Chapter Two: I Hope You Are Telling a Lie

After Granger left the room, Severus poured his coffee and walked over to the sturdy table dominating the newer half of the kitchen. He took a seat with his back to a row of small, high windows which lined the top of the rear wall of the extension. The dark fragrant drink truly was good, he decided as he savoured his first sip. The beans were of an excellent variety and they had been perfectly roasted. He couldn't have done a better job of it had he chosen the beans and roasted them himself.

As much as he would have liked to just sit in peace, enjoying his coffee, its very perfection – its absolute suitability to his own tastes – focussed his mind on his odd circumstances.

It wasn't the coffee, per se, which gave him pause. After all, this was his dream – if a dream was what he was experiencing – and even if it had been induced for some purpose he could not yet fathom, evidence suggested he might have some influence over how the events played out. Look at the change in Miss Granger. Why shouldn't he also dream up a perfectly prepared cup brewed from the perfectly roasted beans of one of his favourite varieties?

But none of that explained why he was dreaming so vividly in the first place. Or why Granger featured so prominently.

Where is she, anyway?

Despite the many and varied questions each passing moment of his nocturnal adventure was generating, Severus didn't doubt he was in his own home. And though he'd completed a number of renovations on the ramshackle house in Spinner's End, the place was still small enough to navigate inside a few minutes. Besides, the small additions he'd had built were at the back of the house and Granger had gone towards the front. Yet, she'd been gone for nearly ten minutes now and he'd almost finished his drink.

Perhaps I've exercised enough will to rid myself of her.

The exchange of the temperamental and disturbingly sexy (Sexy! It's obviously been far too long.) Miss Granger for the frumpish, meeker version was most likely a result of his discomfort with the idea of being aroused by the woman. But why was he dreaming of her at all? More important, if the dream was the result of some enemy's desire to torture him, how had it been accomplished?

Drumming his fingers against the polished wood, Severus took another sip.

Potions are right out; I would have detected anything untoward in my food or drink.

A curse was equally unlikely. His duelling prowess was now widely known. Although a few dunderheads had been stupid enough to want to test their mettle against his in the years since he'd been released from St. Mungo's, after the first half dozen or so had proved unsuccessful, the number of challenges had dropped off precipitously.

Against his will, his thoughts drifted back to the differences between the two Miss Grangers. He'd only spent a short time in the company of the first iteration of the girl – no, she was definitely a woman – but events had seen fit to ensure she'd been burned into his mind much as the Dark Mark had been branded onto his left forearm. The feel of her soft curves was indelibly imprinted onto his own flesh. She was...

For Merlin's sake, control yourself!

In contrast, the current Miss Granger, as far as he could discern from beneath the folds of her voluminous and weighty nightgown, was all angles and flattish planes. At least, he was fairly certain her bosom couldn't compare to that of her predecessor. And her priggish demeanour didn't bode well if he had any hope she'd be grabbing hold of his tadger anytime soon. Not that he was hoping for that. At all.

Still, I needn't spend the remainder of this dream with a scared little swot with a stick stuffed so far up her arse she wouldn't know what to do with a prick if it swatted her on the bum! It's only fair I should get a little entertainment for my troubles.

He ignored the voice in his head trying to remind him he hadn't been any more at ease with Granger who'd curled naked in his embrace. The voice reminding him life was rarely (almost never in his experience) fair also reminded him he was supposed to be figuring out what the hell was going on.

Just as it occurred to him he might do better to wonder about who rather than waste time contemplating how, Miss Granger finally returned to the kitchen.

She worried her lower lip with even white teeth as she crossed the threshold. Pressed against her belly with small white hands, and stretching the yellow cloth against her thin form, was a large book bound in leather the colour of his coffee. Something he couldn't work out haunted her large, though largely unremarkable, brown eyes. Eyes that seemed intent on not meeting his.

