Seven

A/N: Many thanks to OpalJade for the beta and ScatteredLogic for the prompt! Just for clarification...there's no sex going on in this chapter. Just teenager stuff. ;)

Over the next several weeks, Snape learned a number of new things. He learned that Granger's long hours were mostly spent at Gringotts, where she performed a number of menial tasks for the goblins in the hope that she might make amends for the dragon incident of the previous year. He also learned that she hoped that her constant presence would allow the goblins to come to trust her, that she might eventually liaise between them and the Ministry in a series of negotiations for equal rights among magical beings.

He also learned how to anticipate the moment in which Granger was done discussing her theories and ready to begin the business of snogging. He learned that it was not his imagination when Kreacher suddenly disappeared from the room, or when her hand seemed to drift closer to his on the desk, and that the quiet space that grew into a strange, heavy silence was not a sign that he had offended her, but instead meant that it was time to put down his argument, however pressing, and cover that hand with his. He learned that she liked it when he nudged her face upward to meet his with his nose (wonders never ceased) and that she actively enjoyed having her earlobes bitten. That very thing, in fact, had moved them from desk to bed more than once.

Snape learned about the inevitable soreness involved in the kinds of activities they engaged in. Several times, he considered visiting Slug and Jiggers for Bruise Healing Paste, but the thought of spreading that smelly, yellow ointment all over his... well, he learned to appreciate the first painful press against her pelvic bone, the way it reminded him that he'd been here before, and the way the pain always seemed to fade as soon as she raised her hips to rub against him more firmly. He also learned that when all else failed, the hollow between her cunt and her thigh made an excellent place to grind himself without acquiring any further contusions.

He remembered how to wake on a hair-trigger, and he learned to listen for the sound of her door opening even in his sleep, learned how to go from dreaming to aroused in the time it took her to set down her handbag and shed her outer robe. He learned that one knock meant, "So sorry, I'm knackered," and two knocks meant, "Are you up?" He learned to survive on less sleep even than he'd had during the last year of the war.

Snape did not go about his business during the daytime in some kind of dreamy haze, however. In fact, one of the most interesting things that he learned was that rather than becoming blurry and indistinct, the world became so much sharper. The scent of Muggle petrol in the frosty air outside was so sweet and pungent to his nose that he stood out in the garden for whole minutes at a time, just smelling the air. The feeling of the swollen succulents in Longbottom's greenery was nearly obscene, and he found greater pleasure than ever in cataloging the books in the library. Every cross-reference noted on the individual cards left him feeling satisfied and... clear, somehow. Uncluttered. It was as if he absorbed some kind of deep sensory infusion from her touch that infected every corner of his world.

Snape learned that the smell he had once admired...so long ago, it seemed...was actually the smell of Granger's perfume, tinged with her sweat and the oils of her own skin. There were times, when he knelt above her, his face pressed into her neck, when he felt he could sink down into that smell and become a different animal entirely, one that subsisted on the smell of her, instead of air.

He learned that when she reached into his trousers and he felt her small, warm hand close around his cock, it took every ounce of his concentration to keep him from coming. He also learned that it was inadvisable to become suddenly, perfectly still, as this seemed to unnerve her terribly, and resulted in his having to assure her over and over again that she had not done anything to upset him. He could not articulate the truth to her, as it was not fully formed into words in his own mind; it was only the insatiable urge to find any orifice in her body and slam himself into it, to release himself in long ribbons of come to her mercy.

"Severus," she said one night in the midst of one of these sessions, interrupting a valiant attempt on his part not to explode in his shorts.

Snape had learned that when she spoke his name this way, it usually meant she was about to suggest something entirely undreamt of and wonderful, like the time she had requested that he lie on his back while she straddled his knees and had proceeded to rub her breasts relentlessly over his bulging trousers until he thought he would go mad.

Therefore, he was surprised and dismayed when she asked if he would accompany her to the Ministry awards ceremony.

"What?"

"The Ministry event," she repeated, looking up at him, strands of sweat-drenched curls clinging to her cheeks.

"No," he said vehemently.

She continued to look at him, her expression unchanging. "Why not?"

Snape struggled for a moment. The answer seemed so obvious to him that he could not imagine why she would ask, and yet, once again, when he tried to put it into words, it just swam around in his brain as unformed images.

