If I Fell

Chapter 8: If I Fell

Severus observed Hermione as she hesitated. It was a simple enough question...what did she want from a relationship? More importantly, what would she expect from him?

She seemed unable to meet his eyes but finally said, "Well, naturally, I want to be respected. I'd like to be appreciated, too...I'm so tired of being taken for granted."

That seemed reasonable, he supposed, although he was careful to keep his features impassive.

"And I don't think it's asking too much to be cherished, as well." She sounded angry but looked flustered.

He frowned, realising he'd missed the mark on all counts when he'd had her against the back of the inn. Everything she wanted was no doubt practical, but it still sounded like an inordinately large amount of work. He was reminded why the thought of a relationship had long since lost its appeal. Not that he'd ever shied away from hard work...he prided himself on determination and forbearance. This particular undertaking had the potential to prove worthy of his efforts, yet he hesitated.

"And while you're busy making this monumental decision," she said, "you can teach me how to fly without a broom."

He blinked and raised one eyebrow. "I was under the impression you didn't care for flying."

She smiled. "So was I, until today. I've tried everything...brooms, Thestrals, hippogriffs," she said, ticking each finger as she recounted the various modes, "even a dragon! But I've never enjoyed the sensation before now."

"And what makes you think you'll still enjoy it if you're not in my arms?" he asked, surprised when she shrugged aside his arrogance.

"I won't know until I try."

"This is complex, advanced magic," he said, trying to impress upon her the difficulty of what she suggested. "It cannot be learnt from a book."

"Why does everyone always think I'm incapable of learning new things unless there's a book involved?"

"I merely meant..." he begun, but she cut him off with a shake of her head.

"No matter," she said. "I can do whatever it takes to learn. And surely you miss having a willing pupil to order about?" Her smile was clearly meant to tease.

He forced himself to concentrate on what she asked, rather than the delicious thoughts the phrase 'willing pupil' had created in his mind.

"Do you suppose the prospect of having you for a student once again is really something that would motivate me?" he asked with a teasing smile of his own.

"You always took delight in berating me before."

He frowned, trying to recall. He supposed he hadn't spared much thought to his students' feelings, but there had been such larger issues...life or death issues...to contend with. The overwrought emotions of teenagers hadn't been high on his list of priorities. Still, he was surprised to find himself bothered by her words.

"I do not condone cruelty, nor have I derived enjoyment from such," he said. "Is that honestly your opinion of me?"

She opened her mouth as if to speak, then seemed to reconsider and offered him a shrug instead.

"It's hardly flattering or deserved," he said.

"Fair enough," she replied. She moved closer and met his eyes. "What could be better than an opportunity to prove me wrong, then?"

"I could think of a few things..." he said, lowering his voice and gazing at her lips once more. He watched her smile fade and her pupils widen. She swallowed, loud enough for him to hear.

Clearing her throat, she shook her head and said, "I'll wager I could learn in four lessons." Her eyes held the light of challenge now.

"It would be exceedingly unfair of me to accept that wager," he replied. "You work at the Ministry, after all. You can ill afford to be so careless with money."

"Oh, I have every confidence in my capacity to learn," she said. Arching an eyebrow, she added, "Unless you fear you've lost your ability to teach?"

"Hardly," he said. He paused to give her proposition its due consideration. Flying was an ancient art. Few witches or wizards possessed the talent or knowledge to practice it. He had learnt from Voldemort, through a series of tortuous lessons that had pushed the envelope of fear and intimidation. It was certainly not a method he'd be willing to deploy on Hermione, or anyone else for that matter. But perhaps there was another way.

He tilted his head to the side, thinking as he watched her. She undoubtedly had the intelligence and skill to learn. That alone lent the idea a bit more appeal. The challenge of finding his own teaching method intrigued him, as did the prospect of spending time together without committing himself to a relationship. Perhaps after a few lessons he could convince her that mutual satisfaction didn't have to come with strings. Yes, the more he weighed the decision, the more he liked it. He'd give her the lessons she requested, but he'd find a way to benefit as well.

"One lesson," he said. "And in return, you'll accompany me to the Ministry ball." Kingsley had more or less insisted he attend the annual fund-raising event for post-war charities. Since the Minister's relentless pursuit of the truth had exonerated him after the war, he could hardly refuse such an innocuous request.

When she failed to reply, he wondered if she'd already made plans to attend the ball with someone else. He'd never noticed her at these events in the past, which, now that he reflected upon it, was rather odd. Potter and the rest of the so-called war heroes were always in attendance, in all their intolerable glory.

"I'd love to go to the ball with you," she said at last. "Thanks ever so much for asking." She smiled and batted her eyelashes with great exaggeration. Then in the time it took to blink, all playfulness was gone, and her face became a mask of determination. "But I still want four lessons," she reiterated.

His pulse quickened, already anticipating their sessions and the unique opportunities their proximity would present. Still, he couldn't capitulate so soon...it wouldn't do to appear overeager. "Two. Don't try my patience."

She ignored him. "I haven't anything appropriate to wear to the Ministry ball. I'll need a dress, and shoes, and someone to fix my hair properly, and new robes, and..."

"Are you attempting to convince me or dissuade me?" he interrupted.

"I'm merely informing you that I'll be putting forth a great deal of personal expense to fulfil your request," she said, waving her hand in a regal manner. With a wicked smile she added, "I want to make sure I'm getting my money's worth in return. Four lessons, if you please, sir."

"Two lessons," he countered again. "I certainly don't care about your wardrobe...I've actually grown quite fond of that skirt you're wearing."

"Three lessons," she said. "And I can promise you'll care a great deal about my wardrobe." She moved closer while her expression turned seductive. Her tongue slid across her lips. Slowly, she walked her fingers up his chest and said, "Picture a silky black dress that clings to all the right curves. Think plunging neckline, low-cut enough to reveal a glimpse of cleavage and the softness of breast. Imagine tiny little straps that cross in the back. Or perhaps backless..."

"Done," he said.

Wait... what? His mouth had gone dry, and his tongue felt thick.

She chuckled. "I hadn't even come to the lace part yet," she told him with a knowing smile.

He closed his eyes and groaned. How in the hell had that happened? How had his excellent negotiation skills been so easily manipulated by the mere thought of this woman in a dress that probably didn't exist?

"You're lucky I'm feeling generous," he told her, trying to regain some footing. "When shall we begin?"

After settling on a time and location, she gathered her robes, as if preparing to Disapparate.

"Your bargaining tactics are impressive, Hermione, if a bit unconventional," he said. "But you should have held out for more...I would have granted you four lessons."

Her answering smile spread slowly as she gazed at him. "I would have settled for one, Severus. It seems we both managed to get what we wanted. Wouldn't you agree?"

Almost. He acknowledged her query with a slight bow of his head.

Turning in place, she quietly disappeared from sight.

He stood still for several minutes and pondered the events of the afternoon. It had been a very long time since he'd experienced such an array of emotions in the course of one day, let alone the space of a few hours. He marvelled at the way their encounter had managed to transcend the familiar irritation, ending with definite humour and undeniable desire. And the promise of a challenge... He could never resist a good challenge. He was inordinately pleased with his decision to investigate the crazy witch he'd seen walking in circles, talking to herself earlier. Despite the mould-spore bath and the wasted erection, the meeting had ended quite well. He anticipated their upcoming flying lessons with an eagerness he hadn't felt since... since... In truth, he couldn't remember the last time his future had held this much appeal.

He shook his head and Disapparated with an impatient snap.

Grateful applause to Karelia for the beta reading of this story!