Entropy

A/N: Huge thanks are due to my wonderful betas, Lariope and lulabelle72. Their help and insights have been invaluable. Thanks so much my dear friends!

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter

Snape had been sitting at the small table furthest to the back of the room in the Anvil Tavern since late afternoon. He was cradling his empty glass when Verla, the owner, reappeared to pour him another Firewhisky, purposely brushing her large bosom against his right forearm. "This one is on the house," she whispered seductively into his ear, "but it's the last one. Wouldn't want you to lose your capacity to... get home." The invitation was unmistakable.

Severus ignored the slight stirring in his groin. He was drunk, that was all. Certainly, it would be nice to have Verla relieve him instead of his left fist for a change, but now that he knew she had a husband, he had no desire to get involved in any kind of confrontation. He was trying to keep a low profile, and frankly, if someone could not afford to have his nose broken, it was he.

Perhaps now would be a good time to retire for the evening. More wizards were starting to enter the Tavern, indicating that the Remembrance Day reception at Hogwarts was probably drawing to a close. Severus got up from his chair, his graceful swiftness not betraying the amount of liquor he had consumed. This was another thing he had inherited from his bastard of a father, the ability to be pissed drunk without appearing to be so physically.

But perhaps this was no longer true, for it seemed his eyes had been affected by the alcohol after all. With great dismay, Snape observed his former student, Miss Granger, enter the Anvil Tavern and quickly make her way to the loo. He pulled his scrawny chair out and sat down again, this time more slowly, and waited to see if it was indeed Granger he had seen.

Was it possible that she had followed him here on Minerva's order? His instinct told him no. Her eyes would have scanned the interior of the pub instead of keeping her head low. And why would she have waited so long to follow him and nag him about the ceremony?

Could this really be a coincidence?

Finally, even though he was sitting quite far away, he was able to correctly identify the young witch as Hermione Granger, when he saw her emerge from the ladies' facilities and trip over a small step on the way to the bar.

The irony of the situation was not lost on Severus. He had avoided going to the ceremony to escape from the likes of Potter and company, and typical of his luck, there was Potter's best friend. Which probably meant the other members of the Holy Trinity were sure to follow shortly.

From his seat in the far corner, Snape continued to observe Miss Granger, Mercury, carefully. She had obviously been crying, though her face was back to its usual pink. She appeared to be struggling with her emotions as she ordered a drink and tried to smile tightly, and her body language indicated that she was, without a doubt, intoxicated.

Almost against his will, he wondered what had her so upset and why she was by herself. He weighed the pros and cons of making his presence known to her.

Perhaps he should just Disapparate back to Treacle cottage and call it a night. He had no desire to have to explain his absence from the ceremony to her.

But wizards were already ogling her as if she were a solitary mouse in a roomful of cats.

She is not my problem.

But a nagging sense of duty overruled.

He would just get rid of her. Tell her to go somewhere safer while he continued his drinking in peace.

With a single determined motion, he left his chair and made his way around the corner to where the young witch sat, oblivious to the stares directed her way.

Snape approached the bar and stood still behind her for a moment. He was once again tempted to just disappear, but he decided that Miss Granger was in fact quite drunk when he overhead her tell an incredulous Verla, "You're much too good to be hanging around this dump."

***

Hermione had already decided that after this glass of elf-made wine, she would go back to her parents' place. They weren't expecting her, but she had no desire to go back to Grimmauld Place after what had happened earlier in the day. She reached inside her dress robes to find the velvety black pouch that contained her Galleons. Her fingers grabbed a few blindly, and she pulled them out to give them to Verla, who was still looking bewildered at the career suggestions Hermione had tried to propose to her. It was then that she felt the presence of someone with potent magic behind her, tickling the back of her neck.

"Miss Granger," breathed the someone, close to her ear, "how much have you had to drink?"

She jumped slightly off the barstool. She knew that voice very well, but in that moment, could not comprehend why it made a shiver crawl up her back and settle in the roots of her hair.

"Professor Shnape!" she exclaimed, trying hard not to slur. "What are you doing here?"

But before waiting for a reply, her mouth ran away with her, spewing all the questions that darted drunkenly through her mind.

"Are you alright, sir? You missed the Ceremony this afternoon, and we waited for you, you know! Professor McGonagall said you would be back for it, and she was worried about you. Where did you go? Oh, Professor, it was awfully selfish of you to skip out on the ceremonies. You should be grateful to be alive after so many have died, and I think..."

