Chapter Eight: Accepting the Inevitable

Disclaimer: The characters and settings belong to JKR. I just torment them for fun.

Chapter Eight: Accepting the Inevitable

Consciousness returned with a vengeance, an unceremonious dumping of reality banishing Sidney's naked desire from Hermione's dreams and tipping her awake into the cool morning air.

"Bollocks!" She scrubbed at her face and looked around for her missing nightgown. Giving up on a lost cause, Hermione dragged her sticky and nude body into the bathroom, silently thanking whoever had decreed returning seventh years were entitled to their own facilities.

Oh, Merlin. I look like I've spent the night having sex, not just dreaming about it. How did my hair get into such a rat's nest? It's all Sidney's fault. Often. I'll give him often.

Professor Snape.

She smiled at her sleep-creased face in the mirror and nodded as her muddied, swirling thoughts gradually distilled into a single, crystal-clear conclusion.

It's Professor Severus Snape, and I don't give a toss. He wants me. Well, maybe not me exactly, but, dammit, Grace is me. I only changed my hair and eyes. Grace is me, and I'm Grace. Grace wants him so badly. I want him so badly.

I just need to decide what to do about it.

Problem unresolved, Hermione showered and dressed before joining her fellow Gryffindors in the Great Hall for breakfast. She watched Snape with fleeting glances between mouthfuls of sausage and egg.

He looks relaxed enough this morning. I wonder whether... No, I mustn't think about it. Concentrate on what Ron is saying.

"... and that's why we need your help with the Transfiguration essay. Please, 'Mione."

"Didn't I tell you I wasn't going to do your work for you this year?"

"But we just don't understand it. We've really tried. Ron even read the relevant chapter in the textbook. Twice." Harry flashed the cute, self-deprecating smile that usually melted Hermione's resolve in seconds.

"You two are hopeless. I've already explained the theory three times since the last lesson." Hermione resisted, but their combined pitiful expressions were too pathetic to ignore. "Oh, all right. I'll go over it one more time after dinner, but I'm not writing a single word of your essays. Understood?"

"Yes, miss," they replied as one, grinning at each other.

"Now, leave me alone until then. I have a letter to write." Excusing herself, Hermione took one last look at the man of her desires and left. Snape never so much as looked up from his plate.

Dear Mum

Hermione

Hermione hurried to the owlery before she changed her mind. It was the only way. She had first considered asking for leave to attend the exhibition, using the same half-truth she had told the boys, but quickly discarded that course of action. Minerva McGonagall would be sure to ask the name of the artist she had assisted, and if even if she was not aware of Snape's method of stress relief, one mention of Hermione's request to attend an art exhibition that weekend in Snape's presence could have disastrous consequences. She hoped her mother would understand.

***

Snape felt his early good humour rapidly fade as his oldest students filed into the classroom. Taking care of himself had reached a whole new level since the last letters he had exchanged with Grace, and he had performed the task with breathless compliance both the night before and as soon as he had woken. She should have received my letter by now. I wonder if she'll come. Damn. Shouldn't have used that expression, brings far too many interesting images to mind...

Distraction. I need a distraction.

He folded his arms so his robes concealed the front of his trousers and paced back and forth before the class, watching the students settle themselves at their workbenches while willing his recalcitrant body into submission.

Everyone is quiet and well-behaved. Inconsiderate of them. A few points deducted here and there would have helped. Interesting, Mr Zabini appears to have charmed Miss Granger. She's smiling at him. Never thought I'd see the day when the Gryffindor bookworm would show an interest in any Slytherin. Zabini certainly has a gift. Lets them think he's totally disinterested, then with one smile has them eating out of his palm.

Lucky bastard.

"Today you will be brewing the base for Strengthening Solution. However, in the second stage next week, you will divide your Potions into half and use the standard salamander blood in one and Re'em blood in the other. I trust you have all remembered the properties of Re'em blood you discussed in your essays earlier this week. You have a question, Miss Granger?"

"Yes. Isn't Re'em blood almost impossible to procure?"

"Indeed. However, the Ministry in their wisdom grants a small allocation for this particular class. It is a small allocation, so I expect you all to use it correctly. Is that understood, Mr Longbottom?"

"Yes, sir." Neville shot an anxious glance towards Hermione, whose only reply was a reassuring nod.

