Dirty Rita

Of the remarkably idiotic things Hermione had done in her life, she felt that this one ranked right up with Confunding Cormac McLaggen and marrying Ron. It was one thing to go to Severus for a bit of comforting, explained in a suitably logical and straightforward way, but it was another to pounce on him and kiss him soundly. No wonder he had fled; he was probably in shock.

And she might have lost a friend, partner, and potential lover. She groaned and allowed herself to stagger to the couch and collapse with her head in her hands. Hermione Granger: Know-it-all, entrepreneur, and fuckup extraordinaire.

Perhaps a carefully worded note of apology in the morning would mollify the prickly man--enough to keep her in his good graces, anyway, should she find herself in need again.

At least she had the spell. Now all she had to do was figure out a way to use it to implicate Flourish. That would require planning, and planning was a wonderful thing she could throw herself into at the moment, burying her emotions in charts and schedules and reams of notes. Almost feverishly, she jumped from the couch and grabbed quill, ink, and parchment, seating herself at the kitchen table with her arsenal.

Automatically, she unscrewed the cap to the ink bottle and unrolled a piece of parchment, using the salt and pepper shakers to keep it from rolling back up. Thusly prepared, she sat and stared at the wall, turning over her potential problems in her mind.

She already knew how she would implement the spell: during the cleanup of her shop, she had prevented Dobby from magically repairing scorch marks and sharp gouges on the shelves, as it was likely that they were made magically. Additionally, she could try to sift through her wards and find any residual magic from whoever had broken them.

Of course, there was the very real issue that Flourish was not a complete idiot; it was quite likely that he had hired someone to break into her shop, in which case the spell might deliver to her a very dangerous hired thug from whom evidence needed to be obtained.

And there was also the slim chance that it had been an independent agent who was not associated with Flourish at all, but was instead attacking what they saw as a purveyor of Dark materials. Possibly even an Auror, using his or her training to fulfill a personal vendetta. In which case, Flourish would be able to continue his war against her with relatively clean hands.

She listed each possible scenario on a separate piece of parchment and then began outlining the various courses of action she could take for each one. As she worked, she began to relax; this was one of the things that could relax her: just figuring out a problem, step by step, ensuring all possible loopholes were closed.

Hours later, she was starting to nod off, but she had three distinct plans outlined and so felt that she could go to bed. A huge yawn hit her as she was rolling up her parchment, and it occurred to her that she had not slept well for weeks...ever since she and Severus started experimenting with the spell. Maybe now she could get some rest, though her emotions had started roiling the moment she thought of the saturnine man.

A nice note in the morning. That should set things right, or at least, right enough. Satisfied for the time being, she undressed, fell into bed, and fell asleep in record time.

It felt like he had just fallen asleep when the sun's light hit his face and woke Severus up, but he knew that wasn't true; looking at the clock, he determined that he had gone to sleep a whole three hours ago. He groaned, seriously considering the option of closing the blinds and staying in bed to catch up on sleep, which was in no way a tactic to avoid seeing Hermione. Absolutely not.

Slytherins can generally lie to everyone except themselves. Muttering about irritating women who lived to make his nights sleepless, Severus levered himself out of bed. He just stood there for a minute, staring blearily out the window as he rubbed grit out of his eyes. It wasn't much of a view: the peeling grey wall of the house next to Spinner's End, with scrubby weeds populating the narrow strip of land between the two buildings, bisected by a chain-link fence on the brink of collapsing into a rusty heap.

Home, sweet home. He sneered at the pathetic panorama and turned to make his way to the bathroom. If he ever brought Hermione here, he would be sure to close the blinds. And maybe plant some fast-growing hedges.

If. All things considered, it wasn't really much of an 'if'. She fancied him, he fancied her, so what was the problem?

He was the problem. Standing under the hot water in the shower, Severus leaned against the tiles and considered the situation. Despite having had a quite a few short-lived lovers, one-night-stands, and drunken escapades, Severus had never really had what one might call a romantic relationship. At school, there had been Lily; after school, there had been his work as a Death Eater, followed by years of teaching and spying, and now freedom. No woman had made him want anything other than sex, except for Lily. Quite frankly, he was damned sure that he would be a terrible... no, not "boyfriend;" he refused to use that puerile term... "romantic partner." That would do.

Hermione had been hurt once already; she didn't need him making her problems worse.

But at the same time, he thought as he reached for the soap, it wasn't as though she wasn't prepared to deal with him, surly attitude and all. She knew perfectly well what she would be getting into, and she was more than mature enough to decide for herself what was good for her.

There. Problem solved. He was willing to try, and if it went pear-shaped, she had been warned.

That thought buoyed him out of the shower, into a shirt and trousers, and into the kitchen, where two owls were tapping at the window. One of them, a tawny barn owl, was carrying the Daily Prophet; the other, a small brown one, held a small note clamped in its beak. With a flick of his wand, the window opened and they soared in. Severus took the note and paid for the paper, which he tossed to the table in favor of the former. Turning it over, he saw his name written in small, neat handwriting that he had come to know very well recently.

Carefully, he broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out the small piece of paper inside.

Severus,

Article? Severus thought, placing the note down and reaching for the paper.

One glance at the front page had him dropping it to the table, Summoning shoes and socks, and Apparating to Diagon Alley as fast as possible.

He arrived down the street from her shop; fortunately, it was too early for the usual crowds to have gathered in the narrow alley, so he was able to get to the little shack very quickly. The worn sign on the door was turned to "Closed," but he was not easily dissuaded. Cautiously, he pulled out his wand and tested the wards on the shop: the security wards were up in full, and he swore. Turning from the store, he glanced up and down the street, but saw only a few goblins outside of Gringotts and a plump witch sweeping the doorstep of the Apothecary.

