Chapter 3

Disclaimer: For form's sake, I will patiently reiterate: all, all is JKR's. Though she would probably never do this sort of thing with it.

* * * * * *

Hermione's in the Staff Room, talking to Neville at a window table, so Filius makes his approach as unobtrusively as possible. He sits beside Rolanda and opens a book, which he reads for a few minutes.

'What odds are you quoting?' he asks finally, in an undertone.

'On what?'

'What do you have?'

She consults a notebook. 'I have six bets going: he gets disciplined without being replaced, at 5 to 1; he gets replaced as Acting Headmaster, at 4 to 1; the Comity program gets shut down, at 2 to 1 on; she resigns, at 12 to 1; Minerva is forced to come back early, at even money; and the two of them shag each other and forget about being enemies, at 8 to 1.'

'Really? Who started that last one?'

'You know I can't tell you. Do you want in on it?'

'Are you offering a spread?'

'Fifteen days either side of Christmas.'

Filius puffs out his cheeks in thought. 'Fine,' he says at last. 'Ten on that. Five on Hufflepuff to win House Cup.' He shrugs. 'I know; I know. Ravenclaw will never give up. But I have to call it how I see it, and under these new rules Hufflepuff is unstoppable.

'Oh. And five on Minerva coming back early. Any spread on that?'

'Nope.' She looks at him expectantly. He nods, and she makes a note.

'Thank you, Rolanda.'

'The pleasure's mine as always, Filius,' she says amicably, and they both go back to their books.

Over by the window, Hermione is trying to react appropriately to what Neville just said. 'So is it... um... a date?' she asks.

'No. No. I don't think so. I don't know. He says he wants to talk. So I'm thinking of it as an appointment to talk. I think... ' he trails off. 'Well, it can't hurt. Maybe we can clear the air enough to work together more comfortably on the Bez. The current arrangements are pretty awkward.'

Awkward? she thinks, not without sarcasm. Using students as go-betweens and communicating entirely by note? Oh, no. Perfectly normal. Out loud, she says, 'Yes.' Then, 'This is a big deal, Neville. I know it is. And I think it's the right thing to do.' She shuts her mouth before any stronger words come out.

After a moment, she says, 'So, when?'

'Saturday. Upstairs at the Three Broomsticks.'

'Oh, great! David's coming up this weekend, so I'll be around Hogsmeade if you need me.'

Neville smiles slightly. 'I'm not sure David will appreciate sharing you with a needy friend, if it comes to that.'

She suppresses the distress this observation causes her. 'Not at all,' she proclaims. 'You are always welcome in our midst. Well,' she blushes, 'maybe not always... I mean... uh...'

Now he smiles more broadly. 'I knew what you meant. Goose.'

The door of the Staff Room flies open and ricochets with a boom.

It's Snape, looking like something's got up his enormous nose.

'Granger. My office. Five minutes.'

He slams out again.

Hermione grins wryly at Neville. 'I imagine he got the owl. See you later.'

As the door closes behind her, Filius leans over to Rolanda and murmurs, 'Bump my Minerva bet up from five to eight, will you?'

* * *

Saturday's weather is foul...rain sheeting down on already drowned streets...and the Three Broomsticks is crammed full.

When Hermione and David come through the door, Rosmerta ejects a gang of damp third-years from their table by the fire and waves the two of them over.

The hostess lets David get a good view of her spectacular bosom...a time-honoured part of the Three Broomsticks Experience...before taking up her station behind his chair and giving Hermione a gigantic wink and mouthing "Nice!" Out loud she says, 'Hello, loves, how about a bit of hot punch?'

'That sounds perfect. And how fresh are the cauldron cakes?'

Rosmerta huffs. 'Made this morning, o' course. As always...you know that, Professor.'

'Wonderful. Two of those, please? Thank you.'

'Well, hopefully they won't be too stale, anyway,' she murmurs to David as Rosmerta sashays towards the kitchen. 'They're a classic Wizarding treat, so you must try them.'

She reaches across the table to take both of his hands. 'I'm so glad you're here; thank you so much for making the trip. How did you find the Portkey?'

'Awful. Felt like being run over by a lorry whilst on an LSD trip. And then the lorry reversed.'

She knits her brows and strokes his hands with her thumbs. 'I'm so sorry, darling. I'll be able to Apparate you back tomorrow. It's, well, it's also pretty awful, but at least I'll be with you.'

His smile looks half-hearted, but at least it's a smile.

'I've missed you, Mims.' He's playing with one of her hands. 'I'm looking forward to tonight quite a lot.'

'Me too.' She feels vastly relieved. He's glad to see her. The weekend's going to be fine. Just fine.

She props her elbows on the table and leans forward. 'So tell me. How's the City? What financial worlds have you conquered lately?'

He runs his hand through his hair. 'Well...' But before he can say any more, the door opens. Snape and Malfoy, both looking rather splendid and quite dry, billow in.

Wait, did I just think they're looking splendid? She peers at them.