"Because," he said. And when that felt childish, he added, "I have no desire to see a room full of people spend an evening gawking at Potter."

"Hmm," she said after a moment. "I think four months ago, I might have believed that."

It was exactly his luck, he thought, that the one woman in the world who seemed to enjoy snogging him was the same woman who never let anything go easily.

"Do you not want to be seen with me?" she asked.

"I am nearly insulted," Snape said. "Did you think it would be that easy?"

She gave him a funny half-smile. "It was worth a shot," she said.

"I'd have expected better," he said with a sigh of mingled amusement and exasperation. He rolled off her, filling the space between her body and the wall, and stared at the ceiling.

"No, you're right; it was cheap," she said and laughed. "But, in all seriousness, I know you were invited. It's not like you'd have to go as my date or anything."

"I am not in the least concerned about the evening as it relates to accompanying you," he said. "I only feel that... in the current climate... suffice it to say that I would not be looking forward to the mixed reception. At either end of the spectrum."

"Severus, I know you're reluctant to get out much--"

"I get out plenty hunting up the latest text you feel you will simply die without, do I not?"

"--but if you'll admit it, your interactions have hardly all been negative, and this is an evening dedicated to celebrating our achievements. I think it would be... that is, I'd like to be there with you when they--"

"I did nothing worth celebrating," Snape interrupted. "I am pleased for you that your efforts will be recognized, but I will not watch as they award Potter a first class and you a second--which is what will happen, and I think you are intelligent enough to know it."

"I didn't do what I did for a medal, and I think you're smart enough to know that," she said quietly.

"Indeed," he said. "Which is why I don't care to dignify the whole thing with my attendance. Medals do not change what we did or why we did it, and ranking our contributions is... unsavory. Nor do I wish to be celebrated, as you say, for the despicable things I had to do--that we all had to do, Potter included--to win this war."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and her curls tickled his neck. "Fair enough," she said after a time.

"Good," he said, and turning, bit her on the ear.

***

Much to Snape's continued bafflement, the situation did not end, nor did it seem to change. Granger did not demand that they 'define their relationship' or any of the things he'd heard men complain endlessly of through the years. She did not insinuate herself into every facet of his life; in fact, things continued on much as they had before. Occasionally, she would return home early and demand his presence in the dining room, but she did not attempt to hold his hand beneath the table or seem to want to indicate to any of the other residents that their acquaintance had... developed. She simply thrust parchment at him, argued her points with anyone that cared to participate and then dragged him off to the library to make a list of the new texts she wanted. Then, if he was lucky and she did not have another meeting to run off to, she might drag him off to her room to engage in activities far more enjoyable.

Only once did she break the pattern, and that was the morning that she was to appear before the Board of Governors. Snape no longer bothered to flee to the library at dawn. If he wanted to imagine her in the shower, he felt he was well within his rights, and she came to him that morning immediately following the sound of her alarm. She was dressed in a pair of gray flannel pajamas. She had not knocked, but had come directly through the inner door and stood in the doorframe twisting a curl between both hands. Her face was pale, and she looked as if she hadn't slept at all.

He started to rise, and she shook her head. "Don't get up."

He began to ask, "Would you like me to just lie here, or was there some specific pose you were after?" and then thought better of it.

"Could I come and sit beside you for a moment?" she asked at last.

Snape found this question exceedingly odd, as they'd done far more than sit beside one another the night before, but perhaps it was because she was in his room that she felt the need to ask. He indicated the space beside him in response.

She perched on the edge, practically thrumming with nervous energy; Snape was nearly convinced that if he touched her, she would leap up and shatter.

"What are you afraid of?" he said.

"What do you think?"

"I am well aware of what day this is and how important it is to you," he said, slightly stung. "Answer the question."

She looked at the far wall. "I'm afraid to fail, of course. I'm afraid that I've pitched it wrong, that I'll mean to be fair and end up being insulting. I'm afraid they won't consider it at all because of my age or my Muggle blood, and even though I'll be up there, giving it all I've got, they'll be nodding and smiling along and hoping that I'll stop talking soon so that they can all have a drink. I'm afraid of the information I don't yet have, of someone asking about something I've never even thought to consider or have never heard of. I'm afraid--"

"That seems quite enough. No need to work yourself into a state," Snape said, not unkindly.

She opened her hands slightly, as if to say, "Well, you asked," but said nothing more.

