Decisions

******

He found out where she lived with relative ease. A simple query into an official database, and he was privy to her most private information.

Part of him was strongly tempted to take her now. The potion was almost ready...one more day of simmering and he would have enough to complete his magic.

He smiled a slow, leisurely smile. He had time. Might as well take this slow and savour this last one.

He wondered if Hermione Granger would ever understand his work. He wondered if she would feel privileged to be involved so intimately in his groundbreaking experiment. He shook his head. Probably not.

Most people, when faced with their own death, lost... perspective.

"I have enough perspective for the both of us, my dear," he said into the dark. And it wasn't clear if he was talking to Hermione or to the slowly decaying corpse on his couch.

******

Hermione had only ever been to Henry Grayson's flat once before, back when they were first assigned to each other. He had invited her over for tea, he said, but she had only taken two sips of her beverage before her partner had wriggled his eyebrows suggestively and casually mentioned his bedroom. Hermione had hexed him with a Full Body-Bind curse and had spent the next two hours lecturing him about sexual harassment. They had been fast friends ever since. She knocked on his door, hoping that he would be home.

She had Apparated to Hogsmeade after she had left her house. She went to the Leaky Cauldron, where she downed three butterbeers and composed an uncharacteristically sloppy note to Solomon, detailing Severus' work and his comments on the Angel's potion.

And now, here she was in front of Henry's flat, hoping that he would be in. It was almost seven, and she knew from frustrating experience that he never worked late if he could avoid it.

She needed to forget. About Severus. About his guilt. Everything.

The door opened.

"Hermione! What...what's wrong?" Henry said, and Hermione could hear the concern in his voice.

"Oh, Henry. Can I come in?" Hermione asked, her wavering voice betraying her inner emotional turmoil.

He blinked in surprise. "Of course. I was just getting ready for dinner tonight." He smiled rather shyly, a sight that made Hermione's heart clench.

"Here. Come into the sitting room," he gently intoned as he lightly guided her in by the elbow.

She followed him into his immaculate living room. It was exactly as she remembered. Boring, lifeless. Utterly devoid of any personal items. She remembered Severus' harsh words.

"...you have nothing more than an empty apartment and a long list of women who don't even remember your name."

She shuddered.

"Please, sit. Do you want anything? Need anything?"

She smiled at his concern, relaxing slightly.

"No. I'm fine, thanks."

He sat on the couch next to her. "So, Hermione. What's up?"

She smiled again. Henry's open, easy manners had endeared him to her almost immediately. She felt better already.

"I just needed to get away from him," she whispered.

Henry's eyes darkened. "Snape. He didn't... do anything to you, did he?"

Nothing I didn't want him to do, she thought as she remembered with a flash of longing his full length pressed against her.

"No," she replied uncertainly. "I just can't be around him for long. He's a bit creepy." It was a lie, and Hermione was never one for telling complete falsehoods, but Henry seemed to accept it. Strangely, she was strongly reminded of Harry and Ron.

"Creepy is one word. Asshole is another," he said bitterly. "Either way, he's not a pleasant guy to be around."

She frowned at him. "I spoke to Solomon today. I see that you ran off and tattled. How mature, Henry," she snapped. With a start, Hermione realised she sounded like him.

He shifted his eyes guiltily. "I was concerned for you, Hermione. You seemed... entranced by him somehow. Like he put a spell on you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly, Henry could be such a drama queen. And didn't he know by now that she was fully capable of taking care of herself? "Henry. He doesn't have his wand. And he's Bound to me."

"I know, but... " He trailed off. "Solomon hinted that something happened between you two." He ran his fingers through his hair. "If there is ever anything that you need to talk about, you know I'm here for you."

She put her head in her hands and sighed deeply. She wanted as few people as possible to know about her history with Severus. She didn't want people to look at her and think of him. She did not want to be irrevocably tied to such darkness.

"Can't we just talk about something else, Henry?"

He looked at her with such plaintive concern in his eyes that she wanted to cry. He shifted closer to her, raising a tentative hand to start rubbing small circles on her back.

"Of course," he said gently. "We could always talk about how simply ravishing you look tonight." He grinned devilishly, and Hermione laughed.

"Don't be a prat, Henry."

"I'm not," he said as he took her hand in his. "I'm not, Hermione. You always look indescribably beautiful to me." His voice was soft and his eyes were sincere, and for half a moment Hermione allowed herself to believe him.

"Which reminds me," he continued with another smile. "I got something for you tonight. Picked it up on my way after work."

He stood up from the couch and walked into an adjoining room. Hermione was slightly confused with his behaviour. He was acting unusually sincere, almost as if this was a real date.

He re-entered the room carrying a bouquet of bright, colourful gerbera daisies. A beautiful arrangement of fuchsias, yellows, and oranges.

