Chapter One: Suffering the Know-it-all

Part of Severus (a part he was heartily trying to ignore) didn't give a skrewt's blasted end where their clothes might be. The lush breasts pressed against his chest were tipped with pebbled nipples, and the bum beneath his hand was nicely rounded, yet firm. Moments before the same fingers had delved into feminine folds, hot and slick.

She hadn't yet slapped his face or tried to move away from him. He didn't need to ask himself why he hadn't loosened the arms holding her captive.

Merlin, she feels good! Do I even want to know what the fuck is going on? He inhaled deeply. Her fragrance is fantastic. I wonder...

Snape snapped his head back from its collision course with the hollow of Miss Granger's shoulder. Unconsciously, he'd leant towards her, his great nose endeavouring to suss out her scent.

Was that a tattoo? What on Earth is H93 supposed to represent? Probably some Muggle nonsen... Never mind. This is most likely not even truly happening, he reminded himself. I am not lying in a bed that is my own and yet not. I am not holding a naked former student in my arms.

But as difficult as Severus found it to accept that he could have been Port-keyed into what he could now identify as a close replica of his own bedroom – only the colour scheme and some of the furnishings were different – it was harder to swallow the idea that he was having a bizarre erotic dream about Hermione bloody Granger, of all witches.

Third most irritating student in all my years of teaching, and I'm struggling not to play my horn for her!

She wasn't even pretty. Her face was too unremarkable to be ugly, but her nondescript features, accented by mouse brown hair and middling brown eyes, didn't exactly scream beauty. Never mind that the eyes were wide-set and large, the hair was woolly and dishevelled. Almost as if a lover had spent hours...

Do not think about why Miss Granger's hair is horrid!

The hair had always been appallingly unattractive, he was pleased to recall. And her teeth – teeth that now abused an invitingly full lower lip – used to be rabbit-like, though he noticed there was nothing Leporidian about them now.

As if you have any call to criticise anyone else's hair or teeth, a voice in his head – one which sounded suspiciously like his own – chided.

"Where are our clothes?" he asked again, more to distract himself from the goings on of a certain disobedient part of his anatomy than because he still hoped for an answer.

She was as adept as he was at disregarding bothersome questions, it seemed.

Miss Granger wrenched herself from the arms still wrapped around her, slipped out from under the tangled coverings and climbed off the bed. Without so much as trying to hide her nakedness from his very interested gaze, she stalked around the room in high dudgeon. Muttering a string of numbers which had no magical significance Severus could think of – nor any connection to one another he could discern – she twisted and turned, clearly looking for something.

The bedside lamps cast an amber glow that, while more illuminating than the moonlight had been, was hardly sufficient to aid her in her task. But the soft light was sufficient to prove Miss Granger marching about naked was even more appealing than Miss Granger standing about naked.

His cock twitched at the display.

I've definitely gone too long without.

Even if everything he was experiencing were real – especially if it were real – he was stuck in a nightmare unlike any he'd ever experienced. Evil megalomaniacs, manipulative do-gooders who thought 'delegate' was a filthy word and giant snakes he was accustomed to. Becoming aroused at the feel and sight of naked former pupils with alluring bodies was uncharted territory.

"Perhaps the Summoning Charm?" he suggested dryly.

She spared him a frown before resuming her search. He tucked the twisted sheet and soft blanket at his waist as he propped himself up against the headboard to carry on watching.

It occurred to Severus that, as the last few minutes were quite possibly an induced delusion of some sort – he was not yet willing to declare himself convinced he knew exactly what was happening – he needn't hesitate to express his new appreciation for most-likely-a-dream-Granger.

And he certainly appreciated what he was seeing.

The unconscious sway of her hips – few women could manage to look that sexy on purpose – was captivating and he didn't even try to look away from the sight. It was rude to stare, he was on some level aware, but the code of politesse had never been a particular concern of his. Besides her arse was lovely to look at.

Very nice, Miss Granger.

