Chapter 4

She could not get the image of Snape out of her head. Her youthful crush on Lockhart aside, Hermione had always been more attracted to wizards with character rather than mere good looks. She had been intrigued by Krum's air of dangerous mystery, then for a while, she had thought she was destined to be with Ron until she realised that his boyish charm held a great deal more boyishness than charm. At the time, she had been very hurt when he told her that he had fallen for the girl next door – actually, the girl in the next room, as Molly had invited Luna and Xenophilius to live at the Burrow until their house was rebuilt.

Hermione remembered a long evening spent with Ginny and Harry and far too much alcohol and chocolate, wondering where she had gone wrong.

"You haven't," Ginny said finally. "He's gone for the safe option, that's all. I know Luna's a bit – well, scatty and odd, but he knows her, we've known her since we were small."

"He knows me," Hermione had lamented, "and I thought I knew him."

Harry shifted uncomfortably and both witches looked at him. He shrugged.

"Sorry, Ginny, but I think your mum might have influenced him."

Ginny gave a little snort. "Yeah, I think so too. Lucky for me that she likes you, hey, green-eyes?"

"She's never been quite sure about me," Hermione agreed. "When she thought I was Harry's girlfriend and I'd dumped him, remember? She believed everything written about me in The Prophet and Witch Weekly."

"We need to find you someone," Ginny declared, fuelled by wine and her delight in the new ring gleaming on her finger. "What do you want from your wizard, Hermione, apart from a big cock?"

Harry had spluttered into his lager while Ginny and Hermione wrote the curriculum vitae for her ideal wizard.

She now recalled how she had demanded intelligence, wit, self-awareness and self-discipline, compassion, a love for books and esoteric knowledge, and a passionate, academic interest that they could share. She had assumed that she was reacting to the loss of Ron as a potential partner, desiring the qualities that he lacked, and she still fantasised about meeting a man who could match or surpass her own intellect.

"Oh, bollocks," she said, "I think I've found him."

---

Hermione was met at the door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place by a disgruntled Kojak, carrying an even more disgruntled eagle owl on one shoulder. The owl had obviously been instructed to wait for a reply and was not happy about it. It stuck out one leg, tried to peck her as she removed its message, and then deliberately knocked Kojak's sunglasses to the floor with its wing.

Lucius Malfoy requested her presence to discuss the investigation into the Crup-breeding practices of his rivals. Well, she had been looking for a distraction, and it was safer to fantasise about Lucius Malfoy in riding breeches than Snape in the nude, as that was even less likely to lead to anything. She scribbled a reply and sent the owl on its way, then went to deal with the morning owl post and Floo calls.

Waspish met her at the front door of Malfoy Manor and bowed her inside.

"Master is with Master Professor Snape," he said, "they is fighting."

"What?" Hermione stared at the elf in alarm.

"They is in the duelling room," he explained. "Does Miss wish to wait or go up to watch?"

"Oh, I see. I'll watch, please."

The duelling room was thick with protective wards and enchantments that felt strong enough to contain even the Unforgiveable curses. In the centre, in the marked-out rectangle of a duelling arena, the two wizards hurled hexes and jinxes faster than she could see. Both men had stripped to trousers and shirtsleeves, both had tied back their hair, both were sweating as they cast and feinted.

"Point!" Malfoy exclaimed as Snape's ankles sprouted little wings like Mercury's.

"Bastard!" Snape panted, banishing the wings in a cloud of tiny feathers.

"You're the one –" Malfoy leaped aside as a hex crackled past his ear, "who wanted to give your old wand a workout! Ouch!" As he turned, Hermione saw a flock of woodpeckers clinging to the back of his shirt, busily pecking away.

"Point!"

Hermione had seen top duellists at the Aurors' regular tournaments, and she sometimes practised with Harry, Ron and their friends, just to keep her hand in. Even though Snape and Malfoy were messing about, they were impressively fast.

Then something changed. She was unsure what triggered the reaction, but Snape and Malfoy attacked simultaneously. There were no flashy tentacles or flocks of birds now, just a flurry of curses, any one of which was capable of maiming. Slicing hexes, explosions, blood-boiling curses and many that she did not recognise flew through the air. The wards sparkled and spat as magic bounced off them.

