Chapter Six: Give Me a Reason

In such close proximity, her fragrance was even more intoxicating. Severus doubted many other scents could be as enticing as the mingled aromas of almond, honeysuckle and Hermione.

Heaven, perhaps? wondered Severus, burying his face into the crook of her neck. He was dimly aware he was being ridiculous, but couldn't bring himself to care about that, either.

"Poor you," she crooned. "So tired, but so... tense." Her warm breath against his ear nearly made him tremble. When she smiled, letting her lips brush against the same sensitised skin, he did shudder at the pleasurable sensation. "Let's conduct a bit of 'research' and see whether I can help you loosen up if you'd like. You'll never get back to sleep, otherwise."

Actually, he could and would sleep, no matter how stressed he was feeling; decades at Hogwarts – both as student and as teacher – had taught him the trick of it. Almost eight years of relatively laid-back living hadn't softened him so much he couldn't do it now.

But if she insists on helping, who am I to refuse? Wouldn't want to hurt her feelings.

Never bothered you making her cry before, did it?

That was then. She was an astonishingly aggravating swot with no sense of true wisdom. Someone needed to put the girl in her place! This is now. She's obviously improved with age. It would be a crime against scholarship and understanding not to acknowledge her progress.

He turned in her embrace without really being aware of what he was about. By the time he realised his nose was hovering only inches above her unruly mane, turning again seemed too much of a chore. Besides, she didn't utter a single complaint.

"When was the last time you had a massage, Severus?"

Never! From the look of her – that smug, knowing... inviting smile – she knew it. He scowled, but his heart wasn't in it, and she only laughed.

"I'll undo a few of these buttons, shall I?" Reaching across the half-inch of space separating them, she matched action to the words. "That's good, isn't it?" The fingers sliding up his chest to caress his shoulders felt better than good. "Hmm, but maybe you should take it off? The trousers, too, I think. Everything being so tight and... stiff can't be conducive to resting properly. This will be easier without them, and you'd be far more..."

Accessible? he wondered – hoped – as she trailed off. Though he supposed she'd need access to rub and... squeeze away his tension. Enticing?

"... comfortable," she concluded, instead. But the mischief in her smile left him far from disappointed. "The trousers can wait a bit."

Fifty-five's voice trailed off again, and Severus's eyes drifted closed.

He was too exhausted and too curious – hell, and too stimulated, if he were honest with himself – to argue with her. Not seeing any other option, Severus gave himself over to Fifty-five's determined and dexterous hands.

She pulled away, just enough to push him onto his back and straddle his waist.

Hands which had once been such an annoyance were now employed in the sweetest torture he'd ever experienced. They kneaded and stroked and soothed from the muscles of his neck – her touch was specially tender in the area round Nagini's scar – to his palms before finding their way up again.

It didn't take long for Severus to realise he'd been wrong. Her scent wasn't heaven; this – her firm touch, the way her hips cradled his (even through four layers of clothing) – was heaven!

Why the fuck haven't I experienced this before?

She worked over his shoulders again before returning to his chest, this time giving it far more substantial attention.

"You have lovely pectorals," she murmured, giving them one last caress before moving lower. "Mmm. And abdominals, too. You're very fit, aren't you?"

He didn't think she expected an answer, but he gave an appreciative groan, anyway.

Somehow, they shifted – again without him really perceiving the action until it was over – until he was pressed to the back of the sofa, half on his side.

She slipped off the sofa to kneel at his side.

"Lift your hips for me," she commanded gently. The fine black silk of his boxers could have been air for all the buffer it provided between his skin and hers. The effect elicited by the backs of her fingers brushing against his most intimate anatomy was not unexpected. "Oh! Sorry about that."

The chit hasn't nearly learnt to lie! Thank god.

Severus opened his eyes in time to catch her predatory smile. Funny, but he didn't mind playing the part of prey. Not in the least. Not if she meant to keep putting those hands to good use. Too befuddled to respond coherently, he hoped his lethargy – and his sex-addled smile – would serve to convey his capitulation.

Perhaps she'll even respect me in the morning.

The thought startled a chuckle from deep in his chest, and Hermione used movement to divest him of his shirt.

But he knew part of him truly did want her respect. He'd even meant much of what he'd thought earlier.