"I was going to give these to you when I picked you up, but we'll just leave them here for now."

She gasped in surprise. "Henry, they're lovely!"

"Just like you," he said with a grin as he handed them to her.

Hermione brought the flowers up to her face and sniffed, taking in the spring-filled scent and the luxurious feel of the silken petals against her skin. When was the last time a man had given her flowers? Never. She had never received flowers before.

"I love them, Henry. Thank you," she said sincerely.

"I'll just put them in a vase for now. You can take them home tonight after dinner." She handed him the flowers, and he Summoned a vase, filled it with water with a muttered Aguamenti spell, and set it on the coffee table.

Hermione smiled warmly. This was shaping up to be a perfect ending to one of her more miserable days. She wondered where he was taking her for dinner. With a gasp, she realised that she had completely forgotten to ready herself for the night. She glanced down in horror. She was still in her work robes...the ugly brown that had so suited her this morning now appeared ghastly. She touched her face. No makeup to hide her many imperfections. And her hair! Had she even brushed it this morning?

"Henry," she said calmly. "Where are we going to dinner?"

He smiled, his eyes twinkling. "I refuse to tell you that, m'lady. I am going to surprise you, I think."

"I'm afraid I'm not dressed appropriately," she muttered, embarrassed.

He laughed. "No worries, Hermione. I'm positively a whiz at Transfiguration. Stand up."

She flushed. How embarrassing. "Oh! Well, I could always Apparate home for a quick change...."

He shook his head. "No. Now stand up."

Mortified beyond belief, Hermione reluctantly stood before her partner. Henry studied her critically. Finally, he waved his wand determinedly. Hermione closed her eyes, very afraid of what Henry Grayson would put her in.

"There. It's perfect. Don't look so terrified, Hermione."

She opened her eyes and looked down. She ran her hands along the length of her body, completely unaware at how Henry stilled and his breath hitched in his throat.

The dress felt... nice. Silky. Soft. Sensuous.

"You're free to use my bathroom, Hermione. We'll leave whenever you're ready."

She muttered her thanks and headed for the bathroom.

Hermione gasped at her reflection in the mirror. The dress was lovely. Like her robes, it was a deep chocolate brown, which complemented her skin tone and her eyes. It was sleeveless and more form-fitting than anything she had ever worn before, though it was tailored exceptionally well. The darts that ran from her chest down to her hips emphasized her small waist whilst camouflaging her hips and thighs. She snorted. Henry would be good at tailoring charms. At the thought, she shook her head darkly. She was becoming too much like Severus.

Length-wise, Hermione felt a bit uncomfortable. The dress landed at least two inches above her knees. Turning around, she gasped again as she saw the back, or lack thereof. The backline plunged daringly to mid-back, exposing, in her opinion, too much of her creamy white skin.

"Lovely dress, dear. You might want to do something with your hair, though. Ruins the image," the mirror observed cheekily. Hermione glared at it.

"I know," she muttered. She smoothed her hair with her hands and whispered a de-frizzing spell she had learned from Lavender Brown in her sixth year. Better, but not great. She twisted her hair up, murmuring a charm to make it stay in place. Stray curls framed her face, and she determinedly twisted them until she was satisfied.

She stepped back and examined herself in the mirror.

"What do you think?" she asked the mirror uncertainly.

"Better, dear. I'm sure Henry will approve. He always does."

Hermione nodded her head. Right. It was time to go.

She left the bathroom and walked uncomfortably in the heels Henry had transfigured. This night had better be worth it.

Henry was waiting for her by the front door. He was pacing and muttering to himself. He had changed into black slacks and a dark blue dress shirt, and Hermione thought he looked absolutely handsome. Really, she was going to be the envy of every woman in the place tonight.

He looked up as he heard the click of her heels. His eyes warmed considerably.

"Hermione. You look stunning," he said breathily.

She laughed nervously and touched her hair gently.

"Thanks to you, Henry. The dress is lovely."

He smiled winningly and held out a hand. Taking it, Hermione wondered briefly what she was getting herself into.

"We're going to a Muggle place in London. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. You going to Apparate us?"

"I am. Now hold on to me."

She tentatively wrapped her arms around his torso. He slid his arm around her waist, pausing briefly to softly skim his fingertips across her bare back. Hermione's stomach clenched.

"I've been waiting to touch you for these three years, Hermione," he said softly, and for one second Hermione thought that he wasn't joking.

He was looking at her so warmly that she averted her gaze, shifting uncomfortably. It was almost as if Henry was purposefully crossing the lines of their well-established relationship.

