Tell Old Man Worry To Go Climb a Tree

A/N - Okay, so real life and the holidays caught me with my pants down, and this chapter took longer than I wanted. I'm sorry. I hope you'll all forgive me. Also, I hope all my Christian friends had a lovely Christmas, my Jewish friends had a very happy Hanukkah, and my Wiccan friends had a very Blessed Yule. And to all of you who fit in none of those categories, I hope you're keep safe and happy this winter. I should have the next chapter out ASAP.

Enjoy!

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

Chapter Seven – Tell Old Man Worry To Go Climb A Tree

Hermione strode to and fro across her bedroom, pacing like a caged lioness and tapping the butt of her wand nervously on the heel of her off hand. When she heard a sudden burst of noise from the main room downstairs, then a muffled clattering of high heels on her hardwood floors, Hermione doubled the speed of her wand tapping, and her pacing changed to anxious shifting from foot to foot in front of her wardrobes.

Ginny’s voice drifted up the open stairwell from the sitting room. “Hermione?”

“Up here,” she called back, staring into her wardrobe with a frown.

The redhead lightly ascended the stairs and walked down the corridor swiftly, her face pinched with anxiety as she poked her head around the doorjamb.

“What is it, love? What’s the emergency?”

Ginny’s eyes took in the sight of Hermione practically dancing in front of her open closets in nothing but a white brassiere and vanilla half-slip, half her robes strewn across the normally tidy bed and pin-neat room.

“Uh oh,” she said, an ominous feeling settling in her chest. “You’ve got an important meeting?”

Somehow she knew that wasn’t it. Hermione had more business attire than she did casual wear and had never before shown any sort of indecision regarding picking out a suit or robes. The fact that she was gazing into the closet as if she were looking beyond the veil and gesturing with her wand so absently that it was emitting sparks she didn’t even notice didn’t bode well for either of them. Predictably, Hermione shook her head at Ginny’s question, but instead of answering, she began pacing again, helplessly looking from Ginny to the closet.

“An impromptu trial this evening?”

Working for the Office for the Regulation and Restriction of Magical Creatures meant that it wasn’t that far out of the ordinary that she was called in as an expert witness on evening hearings. Hermione gave another head shake, but this time she stopped and gaped at Ginny, working her mouth silently for a moment before she managed to croak out a response.

“I’m meeting Tobias tonight,” she said. Her voice cracked at the end, and when Ginny’s eyebrows arched in surprise, Hermione nearly burst into anxious tears. “I don’t know what to do, Gin! I want to meet him, I really do, but I’m absolutely terrified to show up.”

Hermione dropped to the edge of the bed facing her wardrobe and buried her curl-ridden head in cold, shaking hands. Ginny strode into the room purposefully, pulling off her cloak and draping it over the head of the bed. Gingerly, she sat herself next to Hermione and began running a hand in soothing circles across her back.

“So you decided to meet in person, then?” Ginny said quietly. Hermione nodded. “I thought you’d lost touch.”

Her voice came out muffled from underneath the cloud of curls separating them. “Once the whole insemination process began, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want him to think I could only talk about the potential baby, but I couldn’t really force myself to go on as if nothing had happened.” Ginny nodded sympathetically, but stayed quiet as Hermione sniffled and regrouped.

“The first two rounds of insemination didn’t work, and I was just so worked up about it that I wrote a huge letter about Ron and the divorce and how I’ve started to want to … well, to have his child, not just a child. I told him all the feelings I’d been having lately and … well, I said a lot, you know, and—”

“Did the letter say that you’re in love with him?”

“Almost but no,” Hermione said hurriedly, a desperate quality to her voice. “I didn’t think it was the right time to—” She screeched to a halt, flipped up her head and glared at Ginny. “That was a dirty trick.”

Ginny offered her a weak smile. “I know. I’d apologize, but I wouldn’t mean it.” When Hermione just scowled further, Ginny chuckled a bit, even though it was a somewhat sad sound. “Sweetheart, you’re obviously in love with him. You’re just too terrified to admit it to yourself.”

“And why shouldn’t I be?” she asked desperately. “We’ve only known each other for four months, and I don’t even know what he looks like! I don’t even know his real name. How can you be in love with someone you’ve never met? He could be a mass murderer for all I know, someone who has been acting a part, just to lure me in!”

