I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

 

“If I’ve got to go, then I’ll be damned if I’m going to endure it alone,” she nearly spat.

 

Severus contrived to look innocent.  “I thought you enjoyed the company of these people.”

 

“For a meal, yes,” she said.  “For an afternoon, certainly.  But I’ve lived with them before and the entire clan yelling at each other is enough to drive me deaf and batty at the same time.  I’m not going to do it alone.”

 

He smirked.  “It seems to me that you are, as Albus has all but ordered you to go.”

 

“I’m sure that order stands for all invited parties,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest in victory.

 

“I’m not the one who sent him a thinly veiled plea to get out of it, though,” Severus reminded her, crossing his arms in kind.  “And besides, Albus doesn’t expect me to be sociable.”  Check and mate.

 

Or was it?

 

Thinking quickly, Hermione switched tactics, leaning down toward him.  Their noses were almost touching.  And she smiled.  Deviously.  “Hey, Severus?” she began sweetly.

 

“Yes?” he asked, clearly nervous.  He was familiar with this behavior in passing and it never boded well.

 

“If you don’t go to the wedding, Severus,” she said in a dangerous tone, “I’ll tell Albus about what happened in Switzerland.”

 

Discomfited, he actually shrank a little in his chair, causing Hermione’s smile to turn into a smirk.  “Switzerland?” he echoed uncomfortably.

 

She leaned in even closer.  “Everything,” she hissed.  “The cat, too, Severus.”

 

His eyes narrowed and he sat up straighter.  “You wouldn’t dare,” he replied calmly, the apprehension in his eyes contradicting his even tone.

 

“Care to take odds on that?” she asked, smirk widening.

 

With a sigh, he folded, arms dropping to his sides and head lowering.  “I’ll go,” he said reluctantly.  “But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

 

“Oh, I don’t expect you to be happy about anything, Severus,” she said playfully.  “And we’ll have to go to France the weekend after, you know.”

 

“Johanssen,” he sighed, reaching around her to take another biscuit.  “At least he’s one of the more indolent Death Eaters.  It shouldn’t be particularly difficult.”

 

“I wish I could share your optimism,” she replied, taking a biscuit in kind and watching him chew on his thoughtfully.  “Remember what happened in Paris last year?  That was supposed to be a routine one as well.”

 

Shrugging, he swallowed.  “How was I to know that he kept a spare wand?”

 

“I thought you were the spy.  I’m just the muscle in this outfit,” she teased.  “You’re supposed to be the brains.”

 

“Wench.”

 

Hermione grinned at his glare, perching on a corner of her desk.  “Bastard.”

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

“Hermione!” Ginny Weasley cried enthusiastically as she ushered one of her closest friends in the front door of the Burrow.  “I’m so glad you could come.”

 

“Ginny,” Hermione replied, somewhat less enthusiastically.  “It’s good to see you.  How’s Colin?”

 

Smiling, Ginny gave her a conspiratorial wink.  “Mum is insisting that he stays over at the hotel with his family instead of here with me.  Never mind that we’ve shared a flat for more than four years.  Mum wants to do this whole wedding right.  I’ve got the white dress, the bouquet, even a flower girl.”

 

“A flower girl, huh?”

 

“One of Colin’s cousins has a daughter,” she explained.  “And she’s just as cute as she can be in her little dress.  So ... how are you?”

 

Hermione blinked at the sudden change in conversation.  “Erm ... fine,” she managed.  “Same old, same old.”

 

“Still chasing down baddies with our dearest professor, are we?” Ginny asked teasingly.  “How is old Snape, anyway?”

 

“He’s still Snape,” she said with a grin.  “But you’ll see for yourself.”

 

Ginny’s eyes opened wide.  “You mean he’s coming!  Mum didn’t tell me.  Colin and I sent him an invitation as a joke, really.  We never thought he’d actually respond.  I’m glad that he’s coming, of course, though.”

 

Hermione lifted an eyebrow.  “He thought it was a joke.  How gratified he’ll be to learn he was right.”

 

“Oh, not a joke like that!” Ginny cried.  “I hope we didn’t hurt his feelings ...”

 

“Good Lord, Ginny,” Hermione exclaimed.  “Of course not!  He just couldn’t understand why you would invite him.”

 

A loud voice booming from the staircase interrupted their conversation.  “Is that our Hermione?” it cried.

 

Looking up, she grinned as the figure came dashing down the stairs.  “Hey, Harry,” she said.  “How’s it going?”

 

“Swimmingly, of course,” a beaming Harry Potter replied, sweeping her up in a tight embrace.  “And you’re looking characteristically lovely.”

 

“Are you blind?” Hermione asked as he sat her back on her feet.  “My hair’s probably standing on end and I’ve been wearing the same clothes for at least two days and I know I’ve got a pimple on my forehead the size of London.”

 

“I never said you smelled lovely,” he replied with a smirk, accepting the inevitable smack on his arm with good graces.  “Seriously, though,” he continued.  “How are you?  It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

 

Shaking her head at his exuberance, she allowed him to take her bag and followed him up the stairs.  “Try since the last Order meeting, wonderboy,” she said.  “And I’m fine.”

 

“You and our dearest Snape catch anyone interesting lately?” he asked, reaching the top of the staircase.

 

“We’re going after Johanssen next weekend,” she replied.  “And I’ve got a few leads on Wormtail that might be worth checking out.  So ... do you happen to know where I’m staying?”

 

With an even wider grin, he pushed open the first door on the right side of the hall.  “With me,” he said.  “Molly knew I’d protect your honor, I’m sure.”

 

“It’s probably the other way around,” she said with a laugh.  “Unless she somehow didn’t invite Malfoy?”

 

Harry dropped her bag on the bed in what appeared to be Percy’s old room, joining in her laughter.  “No, Draco’s here,” he said.  “She’s drafted all of us men into setting everything up for the rehearsal dinner in the backyard.  I just ran up here for a minute to use the loo and heard your lovely voice.  In fact, I’m sure Draco’s wondering where I’ve gotten off to.”

 

“I always know where you’ve gotten to,” came Draco Malfoy’s unmistakable drawl from the doorway.  “But I was beginning to wonder if the toilet had managed to eat you or something.  Hey, Granger--has a rat died on your face, or have you just gotten uglier?”

 

She smirked.  “You used to be more intelligent, Malfoy.  There wasn’t a single insult in there with more than two syllables.”

 

They locked glares for a few moments before bursting into laughter.  Draco strode forward and gave Hermione a brisk hug.  “How are you, Granger?” he asked her with a genuine smile.

 

“I’m fine, Malfoy,” she replied.  “How about you?”

 

“No complaints,” he said, tucking some hair behind his ear.  “I’m finding life as a kept man to be quite enjoyable.  And the sex is incredible.” 

 

Groaning, she stepped away from him and sat down on the bed.  “Please,” she said with a grimace.  “I don’t want to hear about it.”

 

“Yes, Hermione,” Draco teased.  “Harry here has sex on occasion,” he said with deliberately wide eyes.  “With me, even.”  After a pause, “Well ... not on occasion.  I’d have to say more like--“

 

“Draco!” she cried.  “No details!”

 

Here, Harry finally broke in, placing a comfortable arm around his lover’s waist.  “I have to agree with her here, Draco,” he said, resting his chin familiarly on his shoulder.  “Details are for me only.”

 

She rolled her eyes.  “You two are so cute I think I’m going to throw up.”

 

“You just wait until you fall in love, Granger,” Draco threatened, kissing Harry’s cheek for good measure.  “I bet you’ll be a pile of mush.  And I’ll make sure to give you hell constantly.”

 

“Don’t you already do that?” she asked, standing up.  “I should get back downstairs, I suppose.  Do you two know who else is here?”

 

With a quick headshake, Draco stepped away from the door to let her pass.  “Not everyone,” he said.  “Weasel isn’t here, but his wife said he couldn’t get away from work until later.  But other than that, I think Ginny’s family is all accounted for.”

 

She walked down the stairs quickly, intending to keep an eye out for Severus.  Draco would have mentioned if he was already here.  And besides, she had every intention of going over to Hogwarts and dragging him kicking and screaming if she had to.  There was no way she was going to let Molly Weasley coddle her and cluck over her lack of a love life or respectable job for an entire weekend alone.

 

“I think I’m going to hang out here,” she told the two men, hovering by the front door.  “Just in case someone else comes in.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow.  “Are you expecting someone?”

 

“No ...” she tried.

 

“You know, Granger, for an Auror, you’re a terminally shitty liar,” Draco said.

 

“He’s right, Hermione,” Harry chimed in.  “Spill.”

 

Glowering, she crossed her arms.  “Do you two ever argue about anything any more?  What happened to screaming at each other in Order meetings and throwing hexes in the hallways?”

 

“We still do a fair amount of that,” Draco replied blandly.  “We’re both in exceptionally good moods today.  But you’re not worming out of this one like that.  Now come on--who are you expecting?”

 

Hanging her head and letting her hair fall in her eyes like a protective curtain, she allowed herself to mumble, “Severus.”

 

“What was that, Hermione?” Harry asked.  “We didn’t hear you ...”

 

“You bleeding asshole,” she muttered, glaring at Harry through her hair screen.  “Severus,” she repeated loudly and firmly.  “I bullied him into coming, okay?”

 

“Severus?” Draco echoed.  “Was he invited?”

 

Harry elbowed him.  “Of course he was,” he said.  “Most of the Order was and besides, he’s the one who got Colin and Ginny together.”

 

“Intentionally?”  This was accompanied by a skeptical look.

 

“Decidedly not,” a voice said from the other side of the door.  “And if you are going to discuss my business,” it continued dryly, “you might do it in a set of tones that the entire neighborhood won’t hear.”

 

Grinning, Draco threw the door open and embraced a rather startled Severus.  “Why, Uncle Severus,” he gushed.  “How good of you to come.”

 

“Get away from me, you poncey prat,” he snarled.  “And don’t call me that--I’m not your uncle!”

 

“Second cousins are as good as uncles to Malfoys,” Draco replied.  “Besides, I like pissing you off.”

 

Ignoring him, Severus turned to Hermione.  “Well ... I’m here,” he said despondently.  “Can I leave now?”

 

“Switzerland, Severus,” she reminded him sweetly.

 

“I hate you,” he said with conviction.

 

“Well ... is everyone here, then?” Harry asked, glancing back and forth between a glowering Severus and a smirking Hermione.  “Only I’m sure we ought to get back to the party.  They’re done setting up, probably.”

 

“I’ll take your bags up to the room, Uncle Severus,” Draco said.  “Mrs. Weasley told me where you are.”

 

Grunting, Severus simply brushed past them and walked briskly toward the backyard.  Hermione recognized this as his “Let’s get this over with, then” walk and heartily echoed the sentiment.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

She wanted to scream.  What sort of god had she infuriated to wind up in this predicament?  Sandwiched in between Draco Malfoy, who was doing his best ‘simpering pansy’ impression this evening for reasons only he could fathom, and Molly Weasley, who had already tried to introduce Hermione to at least four Weasley cousins of varying ages and temperaments and managed to insult her career choice no less than a dozen times.

 

“I could have been an Auror, you know,” she was currently saying.

 

Here came insult thirteen, Hermione was sure.

 

“But I was so eager to get married and start a family,” Molly continued, ignorant of Hermione’s clenched jaw and grinding teeth.  “That’s important to some people.”

 

“Is it?” Hermione managed to grate out.

 

Either oblivious or uncaring, she plunged forward.  “I was so happy to hear that Albus had offered you a job teaching Arithmancy, my dear,” she said.

 

Sighing, she refrained from banging her head against the table with great effort.  “I turned him down,” she reminded Molly for the fourth time that evening.

 

“Yes, dear,” she said.  “I was sorry to hear that.  Teaching is such a noble profession and some people consider it a great sacrifice.”

 

“I hate children,” Hermione said flatly.  “Very nearly without exception.”

 

Startled, Molly retreated somewhat.  “Ah, yes,” she said, disconcerted.  Apparently unable to formulate a response, she turned to her left and engaged Mrs. Creevey--Colin’s mother--in earnest conversation and Hermione heaved a great sigh of relief.

 

Halfway down the table, Severus caught her eye and sent her a glower reminiscent of her childhood potions classes.  She willed his cloak to burst into flames and was not pleased when it refrained from doing so.  Although she was happy to note that Severus appeared to be sitting in between a bubbling Dennis Creevey and what appeared to be the flower girl (somewhere in the neighborhood of seven years old and eagerly chattering to a pained Severus). 

 

“So, Hermione,” Draco said in a voice dripping with false cheer.  “I was just telling Colin here about your work.”

 

“Do you really work with Snape?” Colin asked breathlessly.  “Is he as hateful as he was in class?”

 

“Only mostly,” she replied absently, watching the flower girl actually tug impatiently on Severus’ robe sleeve to regain his attention.  “Sometimes he’s worse.  But only when we’ve been captured or when someone is threatening to kill us.”

 

Colin’s eyes widened.  “I don’t know how you can do it,” he said.

 

Now the flower girl was trying to take something off Severus’ plate--Hermione hoped fervently that he wouldn’t hex her.  “I am a fully-trained Auror, you know,” she chided.

 

Her attention was taken off Severus and the stupidly persistent flower girl as Ron Weasley strode into the yard, smiling as he greeted his baby sister with a hug.  “How’s the bride?” he asked cheerfully.

 

“Wondering why you’re so late,” Ginny replied, pecking his cheek.  “But I think I’ll forgive you by the end of it all.”

 

“Oi, Colin,” Ron bellowed, “are you sure you want to be marrying this little brat?  She’s awfully bossy!”

 

“And loud!” Fred Weasley shouted from the other end of the table.

 

“And she’s got six terrifyingly overprotective brothers,” Charlie Weasley cried from his seat across from Severus.

 

“In fact,” George Weasley concluded, standing.  “You might just be better off to break it off.”

 

The entire table, Severus notably excluded, erupted into laughter as Colin blushed purple.

 

“Don’t listen to them,” Ginny told Colin, walking over to kiss the top of his head and put a hand on his shoulder.  “They know I’ll hex each one of them into tomorrow if they don’t knock it off.”

 

“She already tried it when I started making arrangements for the stag party,” Ron said conversationally as he dropped into an empty seat beside his wife, Susan.

 

“Stag party?” Harry asked.

 

“Oh, like you’d be interested,” Ron retorted, piling a plate high with food.  “Female strippers only, mate.”

 

Harry contrived to look hurt.  “Stag parties mean free alcohol, you know.  And besides, why didn’t you tell me about it?”

 

“There isn’t one,” Fred said by way of response.  “Colin said he ‘doesn’t need one,’” he mimicked in a falsetto.

 

Something in Ginny’s face melted.  “You did?” she asked a continually blushing Colin.  “How sweet!”

 

“How smart,” Draco commented in Hermione’s right ear.  “I’ll bet ... yes, there they go!”

 

Sure enough, Ginny leaned down and kissed her fiancé with gusto.  Glancing down the table again, Hermione rolled her eyes in agreement at Severus, who was looking rather disgusted with the scene.

 

“I think that about does it for me,” she said, standing suddenly.  “Supper was great, though, Molly.  That chocolate cake was nothing short of spectacular.”

 

“Thank you, dear,” Molly said shortly, still chatting with Colin’s mother.

 

Hermione moved down the table, nodding at her acquaintances and exchanging one last smirk with Severus.

 

“Hey, Hermione!” Ron cried as he caught sight of her.  “Long time no see.”

 

“Ron,” she said, giving him a one-armed embrace as she passed by his head.  “How are you and Susan doing?”

 

Ron grinned and patted his wife’s hand.  “Due in January.”

 

“Really?” she asked, rather surprised.  “That’s ... that’s great.  Really great, Ron.”

 

“Yeah,” he said.  “We’re thrilled.  And Mum’s over the moon.”

 

“I can imagine,” she replied dryly.

 

Chuckling, Ron took a long draught of his water.  “I saw that you were sitting beside her tonight.  What was it this time?”

 

“The usual,” she said with a little shrug.  “I think she tried to set me up with your accountant cousin, though.  Apparently we have so much in common that she just had to introduce us.”

 

“Ouch,” he said, wincing.  “Well ... Mum means well, at any rate.”

 

“I’m sure Hitler did, too,” she said.  “I’m headed back inside, Ron.  But make sure you fix the seating at the reception tomorrow so that we’re at the same table.  It would be nice to catch up a bit.”

 

“Yeah,” he agreed.  “Good night, then, Hermione.”

 

“Night, Ron.”

 

She was almost through the back door--almost free, when she felt a hand on her shoulder.  Turning around, Hermione let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding as she looked up into Harry’s face.  “Harry?”

 

“Hey,” he said.  “I wanted to ask you something.”

 

Confused, she was sure he could read it in her features.  “What?”

 

Suddenly shy, Harry’s cheeks reddened.  “Well ... I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind if I swapped out with Draco’s roommate.  Molly has these old-fashioned ideas and--“

 

“Who is he?” she asked with trepidation.  “I’m not sharing a bed with someone I’ve never met before, Harry.”

 

The blush deepened.  “I don’t remember,” he admitted.  “But Draco said he knew you wouldn’t mind.  It’s someone you know, I just can’t recall the name.”

 

Suspicious, she narrowed her eyes at him.  “Harry ...” she warned.

 

“Please,” he pleaded, eyes wide.  “It’s just for a night, Hermione.”

 

She blew out a sigh.  “Oh for cripes’ sakes, Harry, of course.  If it means that much to you.”

 

He patted her shoulder.  “Thanks, Hermione.  You’re fabulous.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, flapping a hand at him.  “Now quit grinning at me, you flaming fairy, before I change my mind.”

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

Severus had descended into the sixth circle of hell at least.  When Hermione had literally blackmailed him into attending this debacle, she hadn’t mentioned that enduring the company of twittering children would be a part of it.

 

Her name was Brittany.  Brittany Harmony Creevey.  She was six-and-three-quarters years old.  Her favorite food was chips and her favorite television show was some horrendous cartoon that she insisted on describing in ornate detail.  Mrs. Anderson was her teacher at school and she was just the bestest teacher in creation.

 

The child went on and on.  It was as if her jaw was this awful hinge that never closed.  Just bobbed open and shut continuously.

 

If he had to sit here any longer, he was going to go into sugar shock.

 

And then the horrible little brat actually reached up and stole the last biscuit off his plate.  Stole it, crammed it into her mouth, and beamed at him, as if he was supposed to praise her larceny.

 

He was her bestest new friend, apparently.  She’d told him so.  At great length.

 

Trying desperately not to scream (or put a Silencing Hex on her), Severus looked up and down the table, seeing Weasley after Weasley, with a handful of Creeveys thrown in to spare.  Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

 

And here came the worst Weasley.  Striding in as if he owned the place, teasing his sister, and just generally jumping up and down on Severus’ last nerve.

 

The only thing that made the boy bearable was the fact that he owed Severus a massive Life Debt.  During his sixth year, the brat had been caught trying to sneak into Malfoy Manor after Potter.  Severus had managed to pull them both out and just as they were taking a Portkey back to Hogwarts, he’d shoved Weasley out of the way of one of Lestrange’s Killing Curses.  Weasley had spat out expletives Severus had never heard in his entire life upon realizing what had happened.  They never mentioned the Life Debt, of course, but it hung over Weasley’s head--it had to--like an unwanted stone.

 

Watching Ginny Weasley all but shove her tongue down Colin Creevey’s throat, Severus exchanged sardonic glances with Hermione and monitored her slow retreat from the dinner party, smirking to himself as she was waylaid by Weasley after Weasley, ending in a little parlay with Potter (which Potter appeared to win).

 

About half an hour after Hermione’s disappearance, Severus decided that he’d had enough of Miss Brittany Harmony Creevey and deserted her without so much as a farewell, cutting off her elaborate description of the lace on her dress as he abruptly stood.

 

He was nearly halfway across the yard (and that much further away from young Brittany) when he all but ran into a smirking Draco.  “What do you want?” he asked tiredly.

 

“Uncle Severus ...” Draco began with a smarmy grin.

 

“I’m not your uncle, Draco,” he reminded him.

 

Shaking his head, Draco put a hand on his shoulder.  “But ‘Second Cousin Severus’ sounds so impersonal.”

 

“I repeat--what do you want?”

 

“I want Harry and you to swap beds,” Draco said rather flatly.

 

Severus was taken aback.  “What?” he asked, startled.

 

Sighing, he tightened his hand on Severus’ shoulder.  “Did I stutter?  Look ... Molly Weasley has antiquated ideas about unmarried couples sharing rooms, but Harry said his roommate would swap out with you so that Harry and I can spend the night together.”

 

“No,” he said.  “I’m not going to share a bed with a perfect stranger, Draco.”

 

“But you know Harry’s roommate,” he said quickly.

 

“Oh, yes?” Severus asked slyly.  “Then who is he?”

 

Apparently thinking quickly, Draco did what he did best and improvised.  “I don’t remember,” he said.

 

“You don’t remember?” he echoed incredulously.

 

“Nope,” he said guilelessly.  “But I do know that Harry said his roommate said it would be fine.  So ... how about it, Uncle Sev?”

 

“Uncle Sev?” Severus asked, distaste evident in his voice.

 

“It’s just for one night,” Draco wheedled.  “First door on the right after the first staircase.”

 

Feeling as if he’d been tricked and not knowing exactly how Draco had managed it, Severus conceded.  “Oh, all right.  But don’t ever call me that again, Draco.”

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

Why? Severus asked himself.  To his knowledge, he’d never displayed signs of masochism before.

 

Apparently he was a late bloomer, then.

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he mentally berated himself as he obediently dried off the drippy dish Molly Weasley placed into his hand.

 

In an effort to avoid interacting with Potter’s former roommate, Severus had proffered his services to Molly Weasley in cleaning up after the supper.  Delighted, apparently, she’d loaded his arms up with dirty dishes and ushered him into the kitchen, chattering away.

 

It was only slightly better than enduring Brittany.

 

In the same way that death by drowning was only slightly better than death by, say, crucifixion.

 

Now Severus recalled why he’d avoided this woman like a communicable disease during the summers he’d been forced to stay at the Order Headquarters with parts of the Weasley family.  He also knew now exactly why Hermione dreaded speaking with her.

 

Molly Weasley had to have been a Slytherin as a student.  There was no other way she could manipulate his feelings so successfully.

 

In two short hours, she’d managed to insult his teaching methods, berate him for being unmarried, and heavily imply that the only reason Albus hadn’t fired him from Hogwarts and kicked him out of the Order was out of pity.  And instead of the rage he’d expected to feel at her words--been hoping to feel, honestly--he’d only felt slightly put out and oddly guilty.

 

Murder was not legal, he reminded himself helpfully, feeling cheated out of his healthy rage.  Murder was not legal and suicide was not ethical.

 

Fortunately, however, there were only a few more dishes and then he could escape Molly Weasley with good grace.

 

By this point, Severus would have gladly told Albus about Switzerland.  In graphic detail.  As long as it would have gotten him out of this wedding and--more importantly--spending a night in bed with someone he most likely had never met before while his worthless Malfoy of a cousin shagged his equally worthless boyfriend.

 

“You’re so quiet, Severus,” Molly Weasley was saying cheerfully, handing him a pot.  “You’ve barely said a word all evening.”

 

He managed a grunt, sitting the now-dry pot in a pile with all of the others.

 

“I’ve never understood why our Ron is so embarrassed about that Life Debt,” she chattered on, oblivious to Severus’ immediate discomfort.  “After all, it’s like I told him.  ‘Ron,’ I said, ‘he’s got to be a decent fellow for saving your life.  You ought to be honored.’”

 

He’d never wanted to leave a room so badly in his entire existence.  Not even when that fool of an imbecile Gilderoy Lockhart had sent him a singing valentine during a faculty meeting more than a dozen years ago.  “Just to cheer him up a bit,” Lockhart had said.  Severus’ knuckles whitened on the dinner fork he was holding.

 

“That’s the last bit there, Severus my dear,” she said, watching him grip the fork quizzically.  “Thanks ever so much for helping me clean up.”

 

“Welcome,” he said noncommittally, laying the fork on the counter and keeping his pace at a steady walk as he left the kitchen instead of the run his mind was screaming at his legs to use.

 

The Burrow was unexpectedly quiet as he moved through the kitchen and sitting room.  Probably most everyone would be asleep by now, anyway.  Glancing at his watch, Severus noted that it was nearly midnight.  With the wedding tomorrow morning, people would most likely want to get up fairly early.

 

But there were voices emanating from the parlor.  Slipping closer to the archway, Severus listened carefully.

 

“ ... you talk to her?” Draco asked someone.

 

“Sure,” Potter’s voice replied casually.  “Were you successful?”

 

“Was there any doubt of that?” he asked playfully.

 

“I don’t like this,” came someone else’s voice that Severus could not immediately recognize.

 

“Oh, come on, Weasel,” Draco said.  “When did you get so boring?”

 

Oh ... Weasley.

