Chapter Four

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. Huge thank you goes to my beta – Glorioux.

Chapter Four

The sun? Why the sun? Who turned it on? Turn it off...

A sunny Saturday morning found Hermione Granger in her bed. Well, strictly speaking, it wasn't morning at all. It was already well into early afternoon when our girl finally managed to pry open first one eye and then, with difficulty, the other. It was all the sun's fault – it was uncomfortably, cruelly bright.

Hermione shifted on her back and drew a shallow sigh. Her movements were slow and lazy. There wasn't any need to check the other side of the bed – she knew that Severus was already gone. Subconsciously, in her slumber, she felt the moment when his warmth and weight disappeared, leaving only the cold void behind.

Did you expect anything else from your former professor? Hermione asked herself. This straightforward question demanded a straightforward answer. Our young witch, however, was torn between two rather opposite responses. Her mind's reasonable answer would have been, Of course not. At the same time, her silly, young witch's heart was quite sure that Severus would stay.

Hermione huffed. She could almost hear her former professor's derisive voice asking, "What did you hope for, foolish girl – breakfast in bed?"

Ahh, breakfast in bed would be nice, but perhaps just a bit too nice to be even remotely possible.

Immediately, an intriguing image of Professor Snape standing in her kitchen with a flirty little apron tied coquettishly around his preferably bare hips appeared in Hermione's mind. As you can probably guess, this mental picture had made our witch giggle uncontrollably.

When, after a while, Hermione finally managed to suppress her highly inappropriate giggling, she stretched and sat up. For a minute or two, she thoughtfully studied her body's condition. A slight and quite pleasant all-over soreness, along with certain contented tiredness, flowed languidly trough her bones and limbs, creating a delightful sensation of mellowness in her core.

Please understand, my friends: our golden girl wasn't new to this. This wasn't the first time that Hermione had been shagged right up to the point of light, pleasant soreness, in other words – 'properly'. Yet, knowing that it was her former professor – nah, it was Severus now – who had driven her body to this state, was somehow extremely satisfying and exciting. The only dark cloud on the azure sky of Hermione's contentment was, of course, the absence of the alleged lover.

As a veritable girl and against all dictates of logic, common sense, and who knows what else was missing by her sex-muddled brain, that morning she wished for him to be there, in her bed. The night before Severus had been nothing short of magnificent. This supposedly cold, unapproachable wizard with his dark and adverse past was everything Hermione expected him to be, and then some more.

Much more, actually, she thought with growing longing. He had been intense, passionate, demanding, and then gentle, attentive and considerate. He made love to her wildly, and then tenderly held her in his arms, softly caressing her overheated skin. The night with him was perfect. Even a single recollection of hot Severus' open-mouth kisses against her skin disrupted Hermione's breathing. Oh, how exquisitely fully stretched and filled his presence inside of her had made her feel! How skilfully his fingers had emphasized his hips' powerful thrusts and strokes. And now, her Potions master was gone.

Hermione drew another deep sigh and swung her feet off the bed. She needed to determine what to do now – how to act, how to live, and, most importantly, how to ensure that the previous night would not turn out to be her only night with Severus Snape. With these thoughts flooding her still, more than slightly hazed mind, Hermione drifted to the loo.

About forty-five minutes later, our freshly bathed, combed and clothed heroine sat in her kitchen. There, over tea and toast, she continued her deliberations about Severus. As of that day, it was apparent to the young witch that the Potions master harboured some sort of amorous feelings towards her.

He must, surely. What do you say, my dear readers? Why else did Severus know how long they had not talked to one another with such precise recollection? Why else did he rescue her from those two hawks, Malfoy and Shacklebolt? Mm?

At this point, when Lucius Malfoy entered her thoughts, Hermione had gotten just a little bit distracted. She remembered that frankly, Malfoy's dancing techniques were quite charming. He had led her through the dance floor so gallantly, so masterfully twirling her in his arms – she couldn't help but let her eyelids flutter and close involuntarily as she imagined herself being a fairytale princess at the enchanted ball.

A dreamy smile summoned by the recollection had only just managed to reach the corners of the witch's lips when she abruptly stopped herself. Oh, what an absolutely and utterly absurd notion. The wizard was a Death Eater! Even though he claimed to have been completely and utterly reformed, Lucius Malfoy most obviously was not a wizard to be trusted, and certainly no Prince Charming.

Tsk, fairytale princess... nonsense! Hermione chided herself, and her thoughts returned to Severus. Sure enough, the rest of Saturday was spent in constant musing, talking to herself aloud and, of course, analysing and overanalysing. The second endless task was waiting, but waiting for what? Oh, well, who knows for what? For something, anything from him – a letter, a flower, a note, a shout out through the Floo, which was the least realistic possibility. She waited while she ate and while she read and while she cooked.

When the mortifying, grave silence continued into Sunday, Hermione began to doubt her earlier assessment of the Potions master's feelings towards her. The delicious sensation of tingling and mellowness in the pit of her stomach had somewhat diminished, clearing the way for a rather unpleasant, dull ache of suspense. By Sunday night, Hermione was at her wit's end. Doubts metamorphosed into anger. Hence, just before going to bed on Sunday, Hermione had firmly decided to give the damn wizard at most one or two more days. And if, by Tuesday night, he had not surfaced, she would confront him – all traditions and other shitty proprieties be damned.