"You are prepared," Snape said. "Go and do your best. Your fears seem, at heart, to be just two scenarios. In one, they do not listen at all. In the other, you find that you've missed something that makes your proposal inappropriate. In the one case, you are blameless--failure there would not really be failure, just a sign that another way must be found. In the second, you will simply learn and try again."

She found his hand and squeezed it, but her face looked no more settled than it had when she'd arrived, and she drifted back through the loo toward her room.

Snape let her be. He remembered what it had been like to dress himself on the mornings that he had to make a report to those he feared. The donning of mental armour was a complex process, he felt, and interrupting it would not be wise. But he did watch her as she left, as had been his custom during the early months of his stay in what he now (almost fondly) thought of as the Augurey.

Her robes were gray and long, unadorned but sharply tailored. Snape suspected she might be using a very slight Height Charm, and he smiled at the notion. He'd taught it to her to spare her legs. Her hair was pulled into a severe knot at the back of her head, and her arms were filled with rolls of parchment.

"Good luck, Granger," he said aloud in the empty room and was almost surprised to find that he meant it.

***

That evening, Snape found Malfoy in the kitchen when he arrived for dinner. Draco had already changed into his plain black robes from his Auror Training ones, and there was a glass of firewhisky dangling from his long, pale fingers.

"Severus!" he said, making Snape cringe inside. Perhaps it was the childish glee with which Draco said his name that made it sound so terribly inappropriate.

"Indeed," Snape said, sliding into the seat opposite the Malfoy boy. "I don't suppose you're sharing?" He indicated the glass with a tilt of his head.

"For my favorite former professor? Anything," Malfoy exclaimed, and a glass soared across the room and landed in front of Snape with a bang, spilling a few drops onto the tablecloth.

"And what is the occasion?" Snape asked without thanking him.

"Wednesday," Draco said, and Snape searched his face for a moment, looking for the cause of this unusual behavior. Malfoy looked tired. In fact, despite his antic demeanor, he looked exhausted.

"Are you well?" Snape asked.

"Well? I'm very well, thank you. I spent seven hours today in combat training. I don't know whether to be astounded that they seem to think we're capable of fighting for seven hours without a break or surprised that it was never required at Hogwarts. But I suppose the real question is how are you?"

Snape eyed him suspiciously. "I am fine," he said.

"Mmm? Granger treating you well?"

Inwardly, Snape sighed. He'd been afraid the manic bonhomie routine had been leading to something like this. He supposed that he and Granger occasionally appeared at dinner together, but there had never been any outward sign--had there?

"Whatever do you mean?" he said flatly.

"Oh, come on, old man. She tells Potter everything, you know."

Snape flushed. "Ah, yes," he said. "And I had forgotten what bosom friends you and Potter have turned out to be. I suppose that to tell him is to tell you?"

Draco laughed joyfully, making a show of spilling his whisky onto the table.

"Too easy!" he cried. "I expected to have to give you at least two more glasses before you'd admit it!"

Snape glowered at him. "There is nothing to admit."

"No? Nothing in the way that Granger practically runs upstairs the moment she arrives home? Nothing in the way that your shared meals seem to involve you preening and ruffling your feathers at every other male at the table?"

"I do apologize, Mr Malfoy, if you've mistaken my irritation at your table manners for something else, but if we are to be judged by our behavior at this table, perhaps it is you who has some secret design on Granger. As I recall, you've been very free with your time as of late--offering to run arithmantic equations and draw house logos?" Snape bristled. He did not preen.

Draco smiled smugly. "Fanning the flames."

"Whatever Potter may have told you, I assure you that--"

"Potter hasn't told me anything. I was just taking the piss." Draco laughed. "Although I'm quite sure now that you and Granger are illicit lovers and shall be telling everyone I see."

Snape's hand strayed over his wand in his hip pocket. "Malfoy--"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, let's keep the wands out of it, shall we, Severus?" Draco said, looking not at all alarmed and, in fact, quite amused at his little bon mot.

Snape sighed, and his hand returned to the table. "Let it be," he said quietly. And to his surprise, Draco shrugged, settled back into his chair, and did so.

***

That night, Granger arrived home after ten. Snape had been listening for her. He'd known she had a meeting at Gringotts in the afternoon and several hours to put in with the files at the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and so he had known she would be late, but had hoped (fruitlessly) for some word of how it had gone. That none had come had made him restless. It seemed that the lack of a message boded ill--for surely she would have been overjoyed to report a positive reception. But then perhaps she did not want to seem to boast.

