14-Dec

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

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14 December

"Tell me, Miss Granger," Snape said, emerging from her bathroom with a menacing expression on his face, "is it your intention to learn to properly squeeze that infernal tube of toothpaste before you turn thirty?"

Hermione was momentarily shocked by the intensity of her physical response to the sight of his hair still slightly damp, curling at the ends, and the sheen of latent moisture on his skin.

Rather than betray any of these thoughts, she threw up her arms in exasperation. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I told you, I simply can't stomach any teeth-cleaning potions. The scent gives me a terrible headache."

"Pity we didn't brew them in Advanced Potions," Snape murmured with a glower in her direction. "Frequently."

Hermione glared back. She hadn't given much thought to the first time she would cohabitate with a man, but on those rare occasions when she'd envisioned it, it certainly hadn't been anything like this.

"Professor," she said, gritting her teeth, "I've apologized to you fourteen times. Fourteen times, and you've spent only one night in my chambers. Please. I realize you're not going to forgive me for damaging your rooms, but we've simply got to learn to get along civilly or we're going to drive one another mad."

"I would find your proposition more amenable were you to exit my bedroom," he snapped, and she realized that in her frustrated state she'd walked right past the privacy screens Poppy Pomfrey had lent them to section off a bedroom. Professor Vector had had only modest luck in expanding the size of her living room, which had left Hermione and the Headmistress with far less room than they'd anticipated when constructing Snape's impromptu bedroom.

Realizing that she was within inches of tripping over his bed, she flushed and darted away. "I'm sorry," she called over her shoulder. "Again. Truly, I am. But I'm going to breakfast now. If you'd prefer to use the shower earlier tomorrow, just let me know. I'd be happy to use one of the student bathrooms to give you some more time..."

She could actually feel Snape sneering at her back, but he gave no response. Hermione gathered her papers, intending to take a quick detour past Filius' office before reporting to the Great Hall, and made her escape.

Once safely in the hallway, she fought the urge to smash her head against the nearest wall. The man was intolerable. She felt awful about what had happened, but he, of course, apportioned none of the blame to Filius. As it had been her idea in the first place...her idea to do something kind, something thoughtful for him, she thought, outraged...she had apparently become, in his mind, single-handedly responsible for the nearly two weeks of drastic inconvenience now facing him.

Hermione did feel sorry for him. She wouldn't have wished sudden dispossession on anyone, regardless of how harshly they sometimes behaved; and she certainly would never have wished it on him. She'd wanted only to do something wonderful for him. Unable to bring herself to admit that she, too, had overheard those unbelievable prats, Harry and Ron, talking about her that night in the Three Broomsticks, she couldn't very well have thanked him in a straightforward manner. She'd wanted, instead, to provide him with a lovely gesture, something that proved she respected and cared about him as a person and wanted his life to be more comfortable.

Muttering angrily, she made her way into Filius' office and found him hard at work, poring over texts that were instantly familiar to her.

"I can't seem to make sense of it!" he said with a gusty sigh, shaking his head. He pounded a tiny fist on the ancient, yellowing parchment, and dust motes filled the air in an enormous cloud.

Hermione's heart constricted painfully as she wondered how many hours he'd spent dwelling on their spectacular failure.

"Really, Professor, you don't have to agonize over it," she insisted, sitting down across from him and gratefully accepting a cup of tea. "Professor Snape is anything but happy living with me until Christmas, but I'm sure he'll adjust. The Headmistress already offered to allow him to move in with one of the male faculty, but their chambers can't be expanded, and he values what little space my rooms can provide.

"And, after all, it was done with his happiness in mind," she added, feeling an overwhelming urge to hug her kindly mentor, who obviously felt the awkwardness of what had happened as deeply as she did. "We simply have to get through the Christmas holidays. I've heard the Ministry architects are brilliant; I'm sure his chambers will come out fully repaired and even more beautiful."

She didn't add that Snape wasn't likely to forgive her on that or any basis.

"It simply makes no sense." Filius leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

She noted the dust in his hair and gestured toward it, prompting him to scratch at his head and loose yet another cloud. "It must have been another charm that caused it to destabilize, but that would imply a highly unusual malleability in an architectural charm. After all, there had been no other obvious aesthetic modifications, and the charms intended to maintain the foundation should never have reacted with such volatility. I truly believe I'm correct in that assessment."

"I'm inclined to think along the same lines," Hermione agreed, equally pensively, "considering that we were very conservative in our modifications. I understand that architectural charms provide a certain degree of autonomy to the castle, but I can't imagine that it would have perceived such a minor aesthetic alteration as any kind of threat."

