Chapter 23

XXIII.

A door waited for them at the end of the hall; a cobweb hung in one corner of the frame, long since abandoned by whatever spider had thought it would catch a meal in this unused passageway. Ignoring the threads, Severus opened the latch with his free hand. Light sprang to life as the entered the room, sconces flickering with a steady flame, illuminating his sitting room. It was not, Hermione saw with relief, decorated in Slytherin silvers and greens. It was decorated in the browns of leather and wood, and a plethora of book spines on the shelves lining the walls between the sconces.

It was also spotlessly dusted and tidied, with a fresh scent to the air. That puzzled Hermione. Severus--Russel--grunted, unconcerned by her worry. "The house-elves are still cleaning it, I see. Two of them have access to the Secret of this place. You can peruse the books later; we won't be here long."

"I'd like to see the rest of the place," Hermione demurred, though she was tempted to study the shelves. "And I do have to short-sheet your bed, so you might as well show me where that is."

Another snort sound escaped him, this time tinged with humor. "Just remember, you required my assistance to put one over on the Weasley twins. You'll owe me, for that. If it's wise to tell them you were in here. Knowing them, they might get too curious and would want to see this place for themselves. I don't want the Ministry finding out that you know about it, either. But if you insist, I'll give you the two-Sickle tour."

Hermione followed him. The sitting room functioned as a sort of private study, spacious enough for a bachelor's needs, but not overly large. There was a kitchenette and dining nook, too, also spotless, though the cupboards and icebox had been stripped bare of all foodstuff but a tin of tea and a small canister of sugar. The bedroom was reasonably sized, too, with a four-poster bed covered in a dark blue duvet, the pillows looking freshly plumped in their white coverlets. The bathroom...well, it wasn't quite as sybaritic as the prefects' pool-sized baths, but it did have an oversized tub with a plethora of taps, a separate showering stall, and polished pale marble countertops.

Content with what she saw, Hermione followed him back to the bedroom, where he stopped to open some of the drawers in the tall, dark cherry wardrobe, rummaging through their contents. While he was occupied, her gaze kept returning to his bed. Normally Hermione was the staid, rules-abiding type...but there was just enough of a rebel within her to find the idea too tempting to resist. A flick and a swish of her wand, and the covers rustled and shifted subtly. The top-sheet was now doubled up, with the bottom end tucked around the top of the mattress.

The house-elves might discover and correct it before the bed was ever used again...but she'd done what no other prankster student had ever managed to do: short-sheet Severus Snape's bed. Feeling rather smug, Hermione turned her attention back to the dark blond man closing the wardrobe drawers across from her. He turned to face her, something cradled in his hand. "If you're done playing with my bed, I have something for you."

Curious, Hermione approached. Resting on his palm was a barrette, a hairpin, crafted out of silver and studded with blue gems. Sapphires, she realized suddenly. They were tiny, but there were half a dozen of them on the pin. From the lack of visible tarnish, she guessed the thin, swirling lines of the barrette were most likely made from white gold, not silver.

"This was my mother's. There used to be two of them, but I don't know where the other one went. I couldn't find it in her belongings, after she died. She was born in September, too, so I know you share the same birthstone. You'll need something to keep your hair out of your face, while you read the instructions for the potion."

"I couldn't wear this," Hermione demurred. "Not an heirloom piece. I wouldn't want to lose it, if it's the only one left."

"You'll wear it if I say you can wear it. I know you'll be careful enough to not lose it. I also don't want your hair in your face while we're trying to collaborate on a lethal brew."

Scooping her locks back from her hairline, he fastened the strands behind the top of her head. He moved around her as he did so, standing behind her as he finished pinning her hair in place. His hands dropped to her upper arms, cupping them. Warm breath gusted along the side of her bared throat; Hermione felt his lips saluting the skin just under her ear. It was cold in his quarters without any fires lit, but her shiver wasn't induced by the temperature. Sliding his hands down her arms, he released her, then caught her fingers, tugging her towards the door.

"I wanted to make sure the house-elves hadn't been ordered to strip my rooms bare for the Aurors to pick through, like vultures. I'm pleased to see they haven't done so...which means the other half of my personal library is still available for our use. But I would appreciate it if you did not come here without me," her husband cautioned her, sounding strange with his Snape-like seriousness, yet Russel-accented speech. "Some of the texts on my shelves can just as dangerous as the Diary, but without the Suffragette tendencies to side in your favour, if you do not know the trick of reading them."

"I'll keep that in mind," Hermione promised. Her ears were a little cold, exposed like this, but she wasn't going to touch the pin holding back her hair for all the Galleons in the world, in that moment. Anything he did, calculated or not, that was a positive interaction with her was something she was going to do her best to encourage, not discourage. "But we need to get going on brewing the Anima Te. Is the Floo connected to your hearth?"

"There should still be some powder in the pot on the mantel. I'll wait here," he promised, guiding her towards the sitting room hearth. "Don't dally."

"I won't," she promised, taking a handful of powder. Then hesitated, looking at him. "If you go into the bedroom, I can Floo directly there, but otherwise..."

Nodding, he turned back toward the bedroom. "I have to use the lavatory, anyway. Don't take long."

Hermione made a note to do that herself, and waited only until the door was shut before snapping her wand at the hearth to spark a magical fire; a quietly spoken command and she stepped through, spinning off to fetch the Lucrezia Diary and the new cauldron she'd bought.

...