"Must you always be so long winded?" interrupted Snape, clearly annoyed.

He wondered why her nagging had not figured more prominently in his list of cons.

"Miss Granger, despite the fact that you are obviously intoxicated, I hope your synapses are still able to connect for you to receive this message." He paused, as if in fact allowing enough time for said connections to occur, and then added rudely, "I want to be left alone. Now kindly choose a more appropriate venue for your theatrics."

Hermione stared at her former professor as if somehow the red wine had given her eyes the permission to do so openly, if blurrily.

She was conscious of his narrow black eyes, his high... or make that gaunt... cheekbones, and his prominent nose. His black hair was curtaining his face out of sheer habit, and the glare he was giving her couldn't be called friendly. Is there such a thing as a friendly glare? she thought drunkenly.

"Must you always be so antagonistic?" she finally replied.

Snape ignored her tit for tat. He was not about to justify his lack of manners when it was partly Wonder Witch's fault that he was still around to blurt out insults at her. Did she believe that changed anything?

"Even though Voldemort is no longer a threat, Miss Granger, it is still not prudent for someone like yourself to be in such an establishment, especially as inebriated as you are."

.

"You're worried about my welfare!" concluded Hermione happily. Perhaps Professor Snape was starting to erupt from his cocoon of apathy.

I am more worried about your sanity, "Mercury" Granger.

Should he bring up the whole embarrassing Mercury correspondence? Is that what she was getting at? No, better leave this unsaid. Hadn't he been purposely avoiding discussing her research? He could not risk having her recite her entire damn premise behind her thesis, a positively sure-fire way to kill any peace he might have this evening, not to mention that it would be like throwing a bucket of ice water on any lusty thoughts he might have later while safely in bed.

He switched to a new tack to evict her.

"Should you not be at the ceremony, too?" replied Snape.

"At least I made an appearance despite not wanting to be there either! And my reasons were not selfish for skipping out... they were personal!"

"Isn't 'personal' just a prettier word for 'selfish,' Miss Granger?" remarked Snape and then added, "Why are you not with your beau?"

"What is this? The High Inquisition?" replied Hermione, suddenly defensive, the red wine sending her on an emotional roller coaster. "He's with Cho Chag... er... I mean Chang."

"Ah! The personal reason for skipping out!" declared Snape pointedly. "I would have pegged Mr. Weasley too wimpy to cheat on you."

"He did not cheat on me! He was just talking to her... about me, mind you..." explained Hermione as her voice croaked slightly.

She felt the lump in her heart make its way back to her throat. She swallowed twice, but to no avail. The lump was determined to express itself as a pool of tears. Before her eyes had a chance to completely fill up and spill, Hermione hid her face with her hands and noticed her nose was runny as well.

"Miss Granger, what exactly are you doing here?" asked Snape impatiently.

He was not about to play relationship counselor with Granger. What advice could someone such as he possibly offer? 'If the love of your life does not want you, have them murdered?'

Of course, only when under the influence of alcohol could he let himself even think about his part in Lily's death so bluntly and crudely. Yes, he was in fact as intoxicated as the little war hero, who was failing to discreetly wipe her red nose with her sleeve. He was just better at hiding it.

Miss Granger was talking again. Something about Viktor Krum and Quidditch and plans to meet up here. After the War, Snape had become adept at only listening to half of what anyone said as a prophylaxis to severe migraine. Perhaps he should make that a third with this particular witch. He had no desire to handle her little crisis.

He was not surprised, no, not at all surprised, when he saw through the side window Potter's posse in the alley at a distance, undoubtedly searching for this Tavern.

He looked down at the young witch whose head was now buried between her folded arms, resting on the peeling bar counter. This was the perfect way to finally get rid of her. He bent down low to advise her that she could go meet her friends outside, "Miss Granger, your friends..."

Her head jerked up brusquely as she took a quarter glance towards the entrance. Oh shit! Ron and company were about to enter the Anvil and find her pitifully crying in her drink. Hadn't she been the one to break up with him? What if Cho was with them?

Without thinking about her actions, she yanked Snape by the front of his robes, forcing him down to her level. Her right arm wrapped itself around his neck as she slurred, too loudly considering their proximity, "Let's shee if you've kept your acting skills, Professor Snape." She then reached up to kiss him, her left arm linking with the right behind his neck

His lips were thin and cool and tasted like a strong, odorous liquor, sweet but with a distinct, lingering ethanol after taste. The unexpected contact lasted a few seconds before she tried to nudge his lips apart with her tongue.

