Are we there yet?

Chapter Two

Are we there yet?

In which Snape reminisces about his criminal childhood and Hermione makes him several wagers he can't refuse.

Severus Snape was feeling smug for a few reasons. First, he was sitting in a sinfully comfortable leather seat behind the wheel of a Jaguar XJ8. Second, as a result, he was feeling remarkably more cheerful about the thought of a holiday in America. And finally, he had stunned Hermione Granger the insufferable know-it-all into silence.

It had taken him exactly 59 seconds to select the best car from the nearby lot, trip the lock with his crowbar and cross the necessary wires to start the V8 engine with a massive roar.

Miss Granger's mouth had dropped open. He had smirked and opened the passenger door for her with a gentlemanly bow. Tobias Snape had been a mediocre mill worker at best, but he had excelled at stealing cars when honest wages failed to support his family. That had been one skill that Tobias seemed to have no reservations passing on to his son.

Childhood years of skulking trepidation before the law had all been worth it for the look of shock on Miss Granger's face and the forty minutes of blessed silence that followed.

"Professor?"

He should have known the moment was too perfect to last.

"Professor... where did you learn to hotwi – er, drive a car?"

His comfortable smugness was vanishing as fast as a Hufflepuff at the end of Friday Double Potions. He thought he was driving quite well, considering that he had not touched a car since he was eleven years old. The parking lot would never miss that small section of its wooden fence or that single mailbox.

Snape ignored her for a moment by adjusting the rearview mirror. "Why?" he replied.

"Why... what?"

"Why do you want to know, Miss Granger? To know everything, even if it means forcing your incessant questions on everyone you meet until you at last exhaust them?"

"Well, I... I suppose..." The girl seemed extremely discomfited by the thought that he might be asking her an honest question.

"Think carefully, Miss Granger. I want an honest, satisfactory answer to my question. Only then will I consider answering any of yours, which are thrown out with much less care."

She opened her mouth and then closed it. Then she leaned back in her chair and lapsed into silence, just as he had intended.

Yes, indeed. Much more rewarding to puzzle her than to degrade her.

It bought him another hour of blessed silence before Miss Granger said, "I'm hungry."

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They found themselves in a Waffle House. According to the map Hermione had found in the Jag's glove compartment, they were on the eastern border of Arkansas.

Hermione had raised an eyebrow when Snape conjured a tea bag from the depths of his coat and made his own cup of tea. At his look, she kept silent and smiled to herself over her cup of black coffee.

She listened to the ambient sounds of laughing diners and the scratching jukebox, watching the steam from her coffee rise in the air.

"Thank you," she said abruptly.

His head lifted from his cup of tea like a swimmer coming up for air. "Whatever for?"

"I can imagine that this isn't your idea of a holiday, being stuck with me," she said wryly. "Thanks for not making things miserable for the both of us."

Snape raised one eyebrow. "I have effectively forbidden you from asking questions, Miss Granger. I would think that to be nothing short of torture."

"Oh, no." Hermione finished her last sip of coffee with a grin. "I think of it rather as just something else I can learn from you."

Snape stared suspiciously.

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It was sweltering inside the Jaguar, and the portions of Hermione's thighs not covered by her skirt were sticking uncomfortably to the expensive leather seats.

"Professor, could you please turn on the air?"

No response. Her question might as well have been a breath of air for all that Snape's expression changed. Fine, if he wanted to ignore her question, she could just deal...

Oh. No questions.

"Professor. Turn on the air," she commanded.

The expected retort never came. Instead, Snape blinked slowly, twice. Then he reached between their seats and adjusted the climate control by a few degrees.

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Snape liked consistency and order in his life.

This meant that nearly two hours spent in silence with Hermione Granger was becoming unbearable. Granger was a consistent, known quantity in his life. She talked. She bit her lip. She interrogated people. Incessantly. She was unfailingly brilliant underneath her irritating façade.

"What are you planning to do after Hogwarts, Miss Granger?"

She jerked in her seat and turned to look at him. Her eyes darted around the enclosed interior of the car, apparently confirming that the question had been directed at her.

Snape gave a mental sigh and scratched his scarred cheek with his right hand. "I have invested nearly eight years in your education, not to mention your continued survival, Miss Granger. Yes, I am honestly interested in what you plan to do with your life."

"Oh. Well... I've submitted applications to three different institutions. But I really hope to get the mediwitch apprenticeship at St Mungo's."

"Understandable perhaps, given the amount of training you have already received on the battlefield as a Healer. But it would be a complete waste of your time."

