Chapter Five

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. Huge thank you goes to my beta – Glorioux.

Chapter Five

Decisions, Decisions or Blue Knickers and Their Secret Powers

"Hmm, all right," said Severus as he drew the heaviest sigh he had in his arsenal and began to write.

Dear Miss Grang...

A sharp point of a quill froze halfway through Hermione's last name. "Aggrrhh," growled the wizard and, in one irate movement, crumpled an innocent piece of paper, throwing it unto a rapidly accumulating pile of crumpled papers that had formed in a far corner of his study. There flew – one second, my darlings, let me check – Severus' thirteenth attempt to compose a note to Hermione.

"It's an absurdity, clear-cut lunacy," muttered our extremely disgruntled Potions master. Severus Snape felt like an ultimate fool. It was Tuesday evening. For two hours... oops, I stand corrected, for three hours, our black cloud of a wizard had been trying to write the damned letter.

You see, after the ball, on that Saturday morning, he had carefully disentangled himself from sleeping Hermione and, with cowardice, had left. Yes, Severus Snape had been that truthful with himself. After all, he hadn't been considering any further developments. Our sleepless Potions master had reached this radical conclusion during the wee hours as he had observed the fiery red dawn sunrays playing tag on a wall in Hermione's bedroom.

There, still lying in the witch's bed, still holding the witch in his embrace and listening to the soothing sounds of her breathing, he had managed to convince himself that this night was a glitch, an onetime deal – a drunken mistake, so to speak.

Miss Granger had had just too much to drink, and he, on the other hand, simply hadn't been able to stop himself from taking what had been offered. Our insecure wizard had made himself believe in this faulty logic. It had been the only reasoning which our Potions master's mind could accept. His head, at that moment, hadn't been able and willing to entertain any other possibilities.

Yes, my friends, Severus Snape had remembered the determination that had shone in Hermione's eyes when she first had approached him, and then, later, had daringly caressed him. Yes, he certainly had noticed how willingly and joyfully she had accepted his advances. Yes, yes and yes, he most undoubtedly would never be able to forget the contented sighs, moans, and cries the young witch emitted during their passionate encounter. And, lastly, Hermione's hoarse whisper, 'Severus', at the moment of climax would be stored in the deepest and most sacred parts of his heart forever.

Alas, as a man whom almost everyone had rejected for most of his life, Severus had chosen to ignore all these signs of affection. It had been a matter of self-condemnation. He had made a mistake and it would never happen again. Our wizard had decided that the sooner he would forget all about it the better. And he had been quite ready to act upon his decision.

Only this particular time his firm resolve had been relatively short lived. To be exact, it had survived until Sunday evening, when fate had intervened in the form of Severus' house-elf.

It had been around seven o'clock on Sunday when Casimir, with a rather enthusiastic crack, had popped up in the laboratory where Severus had been peacefully brewing a fresh batch of Wolfsbane Potion. A smug smile had been plastered on the creature's face. In one hand, he had held Severus' formal black robes – the ones he had been wearing on Friday – yup, that Friday. In the elf's other hand had been something bright blue and vaguely familiar.

"Me fixes Master's robes and finds this," the elf had reported and had uttered a joyful sound, which was a peculiar mixture of a snort and a sob. "Master must keep this. These good things. Knickers good for Master." With this, snorting and sobbing in delight, Casimir had forcefully inserted a little lacy garment into Severus' hand and had disappeared with a loud contented pop, leaving his master to ponder why and how exactly were 'knickers goods for him'.

Severus had squeezed the offensive item in his fist, trying to decide what to do. All kind of erratic thoughts had been bolting through his mind. The damn knickers had been almost literally burning a hole in Severus' hand. He had wanted to feel, to smell their scent, to bury his nose in their sinful softness. In mere seconds, the first and foremost battle had been lost. The knickers had won quite effortlessly, and a defeated Severus had opened his fist and inhaled deeply.

Hermione's delectable, tantalizingly intimate scent had filled his nostrils as desire and longing had flooded his mind and overwhelmed his senses. Severus eyelids had fluttered and closed. Mmm... He had practically been able to feel her silky, pulsating warmth closing around his rigid length.

And that had been the end of our former professor's supposed resolution and peace. Who could have guessed that a skimpy, frail piece of silk and lace, even if it was flamboyantly blue, could be that powerful?

Of course, we can be sure that Severus Snape had not succumbed to the powers of the blue knickers immediately. No, he always had been a pretty tough and strong wizard. He vigorously had fought against their baneful influence. For example, our stoic Potions master hadn't allowed himself to take them to bed with him. He purposely had left the garment on the desk in his study. The fact that he hadn't been able to sleep and, at three in the morning, had been still sitting at the same desk with his enormous nose rather close to the blue bandits had been purely coincidental.

Monday had been spent in long and excruciating battles with himself and the knickers. Oh, how exhaustively he had tried to ignore the call of his heart and his body, how fastidiously Severus had tried to wipe the memory of the night with Hermione Granger, which the bloody piece of lingerie had kept bringing into his mind again and again. It had reopened that door and Severus hadn't been able to shut it.