Ginny pursed her lips. “Now you’re just being silly, dear. Do you think he’d really have gone through all the indignity of donating sperm if he was play-acting? He could have just tracked one of your letters, if he were that desperate.” Ginny let another beat of silence go by. “I think you’re just scared to love somebody again. Scared to love someone who you’re not certain loves you back.”

“Of course I am,” Hermione said. She fidgeted with the hem of her slip a moment and then looked up at Ginny miserably. “Do you know why we’ve agreed to meet face-to-face tonight?”

Ginny shook her head.

“We’re going to meet each other to … try to conceive the baby in the normal way.”

Ginny’s jaw dropped. Attempting speech a few times and failing, Ginny eventually rose from the bed and strode over to the closets. The few non-business robes that Hermione had in her closet were unembellished and in classy but neutral colors.

“Well, I suppose we’d better go to my house then,” she said, tossing Hermione a set of robes that she’d obviously had on earlier.

“Your house?” Hermione asked as if she didn’t understand the words.

Ginny nodded firmly. “No wonder you’re nervous about tonight, love. Not a single one of your outfits says, ‘Buy me a nice dinner and then shag me senseless.’”

Hermione laughed weakly, but just stared down at the work robes balled up in her lap. “I’m not sure I can do this, Ginny,” she said without looking at her friend.

“Of course you can,” Ginny answered. “I know it’s been a while, but it’s just like riding a broom. Only most men never get that hard, need to be polished far more often, and certainly can’t fly all night.”

A full, throaty laugh floated out of Hermione as she stood up and slipped the robes on. “You remember that I hate flying, don’t you?”

Ginny favored her with a lopsided smirk. “Don’t be silly, darling. According to Ron, you can ride like a professional Seeker.”

“Ginny!” Hermione shrieked as her friend bounded down the stairs, chuckling and calling for Hermione to hurry up. Hermione took a quick glance at herself in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door. She looked anxious, wary, but her skin was clear, her figure much more womanly and rounded than it had ever been (probably the hormones Euterpe had given her), and she was in the hands of the only woman to ever help her tame her mop of curls. Perhaps she’d do all right after all.

“Go get ‘em, dearie,” the mirror said to Hermione.

“You know, I think I just might.” With one last look at herself, she smirked and pushed up her cleavage.

“Tallyho!” cried the mirror as she trotted out the door.

Severus’s head swam as he walked in the crisp air; new spring was just around the corner, but the rain drops on the leaves of grass glittered in a way that warned of frost overnight. Woozy with nerves, he stumbled a few times, nearly as unsteady as he had been last month when he’d made this walk with Potter. A scowl touched his face and his heavy brows drew together. He’d certainly not meant to say so much to the little prat, but had felt oddly relieved at the lessening of the burden he’d carried with his feelings for Joy. Shaking his head, Severus was forced to admit that he did have the most abominable timing; he barely ever drank, let drank alone enough to get intoxicated, and the one time he chose to, his witness and unlikely confidante had to be Harry Bloody Potter. Fate was a cruel mistress who seemed to have decided that Severus Snape was her favorite bull’s-eye.

And yet, if he had to be fair (which he didn’t usually bother to be), Potter had been surprisingly helpful and astonishingly devoid of judgment or mockery. Perhaps the arrogant little berk had matured in the last decade. Grudgingly, Severus admitted that it must be so, as he recalled that the former bane of his existence had been recently promoted to the Head of the Auror department. He still didn’t care to be indebted to someone so poised to embarrass him, especially as that someone was also positioned well to have him heaved into Azkaban, should he so choose. It would do Severus quite well to remember that a former Death Eater, traitor and murderer should not associate too closely with anyone in the Ministry’s employ; he could never trust the confidence not to backfire.

Unwittingly, his consciousness took a strange side step: Joy worked at the Ministry. He found himself nearly terrified to realize that he’d never trusted someone more in his life. Despite the passionate and thoroughly obsessive love he’d felt for Lily, Severus wasn’t entirely sure how much he’d ever trusted her. Or anyone, for that matter. The contemplation of Lily no longer caused a sick swoop in his stomach, so he allowed himself to consider it: if he had really trusted Lily, wouldn’t he have believed whole-heartedly that she wouldn’t betray him for Potter? Wouldn’t he have counted her on his side despite who his other friends were? More to that, wouldn’t she have refrained from judging him, had she been quite the peerlessly benevolent and compassionate soul he’d always imagined her to be? Not one single ounce of judgment had ever come from Joy. True, Joy didn’t know his true identity, but would she have agreed to meet him tonight if she didn’t trust him implicitly? Her response to his note had come so quickly that she must have penned it the instant she finished reading his letter. That had to mean that she trusted him, didn’t it?