At school, Hermione Granger had been a decidedly eager, though not always thorough, researcher. Trying to teach the girl (as much as he tried to teach any of his students, which wasn't very; he'd never wanted to be a teacher) had been a trial. Married to her books and the words which lay therein, her incessant questioning of his methods and constant hand-waving might have driven him to drink if he hadn't more important issues on his plate than an annoying, overeager swot with bushy hair and buck teeth.

Though, I suppose I would have hexed her, given the chance, rather than risk my own liver.

This woman was another thing altogether.

Her hands were too busy conducting their research to wave about. With his tired body now the object of her study, he was pleased to note she strived to prove she'd overcome that deficit.

At some point in time – he wasn't sure exactly when – she'd slid off him to kneel on the floor. Starting at his feet, she kneaded her way up his legs, easing and creating tension in equal measure.

He didn't mind the questions she whispered in that soft, husky voice so long as they were variations on "This will work better if we take that off, too, don't you think?" (never more so than when "this" was the clinging jumper she claimed restricted her range of motion) and "Harder or softer?"

Harder, you soul-sucking succubus! You... siren! You... oh, Qandisa's Kāma!

"Mmm, you must like it," she murmured. "You're blurring your belief systems."

Fuck! She heard that? Had he spoken aloud? And, still a know-it-all, even in the midst of a seduction!

"Oh, yes; I heard." She tittered as she increased the pressure on his left ankle.

Apparently he was still voicing his thoughts. Splendid. Bloody splendid. He was just thankful she hadn't seemed to hear the bit about her being a know-it-all. Or in the process of seducing him.

"Mmm, not really," she murmured, giving his left calf an extra hard squeeze. "Not unless you want me to be. I can, you know. It wouldn't do for a know-it-all not to know how to seduce you, would it?"

She nuzzled his thigh, making him momentarily forget how to breathe. Good job she was still talking so he needn't respond straight away.

"Actually, my mum used to do this for me when I was a little girl. You'd probably never have guessed from the way I was when I got to Hogwarts, but when I was Violet's age, Mum and Dad used to chase me out of the house, and I'd run around like a wild little thing and climbs trees. I wasn't very good at it, so I'd always come in with scrapes and sore muscles and such."

A shudder shook him from shoulders to toes the moment he heard Violet's name trip off her tongue.

"I love that you're so responsive," she murmured, seemingly misreading his revulsion as rapture. "It's so unexpected... but so very sexy."

Severus's eyes flew open, his gaze landing on the photo-strewn mantelpiece. Violet and her brother were leaning forward in their frame, watching intently.

Hermione Fifty-five's fingers climbed up his thighs, past his hips, to rest at the waistband of his boxers.

Apparently oblivious to his distress, she said, "Let's get rid of these, shall we?"

Snape stared into the eyes of the blatantly curious children who weren't his own, but who may as well have been.

"No!"

Exhaustion all but forgotten, he shot up, clasping his hands over his groin, though any evidence of his arousal had faded the moment he heard his undaughter's name.

Once he regained enough composure to glance at his hostess, he found Hermione sitting back on her heels, hands held up in the universal gesture for "I mean no harm." But the expression on her face showed her confusion and, if he wasn't mistaken, hurt.

"That is to say," he said, glancing away again, "not in front of the children." He canted the side of his head towards the photographs he was also avoiding looking at.

"Wha...?"

From the corner of his eye, he caught her looking over her shoulder at the mantel, before he felt the weight of her gaze fall on him again.

"Severus," she said. He just knew from the way her voice slid up then down – then up once more – that she was smiling at him in a manner that suggested he was being silly and she thought it was adorable. He wasn't sure how he knew; certainly, no one had ever thought him adorable before. But he could tell that was what she was thinking.

"I know they are only photographs and don't really know what we are doing," he said. "I know how Wizarding photography works. All the same, I'd prefer not to continue."

That's right, you coward. Blame it on the children.

Don't call me a coward!

"That's no reason to stop. We can move to the bedroom if that will make you more comfortable," she told him. "And getting in a little practice might lead to good things in your future. Two seventy-three hasn't got a wizard of her own, you know."

No, he didn't know! Much like he hadn't known some crazed Molly Weasley had created a curse capable of casting him out of his own world and into the perilous unknown. Just as he hadn't known his Hermione Granger was known to a whole cadre of Hermione Grangers as Hermione Two seventy-bloody-three! No one had seen fit to let him know she was supposed to be his fucking Hermione Granger!

