Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: All characters you recognize are the brainchildren of J. K. Rowling. All brains and other original characters are my creations.

Chapter 7

A most pleasant sight greeted Snape as he slowly ascended in the false phone box. On the pavement outside the visitors' entrance stood a sleek stainless-steel sports car with gull-wing doors and, perched on the front, the loveliest bonnet ornament he'd ever seen, a pretty young witch wearing a coppery-brown sundress and strappy sandals, the stiletto heel of which appeared so high as to preclude comfortable pedal maneuvering.

"Now that's a car befitting a sexy, sophisticated secret agent," he asserted, a self-satisfied smile pulling at his lips. "And it comes standard with a stunning cohort."

Hermione beamed, brilliant white teeth flashing. "I guess that qualifies me as your Bond girl."

He wasn't quite certain how to respond to that. A number of naughty names came to mind, all involving portions of the female reproductive anatomy. He had to think and act quickly to quell the burgeoning bulge in his trousers. "Shall we get this show on the road?" he asked, smiling tightly as he walked briskly to the car.

He positioned himself on the driver's side, making the necessary adjustments to the seat and mirrors. As they simultaneously secured their shoulder/seat belts, he caught a glimpse of creamy decolletage peeking out from the bodice of her low-cut dress. He could feel the blood rushing to his nether regions again. Did the saucy Gryffindor have no idea what torment this was for him? He closed his eyes and brought to mind the most gruesome images he could muster: Hagrid in a bathing costume, Arthur playing nude volleyball, snogging Umbridge in a musty cupboard. Finally, he experienced a reprieve down below, but at what cost to his dignity?

"Are you all right, Severus? You have this odd look upon your face, like a combination of pain and relief," she commented. "Are you nervous about tonight's road test?"

"Not at all," he sighed, opening his eyes, looking deep into hers. "Where shall I take you?" he asked, his voice husky, tinging the question with a soupçon of suggestion.

She laughed, genuine music to his ears. "Anywhere and everywhere. We have a lot to accomplish tonight. I'm going to put you through your paces."

That would be a dream come true, he thought lasciviously. Snape shook those rampant sexual thoughts from his head once more and concentrated on his driving skills. Clutch, neutral, ignition, first gear, hand brake, accelerator. "Off we go," he announced with a grand flourish.

For the better part of an hour, he navigated the streets and roads of Greater London, reviewing the skills he'd learned – and hopefully mastered – over the past four days and answering questions on driving theory and the rules of the road.

He performed several stops and starts on inclines. Brake short of a full stop, engage the hand brake, release the clutch while gently depressing the accelerator, release the hand brake, and go!

"As you are driving along a road, a van cuts in close in front of you. What should you do?" she asked, adding, "And 'Hex the driver' is not an acceptable answer."

She tested his general driving ability, directing him to drive in various road and traffic conditions. He nearly hexed her when she suggested casting weather charms to test his skills on wet pavement.

"A police car is following you, and the officer flashes his headlamps and points to the left. What do you do?" she asked another theory question, adding, "And 'Cast the Confundus Charm' is not an acceptable answer."

She forced him to perform all three reverse exercises: parallel parking, reversing around a corner, and turning in the road, a three-point turn.

"An injured motorcyclist is lying unconscious on the side of the road. What should you do?" she asked yet another question, adding, "And 'Keep on driving' is not the correct answer."

The last portion of the road test included ten minutes of independent driving. Snape motored about the northern suburbs without any input or comment from Hermione, although she insisted they stop at London Gateway services. The motorway service station had been named five-star Loo of the Year Award winner for 2003, although they stopped there solely for purposes of demonstrating proper fueling techniques.

"Topping off the tank is a waste of time and money, not to mention environmentally unsound," she opined.

Finally, she directed Snape to park at the periphery of the service area so that she could administer a vision test – which was rather like putting the thestral behind the carriage because if he couldn't see, how could he drive? – and ask vehicle safety questions.

"Tell me where to find the information for the recommended tire pressures for this car and how tire pressures are checked," she demanded in the business-like tone of an examiner.

"I don't fucking know, and I care even less," he answered, exasperated. "If I have any mechanical issues with a motorized vehicle, I'll contact you to handle it. How's that for a response?"

"Spoken like a veteran driver," she said with a cheery voice. "And thus ends your driving test."

"Well?" Snape asked, his face and voice both faking disinterest. In his head, he knew his driving met or exceeded expectations, but that didn't stop the acid churning in his stomach. He wanted her approval more than anything at that very moment... well, almost anything.

After an inordinately long pause – she must have known how her silence tortured him – she grinned and exclaimed, "You passed!" She conjured him a driving license, an almost exact copy of her own, except for his photo, looking not much better than one of those wanted posters appearing in Diagon Alley during the war, and the address.