Although Snape was shorter and slighter than the fast, vicious Lucius Malfoy, it seemed after a time that Snape had the edge. Malfoy was forced to rely more and more on his shielding spells, defending and dodging rather than attacking. Eventually, his blond hair all loose, tangled and damp with sweat, Malfoy took a slice to his momentarily unshielded arm and lost his temper.

"Crucio!"

Snape let out a startled grunt as the Unforgiveable slammed into his shielding spell and partially penetrated it. Hermione drew her wand, but before she could intervene, Snape dropped to the floor, rolled and cast beneath Malfoy's shields.

"Expelliarmus!"

Malfoy's wand spun out of his hand, and he slammed back against the wall. Snape pushed himself to his feet, took a deep breath and visibly reined in his anger.

"If you ever cast an Unforgiveable at me again, Malfoy, I'll eviscerate you!"

"You would, too, wouldn't you? Damn it, look, I'm bleeding all over the place!"

"You should practice shielding on the move."

Malfoy clambered upright and then appeared to notice Hermione for the first time.

"Miss Granger, how good of you to respond to my invitation so quickly."

He Accio-ed his wand, pointed it at his arm and murmured, "Episkey," watching as the shallow cut vanished into his pale skin.

"Miss Granger," Snape said rather stiffly. "Kindly excuse us while we shower and change. I was not expecting an audience."

"That's all right," Hermione said. She was feeling just a little light-headed. She had never seen Snape in such a dishevelled and informal state. His damp shirt was sticking to him, displaying the sinewy musculature of his shoulders and his flat belly. Tendrils of his hair had come loose and beads of perspiration trickled down his face.

She could smell him. She had always been aware of his scent, a mixture of potions and that old-fashioned kind of aftershave or cologne worn by her grandfather and his friends: leather and bay rum and wood. It was enhanced now by the tang of fresh sweat on a hot body. Damn it, but she wanted to lick his throat.

"I believe that Miss Granger doesn't mind at all," Malfoy purred. His eyes gleamed with a slight, sharp hint of mischievousness that skirted the edge of malice.

"I don't dislike the aroma of testosterone," Hermione agreed. She was still watching Snape's neck. Just between the edges of his open collar was a ridge of silver scar tissue, the legacy of Nagini.

There was a moment of stillness.

Malfoy snapped his fingers.

"Waspish, prepare a hot bath in the green bathroom. Miss Granger, would you care to join us?"

Snape's breath came out in a startled hiss, immediately cut off.

"Lucius," he said with a clear note of warning.

"Miss Granger is a witch who knows her own mind. She knows that she is safe with us."

"For certain definitions of the word 'safe'," Hermione agreed. Her heart was thumping in her chest and her fingers tingled.

"Then the game is on, Miss Granger."

"No."

Both wizards stared at her: Snape's eyes narrowed in suspicion, Malfoy's widened in surprise.

"No?"

Hermione shook her head. "This isn't a competition, gentlemen. I refuse to be fought over like some – some mediaeval princess whose hand is given to the most reckless and macho prince of the lot."

Malfoy was genuinely shocked, which was a rather novel and unappealing look for him, while Snape's lips curved into an equally authentic appreciation.

"My dear Miss Granger, aren't you being just a trifle greedy?"

"I prefer to call it 'audacious', Professor Snape."

"I'm not your –"

"You haven't resigned, my friend," Malfoy reminded him. "You're still Headmaster of Hogwarts, so the title's still yours."

"Sod off, Lucius."

"Language, Severus, we've a lady to impress."

"That will not be as easy as you seem to think," Snape remarked, casting a glance at Hermione out of the corners of his dark eyes, a glance that ran across her skin like a trickle of Firewhisky.

"Oh, I don't know," Malfoy murmured, "I'd very much like to try. It seems that our young friend has gained a taste for bad boys."

"Speak for yourself. Some of us saw the error of our ways faster than others."

"No need to rub it in," Malfoy said, then leered.

"You think you're still mad, bad and dangerous to know, do you?" Hermione enquired sweetly.

"You're not equating Lucius with bloody Byron, are you?" Snape sounded quite offended at the idea while Malfoy looked enquiringly at him.

"You're the Bryonic hero, Professor."

Snape scowled. "Stop calling me that."

"What shall I call you, then?"

"If we're going to share a bath, we really should be on first-name terms, don't you think?" Lucius said. "Come along, Hermione, this way."