 

“Can it, Malfoy,” was the angry retort.  “It’s just ... I don’t think it’s a very good idea.”  This was more hesitant.

 

“What d’you mean?” Draco cried.  “It’s a brilliant idea!  It’s perfect.”

 

“They’ve been such good friends,” Potter said earnestly in counterpoint with his lover.  “And they’ve both got to be lonely.”

 

“They’re practically made for each other, Weasel,” Draco completed.

 

“Look, Malfoy,” Weasley said.  “If they want to shag or whatever, fine with me.  It’s not my business, besides.  But tricking them is dirty pool and you know it.”

 

“It’s not a trick,” Draco retorted stoutly.  “It’s matchmaking.”

 

Severus could almost hear Weasley shaking his head.  “They’re going to kill you.  Both of you.  You know that, right?”

 

“You’re in for it, too, mate,” Potter said.  “You knew about it and didn’t stop us.”

 

“I wash my hands of the two of you,” Weasley said in what could only be described as a final tone.  “I’m going to sleep now.”

 

“Night, Ron,” Potter called as Severus heard footsteps on the stairs.

 

“Yeah, sleep tight, Weasel,” Draco said.

 

“Sod off, ferret,” Weasley shot back, muffled.

 

Severus waited a few minutes for Potter and Draco to make their own way up the stairs before going up himself.  Recalling what Draco had said, he knocked briskly on the first door on the right hand side of the hallway before opening it hesitantly.

 

Looking into Hermione’s surprised gaze, he sighed.  “Hermione, I think we’ve been had.”

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

“Those horrible little ... aargh!” Hermione trailed off in frustration, hugging a pillow to her chest.  Severus assumed from the fashion in which she was slowly twisting it, she was imagining it to be either Draco’s or Potter’s neck.

 

Nodding, he sat down on the bed beside her, crossing his legs and perching his elbows on his knees in a casual maneuver most of his students would have been absolutely shocked to see him performing.  “The question is,” he said.  “What do we do about it?”

 

“If I didn’t know they’d probably enjoy it,” she growled, adjusting her pajama top minutely.  “I’d march up right now and bind them both to the bed.  As it stands ...”  She sighed.  “Probably nothing.”

 

“Nothing?” he echoed, skeptical.

 

“Well,” she began.  “Think about it.  Harry and Draco have embarked on a grand ruse to throw us together in a passionate romance.  So what do they want to happen?”

 

“I see,” he replied, not really seeing.

 

She rolled her eyes.  “You only say that when you’re completely baffled, you know?”

 

Silently, he continued to regard her with skepticism.

 

“When we fail to have any emotional response, their plan will have failed completely,” she exclaimed.  “Do you see now?”

 

“I dislike plans that do not involve retribution,” he said, unconvinced.  “We could--“

 

“And that would convince them that we were merely fighting the attraction,” she said, cutting him off.  “But no reaction at all!  Well, they’d just have to give up, wouldn’t they?”

 

Sighing, he rolled off the bed and began rummaging around in his bag for a toothbrush.  “It’s like reasoning with three-year-olds, isn’t it?”

 

“Speaking of,” she replied, tone lightening considerably, “I noticed that you won over a certain young lady’s affections this evening at supper.”

 

With a scowl, he produced the toothbrush and slathered it with toothpaste, jamming it in his mouth and brushing viciously.  “Shut up,” he grumbled through a mouthful of foam.

 

“The bathroom’s the door across the hallway,” she replied, eyes twinkling.  “You might want to use it instead of drooling all over Percy’s carpet.”

 

Still scowling, he walked across the hall to rinse out his mouth, coming back into the bedroom, scrubbing at his mouth with his robe sleeve.  “This is Percy Weasley’s room?”

 

“Quite possibly the most organized child’s bedroom in the Western world,” she replied.  “Now, can we please go to sleep?  I’m exhausted.”

 

He stripped down to his underclothes and climbed under the covers, pulling the blankets up to his chin and feeling Hermione’s comforting warmth beside him and her breath tickling in his ear.  “I must admit,” he said after a moment’s pause, “this is certainly preferable to the last time we shared sleeping quarters.”

 

“Severus,” she retorted drowsily, “we were chained together in Alistair Chalmers’ closet.  That hardly counts.”

 

He poked an elbow gently into her side.  “How about the time before that?”

 

Apparently considering it for a moment, he heard the bedclothes rustle as she answered.  “Nope,” she said.  “I fell asleep on you hiding in the bushes outside a hideout in Vienna.  Doesn’t count either.”

 

“Do any of them count?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

 

“We did share a hotel room a few years back in Venice,” she said thoughtfully.  “But if I recall, I made you sleep in the bathtub.”

 

“It was nice of you to let me have a pillow,” he agreed sarcastically.

 

“Mmm,” she hummed.  “It was, wasn’t it?”

 

If they spoke any further, Severus did not recall any of it later as sleep slowly overtook him.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

Severus was rather surprised the next morning as the first thing to greet his gaze was Hermione’s hair, grown even fluffier through the night, as it flowed over his bare chest, tickling the skin.  Recalling the events of the previous night, he relaxed minutely, disentangling their limbs as he got out of bed, stretching and sighing.

 

“G’morning, Sev’rus,” Hermione mumbled as he rose, pulling his pillow over her face.  “What do I smell?”

 

“Breakfast, presumably,” he replied, running his fingers through his own hair in a vain attempt to keep it out of his eyes.

 

“Molly does fabulous breakfasts,” she said, stretching cat-like in the bed and scratching her side.  “But I don’t want to move.”

 

“I’m not bringing you breakfast in bed, you know,” he said.

 

She threw a pillow at his head.  “You are singularly unhelpful.”

 

Pulling on the bottom half of a pair of pajamas Albus had given him for Christmas years ago, Severus slipped on a dressing robe and threw the one Hermione had lazily slung over the back of a chair last night at her face.  “It’s nice to know my efforts to that effect have been successful.”

 

“You really are a bastard,” she groused, sitting up and pulling her robe on over her own pajamas.

 

“And every single hair on your head is standing practically on end, I believe,” he said as she stood unsteadily.

 

Fixing him with a drowsy glare, Hermione began to run her hands through it to tame it somewhat.  “Says the man who currently looks like he’s been through a hurricane.”

 

“It can’t be that bad,” he said, putting his hands on his head again.

 

“Oh, it is,” she replied with a smirk.  “Who would have thought that evil Professor Snape wakes up with bed head?”

 

“Your children currently have detention until their respective graduations,” he said testily.  “Would you care to start on your grandchildren?”

 

“Children need detention,” she agreed.  “Early and often.  Now come on ... I’ll bet anything that Molly is churning out waffles, or something equally wonderful.  And Harry and Ron the Walking Stomachs will beat us to it if we don’t hurry.”

 

An entire roomful of people stopped eating and talking in order to properly gawk at Severus and Hermione as they nearly staggered into the kitchen, both still rather sleepy.  Hermione accepted a cup of coffee from Molly Weasley with a stifled yawn and Severus slouched down in the empty chair beside her, deciding that most of the people in the room were staring at his tousled appearance, not hers.

 

“Sleep well?” a ferally grinning Harry Potter asked them both.

 

“Tolerably,” Severus replied complacently.  “Although I could have done without the incessant drooling,” he said slyly, looking at Hermione out of the corner of his eye.

 

“The snoring was rather annoying,” Hermione continued, picking up the thread.  “But I expect the fabulous morning sex made up for all of that.”

 

There was a loud clatter as Draco actually dropped the glass he was holding.  Weasley snorted into his orange juice and his wife smacked the back of his head as he spluttered.

 

“What?” Potter asked, stunned.

 

Exchanging amused glances, Severus sat back and smiled while Hermione laughed merrily.  “Good Lord, Harry,” she eventually said, recovering her breath.  “You should see the look on your face.”

 

“But ... you ... I mean ...” Potter stuttered stupidly.

 

“Nothing happened, you great idiot,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “What, did you and Draco think this was the first time Severus and I had to share a room?”

 

“Well ...” Draco began.

 

“Malfoy, we’ve been working together for more than seven years,” she exclaimed, exasperated.  “And most of that is tracking down evil wizards in other countries and then fighting with them and sometimes being captured by them.  I promise you, after being chained together in a dungeon for four days without food or water while a slow poison went through our systems, you two fooling us into sharing a bed for a night is not an issue.”

 

“Slow poison?” Severus muttered, amused.  While each of those events had actually happened to both of them at some point, they had not been concurrent.  In fact, the poisoning had been at least three years before the imprisonment she’d mentioned.

 

“Shut up,” she whispered.

 

Both Potter and Draco seemed to be momentarily taken aback.  This was only compounded as Molly Weasley proceeded to pile no less than seven steaming waffles on each of Severus’ and Hermione’s plates.

 

“I expect you two are both starving after such an ordeal, then,” she said lightly  “Eat up.”

 

With a snort, Hermione dug into her food, eating with relish.  Severus tasted his hesitantly and then ate with gusto himself, permitting himself a moment’s reflection that the house elves at Hogwarts had a thing or two to learn about breakfast from Molly Weasley.

 

They ate rather quickly, finishing nearly simultaneously.  “Ought to go and get ready,” Hermione told him.  “Lots of people, not many lavatories.”

 

Nodding, he finished his juice and rose to follow her.  As it was, neither of them noticed a smirking Draco Malfoy point his wand at their backs and whisper an incantation.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

“Your dress robes are so boring, Severus,” Hermione said as she pulled her still slightly damp hair into a knot at the nape of her neck.

 

“I like black,” he replied defensively from his position on the bed.  “And besides, I don’t see you strutting about like some stupid peacock.”

 

She put on pearl earrings pensively, twisting them about until she was satisfied with their hang.  “I believe my robes are generally described as ‘tasteful.’  Yours, however, are simply plain.  They’re interchangeable with your classroom robes.”

 

“They’re silk,” he said in a wounded voice.

 

Frowning at her reflection in the mirror, she picked up a tube of lipstick and regarded it with deep consideration.

 

“Go ahead,” Severus told her boredly.  “Else you’ll be moaning through the service about how you should have.”

 

“Don’t be hateful, Severus,” she said in a singsong tone, applying her lipstick carefully.

 

He scowled.  “Don’t be obnoxious, Hermione,” he shot back.  “Are you nearly done?”

 

“Just about,” she replied, pressing her lips together.  “Why?”

 

“We’ve only got about fifteen minutes to get over to the ceremony,” he said, shoving his ever-present hair out of his eyes.

 

“Fifteen minutes?” she yelped.  “Why didn’t you tell me how late it was?”

 

With a smirk, Severus stood and folded his arms.  “You seemed to be enjoying yourself so much.”

 

She punched his upper arm with a closed fist, smiling grimly at his cry of outrage.  “That,” she said through grit teeth, “was for hoping you could make us late enough to have to miss the wedding.”

 

He remained silent, not denying it.

 

“Switzerland, Severus,” she said, sweeping out of the door.

 

She heard him mutter to himself as he followed, more slowly.  “’Switzerland, Severus,’” he said in an undertone falsetto.  “Stupid, fucking Switzerland.  Stupid, fucking Albus and his stupid, fucking cat.”

 

“What was that, Severus?” she called over her shoulder.

 

He heaved a sigh.  “Nothing.”

 

Walking down the stairs, Hermione felt an odd little twitch behind her navel that made her hesitate on a single step.  Severus gave her an odd look as he reached the staircase himself.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

 

“Yeah ...” she said, wondering if it was true. 

 

But the twitch was gone. 

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

The ceremony was beautiful, really.  Ginny played the lovely, blushing bride in a lace encrusted dress, Colin looked uncomfortably handsome in his Muggle-style tuxedo, and Molly Weasley was in rare form, proud and beaming at the front of the church and looking resplendent in her white robes.

 

Even the flower girl--Severus informed her sotto voce that the girl was the most annoying child he’d ever met, thoroughly impressing Hermione--was suitably cute, prancing up the aisle with her basket of flower petals and giving a startled Severus a wide grin as she caught his eye.

 

If the Muggle Creeveys were disconcerted by the fact that the ceremony was performed by a man in a funny looking bathrobe who bore more than a passing resemblance to illustrations of the wizard Merlin, they did not show it.

 

For her own part, Hermione was rather surprised that Albus was performing the ceremony, but on second thought, she had to concede that she shouldn’t have been.  Poking Harry in the back of the head partway through the service, she’d learned that Albus couldn’t stay long after the wedding, but he had agreed to preside over it some months ago.

 

So, all in all, a wedding that every girl dreamt of.  Well ... except for the moment when Fred and George had both stood up to protest the wedding.  Whatever their protest was, however, Hermione never knew, as Molly Weasley simply discreetly put Full-Body Binds on the pair of them before they could get any words out. 

 

Colin and Ginny had simply stepped over their prone bodies as they walked out of the sanctuary after the service.  The flower girl had also managed to dump the rest of her flower basket out on their heads as she made her adorable little exit and the twins were released from the hex with little pink petals clashing horribly with their carrot tops.  Neither seemed to care, though, and took Molly’s scolding good-naturedly, just giving her apologetic shrugs and wide grins.  Fortunately, it seemed their good humor was infectious, as Molly simply shook her head and walked out after them.

 

It was rather strange, though.  After the service, she had stood up to go over and talk to Luna Lovegood, who she hadn’t seen since her Hogwarts years, and felt a fierce tug in her belly as she stepped away from Severus.  It was as if someone had tightened a rope around her gut.  Perplexed, she’d simply managed to catch Luna’s eye, and the small woman had come walking over with a dreamy smile on her face.

 

She hadn’t noticed Draco elbowing Harry and giving him a satisfied grin.

 

Rather more apparent, however, was the moment when Severus decided to walk out of the church to wait for her rather than linger awkwardly in the pew.  He got about four feet away from her before jerking in the air as if someone had tugged on an invisible rope and managed to fall flat on his back, stunned.

 

Hermione cut off her conversation with Luna and leaned over him with concern.  “Are you all right?” she asked quietly.

 

“I don’t know what happened,” he replied, picking himself up carefully.  “I was walking and then I was on the ground.  I don’t even remember slipping.”

 

Narrowing her eyes, she studied Draco and Harry, both giving her innocent looks that she didn’t believe for a second.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

Severus couldn’t decide who to blame for his current predicament.  Eventually, he decided on simply glaring at everyone seated at the round table equally, knowing the guilty party was among them.  Certainly Molly Weasley wouldn’t have placed him at a table with Hermione, Ron Weasley and his wife, Potter and Draco, an anonymous Creevey cousin and the infamous, hateful Brittany Harmony Creevey.

 

Who was currently practically attached to his left side, chattering away as if her life depended on it.

 

“Didja see me up there, Severus?” she asked with only a slight lisp, which might have endeared her to most other adults but made Severus itch to shout at her to, for the love of everything sacred, shut the hell up.  “I smiled at you, Severus.  And I just loved my flowers ... they were so pretty.  And Aunty Ginny said ... she’s not my real aunt, you know, but she said I can call her ...”

 

He tuned her out as best he could, allowing himself to wonder briefly how the child had managed to learn his first name.  Certainly he hadn’t shared it with her.

 

On his right side, Hermione smirked at him.  “Enjoying your date, there, Severus?”

 

“See if I ever rescue your sorry ass ever again,” he spat.  “The next time you’re hanging off a cliff by the tips of your fingers, saying ‘Severus, save me,’ I might just leave you there.”

 

“I’m sorry, Severus,” she said, completely unapologetically.

 

“Can I leave now?” he asked, hating the whining note he heard in his voice.  “The wedding’s over.  This is just the reception.”

 

“Switz--“

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he cut her off.  “I know.  Switzerland.”

 

Potter looked rather curious all of a sudden.  “What’s Switzerland got to do with anything?” he asked.  “I’ve heard you say that a couple of times now, Hermione.”

 

“It’s quite funny, actually,” she said.

 

“Don’t you dare,” Severus said fiercely, rounding on her.  “You promised!”

 

There was that devious smile he’d learned to be wary of.  “I promised not to tell Albus, Severus,” she replied.  “And I don’t think anyone here would tell him.”

 

He looked pointedly at Draco, who contrived to look hurt.  “What?” the boy asked innocently.  “I won’t tell ... I swear.”

 

“Right,” Severus said, unconvinced.

 

“Anyway,” Hermione said loudly, clearly ready to continue despite Severus’ best efforts.  “I guess it was last March--“

 

“April,” he corrected automatically.

 

“All right, then, April,” she said, giving him a small glare.  “It was about three weeks before Professor McGonagall’s birthday, at any rate.  And as it turns out, Albus had gotten her present already.  A kitten.”

 

“A kitten?” Potter echoed dubiously.

 

Sighing, Severus decided to answer.  “He thought she might enjoy the company in her Animagus form.  After all, Mrs. Norris is hardly a sociable feline.”

 

Most of the people sitting at the table permitted themselves smiles at that understatement.

 

“But Albus was called out of town unexpectedly,” Hermione continued.  “Someplace he couldn’t take the kitten.  I don’t know where.  But he decided it would be a good idea if Severus here took care of the cat while he was gone.”

 

“I was the only one who he knew wouldn’t tell Minerva,” he said defensively as most of them gave him incredulous looks.  “And stop looking at me as if I eat kittens for breakfast.”

 

“For all we know ...” Potter said with a wicked grin.

 

“Sod off, Potter,” Severus snarled.

 

“Okay,” Hermione interjected, “so Severus has this cat now.  It was a cute little thing--fluffy and sweet and all of those kitten-y adjectives.”

 

“Wait ...” Weasley interrupted.  “Was?”

 

“Getting there,” she said, waving her hand.  “And that was the same weekend that I happened to get a great lead on a Death Eater by the name of Rousseau.  So I show up at Hogwarts and find Severus yelling at this poor creature because it unwittingly clawed a hole in his favorite pair of socks.”

 

“You have favorite socks?” Weasley’s wife asked him.

 

Severus stayed silent.

 

“I have socks,” the indefatigable Brittany piped up.  “My Mummy buys me lots of socks ... red and green and blue and pink and--“

 

“That’s lovely, dear,” Weasley’s wife said.  And then, casting a furtive glance at a fuming Severus and bemused Hermione, “how about you and I go and find your Mummy?  I’m sure she would like to hear all about your dress.”

 

Weasley’s wife ought to be canonized as a saint, Severus reflected as she led a chattering Brittany away from the table.

 

“So our professor here was busy convincing a cat that its name was ‘Stupid,’” Potter prompted Hermione.

 

“And I came in to tell him that we needed to get to Switzerland, pronto,” she said.  “In his defense, I suppose, he probably wasn’t thinking very clearly.  It was a rushed affair.”

 

“What happened?” Draco asked.

 

Hermione grinned.  “He brought the kitten along.”

 

All three men burst into loud laughter and Severus shot Hermione his best glare.  “Albus told me to keep it hidden and I couldn’t think of anywhere else to keep it,” he said lamely.

 

After the laughter died down, she continued.  “So we’re there in Switzerland, out in the middle of nowhere in the Swiss Alps, looking for a rundown little chateau, and Severus has this pocket full of mewling kitten.  We found Rousseau, of course, but he turned out to be rather nastier than we thought.  Shot us up with a few rather unconventional spells before we managed to Stun him.  Unfortunately, the esoteric blend had some nasty side-effects,” she said, giving Severus a wicked grin.

 

“I was under a Dark spell!” he cried unthinkingly.

 

“So now we know that a Confundus charm blended with someone trying to fight off the Imperius curse causes extreme paranoia,” she said.

 

“What happened next?” Potter asked, leaning forward in his chair.

 

“Severus absolutely flipped out,” Hermione replied, smiling as the men shouted with laughter once again.  “Started hexing everything in sight, howling about Death Eaters.  Even ripped off his outer robes, screaming something about them being cursed.”

 

“He didn’t,” Weasley gasped, perhaps seeing where she was going.

 

“Oh, he did,” she assured him.  “The kitten came crawling out of the pocket and before I can blink, Severus hexes it forty ways to Sunday.”

 

By this point, Draco was actually wiping tears out of his eyes.

 

“It wasn’t my fault!” Severus roared.

 

“The worst part was when he decided that the kitten knew all of his secrets and actually blew it up,” Hermione concluded.

 

“The poor cat!” Potter moaned through his giggles, holding his belly as he laughed.

 

“I was afraid to Stun him or Petrify him because I didn’t know how it would react to the spells he was already working through, so I managed to coax him into the chateau Rousseau had been hiding him and tied him to the bed.  I never did find the rest of the kitten, though.  By the next day, everything had worn off and we went back to Hogwarts.”

 

“What happened when Dumbledore asked for the cat?” Weasley asked, chortling.

 

Severus hung his head as Hermione wrapped up her tale.  “Severus told him it ran away!”

 

The table exploded again.  “You mean,” Draco gasped through snorts of laughter.  “That you actually blew up Albus Dumbledore’s cat, and then you told him it ran away?”

 

“I was under a Dark spell, you know,” Severus repeated, feeling it was rather unnecessary and ineffective.

 

“And what a spell it was,” Potter said, mirth winding down.  “Wow ... no wonder you got so quiet every time Hermione mentioned Switzerland.”

 

“Albus doesn’t know,” she said.

 

“He will, though,” Severus told her.  “I’m not going to let you hold it over my head forever.  The next time you try to blackmail me with it again, I’m going straight to him and spilling everything out.”

 

Weasley looked mildly interested.  “Blackmail?”

 

“Did you actually think I came here of my own free will, Weasley?” Severus practically snarled.

 

“I’d wondered,” he admitted.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

The reception was winding down.  Hermione felt pleasantly warm and barely even protested when a mildly tipsy Draco proceeded to snog an absolutely plastered Harry right at their table.  Severus hadn’t even said anything, just glared and buried his nose in his champagne glass once again.

 

Ron and Susan were dancing again, close and in love.  She watched Ron murmur something in his wife’s ear and took in Susan’s pretty blush with something akin to contentment.

 

Taking another sip of her own champagne, she elbowed Severus in the side.  “Want to dance?” she said.

 

He focused on her with considerable effort.  “Why?”

 

She shrugged and frowned.  “Why not?”

 

“I’d probably fall over if I stood right now,” he admitted grudgingly.

 

“Severus, are you drunk?” she asked carefully, eyeing his sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks with suspicion.

 

“Not exactly ...” he hedged.  “Not yet.  But champagne does do strange things.”

 

“As evidenced by wonderboy and his exhibitionist lover over there,” she replied, hooking a thumb at the nearing-indecent behavior between Harry and Draco.

 

“I always wondered ...” Severus grunted, draining his flute.  “Why d’you call Potter that?”

 

“Call him what?”

 

“Wonderboy.”

 

“Oh.”  Hermione smiled at her friend and tapped her empty glass thoughtfully with a single finger.  “Joke from our seventh year.  When he was in the Infirmary after ... everything, you know ... I asked him what the bloody hell he’d been thinking, going after Volde--Volde--You-Know-Who like that.  Just what sort of superhero did he think he was, that sort of thing.  But Harry smiled and said he was Potter the Wonderboy.  I think Madam Pomfrey had him on some pretty potent potions for the pain.”  She looked down at the table.  “S’not very funny, I don’t think.  But it helps me remember.”

 

Severus was quiet for a moment.  “Maybe we could dance,” he said eventually.

 

“Oh-kay,” she replied, confused at the change in subject.  Rising, she felt that strange tug in her gut once again and sat back down suddenly.  “Ouch!”

 

“What?” he asked, startled.

 

“Can’t stand,” Hermione replied, brow furrowed.  “You try.”

 

He let loose a rather volatile expletive as he was yanked back into his seat upon attempting to stand.  “What was that?” he asked.

 

“Dunno,” she said.  “But I can feel it tightening again.  And have you noticed, our chairs are a lot closer than they started out.  I’m practically in your lap.  And--Christ!” she yelped as the invisible rope tightened again, pulling her flush against Severus’ side.

 

“I’m going to fall out of my chair in a second,” he commented mildly.

 

“Hang on,” she grumbled, actually climbing into his lap and swinging her legs over the edge of her chair.  “We look stupid, but we won’t fall.”

 

“Hermione, I refuse to carry you around forever,” he said emphatically.

 

Narrowing her eyes at the still-snogging pair across the table, she leaned her head against Severus’ shoulder in an effort to regain her balance.  “Don’t worry,” she replied.  “You won’t have to.  But stand when I say so, okay?”

 

“What if I fall?” he asked worriedly.

 

“Then I’ll hurt you,” she said matter-of-factly.  “So don’t.  Hey!” she cried.  “Malfoy!  Potter!  Get your tongues out of each other’s mouths for a second!”

 

Blearily, Harry grinned at her as he shoved Draco away.  “What?  And why’re you in Snape’s lap?”

 

“That’s a question I’d like to talk to you about,” she snapped.  “You and Malfoy.”

 

“Aw, Granger,” Draco complained.  “Why is it whenever something new happens, you want to talk to me about it.  ‘Malfoy, what happened to my new pair of shoes?’  ‘Malfoy, why doesn’t my cat have fur any more?’  And now, ‘Malfoy, why am I attached to dearest Severus?’”