He plucked it from the air and examined it closely. "'Kensington Gore, London SW7 2AP, United Kingdom,'" he read aloud. "Thank you, Hermione, but that's not where I reside."

"Well, I didn't think you would want the Muggle authorities to know where you live, so I used the address of the Royal Albert Hall," she explained, smirking.

"How inventive and devious. I approve. We'll make a Slytherin of you yet," he said nonchalantly. He smiled inwardly when she didn't object to his prophecy.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she chirped, reaching into her bag of tricks. "I have some gifts for you, this being your graduation and all. First," she said, pausing to pull out a cellophane-wrapped paper pine tree, "I saw how you admired the air-freshener in Agatha's car, so here's one of your own." She winked and handed it to him with great care, as if it were a precious magical relic, and he accepted it with the very tips of his fingers, as if he would contract some dreaded disease if he touched it any more than necessary.

She delved into the handbag again, this time pulling out a palm-sized plastic box housing another plastic box filled with spools of black ribbons and little white wheels, all wrapped within a curious list.

He eagerly dropped the air-freshener and took the proffered box, turning it in his hands, carefully inspecting it. "Songs to Drive By: The Chauffeur, She Drives Me Crazy, Drive My Car, Get Outta My Dreams, Get into My Car, The Long and Winding Road, Hit the Road, Jack, Highway to Hell, Two of Us, Radar Love... Hermione, what is this?" he asked, raising a single curious eyebrow.

"It's a mix tape, Severus, an audio recording of songs by various artists, usually with a common theme," she explained excitedly. "I made it especially for you. I thought you might like to listen to some music while you're on field assignment."

He was momentarily rendered speechless by her thoughtfulness and generosity. Who had ever given him anything out of the kindness of their hearts? The staff at Hogwarts didn't count; the gifts they gave him were out of a sense of obligation. "Thank you, Hermione. I don't know what to say," he eventually responded, his voice a bit rough. He swallowed thickly and asked, "Is this new recording technology?" He wasn't the least bit interested in audio technology, but he needed to divert the conversation to a safer, less emotive topic. "I remember tapes being at least twice the size of this when I was younger."

"Oh, goodness, no. The MP3 format is one of the newest and most popular, but I chose the cassette tape because I assumed the Ministry probably wouldn't place you in a late model ice-cream van with a state-of-the-art audio system."

"With their tight budget, I wouldn't be shocked if they set me up with a horse-drawn cart," he said, his remark slightly acerbic, but delivered with a smile.

And she laughed again, which made Snape wonder whether she was easy to amuse, or rather, he was gifted with true wit and humor, but he had no time for thoughtful analysis at that moment. He pocketed the license and the cassette tape, conveniently overlooking the air-freshener lying at his feet.

"Hermione, I must thank you for everything, but especially the time and effort you've put into teaching me to drive. I commend your patience and restraint, as well; if I had been in your shoes, I don't know if I would have been half as gracious as you've been. Thank you once more."

"You're very welcome, but don't forget, you owe me a favor, Severus," she reminded him in a stern, but friendly tone.

"I hadn't forgotten, Hermione. I just didn't expect you to call in your favor so soon." He truthfully hadn't thought about that since Monday, and he began to worry again. What did she have in mind? He didn't have long to ponder that question, though.

"I want to join you on field assignment," she demanded, a firm, yet expectant look on her face, as if she presumed he would challenge her request and was armed with several arguments to support her case.

Snape momentarily sported the wide-eyed deer-in-the-headlamps look – he obviously wasn't expecting to hear that – but quickly recovered his customary, unreadable stone face. "I thought dinner and a show might be more to your liking and commensurate remuneration for your efforts," he offered with conviction, hoping a strong delivery would hide his brief bout of shock.

"I had a feeling you might object, but hear me out, Severus. I've thought for some time now that research alone does not make me a well-rounded Unspeakable; I need some experience as a field agent, too. Your upcoming mission would be the perfect opportunity.

"It calls for two agents, really, one concentrating on the ice-cream van and the vending while the other is devoted to the surveillance. I know you would be capable of handling it all on your own, but if I'm with you, then all your energy could be directed to gathering intelligence. You wouldn't have to worry about driving, or vehicle maintenance, or selling the ice-cream, or being polite to the customers. And I could learn about spying from a master. It would be the perfect win-win situation, and I'm certain we could convince Dougherty to sign off on it, too."