He was half-amused, half-impressed to see her bushy hair literally crackle with her ire. "I beg your pardon, Professor. Some would say there is no greater cause than to commit your career to healing others."

"Some, yes. But what about yourself, Miss Granger?"

"I... of course I would!"

"Was one of the other institutions to receive your attentions the Aurory, perhaps?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you asking questions to which you already know the answer?"

"Merely making an educated guess. After all, you always did like to follow the paths that others laid out for you, Miss Granger. And with Messieurs Potter and Weasley joining Auror training, it seemed unlikely that you would not also apply by default."

"I'll have you know that I considered my options very carefully..."

"Listen carefully to what I'm saying, Miss Granger, because none of your other professors could bear to tell you such unpleasant things. You would perform above average as either a mediwitch or an Auror, but that is as far as you will go. You will be joining well-established institutions, and they do not make a habit of encouraging greatness. You would have no chance at experimentation such as we conducted during the war. You would become a well-trained pair of hands. Nothing more."

There was a significant pause from the girl in the passenger seat.

"It's true," she remarked. "You out of all my professors certainly have no trouble being unpleasant."

Snape sighed to himself. If she didn't want to listen, at least he had tried. That was far more than he owed the girl anyway, despite the fact that she had saved his life multiple times during the war. He figured that over seven years of protecting her rather made up for that in full.

"Do you want to hear what my third choice was?" Hermione asked.

He stared levelly at her until she rolled her eyes. "No questions, fine. I'll deduce your answer to be 'yes.' My third application was sent to the Ministry. I proposed the creation of a new office that would act as liaison between the wizarding world and the families of Muggle-borns. Representatives would be dispatched to families when their children receive their Hogwarts letters, to introduce them to the world their children will be entering and answer any questions they may have."

"That is the most ludicrous of all your options so far, Miss Granger. The Ministry will never let this see the light of day. And even if you were able to wheedle your way into getting workers and funding, I guarantee that you will be consigned to the basements ten floors below Arthur Weasley's misguided Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department."

"I would very much like to place a wager on that, Professor."

That was certainly unexpected. "You are serious."

"Very much so. I should warn you that I have ample experience bringing people around to my point of view, including two of most stubborn boys that I know."

"Somehow I believe that the Ministry will be more immune to your charms than Potter and Weasley."

At that, she smirked. "I wouldn't count on it. I've received three rejection letters so far, and each one of them has arrived a little more promptly than the one before. If they were truly immune, they wouldn't even bother returning my inquiries, would they?"

Once again, Hermione Granger had managed to surprise him. "What is the wager?" Snape asked. "And think carefully, Miss Granger. I will show no mercy if you lose."

"If, after a year's time, my department is not on the front page of the Daily Prophet, I will treat you to an obscenely expensive dinner. If I meet the conditions of the wager, you will be the one treating me."

"That's all, a dinner? Surely your career is worth risking more than that."

"I did say an obscenely expensive dinner."

"You think that I would demand that of a penniless graduate after the Ministry rejects you?"

"Apparently your age has let you forget the substantial stipend that we both received with our Order of Merlins."

Snape gave her a sidelong glance before making a show of returning his gaze to the road. He might have allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk upwards ever so slightly.

"When you put it like that, Miss Granger, how could I possibly refuse?"

She rewarded him with a dazzling grin, and this time he truly did smile. He was careful, however, to turn his head to one side so that she wouldn't see.

"We'll need to stop somewhere for the evening."

"It's barely after noon."

"I know. I'm just saying that I know exactly where we should go, since you'll be needing quite a bit of money a year from now."

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"This is preposterous, Miss Granger."

"Don't you believe that we should at least get some fun out of all of our troubles?"

"This city looks like Peeves was given free reign with Christmas decorations and a hammer."

"If you could have gone anywhere for this holiday other than where Professor Dumbledore is sending us, where would it be?"

"I fail to see the purpose of..."

"I'm justifying my decision to bring you here."

"We are wasting precious time that we could be spending driving to our destination."

"And we don't even know where that destination is, right? Look, we also need to stop for the night somewhere, and it's either here or some motel in the desert."

"If I could have gone anywhere, I would be in some Italian villa far away from these pesky tourists."

"Well, lack of tourists I can't do, but Italy is easy. Turn right at that fake pirate ship."

The doorman gave an overly formal bow as he opened the massive golden doors of the The Venetian, one of the grandest casinos in Las Vegas.

Hermione was pleased to see Snape pause to behold the soaring arched ceilings and frescos of the lobby. They might not have Charms to help them, but Muggles could still make an impressive Great Hall.