It was late when Hermione spun out of the hearth at Headquarters. As in, after-breakfast-late. With her reading the Diary from behind a sheltered lectern, however, they had managed to get quite a lot done before the first of many 'overnight' simmering stages. Severus had used their requirement-conjured hearth to Floo to his home at 42 Spinner's End, pausing only to kiss her good-night, or rather, good-morning. That had left her free to Floo herself back to 12 Grimmauld Place without being overheard. Dusting herself off, she looked around the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled at the lingering scents of rashers and hash-browns, but Mrs. Figg was standing at the sink, scrubbing the last of the breakfast dishes.

Her second, louder stomach-rumble caught the elderly Squib's attention. Glancing over her shoulder, Arabella offered her a smile. And a scolding. "About time you got home! Harry and Ron wanted to wait up for you, but they've gone off to bed. You young folk are keeping such strange hours, right now. If you want a little something, there's a few leftovers from the fry-up we had, in the icebox there. Tonks is supposed to go to the grocer's this afternoon, but I think there's an apple or two left, if you want a little more...and if you do want to eat, you'd better dry and put away these dishes afterwards, and wash and dry your own."

She nodded at the dish drainer next to her elbow. Mindful of the older woman's admonishment to pull her weight in chores, Hermione nodded, stifling a yawn. Fetching the remnants of breakfast, she piled it together on a plate, cast a reheating charm, then sliced and added the apple she found. A glass of grapefruit juice rounded out the meal; it was halfway gone by the time Arabella finished scrubbing the dishes, wiped her hands dry, and dropped an envelope next to Hermione.

"That came for you, by owl-post. You'll want to answer it as soon as you can consult that man of yours. When will you be seeing him again, do you know?" the older woman nattered, curious.

"Tonight. We're working on a project...together," Hermione answered, yawning midway through her reply.

"Then you'll be able to reply quickly. Harry and Ron said they'd go, and Harry said he'd visit your folks to see if they'd accept, though he said he wanted you to be with him when he did so. Something about this afternoon, after they'd finished at their practice and had gone home."

Curious, Hermione opened the flap. The first of two folded parchments inside bore a neatly scribed invitation. It read: Mr. Arthur and Mrs. Molly Weasley, and their Eldest Son Bill and Daughter-in-Law Fleur, cordially invite Hermione and Russel Fawkeson to the Burrow for Christmas Eve through Boxing Day Celebrations. R.S.V.P. ~Fleur Weasley

Hermione rolled her eyes. Only Phlegm would be so formal about an invitation to share the Christmas hols. She checked the second one; it said the same, except it was addressed to Jeffrey and Daphne Granger, her parents. Hermione suspected Harry had received a double-invitation set as well. Setting the invitations briefly aside, she finished her breakfast, and took care of the dishes. When the kitchen was neat, she took the envelope and its contents upstairs to the privacy of her room, pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, and touched her thumb to her ring.

"Severus Selenius Snape."

Touching the ring to the paper, she wrote, Got a minute?

He didn't reply. After five minutes of waiting, she removed her hand, wondering if he was alright. Hoping he'd just gone to sleep. It wasn't until she'd stripped her clothes and tossed them in the hamper that her finger burned. Wrapping a wool blanket from the foot of her bed around her body, since her bedroom was cold and she was naked, Hermione sat back down at her vanity-desk, pressing the blank gold to the page.

Sorry, I wasn't near paper. What did you want?

I'm not the one who said he was 'naturally randy', Hermione retorted.

I meant the potion.

She didn't know whether to blush, laugh, or glare. She settled for a warm-faced snort. Then you'd better get your rest, since I'll put you through the wringer tonight, too.

Promises, promises...

Smiling, Hermione ended the communication. It wasn't until she'd crawled between the covers of her single bed and extinguished the light that she realized it was only a little while ago that she wouldn't have been in the mood to smile at anything her husband said or did. She might've made several mistakes right along with him, but she was fairly sure she'd gotten everything back on the right track again.

...

The surreal sight of a kilt-clad, light-haired Severus Snape--Russel Fawkeson, rather--in the aisles of Harrods two days later was a thing Hermione could never, ever have imagined. The man was a menace, wading through the other shoppers like a Muggle born and bred. Weaving this way and that, he hauled Hermione in his wake and smiled at everyone, from the rather harried salesclerks to the most silvery-haired matron shoppers doddering along the aisles. Well maybe not at the cranky toddlers, but everyone of adult age.

His tanned good looks ensured the lady salesclerks helped them, too. That put her out, since more than one of the lady-clerks referred to her as his daughter, or his niece, making her snap from time to time that she was his wife, thank you very much. Which ended up in lesser service, but she was irritated by every single feminine smile sent his way, dammit. Luckily, he had ordered Sigurd to ignore any minor Muggle advances, and remain discreetly out of sight. But it didn't stop Hermione from glaring with the ferocity of a guardian-dragon.

He was definitely a power-shopper, too.

In the span of one and a half hours and five major stores--admittedly on the same stretch of London street and ending in Harrods--he had bought an expensive electronic scale for the twins to use in measuring ingredient weights for their shop; a fancy grooming kit each for Bill and Charlie; scented toiletry baskets for Fleur and Ginny; a pair of digital clock/radio/temperature-gauge thingies for Arthur Weasley--with the side-note to Hermione that one was for Arthur to actually use, and the other for the Muggle-loving wizard to pry apart and investigate--another clock-thing for her father, Jeffrey, along with a pocket voice-recorder; a nesting trio each of saucepans for Molly and Hermione's mother, Daphne, one set in red and the other in blue; a small hamper of assorted biscuits, sausages and cheeses for Ron, and a matching one for Harry.