 

She cocked her head, pinning him with a reflective stare.  “How did you know I was attached to him?”

 

Realizing his mistake, Draco began backpedaling.  “I ... erm ... that is to say ... guessed?” he finally settled on.

 

“Wrong,” Hermione spat.  “All right, Severus.  Stand!”

 

In a single motion, Hermione and Severus managed to stand up and she pointed her wand menacingly at a suddenly paler-than-usual Draco Malfoy.  “Fix it, Malfoy,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument.

 

“But you two belong together!” he cried.

 

“And you belong in a mental institution,” she retorted, “but you don’t see me signing you up for St. Mungo’s against your will, now do you?  Draco, I won’t warn you again.  Fix it!”

 

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, reaching in his robes for his wand.  “You try to help out a friend and she just ...”  He mumbled the correct incantation and both Severus and Hermione sighed in relief as the tightness across their middles lifted.  Just to make sure, she took a few staggering steps away from Severus.  Indeed, the curse seemed to be gone.

 

In a flash, Molly Weasley was standing beside the table, glaring at all four of them.  “What was all that about?” she asked.

 

Exchanging glances, no one said anything.  Draco, at least, had the good sense to blush, and Severus and Hermione chose that moment to lean against each other, realizing that they might both be a little more tipsy than previously thought.

 

“Well,” Molly continued tightly, “I’m not going to let any of you Apparate out of here tonight in this condition.  You can stay at the Burrow another night.”

 

“No, I’m fine,” Severus protested, trying to stand up straight and mostly failing.  “I don’t need--“

 

“I’m not going to pick up the bits after you splinch yourself, Severus Snape.  You’ll stay the night at the Burrow, whether I’ve got to Stun you to do it or not,” she said furiously.

 

She led the four of them rather imperiously back into the house, practically hand in hand.  Shaking her head as Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and led him into his room, she remained silent.

 

“I trust you two can find your own way?” she asked Severus and Hermione, who both nodded tentatively.  “Then good night to the both of you.”

 

They only staggered slightly as they made their way down the hall, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders.  “I’m not drunk, though,” Severus said into her ear.  “It’s the damned champagne.”

 

“I think I might be,” she said after a moment.  “Drunk, I mean.”  And here was their door.  It only took her two tries to turn the knob the whole way around.  Collapsing on the bed with a sigh, she kicked off her shoes.  “Not gonna change,” she mumbled into her pillow.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” he replied, making some sort of rustling noise on the other side of the bed.

 

Rolling over, she saw him sitting cross-legged on the top of the blankets, clothed only in a pair of shorts, having actually flung his robes across the room.  “You’re not nearly as fun when you’re sober,” she said, following his example and shedding her admittedly hot robes.

 

He raised an eyebrow at the sight of her stretched out on the bed in only her underthings.  “I’m not drunk,” he protested.

 

“Sure,” she retorted, yawning heavily.  “Turn off the light?”

 

“I’m perfectly happy to sleep with it on,” he said, laying back in the bed himself.  “Turn it off yourself.”

 

After a moment’s consideration, she shrugged.  “Who cares?”

 

“That’s a girl,” Severus mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with a fist.  “G’night, Hermione.”

 

“Night, Sev’rus,” she slurred, patting his bare chest.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

Severus awoke with only a slight pounding at the temples.  It would probably go away on its own, he decided, tucking a single hand under his head, content to lounge in bed for a moment before going to the loo.

 

Not to mention the contortions it was going to require to untangle himself from a lightly snoring Hermione.  They had somehow managed to wrap their arms around each other so that if he attempted to extract himself, he would certainly wake her up.

 

As it was, her breathing became irregular and her snores stopped as he shifted minutely.  “Morning,” she said quietly.

 

“Does your head hurt?” he asked gently.

 

She stretched and scratched at the appendage in question.  “Not too much, actually,” she replied.  “You?”

 

“M’fine,” he replied.

 

“Damn Draco, though,” she said.  “I can’t believe he did that to us.”

 

“I never did determine exactly what it was he did,” Severus admitted.

 

“I don’t remember the name of the charm, but it pulled us closer and closer together physically through the day,” she explained.  “He must have cast it in the morning for us to be pulled so close before the day was over.”

 

“Wonder why,” he said, idly scratching his chest.

 

She shook her head.  “He was being a git.  Probably thought it would somehow help his deluded little plan to make us fall in love.”

 

“Oh,” Severus replied.  “It didn’t work, did it?”  What had made him ask that?

 

Giving him a curious look, her brow furrowed.  “I don’t think so,” she said.

 

“Well, that’s good, at least.  Draco would be insufferable otherwise.”

 

Chuckling, Hermione rolled over in an attempt to get out of bed, winding up on top of him.

 

Later, neither one would admit to initiating the kiss.  His chest was suddenly weighted down by a deliciously warm Hermione and the next thing he knew, his lips were against hers and her hands were curled around his shoulders, his own hands sliding down her back.

 

With a moan that didn’t sound sensual in the slightest, Hermione broke off the kiss, laying her chin in the crook of his neck.  “Damn it!” she said.

 

“What?” he asked rather stupidly.  It hadn’t been that bad.

 

Her lips grazed the skin on his neck and he tried not to be affected by it.  “I won’t,” she muttered.  “I won’t give them the satisfaction.  It’s not fair!” she groaned.  “Damn Harry and Draco!”

 

Not entirely sure about what she was frustrated with, he patted her back tentatively.  “I’m sorry?” he tried.

 

“Oh, no!” she practically wailed, lifting her head.  “Don’t apologize!”

 

“But--“

 

She didn’t allow him to finish.  “Their nonsense can’t have actually worked.  Tell me, Severus,” she pleaded with round eyes.  “Tell me that didn’t just happen because of this weekend.”

 

Oh.  He had it now.  “It didn’t,” he said.  “Mostly, it happened because you tied me to a bed in Switzerland instead of leaving me to rant and rave in the snow.”

 

“How romantic,” she said sarcastically.

 

“What?” he asked, fingers tightening around her hips and becoming acutely aware that they were only clad in their underclothes.  “You were expecting roses and sonnets, perhaps?  If you’ve prepared something, I’ll be glad to listen to it.”

 

Her lips curved into a smile.  “Sorry.  The best I have is that I was touched when you showed actual concern about obliterating Albus’ disgustingly cute kitten.”

 

“I was afraid he would turn Minerva loose on me,” he confessed, eliciting a bark of laughter.

 

Leaning in to kiss her again, his heart dropped as she pulled away, shaking her head apologetically.  “Not now, Severus,” she said.  “Not with Draco and Harry and their stupid scheme dancing through my head.  I won’t let them think that they’ve won.”

 

“Maybe,” he began hopefully.  “Maybe we don’t have to tell them?”

 

She grinned at his expression and patted his arm.  “I also have absolutely no intention of having sex in Percy Weasley’s childhood bed.”

 

He thought about it for a moment and found that he agreed with her.  “I didn’t necessarily mean that,” he said quickly.

 

“Oh, well, in that case,” she replied with a smirk, letting her lips graze his own and playfully tugging on a lock of his hair as he pulled her close.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

Severus and Hermione walked downstairs quickly, still rather disheveled.  He managed to remove his hand from its comfortable position low on her hip before they walked into the kitchen.

 

“Good morning,” Molly Weasley called from her position over beside the stove. 

 

“Did you sleep well?” a red-eyed Draco asked with a grin in his voice.

 

Hermione shrugged and looked him squarely in the eyes.  “I woke up better.  You?  I see Harry is regretting his three bottles of champagne.”

 

“Shut up,” Potter mumbled into the tabletop, not bothering to remove his head from it.

 

“Well, you enjoyed yourself last night,” she continued with a devilish glint in her eye.  “And that’s what counts.  Right, wonderboy?”

 

“I’ll hex you,” Potter threatened, but it sounded weak.

 

“How would you like your eggs?” Molly interrupted as she pulled out a frying pan.

 

Turning to Severus, Hermione gave him a meaningful look.  “Oh, I’m not hungry,” she said airily.  “In fact, I think we ought to be getting back to Hogwarts.  Right, Severus?”

 

He got it.  As quickly as his feet would carry him, he was beside Molly Weasley at the stove.  “Sorry we couldn’t stay for breakfast,” he said as earnestly as he could manage.  “And thanks for a lovely weekend.”  Before he could question the impulse, he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

 

As Severus and Hermione walked out of the door, he noticed Hermione point her wand at Potter and Draco and mutter something under her breath.  She winked at his questioning look and he decided he probably didn’t really want to know the answer anyway.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

“What was that all about?” Draco asked no one in particular as the door swung shut.  “Did someone poison Uncle Severus or something?”

 

“Huh?” Harry grunted into the table.

 

“Oh, sit up,” Draco snapped.  “It’s your fault for forgetting the Hangover Potion, you know.”

 

“If you loved me, you would brew me some,” he told the table accusingly.

 

“I’ve got your eggs, boys,” Molly said as she sat a platter down on the table.

 

Harry just groaned.

 

“Eggs, eggs, eggs,” Draco teased nastily.  “Lovely, ooey, gooey eggs, dripping with butter.”

 

With a lurching gait, Harry made a break for the nearest toilet, pausing only to shoot his lover a hate-filled gaze. 

 

Draco’s eyes widened as he felt a tug behind his navel as Harry left the room.  What had Granger done?  “Oh, shit!” he cried.  Leaping out of his seat, he dashed after Harry.  “Harry!  What did she do?”

 

“What did who do?” Harry asked languidly as he rested his forehead against the toilet seat.

 

“Granger!” Draco cried.  “Didn’t you feel the pull?  She hexed us!”

 

Shrugging, Harry flushed the toilet and stood, wiping his mouth.  “But you know the countercurse, right?”

 

“You don’t get it, Harry,” he said in a rush.  “It’s a special sort of charm--only the person who cast it can lift it!”

 

“So we’ll run its course, then.  I don’t mind you sitting in my lap for a day or so,” Harry said with a lazy smile.

 

“It doesn’t wear off, Potter!” Draco nearly shouted.  “She’s got to come back and take it off and Merlin knows when that will be.”

 

With a sigh, Harry flopped back down on the floor.  “Fuck,” he muttered.

 

“Exactly.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

What Does Quidditch Have To Do With It?

 

 

“Why am I here, again?” Severus Snape asked, more rhetorically than not.

 

Unfortunately, Hermione Granger had a nasty habit of answering rhetorical questions.  “Does saving the world ring a bell?  You know ... evil vampires, threatening humanity?”

 

He sighed and rested his chin on her shoulder.  “I was referring to my presence at this particular location.  Not the vampires.”

 

“We go where the action is, m’dear,” she replied with a grin, turning around to kiss his cheek playfully.  “So much the better if it’s in an interesting place.”

 

Knowing just how close he was to whining and realizing with a start that he didn’t care, Severus tightened his arms around her waist.  “But I can’t hear myself think!” he wailed.  “And I think that fellow with the spike hanging off his lip tried to feel me up when I picked up our drinks.”

 

She twisted around on his lap in order to face him directly and gave him that sweet little devious smile that made him inwardly cringe.  “It could always be worse,” she said, kissing his lips softly.

 

“I don’t see how,” he muttered, letting his hands slide down the length of her back and fiddling with the hem of her blouse.

 

They were at a nightclub.  A Muggle nightclub, of all places.  Booming music, smoky dance floor, and writhing bodies flying across Severus’ path every time he tried to move. 

 

As far as he was concerned, if a pack of vampires wanted to spend their nights here, preying off idiot teenagers wearing heavy makeup and clothes that should have been washed a month ago at least, with more rings hanging off appendages that he wanted to even consider, they could go right on ahead.  If it wasn’t for the fact that half of the children they killed, they turned into blood-sucking fiends as well, Severus might have been of the opinion that they were possibly improving society in the long run.

 

Albus had informed them during the briefing that there were two other Order members planning on attending the club that evening.  After all, recon reports indicated somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty-five vampires occupying the club on any given night.  They were growing more bold, going so far as to engage in blood sport on the actual dance floor -- apparently this club was strange enough, by Muggle standards, that no one really paid attention.

 

And of course they couldn’t find the pair of agents Albus mentioned.  They were supposed to be incognito and, as far as Severus could tell, they had made a far greater effort at disguise than he and Hermione, blending into the crowd of tattooed, pierced, leather-encrusted youth so well that after four hours of looking, Hermione and Severus had to admit they were at a loss.

 

Quite possibly, he and Hermione stuck out like proverbial sore thumbs.  They were clothed in black, of course -- Severus even making the concession to wear Muggle clothing for once -- but Hermione’s untamed, obviously-not-dyed-black hair and Severus’ disapproving scowl were noticeably out of place here.

 

He was tired.  He was tired and he smelled bad and he was tired of people accosting him with strange questions every time he made his way over to the bar to purchase another round of drinks.

 

“Can we go?” he asked, nearly begging.

 

“Would you like to explain it to Albus when we make our report?”  This retort was accompanied by her hands firmly removing his from her posterior.  “And quit distracting me!”

 

A familiar glare settled on his features.  While a lapful of Hermione Granger was on his list of favorite things, it was not nearly enough to make up for the fact that he was currently sitting on a possibly disease-ridden chair in the middle of a mass of screaming heathens.  She’d had to sit on his lap because there simply wasn’t enough space in the corner they’d found for two chairs.

 

“We haven’t made contact,” he said sharply.  “We’re not going to, and I’m tired of people asking me if I’m a Greek god.”

 

Her eyes widened into an incredulous look.  “They’re asking you what?”

 

Severus sighed.  “You heard me.”

 

A hand skimmed down his chest, fingernails scratching his belly nearly thoughtfully.  “Not that I’ve ever doubted your stellar qualities, Severus, but --”

 

“Whatever you’re about to say,” he interrupted.  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.  Would you like another soda?”

 

“That would require moving, wouldn’t it?” she replied with a little sigh.

 

“You can’t be telling me that you’re actually comfortable in this hellhole?” he asked incredulously.

 

“We have managed to find a relatively unoccupied little space back here.  And I confess, I do rather enjoy perching on the lap of my own personal Greek god.”

 

He groaned into her neck, obviously pained.  “You could leave it alone, you know.”

 

She grinned and patted his shoulder.  “I’ll settle for another soda, then.  Who knows?  Maybe you’ll find our mysterious co-conspirators.”

 

Snorting a bit, he unceremoniously pushed her off his lap and stood, automatically straightening his possibly-rumpled-beyond-repair trousers as best as he could.  “What flavor?” he asked dully.

 

“Surprise me.”

 

Severus shuffled off, pushing his way through the crowd with a snarl waiting to happen on his face.  He was glad he’d left his coat with Hermione -- he was already sweating buckets in his fairly light Oxford shirt.  As he moved away, he glared especially hard at a man who was eyeing up his partner and making a small motion toward her table. 

 

Oh well.  She could take care of herself.

 

And besides -- it would serve her right for volunteering them for this awful mission.  He’d been planning a pleasant little vampire-free supper for the evening, complete with wine and decadent desserts and quite possibly a little sleepover in his quarters.

 

Not that that was particularly unusual these days.  Everyone -- including the usually disapproving McGonagall -- had gently ribbed him and Hermione about the frequency with which she partook her breakfast from the Hogwarts high table.  Draco Malfoy had bluntly suggested that she simply live there and abandon all pretense.  Actually, what he’d said was, “Why aren’t you two shacking up already?” with the largest shit-eating grin on his face Severus had ever seen.

 

Just the memory made Severus’ fists itch to hit something.

 

Preferably Draco.

 

And unfortunately, through the year or so that he and Hermione had been not so subtly together, their mild taunts had only increased in frequency.

 

Especially after the incident on the Quidditch pitch.

 

Severus shivered with the recollection.

 

Ah ... at the bar now.  He tersely requested another pair of sodas and idly drummed his fingertips on the open surface as he waited for the barkeep to fulfill his request, having already tossed the required funds on the bar.

 

His scowl deepened as another half-drunken young brat staggered into his side and gave him a cheerful grin.  “Hey!” he/she/it (?) cried, tugging at a piercing in its eyebrow.  “You’re the one they said was dressed up like Morpheus!”

 

“I beg your pardon,” Severus said coldly, hoping it might just leave him alone.

 

The fingers moved to its purple hair and it frowned, reaching out a hand to tap invasively at his chest.  To his credit, Severus managed not to flinch.  Much.

 

“Your costume is crappy, man,” it drawled.  “You’re not even black, either!”

 

And with that, it tottered off into the seething mass from whence it had emerged, Severus now completely confused.

 

There were black Greek gods?

 

The barkeep was pushing drinks into his hands and Severus accepted them with something akin to gratitude, wanting nothing more than to escape this hell on Earth he’d managed to get himself dragged to.  Moving backward blindly, he bumped into someone.  He didn’t bother to apologize, just snarled, “Get out of my way,” in a tone he generally reserved for only the stupidest of Gryffindors.  Tonight, however, he felt it warranted.

 

Severus actually dropped both sodas as he heard the answering voice.  “Uncle Severus!” it cried.

 

“Oh, no,” he moaned, burying his face in his hands.  “Not you!”

 

“Oh, yes,” Draco Malfoy chirped loudly, “it’s me.  Dumbledore Flooed me at work this afternoon.  Apparently he needed a pair of agents to assist on a mission.  So, how are you, Uncle Sev?”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Severus said automatically.  And then, “Don’t touch me,” he hissed as he felt an arm sling around his neck in an altogether too chummy fashion.

 

The arm stayed and he tensed further.  “Loosen up, Severus,” Draco replied.  “We’re at a club.  People come here to have fun, you know.”

 

He finally opened his eyes in order to glare down at Draco more effectively.  “Not me,” he said.  “And what in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”

 

“Oh, this old thing?” he responded playfully, glancing down at his attire with an innocent look.  “It’s just a costume.”

 

“What’s it made of?” Severus found himself asking against his better judgment.  “And why is your hair black?”

 

“Vinyl,” he said shortly.  “And if you don’t know why, I’m not going to tell you.  See, that’s your problem, Severus -- where’s your sense of culture?”

 

“Quite possibly sitting in my quarters right next to my stone cold supper,” he said with a blank expression.  “Now, come on.  Since I’ve found you, we might as well have a rendezvous with everyone.  Do you have a partner?”

 

“Oh, Severus,” Draco said, batting his eyelashes in a fashion that left Severus feeling vaguely nauseous.  “What a silly question.  Of course I have a partner.  He’s right over there.”  He pointed at what Severus grimly suspected was the back of Harry Potter’s head.

 

“Well, round him up,” he told him impatiently.  “And follow me.”

 

Dropping his arm finally, Draco slithered his way through the crowd of bodies more quickly than Severus thought humanly possible and tapped the man on the shoulder.  Indeed, Harry Potter spun around and offered Severus a wide grin from across the mass.  It took a moment for Severus to confirm Potter’s identity -- he wasn’t wearing his usual spectacles and he’d apparently covered up his scar with some sort of makeup.

 

Like Draco, he was clothed in black from head to toe.  Unlike Draco, however, it seemed to be clothing of a more masculine bent.  He had to be sweating in that full-length leather coat, though.

 

Severus hoped fervently that Potter dropped from heat exhaustion before the evening was done.  It only seemed just.

 

As Potter and Draco wormed their way back to him, he simply turned his back on them and began working his own way back to Hermione.  Now that he was not alone, however, there were a few more shouts that seemed to be in his direction.

 

“He’s not supposed to be Morpheus, is he?” someone who he dimly suspected was female shouted particularly loudly.

 

“’Course he is!” he heard Draco call back.  “Can’t you tell?”

 

A few people in the vicinity laughed loud at that.  Severus tried very hard to keep his temper in check.  It was, unfortunately, a losing battle and he was grateful to see Hermione’s welcoming smile as he approached her table.

 

Smile fading, it was replaced with a questioning look.  “Weren’t you going for drinks?” she asked curiously.

 

“I found fairies instead,” he replied dryly, stepping aside to reveal Draco and Potter.

 

She stood up and nodded carefully at them.  “Boys,” she greeted them shortly.  “So, you’re our backup?”

 

Draco leaned on the table and grinned.  “I was led to believe that you are our backup.”

 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” she said amiably.

 

Potter frowned at the table and flapped the edges of his coat.  “Is there just the one chair?”

 

“You might be able to roust another one from somewhere,” she told him.  “But other than that ...”

 

“It won’t fit anyway,” Draco said, squinting at the space the table was in.  “We can just lean against the wall, I suppose.  Only proper for the lady to have the chair and all.”

 

“Although you’re looking decidedly feminine this evening, Malfoy,” she replied, giving him an appraising look and pushing Severus down in the chair so that she could curl up in his lap once again.  “I never would have thought you were one for the Muggle movies.”

 

Raising an eyebrow at her behavior, Malfoy just shrugged a little.  “Stuff it, Granger,” he retorted.  “Harry bought me a QMC player last Christmas after we figured out how to get Muggle electricity working in the manor.”

 

“Would that be DVD, perhaps?” she asked, grinning.

 

“A what?” Severus inquired, looping an arm surreptitiously around her waist and pulling her flush against his body.

 

Potter propped himself against the wall and crossed his legs neatly.  “Aw ... what a cute couple ...”

 

“I’ll hurt you, Potter,” Severus threatened.

 

The insolent boy just grinned in reply.  “No you won’t,” he said confidently.  “My bestest, loveliest friend cuddling in your lap there won’t let you.”

 

“Flattery will not help, wonderboy,” Hermione said, tilting her head so that Severus could help her tuck her hair behind her ears.  “I still haven’t forgiven you for the Quidditch pitch incident.”

 

“It wasn’t my fault,” he said, folding his arms and leaning nearly imperceptibly toward Draco.  “You’re the one who thought it would be a good idea to have, what was it?  Eight, nine Long Island Iced Teas?  And I thought you two said you wouldn’t ever come to a bar with me and Draco ever again.”

 

Severus frowned.  “Not voluntarily.  We’re supposed to be saving the world or some such nonsense, aren’t we?”

 

“Vampires,” Draco replied tightly, suddenly all business, in spite of his outlandish costume.  “Dumbledore said they’ve been frequenting this club for more than six months now.  Apparently, the Ministry asked for help from the Order -- their Aurors keep disappearing.  Gee, I wonder why ... no offence, Granger.”

 

“I’ll hurt you later,” she said blandly.  “What else did Albus tell you about the situation?”

 

Potter shrugged.  “Nothing.  Just that we were to meet up with you two at the club and take out as many as we could.  Quietly.”

 

“How are we going to go about that, anyway?” Draco asked no one in particular.

 

Sighing, Severus rolled his eyes.  “Draco, did you actually ever manage to pass Defense Against the Dark Arts before they kicked you out of the NEWT course?”

 

He looked hurt.  “I had other things on my mind.”

 

With a meaningful cough, Hermione diverted the conversation skillfully, straightening in Severus’ arms as she did so.  “There are two ways to do it.  First of all, the tried and true stake through the heart.  Secondly, decapitation works quite nicely, as long as the head is displaced at least three feet from the body.”

 

“And the Killing Curse stuns them for a few minutes at least,” Severus added.  “But don’t rely on it.  I doubt any of us could manage more than half-a-dozen Killing Curses in one night.”

 

“Not to mention it would bring a pack of Ministry idiots down on our heads in thirty seconds,” Draco replied.  “No offense, Granger.”

 

“You keep saying that, Malfoy,” she said dryly.  “I’m beginning to suspect that you don’t mean it.”

 

He stuck his tongue out at her.  “So, you and dearest Uncle Sev take one half of the dance floor, and we’ll take the other?”

 

“Draco ...” Severus warned menacingly.

 

“All right, all right,” he said, flapping his hand.  “You and Mister Professor Severus Augustus Snape, Order of Merlin, Third Class, sir!  Is that better?”

 

“You should have been drowned at birth,” he said bitterly.

 

Potter wrinkled his nose, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.  “Augustus?”

 

A warning look from Severus shut him up rather effectively.

 

“Right,” Draco said after a moment of particularly awkward silence.  “Shall we get to it, then?  I’ve got an early day at work tomorrow.”

 

“Since when do you work?” Hermione asked sarcastically, standing up and pulling Severus to his feet with her.

 

He sighed dramatically, making a great show of rolling his eyes.  “I’ll have you know, Granger, that I’m a fine, upstanding member of --”

 

“Lately he’s taken it into his head that he wants to be a master carpenter,” Potter explained, patting his hair back into place with a rather indulgent smile at his lover.  “He’s doing some apprentice work at a shop in town.  We’ve got his birdhouses hung all around the manor.”

 

“I’m sure they do a splendid job of scaring all the birds off,” Severus said brusquely, ignoring the frown Draco sent his way.  “Now, let’s get to work.  Meet back here in an hour?”

 

Potter grinned and Severus was sure the swot thought he was being charming.  “Excellent,” he said, teeth flashing as he beamed.  “Come and dance with me, my love,” the idiot continued, giving Draco cow-eyes.

