Chapter Three: Posing as a Muggle

Disclaimer: They still belong to JKR no matter what strange situations I put them in.

Chapter Three: Posing as a Muggle

Well, she's certainly not shy about her body, is she? All that talk about being nervous, and there she is, posing like she's done it for years. She did have a moment there when she first took off her robe. That reminds me, I must turn down the air conditioning in here next time she comes. Wouldn't want her to think I keep the place cool deliberately. Although those nipples did crinkle rather delightfully. I could use that for one of my focus pieces – perhaps a composition where she's facing a mirror with flushed cheeks and breasts and peaked nipples in the reflection contrasting with her normal appearance in reality. I wonder how broadminded she really is.

She's surprisingly comfortable to work with. No flinching or giggling when I move in close to capture a few details. And she knows the value of silence. Hallelujah! This may just work out satisfactorily.

Snape finally stood and closed his sketchbook. Tucking his pencil behind his ear, he glanced at the clock on the far wall. "I think that's enough for today, Miss Henman."

Hermione looked up and smiled as she stretched, unaware of the infinitesimal widening of Snape's eyes as he watched her breasts rise in response to her movement.

He turned away as she gathered her robe and, not bothering to put it on, padded off to the bathroom to dress. "I'm sure you're in need of refreshment. I'll put the kettle on," he managed.

"Great. I'm parched," she replied as she opened the door. "I'll only be a minute or two."

What the hell was all that about? I spend three hours sketching every part of her body and only saw her as a subject to be portrayed on canvas, then she stretches and ... Merlin! Snape glanced down at the front of his trousers and was reassured to find all was in order. At least one part of me is still a gentleman. He poured the tea and, assembling the pot and cups on a tray with sugar and milk, carried the lot back to the studio where he set it on a side table as his model appeared, once more fully dressed.

"Did you get what you needed, Mr Reilly?" Hermione asked once she had nearly emptied her cup.

"Yes, thank you. The sketches will be a good start. I'll look over them tonight and develop some ideas for compositions. Can you be here at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, Miss Henman?"

"Of course. And it's Grace. You've seen more of me today than most people have ever done, so I really think we can dispense with formality, Mr Reilly."

He inclined his head. "Indeed. However, you must do likewise."

Hermione put down her cup and stood. "Sidney it is, then. Well, I'd better be on my way. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Snape showed her to the door and watched her walk down the street and around the corner. As he locked the door, a sharp crack somewhere nearby set his senses to full alert, relaxing only when the old Mini belonging to the man who lived on the next corner sputtered into view.

***

Hermione let herself into the house, wondering briefly why everything was so quiet before remembering it was her parents' cinema night. She chuckled as she saw the paper open on the bench at the entertainment page. Circled in red was The Horse Whisperer.

Poor Dad. He's been resisting that one for weeks. Mum just wants to go and drool over Robert Redford for a couple of hours. No... nearly three hours. I bet Dad goes to sleep. And she won't even notice; she's had a crush on him since she was sixteen and saw him in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I suppose he was quite cute back then, but a bit blond and pretty for my liking. Reminds me of a nice version of Draco Malfoy.

Or Neville.

Hermione giggled, trying to imagine Neville Longbottom's face if he ever found out she'd posed nude for Snape. Giving up after a minute or so of images of Neville in a dead faint, she flicked the switch on the kettle and threw a tea bag into a cup just as a knock sounded on the front door.

Opening the door to find two grinning young men, Hermione threw open her arms.

"Harry! Ron! What are you doing here?"

Harry handed over a parcel of fish and chips. "We decided we'd better check on you. We've hardly seen you in the last two weeks."

"That's because you two were so busy working your way through all your groupies," she said as she found some plates and salt and vinegar.

Ron blushed. "Hey! Give us some credit. We haven't spent all our time with girls. We went and bought our supplies for Hogwarts today."

It was Hermione's turn to redden. "Oh, bloody hell. I was supposed to meet you two at Diagon Alley. I completely forgot. I'm so sorry!"