Almost jogging next to Snape to keep up with his long strides, Hermione noticed that they were drawing more than a few curious looks from passersby. She was more annoyed than embarrassed at first, unable to figure out the fascination. It was only after she examined Snape out of the corner of her eye that she realized. Dressed from head to toe in black, as usual, Snape cut an extremely elegant figure. And while there were plenty of unattractive men like him (she had to be honest) in suits and pressed pants accompanied by women less half their age, these women were all dressed to the nines with flawlessly powdered faces.

Wearing a denim skirt and a faded top that had seen better days, Hermione experienced an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. She'd been expecting a casual holiday, after all. There hadn't been anyone she needed to impress.

Her mortification was eased only by the happiness she felt that it was no longer Snape who was the object of cruel curiosity. There were no wizards around to stare unabashedly at the livid scars on his cheek. No one to snicker behind his back about how magically inadequate he must be not to be able to fix his face.

She would gladly take the world's scorn in his stead. Hermione squared her jaw and looked resolutely forward.

"Where precisely are we going, Miss Granger?"

She looked up to meet his eyes. They were humorless and slightly annoyed. At least Snape would never regard her with any prejudices. He would treat her as he always had, from the first day her annoying hand had shot up in his classroom.

"I presume you have some brilliant plan to have me enjoy myself."

Not true, she realized. Though sarcastic as ever, at least he no longer doubted her intelligence. Hermione smiled.

"A chance for you to practice your greatest strength with no consequence more dire than losing all of your money. I hope your subterfuge has not become rusty, Professor."

The Venetian poker room looked like the Gryffindor common room right before exam time. A small horde of people were seated around each table, their concentration and anxiety thick enough to cut with a knife.

There was room for two people only at the $50-$100 table. Hermione paled slightly. That was rather more money than she was prepared to risk. She'd always been pants at poker. But Snape was looking at her with a smirk, as if sensing her discomfort. With a curt nod at the hostess, Hermione sat resolutely to the left of the dealer. Snape squeezed in next to her, his black clad legs uncomfortably close to her bare knee.

Hermione rifled through her rucksack, confirming that she had exactly $1,000 in her possession. Ten rounds at most, if her usual luck held out. She didn't know what possessed her to lay down the entirety of her funds, but the dealer swept it out of sight before she could reconsider.

There, the slight raise of Snape eyebrows, the unthinkable gleam of admiration in his eyes. That was why she'd done it.

Even now, after seven years as his student, eight months working together in Grimmauld Place's basement, and six times directly saving his life, Hermione was still a beggar for his approval. She knew one reason why, and it was etched into his cheek in red, angry scars. The more important reason, however, was that he was the only person in her life who had never expressed any approval. For her, there was no siren song more alluring than an impossible task.

Snape dropped $1,000 on the table as well. Five cards landed in front of her.

Hermione lifted the corners of her cards carefully. One card away from a flush. She should fold if she was being smart. When Severus Snape and poker were placed side by side in her life, Snape easily had caused much less misery.

She slid the single card forward and tapped for another one. Hermione glanced at the corner of her new card and nearly choked. A few seconds later, every other person at the table had folded.

Snape leaned over to her ear, his breath on her skin making her squirm. "You would do well to demonstrate some subterfuge of your own, Miss Granger."

She rolled her eyes. A brief spell of luck, that was all. Surely it had passed.

The next round, she was small blind and slid the heavy blue chip forward with some resignation. She needn't have worried. Her hand was three of a kind without even needing to change cards. She didn't react this time, merely blinked slowly at her hand. A niggling suspicion was beginning to brew in her mind.

Snape slid a sidelong glance at her face. She looked back serenely. He called her bid. So did the others around the table. A few seconds later, she was gathering a pile of blue chips into her possession. Snape was outright glaring at her.

She won the next two rounds before folding the next four. She was careful then, to play more prudently even as she confirmed her suspicion with each ensuing round. Before she knew it two hours had passed, and she and Snape were the only ones alive at the table. She was up by $10,000 and Snape by a little more with $15,000.

The last competitor, a middle-aged man wearing wraparound sunglasses, passed his last chips to Snape with a resigned sigh. "Never seen anything like this. Good luck, you two." He stayed to watch, and he wasn't the only one. No one from the original table had left their seats. If anything, they pressed in even closer, hungry for the next hand. Snape's cloth-clad legs were pressed up fully against hers.