Draco's clothes are impeccably made, as usual, but today he's actually tidy, too. His gleaming hair is pulled back and tied behind his neck with a black ribbon, and his robes are pearly grey and utterly becoming. His pale face is a little flushed, his lips pink. He looks like he stepped out of a Fragonard. He's gorgeous.

Oh, he absolutely thinks this is a date. Her jaw muscles tense. He'd better behave well, or he is a dead, dead ferret.

Snape is in his usual inky black robes with white linen peeking out at collar and cuffs. She notices how beautifully his clothes fit him, and how well they suit him. He has such a style, she thinks.

The two of them draw every eye in the room. Mostly because the room is full of students and the advent of the Headmaster and the Transfiguration teacher is something to notice. But also because they seem to command the room just by dint of being in it. Two striking men. Two wizards, radiating that particular power...

'...names again?'

She blinks and drags her eyes back to her companion. 'Sorry, what? Um, honey?'

'Those two. We saw them in London. Stauffenberg and the drunkard. What are their names again?'

She looks over at Snape and Malfoy; they're now at the bottom of the stairs, and Draco's saying something in Snape's ear. Snape nods. She knows Neville is already upstairs, waiting for Draco.

Please, please let it be okay, she prays.

Now Snape has seen them and he is... what? He's heading towards them.

'Hermione?' David says impatiently.

'Oh, um. Yes, they are Draco Malfoy; he just went upstairs, and this,' because now he's standing right there, 'this is Professor Snape. Hogwarts' Headmaster.'

'Acting,' says Snape. 'Professor Granger, you appear to have the only free chair in the room at your table. May I?'

She looks around. It's true. There's just the one chair. Oh, this will be fun. If one defines 'fun' as 'mortally awkward.'

'By all means, sir, um, I mean, Professor Snape. Please. Allow me to introduce David Fitzhugh. My, my boyfriend. David, this is, um, Severus Snape.'

'How d'you do,' David says, extending his right hand.

'Charmed,' sneers Snape, ignoring the hand and raking his eyes over David's blue cotton shirt and rumpled khaki trousers, the mackintosh slung over the back of his chair. 'Muggle, I presume?'

David leans back in his chair and looks speculatively at Snape. 'I suppose I am. Though it's the first time I've ever been called it to my face.'

Snape smirks. 'Well. Get used to it. You'll hear it often enough as long as you're shagging Granger, here. That and... other things.'

Oh, already headed towards a pile up. Brilliant. 'Professor Snape,' Hermione breaks in, 'I saw you come in with Malfoy. Are you here to lend support?'

'"Support?"' The sneer is back. 'He asked me to wait for him. I said I would. I suppose I might "support" him back to Hogwarts if Longbottom hexes his bollocks off.

'But with any luck, they'll be up there balling each others' brains out within half an hour.' Snape stares at Hermione as he doles his next words out like treacle, dark and slow. 'A little fucking can go a long way towards making peace on earth, don't you find? Donald?'

Her face goes red and her mind seems to short circuit. What... what... ?

'It's David. I would say, Septimus...may I call you Septimus?'

Hermione shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

'Call me Snape.'

'Right. Snape.' David's fingers are intertwined with hers, and he brings her hand up to his mouth to kiss. 'I'm all in favour of a little fucking. Or a lot.'

'David!' Ugh! Hermione squirms, acutely uncomfortable now. For one thing, she can't hold on anymore. 'I'm so sorry, just, excuse me, I'll be right back. Um. You both behave, please.' She pulls her hand out of David's and scurries off to the loo, hoping no harm will come to her boyfriend while she's gone.

Left alone with him, Severus withdraws his attention from the Muggle Granger's shagging. What abysmal taste she has. Weasley the Sixth, and now this?

Seemingly, the Muggle's not in a mood to be ignored.

'So, Snape. I hear you're rather a famous hero in your little world. You're just quite amazingly brave, it seems. Well. You don't look so tough to me. You look like a weedy bastard, to me.' He leans forward. 'I am a triple black belt. Do you know what that means?'

Severus looks at the man in chilly surprise. 'Do enlighten me.'

'It means that if you touch her, I can break you in half three different ways. So keep away.'

'I can see what Granger sees in you. Your conversation is so... appealing.'

'Just know this: she's taken. In fact,' and here the prat smirks at his own wit, 'she's taken all kinds of ways. She likes variety. And I,' the berk leans forward, 'am happy to oblige her. Because she is a fantastic fuck.'

Another few seconds of this and she'll be a fantastic fuck with a pile of smoking ashes for a boyfriend, but here she comes, hurrying through the crowds from the toilets. So Severus just says, 'Cheers.'

As Granger sits, Severus stands. 'If Draco's thrown down the stairs at any point, I can be found in the snuggery.' He turns, takes a step, and turns back. Timing is everything. 'Granger, I am forgetting my other errand. Sybill's been called away on family business...some aunt in Bristol is in extremis, or something like that. I need you to patrol tonight.'

'But I...'

'No buts. You're next on the rota. You'll still have plenty of time with Derek, here. Just be back at the castle before nine.'

And he threads his way over to the bar and ducks through the snuggery door, without once looking behind him.