---

Hermione's brain was a jumble of thoughts, a state which would normally cause her some distress. It flitted from the trivial – did I put my nice lace underwear on today? – to the practical – must remember my contraceptive charms and do I need an anti-STD charm with this pair? – to the frankly lewd – oh god, do they bugger one another? Please, can I watch?

"Miss Granger –"

"Hermione."

"Hermione, are you sure that you wish to do this?" Snape spoke softly as he walked beside her. She was hyper-aware of him, the heat of his body, his scent, the way his dark hair clung to his neck.

"Of course I am."

"Gryffindor," he muttered.

"Suggesting what? That I'd shag you for a dare?"

The slight widening of his eyes was the only indication that she had hit the mark. About to berate him, she stopped herself just in time. This wasn't the arrogant Malfoy, this was Snape, who had carried a chip on his shoulder since the age of eleven and whose insecurities were a mile wide.

"I'm doing it because I want to," she said gently.

"I understand lusting after Lucius; most wizards would give a lot for that degree of elegant machismo." He glanced at his friend's back, at the broad shoulders tapering down to that tight, shapely arse, and Hermione felt a spike of sheer want striking down through her belly.

"He's gorgeous," Hermione agreed, "but so are you."

He snorted a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "I know what I am, Hermione."

"No, you obviously don't."

"Really? A skinny ex-Death Eater with a nose you could use to cut wood?"

Hermione shrugged. "So why would you want a bushy-haired know-it-all with buck teeth?"

"Meanwhile," Lucius said loudly, "the elegant wizard with the very large prick is wondering when you'll finish insulting yourselves. I'm aware that this is your idea of fore-play, but I find the bickering rather off-putting."

"So sorry," Snape snapped and folded his arms. "Perhaps you'd like to get on with your games while I go back to work –"

"No you don't," Malfoy said. "You're not losing your nerve at this stage of the proceedings. Hermione, if we insisted that you chose between us, you'd choose Severus, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she said at once.

"There you are. Now stop wibbling and come along."

Snape stared at her, a mixture of suspicion and interest in his eyes. He clearly wanted to believe her.

"Lucius is the one I'd have a naughty fling with," she told them. "He'd sweep me off my feet with champagne and roses and a night of passion, and then he'd get bored and go looking for his next conquest." Malfoy mimed distress, clasping a hand to his heart, while his eyes glittered in cool amusement. Then she turned to look at Snape. "But you're the wizard I'd want to spend evenings with by the fire reading a good book, or brewing potions, or walking in the mountains, or lingering over a glass of wine and talking about everything and anything." Hermione thought over what she had just said and blushed while Malfoy smirked.

"There you are, Severus, the witch has damn near proposed to you. What are you waiting for? Your problem," Malfoy added, "is too much analysis and not enough sex."

"Chance of enough sex would be a fine thing," Snape muttered, but he allowed Hermione to slide her arm through his. The heat and the whipcord muscles of his forearm under her hand made her heart pound.

---

The green bathroom derived its name not from the colour of the room, but from its plethora of foliage. Gorgeous lilies, ferns and even a couple of small palm trees grew in urns and pots, while jasmine, orchids and stephanotis hung from the iron supports of a huge skylight.

"Narcissa used to keep her parakeets in here," Malfoy remarked, ushering them inside, "but she took them with her and I didn't replace them. Damn things would keep crapping on the towels and dropping feathers in the bath."

"One does rather expect to hear a chorus of tropical frogs," Snape said. There was something in his voice that made Hermione look at him: a note of wry self-deprecation. Malfoy patted his shoulder in an absent-minded fashion as he passed and Snape shrugged. "I spent my summer holidays with Lucius after my mother died. I was in my last couple of years at Hogwarts," he explained. "I would have killed to live in a home a tenth as luxurious as this. One of the factors that led to my making a regrettable decision was sheer envy."

"Hm, you might not have enjoyed living here when his lordship took over. Envy on the part of many Death Eaters took the form of destructive rages fuelled by the contents of my wine cellar. Did you know that they roasted my peacocks and tried to make the Crups hunt Muggles?" Lucius shuddered and pointed his wand at the door, closing and locking it. "There now, let's draw a line under the past and concentrate on the present and immediate future, shall we? Hermione, my dear, we are both under your direction." He gave a slight bow towards her. "What would you like us to do?"