 

Turning to Hermione, Severus coughed a bit.  “Well ...” he grumbled, shuffling his feet.  “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

 

She snorted and took his proffered hand.  “Just what I’ve always wanted ... my very own Don Juan,” she said sarcastically.

 

“Says the woman who gave me a pair of socks for our anniversary,” Severus retorted smoothly, leading her toward the opposite side of the dance floor.  “See any of them yet?”

 

“Only a couple and not in our immediate vicinity,” she said.  “And by the by, those socks were cashmere, Severus.  It’s not like your gift was any great shakes either, you know.”

 

He grudgingly placed his hands on her hips and made a few half-hearted swaying motions in an effort to blend in.  “It would be nice if we could get most of the Muggles out of here,” he said wistfully.  “I dislike crossfire.  And what was wrong with my gift, exactly?”

 

Fingernails suddenly jabbed into his shoulder and he winced.  “Severus, you gave me two bottles of ink!”

 

“Very practical gift,” he protested.  “You always need ink and if I recall, you delight in dripping it all over my rug.”  The song changed -- still some incomprehensible babble that left Severus’ ears ringing, but he could at least find the beat finally -- and his arms tightened around Hermione, pulling her into a discernable dance pattern.  “You know ...” he muttered mildly into her ear, silently delighting at her shiver as his lips brushed across her earlobe.  “I had planned what I thought was a rather romantic evening tonight.”

 

She smiled into the curve of his neck and he felt a small hand wander his torso.  “Had you?” she asked wryly.  “Supper?”

 

“Of course,” he replied, planting a kiss on her jaw.  “With wine.  There were even flowers ...”

 

“Flowers,” she echoed teasingly, nails now scratching his chest lightly and rather pleasantly.  “My, my.  You did go all out, didn’t you?  Were there--?”

 

But Hermione never got to finish her question.  An earsplitting screech rang out over the music, echoing through the bar.

 

“Run!” a dark-haired man, pale enough to look suspicious in Severus’ eyes, was shouting.  “The Boy Who Lived!  He is here!”

 

Swearing, Severus pushed Hermione away.  “Those morons!” he hissed.  “They’re going to get us all killed.”

 

In a practiced motion, they both took cover behind a couple of tables.  Severus said a mental prayer of thanks to whatever deity had ensured strategically covering tablecloths in their section of the bar.

 

Pandemonium was rapidly ensuing -- from what Severus could see, most of the Muggle patrons were fleeing the bar as fast as their combat boots could carry them.  A rough circle of people on the other side of the dance floor gave him a good idea of Potter and Draco’s location.  The sudden flash of green light that momentarily blinded him confirmed it.

 

All hell was threatening to break loose.

 

“What do you think?” he heard Hermione ask quietly from a nearby table.  “An ambush?”

 

“Do you happen to have any stakes on you?” he asked in reply.

 

Her only response was to Banish a wooden chair in his direction.

 

“Smartass,” Severus said, breaking off a leg and brandishing it as he usually would his wand.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

Hermione tried to wipe a bit of something unspeakable off her forehead but was sure she only succeeded in smearing it around further.  “What the hell happened?” she asked, panting for breath.

 

“Someone saw my scar,” Harry replied, an apology in his eyes as he cleaned his wand off on his shirt, having used it as an impromptu stake more than once during the battle.  “I guess the makeup rubbed off or something.”

 

“That one’s so sharp he’ll cut himself,” Severus spat from further away, giving a vampire’s head a vicious kick to send it spiraling away from its disturbingly-threatening-to-revive body.

 

Draco was sprawled in the middle of the carnage, flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling of the club.  “Was anyone hurt?” he asked quietly.

 

“What, d’you mean apart from the thirty or forty vampires we just slaughtered?” Harry retorted in a nasty sort of voice.

 

Sitting up to glare at him, Draco couldn’t quite blink away the shock of battle still in his eyes.

 

With a sigh, Harry allowed his shoulders to slump, crossing over to kneel beside his lover.  “No, Draco,” he said placatingly.  “All of the Muggles got out safely.  And none of us were hurt either, I don’t think.”

 

“Your coat is torn,” Draco replied, fingering the said tear gently.

 

Grinning, Harry hauled him to his feet, slipping a casual arm around his shoulders.  “And your Glamour is wearing off -- your roots are showing, dearest.”

 

Draco made a face.

 

“If you two are done being thoroughly nauseating ...” Severus drawled.  “We’ve got to report to Albus, at least, and I know a handful of Ministry idiots are going to be breathing down our necks in the next hour or so if we don’t get out of here.”

 

Hermione sighed.  “If I promise to speak to Albus, will you go brew up some quick painkiller stuff, Severus?”

 

He was at her side instantly.  “What happened?  Are you hurt?  I can take you to St. Mungo’s ...”

 

With a chuckle, she patted his cheek affectionately.  “It’s nothing, really, Severus.  Nothing broken, nothing bleeding.  But I did get thrown against a couple of walls, you know.  Bound to be sore tomorrow.”

 

“I don’t like --” he began with a frown.

 

She countered with a frown of her own.  “Severus ...” she warned.  “All I want to do is go home, take a long shower, and sleep until next week.”

 

Harry and Draco exchanged knowing glances that did not escape her notice.  “Er ... Hermione?” Harry asked hesitantly.  “How about you let us go brief Albus?  You sound really tired and everything ...”

 

“Good idea,” Severus said briskly, leaving Hermione rather stunned.  To her knowledge, it might actually have been the first time he’d agreed with Harry Potter without a massive fight beforehand.

 

“But --” she protested half-heartedly.

 

Harry’s tone was unexpectedly final.  “No, Hermione,” he said.  “You go on.  It’s been a long night and you deserve it.”

 

“Oh, all right,” she conceded, finally allowing herself to lean into Severus’ side.  His arm automatically went around her waist.  “Thanks, you two.”

 

“Don’t worry, Granger,” Draco replied, pocketing his wand.  “We’ll call in the favor some other time.”

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

Hermione drowsed in bed until her bladder began to wage serious protests.  Untangling herself from Severus’ arms, she stood up, wincing as her muscles complained at the motion.

 

“Merlin’s ass,” Severus said quietly, his wakefulness startling her.  “You look terrible.”

 

Glancing down at her nude body, she frowned.  “Gee, Severus.  That’s always what a girl wants to hear first thing in the morning.”

 

“You know what I mean,” he growled.  “Are you all right, Hermione?”

 

She continued to shuffle toward the lavatory.  “I will be,” she called back, carefully closing the door and continuing to contemplate her bruises.  Unfortunately, Severus was right -- she really did look awful. 

 

“Your back is nothing but one giant bruise,” he commented through the door.  “I didn’t know human beings could turn that color.  Maybe I have some salve somewhere ...”

 

She flushed the toilet.  “You’re going to have to help me with it, then.”

 

“I think I can accommodate you,” came the dry reply.

 

“And I must warn you,” she continued thoughtfully, “I’m not up to any of your usual games.  I have every intention of spending the next day at least in bed, recovering.”

 

He opened the bathroom door with a scowl.  “Games?” he echoed with disdain.  “I do not.”

 

“Sure ...” she said.  “And you don’t snore either.”

 

Exercising his often-ignored Slytherin tact, Severus remained quiet, only holding out an unmarked jar with a pointed look on his face.  She bit back an acid remark as she read the compassion in his eyes as they skimmed up and down her body, taking in her numerous bruises.  “Threw you against a wall, you say?”

 

“Three, actually,” she admitted with a small wince, making her way carefully back to the bed.

 

Severus was careful as he rubbed salve onto her bruises.  It was cool against her skin and Hermione felt the pain ebbing away as his fingers gently massaged her.  She knew that it would take time for the actual bruises to fade, but she would no longer hurt.  Under his touch, the bright sparks of pain faded to a dull ache and then went away completely.

 

“Severus ...” she mumbled into the pillow.

 

He made a questioning noise as his fingers dipped into that wonderful little jar again.

 

“I completely forgive you for your absolutely wretched anniversary gift,” she said with a sigh.

 

Chuckling, he began working on the worst places on her back.  “I hope Draco and Potter didn’t bungle the briefing,” he said.

 

“Not much to bungle, really,” she replied, still facing the pillow.  “There were vampires, now there aren’t.  Well ... not at that particular club any more.  We didn’t even have to Oblivate anyone.”

 

“True,” he said, clearly thinking.  “There’s no real point in following up with Albus, then, is there?  I admit, an entire day to ourselves is rather appealing.”

 

“Was that a hint, Severus?” she teased, pain now almost entirely gone.

 

He certainly knew as well as she did that her bruises were no longer bothering her, as his gentle ministrations became decidedly more sensual in nature.  “Obviously I was not clear enough, if you need to ask,” he said testily.

 

Laughing, she turned to look up at him and gave his shoulder a playful slap.

 

Severus was just leaning down to kiss her when a knock at the door caused them both to jump.  Frowning, he stood and began pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms, running his fingers through his hair.  For her own part, Hermione hastily threw on the matching top that he absently handed her.  She decided that her hair was a lost cause as she walked to the door.

 

Blinking, Hermione was quite at a loss as the open door revealed a widely grinning Ginny Creevey, nee Weasley.  “Hermione, darling!” she cried, pulling her into a hug. 

 

“Ginny?” Hermione asked dumbly, automatically returning the embrace.

 

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten,” she replied, pulling away and giving her a knowing look.

 

She continued to give Ginny that same blank look.

 

“Shopping?  Diagon Alley?  Today?” Ginny asked.  “Ring any bells?”

 

A faint tickling at the back of Hermione’s mind was warning her that Ginny might possibly be correct.  Now that she thought about it, she dimly recalled an invitation to spend a day on the town with Ginny.  Unfortunately, she rather thought she also remembered turning it down.  “Ginny, I --”

 

“Nonsense,” she said, blithely cutting Hermione off.  “I know you wrote to me saying you had some sort of Order business to attend to, but I spoke with Albus Dumbledore just the other day and he assured me that you were free today.”

 

She thought she heard Severus in the background, stifling what was probably a smug laugh with a cough. 

 

Well and truly busted.

 

“Oh ... Professor Snape,” Ginny was saying politely.  “And how are you doing?”

 

He looked rather startled at being addressed.  “Oh ... I ... erm ... fine, Miss Weasley.  Mrs. Creevey,” he amended quickly.  “Thank you.”

 

Ginny’s grin widened.  “Perhaps you could help me talk Hermione into shopping?  We’re planning on hitting Gladrags, and maybe even venturing out into Muggle London.”

 

“We?” Hermione asked, now suspicious.

 

“Susan and I,” she replied smoothly, only a trace of panic in her expression.  “You know ... my horrible brother’s wonderful wife?  I’m planning to give her a day off from everything.  She’s just been running ragged what with the baby and all --”

 

Interrupting Ginny’s chatter with a tactful cough, Hermione placed her most apologetic expression on her face.  “Ginny, I’m really, really sorry, but last night was ... there were vampires you see, and I’m just so --”

 

“Nonsense,” Ginny said, echoing her previous sentiments and sounding horribly like her mother.  “You need a day off as well.  Battling the forces of evil and whatnot.  Aren’t I right, Professor Snape?”

 

Reminding her uncannily of a rabbit caught in a trap, Severus appeared paralyzed on the spot.  “I ... erm ... well, that is to say ...”

 

Ginny clapped her hands.  “It’s settled, then.  Come on now, Hermione, I’ll give you five minutes to get dressed.”

 

With her nose in the air, Hermione stalked past Severus, growling under her breath.  Leaving him alone in a room with a Weasley served him right.  His grin widened at her obvious distress and she made a mental note to mention to Albus that his chambers could do with a couple of days of dedicated attention from the house elves. 

 

Dobby, hopefully.  Last time Dobby had stumbled his way into Severus’ quarters, he’d somehow managed to set an entire cabinetful of incredibly valuable potions ingredients on fire and gotten rid of Severus’ most recent (and to date, most successful) experiments because ‘the cauldrons wanted cleaning, Professor.  Theys was filthy with such stinky muck ...”

 

Yes ... Hermione thought Dobby would do quite nicely.  She pulled a Muggle blouse over her head and contemplated a pair of trainers rather gloomily.

 

“I am sorry, you know,” she heard Severus say from behind her.

 

“No you’re not,” she replied, shoving her feet into her shoes.  “Where’s Ginny?”

 

“Waiting in the front room, tapping her foot rather impatiently.  I suspect, my dear, that there’s something she’s not telling you.”

 

She turned to glare at him and began pulling a brush vigorously through her hair.  “Severus, it’s Ginny Weasley!  Of course there’s something she’s not telling me.  There always is.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, not a trace of remorse in his tone.  “I’d hoped we could --”

 

Huffing, she pulled a light robe over her clothes.  “Yeah, yeah.”

 

He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive posture.  “I’m serious!”

 

Hermione softened slightly as she pulled her hair up into a makeshift ponytail.  “I know,” she replied, putting a hand on his arm as soon as she was close enough.  “Maybe I can get away right after luncheon.  That would give us an entire afternoon of hanging around the castle, devising ways to dodge Albus.”

 

His eyes brightened considerably and she allowed him to steal a kiss, deciding that she might not set Dobby loose on him after all.  “Why are you wearing Muggle clothes underneath your robes?” he asked curiously as they walked back toward the door.

 

“Ginny did mention something about Muggle London,” she said, resigned to her fate by now.  “I like to be prepared for every eventuality.”

 

“And yet you come up with the most pitiful excuses of anyone I’ve ever met,” he commented dryly in her ear as they came within earshot of Ginny Creevey.

 

Narrowing her eyes at his suddenly innocent look, she decided to leave it alone and allowed Ginny to shuffle her out the door.  “I’ll see you later, Severus,” she said rather despondently.

 

“Have fun, Hermione.”

 

Bastard, she mentally growled at him.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

He hadn’t been lying.  Severus would truly miss Hermione’s presence today.  The thought of a lovely morning spent lounging in bed, followed by a luncheon free of the most annoying staff, still enjoying their summer breaks far away from Hogwarts, and possibly a blissfully student-free afternoon outdoors in the sunshine, fervently proving that neither of them were vampiric in nature.

 

While he could still do most of that, it wouldn’t be the same without her dry wisecracks and warm weight against his side.

 

Blinking, Severus sat down in one of his more uncomfortable armchairs, wondering when he’d turned into a soppy romantic fool.  When had this happened?

 

No matter.  The point was that it had happened.

 

This wouldn’t do.

 

A frown still gracing his features as he contemplated his apparent softening, Severus slowly stood and made his way to the bathroom, stepping into the shower and glaring at the soap in his hand as if it were responsible for his sudden discomfort.

 

With a growl, he threw the soap to the floor, swearing as he did so.  Damn it, it wasn’t fair!  Severus Snape wasn’t supposed to moon over a woman like a common idiot.  He was supposed to be able to separate his emotional entanglements from his rational being.

 

Loving Hermione was all well and good, to be sure, and he was grateful for the fact that it was returned (as far as he could discern).  He had absolutely no problem with their relationship as it stood, and insomuch as he could tell, neither did she.

 

So why was he wishing for her constant presence all of a sudden?  Entertaining horrible, nauseating thoughts of curly-headed, dark-eyed brats with Slytherin crests on their student robes? 

 

It was unacceptable.  To his knowledge, Hermione liked children about as well as he did, which was to say, in response to the question, she would probably answer, “Well, I prefer them fried, generally.”

 

Certain that he’d lost his mind, Severus stepped out of the shower, padding naked through his (their?) bedroom and pulling on a pair of boxers.

 

The knock on the door was very nearly expected.  He entertained no illusions about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy and was certain that Albus would be down to the dungeons as soon as it was reasonably certain he would be awake in order to find out what had really happened last night.

 

But he found himself rather surprised to open the door and see a tall, redheaded young man on the other side of it.  “What do you want?” Severus asked, becoming more and more aware of the fact that he was clad only in his underwear and mostly dripping wet.

 

The man did not appear to be disturbed by the circumstances.  “Is Hermione here?” he countered.  “I went by her place earlier and she wasn’t there, so I thought ...”

 

“She is not,” he replied.  “She’s out for the day.”  Squinting at the admittedly harried-looking fellow, he became marginally sure that this was Ron Weasley.  “What do you want, Weasley?”

 

He seemed to be correct.  Weasley sighed and before Severus knew exactly what he was about, a bundle was thrust into his hands and a bag tossed at his feet.  “I’ll be back around five.  I’m sure you can handle it.”

 

The bundle was heavy and, to Severus’ horror, shifted and emitted an unsettlingly infant sort of sigh.  “No!”

 

“Hermione owes me,” Weasley said, eyes narrowing.  “Susan is gone for the day and I just got an emergency call from work.  You’re the only one I can find.”

 

An eyebrow lifted and the bundle shifted further.  “Your mother?” he asked hopefully.

 

“Gone ... and my father, too, before you ask,” he retorted.  “What, is a baby too much for you to handle?”

 

“No,” Severus said.  “It’s due more to a complete and total lack of desire.”

 

Weasley was unrepentant.  “Take it up with Hermione.  I bailed her out of all that mess our seventh year with Viktor Krum and now I’m calling it in.  You can tell her we’re even, now.”

 

As the boy turned to walk away, obviously content leaving his only child in the hands of one Severus Snape, a thought struck him.  “Weasley,” he called.

 

He turned around, a question written on his face.

 

“Consider the fact that now you owe me a second debt,” he said, a taunt evident in his tone.

 

Not willing to take the bait, or so it seemed, Weasley shrugged and walked briskly up the stairs, robes swirling around his ankles.

 

“You know ...” Severus told the bundle thoughtfully.  “I don’t know a damn thing about babies.”

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

Hermione was going to murder Ginny Creevey, legal issues be damned.  There wasn’t a jury on the face of the entire planet that would convict her, wizarding or Muggle.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she hissed.

 

“I knew you wouldn’t come, then,” Ginny replied placidly.  “And I need you here, Hermione.  Really.”

 

“Yeah,” she spat, livid.  “As a human shield!”

 

“Come on, girls,” Molly Weasley said briskly from behind them.  “Don’t dawdle.”

 

“Mum,” Ginny sighed.  “We’re shopping.  Dawdling is practically part of the itinerary.”

 

Hermione could hear Molly frowning as she spoke.  “If you want to go out into Muggle London and make it back to Gladrags in time for your two o’clock appointment, we’ve got to hurry, my dear.  Now, get along.”

 

“We could Apparate,” Ginny tried hopefully.

 

“Virginia Weasley,” she snapped.  “Haven’t I taught you anything?  You do not Apparate into a potential crowd of Muggles.”

 

“I think, Molly,” Susan Weasley began, breaking her very pragmatic silence for the first time that morning, “that she meant we could Apparate from a London safe spot over to Gladrags in the afternoon.”

 

“Oh ...” Molly said, considering the idea.  “Well, of course, dear.  That sounds sensible.”

 

Ginny let out a breath and sent Susan a grateful look.

 

Hermione idly wondered if she had enough time to cast the Killing Curse on herself.  No -- she eventually decided.  Ginny would probably wrest the wand out of her hands before she could finish saying, “Avada.”

 

She sighed as Molly commented on the fact that it was such a long way to the Apparition point from Hogwarts.  “And why were you at Hogwarts, again, dear?  So early in the morning, after all ...” she asked Hermione in a deceptively innocent tone.

 

It was going to be a long, hellish day.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

Apparently, it didn’t like his chair any more than he did.  Severus had laid the child down in order to find a better place for the bag Weasley had left other than directly under his feet.  It didn’t even take a full sixty seconds for the infant to come awake and start bawling directly.

 

Severus was completely at a loss.  He’d picked it up, which made it cry harder.  He’d then put it down, which also made it cry harder.

 

Now the child was laying on his sofa, arms and legs waving pathetically in the air as it sobbed.

 

“Great Merlin,” Severus moaned, burying his head in his hands.  “You’d think I was murdering you down here.”  He dimly recalled a game his great-uncle Tiberius had sworn cheered up any baby in the world (including Severus himself as an infant, supposedly) and if there was any baby in the world that needed cheering up at this moment, it was this one. 

 

Here went nothing.

 

Straightening his head, Severus kept his face covered as he turned toward the baby.  After a pause, he pulled his hands away, tried to smile and said, “Peek, baby,” in the happiest tone he currently possessed.

 

And now the child was actually screaming.

 

He plucked up the baby once again, holding it under its armpits and letting its feet dangle, kicking uselessly at nothing.  Red-faced, the child continued to shriek.  “Look,” Severus cried, feeling as if he was at the end of his rope, “I don’t know what you want.  I know what I want -- I want Hermione here and you gone.”  He felt dangerously close to tears himself as he peered into the infant’s face.

 

Oblivious to Severus’ needs, the Weasley brat wailed on.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

Hermione had moved on in her suicide plot.  A simple Killing Curse would obviously not do the trick.  Damn London for putting most of its shops on the ground floor -- what she needed was a good hundred-foot drop onto the pavement, with broken glass and wailing shop girls thrown in for good measure.  She could be gone before Molly could even draw breath again.

 

“Charlie is getting married this fall,” Molly said.  “To a lovely young woman he met in Romania.  Her English is improving wonderfully.”

 

“How nice,” Hermione said in a falsely cheerful tone, sending a glare toward an almost apologetic Ginny.

 

“We’ve had quite a lot of weddings lately,” she continued.  “Charlie, and Ginny last year, of course, and dear Ron and Susan the year before that.  I did mean to ask you, have you set a date yet, dear?”

 

She blinked.  “What?”

 

“A date,” Molly enunciated.  “For your wedding, of course.”

 

“My ... wedding?” Hermione echoed.  “But ... but I’m not engaged.”

 

Seeing the disapproval flash in Molly’s eyes, Hermione wished fervently that she had a Time Turner on her person.  Yet another weapon in Molly’s arsenal and Hermione had just volunteered it of her own free will.  “Well ...” Molly said after a long pause.  “I’m sure Severus will bring you around eventually.  He’s a good boy.”

 

With a mental snort at the thought of Severus as a ‘good boy,’ which somehow evoked him dressed in an altar boy’s frock, Hermione went and made the situation worse.  “To my knowledge, he’s never mentioned marriage either,” she said, cursing her own stupidity as the words tumbled unheedingly off her lips.

 

Another flash of disapproval.  But she recovered nicely, Hermione thought.  “I’m sure it’s on his mind, dear.  You’re both of ages to want to be settling down.  I’m certain he’ll propose soon -- don’t you worry.”

 

Hermione tried to picture Severus on bended knee, offering her a diamond solitaire ring with one of those romantic gazes she saw Harry send Draco every now and again, and failed utterly.  In the end, though, she managed to rein in her traitorous tongue and remained silent as Molly continued to detail the arrangements for Charlie’s wedding.

 

She was certain she would dream of crepe and lace tonight.  And altar boys.

 

“Ginny!” she called suddenly, frantically.  “Tell me what you think about this,” she said as soon as Ginny looked up, plucking the first thing off the rack that her hands happened upon.

 

Walking over, Ginny tried to hide a smile.  “First of all, it’s nowhere near your size.  And secondly, when did you become a fan of powder pink?”

 

“Shut up,” Hermione hissed, blaming Ginny for this entire affair.  “And save me!”

 

“Is that my Hermione’s voice I hear?” came a loud cry from about three racks over.  “I didn’t know you were in London, love.”

 

“Oh, no,” she sighed, putting the blouse down and moving away from the confused Weasleys.  “Mother!” she cried, injecting her voice with false joy.  “What are you doing all the way over here?”

 

“There’s a sale this week, my dear,” Mary Granger said, pecking her daughter’s cheek and giving her a perfunctory embrace.  “I thought you’d be working, else I’d have given you a call.”

 

“We dragged Hermione out of her usual hidey hole, Mrs. Granger,” Ginny said, approaching the pair carefully.  “It’s good to see you again.”

 

Mary looked rather puzzled.  “And you are ...?”

 

“Mother,” Hermione began, startled into formal introductions.  “You remember Ginny Weasley, don’t you?  We were at school together.  And here is her mother, Molly, and her daughter-in-law, Susan, who I don’t think you’ve met before.  She’s Ron’s wife.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Granger,” Susan said politely, nodding.

 

“Oh, call me Mary, my dear,”  she replied with a smile.  “Mrs. Granger always makes me want to look over my shoulder for my mother-in-law.  It’s so nice to see my girl in the company of women for once.”

 

“Mo-ther,” she hissed, scowling.

 

With a wave of her hand, Mary dismissed her daughter.  “Oh, Hermione, you know what I mean.  Even when you were in school, you spent all your time with those boys, and now, I only see you with that fellow you work with.  What is his name?  Something dreadful -- Spartacus, is it?”

 

Ginny actually snickered and Hermione buried her face in her hands.  “His name is Severus, Mother,” she said through her fingers.  “For the thousandth time.  Severus.”

