Hot Summer Night

A/N: Many thanks to the wonderful peskipiksi for her sterling beta work.

Disclaimer: if you recognise them, they're not mine!

Chapter 2: You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth (Hot Summer Night)

With a loud 'Crack', Snape Apparated into the quiet country lane. The warm sun of the July afternoon was tempered by a stiff breeze skittering around the hill on which he stood. He looked curiously at the cottage in front of him. It was small but well cared for, with whitewashed walls and a red tiled roof. He let himself in through the wooden gate and walked up the path through the lawned garden. The front door opened before he reached it. Hermione stood in the doorway, smiling slightly nervously.

"You found it OK, then, Professor? Well, of course you did; you're here... um... Would you like to come in?" Her fingers fiddled with the hem of the light cotton shirt she wore over Muggle jeans.

Snape gave a ghost of a smile as he walked past her into the house. He found himself in a cosy living room. Comfortable-looking chairs were arranged around a large fireplace, and a round dining table stood to one side, strewn with papers. To the left were French windows, standing open to show the garden, while to the right was a doorway into what looked like the kitchen. Every inch of the walls not taken up by windows or doors was lined with books.

Hermione gestured to the room. "Welcome to my home."

Snape inclined his head. "Thank you, Miss Granger. I wasn't expecting to be granted such a liberty." He couldn't prevent his gaze from drifting around the bookcases.

Hermione's face relaxed into a less nervous smile. "Please, feel free."

Snape dropped his bag where he stood and approached the nearest shelf, running his long fingers over the leather book-bindings.

"It's always the first thing I want to do when I go into someone's house," Hermione continued, "look at their books, I mean. I've been told it's rude, but I don't mean it that way."

Snape looked up from the volume of Celtic spells he'd been leafing through.

"Personally, I feel that looking through someone's books gives you an excellent insight into their personality, so it's paying them a compliment to be interested."

"That's a very Slytherin spin on the fact that books are often more interesting than people. Although I wouldn't pay attention to any insights you get about me from these shelves – they'll tell you I'm a 110 year old Healer whose eyesight is failing and who has moved in with her great-niece."

Snape raised an interrogative eyebrow.

"The books came with the house," Hermione explained. "Although a condition of sale was that Healer Mayweather can still ask me for any she wants to borrow back."

"I see," said Snape. "Although I suspect that in your eyes the books came with a free house rather than the other way around. This is a fascinating collection."

Hermione moved to stand next to him. "It is rather wonderful," she agreed. "I don't know if you've noticed, but the books are arranged totally randomly. It offended my organisational sensibilities when I first moved in, but I didn't really like to rearrange everything immediately. And now I've grown to love the fact that I can come across a book on Bulgarian wizarding folklore when I'm actually looking for a rune dictionary. I can get sidetracked for hours!"

Snape was relieved to see she seemed to have overcome her earlier bout of nerves. Adjusting to spending time alone with her as a colleague rather than a student was going to be challenging enough, without her juddering with fright every time they spoke. He replaced the book on the shelf with some reluctance and turned to face her.

"Do I get a guided tour to the rest of your domain?"

Hermione beamed at him. "Of course! You'll love the basement – this way."

She led him though into the kitchen, where bright sunshine reflected from the highly polished copper pans that hung from one wall. A huge ginger cat was curled up on a rocking chair in front of a range cooker.

"They came with the house, too," Hermione said, gesturing to the pans. "Although I confess they don't get used quite as much as the books."

She opened a door at the back of the kitchen to reveal stairs going up and down. Snape followed her as she began to descend.

"Watch your head!" she exclaimed, just in time, as Snape ducked under a low wooden lintel at the bottom of the stairs.

"Sorry!" Hermione said with a grimace. "I'm short enough to get under that and tend to forget about it. Ron nearly knocked himself out when he came down here. Anyway, what do you think?" She moved to one side to reveal the room behind her. It was a small but well-equipped potions laboratory. "Healer Mayweather hadn't been down here for years so it took me ages to get it all cleaned up, but I love it down here now."