He'd helped her to buy a towel-set each for Fleur and Bill in a nice light blue reminiscent of the blue Beauxbatons uniforms; a fancy Muggle first-aid kit for Charlie; and matching scarves-and-gloves for the twins. For Ginny, she bought a new quilted dressing gown in a light purple, a larger-sized one for Molly in rose, and one sized for her own mum in green. For her father, she purchased a page-a-day cat calendar as she did every year, along with a mug for his coffee cup collection; for Arthur, she sternly resisted buying him a similar calendar themed in duct-tape suggestions, afraid he'd actually attempt them. Instead, she got him a page-a-day calendar and a mug of a popular Muggle comic strip, Dilbert, figuring that the woes of the workplace weren't so different in the wizarding world. She figured he could take them to the Ministry and have a chuckle a day, in his cubicle.

...If they hadn't been able to discreetly flick their wands inside their shopping bags, reducing sizes and weights, it would've been a very awkward lot to haul around.

Harry and Ron were her last two gifts to get. One of her recent chores in the last few weeks at Headquarters was casting the laundering charms for the piles of clothes that had stacked up. Kreacher was working at Hogwarts, still, and that meant someone had to do the laundry for those Order members who lived at Headquarters. She'd seen the state of Ron and Harry's shirts, and the fact that they seemed to only have jeans, and had taken careful note of their clothing sizes.

The problem was, jackets and slacks were a little pricey. Throw in shirts and ties, and she didn't know if she could afford full-on Muggle clothes, with her share of their remaining funds. She could Transfigure something...but if anyone cast Finite Incantatem at the wrong object, they'd wind up in whatever the clothes had originally been. Which could be quite embarrassing, even if it were only cloaks made out of handkerchiefs.

An exasperated noise broke her concentration, as she studied the Clearance racks. A tanned hand shoved a collection of bags at her to hold, then impatiently grabbed two hangers of pale blue shirts, and two light grey jacket-and-trousers sets, each holding garments in the sizes she'd muttered she was looking for. Catching her elbow, her husband dragged her over to the round tables laid out with a rainbow of ties, picked out two silver-and-blue ties in the exact same colour and pattern, and tossed them over the clothes draped on his arm.

"--Russel!" Hermione protested, carefully avoiding his other name. "They can't have the exact same outfits!"

"Why not? They're around each other all the time. Why should Fred and George be the only twins in the family?" he returned. "Those two certainly act like it, themselves."

"Fred and George are the exact same size, and don't have to worry about getting their laundry mixed up," Hermione retorted. "Ron's a full five inches taller than Harry."

"This isn't a faux-pas like two ladies wearing the exact same dress to a formal tea," he pointed out, his Canadian accent standing out in the sea of British voices chattering around them. "It's two guys who are best friends. They'll think having matching outfits is a great idea!"

"--He's right about that," a somewhat portly gentleman offered from the other side of the tie-scattered table. "My wife would kill me if I got her the same dress as the neighbor's, but I certainly don't care if I've got the same jumper on or not. You should pay attention to your uncle's advice."

Hermione gritted her teeth, silently snarling, He's not my uncle! He's not my father! He's not my brother! And he's not my bloody guardian! He's my husband, dammit! But shouting that in the middle of Harrods wouldn't be very couth. It would be a great stress-reliever, and slightly less disruptive than hexing the man's nose off his face, but not the polite thing to do. Giving in, Hermione let her husband steer them towards the nearest purchasing counter.

Two women stood there in jeans and jumpers, arms laden with gifts of their own as they waited in the queue for the cashiers. They eyed Russel Fawkeson from his boots to his brow, taking in the socks, kilt, and woolly jumper, and returned their gazes to his lean waistline. And points lower, where they lingered over the fine-looking legs displayed by his blue-and-red kilt.

Hermione had enough. Stepping in front of the object of their attentions, she stared pointedly at both women--mid-twenties, blond, smartly dressed--and turned, facing the kilt-clad wizard. Freeing one arm from her packages, she twined her fingers through his hair and dragged his head down into range, kissing him firmly and blatantly on the mouth. This wasn't a time for the famous British reserve in public, in her very irritated opinion.

He stiffened for a moment, pulling back. Spots of colour had appeared on his tanned cheeks, and one sandy brown brow had arched, silently questioning her actions. But he didn't look away from her; his eyes narrowed in thought, then warmed in decision, almost gleaming as he regarded her silently. He smiled and gave in, dipping down to recapture her lips and returning the sensual play.

Kissing him like that in a holiday-crowded department store felt very naughty, and yet very full of holiday cheer. It wasn't something she'd normally associate with Severus Snape--even if he was Russel at the moment--but Hermione decided the only thing that would've been better was the flavour of peppermint added to their kiss. She doubted she could get him to suck on a candy-cane, but somehow, she knew she was going to associate holiday sale signs, tinsel garlands, and queuing for a cash register with the man she'd married.

A spluttered noise of protest broke them apart, but when a flushed Hermione glanced over her shoulder, it wasn't from what they'd done. It was because a pushy middle-aged woman in a lurid purple outfit was trying to cut into the queue ahead of the two understandably distracted younger women. Glad she'd made her point to them and anyone else who might've been watching, Hermione faced forward again.

A blue-clad arm wrapped around her, and an accented voice murmured in her ear. "We'll need to break up and shop for each other, in a little bit. Shall we go back to the hotel to drop off our purchases, before then?"

Hermione nodded, shuffling forward in the queue with him. It did beg the question of what to get him for Christmas, though. The first thing that came to mind was books, but he had so many, Hermione didn't know how to tell if he already had a particular tome, first. Not without cataloguing his shelves beforehand. Probably, he doesn't have anything absolutely brand-new, she thought, knowing he hadn't been able to nip out to a bookstore since that disastrous night at the end of the last school year. Which means I might be able to find him something good in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. But I can't get him anything Muggle, and expect him to be able to read it while he's at Death Eater Central. She could get him some jigsaw puzzles, but that seemed like a bit of a wimpy present...