Although she had a compelling argument, Snape automatically objected, sardonic wit spewing from him like steam from a geyser. "While spending countless hours alone with me in a frigid icebox would be the perfect way for you to spend the summer, I must regretfully deny your request." That brought to mind an image of Hermione shivering in the extreme cold, certain parts of her anatomy reacting (favorably?) to the icy conditions; perhaps they would be forced to cuddle in the back of the ice-cream van, sharing their body heat to keep warm because warming charms not only would be forbidden on the mission – no magic allowed – but they would melt the ice-cream, too.

"Well, I respectfully disagree," she said with feisty Gryffindor defiance, folding her arms across her chest, bringing her bosom into the forefront once more. "It would be productive, educational, and fun."

Snape became fixated on her body again, his self-control depleted as he blurted out, "Hermione, I cannot work in such close quarters with you. I would be constantly distracted, wondering what it would be like to kiss you." Bollocks! Did I just say that aloud?

"That variable needs to be removed from the equation immediately," she insisted, her bossy nature very strong that evening.

Her response did more to deflate his ego than had Lucius' comment that Snape's Savile Row suit looked like a knock-off. What the fuck? I thought she liked me. She smiled at me, laughed at my jokes, and practically flashed me with her breasts on three separate occasions. How could...

His irrational thoughts were interrupted by a lapful of curvy witch and a warm, soft mouth upon his. This dispelled any doubts he held about her attraction to him. He could have easily obsessed over the quality of his breath – Next time, skip the raw onion on the burger, Snape – the oiliness of his hair, or any number of esthetic or hygienic issues, but he didn't. Instead, he simply accepted she indeed fancied him like he fancied her, and they were at last acting on their mutual attraction.

As Snape was already sitting in the driver's seat, he felt an obligation to take over, holding Hermione in his strong embrace, one hand luxuriating in her curls and the other caressing her flank. He deepened the kiss, his insistent tongue tracing her lips, pressing for entry.

Hermione moaned softly and opened her mouth, but she would not give up the title of aggressor so easily, her tongue nudging past his, fighting for dominance, her hands fisting his hair. Neither party seemed willing to abdicate their position of power, each looking to control the action. Hermione broke away first, breathing a contented sigh before planting playful kisses on his jawline and nipping at his neck, what little was exposed to her given his penchant for puritanical fashions.

Snape would not remain a spectator in the game either, his hands traveling to her breasts, fondling them. She whimpered as his thumbs rubbed at her nipples hidden under layers of dress and brassiere. He peppered her neck and cleavage with kisses and bites whenever her movements allowed him access.

An inarticulate grunt escaped his lips as she unfastened his collar, all the buttons below, and his seat belt, thus facilitating her exploration. Their frantic kissing resumed as her fingers roamed the planes and contours of his chest and abdomen. She raked her nails across his nipples and tangled in his treasure trail, and his quiet moans ebbed and flowed as she touched those sensitive spots.

Although he was denied direct contact with her corresponding anatomy – he refused to undress her, to utterly expose her, because they were engaged in petting in a public area, even if they were in the privacy of a car – he knew a thing or two (in theory) about eliciting wanton cries from a woman. His clever right hand gently pried her knees apart, and his talented left hand eased slowly, teasingly, into her knickers, his fingers brushing her damp curls. He stroked her with a tortuously delicate touch, forcing Hermione to rub against his hand, seeking more stimulation. And not only did she moan but she purred.

Despite a lack of space to maneuver, Hermione's deft fingers – of her own talented left hand – unzipped his trousers, dove into his pants, and wrapped snugly around his length, tumescent once again. As she stroked him – slowly at first, then quickening her pace – his hushed mutterings transformed to raspy profanity.

The moaning, muttering, purring, and swearing stopped long enough for their lips to lock again, the kissing more fervent than before, only breaking every so often to allow them to breath. The action escalated, nearing a frenzied tempo for both. Snape could feel that good old, telltale tightening in his balls...

Tap, tap, tap

"Oi, Miss Granger, McFly, are you okay in there?" Lloyd, the ubiquitous mechanic, asked in earnest.

He watched as the driver's side window lowered, inch by agonizing inch, accompanied by a whiny, motorized hum. Oblivious, Lloyd nattered on, "Hey, I thought I might run into you two again, just not so soon. You know, there aren't that many DeLoreans in the UK, and when I saw you parked at a motorway service station, I assumed you might be having trouble again, so I..." He stopped mid-sentence, apparently having noticed the fogged windows of the car as well as the heaving chests and disheveled appearances of the car's occupants.

Snape stared daggers at the well-meaning, gormless young man. It took every ounce of self-control to keep himself from casting an Unforgivable on Lloyd.

Hermione remained poised in the face of great embarrassment. "We're just fine, Lloyd, and so is the car. Thanks for your concern. Goodnight." She waved as the window whined and crept closed.

Lloyd took the hint, turned on his heel, and sped from the scene, never looking back.