Severus huffed out a long breath that caused Minerva McGonagall to turn and regard him with a curious expression as they walked next to each other.

“Something wrong, Severus?”

He shook his head, moodily peering at the large, amorphous mob of students ahead of them, all clamoring to get to Hogsmeade.

“Well, of course there is, considering what’s going on today,” Minerva said, a tiny smirk on her face.

“What do you mean?” Severus asked, his voice very nearly avoiding panic.

Despite the fact that Severus had an astonishingly tight rein on his emotions, Minerva had known him long enough – over forty years, when one considered his time as a student – to see the signs of distress in his stern face and bottomless eyes.

When the stoic Head of Gryffindor answered, she did so cautiously. “I meant, of course, that you had to chaperone the Hogsmeade trip because the Deputy Headmaster covered your shift on the Valentine’s Day ball. I had a feeling you’d be a towering thundercloud today.”

“Oh, yes,” he answered distractedly. “Not exactly my favorite duty, chaperoning these foolish outings. Damn sight better than that disgraceful mass of floating hearts and glitter that Filius has the nerve to call a ‘ball,’ though. Hormonal feeding frenzy is more like it. You know, I think he’s getting worse than Albus with all his frippery.”

Minerva laughed. “I suppose he is, but it’s hard not to want to celebrate, after so many years of dark days and fear.”

“The war ended thirteen years ago, Minerva,” Severus snapped. “Fourteen this May. The novelty has officially worn off.”

Rather than rise to the bait of his distracting argument, Minerva narrowed her eyes at the sharp face of her colleague as they walked. “What’s wrong, Severus? And don’t try to distract me again. I’m not Rolanda; one well-placed subject change doesn’t dissuade me.”

Severus sighed and directed his eyes out towards the students rambling ahead, even though he could feel the heat of her eyes on his face. “I have an arrangement to meet someone this evening. I am,” he stopped to grimace, “anxious regarding the outcome.”

Unaccountably, Minerva smiled. “You have a date?”

His head whipped around, and Severus pinned his colleague with an icy glare. “No,” he said sharply. “I despise that insipid word; never use it again.” Minerva raised her hands in surrender and Severus continued. “I have agreed to rendezvous,” Minerva suppressed a grin, “with a lady friend of mine that I’ve yet to meet in person, for dinner and the possibility of conversation and company afterwards.”

“Company,” Minerva said dubiously, unable to control a small giggle under his scathing glower. “It’s a date, Severus. I’m sorry, but however you like to rationalize it to yourself, dinner, conversation, and the possibility of adult activity afterwards is a date.”

Unable to stand the amusement in her eyes at his discomfort, Severus scanned the horizon, just starting to be populated with the rooftops of Hogsmeade. They walked in silence for a moment before Minerva suddenly spoke, barely loud enough to be heard over the rustle of their cloaks.

“You’re scared out of your wits, aren’t you?”

He nodded. Minerva stopped abruptly and placed one thin, gloved hand on his upper arm. Wordlessly, he turned to face her. The face of his colleague, far more wrinkled and far less stern than it had been when he’d met her forty years ago, softened with both compassion and affection. The hand she had placed on his bicep closed more tightly, and her eyes were warm but unyielding.

“Don’t be, Severus,” she said, her voice steady. “Whoever she is, she’d be a fool not to enjoy your company.”

Discomfited by the sudden show of affection, he scoffed roughly. “I’m not exactly a cultured dining companion or thrilling conversationalist, Minerva. Perhaps you haven’t noticed my anti-social nature over the years.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it,” she said jovially as they resumed their walk. “I would have said ‘positively acidic.’”

Severus laughed heartily. “And that’s polite as well,” he answered.

“But you’re wrong about the conversation,” Minerva said, undeterred. “You’re quite interesting when you’re not sniping or hollering.”

“Which would be when?”

Minerva screwed up her face in mock contemplation. “When you’re asleep?” she asked innocently.

A lopsided grin quirked his thin lips.