"S'okay. We popped over here, and your mum told us you'd found a holiday job. She said to come back later, so here we are," said Harry through a mouthful of chips.

"Harry! You're getting as bad as Ron. Don't talk with your mouth full."

Ron carefully swallowed. "So, what's this new job?"

"Er... I'm helping an artist in his studio. Sort of assisting with composition, working through gender biases and stereotypes, setting up a comparative analysis of femininity versus feminism..."

"Yeah. Sounds great. Where's the tomato sauce?" Harry interrupted.

Hermione smirked. They're so easy. Use a few long words and they're put off the scent. Just as well. Wouldn't want those two prying into my new occupation. I'd never hear the end of it.

Bringing out a few bottles of butterbeer she'd stashed in the pantry was the final blow to the boys' curiosity. By the time the Grangers arrived home, the boys had left with full stomachs and merry hearts, off to find another conquest or three.

***

Hermione let herself into the studio with the key Snape had given her and tossed her bag onto the chair in the kitchen. Finding no evidence of the artist in residence, she knocked on the door to his private rooms. "Hello! Sidney! Are you there?" Hearing no reply, she turned to go back to the kitchen, nudging the door with her shoulder as she moved.

That's weird. The door's unlocked. I've been coming here a week, and he's never even opened the door while I've been around. I hope he's all right.

Hesitating at the threshold, she gently pushed the door fully open. "Sidney? Are you in there?" Stepping into the room, Hermione found no sign of the occupant but stopped in her tracks as she noticed the paintings lining the walls of the small sitting room. Large paintings, small paintings, and simple pencil sketches covered every available inch of wall. Many of the paintings were dark, angry, pieces with barely recognisable features but a unifying theme of evil. A chill settled on the back of Hermione's neck at the almost palpable depiction of the artist's torment over the years. Interspersed with these were the sketches, all depicting the same smiling, pretty girl in various poses. Not until she spotted a full size portrait of the same girl in oil did Hermione realise who she was. Red hair, green eyes, and a Gryffindor scarf.

Lily Evans. Harry's mum.

Hermione had heard the story of Snape's devotion to Lily, but the evidence before her tore at her heartstrings. Here was a man tortured by his past, his only comfort lying in the two-dimensional images of a girl who had never understood his feelings, whose rejection had sent him on a path of loneliness, despair, and eventual guilt. Tears welled as she stared at the wall before her, tears of compassion and guilt at her own harsh judgement of the man in the past.

"Seen enough, Miss Henman?" The ice in his tone was only surpassed by that in his eyes.

Turning, she bowed her head. "I'm sorry, you didn't answer, and I was worried something had happened to you. I didn't mean to pry, truly."

He frowned and relaxed a little. "Why on earth would you think something had happened? I just stepped out for some milk."

Realising her over-reaction to his absence was out of character for a supposedly ordinary Muggle, Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. I was just spooked by the silence, I suppose. Really. I'm sorry if I've intruded. I'll just go and change."

After she had closed the bathroom door, Snape leaned against the wall and sighed. The last thing he needed was to have his model asking all sorts of awkward questions about the paintings in his sitting room. Perhaps I'll just put it down to my angst phase. I'm sure all the best artists have them. She was very upset though, which is odd. It's not like she'd understand what lay behind those paintings. Don't know why I've kept them really, except to remind me of how lucky I am to still be alive. And Lily. Dear, sweet, unforgiving Lily.

She's my reminder never to trust a woman with my heart.

As Hermione emerged, Snape studied her face. All traces of tears had disappeared. As if by magic. Relieved, he guided her to the chair he had placed in the centre of the room earlier and resumed work as if nothing had happened.

***

"Sidney?" Hermione looked up from her plate of salad.

"Hmm?"

"What made you start painting?" she asked, spearing a tomato wedge with her fork. "That's if you don't mind me asking."

"I really can't say. It just happened," he replied, then looked away, but not before she caught a hint of something in his expression that stilled any further questions.