Slytherin, she thought, he's a Slytherin, and so there has to be an ulterior motive here. But there was nothing that he could have said or done that could so effectively banish her remaining scruples. Lucius was such a practiced seducer of witches that he could sense her carefully suppressed misgivings, and he realised that handing over control would boost her confidence. Snape was watching his friend with his usual guarded expression, but Hermione suspected that he was as surprised as she was.

"I mean it," Lucius said softly, and Hermione clenched her hands and took a deep breath.

Her senses were on high alert, as sensitive and attuned to her environment as if she was under magical attack. She reminded herself that she was a Gryffindor and asked the question that was throbbing at the base of her throat, as if the words were trying to push themselves up her windpipe and out of her mouth.

"Have you ever kissed one another?"

As she expected, Lucius had never schooled himself to suppress his thoughts or emotions – why should he, when his position of privilege meant that house-elves and family had always danced to his tune? His grey eyes flared wide but she detected only astonishment there, not revulsion.

In Snape, surprise manifested only as the further darkening of already dark eyes. His gaze flickered to Malfoy for just an instant, assessing the other wizard's reaction, and that alone revealed what she wanted to know.

No, they had never kissed, for if they had, Snape would have no need to watch Malfoy because he would know how his friend would react. Malfoy was surprised but not displeased, possibly interested, certainly not dismissive, but Snape had closed off after that first momentary shock.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said before either man could respond.

"For what?" Malfoy asked, curious.

"I don't want to ruin your friendship."

"Why should you?"

"Miss Granger is making assumptions," Snape said. He sounded irritable; a sudden regression to the acerbic teacher, and Malfoy raised both blond eyebrows.

"Assumptions, Severus? That we had, or that we hadn't?"

"That we would wish to," Snape snapped, raising his chin high. Malfoy gave a slight twitch, not quite a flinch, which he covered well by indicating surprise, but Hermione thought that he was dismayed by the comment.

"Why wouldn't we?" Malfoy asked curiously. "I'm not averse to the experiment. Hermione, why did you assume that it would damage our friendship?"

Snape made a slight sound, as if at the last instant, he thought better of making a snort of annoyance or disdain.

Hermione stared wide-eyed at the pair of them. Did they not know? Was it a requirement of masculinity, that men should display the emotional range of a teaspoon?

"I doubt if Miss Granger even realises," Snape muttered, and that sparked anger in her, that he should think that she was clueless.

"Lucius can't understand why it matters because, in general, Lucius gets what he wants," she said, and because she was annoyed at him, she ploughed on with her explanation despite Snape's darkening scowl. "Severus, on the other hand, wants it but is afraid that if he gets it, he'll lose what he already has, and has retreated into a defensive position because that's safer than taking a risk."

"Enough!" Snape spat, fully reverted to his evil-teacher persona, but the damage was done.

"You want to kiss me?" Malfoy whispered. "Truly?"

"Forget it, Lucius. Granger is getting above herself!"

Malfoy grasped his friend's elbow and forced him around so that they were face to face.

"But why didn't you say?"

"Because I'm damned if I'll be discarded along with your other toys!" His eyes glittered, and he bared his uneven teeth in a snarl of anger and pain.

"No," Malfoy whispered, "never. We've been through too much together for that." Wondering, he brought up one hand and slid it alongside Snape's jaw, up the side of his pale, set face, until the fingers meshed into his hair, and then he brought his mouth down onto Snape's.

Hermione thought that her heart was going to stutter to a halt in her chest, or else burst out in a great surge of excitement. For perhaps ten seconds – very long, palpitating seconds – Snape was as unyielding as a stone statue, and then he made the faintest of sounds, a hint of his voice in an exhalation, and his hands came up and he clutched at Malfoy's shoulders and his response was everything Hermione could have hoped for and more. He was so overwhelmed that he probably didn't realise that he was humping against the taller man's thigh, not that Malfoy seemed to mind.

Snape must have known that he was going to lose it, display his need and his vulnerability, but he had not counted on Malfoy's reaction. When Snape's hand moved down and pressed against his crotch, Malfoy pulled away from the kiss with a groan.

"Sweet Merlin, stop!"