He knocked even before she was fully through the door and did not wait for a reply, barging through the loo as had become his custom.

He glanced at her face and read no turmoil there, and so he went on with what he'd planned to say. "Your messages today were much appreciated. So informative and frequent, I felt I was there in the room with you."

Granger paused in the setting down of her files and parchments and glanced up at him. "Lovely to see you, too."

"A summary, I take it, would be too much to ask."

She shook her hair loose from the bun and stepped out of her heels, cancelling the Height Charm. "Good God, that's better," she said. "I feel as though I've been on the rack."

"Granger," he said.

She stopped unbuttoning the outer layer of her robes and looked at him seriously. "Would it be all right if we didn't? It went fine. That's all I can say. I don't want to rehash it endlessly or I'll never have a moment's peace until I've heard."

He nodded, more to himself than to her. It went fine. Well, he supposed that was good enough. She was neither elated nor disconsolate, and he supposed that if the board were actually considering her proposal seriously, then that reaction was just about right. He thought briefly of Malfoy, of the strange grace with which he had agreed to cease his interrogation, and decided that he would not be shown up by a blond Auror.

"Very well," he said. He stood, prepared to go back to his room and wait for her knock, when he noticed that she was standing beside the dresser wearing only her underthings. He opened his mouth, waiting for some barbed pleasantry to come out, waiting for her to pull one of her oversized Muggle sleeping things on, waiting for her to do anything but look at him hopefully.

When she did not, Snape felt as if the room had quite suddenly run out of oxygen. He closed his mouth, as he was dimly aware that he was gaping at her like a fish, and he managed to turn slightly in the attempt to hide the bulge in his trousers, which had come on so instantaneously that he felt a bit lightheaded.

"Is it all right?" she said.

Was what all right? That she was standing there displaying winter white skin contrasted by the soft blue silk of her knickers? That he was quietly suffering some sort of coronary event?

"It is, after all, your room," he managed. "I don't suppose--"

She touched him then, encouraging him to lay his hands on all that beautiful exposed flesh, and he tentatively stroked her arms, letting his hands drift over her shoulders to her collarbones.

That night he felt, for the first time, the shocking warmth of her skin against his with nothing--well, not much, anyway--in between. He learned the feeling of her sweat on his chest, and once, for one fleeting moment, as he ground himself between her thighs, his cock, covered though it was by the fabric of his pants and her knickers, pressed against her opening, and he'd thought... for a second, he'd thought he was entering her.

Hours later, they lay side by side, resting. He knew he would return to his room in a few moments and allow them both some much needed sleep, but he did wish in a vague way that he did not have to move. It was not so much that he wished to be permitted to sleep in Granger's bed, but that it was such a hassle to pry himself from it in order to go to his own. His limbs, currently, seemed to be on holiday from the rest of his body, and he was bone tired in the way that only coming hard could make him. But he would have to find the energy. Kreacher was probably sequestered miserably under the kitchen sink or some such, and the last thing he needed was for word to get around the house that he was sleeping in Granger's room.

"Malfoy suspects something," he said in the dark.

"What does that mean?" she asked. "At work?"

"No," Snape said. "And he doesn't work yet, does he? He's only training. He suspects something about this. He asked me about it at dinner."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

"Don't be dense, Granger. About us."

"What did you tell him?" she asked. Snape strained for any hint of alarm or disgust in her voice, but found none.

"I told him to let it be."

"And what did he say to that?"

"Nothing, oddly enough. I felt a bit sorry for him actually. All bound up by those posh Malfoy manners."

She snorted. "Somehow I think he'd have dropped the niceties if there was something he really wanted to know," she said. "But you could have told him if you wanted to."

Snape thought her words over for a moment. If they were admitting to this... well, it seemed as if... it seemed as if she might be his girlfriend. Not that he would ever admit to having such a thought, nor to the rush of fearful pleasure that accompanied it.

"Mmm?" he said. "I saw no reason to discuss it."

"Well, I'm not about to take out an advert about it, but I don't think it's a secret. I asked you to the bloody Ministry ceremony, didn't I?

"You were very clear that it was not meant to be a date," he said.