 

“Yes, that’s it,” Mary confirmed with another elegant hand flap.  “Well ... anyway.  I do wish you’d stop seeing him, Hermione.  He’s so --”

 

Lifting her eyes, Hermione saw Ginny turning a dangerous shade of purple.  Even Susan was grinning now, and Molly Weasley was gazing at Mary as if she’d just found her new best friend.  “Mother,” she said quickly.  “I’m really quite sorry, but we must be getting on to luncheon now.  It was good to see you.”

 

Unfortunately, Molly headed off Hermione at the pass.  “Oh, but you must come and have lunch with us, Mary,” she said.  “We were planning to stop at this adorable little café that Susan pointed out.  It’s just down the road a bit.  It would be so lovely to have a nice chat.”

 

Hermione’s mental prodding at her mother to say no had little effect in the end.  “I would be delighted,” Mary said, not even blinking at her daughter’s thunderous look.  “Just let me get everything rung up and we can be on our way.”  Still chatting, she and Molly moved toward the queue.

 

“It’s official,” Hermione muttered, elbowing a still-chortling Ginny.  “I’m in hell.”

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

“Will you shut up if I feed you?” Severus asked desperately.  “I’m starving.”

 

The child barely paused for breath as it continued to cry.  Surely this couldn’t last much longer.  He’d never heard anyone cry this much.  And to think, he’d been contemplating children of his own recently.  Thinking of bringing this into his and Hermione’s life, permanently.

 

Never again.

 

“Of course,” he continued, picking up the baby and managing to more or less competently carry it into his makeshift kitchen.  “I’m not entirely sure what to feed a baby.  I can tell by your wide-open trap that you’ve only got the one tooth, so I suppose most things are out of the question.  And I’ve not got any milk.  So ... will you shut up if you watch me eat?”

 

Apparently perplexed by his chatter, the baby actually silenced briefly, giving Severus a curious look.

 

Something struck him as he and the child regarded each other as one generally would a coiled snake.  “Well, Weasley did leave a bag with you, didn’t he?  Maybe babies come with their own food.  Like those ridiculous sea monkeys Albus gave me one year for Christmas.”  He walked back into the front room, still carrying the baby.

 

Sure enough, a careful inventory of the bag revealed three bottles, six diapers (at least ... that’s what he thought they were), and a package neatly labeled, “Mashed carrots.”

 

“Sounds fabulous,” Severus muttered, picking up the little container and taking it over to the table.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have something as well.”  He made up a quick sandwich from the leftovers of his failed romantic supper from the night before and sat down at the table, sandwich in one hand and baby in the other, propped carefully on his knee.

 

Fortunately, there was a little spoon attached to the food -- Severus was grateful; his nerves were tooo shot for him to transfigure something for the child to use.

 

“You know,” he told the baby thoughtfully as he spooned food into its seemingly happy mouth.  “I don’t even know your name.  Hell ... I don’t even know your gender.”  It was wearing a sort of one-piece suit (an unhelpful green) and had hopelessly generic baby features.  The only distinction the child had at all was a shock of red hair and a pair of bright blue eyes.  “No mistaking you for anything but a Weasley, though.”

 

The baby said something that sounded like, “Pah,” as it accepted another mouthful of carrots, allowing more than two-thirds of it to ooze back out onto its face.

 

“You certainly have Ron Weasley’s table manners,” Severus said dryly, using the spoon’s edge to scrape its face.  “But for the moment, I’m satisfied that you’re relatively quiet.”

 

“Mep,” the baby chirped, pushing away the next spoonful with pudgy little hands.

 

“Are you done, then?” he asked, realizing in the last moment the futility of asking it questions and feeling rather stupid.  “Well ... if you don’t mind ...”  Severus ate his sandwich in roughly three large bites, not wanting to keep the child balanced on his knee any longer.

 

Once finished, he held it up in the air again, tentatively bringing it closer to his chest as it refrained from renewing its cries.  “I think I’d like to get dressed now,” he said, wondering at his sudden urge to tell this brat everything that was on his mind.  “I had every intention of dressing this morning after my shower, but -- holy shit!” he yelped as the baby gave one loud urping sort of sound and threw up about half of a container of mashed carrots, mostly on Severus.

 

The infant gave a delighted sort of gurgle and clapped its hands, spraying more orange vomit into Severus’ face.

 

“I’m glad you’re amused,” he sighed, deciding that Weasley would probably be angry if he came back to discover Severus had dropped the child off on an orphanage’s doorstep.  “I’d wanted another shower today anyway.”

 

“Grrr,” it cried, making a grab for his nose.

 

Not happy, Severus walked toward the bedroom, child dangling by its armpits again.  “Don’t,” he snapped, causing the baby to wrinkle its face.

 

He stripped them both down as the water heated up.  “So ... you’re a boy,” Severus said as he peeled away its admittedly soggy diaper and pitched it in the general vicinity of a dustbin.  The clothes would just have to sit in the sink, dripping, until he could deal with them.  “I suppose it’ll be less traumatizing for you, then, that we’re going to take a shower at the same time.  Not that you’ll remember.  I don’t think.”

 

It seemed to enjoy the warm water and stretched its hands up toward the spray, squirming in Severus’ grasp.  Baby skin was far more slippery than he was comfortable with, so he made quick work of it, rinsing them both off as well as he could and stepping out of the shower in less than five minutes.

 

He wrapped it -- he -- the baby in a clean towel, surprised when it -- he decided to cuddle into Severus’ chest and make a soft sort of mewling baby noise.  “You’re not going to fool me for a second,” he said, glaring at him.  “I’ll hold this over your head the entire time you’re at Hogwarts, Weasley spawn.”

 

The child blinked at him.

 

“Will you sit still for a moment while I put something on?” he found himself asking rather desperately.

 

Not trusting him for more than a second, Severus sat the baby, still swaddled in the towel, on the bedroom floor, only turning to pull a second pair of boxers out of the drawer.  Slipping them on, he turned around and saw nothing save a damp towel on the floor.

 

“Damn it,” he growled, dropping to hands and knees.  “All right, where are you, you little rat?”

 

He thought he heard a little giggle from the doorway.

 

“The minute the Sorting Hat gets put on your miserable little head, I’m taking a hundred points from whatever house you wind up in,” Severus continued through clenched teeth, scanning the still empty bedroom floor.  “Even if it’s Slytherin.”

 

“Rin,” a tiny voice agreed from his left.

 

“And detentions ...” he said, moving into the hallway.  “Oh ... there’ll be so many detentions ... where are you?” he exclaimed, thoroughly irritated by now.

 

“Poo-goo!”

 

That sounded like it came from the sitting room.  “Wow ...” Severus said sarcastically.  “Two-syllable babbling.  Your mummy must be so proud of you, you brilliant boy, you.”

 

And there the little brat was.  Sitting in the middle of the rug, happily gumming a piece of parchment that Severus had no idea how he’d obtained, and naked as Adam.  At least the bag with the diapers was within Severus’ reach.

 

As if he were a tiger stalking an antelope, he crept up on the infant, afraid it would somehow bolt if it caught sight of him.  Close enough to grab a diaper now, he palmed it, grimacing at the slick feel of the Muggle plastic under his fingers.  The Weasleys always did have a funny thing for Muggles.

 

Even closer and he could reach out and touch the child.  But Severus waited, waited until he could snake out both hands and wrap them firmly around his torso.  The child gave a short scream that was more anger than anything else as he found himself swept up in the air again.

 

“Gotcha!” Severus cried.  “I’m not turning my back on you again, you horrible brat.”

 

“Faugh,” the baby retorted, slapping the slimy parchment square in the middle of Severus’ bare chest.

 

Not to be outdone, he quickly put the child down on its back and began fumbling around with the Muggle-style diaper.  “I hate children,” he said under his breath as he tried to make sense of the sticky fastenings he’d just discovered as the baby twisted in protest.  “And I especially hate Weasley children.”

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

“Can I please go home now?” Hermione asked, hating the petulant note in her voice.  “I told Severus I’d be home after luncheon and it’s nearly one-thirty.”

 

“Severus,” Mary said disdainfully.  “Always Severus.”

 

“And not even engaged,” added Molly with a sort of snort.  “It’s indecent.”

 

Mary glanced at her fellow conspirator.  “I’ve never liked that bloke.  The first time our Hermione brought him home, I took one look at that long hair of his and I knew exactly what he was about.  And so flighty, with all of that Order of the Bird nonsense.  He doesn’t even seem to have a sensible job.”

 

“Phoenix, Mother,” Hermione corrected automatically, contemplating the varied uses of the Silencing Hex.

 

“Job?” Molly echoed, effectively ignoring her.  “But Severus has a job.  A good one.  Why, he’s --”

 

“Molly!” she interrupted loudly, giving Ginny a pleading look.  “Could we please talk about something else?”

 

Clearly confused, Molly turned to look at her.  “But, Hermione, dear, I was just going to tell your mother about Severus working at Hogwarts.”

 

“Hogwarts?” Mary asked, perking up.  “Hermione, you never told me ...”

 

Molly smiled broadly.  “Oh, Severus has been the resident Potions master up there for years.  Actually, I’m surprised Hermione didn’t mention him when she was younger.  From what I hear, they butted heads a lot, even though she was only a student.”

 

She let her head fall unhesitatingly onto the table with a resounding thud.  “Now she’s gone and done it,” she mumbled, so quietly that only Ginny managed to catch it.

 

Outrage written across every feature, Mary literally swelled.  “Hermione Granger, am I hearing this correctly?”

 

“Mother --”

 

“Have you been carrying on with one of your professors?”  Her voice went up a note.

 

With a start, her head shot up to regard her mother with something akin to exasperation.  “But Mother, we just ... I mean ... not while I was at school, for Chrissake!”

 

Mary was not listening.  “Does the headmaster know?” she cried.

 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione sighed.  “I’m certain he does.”

 

“Especially after Professor McGonagall found --” Ginny began unhelpfully.

 

“Ginny!” Hermione yelped.

 

“I’m very disappointed in you, young lady,” Mary snapped.  “Just wait until your father hears about this.”

 

“I seriously doubt he’ll care much,” she retorted, knowing just how close she was getting to the fire.  “Just because Severus happened to be one of my professors many years ago doesn’t mean --”

 

“Hermione, the man is old enough to be your father!” she cried, wringing her hands.

 

“He is not,” Hermione said.  “Papa is a good ten years older than Severus.”

 

“But I thought Professor Snape went to school with Harry Potter’s parents,” Ginny wondered aloud, only realizing what she’d done when Hermione shot her a murderous glare.

 

Face red, Mary opened her mouth to speak (or shout) again.

 

Hurriedly, Hermione cut her off.  “All right,” she conceded grudgingly.  “Technically, he is.  But Harry’s parents were about nineteen when he was born, I’ll have you know.  Merlin was at least seventy years older than Nimue when they had their affair, you know.”

 

“Nimue isn’t my daughter,” Mary screeched, unable to contain herself any longer.

 

“Mother, could we please discuss this some other time?” she pleaded.  “And not in public?”

 

Eyes still snapping, Mary relented.  “But we will talk about this later.  Ladies,” she continued, turning to Molly with a sad smile, “I am sorry to disturb your lunch.  I believe I should be getting back home.  Hermione, I hope you have a good day, dear.”

 

“Good bye, Mother,” she said dully, hating the pitying looks she saw on both Ginny’s and Susan’s faces.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

Three hours and at least ten shops later, Hermione finally bid the Weasleys an exhausted farewell as she Apparated back to Hogwarts, wanting nothing more than to climb into bed and talk Severus into bringing her supper rather than having to endure the Great Hall.

 

As she walked toward the school gates, she wondered if Severus had enjoyed his day.  Certainly it had to have been better than hers.

 

She made a mental note to warn him about her mother.

 

Fortunately, Hermione encountered no one as she trudged through the castle, down staircases and through corridors, heading unerringly to Severus’ quarters and speaking the password listlessly.  Upon stepping into the sitting room, however, she had to stop and goggle soundlessly.

 

Severus was sprawled on the floor, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, with a baby curled to his chest.  His mouth was wide open and the baby, clad only in what Hermione dimly thought was meant to be a diaper, was drooling on his shoulder.  A bottle, half full of something milky in appearance, laid next to Severus’ outstretched fingertips.

 

She watched them both for a good five minutes at least.  Finally, as if he knew he was being watched, Severus’ eyes slipped open to look at her passionlessly.

 

“Erm ... is there something you want to tell me?” she asked, amused.

 

“This,” Severus muttered in a far from amused voice, “is Ron Weasley’s firstborn son.  We have spent the day, unfortunately, in each other’s company.”

 

As if on cue, the baby’s eyes opened and tiny fists yanked at handfuls of Severus’ chest hair.  “Bugga,” it said.

 

Severus’ facial expression didn’t even shift.  Gathering the child up in his arms and moving to a sitting position, he offered the bottle to the baby, who seemed content to suckle for a few moments.

 

“You know ...” she said thoughtfully, “this is a sight I never thought I’d see.”

 

“You’ll never see it again, either,” he said, grimacing as the baby started protesting and pushing the bottle away.  “If any Weasley comes to our doorstep again bearing some squalling brat, they’ll have to go pick it up from an orphanage.  Or perhaps Albus’ office,” he said, clearly contemplating the idea with some relish.  “All right, all right,” he told the squirming child, flipping him over his shoulder and giving his back a couple of perfunctory pats.”

 

“Have you spent the entire day on the floor like that?” Hermione asked, suppressing a grin as the child emitted a loud burp.

 

He sat the baby on the floor beside him and stood slowly.  “Actually, no,” he said dryly.  “We spent a fair amount of time screaming at each other in the front room.  And we got to take a lovely shower after mashed carrots proved to be beyond our digestive capabilities.”

 

The baby began crawling around on the floor, babbling rather happily to itself.

 

“Severus, is that Spell-o-tape on his diaper?” she asked incredulously, watching the child crawl.

 

Shrugging, she saw the defeated look in his eyes.  “I couldn’t figure out the fastenings,” he admitted.  “But the tape seems to work quite well.  How was your day?”

 

“We ran into my mother in London,” she said with a sigh.  “She hates you even more now, by the way.”

 

“Oh, good,” he said vaguely.  “So it was productive, then?”

 

“She’s not usually that bad,” Hermione continued.  “But I think she and Molly Weasley have this sort of resonant effect on each other.  I don’t know.  We should never let them in the same room together ever again.  At least, not while either one of us is in it.”

 

“Agreed,” Severus said.  “Although, given a choice between that or babysitting the Weasley whelp from hell, it’s a tossup, I think.”  The baby crawled over to pat his leg and promptly sneezed on his foot, covering it with unspeakable baby fluids.  Severus swore.

 

Stifling a laugh that she knew he would not appreciate, Hermione reached up to kiss his cheek.  “When is Ron coming back?”

 

“Five,” he replied shortly.  “And after that, I recommend we go find a bar and get smashingly drunk.  We’ve both earned it.”  He deftly picked the child up before it could crawl out of the room.  “And you’re not fooling me again,” he told the baby with a frown.  In response, it grabbed a lock of his hair and pulled.

 

She noted with some degree of relief that the clock read quarter-to-five.  “At least now I know how to bring you to your knees completely,” she said.  “It only takes one ten-month-old baby to do it.”

 

“Would you like your mother to descend upon you for an extended visit?” he asked nastily, moving the child out of arm’s reach.

 

“There’s no need for threats, Severus,” she said quickly, welcoming the knock on the door and moving to answer it.

 

A sheepish Ron stood on the other side.  “Hey, Hermione,” he said.  “Susan came to work as soon as she got home and saw no one was there.  I’m here for Andy.”

 

“Andy?” Hermione and Severus echoed, both confused.

 

“Yeah ... you know, Andrew ... my son?  Thanks for looking after him, by the way, Snape.  I hope he wasn’t any trouble,” Ron said politely.

 

“Oh, he was,” Severus replied in a bland sort of tone, handing the baby, Andy, over.  “I trust you know better than to ask me to do this a second time?”

 

Chuckling, Ron stooped to pick up the bag she’d just noticed on the floor.  “Where’re his clothes?”

 

“The house elves probably have them by now,” he grumbled.  “You’ll get them back, don’t worry.”

 

“I’m not,” he said.  “Oh, and while I’m thinking about it, Susan insists that you two join us for supper this evening.  Our treat and everything.  After today, we all need a night out.  Mum’s going to take Andy.”

 

Hermione thought she heard Severus whisper, “Thank God.”  “Ron, we’re both very tired ...”

 

“Come on, Hermione,” he cajoled.  “We owe you.  Besides, Susan won’t let me hear the end of it if you don’t say yes.  Harry and Malfoy will even be there ... we’ve got reservations.”

 

“No,” Severus said quickly.  “I spent last night with Tweedledum and Tweedledumber.  That was enough.”

 

With a small sigh, she turned to him with a resigned look.  “It’ll just be for one night, Severus.  If we stay in, you know Albus will come looking for us and he won’t take no for an answer.”

 

He frowned.  “Oh ... all right.”

 

Ron grinned and bounced a giggling baby Andy on his hip.  “Excellent.  We’ll meet you down in Hogsmeade in front of the Three Broomsticks, all right?”

 

“Weasley, go away,” Severus sighed.

 

 --  --  --  --  --

 

“This has officially been the worst day of my life,” Severus muttered as he straightened his collar.  “And that’s counting the day when my Death Eater cover got blown.”

 

“Who would have thought one little baby could unnerve you completely?” Hermione wondered, tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear as they waited not-so-patiently in front of the Three Broomsticks.  “And why are we meeting here, of all places?”

 

“We’ve got to Floo to the restaurant, of course,” drawled Draco Malfoy’s voice from somewhere behind her back.  “And Weasel and his wife live in Hogsmeade, so it’s not as far for them.  Good evening, Granger, Uncle Sev.  Didn’t know you two were coming along.”

 

“We are both owed supper for our respective days of Purgatory.  And Draco, I swear if you call me that one more time ...” Severus threatened.

 

“You know you love me, Uncle,” Draco teased.  “And what d’you mean, Purgatory?”

 

Sighing, Severus decided to let it go.  “Ron Weasley decided that for some unknown reason, I would be the best person to look after his brat for the day, and Hermione was drafted into shopping with Molly Weasley.”

 

“Babysitting?” Draco asked incredulously, a grin splitting his face.  “You?”

 

“Yes, me,” he spat.  “I do not wish to discuss it any further.  Suffice to say, young master Weasley should hope that I retire before he enters Hogwarts.”

 

“I must have caught the wrong end of the conversation,” Harry Potter said as he approached the trio.  “I heard something about dear Severus threatening a Weasley.  Not that that’s anything new, mind, but ...”

 

Draco looped an arm around Potter’s waist and gave him a sickening look.  “Where did you get to?” he asked.  “I Flooed everywhere I could think of.”

 

Sighing, Potter planted a kiss on Draco’s cheek -- Severus and Hermione both averted their eyes at the scene.  “Got tangled up in Albus’ office.  I didn’t know we had to do paperwork for an Order mission.”

 

“Only when the Ministry needs notification,” Hermione told him.  “They’re really picky about the documentation.”

 

“Bugger documentation,” Draco said.  “And where’s Weasel?  I’m starving.”

 

“Right behind you, Malfoy.”  Ron Weasley’s voice floated into the conversation and Severus could see the redhead standing behind Draco with a smirk, holding his wife’s hand.  “I guess we’re all here, then.”

 

Not ten minutes later, Severus found himself seated at a large table in one of the nicer restaurants in Diagon Alley, clutching a large menu that did not appear to be written in English and trying not to yell at Potter and Draco for their obscenely saccharine lovey little conversation.  “Why did you think this would be better than Albus?” he asked Hermione through grit teeth.

 

“Because he’s almost as bad about wedding hints as Molly Weasley,” she retorted.  “And your menu’s upside down, by the way.”

 

Deciding that hexing the love of his life probably wouldn’t be his best move, Severus simply righted his menu and pretended as if it had been that way the whole time.  Unfortunately, it still did not seem to be written in English.

 

“I’m very sorry about that scene with your mother, Hermione,” Susan Weasley was saying as the perfunctory table chat died down.

 

Hermione shrugged and took a sip of her water.  “That’s my mother for you.  It’s really nothing I’m not used to.”

 

“What happened?” Draco asked, leaning over the table and giving Susan a conspiratorial wink.

 

“Mother found out that Severus was our professor,” Hermione replied, shooting Draco a fairly nasty look.  “I knew she wouldn’t approve and now she’s going to be damn near impossible.  I’m just glad she doesn’t know how to send a Howler.”

 

“I thought I remembered you getting along splendidly with your family,” Potter said thoughtfully as he buttered a piece of his roll.

 

She laid her menu to one side and shrugged again.  “As long as I keep everything in perspective, I do.  But Mother’s never approved of my career choices and she thinks ... well, she thinks Severus is a scruffy hippie,” she admitted with only a slight blush.  “Of course, it doesn’t help that he won’t talk to her at all -- he only answers her questions in monosyllables.”

 

Potter snorted into his water glass, but the other three occupants of the table regarded her with confusion.  What was a hippie, anyway? Severus wondered to himself.

 

“I’ll explain some other time,” she replied to their baffled faces.  “I think the waiter wants our order.”

 

The beef was adequately prepared, Severus decided, and served at the correct temperature.  He decided, upon taking his first bite, that he did not entirely care for the glaze, but it served him right for ordering something he couldn’t even properly pronounce.  He settled for alternating between picking at his beef and stealing bites of Hermione’s seafood pasta whenever he could manage it.  His own pasta was also quite good, and the spartan herbal butter coating appealed to his admittedly austere palette (Hermione called him picky, of all offensive things).

 

“Hey!” she cried, the last time his fork made a pass at her plate, effectively blocking it with her knife.  “You can order your own, you know.”

 

“I just want a taste,” he retorted.

 

“I would have believed that about six tastes ago,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him.

 

In reply, he discreetly poked a couple of fingers into that ticklish spot he knew she had on her left side and smirked as she tried not to laugh.

 

“Aw ... look at the cute ickle lovebirds,” Weasley said snidely from across the table.

 

Draco took a delicate sip of his wine.  “You should see them when they think no one is watching.  I always knew Uncle Sev had a soft side.”

 

A quick wand flick later saw Draco with huge boils erupting all over his face and a broadly grinning Severus.  “I’m not sure what that was for, Draco,” he said as he tucked his wand away, “but I am certain that you earned it.”

 

Laughing at his partner’s discomfort, Potter pulled out his own wand and wiped Draco’s face clean.  “I always said you’d push him too far one day,” he told him fondly.  “Fortunately, that’s one I know the countercurse to.”

 

“You’ll have to pick something more exotic next time,” Hermione told Severus, patting his arm.  “Although I should warn you that Charms was always one of Harry’s better subjects.”

 

“Meaning it was one of few he didn’t fail miserably, then, I take it,” he replied.

 

“Hey!” Potter protested.  “I hung on in Potions through the NEWTs and you know it.  My grades weren’t that abysmal.”

 

Severus pretended to consider his words.  “There were far worse, I’ll grant you,” he said after a moment.

 

“Anyway,” Weasley continued, picking up the conversational thread.  “You’ve got unfair standards.  You’ve got little Miss Perfect sitting there beside you to compare us all to.”

 

Hermione scowled.  “I am not.”

 

“Yes, you are,” Draco countered.  “Name a single subject you scored less than an ‘O’ in at Hogwarts.”

 

Head bowed, she mumbled something that Severus didn’t quite catch.

 

“What was that?” Potter asked, putting a hand mockingly to his ear.  “Couldn’t quite hear you there, love.”

 

“I hate you, wonderboy,” she said sulkily, looking up to glare at him.  “Flying, all right?  I failed flying lessons back during our first year.”

 

Severus blinked.  Both Potter and Draco started laughing.  “Didn’t stop you from enjoying Quidditch, did it?” Potter managed to choke out during his giggles.

 

“Not Quidditch,” Draco countered, chortling.  “Just the pitch!”

 

Reddening, her face settled into a hard scowl.  “I was drunk!”

 

Weasley looked interested.  “What happened, then?  You’ve got to remember that I’m not around all the time like you lot are -- I miss things.”

 

“At least now you’ve got an excuse for being oblivious, Weasel.”

”Sod off, ferret.  Now ... give.”

 

With a wide grin, Potter leaned over the table.  “Well, you see, we were over at the Hog’s Head.  Me and Draco and Hermione and her dearest, loveliest --”

 

“Harry,” she protested.  “Please, don’t!  It’s too embarrassing.”

 

He ignored her.  “We were very drunk -- she’s right about that.  And apparently, on the walk back to Hogwarts, she and her Severus ... erm ...”

 

“Succumbed to their baser urges,” Draco finished with a smirk, ducking the salt cellar Hermione threw at his head.  Severus saw the waiter give her a scandalized look.

 

Susan Weasley’s jaw dropped.  “Hermione, you didn’t!”

 

Hanging her head, she stared intently at her napkin.  “Well, no, we didn’t,” she admitted.  “But only because Minerva McGonagall appeared, screaming her head off.”