Snape stared at him through narrowed eyes, chest heaving, face flushed and his lips parted. Malfoy was not a fool. He touched Snape's mouth with the tip of one finger. "I haven't come in my pants since I was fifteen, and I'm damned if I'll do it now, even for you!"

Snape's shoulders relaxed, and he turned to stare at Hermione through strands of unruly black hair.

"Are you satisfied with the results of your experiment, Miss Granger?"

"If you call me that once more, I'll hex your balls crimson and gold."

Malfoy laughed, more in a release of tension than amusement, and patted Hermione's arm.

"My dear girl, wait until you've sampled the goods before you leave your mark on them!"

Snape's hand dipped down to adjust himself in his black woollen trousers, a quick, darting movement that drew Hermione's attention to his erection.

"Unless you'd rather I wasn't even here?" she ventured to ask. She had spent too many evenings feeling like the unnecessary third wheel with Harry and Ginny, and then, once her friendship with Ron had recovered, with him and Luna.

Snape said nothing, but for once, Malfoy picked up on his reluctance to state his own desires.

"I very much want you to stay," he purred, "and Severus does, too."

Snape gave a single sharp nod and then directed a narrow-eyed sideways look at Hermione.

"Hermione appears to be something of a pervert," he remarked, emphasising his use of her name. The fact that she recognised his insecurity did not mean that she had to let him walk all over her – as she was sure he would, given the opportunity.

"I'm sure you've been to the Two-Wands Club, in Knockturn Alley," she said lightly, "where wizards seem to take great delight in watching two attractive witches kissing, fondling and disrobing each other. Where's the difference?"

"Hmph," Malfoy smoothed back an errant lock of his hair, "your so-called friends told you about that place, did they?"

Hermione gave him what she hoped was a wide-eyed, guileless smile.

"No, I've been there."

"Trying to shut it down?" Malfoy asked, rather grumpily.

"What on earth for? The Muggle world has far worse dens of vice and iniquity than a slightly naughty and rather quaint cabaret club; ask Severus if you don't believe me."

"I'm surprised they let you in. The membership is restricted to wizards only."

"And how many witches do you see serving the food, fetching the drinks, singing or taking their robes off on-stage? They don't allow house-elves."

"Seeing how the other half lives, were you?"

She suppressed an urge to smack his handsome arrogant face.

"We didn't all inherit our money, you know!"

"Lucius," Snape said, sounding exasperated, "the witch runs a detective agency, in case you'd forgotten!"

Obviously he had, although she was mollified when he gave a bow in her direction.

"I apologise, Hermione. Of course, you're right; they don't allow elves on the premises to prevent wives sending their elves to check up on errant husbands."

"Exactly. I was searching for a missing witch, and she was last seen entering the Two-Wands."

"Did you find her?" Snape enquired.

"Yes, she was part of a witch and wizard singing duo and hadn't told her family because she was embarrassed at working there –"

"I should think so," Malfoy muttered.

"– and she'd fallen for her singing partner and run off with him."

"Dear, dear," Malfoy said. "Some witches should never be allowed out alone."

Hermione realised Snape was failing to disguise his smirk, uttering, "Bastard," in a bored voice. She took a deep breath. Perhaps mentioning Malfoy's failure to control his mad sister-in-law would not be tactful at this point. She caught a flashing glance between the two wizards, a message passed so swiftly and efficiently that it spoke volumes about their mutual understanding.

"Now," Malfoy murmured, "we appear to have veered so wildly away from our initial aim that I wonder if you are as interested in our tryst as you claim." He slipped his wand out of his sleeve and balanced it on the low marble bench next to the pool. "There, as a gesture of good faith." His raised an eyebrow and slowly, Snape followed his lead and placed his ash and cherry wand next to Malfoy's. Hermione realised that the bench had little channels carved in its surface for that very purpose.

She drew her vinewood wand and put it between the other two. Lucius nodded, and she heard Snape let out a faint exhalation. Hermione suspected that she had taken part in a Wizarding custom that now committed her to having sex. Somewhere in her conscience, the loud cursing from her mental images of Ron and Harry and the cries of horror from Molly and Percy Weasley were drowned out by Ginny and Luna, urging her on.

"Good for you girl! Go for it!" Ginny crowed, while Luna danced in a circle and flapped her hands in delight.