Before she had enough time to consider her feelings, she felt the unpleasant squeeze of Side-Along-Apparition. They arrived before a small pizza pub. The building was dark green with several outside tables guarded by large orange umbrellas. Hermione followed Henry inside, where she found small wooden tables and chairs crammed together before an open stage. A live band was playing a sweet melody to a roomful of dancing couples.

Henry led her to the back of the building and stood next to the bar. Hermione noticed a cluster of women staring openly at him, whispering to each other and giggling. One of the girls, wearing a skimpy black dress and too much eyeliner, looked pointedly at Hermione and laughed. She confidently slid out of her seat and glided up to Henry and said something in his ear. He frowned at her and told her to leave. Despite herself, Hermione felt a burst of vicious glee at his denial of the tramp.

Henry placed his hand on the small of her back and led her to one of the crammed wooden tables. Hermione had to strain to hear what he was saying over the band playing in the background.

"I've ordered us a pizza and drinks. I hope you like."

She looked around and smiled. "I love it in here, Henry. It's wonderfully eclectic."

A uniformed waiter interrupted them with their drinks, and Hermione gasped at the size of the large berry-coloured beverage he handed her.

"Henry! What is this?"

He grinned. "An Atlantis Margarita. My personal favourite."

She snorted. "You know, it doesn't surprise me that you like the girly drinks."

"Just try it."

She sipped it. It was good. Stronger than she thought it would be. A few more of these, and she would be gone.

Hermione was surprised to find herself enjoying the evening. The food, the drinks, and the company had managed to force most thoughts of Severus from her mind.

It took three Atlantis Margaritas for Henry to convince Hermione to dance, and when he pulled her into his arms, she was too drunk to read the healthy combination of love and lust reflected in his eyes.

He pulled her close, and she laid her head on his chest. The band was playing a slow, jazzy tune, and Henry was caressing her back, his fingers trailing dangerously close to the curve of her arse.

"You're so beautiful, Hermione," he whispered in her ear. "And intelligent. Sexy. Determined. So Gryffindor. I wish I had gone to Hogwarts just so I could have known you as a child. Curse my parents and their private tutors!"

"Henry," she slurred. "There are Muggles in here!"

"I know." He scooted closer to her, pressing his body completely against hers, and Hermione realised with shock that he very obviously desired her.

Perhaps this was not the best idea. She didn't want to give him any false hopes that her heart, twisted and warped as it had become, was free. She looked at Henry, at his carefree smile, his handsome face, his open, easy manners, and she knew. Against all logic, against all reason, she simply knew that she would love Severus Snape until the day she died.

"Henry!" she said shrilly, and she attempted to disentangle herself from his embrace. He clutched her tightly.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I can't help it. You are just so damned intoxicating."

"Well, at least let me go a little." She didn't want to spend the evening rubbing against him so inappropriately.

"Fine," he sighed, and he loosened his grip. Content once she couldn't feel his erection anymore, she settled into him again.

"This is nice," he murmured.

"Mmmm," she said in reply.

"Hermione?" His voice was uncertain.

"What?" she answered quietly.

"I want to ask you something. Just listen to me and think about it for a while. Don't say no right away."

"What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "What Snape said earlier today... It's true. I know it. You know it. And I want that to change. You see, I chase these women around because the one woman I... want is so unattainable. But Gods, how I want her. And I want her for forever."

Later, Hermione would blame her slow cognitive processes on the alcohol.

"Why don't you just tell her, Henry? I don't see how anyone could turn you down."

He laughed and leaned in close to her ear.

"It's you, Hermione."

She stilled in his arms, her heart beating erratically. Surely she had misunderstood him.

"I don't want an answer right now, Hermione. Just promise me you'll think about it. And know that I am always going to be here for you, no matter what."

Hermione tensed in his arms until he stopped whispering in her ear. She closed her eyes. How easy it should be for her to love Henry. He was a good guy...handsome, wealthy, funny, well-liked. He would take care of her and love her forever. In short, he was everything that Severus was not. To an outsider, perhaps, there would not be a dilemma. And she wished with all of her soul that there wasn't.

******

Severus glanced blearily around his room. He counted two bottles of wine. Two. Had he... had he drunk all that? No wonder his head hurt.

He stumbled into the kitchen. Must find more wine. He glanced at the timepiece in the kitchen, focusing on the numbers carefully. If they would only stop moving!

"Midnight," he said aloud in the darkened kitchen. "Where in the bloody hell is she?"

Unbidden, images ran through his mind, each considerably more gruesome than the last. If that Mr. Grayson so much as laid a hand on her, he would...

Severus paused. He would what? What if Hermione wanted Grayson? What if she loved him?

Just like Lily, a traitorous part of his mind whispered. And that idiot Grayson is so like Potter...pretty, pure-blood, perfect James fucking Potter. Severus was appalled to find a tear trail down his cheek.