They reached the head of the queue. Russel handed over the clothes to be purchased, and all of Hermione's remaining paper cash, plus most of his own. There went her idea for anything Muggle; by the time he got their change back, they probably had just over five pounds between the two of them. The salesclerk handed it to him with a smile. "Thank you for shopping at Harrods! Say...my shift ends in just two more minutes--would you like to share a cuppa in the store cafe downstairs?"

Gritting her teeth in an approximation of a smile, Hermione leaned forward over the counter, snagging the newest addition to their plethora of paper sacks. "My husband and I already have plans to go back to our hotel room and shag like rabid rabbits. But the offer is flattering. Have a happy holiday!"

With the sort of syrupy-sweet inflection to her tone that silently added the words, ...with all of your teeth intact, to the end of her little well-wishing speech, Hermione hustled the kilted wizard at her side out of the department store as fast as she could. His grin didn't help her temper. It was very un-Severus-ish, too, and it was still splitting his face even after she pulled him into the visual shelter of the parking garage's stairwell, and Disapparated both of them back to their suite in the nameless Muggle hotel he'd picked, vanishing the moment she was certain no one was looking.

Dumping the bags on the floor, Hermione tossed her Muggle jacket aside, then reached up and unfastened his choker, tossing it on the table as he shrugged out of his own coat. Hands planted on her hips, she stared up at his still-grinning face, though he did arch his brow at her. Impatiently, she waited until the last bit of excess skin-colour had swirled up into his hairline, restoring his locks to raven-black. She had hoped that seeing him as Severus would ease her rotten mood, but it didn't. God, if he'd gone into Harrods looking like this, she'd still have had troubles! Sapphire blue was really his best colour to wear, even when his own colouring was restored to his natural black locks and pale hide.

Upset with all the feminine attention he'd received, irked that he was enjoying it, Hermione snarled at him, "--Do you have to be so bloody handsome in a kilt?!"

Shock robbed him of his smile. His eyes widened, making the whites stand out in stark contrast to his dark irises. A moment later, they narrowed, and that ruddy, amused smile was back. In fact, it was even more smug than before. That only roused more of her ire. Part of the problem was that he'd been smiling at most of the women they'd met!

"Merlin's arse! I can't take you anywhere! Blond or brunette, you'd draw flies to honey, in that outfit!--I'm surprised you're not soaked in their drool! You were giving me the collywobbles, too, Severus! Smiling at everyone and everything! I know you were being Russel, but did you have to smile at all of the other ladies? And exactly how many of them tried to pinch your arse, in those crowds?" she demanded.

It didn't help that his shoulders shook with silent laughter. A lick of his lips, and the snarky bastard smugly admitted, "...Five. Plus two more who groped me for a discreet kilt-check."

Instinct had her grabbing her wand, even though the women from the store weren't anywhere near. She wasn't really going to use it--in fact, when she did touch it, tucked into her sleeve, Hermione felt rather embarrassed that she was overreacting so much. But Severus caught her wrists, gently parting and brushing her arms out of the way as he stepped up against her. Sliding his hands around her waist, he kissed her, silencing whatever would've been the next leg of her tirade.

Hermione let him silence her with his lips. The most contrasting thing about him was, to put it bluntly, his snark factor versus his sex factor. And after having seeing him be nice for an hour and a half, being attacked by his sensual passions was quite enjoyable. But his comment about the women who had groped him made her curious to know what he was wearing under his kilt, too. She hoped he had something under there; it would not please her to think of some female feeling up her man's arse, when she hadn't yet had the chance to do so herself, today.

Her fingers, pulling up the pleats of his kilt and exploring his hips, encountered the soft cotton knit of his briefs. Relief warred with disappointment for a moment, before Hermione decided it was a good thing he'd had his underthings on until this point...but since they were alone, away from any grabby fingers--other than hers, a thought which made her smirk as she kissed her way down his throat--she pulled gently on the waistband, easing the material over his hardening loins and down his thighs.

That broke her kiss, since she had to dip lower than his jumper collar, but he obligingly stepped out of them. Rising, she caught him in the act of tugging on his cuffs. Dropping his briefs, Hermione covered his hands, smiling. "No. Keep your clothes on. The rest of them, that is."

Severus arched one of his brows, then lowered both of them. "I'm not going outside, like this."

Hermione lifted her own brow, returning her hands to the hem of his kilt, lifting the red-and-blue plaid with a skimming touch of her fingertips on his thighs. "If you ever did, I'd hex you silly. And just to make my intentions clear, you will not go regimental under your kilts, not out where any other woman could possibly grope, let alone see, what is mine."

Her fingers tightened on his buttocks in emphasis, pulling their lower bodies snugly together. Even through the layers of his wool and her denim, Hermione could feel his erection twitch at her possessive words. That smug smirk from earlier came back, curving his mouth as he kissed her. She squeezed him for looking so bloody superior without saying why, but that only seemed to encourage him, slanting his mouth across hers and all but devouring her lips and her tongue. Merlin, the man could kiss!

An unannounced tap on her shoulder surprised her, for it slithered her clothing from her limbs. Hermione hadn't realized one could do wordless magic while snogging someone, but she supposed it made great sense, since one couldn't cast a verbal spell effectively while the lips and the tongue were busy doing something else. Of course, it also left her naked, as even her shoes and socks squirmed off her feet, forcing her to shuffle a moment for balance.