“Honestly, Severus,” Minerva said, “I’m sure that whoever this lady friend is,” she started to say, but then trailed off and reassessed her statement. “The ‘lady friend’ … is she the one that sent you the birthday gifts?”

Severus stiffened. “Yes.”

Minerva smiled slowly, deliberately, a cat who’d found a way into the mouse’s den. “Oh, Severus,” she said, enjoying every syllable. “I doubt you’ll have any trouble winning her affections this evening.”

Genuinely surprised, Severus couldn’t stop himself asking, “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know how a veteran spy could be so thick,” she muttered. “Do you men never think about a woman’s motives?”

“The point, Minerva,” Severus said, irritation creeping into her voice.

“Women are more practical creatures than you imagine, my dear. She wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of using her own two hands to make you a blanket unless she wanted to join you underneath it.”

In the moment of stunned silence, Minerva strode ahead, clapping her hands and calling something to the students about when and where to report at the end of the afternoon. When most of them had dispersed, she turned back to Snape, a grin on her face.

“I’ll tell Pomona to take the late night rounds, Severus,” she said. “Don’t hurry back.”

With a flourish of her cape, McGonagall spun away from him and headed off towards the Three Broomsticks, merrily humming some Highland tune he didn’t recognize.

“What about this one?”

Ginny held up a set of red dress robes with a wide, scooped neckline and a scandalously high slit up the right side and laid it against her front. Hermione looked at the robes for only a moment before wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Too slutty.”

“Okay, how about those?” Ginny pointed towards a set of boat-necked dark blue robes she’d worn to a winter wedding last year.

“Not slutty enough,” Hermione said decisively.

“You know,” Ginny said with a scowl, her arms akimbo, “for someone who’s so boring in her choices of attire, you’re awfully picky about my wardrobe.”

“I’m sorry, Gin. I just need something … perfect.”

Ginny laughed. “Well, if that’s all. Do you have any suggestions that might help us find something?”

Hermione started to shake her head, but suddenly remembered the item she had tucked away in her purse. Earlier in the week, when Tobias had owled her with the specifics of where and when to meet him, he’d sent her a small, carefully wrapped box along with his letter. ‘To help me know you,’ was all he’d written on the slip of parchment inside. When she’d moved the piece of parchment, there’d been an absolutely lovely, just-opened bloom of a Roaring Tiger Lily. Now, Hermione removed the box from her cloak pocket and handed it over to Ginny.

“Wow,” Ginny marveled, turning the vivid black and orange striped blossom over in her palm. When she moved it so that the flower’s face looked up into her smiling gaze, the flower gave a small growl, its petals contracting and widening just like an animal’s mouth. “These are really rare, Roaring Tiger Lilies. I wonder where he got it from?”

Hermione blushed and shrugged, though she’d wondered the same thing herself. “A personal garden?”

Ginny smiled. “I doubt it. If I remember correctly, they only grow naturally in Sumatra. I can’t imagine anyone would want to put as much effort into atmospheric control as that would require just for a personal garden.”

“He does have quite an extensive knowledge of Potions; perhaps he works for an apothecary that has access to a hothouse?” Hermione suggested.

“Hmmm,” Ginny said thoughtfully. Without seeming to come up with any conclusive answer, she just said, “Maybe.” After another quick moment of considering the blossom, Ginny looked back up at Hermione and smiled. “You know, I think I may have just the thing.”

Handing the bloom to Hermione, Ginny heaved herself into the back of her closet until only a trail of her hair and her toned calves showed outside of the folds of robes. Eventually Ginny resurfaced, clutching a spring green set of dress robes that looked as if they’d never been worn. Catching her train of thought, Ginny nodded.

“Harry bought them last year,” she said with a wry smile. “God love him, he does dote on me, but he has absolutely no sense about what colors flatter. The tone of this green is far too citrusy for my pink complexion, but you …”

Ginny held the robes up under Hermione’s chin. With a satisfied nod, she continued, “Yes, I think those will be beautiful. Your skin tone is neutral enough to pull off the yellowy greens. Go on,” she nudged Hermione towards the attached bathroom with the flat of the hanger, “give them a try.”

Obediently, Hermione took the hanger and shuffled into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The color would be quite fetching on her, she thought, but she had some doubts as to the style. The robes were ankle-length and made of several layers of some floaty material that was sheer on the topmost drape; the whole of the set of robes was simple and unadorned, the skirt dancing away from a ruched empire waist, where the top came up in a plunging halter. Hermione smiled at the satiny feel of the two triangles of green material that slid across her chest as she tied the strap behind her neck, but she almost had a heart attack when she turned to view the back.