"It's our turn to ask you for something," Malfoy whispered, and she realised that he had silently moved up behind her and was speaking close against her ear. "I should like to ask the same of you; I should like to see you kiss Severus."

She looked into Snape's eyes, seeking his consent. His eyelids lowered and his gaze sharpened – a subtle tell, but enough to encourage her. She took a couple of steps to face him. She was aware of everything around her: the sharp sound of her heels on the marble floor, the humid air, the whisper of her robes as they brushed against her stockings, and the tang of his scent. She put her fingertips to his face, rough with a hint of stubble.

This time, he was neither shocked nor passive. He reached out, grasped her upper arms and pulled her against his chest, his mouth seeking hers. His tongue swiped across her mouth and she opened her lips to him.

A little voice inside her head chanted, "I'm kissing Severus Snape! I'm kissing Severus Snape!" and Ron and Harry and Molly and Percy babbled in condemnation and then fell silent and nothing else mattered, only her tongue and his, retreating and advancing in their duel of pleasure.

"For the sake of comparison..." Malfoy said from somewhere behind her and gently tugged her shoulder to turn her.

His kiss was assured and polished, testing out what she liked and giving it, considerate but in control. It was easy to respond, but she was so, so glad that she had kissed Snape first. When he pulled back, he smiled at her, his grey eyes assessing her with surprising approval. She realised that for the first time, she and Malfoy were in complete accord. This was not about her romantic fantasies or his libido, it was about Snape.

Malfoy flicked the top button of her robe out of its hole.

"My dear, we're all wildly overdressed for the occasion."

She responded by unbuttoning his shirt while reaching out for Snape and attempting to do the same for him, albeit left-handed and rather awkwardly. His slender fingers folded onto hers, stilling them, then he made a sharp gesture at his shirt and the garment fell open.

"Of course," Malfoy said, "someone who wears so many buttons needs to be in command of them."

"I've a spell for everything while you have house-elves."

"I was looking forward to unwrapping you," Hermione said, allowing herself to pout.

"What a splendid idea, Hermione! Severus definitely needs to be unwrapped. In fact, I shall watch while you unwrap each other."

Malfoy seated himself on the bench next to the wands with his legs sprawled, unconcerned that his trousers pulled taut and outlined the shape of his erection.

"Voyeur," Snape muttered, but did not protest as Hermione pushed his open shirt off his shoulders; instead, he reached for the fastenings of her robe.

He moved slowly, offering light, tantalising touches as his hands drifted down over her breasts. The skin of her stomach tightened in anticipation as his knuckles skimmed lower. He worked each button out of its hole with maddening exactitude. His breath puffed hot against her ear, and she looked down at the fine trail of black hair leading to the waistband of his trousers and the zipper straining over his cock. Muggle trousers, she thought, and was pleased that her brain was still capable of such a fine distinction.

She tried to undo his trousers with a precision to match his, easing the tongue of the buckle out of the leather belt and then unhitching the button of the waistband. His breathing deepened. She lowered the zip so slowly that she felt each individual snick and his hand shook – just a fine, barely perceptible tremor – against her hip. Malfoy shifted slightly, knocking against one of the wands so that it tapped against the side of its marble recess.

Hermione concentrated on the moment, fixing it in the Pensieve of her memory for all time: the contrast between the cool marble walls and lush greenery, the anticipation and gathering excitement, the palpitating delicacy of Snape's fingers brushing her skin, barely stirring the fine hairs. Separate from them, yet an overt presence in the room, Malfoy watched and waited.

She had worn her best underwear, though whether from instinct, wishful thinking or just to boost her confidence, she did not know. Snape gently drew her robe back and down, revealing her lacy red bra, matching knickers and suspender belt.

Hermione, unused to being assessed for anything other than her intellect, had nothing to hide behind and felt a wash of heat that she knew must be blushing over her entire body. If only she had taken Ginny up on her offer to coach her in Quidditch! She could have lost that inch around her waist and toned her thighs, she should have tamed her hair and worked on her tan and –

"Delectable," Malfoy sighed.

"Indeed."

Had neither wizard even noticed her nervousness? She took in a deep breath and Snape, who was gazing at her cleavage, swallowed audibly.

"Thank Merlin I didn't know what you were hiding under your robes when I was teaching you."