Snape's thoughts drifted to primary school when he would forget the taunts of his supposed playmates and immerse himself in the slip slop of thick paint on paper and the colours over which he had complete control. His father's disparaging comments aside, 'What's that bloody boy doing playing with his paintbox like a little pansy? He should be out kicking a ball around,' Snape had continued to paint. As he had grown older and discovered his much anticipated escape to Hogwarts was no escape at all, he had sublimated the hurt and pain onto oils and canvas. The years serving Voldemort had generated the works of darkness and self-hatred in the other room hitherto only ever seen by the artist himself.

Painting had been his deepest secret and his only salvation and, now he had weathered the storm of the last twenty years, was set to yield opportunities never before imagined. Maintaining the small studio in a nondescript Muggle shopping area had scraped at his purse-strings but allowed him somewhere away from prying eyes on both sides of the conflict. His work was striking: bold colour and brush strokes juxtaposed with areas of meticulous detail, the whole a composition of unique form. The less threatening pieces had been sold sporadically over the years, providing a raison d'etre for the studio as well as covering some of the costs of rent, electricity, and art supplies.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Snape noticed the young woman watching him curiously. He gathered the dishes and piled them into the sink to be dealt with later once he was alone and free to use magic. "Right, back to work. I'd like to get this one finished today."

Hermione responded by discarding her robe over the kitchen chair and walking naked over to assume her pose. Following her gently swaying form across the room, Snape once again noticed the tattoo on her right hip. The stylised letter M with an extra loop looked vaguely familiar, but he could not place where he had seen it before.

"Okay. I'm ready." Hermione faced the chair, using the back to rest her hands upon, stretching her head and allowing her hair to flow down her back. With one leg slightly bent at the knee and the other extended, her body created a smooth line, accentuating the curve of her neck and the length of her legs.

Snape muttered something inaudible and stood behind his easel, gradually transferring the feminine form from flesh to oils.

***

After four weeks of posing nude for Snape, Hermione had succeeded in banishing the dour Potions professor she had known to a separate compartment in the back of her mind. She knew she'd have to let him out again in another month, but for now she was happy to imagine the serious but always polite and reasonable artist was the real Sidney Reilly. Although he rarely indulged in conversation while he was painting, except to issue instructions while placing her limbs where he wished, Hermione had found the man to be a rich sounding board for discussion on art, Muggle politics, science, and human nature during meal times and had found herself leaving for home ever later in the evening as they stretched one cup of tea to several while they debated the latest topic.

Relaxing in his paint splattered jeans and t-shirt at the end of the day, hair tied back off his face, Sidney Reilly was even wont to laugh occasionally. The first time took her by surprise, the second was enlightening, and by the third Hermione finally understood. Severus Snape was not just a teacher and fearless spy; he was a real person with feelings, ideas, and a rapier wit often directed at his model after she had spoken without first thinking through her idea.

After the first few sessions, she had lost any remaining nervousness about exposing herself to her teacher, secure in the knowledge he had not penetrated her disguise. His strictly professional conduct while she was naked was impeccable, but the way his eyes lingered at times on her breasts and hips eased any feelings of inadequacy.

***

For his part, Snape found he was enjoying Grace's company and intelligent, seeking mind. He had never spent any real time conversing with a woman before, regular debates on Quidditch matches with Minerva McGonagall notwithstanding. Her precise method of chopping and slicing salad ingredients for lunch, a task she had volunteered for after a few days of stodgy fare, pleased his eye, and her tea brewing was perfect.

If she wasn't so young and so Muggle, she'd be the perfect woman, he mused after she had left one evening. She has a sharp intellect and pleasing personality, but something about her voice and the way she uses her hands reminds me of someone I know. Although I've taught so many young women of her age over the years, I suspect, like them, she's simply a product of her generation. Muggle girls and witches aren't so different after all.

***

A/N: This was written for the TPP Every Flavour Auction for shalimar_1981. Many thanks go to sempra, who cast her expert eye over it.