“Ginny!” she cried, scandalized. “I can’t wear this!”

Ginny opened the bathroom door and strode in without any further ado. “Why not?”

Hermione turned to show her friend the back of the robes. “There’s barely any fabric back there; I’m nearly naked from my neck all the way to my waist!”

Ginny smirked and leaned against the doorjamb. “I know, dear. You have a lovely back, why not show it off?”

“Because it’s a first date,” Hermione said, scowling in obvious indignance.

“Where you’ve previously agreed to shag,” Ginny responded slickly. “It’s not as if you’re giving the wrong message. If anything, you’re giving exactly the right message.”

Hermione glowered at her, but turned back to the mirror. This time she fidgeted with the neckline. “I can’t wear a bra.”

“What are you trying to hold up?”

When Hermione growled low in her throat, Ginny threw up in her hands in mock surrender. “Honestly, Hermione, I don’t see what you’re so upset about. These robes are perfect for you. I couldn’t pull them off, but you can.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes skeptically, so Ginny walked around to lace her arms around Hermione from the back, lightly touching each section of Hermione’s body as she talked about it. “First of all, the empire waist shows how tiny you are around the rib cage, and the A-line covers the fact that you’ve not got much hip. You’ve got a lovely slim back, which he’ll only get flashes of, so it’s a nice tease effect. Most importantly, only a person with small breasts could pull off this dress as well as you.”

Pleased by the praise, Hermione said, “Really?”

Ginny nodded firmly. “With no room for a proper bra, someone who needed oodles of breast support would hang down to her knees in a halter; you’ll do lovely with it because yours stay in place without extra encouragement.”

“That’s the most diplomatic way of saying ‘your tits are tiny’ that I’ve ever heard,” Hermione chortled.

Undeterred, Ginny smiled and added, “They’re not tiny. Plus, the deep V will force him to look right down your top.”

Hermione laughed and lightly slapped at the hands Ginny had placed at her shoulders. Ginny squeezed tighter for a moment, and then pointed her to a small vanity stool at the counter in front of the mirror.

“Sit,” she said, rubbing her hands in glee. “Now, I get to do your hair and make-up, and we can do justice to that gorgeous flower. I think that the robes and flower and your hair will all set each other off so nicely that I’d be surprised if you make it through the entrée course.”

“Isn’t there a charm for this?” Hermione said, grimacing.

Ginny scowled, brandishing the eyeliner like a wand. “Yes, there is,” she snarled, “but it looks like utter crap. The line is either far too thick or far too thin; you can always tell who spells their make-up on, trust me. Now for God’s sake, sit still! You’d think I was stretching you out on the rack for all the whinging you’re doing.”

Hermione glared but didn’t flinch away when Ginny came near with the black pencil again. Laying a finger to her friend’s temple and gently pulling the skin taught with her ring finger, Ginny smoothed a thin, even line into Hermione’s lashes, then repeated the process on the other side. After sweeping on a warm vanilla shade over her lids and picking up the color of the robes with a small accent of green, Ginny handed Hermione a thin tube of lipstick. Without question, Hermione leaned towards the mirror to apply it, flinching only slightly when she realized that it wasn’t the neutral pink or shimmery copper she was used to, but instead a vibrant red.

“I look like a prostitute,” she said unhappily as she sat back to assess the effect.

Ginny exhaled heavily. “Red lipstick doesn’t make you a prostitute,” she said huffily. “When did you get to be so stuffy?”

Bristling, Hermione sat up straight and glared at Ginny. “I am not stuffy.”

“Struck a nerve, have I?”

Hermione faced the mirror moodily as Ginny moved behind her. Both women gauged Hermione’s appearance; the longer she looked, the more Hermione’s face began to shift from annoyance to anxiety.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” she asked, barely whispering.

“Of course he will,” Ginny said, hugging around Hermione’s shoulders. “He’d be mad not to. Besides, wasn’t he the one who suggested this meeting?”

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “But what if I’m not pretty enough?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ginny said bracingly. “You’re lovely. And he’s the one who suggested the shagging, so he must be gagging for it.”