 

Weasley began laughing like an idiot, Potter and Draco joining in.  Severus felt a blush creeping up his cheeks.

 

“I don’t think she was particularly angry that we were in the middle of the Quidditch pitch at three in the morning without any clothes on,” Hermione muttered.  “More that about three fifth-year prefects had been standing there watching us, not knowing what to do.”

 

“Professor Snape, that’ll be twenty points from Slytherin!” Draco crowed, in a mock-imitation of one of the hapless prefects.  Severus charmed his shoelaces to tangle together under the table.

 

“So she dragged us back into the castle by our ears, ranting the entire way about decency and morals,” she continued, shamefacedly.

 

Deciding that it couldn’t get much worse, Severus decided to throw his own two Knuts in.  “At least she gave us some of our clothes back before she paraded us through to Albus’ office.”

 

“Not enough, though,” Hermione said darkly, perhaps forgetting their audience.  “I’ll never be able to look Sir Cadogan in the face again.”

 

Laughing so hard he was turning dangerously red, Weasley pounded a fist on the table in his mirth.  Draco and Potter had already collapsed against each other with their laughter and even Susan was hard-pressed not to giggle a bit.

 

“Oh, go ahead and laugh,” she finally said.  “Maybe in about fifty years or so, I’ll think it’s funny too.  Professor McGonagall already laughs at us.”

 

Slowly, the conversation settled back down to more mundane topics, Draco relating the plot of some new Muggle film to an actually interested Weasley, and Potter asking Susan about the baby.

 

“Did little Andy manage to survive the day with Severus?” Potter asked her.  “From what I hear, it was touch and go for a bit.”

 

Susan smiled.  “He’s fine,” she said.  “A bit tuckered out, I think, but he had an exciting day.  New place and everything.  I did wonder where that suit I put him in got to, though.  Ron didn’t know.”

 

“The house elves have it for cleaning,” Severus said as civilly as he could manage.  “There was a bit of an ... accident at lunch.”

 

“Oh, yes,” she said, nodding.  “Andy’s got a bit of a sensitive stomach.  Poor dear.”

 

He did not want to hear this.  For a horrible moment, he thought Susan was actually going to continue her baby prattle and attempt to include him.  But in the end, she just turned back to Potter and resumed her previous conversation.

 

“Not having fun, then?” Hermione asked in his ear.

 

“Not nearly drunk enough for baby talk,” he replied, taking a long draught of his wine.  Unfortunately, he swallowed wrong and began spluttering, wine in his windpipe.

 

Before anyone could blink, Ron Weasley was on his feet, leaping over to Severus’ side as if possessed and wrapping his arms around his middle, pushing his fists into his stomach.

 

“Weasley!” Severus roared through his desperate coughs.  “What the righteous fuck are you doing?”

 

It worked and Weasley went scurrying backward.  “You mean you weren’t choking?” he asked quietly.

 

Furious, Severus whirled around to glare at the boy more properly.  “To my knowledge, choking people do not actually cough.”

 

“So, I wasn’t saving your life?”

 

“Of course not!” he cried.

 

Weasley looked positively downcast.  “So I still owe you a Life Debt, then?”

 

Still coughing a bit, Severus rubbed at his neck.  “It appears so, Weasley.”

 

With an indignant huff, Weasley slumped back into his chair, Potter giving him a hearty whack on the shoulder as he did so.  “Don’t worry, Ron,” he cried, “you’ll get ‘em next time!”  Severus could tell most of the other occupants of the table were trying desperately not to laugh.

 

“I think on that note ...” Hermione said, pushing her chair away from the table and giving Severus a significant look.  “It’s been a lovely evening, but I spent last night killing vampires and today battling the London crowds and Molly Weasley.  It’s going to be an early night for me.”

 

“I will say good night as well, then,” Severus said, putting a hand to her back and guiding her away from the table.  “It has been ... interesting, as always.”

 

“Stay clear of the Quidditch pitch, you two,” Draco called as they walked out the door.  “I’m sure McGonagall patrols heavily out there these days.”

 

Severus almost wanted to stay long enough to see Draco stand up and try to walk, but in the end, he just whispered in Hermione’s ear what he’d done to the prat’s shoelaces as they walked down the street and enjoyed her giggle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Fiji Mermaids Attack ...

 

 

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” Albus Dumbledore said slyly as he buttered a slice of toast.

           

“What of it?” Severus Snape growled, knowing whatever Albus had to say, he didn’t want to hear it.  He stared resolutely down at his half-empty teacup, unwilling to meet his eyes.

           

Albus sighed rather dramatically and Severus was certain he was being made fun of.  “Spring is such a wonderful time of the year, Severus.  So ... romantic.  It always seems as if one can hear ... wedding bells in the air, eh?”

           

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw Hermione Granger rolling her eyes at the old man’s antics.  “I have no idea what you’re babbling on about, Albus,” he said, injecting as much venom into his voice as he dared.  After all, Albus was his employer -- both at Hogwarts and in the Order.

           

“I just meant to say,” Albus pushed on, “that during the spring, everything is in bloom.  Flowers, trees, relationships.”

           

Hermione growled quietly and Severus poked an elbow gently into her side.  “Albus ...” she warned through grit teeth.

           

“Yes, my dear?” he replied gamely.

           

“Stop.  It.”

           

He put on his best innocent face.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hermione.  I was simply making conversation.  Would you care for some more tea?”

           

She sighed and accepted the teapot with only a slight hesitation.  Severus heartily agreed with the sentiment -- he wouldn’t put much of anything past Albus Dumbledore.  He sniffed the tea she poured into his cup suspiciously.

           

With a chuckle, Albus took a bite of his toast.  “Is the tea not to your liking, Severus?”

           

“I take my tea without Veritaserum, Albus,” he replied pointedly.

           

Albus was impassive.  “Shame about it being odorless, isn’t it?”

           

He sat the cup back down and noted that Hermione did the same with her own teacup.  All of a sudden, Severus was tired.  “Fuck all, Albus,” he sighed, “if we agree to get married, then will you leave us alone?”

           

In that moment, several things happened at once.  Albus’ elbow missed the table edge and found a bowl of oatmeal, Hermione’s teacup hit the floor, and the few students in the Great Hall this early in the morning began muttering excitedly.  Whether it was from the unexpected expletive ‘fuck’ or the even more unexpected word ‘married’ crossing their horrible Potions master’s lips, Severus was unsure.

           

Hermione stood, taking Severus’ arm (and consequentially, the rest of him) with her.  “Outside, now!” she whispered fiercely, apparently willing to ignore the tittering students as she dragged him out of the Great Hall.

           

Once safely out of reach of the most annoying ears, she fixed him with a glare.  “What the bloody hell are you on about, Severus?”

           

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said carefully.

           

She continued to give him a baleful stare.  “Don’t you dare play Dumbledore with me, Severus Snape!”

           

Letting out a deep breath, Severus felt utterly defeated.  “What do you want me to say, Hermione?”

           

“Did you mean it?”

           

His eyes widened.  That hadn’t been the response he’d been anticipating.  “I beg your pardon?”

           

“Severus,” she sighed.  “If you were ever actually going to propose, I imagine you’d have to go about it in the most unromantic way possible.  This comes awfully close.  So, I reiterate -- did you mean it?”

           

Suddenly, he felt very insecure.  “Well ... I suppose ... that is, if you want ... then, of course we could ...”

           

“So ...?”  It dawned on him that she might be as anxious as he was.

           

Severus let out a breath and did his best to collect himself.  “Hermione Granger, will you, could you possibly do me the honor of granting me your hand in the most final, eternal bonds of matrimony and make me the happiest man that has ever walked the face of the Earth?” he asked in a flat monotone.  “There, was that more to your liking?  I can kneel down if you’d like.”

           

She grinned, seemingly relaxed, and punched his shoulder.  “Of course I’ll marry you, you dumb shit.”

           

 --  --  --  --  --

           

“Congratulations!” Harry Potter cried as Hermione cautiously opened the door.  Without missing a beat, he threw his arms around her shoulders and squeezed tightly.

           

Blinking, Hermione shoved him away.  “You’re late, I suppose.  We’ve been engaged for a whole thirty minutes, wonderboy.”

           

He shrugged and stepped into the front room of Severus’ (and Hermione’s, as of late) quarters.  “Albus told me at our meeting after breakfast.  I owled Draco, of course -- he’ll be along directly.”

           

“Hermione?” she heard Severus call from the bedroom.  “Are you -- oh,” he broke off, entering the room and catching sight of Harry.  “Potter.  Why am I not surprised?”

           

“Morning, Severus,” Harry replied cheerfully.  “I hear from Albus that congratulations are in order.  At least you had the decency to ask her on a weekend, so you don’t have to go off and teach right after.”

           

“Don’t you have some ... celebrity something to do?” Severus asked with a frown.

           

Harry grinned and took off his cloak.  “Nah.  World’s been saved, autographs have been signed.  I’m quite at leisure, really.”

           

“Oh, good,” Severus said in a tone that suggested the exact opposite.

           

“Now ...” Harry said, walking through to the sitting room and claiming the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him.  “Tell me all about it, Hermione.  Before Draco gets here -- I want to be the first to know.”

           

She sat down in the chair opposite him and gave him a look that was both curious and suspicious.  “You’re awfully interested, Harry.  I mean, I know you’re happy for us and all, but really ...”

           

There was a knock at the door.

           

“Oh, God,” she heard Severus sigh after the door opened.  “What are you doing here?”

           

“You wound me to the quick, Uncle Severus,” Draco Malfoy replied in a falsely sweet voice.  “I just wanted to deliver my heartfelt wishes of --”

           

“They’re in the sitting room,” he snarled, cutting Draco off abruptly.

           

Shaking his head, Draco came into the sitting room, taking his place at Harry’s side.  “You see how he treats family?”

           

“You’re not my family, Draco,” Severus called from the doorway.

           

He ignored the jibe.  “So, Hermione, what’s this Harry tells me about a proposal?”

           

With a sigh, Hermione folded her hands in her lap.  “Not much to tell, really,” she said breezily.  “He asked Albus if he’d leave us alone if we got married, I called him a shit, and now we’re engaged.”

           

“Ah ... young love,” Harry said sarcastically.  “Pay up, my dearest darling.”

           

Draco made a face.

           

Interest piqued, Hermione sat up straighter.  “What’s this, then?”

           

“A bet,” Draco replied grudgingly, digging around in one of his robe pockets.  “I didn’t think my lovely Uncle Sev would ever get around to marriage.  You, my dear, just lost me fifty Galleons.”  Face still rather sour, he shoved a jingling bag into Harry’s hands.  “And you,” he told a smirking Harry, “shouldn’t gloat so about your insufferably romantic notions being accurate for the first time ever.”

           

“Don’t be a sore loser, Draco,” Harry teased as he pocketed his winnings.  “I’ll buy you something pretty with my swag.”

           

Draco pouted.  “Your dashing pirate talk won’t sway me,” he boasted stoutly.

           

“If you two are planning on persisting with such ludicrous behavior,” Severus said as he strode into the room and stood behind Hermione’s chair, “I will turn you out directly.  On your asses, preferably.”

           

“They’d probably like that,” Hermione grumbled as Draco laughed merrily at his cousin.

           

Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  “So ... when’s the date?”

           

She exchanged a glance with Severus.  “Don’t know,” she replied.

           

“Well, where will it be, then?” he asked, leaning further.

           

“Don’t know,” she repeated.

           

“Who are you inviting?”  Harry was beginning to sound frustrated as he tilted even further forward.

           

“Don’t know,” she said emphatically.  “And Harry, you’re going to fall over if you keep doing that.”

           

Draco smirked as Harry straightened up.  “Can I be your best man, Uncle Severus?” he asked sweetly.

           

Severus was silent for a moment, ostensibly considering it.  “No,” he finally said.  “And you can’t either, Potter,” he said quickly to Harry’s opening mouth.  “So don’t bother asking.”

           

“Who will it be, then?” Draco asked, verging on exasperation.  “You don’t know that many people, Uncle Sev.”

           

“Draco, I swear by everything holy that if you don’t stop calling me that, I’ll ... I’ll ... I don’t know what I’ll do, but I promise it will involve impotence potions and rabid cats,” Severus said through grit teeth.

           

Blinking, Draco actually stopped grinning.  “That sounds ... painful.”

           

“It was meant to,” he growled.  “And to answer your question, I don’t plan on having any groomsmen.  This will be a small wedding.”

           

“Small?” Harry echoed.  “Not after Molly Weasley gets a hold of it it won’t be.”

           

Severus looked momentarily disconcerted.  “Molly Weasley?  What on Earth would she ...?”  Trailing off, he and Hermione apparently had the same idea at the same time.

           

“Albus!” they cried in an eerie unison.

           

Shooting out of her chair, Hermione made a mad dash for the door.  “Maybe we can catch him before he sends the owl.”

           

Not too far behind, Severus pulled out his wand.  “I’ve always wanted to Stupefy him.”

           

They were halfway up the stairs when they heard it.  A loud, definitely female voice echoing through the corridors.  “Oh, Hermione!  Severus!  I’m so happy for you two!”

           

With a groan, Severus sat down on the step he’d been standing on.  “We’re too late,” he moaned.  “She’s here.”

           

She sighed and put her best ‘I’m so glad to see you’ face on.  “Let’s just go ahead and get it over with,” she told him.  “Pretend to be happy.”

           

“She doesn’t expect it of me,” he replied, wincing at the elbow she promptly drove into his side.  “Well ... she doesn’t,” he said lamely.  “She knows I’m not a happy person.”

           

“Everyone’s happy when they’re engaged, Severus,” she said deadpan.  “Everyone.”  Fixing him with a glare that brooked no argument, she told herself to be satisfied when he simply stopped scowling.  “That’ll have to do,” she sighed.

           

And then there was no more time for further bickering as a beaming Molly Weasley bore down upon them, arms spread wide.  “Albus just Flooed me with the wonderful news,” she cried, throwing her arms around a suddenly sheepish Hermione.

           

“Erg,” she managed as she tried not to flinch at the touch.

           

The embrace ended and Hermione heaved a mental sigh of relief, smirking at a startled Severus, who had just realized he was to endure the same treatment.  “Um ...” he stammered.

           

“My dear boy,” she exclaimed, patting his cheeks for good measure as she released him.  “I always knew you would come through.”

           

Severus’ hands worked furiously at his sides and Hermione was absolutely floored to see a slight blush across his cheeks.  “Um,” he said again, apparently at possibly more of a loss than before.

           

But Molly turned away from him and tucked her hand swiftly around Hermione’s elbow.  “Tell me all about it, dear,” she said with a conspiratorial wink.  “Was it as romantic and wonderful as you hoped it would be?”

           

She grinned evilly at Severus over Molly’s shoulder.  “Actually,” she said mischievously.  “It rather was.”

           

Smiling broadly at an increasingly dour Severus, Molly gave his hand a pat.  “I always knew that underneath all those scowls was a sensitive romantic.”

           

Hermione tried to mask her laugh with a quick series of coughs.

           

Either she didn’t notice or simply didn’t care.  “Have you two set a date, then?”

           

“Not exactly,” she admitted with only a small wince, unwilling to lie outright.

           

“It should be soon,” Molly said firmly.  “Autumn weddings can be so lovely.  You could even have it outdoors.  I’m sure Albus would let you --”

           

“Molly ...” she tried to interrupt.

           

But to no avail.  “With the trees.  They would just look so ...”

           

“Molly!”  She sent Severus a panicked look as Molly Weasley continued to plan their wedding.

           

“I’ll have a word with Madam Malkin, my dear.  She’ll know just what to --”

           

“Mrs. Weasley!” Severus finally said firmly, recovering himself.

           

Blinking, Molly broke off her monologue and offered him a pleasant smile.  “Yes, Severus?” she asked sweetly.

           

Hermione could tell that he was gritting his teeth as he ground out a reply.  “I think Hermione and I would like to wait a while before beginning our wedding plans,” he said as civilly as he could, which was decidedly more than Hermione thought she could manage given the circumstances.

           

Seemingly unfazed, Molly shook her head.  “The earlier you begin planning, the more smoothly it will go, you know.”

           

“Highly doubtful,” he replied flatly.  “But we’ll take it under advisement.”

           

Whether Molly had finally picked up on their reluctance to discuss the matter or simply had better things to do, Hermione didn’t know.  She just gave them both another brisk squeeze, patted Severus’ cheek and kissed Hermione’s, saying, “Well, I’ve got to be off, my dears.  But I wanted to let you know how happy I was for the both of you.”

           

And she bustled off in the same direction she’d come from.

           

Severus blew out a sigh.  “Is everyone going to be like that?” he asked darkly.

           

Hermione didn’t want to reply, as she hated lying and being pessimistic nearly equally.  Finally, she gave an evasive shrug and took his hand in her own as they walked back to his quarters.  “Hopefully not,” she said, for lack of anything better.

           

“That lacks the definitiveness I was hoping for,” he said with a quirked eyebrow.

           

Hand stopping just short of the doorknob, she looked up at him thoughtfully.  “Harry and Draco are still in there, aren’t they?”

           

“Unfortunately,” he said, scowling only slightly.

           

“I think,” she began slowly.  “I think I’d enjoy a nice walk to the lake.  Wouldn’t you, Severus?  Just us.”

           

His eyes expressed his gratitude as he kissed her.

           

 --  --  --  --  --

           

“Maybe a letter would be better after all,” she said desperately.

           

“Look,” Severus exclaimed.  “Yesterday you said that a letter was ‘too impersonal.’  And you said it within earshot of Albus.  So you can’t back out of it now.  He even arranged his schedule so he could cover all of my afternoon classes.”

           

Hermione blew out a huffing sigh.  “Severus ...”  Even she winced at the whine in her tone.

           

It was clear that he was trying to smile.  “Your mother dislikes me and your father distrusts me already, Hermione.  It’s not as if I’m not aware of this.  What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

           

“My father does own a revolver, you know,” she said, covering her face with her hands and hoping he would take the bait.

           

Rolling his eyes, he folded his arms over his chest and looked down his nose at her.  “Doubtful,” he replied.  “Now ... if I recall, you told your mother in your owl that we would be there at one o’clock.  It is currently five minutes ‘til.”

           

“What would I have to do to convince you that we don’t need to go?” she asked in one last attempt.

           

“Bring the Dark Lord back from the dead and undo all of Potter’s hard work.”

           

“I hate you.”

           

His face was bland and his voice was deadpan.  “And that would be why we are getting married, my dearest, loveliest love.”

           

With a grimace, Hermione elbowed him.  “That might be the most terrifying thing I think I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”

           

Severus smiled widely, snidely.  “I thought that was ‘Dumbledore’s got a new mission lined up for us.’  Anyway, you’re stalling.”

           

Her final sigh was resigned.  “Let’s get it over with, then,” she replied wearily.

           

At two minutes past one, Hermione threw a final desperate glance in Severus’ direction as they reached her parents’ front porch.  “They never have to know.  Let’s just get married and never tell them.”

           

“In a world in which both Molly Weasley and Albus Dumbledore exist, that is categorically impossible,” he said.  “They’ll find out eventually and it’ll go over best if it’s coming out of your mouth when they do.”

           

Still grumbling, she pressed the door buzzer.  “It’s not that I don’t know that, you know ... I just hoped ...”

           

“Oh, I know,” he said, not sounding reassuring in the slightest.

           

The door opened and Mary Granger smiled at her daughter.  “Hermione, dear ...”

           

“Hello, Mother,” she replied, resigned as she accepted her mother’s embrace.

           

“And ... Spart -- Severus,” Mary said, correcting herself at Hermione’s scowl.  Hermione wondered briefly if a hug was in the cards for Severus as well, but Mary simply reached out a hand and gave his shoulder a tentative pat.  “It’s so nice to see you again,” she continued, in a tone that implied the exact opposite.

           

Severus inclined his head politely.  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Granger,” he said, quite civilly.  For Severus, at least.  “It’s nice to see you again.”

           

She merely sniffed -- Hermione was not entirely sure what that meant but felt something twist in her stomach all the same.  “Mother,” she said, drawing Mary’s attention away from an increasingly stoic Severus.  “How are you doing?”

           

“I can’t complain,” she replied, taking her eyes off Severus.  “The new fellow your father has brought into the practice is working out quite well -- I’m considering official retirement.” 

           

“That’s good,” Hermione said, following her mother into the house.  Mary had been working less and less lately -- she had never been as enthusiastic about dentistry as her husband, and Hermione thought that retirement was probably a good idea at this point.  Obviously, her father agreed, as the new dentist -- fresh out of school -- had been brought in around the same time that her mother had started seeing exponentially fewer patients.  “Turn your attention to other things.”

           

“I’ve been thinking about roses, actually,” Marry said off-handedly, waving them toward a sofa in the sitting room.  “Tea?  Lunch will be along shortly.  I think your father is mangling salad ingredients as we speak.”

           

“I heard that,” a man’s voice called good-naturedly from the kitchen.  “And if you keep it up, I’ll put olives in.  Just for you.”

           

Wrinkling her nose, Mary gave them an apologetic smile, focusing more on Hermione than Severus -- that, of course, was to be expected.  “Please excuse me, dear.  I’m going to go strangle your father.  And I’ll bring in some tea once I’ve disposed of the body.”

           

“With lemon for Severus,” she called as her mother walked out of the room.  Glancing over at him, she saw that Severus was staring after her mother with obvious shock.  “It’s easy to forget that my parents are really quite normal, isn’t it?” she asked lightly.

           

“I’ve never heard them ... relaxed before,” he admitted.

           

With a small shrug, she picked up his hand and began tracing the lines in his palm with a single finger.  “Mother and Dad are well-matched, I’ve got to give them that.  When they’re together, they can almost fool you into thinking that they’re sane.”

           

His other hand wrapped itself warmly around her wrist.  “Have you ever felt that you were a lone speck of rationality floating in a sea of madness?”

           

She laughed.  “Constantly.”

           

 --  --  --  --  --

           

“On the one hand,” Hermione began in a hesitant voice, “it means that Mother won’t want to be part of the planning stages.”

           

Severus grunted, not in the mood.

           

“And I’m sure she’ll want to apologize.  Eventually.”

           

“Hermione,” he said through grit teeth.  “I do not want to talk about it.”

           

“Most of the redness has gone down, by the way,” she continued carefully.  “There’s nothing we can do about the bruise, though.”

           

Another grunt.  I will not hex my fiancée, Severus told himself fervently.  I will not hex my fiancée.

           

She sighed and Severus began to suspect that she was nearly as miserable as he was.  “I was surprised when Dad leapt into the fray like he did -- I’d no idea he comes as close to actually liking you as he does.”

           

“I’d no idea I was so unlikable,” he said, tone sullen and eyes fixed firmly on his shuffling feet.  Aware that he sounded like a petulant four-year-old boy, the throbbing area around his left eye reminded him that he did not care in the slightest.

           

Laughing humorlessly, she grabbed onto his shirtsleeve -- he was wearing Muggle clothing in an increasingly vain effort to please her mother, as was Hermione herself -- and pulled him to a halt.  “When have I ever said that?  I’ll have you know I find you eminently likable.  Lovable, even.”

           

His scowl only softened minutely.

           

“Severus ...” she began, drawing his name out in a hiss that he found more sensual than annoying.  Funny, when Draco Malfoy did that, it made his skin crawl.

           

With a little smile, Hermione rose to her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.  Forgetting the entire awful afternoon, Severus wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, concentrating on the scent of her hair.

           

Breaking off the kiss, she laid her head familiarly on his chest.  “You still smell a bit like beef, you know,” she murmured.

           

“I will assume, madam,” he said stiffly, not removing his arms, “that you are attempting to tease me.”

           

He could feel the puffs of air through his shirt as she spoke.  “Any success on that front?”

           

“Not so much as you would think.”  His tone was nearly thoughtful, and the throbbing in his eye had died down to a periodic mutter of pain.  “But mostly because I suspect you are more correct than not.  A shower is in the immediate future for me.  Would you care to make an inane comment about water conservation?”

           

“I’m fairly certain that you just did,” she replied, tugging on his shirttail a bit.  “So we can probably skip that part and just assume that I’m going to join you.  Shame we can’t just Apparate there, though.  Today of all days.”

           

“The pleasantness of the walk from the front gates is greatly outweighed by the inconvenience of dealing with people one meets along the way,” he agreed ruefully.  “Although I see nothing special about today.”

           

She laughed and reached up to kiss him again.  “You must have been too busy glowering at breakfast to actually pay attention to Albus.”

           

“I do try.”  His expression was blank as he released her from his embrace and they resumed their walk up to the castle.  “Breakfast and Albus Dumbledore should be mutually exclusive entities.”

           

“Only because he’s a morning person and you’re ... well ... you’re you.”  She grinned at his frown and gave his hand a squeeze.  “Albus was having Harry and Malfoy over for supper this evening -- he and Harry had a meeting this afternoon, it seems.  So we’ll have those two to evade as well.”