"I've put on weight since then," Hermione said ruefully. "That's the trouble with an office job –mmph!"

Snape seized her, pulled her against himself and kissed her until they were forced to pull apart to breathe. He ran his hands down her ribs, over her hips, then back up again until he cupped her breasts lightly in his hands.

"Don't you dare apologise for these," he told her.

"Great Circe, no," Malfoy said from behind them. "Is it inconsistent of me to state how much I love female Muggle undergarments? On the right female... or off the right female being even better, of course. That is a hint, Severus."

Hermione felt Malfoy's hand slide across her arse. For some reason, Snape's touch was appreciative while Malfoy's was proprietorial. She swung around, eyes narrowed, and found him naked and highly amused, his cock waving jauntily.

"I cannot for the life of me understand why that idiot Weasley boy didn't snap you up when he had the chance," he remarked.

"He felt threatened," Snape said at once, and Hermione must have imitated a stranded fish as she gaped from one to the other.

"By me?"

"Of course by you, silly girl." The term was affectionate rather than derogatory. "He spent his school years playing the dumb sidekick; I very much doubt he wanted more of the same in his marriage."

"But I tried so hard not to make him feel stupid."

"Exactly!" Malfoy said. "We Slytherins, on the other hand, have always admired intelligence, in males and females, friends or rivals."

"Luna was a Ravenclaw, and she's very perceptive," Hermione muttered. Snape grasped her chin and turned her to face him.

"She's also so whimsical that she needs him to keep her grounded," he told her. "He didn't want someone who made him feel stupid by just being there. If you'd remained with him and pandered to his insecurity, your brain would have atrophied and you'd have ended up like Molly, popping out children every couple of years just to give yourself a new project."

"Merlin forbid," Malfoy said with a shudder. "Now look what you've done, mentioning the Weasley matriarch." He indicated his slightly wilted cock.

"So sorry," Snape said with patent lack of conviction.

"You're wearing too much," Hermione told him. "I was supposed to be undressing you, if you recall."

Snape spread his arms and indicated that she should go ahead. As she eased his trousers down over his thighs, she sank down onto her heels and heard Malfoy draw in a sharp breath, and realised that her dainty lace knickers were stretching tightly across her arse. She wriggled slightly just to make him gasp again.

Her inadvertent display of uncertainty had clearly given Snape confidence. He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder for balance as she lifted his foot to remove his trousers, his white underpants and his sock and shoe. When she looked up, she met all the weight of his regard.

His eyes were no longer bleak and cold; his gaze had opened, expressing so much hope and desire that she was stunned. His Occlumency shields had gone, and only now did she realise that he had held them in place throughout her schooldays. Such terrible self-control must have cost him dearly in the years that followed Voldemort's downfall, and she was amazed that he had retained any emotional integrity at all.

He held down a hand to assist her to her feet, and then, he reached around behind her to unfasten her bra. Her bared nipples brushed the sparse hairs on his chest as he allowed the flimsy garment to fall.

"A hundred points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger."

The base of her belly tightened, and she felt hot and dizzy with want. He noted her reaction and continued to speak, his voice pitched low, rich and rare, as seductive as the finest coffee laced with cream and a dash of brandy.

"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips' red..."

When he had finished the poem, Malfoy asked quietly, "What was that?"

Hermione whispered, "Shakespeare's sonnet number one hundred and thirty," and Snape smiled at her with the utmost satisfaction, and she knew that she had met his highest expectation at last.

He unfastened her suspender belt and slid his hands down to carry her stockings and knickers to the floor, squatting on his heels to lift her feet, one at a time, out of her shoes and her underwear.

Apparently, Malfoy was not allowing himself to be relegated to the background any longer. When Hermione turned away from Snape for a moment, she saw Malfoy standing at the edge of the sunken pool. Little tendrils of vapour were rising from the surface, and his long blond hair was beginning to darken in the steam. He smirked at her, snapped his fingers and extended his hand. With a faint pop, a silver tray appeared balanced upon his outstretched palm, carrying three, slender, crystal flute glasses and a bottle of champagne. He transferred the tray to the marble bench with a flourish and removed the wire cage from the cork.

"Here is your champagne, my lady. This room is too hot for roses, but I can supply orchids and lilies to strew at your feet."

Hermione took the glass that he offered her and gave a little curtsey.