All of her, in fact (if he dismissed the bushy mop which grew from her head in lieu of hair, that is) was a pleasurable picture. She was fitter than he would have supposed her to be had he not just spent several moments in extremely close proximity with the woman. Despite maintaining what must surely be a stultifying career as a Ministry desk jockey, Miss Granger's form was as lithe as he never remembered it being during her six-year tenure at Hogwarts. Not that he'd paid any attention to her form at the time, but he was fairly certain he would have at least noticed it if she'd looked anything like she did right now.

As if her actions were tied to his thoughts (a point in favour of the night having little to do with reality), she bent over, affording him an even more delicious view of certain parts of her anatomy.

Merlin's gnarled staff!

"You know," she said, snatching up a puddle of fabric which revealed itself to be a dressing gown when she rose and half-turned to toss it in his general direction, "you've mixed up your Merlins."

Was she a bloody mind reader now?

"Rowley said Merlin's mother was a wind-sucker, which is a kestrel but also another name for a loose woman – though you wouldn't be the first to mispronounce the old typesetter's long S, or ſ, as the f it sometimes appears to be – but only the oldest version of the Prose Brut names her Adhan, and she was a noblewoman in that, so she wouldn't have been a..."

Snape snorted, cutting her off.

"Still talking too much, I see." He could tell from the swotty tone of her voice she'd been warming up for an extended lecture. Some things, it seemed, never changed. "On this topic, you are also partly wrong.

"The original term was, in fact, windfucker. Wind-sucker is either an inadvertent mistranscription of the word, or a deliberate attempt to protect the sensibilities of those pretending to be too delicate to say, hear or see fuck. You've already proved you suffer no such malady.

"You are, however, correct about the additional meaning of windfucker and about the varied origins of Merlin. But as none of your Muggle legends are the truth, I don't give a wind's fuck which one you think I should use!"

"We'd better talk over coffee," she replied calmly. "This will take a while."

He wanted to frighten the knowing smirk right off her plain little face, but Miss Granger didn't appear to scare easily.

Bloody brat hasn't changed!

At last turning his attention from the annoying witch, Severus eyed the dressing gown – silk, black with narrow silver stripes and definitely a man's – curiously. Why would Miss Granger be in possession of a man's robe?

"It's my husband's," she said as if he'd voiced the question. "Trust me, he'd rather you wear his clothing than have you lying about naked with his wife."

Husband! Perhaps Granger, or whatever her name was – might as well go with the name he knew since she hadn't offered another – had more reason than most to take offense at the aspersions cast on Merlin's mother. Any woman can act the hussy, he reminded himself, commoner and noble alike.

Slipping the gown round his narrow shoulders, Severus pushed his skinny arms through the armholes, never once taking his eyes off the former bane of his classrooms.

Bending again, she – Oh, Merlin! – grabbed two scraps of pearlescent grey material and moved towards a chair under the room's large window.

"Once I saw you haven't got a tattoo," she said, perching on the edge of the chair to pull one of the scraps – some kind of silky vest that emphasised more than it hid the pertness of her breasts – over her head, "I knew we're dealing with a more serious problem than I anticipated. Of course, I should have realised you weren't you when you didn't start blustering at the word 'nice', but I was distracted, myself, and assumed you were, as well."

Biting back a laugh at her convoluted phrasing, Severus opted not to point out that he was himself and could be no other. She'd already shown evidence she had a temper and that she didn't think there was anything the least bit amusing about their situation.

It was also quite possible she was simply mad. She wouldn't be the first survivor to ultimately go insane years after the war's end. Whatever was going on, he couldn't make sense of what she was saying; truth be told, he didn't even try. At the moment, watching her closely seemed likelier to solve the mystery than listening to her prattle on.

The second grey scrap turned out to be what only just passed for pyjama bottoms. They were obscenely brief, consisting of barely more fabric than the knickers he remembered his mother hanging out to dry when he was little. But they clung in all the right places and, even if this was the strangest dream he'd had in ages, he wasn't about to complain.

Covered, if not decently so, Miss Granger stood and took a half step towards the bed.