He wiped at it fiercely.

"Bloody fool," he growled as he reached for another bottle of wine. After popping the cork and taking a long swig, Severus decided he was going to wait for her. Right here. She would come home eventually.

He was well into the third bottle of wine when he heard the sound of her wards coming undone. He straightened in his chair and eyed the front door intensely. He hoped that Grayson didn't come in with her. He might try to kill him.

Hermione opened the door with a crash. Severus waited impatiently for her to enter the kitchen, and when she finally did, he had to physically stop himself from gasping.

She looked exhausted, slightly drunk, and stunningly beautiful.

She was wearing a deep brown dress that he wanted to run his hands over, and she was holding a bouquet of flowers. She presented a lovely picture.

Until Severus realised that undoubtedly, Grayson had given her the dress. And the flowers.

"Severus," she said groggily. "You're supposed to be asleep."

He drew himself up to his full height. "I do not have a bedtime, Miss Granger."

She laughed, a gurgling sound that warmed him.

"And you're home very late, Hermione," he continued, focusing on his enunciation.

Her face darkened. "Not that it's any of your business, Snape, but I was on a date."

"You already informed me of that earlier, Miss Granger." His voice was cool. And steady. Good.

Bewildered, she looked around her kitchen.

"What? Did you drink all my wine?"

"Yessss," he slurred. "And out of my wine glasses, you thief."

Severus noted with satisfaction that her face flushed, and her eyes widened. She screwed up her face and finally replied.

"Well, you weren't going to need them in prison." She crossed her arms and smiled coyly. The little minx. Severus wondered if she was deliberately trying to make him suffer.

Deciding he wanted an answer to that question, he walked towards her unsteadily, unsure of what he was going to do to her when he reached her. All he knew was that he was drunk, and surely he could blame any untoward actions on the alcohol.

"Miss Granger," he drawled as he reached out a hand towards her. "This is a lovely little dress," he said as he thoughtfully fingered the smooth fabric of her shoulder strap.

She flushed and bit her bottom lip, and Severus was entranced. He lightly trailed his fingers down her bare arms, noting how she shivered at his touch.

"Tell me, Hermione. Did you enjoy your date?"

She backed away uncertainly, and Severus felt a flash of annoyance. When he was sober, he could possibly understand the girl's dilemma. But dammit, he was drunk. And horny. And she looked absolutely edible. This seduction thing was so much easier when he had full use of all his mental capabilities.

She stood there in that alluring dress, her vulnerability so painfully obvious, and Severus felt that he had never truly known how much he loved her until that moment.

"Hermione," he said softly. "Can I kiss you?" He scowled, upset that the question sounded like plea.

He waited for her answer, thinking that he might die if she refused him.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Yes," he growled, his voice deep and throaty. He quickly closed the distance between them and tangled his fingers in her hair.

"Severus," she whispered as she tilted her head up and parted her lips. Severus wanted her so badly his hands shook in her hair.

He hungrily lowered his lips to hers, and for the rest of his life, Severus would swear that he felt a spark once their lips met.

She made these delicious little mewling sounds, and Severus opened his mouth to taste them, groaning as he felt her tongue tentatively stroke his own. She tasted of sugar and alcohol and warmth, and he was addicted to her. He lowered his hands to her dress, caressing every inch of the silky smoothness, and she sighed.

"Let us have this one night," he growled.

Her eyes closed, and her head lolled onto his chest. Taking this as an answer, Severus scooped her into his arms, groaning again she cuddled against him with a soft sigh. He carried her into her bedroom and set her gently on her bed, leaning over to taste her once again.

Hermione fluttered her eyes, tilted her head towards him, and yawned sleepily. Severus was perplexed.

"Hermione?" he said softly. In response, she turned on her side, mumbling something incomprehensible. Her breathing was slow and steady. He frowned.

Surely she hadn't fallen asleep during his seduction. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, however, told him otherwise. The girl was undoubtedly asleep.

He smoothed back her hair. When she was asleep, her worry lines disappeared. She looked so much like the seventeen-year-old he had fallen in love with.

Severus gently unstrapped her heeled shoes and threw them on the floor before pulling her quilt up to her chin. Best to leave her dress on, he reluctantly decided, lest she accuse him of any un-gentlemanly behaviour.

He quickly shrugged off his robes and settled under the covers beside her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, kissing her on the shoulder.

"I love you, Hermione," he whispered in her ear, and he wished that she were awake to hear him.

Severus fell asleep with his hand over Hermione's heart.

******

A/N: Big thanks to my lovely betas, mgm86 and reets67, and to the wonderful admins at TPP. Thanks to reviewers as well. I appreciate all of your kind words!