Professor Snape made absolutely no effort to respond to her kiss, with his lips sealed tightly for the duration. She tried again to probe his mouth open as she stood up awkwardly and pressed the entire length of her body against his. She had a chance to breathe the scent of something alkaline, like harsh cleaning fluid, and it did not surprise her that Professor Snape smelled a little bitter.

Then she felt his hands grabbing her shoulders, trying to force her away. But she clung to him, fervent and desperate, knowing she would die of humiliation if he remained impassive in front of her friends. Why couldn't he just pretend? Surely kissing her was easier than trying to fool Voldemort?

***

In that split second that she took him by surprise, Snape did use all of his acting skills to remain indifferent. Bloody melted cauldron! Yes, his senses had been affected by the tipsy Miss Granger. But, no, he did not want to kiss the little twit. Truth be told, he did not like kissing very much. He had never learned to appreciate the intimate coupling of the tongues, and he certainly would never do so in public like some show off teenage Quidditch player.

However, his body had risen to the challenge, so to speak. To have her young, strong body applying such fervent pressure on the fabric of his robes had made him feel alive and yearn for more, much more. Pathetic. Was he so desperate for physical contact that even the slightest friction of his own robes against his own skin felt heavenly?

He peered down into her eyes and recognized a mixture of determination, confusion, hurt and apology, all expressing a solo dance on her features one by one.

He finally pushed her away with both hands on her shoulders, thumbs anchored on her collarbones as he whispered soft as iron, "I will not be involved in your childish games."

"Professor, please, don't go!"

Luna was the first to speak when her small group of friends reached the unlikely pair.

"Hello, Professor Snape," said the blond haired witch respectfully before turning towards her friend and adding, "Hermione, we were looking for you... Did you just try to kiss Professor Snape to make Ron jealous?"

Hermione blushed furiously, ignoring Luna's statement. She was tempted to either laugh hysterically or to Apparate back into her mother's womb to have a go at another forty weeks of gestation just to get away from everyone for nine months.

Snape was standing next to her, arms folded and scowling darkly at the search party wondering why in Merlin's name he had not immediately left the premises when he had seen Granger.

And now Potter was staring at him as if he was about to go to confession.

Harry's gaze was fixed on Snape intently, and everyone in the vicinity had grown quiet.

"Sir. You missed the Ceremony."

Hermione knew by the sudden silence that everyone was waiting for Snape to comment viciously on Harry's understatement.

It spoke volumes of the shift in their relationship when Snape simply answered:

"Yes, Potter, I missed the Ceremony."

Hermione expected to see a pig come flying by any second. She had kissed Professor Snape, and he was being cordial to Harry.

All eyes veered back to Hermione when she let a tiny laugh escape. Her dear friends were now staring at her with puzzlement written all over their faces. She suddenly felt very lightheaded and had a strong urge to just bow out of the entire situation.

If this was Victorian England, I could just gracefully faint at this point.

Ron finally unfroze and walked over to her. "Hermione, you're really weirding me out. Let me take you home, okay?"

"No, Ron, I'm fine, really!" said Hermione, probably too cheerfully. "Professor Snape and I were just about to discuss my research on Mercury. Remember? I told you he might have some stuff to share with me."

Her friends still looked skeptical. "Listen you guys, thanks so much for coming to look for me and making sure I was alright, but really, I'm fine here with him." Hermione said, conscious of the fact that Snape was looking at her as if she was the wrong ingredient in one of his potions.

"But is he fine with her?" she heard Luna whisper to Ginny with a Mona Lisa smile on her face.

Hermione grabbed Ron's hand and said softly, "It's okay, just go! We're going to stay friends, don't worry."

And as soon as she said it, she knew it to be absolutely true. Ron might have never been right for her, and she had never been right for him, but their friendship would stand.

Finally, Ginny made the decision for all of them and gave Hermione a quick hug and said, "See you tomorrow for brunch at the Burrow."

She watched as her friends left the tavern and Disapparated back to Grimmauld Place. She finally faced Snape, who wore a look she couldn't quite read.