           

He huffed.  “All of their damned wedding nonsense.  If Draco bloody Malfoy asks me about china patterns one more time, he’s going to have to fish something very near and dear to his heart out of the Panama Canal.”

           

“For once, I think I --”

           

“There you two are!” the Malfoy in question shouted as he trotted down the hill they were currently working up.  “Harry’s been in Albus’ office for ages, and there’s only so much prattle from the other staff that I’m willing to endure.”

           

“Afternoon, Malfoy,” Hermione said.  Severus just nodded.

           

“Evening more like,” he replied.  “It’s getting close to -- hey!”  Looking Severus up and down, Draco’s face split into a wide grin.  “Albus mentioned that you were going to spend the afternoon with your parents.  I assume it didn’t go well?”

           

Severus resisted the urge to hide his face in his hands.  “It did not,” he agreed complacently.

           

“I’d no idea your father was one for hitting boyfriends,” Draco told Hermione, still grinning.  “No wonder you wouldn’t take Harry or Weasel home with you when you were kids.”

           

Shaking his head minutely at Hermione, Severus mentally begged her not to speak.  Of course, she did not heed him, if she’d picked up on his distress at all.  “Dad didn’t hit him,” she said.  Draco’s mouth opened and apparently she could tell just as well as Severus could what his next words were going to be.  “And I didn’t either,” she continued quickly, before he could speak.  “Honestly, what sort of people do you think we are?”

           

“What, Uncle Sev, are you going to tell me that you walked into a doorknob that was placed six feet off the ground?” he asked sarcastically.

           

Severus’ smile was mirthless.  “Not exactly.”

           

Eyes widening, Draco laughed shortly.  “You’re not telling me ... Mrs. Granger plugged you?  Merlin’s balls, Uncle Severus, she must be tall, to have gotten your eye like that!”

           

“Mary Granger did not punch me, Draco,” Severus said sternly.

           

“With her fist, anyway,” Hermione mumbled.

           

Severus froze as Draco perked up, obviously catching her words.  “What was that?  Are you telling me, then, that she hit him with something else?”

           

“No,” he said in a desperate voice, knowing that next to Albus Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy was the last person walking the face of the Earth that needed to know.  “Don’t be foolish, boy.”

           

Draco narrowed his eyes and pinned them both with a calculating stare.  “There’s something either very awful or very funny that you’re not telling me here.”

           

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” Severus said, trying his best to sound innocent -- Hermione’s snort told him that he was probably failing.

           

“I’ll find out one of these days, make no mistake,” he warned, wagging an admonishing finger at the pair.  “But I’ll leave it alone for now.  Supper will be starting soon and Harry will be looking for me.  See you two up at the castle?”

           

“Doubtful,” he said, mind working overtime.  “We were planning on having supper out, to make up for the debacle at lunch.  No, you can’t come along and no, we won’t bring you anything back.”

           

Draco’s mouth closed with an audible snap.

           

Hermione was clearly on the verge of internal hysterics.  “Well ...” she drawled, an edge of laughter coloring the apology she was clearly trying to make.  “We’ll see you around, Draco.”  To her credit, she was able to wait until Draco had vanished back into the castle before bursting into wild laughter.

           

“Are you quite finished laughing at my expense?” he asked dryly.

           

“I’m sorry, Severus,” she managed between giggles.  “It’s just ... it wasn’t nearly as funny until I thought about you trying to hide it from Draco and Harry.”

           

“Nice to know I can provide you with some amusement.”

           

Rolling her eyes, she kissed his cheek.  “Oh, Severus,” she said with a sigh.  “There’s never any doubt of that.  And I think to make it up to you, I’ll buy you supper.  Dessert, even.”

           

“That’s a start.”  But he felt his expression softening as he spoke.  They started walking again, still holding hands.

           

“You know,” Hermione began slyly as they walked back down the slope, “we’ll probably be able to look back on this a hundred years from now and laugh.  It’s one of those things, I bet -- another one of those ‘couple story’ things.”

           

“No, it’s not,” he replied.  “I don’t intend letting anyone know about what happened today.  It’s too ...”

           

“Funny?”

           

“Humiliating,” he corrected.  “You try being assaulted with a baked meat and then see how you like it.”

           

“I’d no idea she would actually throw the pot roast at you,” Hermione said.  “If I had, I would’ve warned you to duck.  Or waited to tell her about the wedding when she wasn’t holding the entire thing.”

           

“How thoughtful of you ...”

           

 --  --  --  --  --

                       

“Would you mind terribly if I killed Harry Potter?” Severus asked, collapsing on the sofa with a sigh.

           

Hermione barely looked up from the folder she was perusing.  “Draco would probably care more about it than I do and I’m not thrilled with him at the moment.  Why?”

           

“Tuxedos,” he said simply, expressing all of his anger and hatred in a single, eloquent word.

           

“At least that’s all you’ve got to worry about.”  Again, she kept her eyes focused on her reading.

           

There was a rustle and she assumed that he shifted position.  “That’s what you think.  Next week, Potter and Draco are dragging me out ring shopping.  And Molly Weasley insists that I care about what sort of cutlery we use at the reception.  What does the ‘Eternal Flame’ pattern mean, anyway?”

           

Finally, she looked over at him and saw that his face looked nearly as haggard as hers felt.  “I’m not sure,” she admitted.  “But they’re very excited about having it, aren’t they?  And the six hundred guests.  And the theme -- when the hell did we decide to have a theme to our wedding, Severus?”

           

“When the hell did we even decide to have a wedding?” he countered.  “The last thing I know that we discussed was that someday we were going to get married.  We haven’t been able to make a decision since.  Not that hasn’t been countermanded.  Apparently, Albus is the one that chose our wedding date -- never mind that you were supposed to be in Italy and I had practicals scheduled in half of my classes.”

           

She sighed and buried her face in her hands.  “I can’t believe it’s gotten out of hand so quickly.  It’s not even been a month.  And it’s not like we haven’t tried telling everyone to bugger off ...”

           

“They’re like human Bludgers,” he agreed.  “They just keep coming and coming and you finally just give up out of sheer exhaustion.”

           

“It’s not fair,” she mumbled through her fingers.  “Usually Beaters get bats, at least.”

           

A pair of warm hands wrapped themselves around her shoulders and Severus pulled her to his chest, rubbing her arms comfortingly.  “They’ve got us so effectively guilt-trapped that we’re actually going to go through with this miserable thing.  They’re going to plan exactly what they want, truss us up like Christmas geese, put us on parade, and then expect us to be happy about it.  And we’re going to do it.”

           

Humming, she leaned back into his embrace, wanting nothing more than to tell the entire world to leave them the hell alone.  “Didn’t people used to be afraid of us?  Well ... of you, at least ...”

           

“It’s all of this damned romance,” he told her fondly.  “It’s hell on the reputation.”

           

“I just wish ...”  Something clicked in her mind.  “I wonder ...”

           

“What?”

           

“Maybe we can fix this,” she said slowly.  “Severus ...?”

           

His rumbling query vibrated pleasantly through his chest and she smiled up at him, finally opening her eyes.

           

“Severus, have you ever heard about the Fiji mermaid?”

           

 --  --  --  --  --

 

“Hermione, dear, we must have a decision from you,” Molly said.  “I know you don’t have a preference, Severus.  Don’t make that face at me.”

 

He tried to stop rolling his eyes, even as Hermione swiftly thrust her elbow into his side.  “I don’t see why ...”

 

“Solidarity,” she whispered.  “Remember the Fiji mermaid.”  And then, more loudly.  “I honestly don’t care, Molly.  I’m not the one who’s going to be wearing the dress.”

 

“But, dear, it’s your wedding,” she said.  “Don’t you want it to be exactly what you want?”

 

Severus bit back a malicious grin and an even more malicious rejoinder as Hermione simply said, “you’re right, Molly.  I do want my wedding to be exactly what I want.  But that doesn’t include the colors of things.  I think Ginny is perfectly capable of making up her own mind.  And since she’s the only bridesmaid, it’s not like she’s going to have to worry about clashing.”

 

Over her mother’s shoulder, Ginny Creevey mouthed, Thank you, widely.  She was already clad in a ridiculous confection that Molly had chosen -- Severus was unsure as to what the actual style would be called, but it seemed to involve yards and yards of lace and lots of puffy places.  Molly had absolutely forbidden him to set eyes on the dress she’d chosen for Hermione, but Hermione had assured him one night that it was ten times worse than Ginny’s.

 

“But the flowers, Hermione, and the ...”

 

Hermione waved her hand.  “Any color Ginny wants.  There, Molly.  That’s exactly what I want for my wedding.  Ginny, what’s my color?”

 

With a breath of relief, Ginny pointed her wand at her dress.  “Well ...” she said.  “How about ...”  Muttering under her breath, she flicked her wand and the dress shimmered from the bright pink -- clashing mightily with Ginny’s red tresses -- to a soft green. 

 

“I love it,” Hermione said flatly, eyes challenging Molly to say a word.

 

Of course she did.  “But the centerpieces for the reception ...”

 

“They have greenery in them, don’t they?” she asked.  “And besides, who says that everything has to be the same color?  We can have a little bit of variation, can’t we?  After all, both Harry and Draco said that they utterly refuse to wear cummerbunds in that shade of pink you’ve been pushing at me.”

 

Molly cocked her head.  “That pink just goes with your hair and complexion so well, my dear.”

 

“And it’s at absolute war with everything else.  So, I think, Ginny, green it is.”  Hermione folded her arms across her chest and looked down her nose at Molly.  Severus bit back another smile -- she referred to this as her ‘big, bad Professor Snape imitation’ behind closed doors.  In their early acquaintance, this had utterly infuriated him, but through the years, he’d come to see it as more of a backhanded compliment than anything else.

 

“Fine, dear,” Molly said, admitting defeat without much chagrin.  “Of course, that means we’ll have to redo the china ...”

 

Severus heard the groan before Hermione could suppress it.  “The Fiji mermaid ...” he reminded with a drawl.

 

“Yes, Severus,” she said with only a small sigh.  “The Fiji mermaid.”

 

 --  --  --  --  --

           

“You can’t give her that ring!” Draco exclaimed.

           

Severus contrived to look wounded.  “And why not?”

           

“Because,” Potter chimed in.  “It’s ugly.”

           

“It is not,” he said, feeling oddly childish.  “Look, just because you two twits like diamonds doesn’t mean that everybody does.”

           

“Wedding bands should either be plain or a simple diamond solitaire,” Draco argued.

           

Deep within the confines of his robes, Severus’ hand fisted around his wand, the knuckles white with suppressed frustration.  The Fiji mermaid, he thought, his mental voice sounding unnervingly like Hermione.  “It is plain,” he said.  “Well ... plain enough.”

           

“But it’s not feminine at all, Uncle Sev.”  Throwing his hands up in the air, Draco’s face was the picture of irritation.  “In fact, I’d bet you just picked out a man’s band here.”

           

“First of all, Draco, call me that again and you’ll end your days as a groundhog in Hagrid’s garden,” he began.  “And secondly, of course it’s a woman’s band -- there’re flowers in the latticework there.  See?”

           

All Fiji mermaids aside, Severus was damned if he was going to let someone else pick out Hermione’s wedding ring.  The ceremony was one thing.  And as soon as he’d laid eyes on this one, he knew it was perfect.  Just enough Celtic knot work in the metal to be a little elegant -- the wizarding jewelers had been able to put far more detail into the ring than the Muggle ones Draco and Potter had been dragging him to all month, hence the little rosebuds detailed every now and again (almost too small for the naked eye to make out, really) -- but simple enough not to interfere in the day to day as Auror Granger went about her business.

           

It was different and that was most of the reason it appealed to him.  And he rather thought that was why it would appeal to Hermione as well.

           

“No,” he said in a final tone.  “This is the one.”

           

“Uncle S --”

           

“Draco ...” he warned, moving a hand to his wand again.

           

Shaking his head, he backed away.  “All right, all right.  Buy your ugly old ring and be done with it.”

           

“You know ...” Potter drawled, picking up the little box and turning it this way and that.  “It’s not really that ugly, now that I look at it.”

           

Draco sighed.  “Oh, no, not you too.”

           

“No, really,” he protested, continuing to examine the ring from various angles.  “It’s more ... interesting, like.  And the metal is ... all shimmery.  An alloy?”  He looked over at Severus questioningly.

           

“Enchanted,” he replied, only a hint of smugness in his voice.  “A few charms while the metal is being worked -- purely for effect, of course.  Real magical rings are not so obvious.  These are just far more aesthetic than your average ring -- not too many smiths do them any more, either, so this one is quite a find.  All things considered.”

           

Draco’s face was skeptical and his voice snide.  “How the hell do you know so much about jewelry, Uncle Severus?”

           

“The study of the uses of metal in potions to various efficacies,” he said easily enough.  “As a student, I was curious as to whether or not the properties of enchanted metal would have any sort of effect on certain potions.  I was unable to test my theories, as it became increasingly apparent that there was no one around to produce the potions equipment.”

           

“I thought you said that they don’t have any real power,” Potter challenged.

           

Had the idiot learned nothing from his classes at Hogwarts?  “You can’t use a silver cauldron to cast a Cleansing Charm either, but if you try to brew Wolfsbane in it, you’ll probably set yourself on fire.  Do you catch my meaning, Potter?”

           

Draco sniggered and Potter, annoyed, punched his lover’s shoulder lightly.  “Are you done with your lecture, Professor?” Potter asked in a sarcastic voice.  “Buy your ring and let’s go.  We’ve got to meet the rest of the party at the florist’s in ten minutes.”

           

Closing his hand around the ring box, pleased to have won his minor battle but well aware that he was on his way to losing the war itself, Severus held his tongue.  The Fiji mermaid, Severus, his internal Hermione reminded him.

           

“The Fiji mermaid, indeed,” he told himself with only a small sigh.

           

 --  --  --  --  --

           

“If I’ve got to go, then you’ve got to go as well,” Hermione said sternly, pausing to wave her hairbrush at him.

           

He did not move.  “Your mother will be there.”

           

“She’ll be on her best behavior, I’m sure.”

           

“And Molly Weasley.  Didn’t you make some vow a while ago to never put them in the same room together?”

           

Hermione put her brush down and began twisting and twirling her hair in some intricate fashion that Severus couldn’t even begin to follow.  “There’s nothing for it,” she said.  “We can’t skip out on this one.  They’re giving this supper in honor of our wedding, Severus.  Which, incidentally, is tomorrow, in case you’d forgotten.”

           

“How could I?” he asked, only a tinge of bitterness in his tone.  “I’ve got every-bloody-one reminding me every twenty bloody minutes.  ‘Severus, isn’t it exciting?’” he mimicked cruelly, fluttering his eyelashes in a simultaneously insipid and disturbing gesture.  “’Severus, only one more day ... ’  I hate this,” he ended in a growl as he sat up on the bed, running his hands through his hair.  “And tonight will only be worse.  A pack of Weasleys, plus the Potter/Malfoy Wonder Duo, and your parents, and Albus Dumbledore.  It’ll end in bloodshed, you do realize?”

           

“Of course I do,” she said, inserting a pair of rather nice emerald earrings into her earlobes -- he’d given them to her last Christmas, but in private, so that no one could make any Slytherin/Gryffindor jokes.  They’d come anyway, of course, as soon as Draco and Potter had pried it out of Hermione just who had given her those ‘wonderful gems.’  “But,” she continued, adjusting their hang, “it might be interesting to watch.  If we can manage to stay out of the way, that is.”

           

“I would do any number of horrid things in order to avoid this,” he muttered.

           

She grinned disarmingly over at him.  “Don’t say horrid, Severus.  That’s a word that only eighty-year-old maiden aunts use.”

           

Tossing a sock at her reflection in the mirror, he just smirked when she stuck her tongue out at him.  “If you weren’t the love of my life, I should have to kill you for saying that.”

           

“And you wonder why you had so very few friends growing up ...” she drawled, standing up and walking over to the bed.  “How do I look?”

           

Severus wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, so that she was standing in between his knees, looking up to regard her appearance.  “We could ... just stay in for the night,” he told her breasts in his best ‘sultry voice.’

           

She tucked a hand under his chin and turned his face up further, so that he was looking into her eyes.  “I’m up here, you know ...”

           

“My offer still stands.”  He tried waggling his eyebrows in a manner that Potter generally used on Draco, with great success, apparently.

           

Chuckling, she leaned down to kiss him softly, somehow keeping her lipstick intact.  “No go, Severus.  Tonight, we pass through the flames.”

           

“Why on Earth are you so content with this?” he asked in a sudden fit of pique, dropping his arms.  “Usually you’re full of schemes to avoid events like this.  I was halfway expecting you to come into luncheon today, demanding that Albus send you and I to China.”

           

“Firstly,” Hermione began, brushing a bit of hair out of his eyes and giving him what he was beginning to expect was the same sort of fond, indulgent look that Potter claimed she used to give her bedraggled old cat many years ago.  “My schemes have a rather problematic flaw.  You’re not going to wear your teaching robes tonight, are you?”

           

“And that would be?” he asked, poking a couple of fingers into a spot on her side that he knew for a fact was ticklish.  “And for that matter, what’s the matter with my robes?”

           

“I’m wearing dress robes,” she pointed out.  “And as for my schemes, haven’t you always noticed that they fail spectacularly?”

           

“Half of the fun of your schemes is watching your expression when they fail spectacularly.”  He felt a grin threatening to slip out as she punched a closed fist into his upper arm in indignation.  “And just because you’re wearing dress robes doesn’t mean I have to -- you look far better in your dress robes than I.”

           

“True.  I would think my dress robes would be a bit tight ‘round your shoulders ...”

           

Severus frowned.  “Hermione ...”

           

The twinkling in her eyes totally belied her innocent expression.  “What?  I just thought maybe it would be nice if you dressed up for once.”

           

“Won’t I be dressed up tomorrow?”

           

She let out a sigh.  “For twice, then.”

           

“Is that anywhere near grammatically correct?” he asked teasingly.

           

“Severus ...” she warned in a tone eerily similar to the one he’d used on her just moments earlier.

           

Throwing up his hands mockingly in defeat, he stood up.  “Oh, all right, I’ll change.  Happy?”

           

Her voice went immediately from threatening to wheedling.  “You could wear your green robes ...”

           

“I don’t want to wear my green robes,” he replied succinctly, throwing open the closet door and poking his head into the darkness.

           

“You look so handsome in them,” she continued to press.

           

“Don’t care.”  Pulling out a set of black velvet robes that he’d always been rather fond of, Severus changed quickly, pausing in front of the mirror just long enough to make sure that his hair wasn’t standing on end.

           

Hermione made a minor adjustment to his collar as he walked back over to her.  “So you decide to wear robes that’ll have Draco Malfoy touching you all night?  You know he won’t be able to resist.”

           

“You’ll be there to protect my honor,” he said.  “Won’t you?”

           

“Oh, no,” she countered.  “I come up with the schemes in this relationship.  It’s your job to take care of honor and the protection thereof.  It’s somewhere in the contract -- I’m sure of it.”

           

“I thought your schemes always failed,” he reminded her as they made their way out of their rooms.  He warded them with a single wand flick.

           

She rolled her eyes.  “This one has a chance of working out rather well in the long run, I think.”

           

 --  --  --  --  --

           

Fiji mermaids and the plan be damned, Molly Weasley had to die.  A thousand, painful deaths.  At the hands of the Dark Lord Voldemort himself.

           

Too bad Potter had killed him more than a decade ago.

           

Severus clenched his fists under the table and tried his best to smile.

           

“I’m so-oo glad I get to be your flower girl, Uncle Severus,” one Miss Brittany Harmony Creevey, now aged eight and one half years (or so she’d said), was exclaiming.  “Can I call you Uncle Severus?  My Aunt Ginny said I could, but my mum said I should ask you first.  Did you see my dress, Uncle Severus?  Aunt Molly helped me pick it out -- she said it had to be green.  I hate green, but I like my dress.  There’s this lovely bit of ...”

           

What foul creature had possessed the woman?  It wasn’t even as if the little Creevey brat was any relation at all to either himself or Hermione. 

           

And for that matter, how had this managed to slip past Hermione?  One would think that she knew who her attendants were going to be.  He knew that Draco and Potter were to be the groomsmen and that Albus was to officiate.  Admittedly, he had forgotten that young Andrew Weasley, Ronald Weasley’s firstborn son, was to be the ring bearer, but he hadn’t been entirely surprised to re-learn that fact tonight at supper, given the tenuous connection.

           

“And my shoes,” the girl practically squealed -- Severus’ stomach turned at the noise.  “They’re green too.  Mum had them dyed especially, and they’re ...”

           

“You remember Brittany,” Molly had said this evening, thrusting the grinning chit at them.  “I knew we didn’t have a flower girl, and Ginny mentioned how much Brittany had enjoyed meeting Severus at her wedding ...”

           

Hermione had been grinning like a fool at the news.  Especially when young Brittany had announced in a loud, self-important voice that she, “was going to sit next to Uncle Severus.”  Draco had been laughing so hard that for one satisfied moment Severus had thought he was going to choke on his own tongue.  Unfortunately, Potter had stepped in with a few strategic whacks on the back.

           

And so here he was.  Hermione at his right elbow, fielding questions from Molly Weasley and glares from Mary Granger, and Brittany Harmony Creevey at his left, whose mouth had literally not closed all evening long.  To complete his little circle of personal hell, Draco was sitting across from Hermione, Potter on his left (blissfully away from Severus).  But that small bit of mercy was quickly canceled out by the presence of almost-three-year-old Andy Weasley directly across from Severus.  Unlike the Creevey brat, the Weasley boy had not had much to say, but he’d also been unable to sit still for so much as a second.

           

Severus was certain that his shins were black and blue from the little boy’s swinging feet.  Even worse, the Weasley spawn had also spent the entire night staring straight at Severus as if he were some exotic, unheard of specimen.  “You remember Severus, sweetheart,” Susan Weasley, Andy’s mother, had said as they sat down.  “You once spent a whole day with him when you were a baby.”

           

“Sev,” Andy had chirped.  Draco had laughed and Hermione had instantly driven a preemptive elbow into Severus’ side, effectively keeping him from hexing either one.

           

“You seem awfully fond of your ‘Sev’ there, Andy,” Draco was currently saying from the other side of the table.

           

“Sev,” Andy repeated, not taking his eyes off Severus.  “Andy likes Sev.”

           

It was now a tossup -- either Molly Weasley or Draco Malfoy was going to die tonight.  “Draco, do not egg him on,” he said through gritted teeth.

           

“Severus,” Hermione began quietly, lowly.  “Maybe we should --”  But Ginny Creevey shouted a question about the bouquet from down the table and she had to turn her attention away.

           

“You know, Andy,” Draco continued, “may I call you Andy?  Your ‘Sev’ and his blushing bride are getting married tomorrow.  Do you know what that means?”

           

The child finally turned his steady, disconcerting gaze away from Severus, fixing round eyes on Draco instead.  It nodded.  “Gonna carry the pillow tomorrow,” it mumbled.

           

“Indeed, you are,” he agreed in a falsely hearty tone.  “And then, Andy, do you know what’s going to happen next?”

           

Eyes widening impossibly further -- the child was going to wind up hopelessly pop-eyed if it wasn’t careful -- Andy shook his head and sent his red curls flying.  “What happens, ‘Co?”

           

“Then, my dear boy,” Draco said, making a flourish with his hand that Severus did not like, “then, Andy, your ‘Sev’ will be a husband.  And soon, I’ll bet, he’ll be a father, and you’ll have lots of little Snape cousins running around to play with.”

           

Something sparked in Andy’s gaze and those eyes were back on Severus.  “Gonna have babies, Sev?  Andy likes babies!”

           

It sounded like a house-elf when it spoke -- leave it to Weasley to produce a child of such a pathetic level of communication.  “Uh ... erm ... Andy?” Severus stammered, simultaneously wanting to strangle Draco and keep the Weasley brat from crying.  “That’s not ... I mean, we’re not ...”

           

“Cousins for Andy,” he interrupted with a satisfied little grin.  “When?”

           

Unbelievably, Miss Brittany Harmony Creevey chose to answer.  “My mummy said that it takes nine months for a lady to make a baby.  She said that when a mummy and a daddy love each other, they start to --”

           

“No!” Severus cried desperately -- he was not, under any circumstances, going to endure a conjugal lecture from an eight-year-old.  “Erm ...” he began, cursing himself as Brittany turned questioning eyes his way.  “You were telling me about ...”  He gulped.  “ ... socks?” he guessed randomly.

           

“Ooh ...” she squealed again -- Severus heaved a sigh of relief -- disaster averted.  “They’ve got the nicest little ring of lace.  And pretty little ...”

           

Blinking, he looked back across the table at Draco and Andy, hoping he could head off that impending disaster as well.  To his surprise, however, Draco was making goo-goo eyes at Potter, not paying the Weasley child the slightest bit of attention.  And the Weasley child in question was, at the moment, nowhere in sight.  For a moment, he felt a sense of panic but then remembered that he wasn’t in any way responsible for the child’s whereabouts and promptly turned his attention to Hermione.  Maybe he could distract her from the rest of the table long enough in order to extract a promise to return back to Hogwarts soon.  Very soon.  Immediately.  Something brushed at his leg through his robes.