"No, no, it isn't that," he assured her, draining his own teacup and rising. "I'm convinced of it now. Well, my dear, I'm afraid I must be off to the gates to greet our guests, much as I would like to continue discussing this. I do feel so terrible for Severus, poor boy... Enjoy your breakfast, Hermione, and by all means, remind any fifth years who are hanging about that they're excused from the first period today. I rather think they've become so wrapped up in that latest essay that they've taken no notice whatsoever of Minerva's announcements the past few mornings."

"Certainly," she promised Filius, giving him a warm smile. "We should enjoy their dedication while it persists; I imagine that once the foreign students arrive, they'll be anything but focused."

Filius chuckled, hopping down from his chair and gathering his cloak. "To be sure," he agreed, heading for the door.

"Thank you, Professor, for all your help, even if it didn't turn out so well," she added softly, and he smiled and gave her an acknowledging wave as he exited the room.

She left shortly after Filius, meandering down to the Great Hall. Prior to the debacle with Snape's living room ceiling, she'd been very excited for the impending arrival of their international visitors. Now, she wasn't so sure. Snape dealt poorly with forced socialization under the best of circumstances. The idea of having to hear him mutter and curse over his additional holiday duties while pacing around her rooms put her in an especially foul mood. If the Headmistress forced him to chaperone the Christmas Eve ball, she would undoubtedly bear the brunt of his vociferous displeasure.

Entering the Great Hall several minutes later, Hermione winced and began to shoulder her way through the chaos. It appeared that the academic dedication had, precisely as she'd predicted, come to an end. The students were chattering amongst members of their own Houses and even, to a lesser degree, between House tables. All were excited about the upheaval soon to arrive at the castle, but their speculations about the freedom that would be allotted to them at the Christmas Eve ball had become absurdly bacchanalian.

"Good morning, dear," Professor Sprout called to Hermione as she mounted the stairs to the head table. "I'm afraid Minerva's running late in her office...shocking, that. I can't remember a day when she's been late for breakfast."

"The Headmistress does love her toast," the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor remarked as he dug into his oatmeal. Hermione carefully negotiated taking a seat between the two of them, cautious not to disrupt the four impressive and very voluminous bouquets of flowers beside Professor Sprout. She glanced with trepidation at the other side of the table, where she habitually sat beside Hagrid and Snape, wondering if he would attend breakfast and resume glowering uncharitably at her.

"Aren't you afraid Severus will miss your company this morning?" Professor Sprout asked, seemingly earnest. Hermione couldn't imagine the Potions master genuinely missing anyone's company, but she merely smiled and let Professor Sprout continue. "He's rather late himself. I wonder if he's helping Minerva. He does take his duties as Deputy so seriously."

Beside her, Professor Bogglesby snorted softly, making his opinion of Snape's authority perfectly clear. Hermione felt an unaccountable annoyance and fought the urge to shake pepper liberally into his oatmeal. Snape had been putting in excessively long hours since becoming Deputy Headmaster, dealing largely with the unpleasant topics to which the Headmistress could devote little time.

"I'm sure he'll help to welcome the visitors," Hermione agreed, spreading marmalade on her toast. No sooner had she completed the thought when a roar went up through the crowd of students, alerting the three of them that the visitors had arrived.

Hermione indelicately shoved the bulk of the toast into her mouth, chewing frantically. She knew that as soon as she moved from the table and set foot on the main floor once again, the remainder of her day would sweep by quickly, one task following another. She didn't find the thought as onerous as Snape undoubtedly did, but, after all, she had been assigned fewer visiting faculty whom she was supposed to serve.

She followed Professor Sprout away from the table and into the castle foyer, which was positively overflowing with people. A large French contingent appeared to be present; the robin's-egg blue of Beauxbatons robes threatened to make a minority of the simple Hogwarts black. Hermione found a relatively safe place at the periphery of the crowd and leaned against the wall, endeavoring to be unobtrusive.

The other faculty, entering with rapidly enlarging eyes, followed her example. The Headmistress had her hands full with the foreign students, turning them over, group by group, to the House prefects, Head Boy, and Head Girl. Twenty minutes later, when the students had been dispensed with and were tromping off toward the Room of Requirement, Hermione was able to move her sore, cramped legs and make her way to the center of the room.

Professor Sprout had been assigned as guide to four of the visiting faculty, who looked pleased but overwhelmed when she proffered the flowers. Clearly hesitant to shrink them in her presence, they struggled to shoulder the bouquets while making their way through the still-dense crowd.

Hermione stood forward slightly, awaiting the two Beauxbatons adjunct faculty to whom she'd been assigned. Before she had the opportunity to catch the Headmistress' attention, a broad-shouldered young man in a dark maroon robe appeared before her, hand outstretched.

"Hermione Granger!" he exclaimed. Perplexed, Hermione accepted his hand, and he pumped hers up and down exuberantly. "Devon Finch...well, Auror Finch, really, but I'd be so pleased if you'd just call me Devon."