She sighed, rolled onto her side and threw an arm over his chest. "Good lord, Severus. I meant that you wouldn't be crashing the party on my arm or anything, that you'd been invited in your own right. I didn't mean it wasn't a date."

"Oh," he said. And he covered her hand with his and closed his eyes experimentally. Perhaps Kreacher could bunk with Crookshanks for the evening.

***

Snape had never bought a Christmas present for a woman before. He'd been much too poor to buy anything for Lily when they were at school. There was nothing that she would have liked that he'd have had the means to provide her with, and he never received anything worth sharing. He'd never felt the need to participate in the generic gift-giving that went on between the staff at Hogwarts--a dozen identical pens or bottles of cordial, self-pressing handkerchiefs or singing paperweights. He'd had a drawer where he kept such things and imagined that every other member of the staff did as well. There had been no need to deplete his meager salary with the buying of junk that no one ever used, and so he had not. For those he needed to impress, there had always been some rare potion to brew, and all Dumbledore had ever wanted were Muggle sweets. And so Snape found himself entirely out of water when it came to trying to choose something for Granger for the holiday.

Anything that might have been found in his drawer was out. No self-inking quills or planners, none of those blasted blank books that people had been so fond of giving him as if he were constantly in the midst of penning his memoirs. No books--it seemed he was constantly on one quest or another for a book for Granger--and no lingerie. The very notion of trying to acquire such a thing made Snape flush with (slightly aroused) humiliation.

The plant he'd asked Longbottom to grow for him was not nearly large enough to be passed off as a Christmas gift, and it seemed she had all the robes, kneazles, house-elves, music and shampoos that she could possibly desire. What did she want? What were wizards supposed to buy for witches? He thought about asking Malfoy, but the thought of being mercilessly dragged about the shopping village while suffering the boy's jokes made him feel vaguely ill.

There was a knock at his door--very unusual for a Sunday morning--and Snape suddenly decided that if, by chance, it were Malfoy, about to head out on some shopping expedition, he would swallow his discomfort and ask for help.

But to his astonishment, it was Potter. Snape had seen so little of the boy during the last three months that it was nearly impossible to imagine that he lived and worked here. Snape supposed there had been little need for them to interact--he had no complaints about the room, and he completed his library duty without fuss or incident--and yet it was strange that Potter had never turned up for a meal, never stepped outside to admire the garden.

"Potter," he said.

"Snape," Potter replied.

They stood there for a moment at an impasse. "Was there something that you wanted or have you just come to make sure I haven't died?"

"I--er--we were thinking of having a Christmas dinner. For the house. I wondered if you would come."

Potter could hardly look at him; instead he seemed focused on something over Snape's left shoulder. Snape made a show of turning to look in that direction and then turning slowly back, though he had the feeling that he knew exactly what was making Potter so uncomfortable.

What did Potter see when he looked at him? A lecherous old man? A pathetic, overgrown schoolboy? Someone no one had ever wanted who had somehow managed to attach himself to a kind-hearted girl who didn't know any better?

He wanted to rush Potter down the stairs, back to his office--anywhere, really, that was not here, making him feel so ugly and exposed. But he thought of Malfoy and his mantra. Every right. Every right to be here. In fact, it was Potter who was the intruder here, was it not? Interrupting his Sunday with his judgments and invitations.

He ignored the feeling that he was about to leap off a cliff and said, "Imagine that; I seem to be available. However, now that you mention it, I have a question for you."

Now Potter squirmed, and Snape held his tongue for a moment, enjoying his discomfort.

"Yes?" he said at last, and Snape relented.

"I find I am at a loss as to what to buy Miss Granger for Christmas. I don't suppose you have any ideas?"

Potter had never looked more flustered, which gratified Snape immensely. He stammered for a moment before saying, "Hermione's parents were dentists. She never got sweets as a child."

"Yes, fine," Snape said. "I had hoped for something a bit more original, but I suppose I should have considered the source." He stepped forward to force Potter back through the doorway, where he was lingering like an imbecile.

"So, we'll see you at Christmas, then?" Potter asked as he retreated.

"Given that I live here because I have no where else to go, I think it is fairly safe to say that I have not developed any sudden plans for the holiday. I will expect to have dinner in the dining room with the rest of the unfortunates."

"Excellent," Potter said, and he fled.

Yes, excellent, Snape thought bitterly. He had less than a week to come up with something better than chocolates.