"Thank you, kind sir."

"Hm," Snape gazed critically at the bottle. "Pink champagne, Lucius?"

Malfoy sighed theatrically.

"My dear chap, please! This is a Dom Ruinart elf-made rosé, vintage 1998."

"The year that the Dark Lord fell," Hermione said.

"Exactly. I have been assiduously restocking my wine cellar ever since." He took an appreciative sip and held the wine in his mouth for a moment before swallowing.

Snape rolled his eyes but did not refuse the glass that Malfoy held out to him.

The wine was crisp and cold, the bubbles bursting into flavour on Hermione's tongue. "Nice," she declared, just to see Malfoy suppress a wince.

"Ruinart is one of the oldest established champagne houses," he said reproachfully.

"Mm," Hermione agreed. "I know. Nicholas Ruinart began producing champagne in 1729, although I hadn't realised that the house had a Wizarding side, too. The balance between red fruits, licorice and citrus is even finer in the elf-made vintage, isn't it? Or have you not tried the Muggle version?"

"Ruinart was reputed to be a wizard," Malfoy said, "and I haven't tried the Muggle rosé."

"Told you she was a know-it-all," Snape muttered.

Hermione smiled, not wishing to admit that her parents loved fine wine and had taken her on holiday to French vineyards as soon as she was old enough to appreciate them. She needed every advantage she could get.

Lucius strode to the side of the pool and descended into the water, sipping from his champagne flute. He moved smoothly and effortlessly; Hermione had to remind herself that he was in his early fifties and that Snape was forty eight.

He turned and held out his hand to her, which she accepted, realizing there was a flight of marble steps leading down into the pool.

The water was blissfully hot, and the steam carried a hint of perfume. She breathed deeply, trying to identify the individual components.

"Vanilla," she said, "frankincense, sandalwood, musk, cassia and some sort of citrus - bergamot, perhaps?"

"Just relax and enjoy it," Malfoy murmured as he drew her close against his body. "Honestly, woman, you're as bad as Severus!"

She felt Snape's hands on her head, pulling out the pins that held her hair in its customary bun, and then he ran his fingers through the unruly mass of curls as they uncoiled like suddenly-released springs.

"I like your hair," Snape said. "It suggests that you have an uninhibited side after all. Let's see if you live up to its promise."

Snape Summoned a bottle of shampoo. She noted that he worked the minor spell wandlessly while Malfoy needed to pick up the soap and sponge from a ledge under the rim of the bath, and she felt smug on Snape's behalf.

Not since she was a young child had anyone else bathed her, and even then, her parents had esteemed efficiency over pleasure. The perfumed water, the luscious champagne, the cadence of Snape's beautiful voice, the sight of the hothouse blooms and the wide expanses of marble... but most of all, it was the touch of skilled hands that stimulated her every sense. Why had she never asked anyone to massage her scalp? Snape's fingers worked through her hair, just hard enough, while Malfoy soaped her arms, her back, then lightly washed her breasts and swept the sponge lower, skimming her hips and abdomen. She was trembling by the time they had finished.

"And now," Malfoy asked, "what is your desire?" He was teasing her, refraining from touching the sponge to her inner thighs.

"Wash each other," she said rather breathlessly to his obvious amusement.

"My dear, you really are a little voyeur."

"You can talk," Snape told him, already pouring shampoo into his hand and reaching for Malfoy's hair.

Malfoy accepted someone else tending him as an indisputable right, while it was obvious that Snape was as self-sufficient as Hermione. Slowly, however, the warmth and the sensual nature of the activity worked their magic, and Snape relaxed, bowing his head as Hermione washed his hair and Malfoy massaged his friend's shoulders and back. Malfoy met Hermione's gaze as she cupped water to rinse Snape's hair, and his grey eyes warmed with approval. Hermione nodded in return. She neither sought nor needed his consent for anything, but he would be a vicious and unpredictable enemy, and for Snape's sake, she preferred that they maintain their current truce.

Malfoy ducked, allowing water from her hands to trickle across his face as he angled in below Snape's jaw, and drew his tongue across the raised knots of scar tissue on his throat. Snape shuddered and clutched at his friend's shoulders. Hermione kissed Snape's lips. They were warm and wet and hungry.

"Now," Malfoy said, "shall we retire to my bedroom ?"