Severus took advantage of her uncharacteristic diffidence to get a better look at her. His gaze roved from her slipper-shod feet to the high neck of her nightgown before coming to rest again at her bust. Just as he'd thought he remembered, the shoulders jutted out in bony points and the tits were nothing to speak of.

"I suppose you're rather disappointed if you've just come from one of the... more endowed Hermiones," she said.

His eyes snapped up from her disappointing breasts to find her watching him, a resigned sort of look on her face. Before he could tell her he hadn't a clue what she was talking about – not that he planned to anyway; Miss Granger had never been quite the imbecile her friends still were and he'd been abominably obvious about what he was doing – she was coming the rest of the way into the room and speaking again.

"That's what kept me, by the way," she said, apropos nothing he could think of. "Sorry about that. When I opened The Notebook, the others had already started filling their entries. I haven't read them all, but so far everyone has been properly numbered." She sat across from him, heaving a heavy sigh. "I will explain as much as I can – I promise! – but first I want to see who had you first."

Miss Granger placed her open notebook on the table and began swiftly paging through it, seemingly uncaring that he hadn't contributed a single word. For that matter, apart from the resignation he'd recognised in her expression, she didn't seem at all disturbed that he'd just been staring at her tits.

Almost as if she's accustomed to being ogled, though I can't imagine why that would be, he thought derisively.

For a few long moments, he watched her read. Her sense of comfort wasn't feigned, he decided. By all appearances, she was perfectly comfortable with her presence in his – her – home, in the middle of the night, and both of them in their nightclothes.

And I thought her timid? Reserved?

After what seemed to be an interminable amount of time had passed, she looked up and smiled.

A smile! For me! Severus rescinded his earlier uncertainty. There's no question; this must be a nightmare.

He went back to wondering which witch or wizard could have done this to him. He'd worry about their methodology once he knew who he was dealing with.

Couldn't be Lucius, trying to get back at me for coming out better than he did in the end. He hasn't the skill, though he might have connections to someone who does. But no, this isn't his style.

"You probably think this is some sort of hallucination or delusion," she said, somehow still smiling as she spoke.

"A nightmare, actually," he replied absently, his mind already on more important matters.

Perhaps someone I actually trust? Those people were few and far between. He could count them on one hand. Filius could have created the charm, but he'd never have the nerve. But if Minerva put him up to it, and put on the pressure...

Miss Granger laughed.

Laughed! As if being the means of his torture – the means of his torture without even having a decent pair – was somehow amusing.

"Ninety-three and Fifteen figured you'd be concocting all sorts of nefarious plots. Dark potions or curses. But then I told them you'd have read Wildcat, and they agreed – well, Fifteen did; Ninety-three was still a little sceptical, but that's just Ninety-three being Ninety-three.

"Anyway, after I told them you know Wildcat and had even been reading A Roll of the Dice before bed, they decided I was likely right when I said you'd probably guess it was all a dream."

She clapped her hands together, her expression bordering on gleeful. (Or, perhaps that was mania he detected.) Severus shivered at the thought.

"And of course, while it's odd you'd make your first jump right after that – especially as you're not meant to be travelling at all – the true significance of your showing up here is due more to the groundbreaking ramifications of..."

He stopped listening to what she was saying in favour of simply watching her speak. So far, nothing she'd said had been of any use to him, but the transformation from hesitant and uncertain to eager and confident came with an intriguing set of physical changes. Enthusiasm brought an almost becoming flush to her once-wan cheeks. She moved her hands as she talked, gesturing exuberantly to punctuate points he barely heard.

Hands meant for potioneering, he mused, wasted on a Ministry drudge. They're probably good at other things, too.

Uncomfortable with the direction his thoughts were taking, Severus tried to go back to figuring out who was behind this... whatever it was, but Miss Granger's incessant prattle left him too aware of her presence. Giving it up as no use, he decided actually attending to what she was saying was the lesser of two evils.