"Goddammit, witch, where are you?" he muttered. She might be in her flat, but he was reluctant to go there; he needed relatively neutral ground for this conversation. Snarling to himself, he slipped around the corner into Knockturn Alley, finding a spot against a wall that would allow him to watch the entrance to Words, Words, Words. He knew she would show up eventually; all it would take on his part was a little patience. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the wall and began the strenuous activity of waiting.

Still a little puffy-eyed and congested from her morning's crying, Hermione arrived at her shop devoutly hoping that no one would be around. Bad enough that the article had been run, but she wanted no confrontations with the public, no questions or insults or accusations. A quick look up and down the street proved fate to be on her side that morning. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her wand to dismantle the wards.

"Hermione--"

A Stinging Hex was flying towards the direction of the voice before she even recognized whom it belonged to. Shaking with startlement and anger, she lowered the length of wood and watched as Severus straightened up from his duck.

"When will you learn not to bloody startle me?" she said shrilly.

He waved her irritation away with a brusque move of his hand. "Hermione, I need...I want to speak to you--"

She cut him off, turning back to the door and beginning to undo the wards, hoping that he wouldn't see the tears already starting to glisten in her eyes. "I'm sorry about the article, I really am. I understand how you must feel, and anything you wish to do in response is fine with me--"

"Hermione, will you kindly shut up for two seconds altogether?" He moved forward swiftly and grabbed her arm, pulling her around to face him, but she resolutely looked down. Two long fingers slid under her chin and pushed up, gently forcing her to raise her gaze to meet his.

"I do not give a flying fuck what Rita Skeeter says about you, me, or any combination thereof," he said softly, but with that peculiar intensity that he could infuse quiet words with.

She stared at him, hearing the words he spoke but not allowing herself to believe what it sounded like he was saying. His black eyes met hers, and there was a passionate honesty there that she had never seen before, and she was reminded that, behind the Slytherin tricks, the sarcasm, and the casual cruelty, there was an honorable core to Severus Snape, the same core that had brought him back to the side of good.

"Are you--?" she started, but they were interrupted by a nasal voice from behind them.

"So it's true, den? About you two?"

Hermione whirled around, yanking away from Severus, to find a pimply twenty-something girl standing behind her, holding a copy of the Prophet and pointing to the headline that read, Severus Snape: Taking What Ronald Weasley Left Behind. There was a picture of Severus and Hermione standing outside her shop, talking.

Automatically, Hermione began babbling denials. "No, of course it isn't. Severus has just been helping me with some work; the picture is totally out of context, and besides, Rita Skeeter writes lies about everybody," but again she was silenced by Severus, who put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a warning squeeze.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he murmured, and she turned back to look at him, as confused as she had ever been. He looked down at her for a moment, and something like amusement glimmered in his black eyes.

"I feel," he continued, "that as reasonably upstanding citizens, we have a moral obligation to ensure that what our newspaper publishes is the truth."

"But... but it's not true, Severus..."

"Then let's make it true."

And he pulled her close to him, raised a hand to cup her cheek, and kissed her with more fire and vigor than he had ever done so before. Dimly, she heard the girl gasp, but she was much too caught up in the fact that he had kissed her, not the other way around, and he was doing the most wonderful things with his tongue and lips. Hermione realized, a bit belatedly, that she wasn't helping her own cause, and she suddenly found herself wrapping her arms around him, tangling her fingers in his hair, and deepening the kiss as much as she could. Their tongues twined and rubbed, tasting and touching. She let out an involuntary whimper when he pulled away with a last nibble of her lower lip, though he remained ensconced in her arms.

"Does that answer your question, miss?" he said to the girl in his most deadly polite of tones.

"Er... yeah, I'll say it does."

"Good. You have three seconds to be somewhere else, or I will turn your nose inside out." There was a sound of scuffling feet, and he turned back to Hermione with a satisfied smirk.

"Shall we take this inside?" he asked, raking his eyes over her face, no doubt taking in the flush she could feel in her cheeks and the swollen plumpness of her lips. Hermione was about ready to melt into a puddle with bushy hair on top and, if the smirk was anything to go by, he was well aware of it. Breathlessly, she nodded and wrangled what was left of her functioning brain into pulling away from those strong, warm arms, and undoing the rest of the wards at top speed. Still a bit dazed, she opened the door and stepped inside, turning back to see him follow. He shut the door behind him and faced her again, brushing his hair out of his face with a long finger.

"I take it you have no objections, then?" he asked, as casually as if he had suggested a café for quick cup of coffee and not just kissed the living daylights out of her and declared them to be in a relationship to a total stranger.

Hermione chose not to give the obvious answer and instead said, "Severus, you knew all along how I felt; why didn't you say something sooner? Do something earlier? I mean, of course, I want this, you, but I'm confused."

"I did not realize my own desires until quite recently, I assure you." As she opened her mouth to ask him to elucidate, he held up a hand, silencing her. "Later, Hermione. I believe there is a spell that we have worked long and hard on that has yet to be utilized. I would very much like to see the fruits of our labor. And then," he continued, gliding forward to place one hand on her hip and the other on her cheek, "if it is successful, we can go back to your flat and... celebrate."

Only Snape's silky voice could make "celebrate" sound like "have a ten-hour orgy." Hermione gulped at the heat she saw in his black eyes, feeling her knickers get even wetter (they had been significantly dampened during the kissing session).

"S-sounds lovely. I'll just go and start the spell, shall I?" she managed. To her mingled disappointment and relief, he let her go without another word, and she moved away as quickly as her wobbly knees would allow. Only when she was around the corner of a bookshelf and out of sight did she slump against that wall and stare at the ceiling in a combination of lust, giddiness, and utter shock.