Snape moved around slowly, murmuring approval at the immaculately clean cauldrons and glassware, and the well-ordered shelves. He opened a large cupboard at one side of the room and lit his wand to examine the bottled ingredients inside. He heard a soft chuckle from the other side of the room and looked up to meet Hermione's amused gaze.

"Am I missing the joke, Miss Granger?" he asked, frowning slightly. It was one thing for her to lose her nerves, but quite another for her to laugh at him.

She shook her head, still smiling. "No, no joke. But I was just thinking that usually my house tours are along the lines of 'Oh what a lovely kitchen, and can we see the garden?', whereas with you the highlights are the books and the lab."

Seeing his still-present frown, she continued hastily, "I mean to say that it's lovely having a visitor who appreciates my favourite bits of the house for a change."

Snape closed the cupboard door gently, face neutral again. "In that case you obviously need to cultivate a better class of visitor. Do you get to work down here very often?"

Unfazed by the non sequitur, Hermione shook her head with an expression of regret. "Not as often as I'd like. I knock up everything I need for work and everyday purposes, but don't have time for any research or experimentation. Unlike you. I read your paper in the Journal of Experimental Potions on Veritaserum modification. I thought the adjustment to remove emotional recollection was quite brilliant."

Snape felt unreasonably pleased with the girl's compliment, although he was careful not to let his expression show it. "Thank you, Miss Granger. Excluding the emotional part of memory from the effects of the potion was a necessary correction. You have no idea how much easier suspect interrogation is when they are not confessing their undying and unrequited love for some paragon of witch-hood in their dim and distant past." No prizes for guessing the inspiration behind that idea he thought, ruefully, silently daring Hermione to even think the words 'Lily Potter'.

But she just laughed, saying, "Yes, I can imagine. And if you ever did have the need to use the potion on a pupil, you'd be spared the fevered adolescent fantasies."

Snape shuddered. "Perish the thought. Although obviously, using Veritaserum on a pupil would be wrong, and I would never countenance such an action."

Hermione looked him sceptically. "Obviously. Anyway, much as we both love my lab, I don't suppose you want to sleep in it, so I'd better show you to your room. Come on."

Snape followed her up the stairs, past the kitchen door, and then up the next flight of stairs to the first floor landing. He was definitely not watching her arse, he told himself.

Hermione walked along the landing, indicating doors in turn. "My room, the bathroom, and this is yours." She opened the last door and stepped aside, allowing him to enter first. The room was simply furnished, with a large bed covered in a deep blue woollen counterpane, a chest of drawers, a bedside table, and a small desk and chair. The ceiling sloped slightly, and Snape had to stoop a little as he walked over to look out of the window. Hermione joined him as he looked at the view of the sun-hazed hills.

"So where exactly are we?" he asked.

"Ottery St Catchpole is about a mile in that direction," she replied, pointing straight ahead. "And the Burrow, the Weasleys' home, is around two miles that way," she continued, pointing to the right. "So I'm afraid I haven't moved far from my friends – Harry and Ginny live in the village, and Ron and Luna are at the Burrow, of course." She looked up at him with a look of defiance, as if daring him to criticise.

He ignored the flash of irritation that always rose at the mention of Potter's name, and instead replied mildly, "Isolation is not necessarily a virtue."

He was rewarded by the quickly suppressed look of surprise that flickered across Hermione's face. She stepped back from the window. "Well, now you've had the tour, how about I leave you to settle in and I'll put the kettle on? We can have tea in the garden while we get to work. Come down when you're ready."

Snape inclined his head with a slight smile. "That sounds satisfactory, Miss Granger. Would you be so kind as to send my bag up? I could Summon it, but I would hate to damage any of your books in passing."

Hermione dropped a small curtsey with a mischievous grin. "Certainly, sir. See you in a minute." And she left the room, with Snape watching her and wondering whether the nervousness might not have been a bad thing after all.

*

Hermione carried the tea tray out through the French windows into the garden and placed it carefully on a wrought iron table in the shade of a large oak tree. She had been surprised at how discomfited she had felt welcoming Snape into her home. He seemed somehow larger than life in her little house, and briefly, she'd been a small, scared, eleven year old schoolgirl again. But, as always, discussion of books had restored her equilibrium. She was sure she'd now be able to treat him just as she would any other male colleague. Albeit a frighteningly intelligent, sardonic and, she had to admit, striking-looking one.