Hermione smiled. She had to admit that because of Ginny’s lovely work with her hair and make-up, combined with the fetching green robes, she did look quite well. If she wanted to be truthful, she looked better than she’d looked in years. The vibrant red at her lips made her flush with pleasure; her rampant curls had managed to be draped at the back of her head, in what Ginny referred to as “an artfully wild tumble”; and the bright, cheery green of the robes gave her skin the warm, healthy glow of youth. She was really quite satisfied, all in all.

Reaching up to clasp her friend’s hand at her shoulder, Hermione allowed herself a moment of nostalgia. “Thank you, Ginny,” she said, batting her eyelashes to keep the welling tears from falling. “I really appreciate it. Ever since Ron, I haven’t been able to—”

Ginny squeezed her shoulder. “I know.”

Hermione sniffled but continued determinedly. “It really means a lot to me that you’re helping. I know you don’t really approve of the way I’m going about all this, but … but it’s not just the baby anymore. It’s him, too. I can’t tell you how much it means that you’re helping with that as well. I’ve always been rubbish at this end of relationships.”

Ginny laughed. “Don’t you know you’re like my sister? Whatever happened with Ron, that won’t ever change. Now,” she said, bringing Hermione to her feet and propelling her towards the door, “you get out there and knock his socks off. And hopefully his pants as well.”

“Ginny!” Hermione cried, but ended in laughter.

With her friend waving merrily at the front door of the house in Godric’s Hollow, Hermione took a deep breath, spun on the spot, and Disapparated away with a small pop.

Reminding himself to take deep breaths, Severus wrapped a hand around the base of his water glass and raised it to his lips, drinking like a man dying of thirst. He’d considered getting a harder drink but feared the nerves would keep him from monitoring the amount he consumed, and the last thing he wanted was to face Joy inebriated. Not only would he be horrified at the idea of making a fool of himself, he wanted to remember every last second of the evening, especially if it did not end the way he hoped. If the night went sour, this may be his one and only chance to brand her into his memory. His fingers tapped on the table top. Obviously, in the last thirteen years of peace, he’d gotten lazy and completely slipped in his ability to rein in the more observable signs of nervousness. At least, he admitted, the seating that he’d received would shield their meeting from prying eyes.

Severus had chosen the restaurant at which he waited after an excruciating back-and-forth conversation with himself. At first, he’d debated asking her to meet him at a well-known location such as the Leaky Cauldron or the Three Broomsticks, but had discarded the idea almost immediately. Regardless of whomever she turned out to be, he was certain to attract attention, and he could never predict whether it would be positive or negative; that certainly wasn’t the sort of risk he wanted to take on this all-important meeting. Next, he’d considered asking her to meet him at a location in Muggle London; again, he cast it away almost immediately. If she wasn’t a Muggle-born or of mixed parentage, the lack of magical amenities might disorient her. He didn’t really feel that Joy would be that easily influenced, but again, he hadn’t wanted to take a chance. Just as he’d been about to suggest taking dinner in a private room hired from the Leaky Cauldron – far too suggestive, but it was the only option he could think of – he’d remembered Aurora Sinistra mentioning this place. Over breakfast a few weeks ago, the Astronomy professor had mentioned that former Hufflepuff Hannah Abbott Longbottom had decided to branch out from simply being proprietress of the Leaky Cauldron and try her hand at being a restaurateur here in Hogsmeade so that she could be closer to her husband, the hapless if well-meaning new Herbology professor, Neville Longbottom.

Hannah had responded to Severus’s original owl request with surprising speed and courtesy. She expressed that she’d be happy to reserve him a table for two and had the means of providing him as much privacy as desired: she’d reserved him what she called “the crow’s nest.” Her restaurant had a Mediterranean theme to it, so there was a vaguely nautical element to the décor in an understated and pleasing way. The crow’s nest, as it had been dubbed, was an alcove large enough for a secluded table for two situated on a balcony that spanned the entire circumference of the round building. A curving staircase ascended up the middle of the main floor, leading to Hannah’s office immediately opposite the top. If one continued on the curved walkway, however, the perspective was akin to being in a viewing gallery: a person could gaze down at the patrons below, even when seated at the table on the opposite end from Hannah’s office, but a very clever charm of some kind made it so that only someone at the very base of the stairs could look up into the area above. The ‘nest’ itself was surrounded on three sides by a large bay window, looking out over the rooftops of Hogsmeade and, in the distance, the twinkling lights of Hogwarts. It was perfect for his purposes, both sentimental and private.

