Kiss

Kiss

I want to be your fantasy

Maybe you could be mine

Hermione found something hilarious about the way that Harry and Ron broke their necks to Apparate to Spinner's End when they received her short note. The three of them spent the morning crawling over every inch of the basement, moving bookcases, lifting the rugs and searching beneath them – in short, inspecting the room and everything in it for hidden compartments or concealed storage spaces. In the end, they found nothing, as Hermione had assumed, and returned upstairs dusty and sweaty.

'At least you have his notes on antivenin,' Harry remarked while he helped her make sandwiches for lunch.

'Fat lot of good that does,' Hermione responded sullenly. 'It's too late to use them for anything.'

'Too bad we couldn't find his diary,' murmured Ron from the other side of the kitchen. 'Not that it would have been that interesting. "Today I taught a load of dunderheads, worked some evil for my Dark Lord, and went to bed alone as usual,"' he mocked.

'Ronald!' Hermione rounded on her friend, exasperation from their fruitless search bursting forth. 'The poor man is dead; don't ridicule him in his own house.' She slapped a cutting board down on the table in front of him and handed him a knife and a head of lettuce. 'Get chopping.'

'Sorry,' he muttered, slicing into the lettuce.

A tapping on the kitchen window drew Hermione's attention as she was spreading egg mayonnaise on the bread. Ron opened it and took the letter from the owl waiting there, feeding him a piece of lettuce as payment. It ruffled its feathers in pleasure and flew off again a moment later.

'It's from Teach,' Hermione said, tearing open the envelope. 'I completely forgot to tell him what I found out from Malfoy yesterday!'

'You saw Malfoy yesterday?' Ron echoed suspiciously. 'What for?'

Hermione explained, though not in great detail – her caution about what she was researching was growing daily – about her request for a book from the Malfoy library. Both Ron and Harry looked sceptical at this, but neither opted to object. She suspected they would reserve their indignation for later, when she wasn't present to hear it, and read the letter from her patron.

When she was finished, she looked up at her friends in confusion. 'He wants to meet with me today. In fact, he wants to have dinner.'

Ron laughed abruptly and punched her lightly on the shoulder. 'I think he fancies you.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I doubt that. He thinks I was in love with Professor Snape.'

Ron laughed again at this statement, but Harry eyed her doubtfully. 'You weren't, were you?' he asked.

'No,' she answered. 'Don't be silly.' Suddenly uncomfortable, she turned back to the mayonnaise and finished smoothing it across the slices of bread before her.

They ate in companionable silence for a while. Ron finished first, as always, and leaned back in his chair with a speculative gleam in his eye. 'Where is he taking you for dinner?' he wanted to know. ''Cause that'll be a dead giveaway whether he fancies you or not.'

Hermione blushed. 'Bentley's Oyster Bar.'

'Isn't that in Mayfair?' Harry asked. 'It's supposed to be quite nice.'

'More than quite nice,' she admitted. 'But he's rich. Of course he'll want to go someplace nice.'

'Oysters,' Ron commented. 'Aren't they supposed to be an aphrodisiac?'

'How do you know that?' Hermione asked suspiciously.

'One learns,' was all he said, grinning.

'If he wanted to give her an aphrodisiac, he wouldn't need to buy her oysters,' Harry pointed out. 'Ashwinder eggs, anybody?'

Hermione flushed to the roots of her hair this time and began to clear their plates away. 'Enough. I've got work to do this afternoon if I'm to have anything to show him tonight. I'll see you two later.'

'I'll bet it's not your work he wants to see,' Ron said cheekily, standing up and Apparating away as she lunged at him.

'Ignore him,' Harry said apologetically. 'You want help cleaning up?'

'No, thanks,' she said. 'You go on and enjoy your afternoon.'

He hugged her. 'Have a good time tonight.' A moment later, he was gone, leaving Hermione to stand in the kitchen and wonder just why, indeed, her patron wanted to take her to dinner. It wasn't an unwelcome invitation: she was a great lover of seafood and didn't get the chance to eat it nearly often enough. Not to mention, she thought as she set the dirty dishes to washing themselves, it's not often I have dinner with handsome, wealthy men. The evening was looking more appealing by the second.

***

Though she would rather have eaten Ashwinder eggs raw than admit it to anyone, Hermione spent a great deal longer than usual over her appearance that night. Witch's robes were out of the question – beyond the fact that she would be eating at a Muggle restaurant, she had not once seen Teach wear anything other than a well-tailored suit, and she half-wondered if maybe magical culture in the United States were a little less isolated, and less archaic, than the wizarding world in Britain. She chose instead to wear every woman's faithful stand-by, the black cocktail dress. Her version was not as clingy or revealing as some she had seen – most notably on Ginny Weasley – but it was well cut and, she thought, flattering to her figure.