"Well?" Her raised eyebrow didn't have a Knut on the disdain his carried (he practised in the mirror, so he should know), but it served to remind him he had better things to do than ogle a half-naked former student.

An irritatingly supercilious half-naked former student, at that. Half-naked, delicious curves and soft skin notwithstanding, even in a dream – his dream, no less – she ought to show him more respect!

"'Well,' Miss Granger?"

"Are you going to get out of bed or do you expect me to serve you your coffee in bed as if you're some sort of maharajah and I'm one of your willing serving girls?"

So much for respect. Severus shook his head and swallowed most of his rising ire.

Mustn't set her off again, he scolded himself.

"I'd rather you explained yourself first," he said as mildly as he could manage. (Which, to be honest, wasn't very.) "And you're hardly a girl any longer." His gaze swept from her shoulders to her bare toes, leaving no doubt about the meaning of his observation.

She huffed out a little sigh and sank back onto her chair.

"I told you, the full explanation will take a long time," she said. "I'd rather not give it to you in our – my, that is my and my husband's – bedroom."

Severus could put two and two together as well as any dunderheaded first year. He flinched at what her words implied.

How like a Gryffindor: brash enough to cheat, but too consumed with guilt to talk about it at the scene of the crime!

"I still use Granger professionally," she went on, "because, well, even now his name isn't a very popular..."

He really didn't want to sit through the witch's long-winded explanation of something which had nothing to do with the information he actually sought. "Damn it! I've just been naked in bed with a married woman whose name I don't even know, so excuse me if I'm a little impatient to learn what the hell is happening. Explain yourself!"

She was out of her seat like a first-rate Seeker after the Snitch.

"Be quiet!" she hissed, only inches from his face. "I don't want you waking..."

But the familiar tug to his gut made the room wobble before his eyes; when the world righted itself...

...everything was different. Well, not everything. But enough for Severus to notice.

For one thing, it was much brighter than it had been just moments before.

The walls, starkly white and unadorned in the room where he slept each night but a soft grey in the bedroom where he'd awakened, were now the colour of chamomile tea steeped five minutes longer than was optimal.

The chair by the window was of the same design as before, only now the upholstery colours complemented the new paint.

The room was cooler by far. Almost as chilly as he kept his own. And the tangled sheets and light blanket had been replaced by a thick quilt, neatly spread over the bed. He sat atop it as he scanned his surroundings.

He chanced a look down at himself. A dingy grey nightshirt hung to his calves even whilst he sat. It gaped at the neck, almost exposing his left shoulder. The fabric was nearly threadbare and felt completely familiar. He'd gone to sleep in a garment just like it.

"You aren't supposed to be here, Severus," Miss Granger said, her voice soft and suffused with something which sounded like sorrow. "A curse – one we thought we'd mostly contained – brought you here. It also took my Severus away, and I need to figure out how to bring him back."

She stood at the foot of the bed, he realised. When he raised his head, her sad brown eyes moved to meet his. She now wore, he saw, a nightgown of the palest yellow. It covered her from neck to ankles and was ruffled at her wrists. Her hair hung over one shoulder in a thick braid.

"That's all I can say for now. That's our usual protocol," she told him. "Would you like a coffee?" She was already headed for the door; Severus clambered off the bed to follow. "I think there's still some beans left from tonight's roast – Vienna – if you'd like. Or we have that new Ethiopian variety that's naturally almost caffeine-free. Se... my husband would kill me if I gave you any of his genuine kopi luwak, so that's right off the table. But I don't suppose you'd settle for the stuff we keep for guests?"

SS~HG

"What do you know about Muggle computers and the internet?"

They were in an updated and expanded version of what he could only just recognise as the kitchen of his childhood home. Miss Granger stood at the cooker, idly stirring a pot of cocoa as he examined the roaster – "My husband built it. He thinks the commercially available models are all rubbish," she'd explained – while he waited for his coffee to brew.

She'd explained quite a bit, as it happened – all about his love affair with coffee, rather than telling what the hell was going on.