For a moment, Hermione felt vulnerable, standing there naked while he was still more or less fully clothed. But the desire burning in his gaze, the way his hand trembled a little as he shifted it to caress her breast, the subtle but undeniable tenting of his kilt told her she still wielded some power over him. There was strength to be found in being nude; she realized that, now.

His hands covered hers as she started to unbuckle his belt, stilling her movement.

"I thought you wanted me to stay clothed," Severus murmured, tickling her skin as he nuzzled her hairline.

"Your sporran is in the way," she returned, twisting her head to purr the words into his ear. He shivered. It made her feel smug, knowing exactly what hot-button to push on an otherwise powerful, passionate, but tightly controlled man. His current kilt was not actual folded yards of wool, but neatly stitched pleats of wool, so removing the belt didn't make it fall. But the latch wasn't fully fastened on the sporran; when she dropped it on the table, a couple coins rolled out. That made her think of how he'd shopped. "You know, you were scarily efficient, in all those stores."

"That's because I absolutely loathe, detest, and despise shopping," Severus informed her, cupping her bare bottom in his hands as she returned her attention to him. "The only thing I can tolerate for any length of time is book-shopping. All else, I make up a list beforehand, even if it's only my mind, and I get what I want, and get out as fast as I can."

Her nipples rubbed against the warm blue knit of his jumper, stimulating the tips of her breasts. Concentrating through the sensation even as she wriggled her shoulders, rubbing them a little more, Hermione asked, "Even when you're looking for potions ingredients?"

He tipped his head slightly, acknowledging her point. "...I take slightly longer with that than other kinds of shopping, but mostly because I take time to ensure that the ingredients selected are in excellent condition. But I never browse. I have a list, and I stick to it. Browsing is for bookshops."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't get you a book for Christmas until I know what you already have on your shelves, so I don't accidentally buy a duplicate," Hermione found herself apologizing. "I'd get you a Muggle book, since you don't have many of those, but you'd never have time or a safe place to read it..."

"Potions, Powders, Unguents and Salves of Upper and Lower Egypt," he asserted, sliding one hand up the length of her spine, sending goose-spots down her arms.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Potions, Powders, Unguents and Salves of Upper and Lower Egypt," Severus repeated. "It was Copernicus Amalgo's first mass-published translation. They'd just run a third printing, and I had ordered a copy at the bookshop in Hogsmeade, right before everything was shot into hell in a rocket-launched hand-basket. It should still be there, and you should have enough in wizarding funds to purchase it, from what you didn't have converted, earlier. If anyone asks at the Burrow why you're giving it to me, I'll simply tell them I'm interested in Egyptian wizardry.

"And...if you go into Hogsmeade to get it," he added, "I can go to Diagon Alley and buy you a gift there, with neither of us crossing paths until our purchases are safely wrapped. You can buy me something I don't know about, as well. If you like."

His subtle diffidence made her smile. "I'll see what I can find. Erm...if you want to get me something, I'd love a copy of The ABCs of Artificing, or some other basic text on the art of making Artifacts. I'm beginning to think I should've taken that, instead of Divinations, or Care of Magical Creatures. And you could get something I don't know about, if you'd like to surprise me, too."

A curt nod, and he stated, "Then we're agreed." Scooping her up in his arms, he ignored her surprised gasp and the way she clutched at his shoulders, carrying her over to the bench at the foot of the bed. "As for that shameless display of public affection earlier, I think a spanking is in order. I did not give you permission to snog the daylights out of me in the middle of bloody Harrods!"

"--Severus!" Hermione shrieked, finding herself quickly and firmly inverted over his kilt-clad thighs as he sat down.

"If you tell me 'no'..." he stated, and deliberately paused so that he could slide his fingertips very slowly along the seam of her femininity, "I shall have to find some other, less pleasant means of punishing you, than twenty swats of my hand."

"Less pleasant?" Hermione repeated, outraged, as he stroked her slowly with his hand. She did her best to ignore the rush of her blood to the body-parts he was touching as well as to her head, and refused to admit her heart was pounding. "You're going to spank me! Let me up this instant! Let me--oh!"

The bastard had inserted his finger between her folds, belying her outrage with the revelation of just how moist she was. He penetrated her all the way to the base of his finger, then withdrew it slowly, and sucked her moisture noisily from his flesh. Hermione couldn't breathe, hearing him swallowing, then moaning deep in his chest from the pleasure of her taste.

The sting of his hand, slapping her bottom rapidly in five painful smacks, caught her off guard. She twisted as she yelped, trying to get free, but his other arm had become a vise, pinning her to his knees. She caught her breath when he paused, rubbing his fingers blatantly through her folds, and managed to speak. "No!"

Instantly, Severus released her. He even pulled her upright, steadying her on her feet before letting go. Midnight eyes stared at tawny brown soberly. Then the bastard had the temerity to lift his hand to his mouth and suck her glistening dew from each anointed finger. He held her gaze as he did so, letting her see the heat building within him at the simple, sensual act.

Trepidation warred with sensuality, embarrassment, arousal, and disbelief, leaving her flustered and hot-faced. She'd said no, and he'd released her, but he had also threatened something worse. The thought of what Severus Snape could come up with for 'worse' unnerved her. And there was something else making her hesitate.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment stilling the whirling emotions within her, so that she could think clearly; in the calmness she found, she decided that that it was okay to be aroused by being spanked. Opening them, she watched Severus curling his tongue suggestively between two of his fingers, and blushed harder. A deep breath, and she expelled it in a sigh, moving back to him and lowering her stomach back onto his lap. She felt his tension at the bold, odd-for-her act, and sighed again, grumbling, "You'd better give me a ruddy brilliant orgasm, if you expect to spank me and get away with it."