"Once the two potions have been completed, you will be testing them on each other to determine the difference in potency." He looked around the room and indicated the blackboard. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

As she gathered hers and Blaise's ingredients, Hermione found herself standing beside Draco Malfoy. Drawing his attention by dint of a light touch on his arm, she spoke before he could react. "Keep an eye on him please, Draco." She tipped her head in Neville's direction.

The blond managed to refrain from showing any surprise at Hermione's request. "Er... sure, Gra... Hermione." He was rewarded with another pat on his arm and a wide smile.

"Thanks."

Hermione shrugged at Blaise's raised eyebrow when she returned to their desk. "What?"

"You'd better watch out. Your little friends don't seem too happy about you chatting with Draco."

She looked across the room to find Harry and Ron glaring at Draco. "Oh, they'll get over it. I just asked him to watch Neville. Nothing to write home about. Besides, I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

"That's different. You have to work with me. That makes it tolerable."

"Don't be daft, Blaise. Now, if I started snogging you in the middle of class, then they'd have something to worry about." She began measuring and chopping her ingredients.

"Would you?"

"Would I what?" she replied, concentrating on her work.

"Snog me?"

"Dammit, Zabini! I almost cut my finger. Do you have to say things like that when I'm using a bloody sharp knife?" She looked up to find his eyes laughing while his mouth pretended to pout.

"And there I was thinking you'd started fancying Slytherins."

"You don't know the half of it," she muttered, flicking a glance to the Slytherin who dominated her thoughts and dreams.

"Women, so fickle." Blaise's eyes widened a fraction as he followed the direction of her gaze. With a frown, he shook his head and started his own preparation.

Snape sat at his desk, idly watching Hermione and Blaise brew. Like a moth to a flame, his eyes were drawn to her delicate hands quickly and efficiently chopping and stirring as she followed the instructions on the board. Despite his constant awareness of everything occurring in the classroom, his thoughts once again began to stray to Grace.

Why am I so obsessed with a Muggle? What is it about her? Why can't I find a witch like Grace?

Don't be a fool, man, no witch would be interested. They know too much about my past, and most of the younger ones have suffered through my classes. It's no wonder they avoid me.

Hermione chose that moment to look up at her professor to find his gaze fixed on her hands. Flushing and looking away immediately, she went back to her brewing, hoping he did not recognise the hands he had painted in so much detail only weeks earlier.

Snape's expression hardened. Typical. Even the so-called brightest witch of her age can't stomach the sight of me. None of them ever meet my eyes. Afraid I'll use Legilimency on them, I imagine. As if I'd be remotely interested in their puerile lives. Even my colleagues avoid eye contact.

Fuck! I'll have to buy looser trousers if my bloody body doesn't stop behaving as if I'm a hormone-crazed adolescent.

***

"Hermione, Professor McGonagall wants to see you in her office after dinner. Something about a letter from your mum. She said not to worry; it's nothing bad." Ginny threw her bag onto the couch in front of the fireplace in the common room and sprawled out beside it.

"Thanks, Gin. When did you see her?"

"Just now, on my way in from Herbology. What do you think your mum wants?"

"I don't know. I'll tell you after I've seen her." I hate lying to her, but I can't tell her the truth. 'Hey, Gin, Mum's wangling me a weekend away to spend with Professor Snape looking at some nude paintings he did of me over summer. Oh, by the way, I'm seriously considering shagging him in the not-too-distant future..." That's if he doesn't find out who I am and hex me into next week first.

"Come on then. Let's go down early. The sooner we eat, the sooner you can find out what your mum wants, and the sooner you can share." Ginny grinned as she caught Hermione's arm and pulled her up off the couch.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming. You do realise I'll still have to wait for Professor McGonagall to finish her own dinner."

Ginny screwed up her nose. "I suppose so. And she always seems to talk for ages. Still, it wouldn't hurt to get there before Ron. I hear there's roast pork tonight, and you know how he always hogs the crackling."

Hermione rolled her eyes and giggled. "He makes such a pig of himself, doesn't he?"

"A right boor." Ginny nudged Hermione as Ron and Harry wandered down the stairs from their dorm. "Holy sow, here they come now!"

"What?" Ron gaped at his sister and friend, who by then were incoherent. "What's so funny? Harry, what's wrong with them?"

Harry shrugged. "They're girls. Trust me − don't ask. Whatever it is, you don't want to know."

Hermione wiped her eyes as they all headed out the door. Very true, Harry.