Hermione Granger was not the witch that any wizard in his right mind would use for a one-night stand, and it seemed that Severus Snape was destined to learn this first hand. Our lioness' fury simmered slowly, brewing a perfect explosive within her.

Therefore, my friends, when, after a sensational, passion-filled Friday night and a torturous, exhausting and anxiety filled weekend, on Monday morning our witch walked into her office and her brown eyes fell on the most beautiful bouquet of pale violet freesias she had ever seen, Hermione Granger's heart officially broke through its confines and left her body. Her heart simply flew out of her, made a few highly dangerous somersaults in the air, victoriously circled a few times around the said bouquet and only then reluctantly returned to its owner's chest.

Only then, with her heart safely back in her chest, was the young witch able to check the little green card sticking out of the bouquet. It was decorated with elegantly written silvery initials – L.M.

Damn it!

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy (Queen)

There was one other person who was also somewhat disappointed with our beloved Severus Snape: Mister Lucius Malfoy.

It was early on Monday morning, and Lucius was still pouting. He sat in his library and fumed while a glass of Firewhisky stood in front of him. Sure, it was a bit early for a Firewhisky, but desperate times always call for desperate measures, and these were, indeed, desperate times. His black-haired friend had snatched the witch from under his aristocratic nose. Lucius wanted the witch and the Potions master had taken her, and therefore, Severus Snape had been one rotten, wicked wizard.

Ridiculous! How dared he, this insolent boy? All right, he was not a boy anymore. However, what was Severus' non-existent experience with witches compared to Lucius' quite impressive résumé? Severus had truly wanted only one witch before – Malfoy knew that much. So what the hell had happened now?

That fateful Friday, at the Victory Ball, Lucius had experienced an epiphany. The moment he saw the young Gryffindor walking their way, it struck him. Here she was, his new chance, his ticket to a new era. Suddenly, it all had become clear to our Lord Malfoy. His marriage to Hermione Granger would be a fresh start for the Malfoys. She would bring everything – influence, prosperity, power and perhaps even an heir.

In a matter of minutes all had been decided. Along with this plan, the destiny of a young lioness was clearly defined in Lucius' mind, and he began the implementation immediately. Seriously, why the hell wait?

The dancing went sublimely...

Now, sitting in his library, our blond wizard hummed and smiled at the recollection of the dance he had shared with the young witch. There was something decidedly tempting and alluring in holding the young, pliant body in his arms. She was so wonderfully responsive. It took Lucius only one dance to get the girl to relax and even smile. A few more dances and she would have been his.

Alas, you know quite well, my friends, it was not destined to happen. First, the idiotic Minister interfered and then this insolent, traitorous, so-called friend had shamelessly stolen Lucius' almost-future-wife from him. Moreover, as if Snape's abominable behaviour at the ball wasn't enough, when Lucius checked on Severus on Saturday morning precisely at half past six, the latest Lucius could wait in order not to look to desperate, Snape's elf Casimir gloatingly informed Lucius that his Master had not yet returned from the ball. What an impudent creature he was, as impudent as his deceiving master.

You can probably imagine what this news did to Lucius Malfoy. In his mind, he was almost engaged to the golden girl, and now this. Shit! At that thought, the grey eyes of our Lord Malfoy began to burn with fury. Lucius slammed the glass of Firewisky on his desk rather loudly and huffed with disdain.

Well, at least now he knew precisely what had interested Severus at the Victory Balls all these years. His black-haired friend had been pining for Miss Granger. How intriguing. Oh well, he, Lucius Malfoy, had always liked venturesome games. By his actions, Severus had carelessly thrown a glove into Lucius' face. Of course, Lucius had accepted the challenge – gladly, and with pleasure. Quite obviously, it would be the end of their friendship. They would be rivals now and with that notion in mind, Lucius abruptly stood up and walked briskly from the library.

When he returned two hours later, a satisfied smile played on his lips. The morning went pretty well and was quite productive. Our crafty blond wizard had begun to spin his meticulously diaphanous silk web around his chosen future lady. So, let me tell you, what exactly had been done during that Monday's morning.

Lucius had gone to the Ministry, where he became acquainted with Miss Granger's administrative assistant, Lora. The girl was quite talkative, so now Lucius knew Hermione's schedule, along with other quite useful information such as what time and where Hermione usually had her lunch, where she went for her occasional after hours drinks. That place, of course, was the Leaky Cauldron. Lucius had visited the Leaky Cauldron, and after a round sum of galleons had been paid, the wizard was bound to be the first to know each time Hermione went there.

The only thing remaining now was to wait. Lucius was absolutely, undoubtedly certain that Severus would eventually make a mistake, and the young witch would come to the Leaky Cauldron to drown her sorrows. In addition, Lucius managed to send a small present to his precious soon-to-be fiancé. He started with something simple yet sweet, with something that showed his sensitive side – freesias to match the lilac dress she had worn at the ball.

Try to top that, Severus!

Here, my darlings, it seems to me that our unsuspecting Potions master is in enormous trouble. Dark clouds are gathering before the oncoming storm.