She heard his breath catch in his throat, and felt a tremor in his hands as they settled on her skin, one on her back, the other on her buttock. Rather than beginning immediately, he started caressing her, kneading the muscles under his hands. It felt good. Hermione relaxed under his touch, then shivered as he delicately resumed teasing her femininity with his fingertips. That felt good, too.

Smack!

Shocked, Hermione felt the stinging tingle in her bum. She felt the way her skin was more sensitive to the tickling caress of his touch as he skimmed his palm very lightly over her backside. He spanked her again, four more smarting, rapid strokes that made her suck in her breath and hold it. That breath left her explosively as he feathered his fingers between her nether-lips, stroking through the moisture that had seeped from her depths.

He circled her clitoris, teasing it and arousing her further, then slid his left hand over her shoulder, and down under her body, cupping and caressing the curves of her breasts. Ghosting his touch over their peaks, he lightly pinched and twisted one nipple at one end of her torso, while two of his fingers over at the other end pressed their way into her slick depths. Hermione shuddered with the strange pleasure of the act; her nipple ached, yet it felt good, connecting all of the nerves between the two locations. Especially when he twisted his hand a little and pressed one of his fingers down, rubbing it into that spot inside her vagina that made her ache so sweetly. She bucked under his touch, moaning with the helpless need he instilled.

"Yesss..." He spanked her five more times, rubbed and pinched and caressed, then smacked her one last time on her tender flank, leaving a damp spot from the wetness on his hand. "Get your wand!"

Hermione opened her eyes and craned her head, peering up at him. He smacked her rump gain. Sliding off his lap, she looked up at him, trying not to sit on her stinging bum. "Whatever for?"

A tap of his wand, and his clothing slithered away. A second tap, and he stated, "Semobilim." His naked body rose off of the bench by about half a foot, and hovered in the air. The somber expression on Severus' face warmed, the corner of his mouth quirking up along with his eyebrow. "Well?"

Blinking, Hermione twisted and found her wand, tapping herself. She'd never quite considered the possibility of two people using her self-levitation charm, the one she'd used when he was injured but needy. But his adaptation was ruddy brilliant, when she thought of it. "Semobilim!"

Floating up, she willed herself towards him, pleased to see him moving towards her. They bumped awkwardly together, twisting as each one had their own idea on what position to take, but it got sorted out when he slotted himself between her thighs, and pulled himself into her by her hips. It was a strange sensation, floating in the support of a spell that allowed them to twist and turn free, taking any position they wanted. It did give them a great deal of freedom, though.

They found themselves oriented head-down at one point, and the heady rush of blood and silly swaying of their hair contrasted against each other and the pleasure they were experiencing, until Hermione found herself laughing. "--Wheeeeee!" she gasped, holding onto him as her body shook with spasms. "Now we really are upside-down!"

Severus didn't laugh. Instead, he stared at her with a faintly puzzled look, as if seeing something in her for the first time. Wrapping his arms around her, he started to tilt them horizontal again.

"Oh, please--I was having fun, upside-down!" she pouted in protest. He stilled, then tipped them downward again, the two spells intermeshing as she allowed him to guide her. But rather than stopping when they were inverted vertically, he continued around, until he was under her at an angle. Then horizontal, then on their way to upright...and then over and down again. Hermione laughed as they spun like a wheel, until he captured her mouth with what sounded like a chuckle, silencing her laughter.

They drifted to a stop on an incline, their heads higher than their toes, with Severus lying under her, his hands guiding her hips as she rocked on him. Then he tipped to the side, and they spun onto their sides, then onto her back, rotating more or less centered over the floor in front of the padded bench. Growing dizzy, Hermione clung to him, kissing him until they were both breathless and panting.

They found an orientation that kept their hair mostly out of the way, but it didn't matter if it was upright or otherwise; limbs intertwined, they copulated with increasing urgency, increasing need. Greedy groans of, "Mmmh, good..." intermingled with breathy gasps of, "Oh god...oh god, yes..." until spasms wracked their bodies, first hers and then his, ending with that chant of her middle name. This time, it didn't sound quite so strange on Severus' lips, but more like it once had on Russel's, his baritone voice purring it into her ear in a sort of endearment.

In the aftermath of their passion, as little shivers wracked their muscles, as they floated literally in midair, Hermione clung to her mercurial lover and thought about what he'd said. What he'd sworn to not ever do again, in that moment of betrayal and rage between them. She thought about a lot of things connected to that promise, how it might affect their relationship, both in the eyes of others and in private between them, and wondered how she could address and fix the problem it would become.

A fingertip touched the center of her brow, gently tracing the furrow her frown had temporarily carved. "Something is bothering you." A nudge of his body against hers, and he drifted them down towards the bed, orienting them with their head to the foot, and picked up his wand with a stretch of his arm. Rotating them the right way around, he pressed them down on their sides, and cancelled the spells holding them aloft. "...Now, what is wrong?"

Taking a deep breath, Hermione did her best to patch up the problem. "I owe you an apology."

That made Severus' own brow furrow in confusion. "For what?"

"For my refusing to believe you could speak an honest endearment. I was feeling hurt and betrayed, and I lashed out at you," Hermione confessed as bravely as she could. "It was wrong of me. I'm sure you're capable of expressing honest tenderness...if you really want to," she added carefully. "And it occurred to me that, if you don't display any while we're with the others for the holidays, even if it's manufactured tenderness...it's going to look rather strange. So I owe you an apology, and if I hurt your feelings, I'm sorry.