When he’d entered that evening, Hannah had greeted him. The meeting was not without a few moments of walleyed stares from the hostess – a Ravenclaw from a few years ago who’d never quite gotten over his blustering, apparently – but all in all, the process had been swift and painless. He’d noticed Hannah throwing him an acutely assessing glance for a moment or two, but she’d seated him immediately and informed him that they would be attended by a house elf rather than the normal wait staff so that the service would be quick and intimate. He’d offered the young woman sincere thanks before she strode into her office for what he imagined must be paperwork.

The last thirty minutes had been agonizing. He’d purposely arrived early so he could be first at the table. Uncertain that he could stand the feeling of being led to her like a lamb to slaughter, Severus turned up long before she was due to arrive. Purposely, he’d angled his chair away from the staircase, so as to avoid being teased with bits and pieces of Joy’s appearance as she came to him. But then again, he thought as he drank yet another of the self-filling glasses of water, at this point, just the sight of a corner of her robes would ease the tension.

As if his thoughts had acted as a summoning charm on their subject, Severus heard the clack of heels against the staircase behind him. Seized with a feeling of anticipation so close to panic that he could barely tell them apart, Severus sat up rigidly in his chair and resisted the urge to pant.

“Just over there, Miss,” Severus heard the hostess say. He strained his ears, but couldn’t tell if Joy had made a response. The heels clacked again, coming steadily nearer until, with a rustle that was nearly a stumble, they stopped. Barely daring to breathe, Severus waited.

Hermione felt her stomach turn over at least four times as she rounded the walkway to approach the table. Nearly sick with worry and excitement and a thousand other emotions, she strained into the dim light to see if she could catch a glimpse of Tobias. His front half was turned into the light from the bay windows, throwing his figure into relief. She couldn’t help but walk slowly, drinking in the site of the broad, powerful shoulders, long arms that curved in front of him, the clean line of the ebony robes he wore. A long tail of straight dark hair was gathered at the nape of a slim neck, tied back with a green ribbon. She nearly laughed. They matched.

Unable to further prolong the inevitable, Hermione finished the walk and stood behind his chair. All rational thought went out of her head, to be replaced with a giddy excitement so thorough that she had to close her eyes, as it made her potently dizzy.

“Tobias?”

He was silent for so long a moment that she knew a moment of sudden terror. Then, warm and rich in the charged air, she heard his voice.

“Joy?”

It was a single word pushed out on a ragged whisper, but it seemed like a song. A symphony, even. Her heart soared. Her throat closed.

“Yes,” she managed shakily, her voice no louder than his. Nearly faint with anticipation – why hadn’t he turned to look at her yet? – her eyes fluttered shut again as she laid a hand upon his shoulder. It was firm and warm beneath her grip.

Severus reached up and laid his unsteady fingers atop hers. The silken skin beneath his grip trembled just a tad. He took a slow, deep breath. This was the last moment of calm before the whole of his life would shift. When her fingers squeezed tighter to his shoulder, he was possessed of a wave of serenity and nearly giddy happiness. He turned in his chair. When Hermione heard the rustle of movement, she snapped open her eyes, her heart thumping with exhilaration.

The cloak looped over Hermione’s arm dropped heavily to the floor as she stared uncomprehendingly at the all-too-familiar face. Severus Snape’s features dropped in open shock.

“You!” Hermione gasped out.

“It can’t be,” he managed.

Hermione’s fingernails dug into the heavy wool beneath them.

And everything changed.

A/N - *ducks under her desk and covers her head* Oh, please, please, PLEASE don't kill me. I know that was pretty much the evilest cliffie ever, but please don't kill me. It all had to do with pacing. There was a LOT I needed to get through in the next chapter, and if I hadn't broken here, it would have lasted forever.

On the up note, however, the next chapter is already done, so hopefully it'll be posted within a week or so, once everyone's had a chance to read this one ^_^.

Please review (even if it's to flay me alive for the cliffhanger)!

A/N version 2.0 - A late add A/N: The next chapter is currently in the queue, which is fairly large. Hopefully the amazing admins here will be able to work through it in a reasonable amount of time; my guess is about a week. So hold tight, everybody; the next installment is coming as quickly as possible! Love and hugs and nakey Snapes to everybody!