Suddenly, the excitement and upheaval of the past few days and nights weighed more heavily on him than her gaze had done moments ago. His anger faded as fast as it had flamed. He was still exhausted, after all, albeit more relaxed than he had been; he certainly wasn't in the mood any longer.

Mustering more bravery than a house full of Gryffindors, he let his eyes meet hers.

"Please, Hermione," he found himself pleading (to his disgust!), "I need to rest, not... stimulation. Tell me more about what's in your mysterious Notebook or about your family or what the hell else 'Abbas' means."

Her smile, he noted, wasn't smug at all.

"All right," she murmured and, picking up The Notebook from the floor near her knees, she climbed back onto the sofa. "One thing you won't realise if you've only read The Account," she told him as she settled down at his side, "is how much Violet adores her Daddy and all her Undaddies. She'd do anything for them."

Hermione opened The Notebook and began to read.

He tried valiantly to stay awake, but it was no use. By the time the odd combination of her delighted cry of "Oh, finally!" and the disagreeable yank behind his navel roused him, he had no idea what secrets she might have revealed.

SS~HG

Severus opened eyes he'd squeezed shut against the whirling sensation and churning stomach that came with travelling. He felt perfectly at ease, now.

Fastest I've recovered yet. Must be getting used to flitting about from world to world.

It was unclear from the diffuse light just where he might be, but his head was pillowed against something smooth and warm that smelled of almonds and honeysuckle. His hands, he found, were resting against things equally warm and smooth, so he gave each an experimental squeeze. He thought the familiar aroma and soft skin might have something to do with the curious state of his welfare.

Hermione, he thought (and might have murmured), contentedly. My Mione.

He might even have giggled at that last bit.

Too tired and too taken with his delightful location, he didn't immediately register the folds of fabric surrounding his face as anything unusual.

It was perfectly understandable, he would reason later, that he didn't immediately respond to the completely unexpected (and nearly unintelligible) ranting his latest Hermione Granger subjected him to.

He managed to catch bits which sounded like, "... 'no', you horny bastard!" and "... your own Hermione soon enough, I expect!" a hex he didn't hear left him in a heap of wobbly legs attached to a battered backside.

Only when he discovered himself flat on his back next to his bed – he was sure, after a few laboured attempts (and a single success) at turning his head that it was his bed looming over him – did he understand he'd arrived with his head burrowed up and under Hermione Granger's nightdress.

SS~HG

"Oh god! God! Sir – oh god! – I'm terribly sorry!" Her voice was rather louder than he expected and almost shrill in her unmistakeable panic. He flinched as she scrambled off his bed in a flurry of flannel and slender legs and... a suspender?

What kind of daft woman wears suspenders to bed? Without stockings. And is it better or worse if she wears only one?

He really didn't have any more time to devote to the mystery because Miss Granger was leaning over him, worry etched over her pale face, saying, "Oh please, sir! Please believe me when I say I am sorry. I didn't realise it was you. I'd already told him half a dozen times I wasn't interested and that he'd just have to wait till he got home, and he backed off each time, but then he'd just start over again, taking a different tack each time, and I really didn't want to do any permanent damage, but this last time he didn't... Well, I suppose it was you, actually. So, he didn't stop this time because now he was you, and of course you couldn't know what was happening and so you probably weren't able to stop before I hexed you, but I promise I never would have done it if I'd known you were you!"

Severus was a bit disturbed to realise her verbal diarrhoea had actually made sense to him.

I really must get some sleep, he decided. But, in the mean time....

"Shut up, Granger," he said, punctuating his words with as charming a smile as he could manage whilst half asleep.

At least he hoped it was charming. It was hard to judge from Miss Granger's shocked expression. Then, she likely hadn't known he was capable of charm; prior to meeting Violet, he hadn't known of his prowess, either. And although Hermione Fifty-five had confirmed its existence, his Miss Granger would probably need to time to become accustomed to it.

"I don't need your apologies or explanations," he assured her. "Now I'm finally home again, I just want several hours of uninterrupted sleep in my own bed."

Shaking his head, Severus tried to sit up, only to discover wobbly legs left him at a distinct disadvantage.

"Perseus' petrified prick, woman! What did you hit me with? Never mind, just help me on to the bed. No, I don't want you to attempt a counter-curse right now, just... cast a fucking Mobilicorpus and put me on the bloody bed!"