"What we need to figure out is are you the one who showed up in Fifteen's bath or the one who appeared in Ninety-three's bed."

Or perhaps it isn't. There was that stirring again. That twitch the first one had caused, prancing about his room in nothing but her soft, silky skin. But it wasn't nearly as bad this time, and the Miss Granger still uselessly talking at him was too covered-up to be as much of a danger as the one in his head.

"We still don't know who you are. One seventy-two and I have been charged with that task, you see, and none of us know how much time we've left to do it."

Severus didn't see. Not quite. He was astute enough to suppose she might be referring to the version of her he'd had the pleasu... dissatisfaction of waking up to. But something this one had said...

She spoke in nonsensical numerical prattle without explaining herself. Just as the other one had done.

He straightened in his seat, interest honestly piqued.

"Ninety-three?"

"Or Fifteen. One or the other of them had you last."

Severus swallowed his frustration and tried again. "Who, or what, is 'Ninety-three'?"

Miss Granger's dull brown eyes lit with what could only be mischief. Suddenly they no longer appeared so unremarkable, after all. She took a sip of her (surely cold by now) cocoa and smiled a different sort of smile.

An unasked for vision of naked flesh ran through his head. This Miss Granger wasn't nearly so alluring as the last one had been, but there was no denying she was attractive when she grinned at him that way. She should have looked inane; instead, she was... rather enticing.

"Who?" he repeated.

The grin turned crooked and for all that it was annoying, Severus found it even more appealing.

"Well, erm," she began, trying in vain to suppress her smile, "she's me. Sort of, anyway."

SS~HG

Severus didn't bother with trying to hide his bemusement, and when she said (again), "This will take a long while to explain, and you've already finished your coffee." She wrinkled her nose at her own cup. "And my chocolate's gone cold."

Miss Granger cast a warming charm on her cocoa then got up to pour Severus another cup. When she returned with his drink, she took the seat next to him rather than sitting before her notebook. She slid that across the table and, after offering him another of those smiles, turned back several pages, saying, "I hope you don't mind if I get off track a bit first – it will probably make more sense if I start in the middle before I get on with the really unbelievable stuff from the beginning."

Since, even now, she didn't appear to require verbal responses from him, he said nothing. He still needed to figure out who was cross enough with him to want to curse him as well as stupid enough to go through with it.

Not so stupid, as it appears they were successful, a voice in his head whispered. He decided he needn't heed a voice spouting nonsense. Not even if it sounded just like his voice.

He sipped the coffee, half watching as Miss Granger turned pages back and forth, marking sections with tiny strips of paper. She flipped her braid from one shoulder to the other, causing the heavy rope of hair to brush his cheek in the process.

Unless this isn't a dream, the voice he'd been trying to ignore suggested.

Shut up! the other voice ordered.

But she said it's not a dream. I might try to tell myself she only said that because that's what dream succubae are supposed to say, but...

Stop it! Miss Granger is hardly a succubus, at least this one isn't. And, of course, I'm dreaming! If I weren't – if this were real – I would...

Severus grimaced as he sipped his coffee. He didn't want to think about what he would do if it turned out he was awake and with Hermione Granger in the middle of the night.

Get on with it, woman!

As if she could hear his thoughts, only moments later, she scraped her chair closer to his.

"There," she said, leaning in till she was almost touching him as she pointed.

She smelt of almonds and honeysuckle. And chocolate.

Oh hell.

"It started approximately half an hour ago." She jabbed a finger at an entry marked 10:53 p.m. "And though most of the Hermiones knew right away, two – Fifteen and your Ninety-three – were nearly shocked out of their wits. Not surprising, all things considered!"

His head was already aching under the surfeit of pointless information. Does she ever shut up?