He'd been about to ask how she knew he was an Arabica aficionado, but she'd turned to him as she finished speaking and had already been rolling her eyes by the time his mouth opened.

"Right," he'd said, as if they'd just discussed his disbelief in detail. "I expect he'd want kill you if you served me any of those except the last." If he didn't already want to kill her simply for talking too much. "But if your husband wouldn't drink 'the stuff you keep for guests', I doubt I want to, either."

With a short nod, she'd led him through a disturbingly familiar passageway and down to the kitchen.

Now, convinced by her question that the night's oddities were certainly the result of a rather bizarre dream, Severus felt more at ease. He decided to play along.

"I know enough," he said, turning from the roaster to watch this frumpier, more reserved Miss Granger work. "I was 'surfing the web,' as they say, before I retired for the evening."

She swung around to face him, spoon held aloft, her mouth agape and her eyes wide.

"Here?" Recovering herself, she turned back to her stirring. "I mean, you were on the internet in your home? I thought your magic would interfere with the electronics."

"Necessity is said to be the mother of invention," he said, knowing he sounded smug and not caring about it in the least. "I long ago found a way."

"Oh. Well, that's good, I suppose. It might make explaining this easier, at least."

Severus said nothing in response because he had nothing to say. Instead, he watched in silence as she continued to prepare her drink. She didn't say anything more, either, but it no longer mattered. He suspected he knew what her delayed explanation would be. Given enough time, she'd either get on with it, or he would wake up.

"Now, let's see about that coffee." She turned off the fire and poured her chocolate into an oversized mug before walking over to check the percolator. "Looks like it's ready," she said without looking in his direction. "Cups are in the cupboard above your head. Go ahead and pour while I get The Notebook. It's best I make sure all the other Hermiones know what's happening whilst I tell you the rest."

More nonsense, he decided, smiling to himself. Only to rearrange his face into its habitual impassivity when she suddenly turned.

"You wouldn't, by any chance, have heard of fan fiction, would you?"

He felt the smile attempting to reassert itself.

Definitely a dream, then.

"I have, as it happens."

He couldn't tell from her expression whether his admission had further shocked the witch or brought her some measure of relief. But she was biting her lower lip, just as her predecessor had done.

"And are you familiar with an author calling herself Wildcat? She writes in the Star Trek fandom. Star Trek is an old Muggle programme on telly... well, several old programmes, actually. And quite a few fil..."

"I know what Star Trek is, Miss Granger. My father was a Muggle!" he snapped, although in truth he wasn't the least bit annoyed at having his suspicions confirmed. "And I also know Wildcat's work. That is what I was reading tonight."

"I see," said she. "I'd better get The Notebook, then."

A/N: I'm not known for writing informative author's notes unless members of my writers' groups bludgeon me into it. I'm making an exception for this chapter of this fic because I feel bad for Hermione getting her lecture cut off like that!

ſ (sometimes mistakenly called "esh," after the discrete character/letter it resembles when italicised*), and known as the medial or long S, was used when the letter came at the beginning or the middle of a word. In many typefaces, it looked like a miniscule (lowercase) F unless it was italicised, wherein it acquired a left-swooping descender instead of the nubby cross thing you've probably seen on it in some "ye olde textes."

As different modern computer fonts render it differently, I've no idea how the letter appears to you in this fic.

On a similar note, I don't know whether windfucker or wind-sucker is the term William Rowley used in his play The Birth of Merlin; or The Childe Hath Found His Father (supposedly written with another, much more famous, Will). But it's fun to have Snape and Hermione debate the issue. If you're curious, under the second entry for wind-sucker, my OED says SEE WINDFUCKER 2. I think this means Severus wins by a nose**.

Finally, if you don't already know what kopi luwak is, I recommend looking it up only if you've got a strong stomach.

*Just to add to the confusion, with some fonts the italicised ſ ( ſ ) also sort of resembles the integral symbol ∫. Fun times in typesetting!

**To those of you who know other definitions for wind-sucker, I blush to admit that sad pun was intended.