A tense, complex air – of frustration, relief, discomfiture, and longing – hung between Snape and Hermione, yet she closed the physical gap separating them when she leaned back and rested her head upon his shoulder. "That was unfortunate," she said, her voice full of disappointment.

Snape wrapped his arms around her, and his fingers around a particularly curly tendril just begging to be played with. "Yes, a rude and unsolicited interruption, but that insensitive oaf probably did us a favor."

"What?" she screeched, pulling away just enough to fix him with a glare of annoyance.

He gently guided her head back to his shoulder and resumed teasing her tresses. "Did you really want our first time together to be in Arthur Weasley's car?"

"No, you're right. But still, it would have been nice to finish what we started," she lamented, half-joking presumably.

He laughed, a deep, rich laughter that reverberated in his chest and jostled Hermione as she lay atop him. "We could go somewhere more private, say your place or mine, and 'finish what we started.'"

He felt confident propositioning her, his voice low and smooth, seductive like a velvety red wine. But as soon as the words flew from his mouth, a smidgeon of anxiety crept into his stomach. Then he remembered. What am I afraid of? She jumped me first, he thought, and his uneasiness disappeared.

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "But speaking of favors," she began, moving away just enough to look him in the eye, "have you reached a final decision regarding my request?" Her face shone bright and hopeful in the moonlight of the cloudless night.

"I have indeed come to a decision," he drawled, drawing out his answer simply to tease Hermione. Given the chance to do it over, he probably would have come straight to the point, for the antsy witch bounced with anticipation, which only tortured him and his unresolved erection.

He continued to speak, his voice slightly strained. "Earlier, I argued that your mere presence would be a distraction, but the fact remains that you would be a true asset to the mission, for the very reasons you put forth."

If he thought acquiescing to her demands would bring an end to her squirming, he was sorely mistaken. She became more animated; her bouncing resembled a sort of a poor man's lap dance. She threw her arms around and kissed him soundly. "Thank you, Severus. You won't regret it. I'll see to that."

He groaned, the discomfort in his groin growing more intense. "Please settle down, Hermione. I haven't actually agreed to your request, nor have you heard my conditions."

She suppressed her exuberant movements, and he could breathe again, experiencing some relief. "Sorry about that, Severus. I didn't mean to make things worse for you."

"Thank you," he croaked. "If I may continue?" She nodded and he began once more. "I'm a solitary man. I've never had a partner mostly because I've never needed to rely on anyone but myself, but the other reason is I typically don't play well with others. I'm fastidious and have a low threshold for bullshit and tomfoolery. I'm an uncompromising professional, with tremendous self-control, and who conducts himself with utmost decorum. You would be a good partner for me, a good match, for you possess many of the same qualities."

She beamed upon hearing his praise, a smile that would have melted even the most stoic.

"However, I'll only be able to work with you, Hermione, side by side, in very close quarters, provided we continue our intimate research whilst off the clock... and provided you wear multiple layers of clothing while we're on assignment." He added, "For warmth, of course."

"It's settled then," she agreed, snuggling into him again. "I'll even wear a puffy, goose down jacket if it will make you happy." She sighed. "Summer spent in an ice-cream van. What could be better than that?"

"I'll show you what's better than that," he replied, nuzzling her neck with his appreciable nose. "I think you'll catch on rather quickly. You always were an apt student."

"Indeed," she said. "Let's go, Severus."

Late that night, in a dark, creepy, nearly empty room, deep within a mysterious underground building located in the heart of London, a bodiless encephalon was awakened from dreamless slumber by a pleasant tingling sensation in his prefrontal cortex.

My sixth sense! Brian shouted with unadulterated glee. It's telling me Severus got laid. Well done, my friend.

And all was well with the Wizarding world.

The End

Author's Note: Thanks to karelia for her guidance on learning to drive in the UK and her suggestions for the sorts of cars little old British ladies might have driven in 2003. Thanks to shiv5468 for her Brit-picking expertise. Many thanks and virtual roses go to beta kittylefish for adding a high gloss sheen to my prose. No words can express my gratitude to beta astopperindeath, who held my hand and encouraged me even as I wibbled, kept me grounded in reality – although this is clearly a work of fiction – and, when prompted, came up with some really funny bits that I unabashedly co-opted as my own. Finally, thanks to the dedicated, hard-working Exchange mods for allowing me to turn in my homework well after the official due date.

Original Prompt: Severus and Hermione are both Unspeakables. They are mostly assigned to separate missions and rarely interact with each other. Both carry pain and secrets from the war and enjoy their solitary lifestyles. However, their latest assignment requires that Severus learn how to drive a Muggle vehicle. Hermione is to teach him. It is not, of course, easy as it sounds.