"I mean, most of us are used to dealing with each other's... erm, problems by now, but this week the travelling moratorium was in place, so they were taking advantage of there being no chance at interruptions." Warming to the topic, she abandoned all pretence of following along in her book. "It would have been better if they'd just started, erm, catching up straight away, like Se... er, my husband and I did, but that was their husbands wanting to wait till the kids were asleep.

"Honestly, I don't know how they could stand it. The waiting I, mean. We just sent the kids to stay with Mum and Dad's for the week, rather than deal with worrying about them going to sleep. And glad we did! I would have hated missing out tonight.

"Though, I guess Ninety-three only missed out on the cuddling after, so at least she got something."

His stomach clenched painfully as the pieces began to fall in place. What she was suggesting was...

Nimue's iron knickers!

"But Fifteen had only just got in the bath when you lot travelled this time and he nearly hexed her, only he didn't have his wand!"

Without thinking about what he was doing, Severus reached over and shoved the braid off her shoulder. Fully aware of what he was doing, he turned her chair towards him and reached for the buttons marching down the front of her gown.

She slapped his hands away. "Stop it, Severus! I just told you I didn't miss out." Then blushing, she said: "Oh. Did you want to check my tattoo?" Quickly undoing the top seven buttons, she pulled enough fabric aside to expose her left shoulder.

"See? I'm Two Eighteen."

He leant in to peer at the tiny H218 printed on her pale flesh.

"I got so caught up, I forgot to identify myself."

Before he could respond, the clench in his stomach was superseded by a wrench behind his bellybutton and his world shifted all over again.

SS~HG

Severus found himself back in what he would have sworn was his own bedchamber, sitting on his own bed, if it hadn't been for two other occupants.

"The problem is," Miss Granger (dressed in a transparent black nightdress which barely covered her bum) was saying, "not even fifty-five or seventy would do tests during a travel-free week without putting it in The Notebook, I used to think. Now, we've reason to question that conviction. I don't like it. It's almost as if I'm betraying them."

The red-haired man on whose face she was applying liberal amounts of what looked like Bruise Paste frowned furiously.

"Well I don't like getting my eye blacked just as I'm about to pleasure our husband," the man – the youngest Weasley, if Severus guessed correctly – groused, "so excuse me if I don't bloody care if you think you're betraying them."

Severus squeezed his eyes closed, silently praying the next churning of his gut was due to more of the travelling the Miss Grangers kept bringing up and not a sign of imminent panic (and possibly bringing up his supper) over the implications of Weasley's "our husband". When he chanced opening them again, he seemed to be in the same room, but this time – thank God! – alone.

He lay back against his pillows. Convinced (and quite thankful) he'd finally managed to rouse himself from his night of horrors, he breathed a relieved sigh. A wandless, non-verbal spell doused the lights, and he considered whether going back to sleep was wise.

His door opened.

"It's quite an ingenious spell, really. And none of us – well, expect for maybe Hermiones One, Twenty-six and One Thirty-two – were prepared for such a powerful Molly."

Light flooded the room as Miss Granger entered (pink – cotton? – pyjamas) and gestured excitedly.

"Are you tired? I thought you wanted to hear more about what's happening?"

Severus said nothing.

Miss Granger marched over to the bed and peered down, studying him closely.

"You aren't him, are you? No," she answered her own question. "His hair was longer. Oh! This is so exciting! Wait till the Council hear I got to talk to both of you!"

Her exuberance wasn't helping his headache; Severus figured talking could only add to his misery.

But she wasn't paying him any attention any longer, anyway.

Tiny, rapid footsteps sounded outside the open door, and she spun away from him.

He couldn't see her face, but could readily imagine from the stiffness of her shoulders the rage writ on it as she closed in on whoever was outside.

"Violet Eileen Snape," he heard her yell, "what on Earth are you doing out of bed?"

This time, Severus knew the twisting of his tummy had nothing at all to do with travelling.

Oh, Merlin.

A/N: "Playing the dark side" is laying maximum odds on the "don't pass", that is, betting against the roll.