"I'm not going to suddenly demand any endearments out of you, or anything...but if you feel the need to, um, use them, for whatever reason...I'll just take them at face value unless and until you say otherwise." She couldn't look into his eyes as she said that, but looked at his chest instead, wanting to give him privacy to react however he felt at her words. "And I won't deride your feelings again. They're your own business, and they're valid, whatever you might feel. Or not feel. I'm sorry."

He stayed still for a long moment. Hermione kept her gaze on his chest, watching the sparsely haired flesh swell and subside with each breath. Finally, he moved, rolling away from her. "The shops will be closing, if we don't dress and get moving."

Part of her had hoped for some show of tenderness on his part, even mock-tenderness, but part of her had not expected him to display anything. Somehow, Hermione doubted he was resilient enough to leap into expressions of emotion while he was being Severus, and she didn't think he was shallow enough to manufacture false ones when they weren't necessary. Summoning her clothes to her side of the bed, she stared dressing, resigning herself to a long and prickly road ahead of her, one that terminated in the cold stone guarding the fortress of his heart. Lead him around by his emotions...what was the Headmaster thinking, that I'm an angel and can perform miracles? She suppressed the snort that accompanied that thought.

"Bezoars," he stated suddenly, making her glance his way as she rose, pulling up her knickers and jeans together.

"I beg your pardon?"

"We'll need to purchase several bezoars, between now and the completed potion. Not every goat can ingest and transmute one, and the detection and extraction process is complicated, if you want a bezoar-capable animal to survive. There's only a small number of apothecaries in Great Britain, and only so many we could pre-empt from Professor Slughorn's collection before we endangered the school's supply of them. We might even have to visit the Continent to find enough in time to neutralize the poison, as you said the Mirror of Erised could do.

"Repeated purchases under the same guise could cause the shop-owners to wonder what we're doing. It might even cause a small panic over the thought of poisonings, which would be blamed on the Death Eaters...and possibly give the Dark Lord ideas. Even purchases under different disguises could cause problems," he stated, pausing long enough to pull his blue jumper over his head. "We need a more discreet source.

"When you're done with your purchases, I want you to go to the Hog's Head, in Hogsmeade. Go up to the bar and look for Old Abe; he's the aging bartender they usually have serving the drinks. Tell him you want a Sloe Screw Up Against The Potions Bench--it's a mixed drink, and a code-word for black-market ingredients. Hand him a Sickle enchanted with the ingredient name.

"When he asks you how much you'll want to drink, tell him to mix up a gallon, and that you'll be back to pick it up later. Make sure to remember how much it'll be, and when he'll tell you it'll be ready, but tell him you'll not wait longer than two months. Aim in your bartering to bring the price down by at least a third. If he gives you any grief over the haggling, tell him it's a Sloe Screw, spelled S-L-O-E, not spelled S-L-O-W. I've dealt with him before, in various disguises. He should give you a discount, with that."

"Go to Hog's Head, look for Old Abe," Hermione recited, stooping to tie her shoes, almost finished dressing. "Ask him for a Sloe--as in S-L-O-E--Screw Up Against The Potions Bench, hand him a Sickle with 'bezoar' on it, and ask for a gallon's worth to be mixed up and delivered within two months, no later."

"Correct." He finished bucking his sporran and wand-sheath into place, then picked up the Muggle winter coats they'd used between stores in London, Transfiguring them back into proper wizarding cloaks.

Hermione stood and crossed to the table, picking up the ribbon. She'd taken it off of him; she should put it back on him. When she faced him, he arched his brow, but bent over a little and allowed her to gird his throat with the ribbon. He took advantage of their position, too, sliding his hands around her waist and his lips along her throat. It occurred to her that every time he got close to her of late, he was doing that. Kissing her.

She finished her task with unsteady fingers. Every time he touched her, every time he kissed her, she felt a warm flush coursing through her body. Even when she didn't want to feel that way, he made her feel. There was no such thing as a boring moment around Severus Selenius Snape, it seemed. Sliding her hands up into his hair, soft and slightly oily near his scalp, perpetually in need of a shower, she returned his kisses with little nibbles of her own. Six, maybe seven months had passed since he'd sent that letter to her. It felt like a year had been compressed into that small of a span.

He stroked her own curls, then pulled back, and pulled her around by the shoulders, confusing her. "Your hair is a mess. It needs fixing. Accio brush! Accio chair!"

Finding herself pressed down into the chair that slid over from the table, Hermione felt him unfasten her barrette before brushing her curls from the bottom up. She'd taken to wearing the clip in the past two days as a subtle sign of her approval of his gift, in the hopes he would understand that she cherished it--which she did--and would be encouraged to know that she was treating his gestures with the respect and consideration they deserved. After all, if he knew it was safe to give her a physical gift, he would eventually come to trust her. True, she'd bolluxed things a bit with the Castration Curse, but there had been one positive outcome to that: he now saw her as an equal force to be reckoned with, in their marriage.

Without some acknowledgement of equality between them, they'd never be able to forge a partnership.

Forging...I wonder what he needs that forging charm for? As he scooped her hair back from the sides of her face, Hermione asked him that. "Severus? What do you need that Protean-Forging Charm for?"

"Sabotage."

She felt the clip being snapped in place, then leveled with a slight tug. "Sabotage of what?"

"That will be my secret, for now. No, you keep your own secrets, wife, and I will keep mine," he murmured in her ear as she started to protest, hands resting on her shoulders. A kiss just in front of her ear, and he released her. "If I do not need to know how the potion will be used, you do not need to know how the charm will be used. Go to Hogsmeade, and do not forget to visit the pub."

Nonplussed, Hermione gathered her wits, concentrated, and Apparated.

...