           

“So ... Uncle Severus,” Draco said suddenly, drawing his attention away from Hermione’s shoulder.

           

“What?” he asked, irritated.

           

“Are you sure you didn’t want us to throw you a stag party?”

           

He sighed.  “Naked men popping out of cakes don’t interest me in the slightest, Draco.”

           

“They wouldn’t have been naked,” Potter said indignantly, smirking over at him.  “They would be wearing g-strings at the very least.  Well, to start off with, at any rate.”

           

“Uncle Severus, what’s a ...?” Brittany began, clearly confused.

           

He hated his life.  Or, at least, his life at that moment.  “Here, Brittany,” Draco said quickly, shoving a platter across the table, “try one of these delicious biscuits.  Your Aunt Molly made them special for tonight.  Way to go, my love,” he told Potter with a sarcastic toss of the head, “won’t her mum love you introducing that new word into her vocabulary?”

           

There was another tug at his robes and Severus shifted his feet in the opposite direction.  “It’s beside the point, anyway,” he said in a loud voice, hoping to further distract the seemingly easily sidetracked Brittany.  “What would make you think that I wanted a stag party?”

           

“Well, just to let you know,” Potter said thickly, swallowing a bit of biscuit, “we’re having one.  A bunch of fellows I invited from work, and some chaps that Ron knows.  Not to mention all of the Weasleys and a handful of Draco’s old friends.  You’re invited, of course, but we didn’t think you’d come.”

           

“Let me get this straight,” Severus said, bemused.  “You’re throwing a stag party for me?”

           

“Correct,” Draco replied, taking a sip of wine.

           

“Even though you knew I wouldn’t want to come?”

           

“Exactly.”  Potter polished off his biscuit.

           

“Why?”

           

Shrugging, Potter took a second biscuit, broke it in half, and offered a half to Draco.  “We wanted to have a party and you were a convenient excuse.”

           

A third tug on his robes and now Severus was beginning to get annoyed.  “Glad to be of service,” he said sarcastically.  “Excuse me ...”  Ducking his head under the table briefly, he tried to find the source of the tugging, ignoring Hermione’s hissed, “Severus, what in the hell are you doing?”

           

Andy Weasley offered him a lopsided grin.  “’Lo, Sev.”

           

“What do you want?” he asked the child coldly.

           

Silently, Andy tugged on his robes again in an obvious attempt to squirm into Severus’ lap.  Only because he had at least fifteen pairs of potentially watchful eyes did Severus comply, grabbing the child firmly under the shoulders and pulling him out from under the table.  Once seated in Severus’ lap, he made an immediate beeline for Severus’ nose.  “Sev!”

           

A thumb was now uncomfortably reaching up his right nostril.  “Stop that!”

           

To his amazement, Andy actually obeyed, withdrawing his thumb and squinting up at him.  “Gimme cousin, Sev.  ‘Co promised Andy a new cousin.”

           

“Thank you very much, Draco,” he muttered under his breath.  “Not now,” he told Andy in a louder voice.

           

The boy looked unbelievably annoyed.  “Want one now!” he insisted.

           

What could he say to that?

           

“Erm, Andy ...?” Draco began.

           

“Want!” he shouted, pounding a tiny fist into Severus’ throat.  With an inarticulate cry, he began flailing about in Severus’ lap, obviously in the throes of a full-blown temper tantrum.

           

“Oh, Merlin,” he heard a woman -- likely the boy’s mother -- exclaim.  “Andy!”  The voice moved closer.  “Andrew Ronald Weasley, you stop that, now!”

           

The child did not heed her words.  If anything he cried harder, now kicking his legs this way and that.  Severus longed to simply let the boy drop to the ground but had a dim idea that was somehow unacceptable parenting technique.

           

“Severus ...” Susan said miserably, standing nearby now, watching the tantrum unfold with obvious anger and embarrassment, “I am so sorry about --”

           

Suddenly, before anyone could so much as blink, Andy stopped crying, emitted a loud burp, and threw up his entire supper, right in Severus’ face.

           

“Oh shit!” Severus shouted with real feeling, leaping out of his seat and somehow managing to keep a hold on the now hiccupping Andy.  He held the child as far away from his body as he could, even though the damage had already been done.  “I can’t believe he’s done it again!”

           

He distantly noticed that Miss Brittany Harmony Creevey’s eyes were rings of amazed disapproval.  He also noticed that he didn’t care -- covered with dripping vomit, Severus wouldn’t have cared if Buddha, Mohammed, and Jesus Christ had all come swooping down on him, screaming epithets about his dearest female relations.  He was literally trembling with rage.

           

“Severus ...” Hermione began timidly, taking a single step forward.  “Don’t ...”

           

Ignoring her, he stared down at the Weasley brat.  “Detention, Weasley,” he said, so infuriated he’d forgotten that he wasn’t facing down some tremulous first-year student.  “Detention until you fucking graduate!”

           

There.  Two expletives in a single evening.  He mentally told Miss Brittany Harmony Creevey to suck on that.

           

Andy’s eyes rounded.  “Fucking shit,” the little boy said distinctly.

           

Behind them, Susan Weasley let out a despondent little moan, and Harry Potter began to laugh inanely.

           

Severus turned around now, still letting Andy dangle in his hands.  He felt vomit slithering down the back of his robes and wanted to spend a week in the bath at least.  “Can we please go home now?” he asked Hermione.  “Please?”

           

 --  --  --  --  --

           

“Severus, for the umpteenth time, go away,” Ginny Creevey told the closed door.  “You know Mum thinks it’s bad luck for you to see Hermione before the wedding.”

           

“This is ridiculous,” Hermione heard Severus say through the door.

           

“Of course it is,” Ginny agreed complacently.  “Unfortunately, though, it’s just the way it has to be.  Look, the ceremony starts in less than half an hour.  You’ll see her then.”

           

“Look,” he continued in what Hermione knew was his best reasonable tone, “wouldn’t it be awfully romantic if you were to just, oh, look the other way or something so that I could have a private moment with my lovely bride?”

           

He was laying it on awfully thick, she decided as she straightened her veil.

           

“It probably would,” Ginny said.  “But it would also absolutely enrage my mother, and you don’t want to see that.  Especially since little Andy has spent the entire morning pointing at things and calling them ‘shit.’”

           

“To be fair,” Severus pointed out on the other side of the door, “the little monster did throw up on me prior to the, erm, incident.”

           

“Oh, I know that,” she said.  “Even Susan and Ron, while terribly embarrassed at Andy’s sudden reversion to infancy last night, are as okay with his newfound propensity to swear.  But Mum spent last night sitting beside Mary Granger.”

           

There was a thud that could only be Severus’ head banging against the door.  “Merlin and the saints protect us,” he said indistinctly.

           

“Cheer up, Severus,” Hermione said, “I saw Mother this morning as she was coming in and she wasn’t bearing any luncheon meats of any sort.  I think it’ll all work out for the best.”

           

“Shut up,” he threatened through the door as Ginny shot her a questioning look.

           

But Hermione held her tongue and the question in Ginny’s eyes faded to mere amusement.  “You know,” she began thoughtfully, “I think I’m having second thoughts about exposing my children to you two.”

           

She stared at her friend and very nearly dropped her bouquet.  “Ginny, are you telling me ...?”

           

With a nod, Ginny’s face lit up in a beaming grin.  “Colin and I just found out a few weeks ago.  I’m nearly three months pregnant.”

           

“I’m really happy for you,” she said sincerely.  “Both of you.”

           

“We haven’t told Mum yet,” she continued.  “The timing’s just not been very good.  Can’t wait too much longer, though, or she’ll be able to guess herself.”

           

“I would congratulate you,” Severus said, muffled through the wood.  “But I feel that I cannot do it justice unless I can see you in person.”

           

Ginny laughed and gave the door an oddly affectionate pat.  “Nice try,” she said.  “But I’m far more afraid of my mother than I ever was of you.”

           

“Pity.”

           

Trying to be casual, Hermione let her eyes flick over to the clock.  Twenty minutes.  “Erm, Ginny?  Maybe, if you wouldn’t mind, you could give me and Severus a couple of minutes.  You can tell Molly that I put you up to it.”

           

With a slight eye roll, Ginny looked back and forth between Hermione and the door.  “Ah, young love,” she said, only the slightest hint of cynicism in her voice.  “Oh, all right.”  She opened the door to reveal a clearly uncomfortable Severus, tugging at his green tie and looking as if he’d rather be stark naked than clad in his tuxedo.  “But it wasn’t my idea.  I’ll be back to fetch you in five minutes.”  And with that, she walked out of the door and down the hall.

           

Severus stepped into the room and gave her a nervous once-over.  “You look ... erm ...”

           

“You can say it,” she said with a sigh.  “I look like a giant meringue.”

           

“Oh, no,” he exclaimed, sounding startled.  “You look fine.  That is to say ...”

           

Hermione almost laughed.  “Don’t worry about it, Severus.  I hate my dress, too.  No individual person should ever be wearing this much lace.”

           

“Or sleeves that are that puffed,” he agreed, something like relief in his eyes.  “Are you ready, then?”

           

She flashed him a bright grin and kissed his cheek.  “The Fiji mermaid.”

           

He kissed her lips.  “Indeed.”

           

 --  --  --  --  --

           

“Oh, no!” Ginny cried, racing back through the hallway.  “They’re gone!  Harry, they’re gone!”

           

Harry looked up from Draco’s tie.  “What?” he asked.

           

“Hermione and Professor Snape,” she exclaimed.  “I left them alone for five minutes, and when I went back in ...”  She held up a bit of netting -- Harry recognized it as Hermione’s veil.

           

“Shit, they’ve buggered off,” Draco breathed, tie forgotten.

           

“Mum is going to kill me,” she groaned, letting the veil drop to the floor.

           

Harry furrowed his brow.  “Maybe,” he began slowly.  “Maybe they’ve just popped away for a bit and they’ll be back before the wedding actually starts.”

           

Rolling his eyes, Draco gave him a withering look.  “Where did they go, Harry?  Diagon Alley for a cuppa, perhaps?”

           

“I don’t know,” he said lamely.  “But ...”

           

“The question is,” Draco continued over Harry’s stammerings, “what do we do about it.  On the one hand, we could rush after them and drag them back to the altar.  After all, they have more or less agreed to the wedding.  But on the other hand, they did run off.”

           

“We don’t know that for certain,” Harry said in a firm voice.

           

“Oh, all right,” he said.  “Just for Mr. Romantic Sensibilities over here -- if they haven’t run off, maybe someone’s snatched them or something.”

           

Something in Harry’s gut twisted.  He hadn’t even considered that as a possibility.  “Damn, Draco, what if someone has?”

           

“Really, Harry,” he scoffed.

           

“No, honestly,” he said, mind spinning.  “Think about it.  Hermione and Snape are probably Albus’ top team -- they’ve put away more Death Eaters and Dark creatures than the rest of us combined.  They’re a monumental target.  And it’s not as if any of us have been keeping mum about the wedding ceremony.”

           

“Maybe --” Draco began.

           

A loud knock at the door cut him off.  “Severus?” Molly said quietly.  “Harry, Draco?  We’re ready for you up at the altar, now.”

           

“God damn it,” Harry said heavily, twisting the doorknob with no small amount of violence.

           

“Oh, good,” Molly said as soon as the door opened, bustling in.  “Ginny, here you are.  I’ve been looking all over for you.  Run and fetch Hermione -- she’s only got about five more minutes herself.”

           

“Erm, Mum,” Ginny started to say.

           

Molly looked around the room.  “Where has Severus gotten to, anyway?  Off in the loo?”

           

“Mrs. Weasley?” Draco tried.

           

“You boys should have made him go earlier,” she continued.  “We’re going to be off to a late start if he doesn’t --”

           

Harry laid his hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes.  “Molly,” he said firmly, loudly.

           

She blinked.  “Yes, Harry, dear?”

           

“Molly, we need you to go fetch Albus.”

                       

Still blinking, her face only registered confusion.  “Albus?  But, Harry, he’s up on the --”

           

“It doesn’t matter,” he told her.  “We need to speak with him.  It’s a matter of great urgency.”

           

Something clicked behind her eyes.  “Oh, sweet Merlin,” she said frantically.  “Has Severus taken off?  Oh, that wretched boy ... how could he do that to our Hermione?  Don’t you worry, boys -- I’ll have Albus march right down and bring him back.  He loves her, and he just needs a little --”

           

“No, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco interrupted, attempting to be earnest.  “It’s both of them.  They’re both missing.” 

           

Harry wanted to clobber his lover.  In less than ten words, he’d just taken Molly’s anxiety and ratcheted it up into full-blown hysteria.

           

“Oh, no!” she cried, eyes widening.  Before anyone could gasp, let alone speak, Molly lifted up the hem of her robe and dashed out of the room.  Exchanging a glance, Ginny and Harry were immediately on her heels.  He assumed that Draco would follow but didn’t have enough time to ensure it.

           

They followed her down the hallway and into the sanctuary.  “Please,” Harry whispered to himself.  “Please don’t --”

           

“Oh, Albus,” Molly nearly wailed, halfway to the altar by this point.  “Albus, they’ve gone!”

           

The sanctuary was instantly filled with mutterings and exclamations.  Albus looked up from his book.  “What?” he asked.

           

“Young Draco said that Severus and Hermione have ... disappeared,” she said, a tear running down her cheek.

           

“What did I miss?” Draco asked quietly in Harry’s ear, suddenly appearing behind him, only panting slightly.  “Anything interesting?”

           

“I think Molly’s going to have an apoplectic fit,” he murmured back.

           

“What?” Albus was repeating dumbly.  “Gone?  How?”

           

“We don’t know,” Ginny had the presence of mind to say, cutting off her mother.  “But Harry said that --”

           

“Look!” Ron cried from one of the pews.  “Up by the windows over there!”

           

A small owl was hovering in the church rafters.  As soon as Ron pointed in its direction, it glided down and dropped a small, red envelope into Albus’ hands.

           

“Well ...?” Harry asked.

           

He turned it over and over.  “It’s a Howler,” he said.

           

“What’re you waiting for?” Draco asked, impatience causing his voice to grate irritably.  “Open it.”

           

Harry wondered what it could hold as Albus lifted the seal with visible apprehension.  Ransom demands?  Death threats? 

           

“Good afternoon to you all,” Hermione’s voice boomed from the envelope, magnified a hundred times.  “Thank you for attending our wedding ceremony.  In case you may not have noticed already, Severus and I are notably absent.”

           

“They bloody well ought to have noticed,” Severus’ voice said in the background, magnified only slightly less than hers.  “It’s only our wedding, after all.”

           

“Hush,” Hermione’s Howler voice admonished, “I won the coin toss, so I get to do the Howler.”

           

Harry was absolutely shocked when Severus’ voice took on a sulky quality.  “Bet you used a weighted coin.”  Draco sniggered in his ear and a few other brave ripples of laughter ran through the crowd.

           

“Anyway,” the Howler continued impatiently, “we just wanted to let you know that no harm has come to us, that we’re absent of our own free will, and all that.”

           

“Besides,” Severus’ Howler voice cut in, sounding decidedly snide, “little Miss Know-It-All wanted to share her brilliant plan with the world.”

           

“I take back everything kind I’ve ever said about you,” Hermione’s voice rumbled, echoing through the room.  “Anyway ... I’ve got to say, George Weasley gave me the idea on this one.”

           

George, sitting in the fifth pew from the front of the room, looked completely baffled.  That did not stop Molly, however, from striding over and giving him a firm smack across the cheek.  “This is all your fault,” she said furiously.  “I can’t believe --”

           

“Although not directly,” the Howler continued, “so he’s not to blame, Molly.”

           

At least Molly blushed at that.

           

“But many years ago, George asked me to proofread an essay he’d written for Muggle Studies.  A biographical thing on PT Barnum, a famous Muggle who founded one of the earlier American traveling circuses.  Anyway, Barnum enjoyed pulling hoaxes on his customers -- ‘a sucker is born every minute,’ after all -- and one of his most famous, most successful hoaxes was the Fiji mermaid.”

           

“Wait a minute ...” Draco said slowly.  “Didn’t Severus ...”

           

“Hush,” Harry hissed.

           

“The Fiji mermaid was purported to be a real mummified mermaid, and Barnum marketed it as such.  But it was quite clear upon viewing the specimen that the Fiji mermaid was nothing more than a mummified monkey sewed to the bottom half of an equally mummified fish,” Hermione continued.

           

There were a few noises of disgust throughout the room, but Harry found himself unwittingly interested in the tale.

           

“It was obviously, then, a spectacularly terrible hoax.  But the beautiful part of Barnum’s scheme was that his audience continued to pay to see the thing.  He went ‘round America with this awful thing, extolling the wonders of the Fiji mermaid, and people would actually pay good money to get a look at this clear fake.  The moral that I took from the Fiji mermaid, then, was that the best hiding place is quite often in plain sight.  If you make the hoax obvious enough, no one will ever believe that it’s actually a hoax.  And therein lies the perfect double blind.

           

“So,” Hermione’s Howler voice said, “Severus and I agreed to get married.  And rather than fight all of you on our terms, we decided very early on that we would simply allow you to plan the wedding you wanted, while making alternate plans of our own.  Thank you for coming to our wedding -- everything’s been paid for, so please, enjoy the party, and be assured that you have our blessings to do so.  Severus and I will indeed be marrying later today, on our own terms.”

           

“That is to say,” Severus’ Howler voice interrupted, “quiet, child-free, and nowhere within a five thousand mile radius of anyone we know.”

           

“Severus,” she snapped.  “Anyway, we just wanted to let you know that everything was all right and that all of your plans won’t go entirely to waste.  Have a good time and we’ll see you all when we get back after our honeymoon.”

           

“Which, incidentally, Albus,” Severus said, “will be lasting a month instead of two weeks.”

           

And with that, the Howler disintegrated into a pile of ash at Albus’ feet.  The room was dead quiet.

           

“There,” Draco said, nudging a stunned Harry, “that’s a hundred Galleons you owe me.”

           

Crossly, Harry folded his arms across his chest.  “I do not,” he said.  “You bet that they wouldn’t get married.  And Hermione clearly said that they were doing so.”

           

“Incorrect,” he countered.  “Our wager was that Hermione and Severus would go through with this wedding, which they obviously aren’t.  So, pay up, lover.”

           

“Damn it,” Harry mumbled, digging around in his pockets.  Finally, his fingers closed around the little bag he’d been certain he wouldn’t need today, and he tossed it into Draco’s outstretched hand.  “Are you happy, now?”

           

“Immensely,” Draco said with a wide grin.  “Not only did I win the bet, but we get to go to a party.”

           

“But ...” Ginny said into the silence.  “We’re going to miss their wedding.”

           

Draco shrugged.  “Seen one wedding, seen ‘em all.  Besides, Uncle Sev is always such a drag at parties.  He and Hermione just sit in a corner while he glowers at everyone.  This way, you see, we’ll be able to celebrate him without his actual presence.”

           

“You know,” Harry said, leaning into Draco slightly, “I ought to be somewhat offended by that, but somehow, I’m not.”

           

“That’s because you know that they splurged and bought us some very nice champagne.”  He smiled and turned to a still rather bewildered Molly.  “Mrs. Weasley, where was the reception going to take place again?”

           

 --  --  --  --  --

           

“I can’t believe it worked,” Severus said, twirling a little paper umbrella in his hand pensively.

           

Hermione tossed an ice cube at him.  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, dear.”

           

“That wasn’t entirely what I meant,” he replied defensively.  “Although I will say that you yourself have admitted that your mad little schemes don’t always turn out for the best.”

           

“Hoisted by my own petard,” she agreed, saluting him with her mai tai.  “But we’re married now -- you’re not allowed to say such critical things.  I’m supposed to have your unwavering support.”

           

“Then you’re never allowed to say anything untoward about my teaching methods ever again,” he countered with a sly smirk.  “May I taste your drink?”

           

“Order your own,” she said loftily.

           

“Oh, I think not.”  His voice was stern and his expression dark.  “After all, now your worldly goods are mine as well ...” 

           

She shrieked as he pounced, straddling her hips with his knees and wrapping his hands around the stem of her glass.  Grinning, Severus dipped his head and took a sip of her drink before she could pull it away.  “Severus!” she exclaimed.

           

“What?” he asked innocently.  “A little sweet for my tastes, but all in all ...”

           

“You’re in an awfully playful mood,” she said, reaching out a hand to play with the drawstring on his swimming trunks.

           

Shrugging, Severus offered her a lazy grin, tugging on one of the shoulder straps on her suit.  “I’m newly wed, on my honeymoon, stealing my wife’s frou-frou cocktail.  If this isn’t the time for it, I don’t know when is.” 

           

With a small sigh, she admitted defeat, settling her other hand comfortably on his bare chest and enjoying the warmth of his skin against hers.  “It is lovely here, isn’t it?”

           

“Ironic choice, really,” he said, bending down to kiss her slowly.  “But that’s what I get for leaving the arrangements to you.”

           

“What, you don’t like Fiji?” she asked with a smirk.  “If I’d known that isolated beaches and perpetual sunshine weren’t your cup of tea, I could easily have booked us a hotel room in Siberia.”

           

He kissed her again, until she began to feel like a heroine in a romance novel -- her toes were not far off from curling.  “They might come looking for us here,” he said once his lips were free.

           

“They know better,” she replied.

           

Another kiss.  “I just ...” he said, grimacing.  “I feel like the other shoe is getting ready to drop somehow.  It just can’t be this easy.”

           

“What do you mean?”

           

Severus’ hands were comforting on Hermione’s shoulders.  “Are you ... pregnant or something?”

           

She blinked.  “Not to my knowledge.  Would that be a shoe dropping?”

           

“Well ... not exactly,” he hedged.  “But ... look, Hermione, we just planned and executed the literal wedding of our dreams, circumventing at least two of the more powerful wizards in the world and Molly Weasley to boot.  I can’t believe that there’s not some karmic cancellation that needs to occur.  Is it monsoon season here?”

           

“I don’t ... no.  Severus, why do you insist in looking for a bad side in all of this?” she asked, exasperated.

           

His face fell a bit.  “I’m sorry,” he said eventually.  “You’re right.  We should just enjoy this, because four weeks from now, we’ll be back in the dungeons in the middle of it all over again.”

           

“Exactly.”  She gave him a little kiss, to let him know that all was forgiven, and sat her mai tai carefully on the small table beside her chair, not wanting it to get spilled as she pulled Severus even closer.

           

Hermione let out a quiet moan as his tongue began doing wonderful things to the side of her neck.  Something wet fell onto her forehead, but she paid it very little attention as his mouth continued to drift pleasantly downward.

           

Another wet drop.  And a third.  And a fourth.  “Say ...” Severus mumbled into the hollow between her breasts.  “Did you just feel ...?”

           

As the rain began pouring down, drenching them both, Hermione glared at Severus.

           

“I told you --”

           

“Don’t,” she snapped, pushing him off her lounge chair.  “Don’t say it.”

 

FINIS (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Endnotes and Acknowledgements

 

 

I didn’t expect to wind up with another sort-of novel.  As I look over the end result, though, I see that it’s very much a three-part novel, taking our Severus and Hermione from friendship to the altar (more or less ...).  It was just a fun little thing to write, written in response to all of those matchmaking fics that were floating around a little while ago.  I happened to fall in love with the characters, though, so I continued writing.

It was also my first experience with a slash pairing, however mild and secondary.  While I’m not averse to reading slash, it just never found its way into my writing before.  But the Harry and Draco I’ve got here have eased themselves into a nice, comfortable relationship (although I get the idea that they have some hellacious fights sometimes), with just enough ‘sparkle’ to infuriate the thoroughly unromantic Severus and Hermione.

Usually there’s something I’m trying to convey in my writing -- some theme (sometimes lofty ... Dark Gods ... sometimes not ... UMFC ...) or some literary game (Ordinary People, for instance) -- but this one is pure, fluffy fun.  Just a cute little story with no particular strings attached.  It’s been an absolute blast to write.

I said in the notes for Switzerland that this story was for my official fangirl, and it still is.  SillyRiddles, thanks for broaching the FF.net chasm and reading my work -- this one’s for you.  And, of course, thanks to everyone who’s read and/or reviewed these stories.

 

 

hayseed

 

 

Footnotes:

 

(1)        I have to share ... the pot roast thing is based on a true story!  Yes, that’s right.  One of my old high school buddies said something absolutely infuriating to his mother one day and she was apparently so incensed that she threw the first thing that came to hand at his head -- the pot roast she’d been preparing for supper.  My friend, unlike Severus, managed to duck.  So if you read the pot roast gag and thought “that’s far too silly -- nothing like that could ever happen in the real world,” I tell you now that it can and it did.