***

"Well?" Ginny stretched herself out on Hermione's bed as she awaited an answer.

"Mum wants me to go home in November to meet some relatives who are coming over from Canada. We haven't seen them since I was a baby, and they'll only be in the country a week." It was close enough to the truth. She did have an aunt and uncle living in Calgary, and she hadn't seen them for years. The visit was her mother's invention, however.

"What did Professor McGonagall say? It's usually hard to get permission to go home during the term."

"She was great. Said as I had my Apparation licence it was not a big problem, but I wasn't to tell anyone except you and the boys. She doesn't want everybody thinking they can come and go as they please, but she told me she sees the few of us who have returned to complete our final year more as adult students than children and believes we're old enough to take responsibility for ourselves." Made me feel even more guilty as well.

"Brilliant! So, are you going to tell them?"

"I suppose I should, but I think I'll just say it was a one-off thing. I can imagine what Ron and Harry would want to do if they thought they could take off for weekends whenever they liked." Probably just go to Quidditch games, not nude art exhibitions. I'm such a hypocrite! It's only once though. It's not like I'm planning to sneak off every weekend.

As it turned out, Ron and Harry were not the least bit interested in leaving Hogwarts at weekends.

"But 'Mione, you'll miss the match between us and Ravenclaw! It's only a boring old family thing; can't you get out of it?"

"No, Ron. It's something I really want to do."

"Besides, you know she'd only have her nose in a book all through the match anyway. Half the time she cheers when the opposition has scored a goal just because she hears everyone else doing it." Ginny grinned at Hermione's blush. "Admit it, Hermione. Quidditch is about as interesting to you as extra History of Magic homework is to these two idiots. And stop whining, brother dearest, I'm sure there'll be plenty of squealing girls eager to watch your exploits."

Ron's face lightened as he considered the possibilities of his first appearance on the Quidditch pitch since the war had ended. Leaving the two young men arguing tactics with Ginny, Hermione slipped off to write a note to Sidney.

Sidney

Sorry for not replying sooner. I'd love to see the exhibition with you. I'm available on the 7th. What time shall I meet you at the studio?

She paused and sucked the end of her pen while she decided how far to push him.

I found your last letter intriguing. I think of you at night, you know, imagining what you might be doing.

Grace.

***

"Mum, how do I look?" Hermione twirled in the kitchen, allowing her mother to appraise her appearance. After an hour of panic over what to wear, she had raided her mother's wardrobe and found the perfect dress. With a halter neck, the front of the bodice formed a low but not scandalous sweetheart neckline, nipping into her waist, then flaring out to a skirt which skimmed her curves and swirled around her knees as she walked. The back was virtually non-existent down to below her waist, exposing the sweep of her spine to the appreciative eye. A quick flick of her wand had changed the colour from a dated peach to a rich blue slightly darker than her eyes. With her mother's silver choker and earrings, her hair swept up into a loose knot, and high-heeled sandals, she had managed to dispel any notion of the girl she was.

"Oh, my. You look very glamorous. I didn't know that old dress could look so good. I don't suppose you'd consider leaving it that colour, dear?"

Hermione grinned. "No problem. It would suit you as well. You'd have to let Dad take you out somewhere special to wear it though."

Jean smiled. "Your father won't need much encouragement if I wear that. As long as I still fit into it, of course. It's been a few years since I last wore it. Otherwise, you'll just have to keep it."

"I'm sure it'll fit you, Mum. I happen to know you steal my spare jeans when I'm at school."

"Your father has a big mouth. It was only that one time when we went hiking." She walked around her daughter, examining the dress from all sides. "So, are you coming home tonight?"

"Mother!" Hermione's cheeks flared scarlet.

"I was young once, dear, and a girl doesn't go out on a date in that outfit planning to come home early."

"It's not a date."

"You forget I've been forwarding all those letters you two have been exchanging since you went back to school. I know you spent far more time with Sidney than you needed to for the job. And you never stopped talking about him. He's not just your boss, is he, love?"

Hermione's head bowed as she pulled out a chair and sat down. "I don't know, Mum. I hope not."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Meeting her mother's eyes, so similar to her own, Hermione knew she had to tell her the truth. "The thing is, it's complicated. Sidney Reilly is not just an ordinary artist..."

***

A/N: This was written for the TPP Every Flavour Auction for shalimar1981. Many thanks to karelia for the beta work.