Hermione felt small beads of sweat break out across her forehead as cards landed in front of them like brightly-colored leaves. She glanced at her hand, frowning slightly. She looked up. Snape was studying his cards intently, apparently ignoring her. She knew better. Hermione slowly, obviously, showed her ace and then slid forward the other four cards to be changed. Snape slid forward just one.

He got his card first, and as Hermione was waiting for the dealer to give her four, she nearly jumped out of her seat as Snape's leg twitched against hers. It was discomfiting, this closeness, but even more awkward was how she honestly didn't mind that much. This scene would never have occurred to her in her wildest imaginations. Snape and herself, sitting down at a table as equals, each of them as nervous as the other.

That twitch in his leg, was it a tell?

"All in."

An enormous gasp rose from their observers as Snape pushed the entirety of his small mountain of chips to the center of the table. An audible hush fell across the entire room. Activity at the other tables slowed or stopped altogether as all eyes riveted upon Hermione, waiting for her next move.

She hadn't even had a chance to look at her cards yet. She took a deep breath and lifted the corners slightly. The plastic edges rasped against her thumb as she let them fall again. She looked up, and Snape looked steadily back. What could he possibly have? She had exchanged four cards; he only one.

The corner of his mouth curved upwards in an unmistakable smirk.

"All in," she said loudly.

An all-out roar erupted from the poker room, and suddenly the audience crowding around their table had grown tenfold. Snape shifted in his seat as she pushed her chips into the center. The onlookers starting whooping excitedly, clapping, pointing to the multi-colored mountain of chips, some taking photos with bright flashes.

"Quiet! Quiet!" shouted the dealer. The roar dulled into a low murmur as the audience pressed even closer.

"The gentleman shall show his cards first."

Snape never took his eyes off her as he slid his fingers underneath his cards and turned them over with a flick of his wrist. A synchronized gasp arose from the room. A full house. Only two types of hands could possibly beat it.

"And now the lady shall show hers."

Hermione looked coolly back at Snape. When she felt the insistent pressure on her mind, she was not surprised and chose not to be offended.

Don't even think about it, Snape, she thought. You had your chance this entire game, and you haven't cheated once yet.

The pressure withdrew instantly, and Snape dropped his gaze. She couldn't tell if he was surprised, but she definitely caught a shred of grudging admiration before their minds broke the connection. At that point, she no longer cared about the outcome of the game. Monetary consequences could hold no place in her mind with the joy that filled her like a cathedral, knowing that he respected and admired her. Maybe he had even forgiven her.

Hermione flipped over her cards. There was a brief moment of utter silence before the room was consumed with shouting, whooping and cheers.

A four of a kind. In her mind, the cathedral bells began to chime. Just because the money no longer mattered didn't mean that she wouldn't gloat her heart out.

She was being slapped on the back, the dealer was pumping her hand up and down and a loud bell began ringing, reverberating throughout the entire casino, announcing her jackpot. Amidst the chaos, she felt Snape take her hand and enfold it in his.

"Well played, Miss Granger," he said. Their eyes met, and she imagined that he held her hand for a bit longer than was necessary for their firm handshake.

She stood up a little unsteadily, handing a $1,000 chip to the dealer with a murmur of thanks. He in turn pressed a keycard into her hands. "A complimentary night's stay in one of our Prima suites, madam."

Hermione was jostled from all sides as she attempted to move away from the table. The congratulations and handshakes did not cease. Nor did the catcalls and murmurs of sympathy for Snape. She jumped when she felt a warm hand on the small of her back and Snape said to her, "Come, Miss Granger."

And like a consummate Slytherin, he twisted within the crowd and had freed both of them in seconds. Weaving in and out among the brightly-painted slot machines, Hermione was once again stumbling to keep up with his long strides. This time, however, he slowed their pace when it became clear that they had left the crowd behind.

Hermione cautiously lifted the keycard in her hand. "Um, Professor. We were given a... free night's stay."

His eyebrows raised, and she kicked herself mentally as she felt an inexplicable blush creep into her cheeks. "Well, Miss Granger, I'd say that's the least you could do for a now-penniless gentleman."

The lift was trimmed with gold and mirrors and absurdly small. It was only after the ornate doors closed to the sounds of the still-clanging jackpot bell that Hermione became acutely aware of her situation. She and her former professor were heading up to their hotel room – singular – in Las Vegas while she grasped their keycard in an increasingly sweaty hand.

Oh... bloody hell. Why was the lift so damned small? Her elbow was mere inches from his waist, and she was hyper-conscious of each breath they took in the increasingly warm space. She had been too high-strung to focus on his closeness at the poker table, but here in the golden lift, there was little to occupy her mind other than claustrophobia and Snape.