"I, ah...sure, Devon," she replied, withdrawing her hand and studying him intently. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't seem to place him. "I confess I don't remember having met you before..."

"I was three years ahead of you," he explained, almost apologetic. "I wouldn't expect you to recognize me. Quite an age difference when you're still in school, of course." He had inviting blue eyes and sandy dark-blonde hair that reminded her of amber. "I just wanted to introduce myself to you and tell you what a fan I am."

Hermione coughed. "I beg your pardon. A fan of what?"

"Of you," he clarified. "You're absolutely brilliant. I was just finishing up at the academy when the final battle occurred, and... Well, let's just say I wasn't their first pick to be on the front lines after bungling a few spells the month before. Anyway, I can't tell you how much time we spent dissecting and admiring the work you and Harry Potter and Ron Weasley did."

"Thank you," she said thickly. The compliment was unexpected. Most of the attention for the brute force of the spellwork employed during that hellish day had been biased toward Harry and Ron. Hermione tried not to feel resentful...as they'd gone on to attend the Auror Academy themselves, it was natural that people would associate them strongly with the physical aspects of the battle...but she'd sustained scars as legitimate as theirs.

"Not at all." His blue eyes sparkled in a way that was reminiscent of Dumbledore's, but she was acutely aware that he was anything but a fatherly older man. "May I... help with anything?"

"I...oh, dear," she exclaimed, turning in a circle. "I hope the two professors I was supposed to accompany haven't given up on me. The Headmistress will be furious with me, and rightly so..."

"Perhaps the two over there...?" Devon suggested, gesturing twenty feet to their right where a couple of Beauxbatons professors were chatting with Hagrid, awe still registering openly on their faces as they stared up at the half-giant. "Allow me to help. Are you near Gryffindor? I recall you were in Gryffindor. I'd love to see the castle again, although I was a Hufflepuff, I admit..."

Hermione smiled invitingly and allowed him to continue talking as they gathered their guests and escorted them to the Gryffindor wing. He was friendly nearly to the point of being brotherly, but just when she began to suspect that friendship was the extent of his interest, he would flash her a look that pushed the boundaries of mere politeness with its appraising quality.

He was attractive, she thought, and before long she'd found herself agreeing to have lunch with him. Despite the fact that he wasn't unpleasant on the eyes, it was his manners that really drew her in. He held open the doors for the Beauxbatons couple, who were, as it turned out, husband and wife; he wished them a good stay and chatted amiably with Hermione as they made their way to her office.

Between his polite inquiries about her apprenticeship and teaching duties, Hermione decided to remain as open-minded as possible about her lunch with him. Her first instinct had been to draw back slightly, remembering the vision that had passed before her eyes as she'd been cradled into Snape's body in the crowded restaurant, his long fingers firmly encircling her arm: the two of them in a dark corner, his head bent over hers, his lips trailing across her jawline.

She sighed, staring at the floor. She had to give Devon a chance. She was fairly certain that he was flirting with her, his fingers occasionally brushing against her swishing robes as they approached the Charms classroom and her office. Her fantasies about Severus Snape...when she indulged in them, or when they overtook her with an insurmountable urge...were fiery and enchanting, but they were far from reality. Snape wouldn't have stood outside the Charms classroom with her, talking freely and in such a friendly manner.

If anything, the fact that he was now forced to live in close quarters with her, witnessing her fold her underwear and perform all the unflattering, mundane chores of daily life, would ensure that no ardor ever developed between them. In jumping from annoying student to trying housemate, she would never be able to catch his attention as a desirable woman.

"...still on for lunch?" Devon was asking.

Hermione blushed, realizing that she'd been staring at her fingernails and rudely ignoring the affable Auror. "Absolutely," she assured him. She was afraid her smile would feel forced, but looking into his eyes, she found herself genuinely thrilled by the thought of a meal with an attractive man. "My classes should be finished by two. Perhaps I could meet you somewhere?"

"How about if I meet you here and we can head down to the kitchens?" he suggested with a lopsided smile. "I confess to an ulterior motive: I miss the house-elves' food terribly!"

She laughed. "One can hardly blame you for that. Lunch in the kitchens sounds lovely. I'll see you then."

Hermione watched his retreating back and toyed agitatedly with her hair. She found that she was holding her breath hopefully. Devon hadn't exactly set butterflies atwitter in her stomach, but the only man who did wasn't likely to reiterate his compliments of her any time soon. Giving Devon the opportunity to spark some chemistry between the two of them had the potential to relieve her of the most painfully deep and unrequited attraction of her life.

Letting her head fall back against the stone wall, Hermione worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. If only, she reflected desperately, she could have managed to forget the thought that had been dogging her all day: Snape in her shower, naked.