Snow had fallen, in Hogsmeade. It was still falling, too, in large fluffy flakes. Despite the paucity of student-aged children--apparently Hogwarts had been deemed the safer place for most of them, rather than having them go home for the holidays--and the ever-looming threat of the war trying to cast its pall over the spirits of the wizarding community, there was a definite air of holiday-making. Garlands had been hung from every lamp post, doorway and windowsill, candles sat and burned magically on tree limbs in ever-changing hues, and the scents of cinnamon, peppermint and vanilla perfumed the air.

Madam Damereaux's was a tiny little building squeezed next to the wizarding Post Office. Like all good hole-in-the-wall bookstores--including the Muggle ones--it was larger on the inside than it was on the outside, crowded with shelves that themselves were crammed with books. Hermione inhaled that delightfully dusty, musty scent of leather, parchment, dust and paper as soon as she entered. But she was here on a mission, not here to browse, as Severus had put it. Firming her resolution, Hermione joined the queue at the counter, and waited patiently through four other customers, until it was her turn.

"Miss Granger! You're not at the school?" the petite, aging witch behind the counter exclaimed softly. "I'd heard a rumor that you weren't attending, but..."

"I'm busy with other things. I was in the area, and thought I'd try you first for a particular book, before heading down to Flourish & Blotts."

"Which book, dearie?" the silver-streaked blond witch asked, adjusting her glasses.

"Potions, Powders, Unguents and Salves of Upper and Lower Egypt. First edition, if you have it."

"Oh, my...I do have one of those--it was an order for a client, but, erm...well, the war and all... Hang on a tick." She hustled away from the counter. The other patrons in the queue behind Hermione had cracked open their purchases and were reading to while away the time as they waited. It didn't take long, thankfully. Madam Damereaux set the book on the counter, opened it to the fly-leaf, and checked the price. "Here we are...nineteen Galleons, seven Sickles. With tax, that comes to...twenty Galleons two Knuts."

Wincing a little, Hermione counted out the coins. It was a bloody expensive gift. For a moment, an insane corner of her mind, squeezed in next to her lust-node, gibbered something about 'taking it out in trade' with her husband's body. Ruthlessly quelling the voice--and the urge to blush--Hermione handed over the money. "Could I have that wrapped?"

"Plain butcher paper is free, but Christmas paper is extra," the shopkeeper warned her.

"Butcher, please."

It didn't take long to wrap the thing, just a few taps of the other woman's wand, and it was done. Hermione accepted the package and stepped back outside. She lingered in the doorway under the cover of the entrance, and tapped the package again with her wand. The plain, rough brown paper Transfigured itself into slick sapphire blue. A second tap decorated it with silvery ribbons and holly leaves, making it look like a present.

That's the present he wants and expects, Hermione thought, heading slowly up the street. Now I've got to find him a present he'll want, but doesn't expect. A gift for a man I still don't really know--

A passing witch slipped on a patch of ice just as she reached Hermione. That sent her stumbling into the younger woman, knocking both females over. Her finger seared, and Hermione found herself landing at an angle on warm, golden scales that had at least some give to them, rather than falling on her face on the frozen-hard, snow-trampled ground. Unfortunately, having a sofa-sized dragon suddenly appear in the street didn't sit too well with the other pedestrians, and Hermione found herself wincing as several people shrieked.

Righting herself quickly, Hermione glanced around, noting all the wizards and witches who had drawn their wands defensively, including the witch who had knocked her over. They hadn't attacked, though; a glance at Sigurd showed why. For one, he wasn't displaying any threat-signs; his mouth was closed, his wings folded, his claws hidden in the snow. Even his head was held low, the same as his tail. For another...she'd forgotten he was a ruddy metallic gold. There weren't any metallic gold dragons. Not real ones, at any rate.

Embarrassed, she patted the dragon on the shoulder. "Erm...thank you for catching me, Sigurd. You are dismissed."

He craned his head in her direction, whuffed a breath of steaming, smoke-scented air, and vanished in a stream of sparkling gold, to the tune of several startled gasps. It was only then that Hermione saw the broken stump of a sign-post, with a point sharp enough to have pierced her abdomen even through her layers of wool, had she fallen on it. Drawing her wand, Hermione eradicated the danger, then turned to the witch who had stumbled into her, and who was now struggling to repack her scattered shopping bags.

"Here, let me help you with that," Hermione offered, stooping and re-stuffing one of the nearer bags, setting down her book briefly. It had silken garments inside, a lace-edged nightgown in amber-gold, and a set of men's pyjamas in a claret satin. The deep hue and sensual texture appealed to her, but it was the warmth of the garment that surprised her. Unable to stop her curiosity, Hermione checked the collar for a tag, and found a line of runes stitched into the neckline, enchanting the garment for warmth in winter and coolness in summer. "Oh! How clever..."

"You noticed the spell?" the witch asked, smiling. "It's a new line of clothes. Pre-Enchanted Garments, by some witch living down in Cardiff. A bit pricey, but the spell is worthwhile."

"...Do they have this in a sapphire blue?' Hermione asked the older woman, holding up the pyjama top.

"Let me guess; a gift for your husband?" the older woman asked, and smiled as Hermione blushed. "I haven't seen a ring-guardian in years, but you just can't mistake a metallic beastie that appears out of nowhere. I think they had a set of pyjamas in blue; if not, just ask Gladys to enchant it to the right colour for you. She'll fix it so it won't accidentally come undone, either. They'll be on a rack in the front of the store, on the right."

"Thank you!" Handing the witch her shopping bag, Hermione made sure her book was still secure its wrapping paper, and hurried up the street, doing her best to ignore the stares of the other pedestrians, who thankfully weren't aiming wands in her direction, anymore.