It reminded of her of when they had worked together for so long in Grimmauld Place that year before the Final Battle. She'd imagined they developed quite a camaraderie... well, before she had torn it all that one day. Her eyes slid once more to Snape's mangled cheek.

To distract herself, she studied him, hunting for signals that he was more uncomfortable than herself. He did look mildly nervous, but Hermione noticed after a few seconds that his anxiety seemed timed to the squeaks and groans of the moving lift. Of course... how often would he have cause to use a Muggle lift? Probably as often as he had to board an airplane.

How long could a single ride in a lift last?

She heard Snape clear a dry throat. "So what will it be? Your own library?"

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"You. Spending your newfound riches on enough books to rival the Hogwarts library. Or perhaps on a nice gift for young Mr. Weasley if his pride doesn't get in the way."

"Books aren't the only things I care about," Hermione replied indignantly. "I mean, my Muggle-born initiative could certainly use the funds. And Ron is doing quite nicely now that he has abandoned the Aurory for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. In any case, he's not my concern any longer."

"He isn't, is he?" Snape didn't manage to sound as disinterested as she knew he was trying to be. "Well, there is the obscenely expensive dinner that you will be treating me to in a year's time."

"I wouldn't be too confident, Professor. Besides, considering that I've just robbed you blind, I can make sure it's all your money that pays for it no matter the outcome of our deal."

Snape's scathing retort was cut off by the lift doors sliding open with a ding. The anxiety that had eased during their banter rushed back full force as Hermione beheld the long hallway of rooms.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, there was no long walk. Their room was three doors down from the lift. The lock beeped loudly in the silent hallway as she opened the door to their suite.

The warm light from the hallway revealed a sumptuous room with a sunken living room and dining area, a wall-to-wall window with a view of the Strip, and – thank goodness – two beds.

Snape paused next to her. Too close. She began breaking out into a sweat again.

"Well," Snape said suddenly. "This has certainly turned out better than any holiday Albus could have planned."

There was a beat of silence. Hermione could almost hear the thoughts in Snape's head come to a screeching halt as he processed what he had just said given the context of the two of them standing in a bedroom together.

His head whipped around to face her. Hermione knew that Harry and Ron would have given their last Knut to see the look of utter embarrassment on Snape's face at that instant. "I...that is, Miss Granger, I certainly did not mean to imply anything about you... that would make you uncomfortable, that is..."

"No offense taken, sir," she said very quickly. Hermione wasn't ready to deal with the situation in the first place, and she certainly wasn't ready to deal with an apologetic Snape. "I'm going to use the loo." She ducked into the room to their side and almost slammed the door.

Inside, she spent far more time than necessary brushing her teeth, combing her hair and sorting the complimentary bottles of toiletries into alphabetical order. Beyond the door, she could hear muffled sounds of Snape walking around the suite, the gentle creak of a stair as he descended into the living area, the smooth buzz of the television turning on and Snape's murmur of appreciation.

She wasn't ready to go out again yet. So she deliberately unpacked everything in her rucksack and carefully packed them again. She ended up with much more room in her bag. She paused when she was holding the thick wad of her cash winnings. Nearly $25,000 in all. Enough for full tuition at the university of her choice, or for an admirable library, or several years of rent. Or, she scoffed, for multiple obscenely expensive dinners.

The sounds from the other side of the door had ceased, except for muffled noises from the television. The ticking of an ornate clock on the wall over the sink sounded incredibly loud.

Hermione stood, having made her decision. She removed several bills from her stack of cash and opened the door quietly. He should be engrossed in the television and therefore pay little notice to her.

When she had fully stepped back into the suite, she could see that she had been mistaken. Snape was stretched out upon the sofa in the living room, sound asleep and engrossed in nothing at all. The television played on in the background, the flickering images of some evening cooking show dancing across the screen.

She paused for a moment to take in the never-before-seen sight of a sleeping Snape. The lines in his forehead were completely relaxed, and his hands were folded loosely across his fully-clothed chest. It was barely ten o'clock at night, but of course he was exhausted after driving for so many hours. Just about twelve hours, she calculated.

In sleep, he looked – well, she would never use the word gentle to describe Snape, but he looked... peaceful. The angry mass of scars on his right cheek was the only thing to mar the peaceful image, reminding her of just how much she owed to this man. Hermione swallowed hard and picked up the keycard. Her task would be easier now since he wouldn't even notice she was gone. She opened the door quietly and stepped out into the warm desert night.