Dressing herself was the easy part; doing her hair was another matter altogether. If there were charms for taming one's mane, she had never come across them, and she stared at her damp locks in the bathroom mirror for a long time, wishing she had been graced with straight, smooth hair. She would even have settled for glossy curls, but there was no getting around it: her hair would always be a bushy, frizzy mass. In the end, she opted for a bit of mousse and hoped it wouldn't rain while she was out.

A bit of mascara and some lip gloss, and she was ready. She gazed at herself critically for a moment, feeling a bit stupid. He's seen me in my oldest, rattiest robes, with my hair unbrushed and no make-up. This can only be an improvement. Resolutely, she picked up her handbag and gave her hair one last fluff before Apparating to a shady alleyway beside Piccadilly Station.

Teach, looking impossibly handsome and well-groomed, was waiting for her outside of the restaurant when she walked up and took her arm in a gentlemanly fashion to escort her inside. The maitre d' took their coats and led them to the oyster bar where they sat on stools and ordered drinks.

'I thought we'd have a little appetiser before the meal,' Teach said, glancing through the menu. 'Mediterranean or Atlantic? Steamed or Rockefeller?'

She stared at him for a moment before realising he was talking about the oysters. 'Oh... er, Atlantic. Steamed.'

The barman took their order and disappeared. They talked about the weather until he reappeared ten minutes later, carrying a bucket of freshly cooked oysters and two small bowls of melted butter. The barman began shucking, placing each liberated shellfish into a cut-glass dish on the bar in front of them.

'So, what did you find out from the Malfoy boy yesterday?' Teach asked, dipping a steaming oyster into his butter dish and eating it with every evidence of perfect enjoyment.

'They had the book – you were right,' she said. 'But his father lent it to somebody ages ago, and now it appears to have been lost.'

'Did he say whom it was lent it to?' Teach asked.

'No,' Hermione lied easily. 'But it doesn't matter. Malfoy said that everything in the book is wrong, anyway.'

'Oh,' Teach said, chewing thoughtfully. 'Still, it would have been a nice starting point.'

Hermione nodded noncommittally and continued eating. Privately, she decided that she would continue her search through Snape's things nevertheless – even if she didn't find the Ars Magica, she might come across something else of use to her. Her recent fascination with Snape had not abated, despite her experience of his most intimate memories; if anything, it had grown, and she was determined to satisfy it, one way or another.

'Any luck getting into your basement yet?' Teach asked suddenly.

She choked, catching the oyster she was eating with her teeth just before it flew out of her mouth. 'Not yet,' she lied again when she had got her breath back.

'Shame.'

***

By the end of the meal – Dover sole for Hermione, smoked salmon for Teach – they were both pleasantly inebriated. Teach had insisted on ordering a different wine for each course of the meal, including a dessert port that left Hermione feeling light-headed and reckless. When he ordered Irish coffee after their dessert plates had been cleared away, she groaned inwardly; she was still sober enough to realise that she would be suffering one hell of a hangover the next day.

With an effort, she returned her concentration to the conversation she and her patron had been having throughout the meal. 'I disagree,' he was saying, and for an uncomfortable minute she couldn't remember what he was disagreeing with.

Then he continued, 'There does need to be some kind of infrastructure. The transport networks are a perfect example. A well-regulated Floo network, like you have here, would drastically cut the number of accidents we have, as well as create difficulties for the criminal elements in society. We could catch so many more law-breakers if the magical government kept a record of the origin and destination of each Floo trip! We could do what the Muggles do, and restrict international travel to government-registered departure points, and require that everyone leaving the country present valid identifying documents...'

He rambled on and on, and Hermione fell into a sort of daydream, sipping her coffee. He really is gorgeous... It doesn't really matter what he's saying, it's just those lips... and those eyes. Lost in thought, she failed to notice when he stopped talking and leaned forward intently, brown eyes flashing.

'Penny for your thoughts,' he whispered.

She opened her mouth to respond automatically and caught sight of his eyes, which were focussed on her lips. In any other circumstance, she would have blushed, but the fact that she had been doing the same thing to him only a moment earlier was not lost on her. 'I'm sorry,' she said in a low voice. 'I didn't hear a word you were saying. I was... distracted.'