"Well, Miss Granger, you are as subtle as an Unforgivable," he said, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm so, so sorry Professor Snape," mumbled a beet-red Hermione. "I guess I didn't want Ron to know--." She couldn't finish her sentence, and once more, her eyes filled with humiliated tears.

"Miss Granger, you have not failed an exam. Please, get a hold of yourself," said Snape, apprehensive of a complete teenage girl meltdown. He had always somehow managed to avoid any of those as head of Slytherin.

She reached inside her dress cloak to look for some Galleons, forgetting she had already paid for her carafe of wine.

"I'll...I'll be going now. I know that's what you wanted," Hermione said as she pulled herself together, and then added as an after thought, "I should not have used you like that; I'm very sorry, sir."

He watched her carefully make her way back to the facilities. With every step she took, strands of her shoulder length brown hair slipped out of her loose chignon. The last thing he saw before she disappeared was her hand reaching back impatiently to yank the hairclip off, freeing the disobedient curls.

The Firewhisky in him gave him a strong urge to pull her back to him, sink both hands in those curls, and give her permission to use him.

He recalled her silky pink tongue as it tried to pry his lips apart, and how she had felt when ... Merlin, it wasn't her. It could have been any other witch and his reaction would have been the same. It had been too damn long, and really all he wanted was to--

NOW would be a good time to leave--

Perhaps at some point he would eventually listen to himself.

***

Feeling even more horrible than when she had entered the Anvil, Hermione made a beeline to the witches' facilities for the second time that evening. Wasn't it where she always ended up when she was upset? She half expected Moaning Myrtle to stick her head out of the toilet bowl and ask her what was wrong this time.

Good God! Had she really, truly kissed Professor Snape...open mouth, tongue and all...?

And it's not as if she had even succeeded in making Ron jealous. He almost looked relieved to see her with someone else. For sure, it was Harry whom she had managed to make jealous. He had been trying to meet with Snape for a year to find out more details about his mom, but his requests were always denied. His list of questions to ask him was longer than her last Transfiguration essay.

She cast a cleaning spell on the toilet seat and sat there for a while, staring at the strange orange paisley wallpaper on the ceiling.

But honestly, what had she been thinking of kissing Snape?

Shite!

She had not even been able to get a reaction out of him and had had to beg him not to make her look like a complete idiot.

Would he still be there when she came out? Did he really think she wanted him to share his research? Gosh, she hoped not! She had read his essay on mercury toxicity and it was the complete opposite of her own hypothesis. She really didn't want to antagonize him further by pointing out to him how outdated his line of thinking was.

So, what next?

Had she ever found out what he was doing in this Tavern? Was he meeting someone as well? Professor Snape with friends was hard to imagine, and that thought made her feel very sorry for him. How much had he had to drink? Was he feeling suicidal just as Minerva McGonagall had feared this afternoon? She had been so worried when he had missed the Ceremony.

She had made such a fool of herself, and she didn't really feel like going back out there to face him again.

But a nagging sense of duty overruled.

***

When Hermione exited the bathroom, she found Professor Snape sitting on her stool, waiting for her.

She remembered the small step this time as she reluctantly made her way towards him. She felt her face burning red again; maybe he had already forgotten the kiss?

"I believe you wanted to talk... 'Mercury?'" he said as he stood up and put a hand on her back to guide her in the direction of his abandoned table.

Hermione would have preferred that the invitation not sound quite so much like an order but she followed him regardless.

The small, rectangular wooden table was tucked away into a corner beside an oval window where the nighttime sky had taken over the bright blue of the afternoon.

She let herself fall into a chair at a right angle to Snape's, so that their elbows almost touched on the surface of the table. She counted twenty-four shiny black buttons on his sleeve, starting from his wrist to his elbow. 'Two dozen buttons,' thought Hermione distractedly, confirming that she was, in fact, not sobering up at all.

"You will be ordering water now, I imagine?" asked Snape as if reading her thoughts. Verla was standing next to him, waiting to take their order.

"Actually, I would like a Veela Vodka," said Hermione, her nose feeling hot. She was always a bit contrary when drunk.

"How... trendy," muttered Snape.

While they waited for their drinks, Snape decided they might as well get the Mercury business out of the way immediately.

"Did you really believe I would not figure out what this whole 'Mercury' identification mystery was all about?"

Hermione looked puzzled. That was a strange way to summarize her research.

"Professor, I'm not worried about identifying mercury," she answered, slightly confused. "I know you can easily identify mercury, I'm just interested in your thoughts on whether it's possible to transfigure it into something better, less toxic."