He glared at her as she hurried to do as she was told – Not too early for her to know I mean to be the bossy one here. – and would have left it at that if his old nightshirt hadn't flown up, exposing his equally worn y-fronts when she settled him into bedclothes that still carried her delectable scent.

"That voluminous sack you're drowning in can hardly be called anything so suggestive of brevity as nightie," he added to make sure she understood he couldn't be caught through such devious tricks. "It's no wonder you're single; I wonder that my predecessor was tempted!"

The shock on her face was worth all the Galleons in Gringotts, Snape decided. He was almost tempted to toss out another scathing remark, but recalled her propensity for lightning-quick mood changes and thought better of it.

"Not all men are aroused by black lace and green satin," she spat. "Not even, apparently, all Severus Snapes. Some of them have taste!" Spinning around, she started stomping around his bedroom, snatching up various items from various surfaces.

Too late, said the voice he immediately recognised as the more annoying one. Dunderhead. Misjudged that one, didn't you? Care to give insulting her another go? Something that will leave her cooing and batty her lashes at you, this time?

He really hated that voice.

"Give over, Hermione," he said, trying not to sound nasty, but not hiding his irritation, either. "I'm tired and cranky – crankier than usual, that is – and you've just jinxed me with the worst case of Jelly Legs I've ever felt for something that isn't my fault. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, all right? Can you forgive me and come over here?"

When she turned towards him, her expression slightly less mutinous than it'd been moments before, he patted the mattress next to his wobbly right thigh.

"Please?" He strained to appear contrite. "I really am sorry," he added, hoping that hearing her own words tossed back at her would further soften the witch. He let one corner of his mouth tick up. "You know what my temper is, Granger."

Oh, right. Remind her what an arse you've been the whole time you've known her. That's going to work.

"Will you shut up?" he snapped.

Granger's face flushed and her expression darkened with a return to something like its previous show of anger. He hurried to explain himself.

"No! I didn't mean you, Gra... er, Hermione. I was talking to one of the infernal voices I've been hearing since this fiasco started."

Suddenly, she looked conflicted. Her mind, he suspected, was warring between concern and...

"You've been hearing voices?" She sounded almost eager.

Ah, yes. Academic intrigue. It figures the idea of having a new symptom to study would do the trick.

"Not like you're thinking," he assured her. "I suppose it would be more accurate to say my thoughts on what's been happening have taken on the form of an internal commentary, of sorts. Since I've been of two or three minds about my situation, I've heard two or three somewhat divergent" (understating the level of opposition wasn't the same as lying) "opinions at times over the past few days."

A reluctant smile tugged at both corners of her mouth at that. She probably knew he was lying, he figured.

"And which one were you talking to just now?" she asked.

"The one that's been telling me – always about ten seconds too late, mind – everything I've done wrong."

Severus watched in triumph as her smile grew and she walked over to him.

SS~HG

Snape lay against the pillows she'd fluffed to heights they'd never before known, listening to the witch beside him on the bed. She'd started off sitting, but upon returning from retrieving her copy of The Notebook from his chest of drawers, she'd gradually relaxed until she was lounging comfortably at his side.

Her bossy voice had an oddly soothing quality to it, and Snape decided he wouldn't be averse to hearing it on a regular basis. Though it was a near thing, he didn't fall asleep in the midst of trading the story of the past three days from each of their perspectives. Of course, she knew much of what had happened to him from reading The Notebook, so the retelling of the events on her end took up the bulk of the conversation. Merlin, but the witch could talk! Tired as he was, he comprehended (foggy brain and all) her reasons for being in his home. He even sleepily agreed that it was a good idea to have someone on hand who was both was familiar this particular version of their world and knew what was going on, and he went so far as to suggest she might remain until the mystery of the spontaneous travelling was solved.

"Well, I do have quite a bit of leave saved up," she'd told him after agreeing that that was probably another good idea. "It's not like at the French Ministry where they make you take breaks and practically pack your bags for you."

Her tale of Severus Two Seventy-four brought him back to full awareness. It was, at turns, too amusing and too disconcerting for him to give it only half his attention.

"I probably shouldn't have said that bit about how he couldn't turn me on even if he stuck his head up my nightie and yodelled 'God Save The Queen'," she admitted sheepishly, "because I just knew he'd see proving me wrong as a challenge. Part of me did wonder if he would try. Not that I would have let him; he wasn't the right Sev..."