Now he had become too weak to throw the memory of that night away. The knickers had bewitched our poor Potions master. In a matter of hours, their presence had transformed the stone-cold man into a crumbling fool, whose nose had been constantly attached to a blue scrap of fabric.

Being a reasonable person, by Monday evening, Severus Snape had capitulated and conceded to the need for a new resolution and a new plan. His previous initiative, during which our former professor had catalogued everything that had transpired between Hermione and him as a drunken mistake, had been utterly destroyed, burned and buried by those victorious, cobalt blue warriors.

A new plan had been born quickly and easily when the wizard had decided to write Hermione a letter and to invite her to his villa, simply in order to return the offensive undergarment to her in person. Dinner with her might ensue, of course.

And really, don't you think it would have been too crude, even for Severus Snape, just to send the damned thing to the witch. Right? Then again, Severus wouldn't have known what to write in an accompanying note. Because something like,

Dear Miss Granger,

PS. This blasted thing – I went bloody ballistic – take them back immediately!

could have been simply deadly – you can see quite clearly, my dearies, that this kind of letter would have been an exceptionally bad idea. Hermione Granger was not the right witch for such correspondence.

Thus, Tuesday evening found our Potions master writing an invitation. For three hours. In vain.

Finally, after the pile of crumpled papers in the far corner of his study tripled in size, the letter was finished.

Miss Granger,

Severus Snape.

The letter was sealed and sent with an owl. To Severus' surprise, less than an hour later, he received a response, written on his own letter in a rather impatient, but still fine hand,

Very well, Mister Snape.

Hermione Granger.

Something in the tone of this reply made Severus frown. However, when nothing came to mind immediately, our wizard dismissed the nagging feeling that something was not quite right as tiredness and nerves. There were much to do – he had a dinner to organize and host.

Casimir was in ecstasy, "Me tells Master – knickers good," he sobbed with glee, whilst running through the villa with different books of culinary content and torturing Severus with questions about which cuisine 'Master's Missy prefers'.

Severus himself felt much better. The thought of having Hermione there warmed his hardened heart. A genuine smile played on his thin lips all throughout the rest of the week – of course, only when he was alone in his laboratory, brewing the potions. The blue knickers migrated from his pocket to a quiet place. They were safely put into a neat little box, which was seated on Severus' desk. Somehow, the knowledge that their owner herself would soon be there broke the spell the knickers held over our Potions master. Apparently, he was actually looking forward to seeing Hermione.

Now, when everything was decided, Severus couldn't fathom why he hesitated for so long. Why hadn't he written to Hermione immediately? And why the hell had he left that Saturday morning? He had behaved like a git, but luckily, the blue knickers had interfered and fixed everything.

The only dark cloud on this blue sky was Lucius. For almost six years now, Friday night had been their poker night. So when, on Thursday, Severus sent Lucius a cancellation notice, his friend sent him a haughty reply which stated that he, Lucius, was accustomed to Severus' ever-changing mood, attitudes and alliances.

Our Potions master knew that Lucius was probably still angry with him about their little argument over Hermione at the ball. Severus didn't like the situation and felt he needed to remedy it as soon as possible. Lucius Malfoy had been his only friend for many years now, and even if Severus wasn't particularly open in their friendship, he was still not ready to dash it all that easily. Our black-haired wizard made a mental note to visit his blond friend the following Saturday.

On Friday, sometime after five o'clock in the evening, Casimir's euphoria reached its apotheosis. The poor creature burst into his master's laboratory with an utterly mad facial expression and began to list the dishes he prepared. The menu was full of all sorts of French cuisine such as Foie Gras, Bouillabaisse, Cassoulet, and Clafouti. By the end of the elf's recitation, Severus started to feel the tell-tale signs of a migraine. Therefore, our Potions master rashly approved of every single dish.

Phew. Severe indigestion would be a sure result.

Around half past six, Severus was ready and slightly nervous himself. Merlin only knows why, right at that moment, standing in front of his fireplace, he remembered the peculiarly hostile tone of Hermione's answering note. After fifteen minutes of intense contemplation, an understanding dawned on our wizard. The witch was displeased by his behaviour. He had left her alone on Saturday morning without so much as a note, he hadn't contacted the witch until Tuesday evening, and even then he sent her a cold, formal invitation, again without so much as a word of apology.

Fuck! (Oh, yes, precisely!)

Suddenly, the prospect of meeting and dining with a highly annoyed Hermione Granger didn't seem as appealing to Severus anymore. He drew a deep, calming breath and braced himself for the worst. The young witch was highly temperamental, as the wizard knew only too well.

This was the exact state of mind in which our Potions master met our lioness, when, at the stroke of seven, she stepped out of his fireplace.

How their dinner and evening eventually played out, we, my dear ones, will find out in the next chapter. I will, however, give you one clue – twenty minutes to eight on that same Friday, the recently perpetually pouting Mister Malfoy received an owl from the Leaky Cauldron informing him that one Hermione Granger was there and already on her second helping of Firewhisky.

Enough said. Au revoir for now.