"Less annoying, you mean. What kind of riddle game are you playing, Miss Granger?"

"Why is it so difficult for you to admit that it's a good idea? Surely you've read my reasoning?"

"You have very naïve expectations. Everything about your research and your notes is quite childish. Did McGonagall put you up to this?"

"No...she had suggested transfiguring heavy metals after they were in their toxic form. It was my very own idea to transfigure them before they did any damage. You know, make mercury less volatile!"

"Perhaps you should try for less impulsive next time!"

"Sir... it's late, and you've lost me. Do you think it would be possible to meet with me and discuss it at a later point?"

"I suppose tomorrow at 13h00 in the library is a convenient time for you?"

"Yes... Actually, that could work! I don't go back to Paris until Sunday afternoon."

"What a surprise."

There was an uncomfortable moment when their eyes briefly locked before returning to gaze at their respective laps, and before Hermione could decide exactly what to do next, Verla returned with their drinks.

***

Irma laid back on her bed, arms crossed behind her head while her legs dangled to the floor. She had watched the colour of the sky change from blue, to pink , to a fiery orange through her window. The reception was over, and she could hear attendees departing from far, their voices echoing softly.

Where was Severus Snape? What was he doing? Was he safe?

In hindsight, it should not have been a surprise that her darling hero had not attended the ceremony. He was so modest that he wouldn't appreciate all the attention centered on him. But that didn't help her situation! When would she see him next?

How could she salvage things at this point?

Irma got up from her bed, flattening the covers with a firm hand, and walked to her large desk with a determined step. There, she perused the reading material at her disposal: all dealing with romantic matchmaking.

What did she have to lose really?

What is the worst that can happen? she thought.

Short of going back to school herself to become a Potions Apprentice (and don't think she had not contemplated that option fourteen years ago) there was not much that she could do to see him more often.

Romantic matchmaking?!

Hadn't Professor Dumbledore once said all the world's problems could be solved with love?

She grabbed the first book, an outdated edition of Matchmaking for Dunderheads, and began reading through the first few pages while still standing up. When her eyes reached the checklist for compatibility, she sat down briskly at her desk.

Why not complete it and see how farfetched this idea was?

Irma read the instructions carefully three times: Complete this checklist keeping in mind the two individuals you would like to see together. Use a checkmark to indicate an affirmation and an x to negate.

Irma raised her wand and copied the checklist onto a blank piece of parchment (it annoyed her when people saw checklists as an opportunity to write in a book).

She chose emerald green ink (the colour of hope) and began inscribing her answers on the parchment.

Is the male candidate:

Looking for a commitment or vow

Her quill hung mid-air as her eyes scanned the checklist. Oh! This is ridiculous!

She put her hand over her mouth, fighting the urge to laugh. According to this checklist, Severus Snape was the least likely male candidate to ever find a successful match.

What was I thinking?

Of course her beloved could never be set up romantically!

She closed her eyes briefly and tried to imagine Severus Snape in a romantic situation with Hermione Granger. Perhaps holding hands? Her giggles grew. This was as unlikely as Snape ever holding her hand again.

She threw the parchment in the rubbish bin with surprisingly good aim and went back to her desk. She picked up his note from this afternoon's correspondence and reread the words.

No, you shall not.

Three fat tear drops splattered on the parchment, and she hurried to wipe them off before they smudged his handwriting.

She should probably compose another missive in case he changed his mind and showed up. She couldn't take the risk (even though it was minuscule) of him wanting to meet Granger and her not showing up. She needed to fabricate a better plan before she saw him next.

The new plan would have to wait until tomorrow. The note she could write now and send with her owl in the morning. She wrote quickly so she would not waste the green ink from her quill that had not been used on the checklist.

Dear Professor Snape,

Mercury

When Irma finished putting on her long lilac nightgown and matching hairnet, she went back to her small single bed and blew out the candle on her bedside table. Overall, it had been a very disappointing day. She had not seen Severus, and romantic matchmaking had been a waste of her time. Goodness, she couldn't even imagine them ever developing any kind of chemistry that would even lead to hand holding. But as she drifted off to sleep, soft images of Severus's hands danced in her head.

***

There was a lengthy silence while they sipped their drinks uncomfortably. The byproducts of fermentation...a rather different sort of magic than either one was used to...coursed through their bloodstream, rendering them able to do things they would have been unable to do otherwise.