Hermione – she was definitely "Hermione" now she was curled up next to him, however platonically they both pretended it to be – blushed and looked away.

"I mean, I wasn't the right Hermione." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. It was a look that gave lie to her words.

Fifty-five obviously didn't know it all! Snape decided, delighted. So the witch does want me. No reason to make this easy for her.

Putting his much-vaunted Occlumency skills to good use, he reined in the desire to chuckle at her discomfort.

"Hecate's hexad of halluces and thumbs, woman!" he snapped, instead. "If you expect me to believe you don't want me to continue what that idiot Two Seventy-four started, don't look at me like that?"

"Sorry." A deep flush she didn't quite hide by looking away complemented the breathy whisper.

He fought back another smile.

"Never mind," he said. "Why were you wearing a nightgown, anyway?" It occurred to him he should have asked that when he'd asked why she was in his house.

"Well, I've been up all hours for the past few days," she said, all at once looking nearly as tired as he felt. "I was dressed earlier, but then I wanted a quick nap and he pointed out I'd been more comfortable in nightclothes." She smiled a little ruefully. "As hideous as this thing is," she tugged at the saggy bodice, "it never occurred to me he'd think my taking his suggestion was an invitation."

The idea of a different Severus thinking to get his hands on this Hermione, the one who should have been reserved for the wizard to lying next to her to have a go at first, vexed him beyond anything else that had happened since he'd gone to bed Thursday night. He threw himself off the bed, too consumed with anger over his counterpart's audacity to recall his legs hadn't been working half an hour earlier and that he'd ordered her not to cast the counter-curse.

Pacing about the room, he slipped into his old lecture manner without realising it.

"And nor should it have occurred to you," he said. "The only thing a man should take as an invitation for intimacy with a woman is an invitation for intimacy!"

Her wry grin told him that not only was he preaching to the converted, but that what he was saying now didn't exactly reflect what he'd said moments ago. Severus didn't especially care.

"Where the hell was the man raised, a cave in a desert?"

Hermione laughed softly. "Cokesworth, I think. In a terraced house at Spinner's End."

He pretended to scowl at her. "Where's my wand, woman? I need to hex that smile right off your pretty little face!"

She started, then grinned even harder. "Oh!" she said, scooting down the bed and onto her back.

He watched, completely fixated, as she raised her knees... and the hem of her nightdress.

Severus gave up pacing in favour of watching the revelation of a pair of well-turned legs.

"I didn't want there to be any confusion so I've been wearing it since I got here," she said cheerfully. Apparently, she was unaware of the effect her actions were having on him. Her hand tugged at the suspender circling her left thigh just above the knee as she explained, "It's wand sheath. I used an..."

"Undetectable Extension Charm," he finished for her, and was at her side before she could close her mouth. "Allow me," he murmured, sinking onto the tiny scrap of mattress next to her.

Not waiting for permission – or even looking at her face – he tried to ignore the temptation to stroke the smooth skin beneath the odd black material as he eased the suspender down her leg until he could pull it from her finely formed foot.

What on Earth is this made of? Nothing I've known.

"Rather than hexing me..."

The sound of her voice, breathy and hesitant, pulled him from his examination of the suspender-cum-sheath. She was smiling shyly when he met her gaze.

"I'm sure you can think of other ways to occupy my mouth."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Several."

Her tongue darted out to moisten her soft-looking lips. Was that nerves or could it be...

"Most of them would be far more pleasant than hexing," she went on. "For both of us." The last bit was almost a whisper.

That's an invitation if I've ever heard one!

Steady on, Snape. Mustn't be too hasty.

Stay out of this, you fool!

"Such as?"

Her next blush tinted her cheeks a delicate pink. Severus smirked at the sight.

When he said, "Like that, is it?" they darkened to the deepest shade of rose.

Then he took her hand in his, suggesting, "A kiss, perhaps?" and her whole face went scarlet.

A/N: "Laying the Odds" is a side bet similar to the "Don't Pass" and the "Don't Come": one wagers that the point won't be rolled before a seven. This sort of bet might be attractive to the wrong bettor, as he is still betting the player rolling the dice will lose.

Please also note, this chapter was written purely for the UST and LOLs, and it was never meant to contain any redeeming bits of plot. If you found any here, I sincerely apologise for not fully excising them.