He smirked slightly and raised one eyebrow. 'Distracted by what?'

She looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes and gave a small smile, but didn't answer.

Teach settled back into his chair and ran his eyes over her appraisingly, gaze lingering over her cleavage for a moment, before standing up and offering his hand. 'Can I take you out for a nightcap?' he asked quietly.

Hermione rose to her feet slowly and deliberately and placed her hand in his. 'Why don't we have a drink at my house?' she asked, secretly amazed at her own, alcohol-fuelled boldness.

He nodded and led her from the restaurant's dining room back down the stairs to the bar. She waited by the entrance while he collected their coats, then followed him down the pavement to a deserted side street. The night was clear and crisp; the voices of partying Londoners carried from the direction of Piccadilly Circus. Teach pulled her further into the shadows, resting a burning hand on her waist, and draped her coat around her shoulders.

'Are you okay to Apparate?' he asked her.

'Yes,' she said, a little breathlessly, and leaned closer in toward him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she tilted her head up to meet his eyes. They stood that way for a long moment, during which she was hoping he would kiss her, but he did nothing. Finally, his brow began to furrow, and he said, 'Are you sure you're all right? I can Apparate us, if you want.'

'Oh!' she exclaimed, embarrassed. 'I was waiting... I mean, yes, I'm fine.' She tightened her grip on him and spun on the spot, squeezing them through space to materialise with a pop in the darkened kitchen of Spinner's End.

Then she finally got the kiss she had been expecting. He pulled her tightly against his body, so that she imagined she could feel the contour of every firm muscle of his chest through his linen suit, and his lips descended on hers. The heat was almost unbearable; Hermione deepened the kiss after only a few seconds and felt his hands slide up her back and into her hair, his fingers massaging the back of her head and neck. His mouth tasted deliciously of Bailey's.

He broke off after a little while, half-panting, and ran his hands through his hair. Hermione flicked her wand, and the lights came on; she saw his bright eyes and swollen lips and wondered if she looked the same way.

'About that drink...' he prompted, grinning at her.

'Of course,' she said and moved toward the cupboard, Summoning a pair of tumblers from the draining board.

'Do you mind if I use your bathroom while you do that?' Teach asked.

'Not at all,' she answered. She told him how to find the stairs and watched his retreating form a little greedily before turning her attention back to making their drinks. She extracted the bottle of Firewhisky from above the fridge and poured a couple of fingers into each glass, adding a splash of cold water from the pitcher she kept in the refrigerator and mixing it in slowly with a glass stirring rod.

Several minutes later, just as she was starting to grow impatient, she heard Teach's footsteps descending the stairs and gave the mixture in the glasses another little stir before picking them up and turning toward the kitchen door.

When Teach walked in, he was buttoning up his coat and wearing a rather embarrassed expression. She tried to hand him his drink, but he shrugged her off.

'What's the matter?' she asked, confused.

'I'm sorry, Miss Granger,' he said and shoved his hands uncomfortably into his pockets. He looked a little confused himself. 'I didn't realise you were attached, or I would never have presumed... For what it's worth, I had a lovely time with you tonight.'

'What in the world are you talking about?' she demanded, setting the drinks on the table with a thump.

He lifted his shoulders in a shrugging gesture that made her see red. 'Your boyfriend, upstairs. He didn't seem too pleased to see me.'

'My boyfriend?' she asked incredulously.

'Please convey my apologies to him,' Teach said awkwardly. 'Have a good night, Miss Granger.' He twisted in place and disappeared.

Hermione stood in the kitchen, fists clenched, until suddenly she understood what he must have seen. Lifting her head, she shouted impotently at the ceiling, 'Thanks a lot, Snape!' Her voice dropped to a sarcastic mutter as she picked up the tumblers from the table and dumped their contents into the sink. 'Thank you so very fucking much.'

***

'Miss Granger! Pay attention!'

And then she was in the hands of her dream-lover again, the Potions classroom dissolving around her into a fog of physical bliss.

***

When Hermione awoke the next morning, she remembered the dream vividly and had the distinct impression that her subconscious had been frantically trying to reveal something to her, but what that was, she had no idea, nor what it might have to do with the Floo network, except that Teach had been talking about it at dinner that night. She was not nearly so mystified by the second part of the dream, however; in fact, she had a pretty good idea what had happened, and through the haze of her hangover, she managed to jot down a note on a scrap of parchment from her bedside table:

Item: What, exactly, is a ghost?

Item: Can ghosts communicate through dreams?