She stared openly again at the man who had protected them, all the while belittling them, throughout their formative years at Hogwarts. He was not an attractive man, but Hermione was well aware of the fascination that the post-war Severus Snape held for the witches of the Wizarding World. She had heard countless times of how "oh, so romantic" he was, and how brilliant he had been to have duped You- Know-Who for so long. Even her thesis advisor, Monique LaRochelle, who lived in France, was fascinated with him.

With each sip of her drink, Hermione could in fact acknowledge that the man she had always known as her professor emitted a certain magnetism. His incredibly soft voice, narrow black eyes, and the constant cynicism behind them certainly gave him a mysterious air that made one wonder what it was he was so determined to keep hidden. She had the distinct impression that there were two men in that body, two distinct personalities – and not just because she was seeing double.

Severus was doing some examining of his own. For some unknown reason, his mind was completely focused on Miss Granger's hands. He had never noticed them before, even in his Potions class, he was sure. They were small and pink and both her hands bore small permanent white scars, reminding him of her diligent efforts during the war. Her nails were also pink, free of polish, with a translucent white quarter moon at the base. Her left hand was resting casually on the top of the table while her right one was holding the Veela Vodka bottle loosely. He unconsciously found himself wishing that her grasp on the bottle was firmer; that all of her fingers were wrapped around the circumference of the bottle and that her thumb –

Pathetic pervert.

His breath left his lungs and a pervasive tingly pressure exerted a pleasant force over his groin area when she lifted the bottle up to her lips to take a long sip.

That hand would feel so good, so damn good.

It seemed to him that the wooden chair he was sitting on was throbbing between his legs.

Could that hand detect which stroke speed he liked best? Would the fingers and thumb massage his balls in the soft, rolling manner he preferred?

He brusquely made himself put a stop to these thoughts and reminded himself that, unfortunately, that hand was firmly attached to the wrist, arm and body of Miss Granger.

Desperate fool!

He tried to think of other, more appropriate contexts for her hand. She had certainly done some powerful magic with it the previous year. Wasn't it that same hand that had conjured a flask to contain his memories last year?

That thought should do the trick to cool his libido.

***

Hermione noticed that Professor Snape was rudely staring at the small greyish metal stain on the index finger of her right hand. She hadn't been able to find a solvent strong enough to remove it and had concluded that no one would even notice. Go figure!

Should they talk about something else now? She took a long sip from her drink, unsure of what to say to him. She felt his gaze follow her movement, and when their eyes met, her breath ricocheted inside her lungs.

Why is he looking at me that way?

His face displayed such an intense expression that it reminded her of how passionately he had looked at Lily in the Pensieve. It was sensual and scary at the same time. No one had ever looked at her this way before--no one! She was suddenly very much aware of her own body and its movements. But then his expression changed, and once more she was sitting next to her surly and morose professor. Hermione made herself believe she had imagined the whole thing.

But still... What would it be like to witness Professor Snape completely losing his inhibitions?

Hermione, don't be stupid!

But Snape hadn't been staring at her stain at all, had he?

Again their eyes caught, and her senses became very aware of his presence.

His silence was making her nervous. She wasn't used to being this quiet for so long, and she was getting quite fidgety with the whole awkwardness of the situation. The truth was, she just didn't feel like herself tonight.

Perhaps I should just go.

She reached for her bottle, deciding to chug the rest of her drink in one shot before leaving.

Oooops!

She had underestimated the amount of vodka left in the bottle and had to let the liquid fill her cheeks to prevent it from leaking out the corners of her mouth. She'd feel terrible if poor Verla had to clean up her mess, and this Tavern was filthy enough without her adding to the mess. She swallowed the content swirling in her cheeks in two big gulps, making a very unladylike sound.

Looking like he was challenging the speed of light to a race, Snape got up from his chair and pivoted towards the back exit of the Tavern. She thought she heard him mumble something like: "Do not follow me."

Hermione started from her seat, banging her knee on the table and making the empty bottle of Veela Vodka rattle precariously on the surface. She found herself heading toward the same exit as Snape without having consciously made the decision to follow him. She saw the heavy back door swing open as he neared it, and she was impressed he had managed to do so wandlessly in such a noisy and distracting environment. She had just enough time to squeeze through the opening behind him before the door slowly closed behind them.