She sat at the table, then Summoned her pile of papers from the living room. She leafed through them quickly, pulled out the document she wanted, and settled down to read.

Some minutes later she looked up with a start at the sound of a soft cough. Snape stood framed in the doorway. It took her a moment to register what was odd about his appearance; then she realised that he had shed his customary black robe and was clad in just a white linen shirt and black trousers.

"Sorry," she said. "I was miles away."

"I noticed," he replied drily as he approached the table and sat down opposite her. He put down the small pile of papers he had been carrying and tapped it with his wand so it expanded into a stack nearly as high as Hermione's.

"Tea?" she asked.

"Please," he replied.

Hermione waved her wand, and the teapot poured into the waiting mugs.

"Milk? Sugar?"

"Just milk, thank you."

"So," began Snape, after taking the first sip of his tea, "what is your plan?"

Hermione had been slightly concerned that her former teacher would be reluctant to cede leadership to her and felt a certain relief at his words.

"Well," she began, "we'll spend the rest of today and tomorrow morning here, going over all the information we've got about Markov and making sure that our cover stories are straight. Then, tomorrow afternoon, we'll Apparate to my London flat, in character, from which point magic is banned except in case of catastrophe. We'll travel to Markov's house on Saturday morning, arriving there by car, of course."

"I hardly thought we'd Floo into his living room," replied Snape acidly.

"Quite. So, did you find the papers I left you informative?"

"Very much so. You seem to have done your homework with as much thoroughness as ever. I expect it's rather easier now you're only doing your own work rather than having to cover for your dunderhead friends."

Hermione laughed, not in the least surprised that Snape knew how much Harry and Ron had depended on her assistance.

"Oh, they still ask for help with their work sometimes. How do you think I got to hear about the whole 'Death Eater in the Muggle world' problem in the first place?"

"The unit was your idea, then? I surmised as much."

"I made a couple of suggestions to Harry and Ron, which they then took to Fletcher, and, well, here I am."

"I imagine it took rather more work than you're admitting to. I assume you had to undergo extra training?"

Hermione was rather flattered to see an expression of genuine interest on Snape's often impassive face.

"Well, first of all I did a year's accelerated Auror training; then I spent a year in the States training with the FBI – they're the American Muggles' law enforcement body and really gave me the best grounding in Muggle techniques I could ask for – profiling, crime scene investigation, and so on. Then I did a few months back in this country getting a thorough grounding in UK law. After that I was ready to set up the unit. As far as the Muggles are concerned we're a branch of their security services, and any weirdness I display is explained away by my American training. We've been operating for nearly a year now, and so far they don't suspect a thing."

"And what level of success have you had?"

"At last count we've apprehended five confirmed Death Eaters, half a dozen collaborators whose precise status has yet to be determined, and four Muggles who fortunately aren't our problem."

"Impressive. And now I hope to be able to help add to that total."

"All being well. OK, then, how about you tell me our cover story?"

Snape leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched in front of him, and fixed Hermione with the same intent expression he used to lecture a class.

"My name is Steven Singer. I am a freelance research chemist, who has previously held positions at Oxford and Harvard Universities as well as Imperial College London. I now undertake various lucrative contracts in the private sector, rumoured to be concentrating on the field of biochemical non-lethal weaponry.

"You are Jane Eastwood, who I assume declined to take my name on marriage on some feminist principle."

"A purely professional decision, I assure you," interrupted Hermione. "In private, I am very proud to be Mrs Singer, but my professional reputation was made using my maiden name, and I am reluctant to jeopardise that."

"Fair enough, then, I'll let you off." Snape's eyes glinted with humour. "You are an international trade negotiator. You used to work for the government, but for the last five years have put the contacts you made to good use brokering some decidedly unsavoury deals between various warlords and semi-legal arms traders. And you look like such a lovely girl as well."

Hermione gave him a sarcastically sweet smile.

"We met at a conference three years ago, where I was lecturing and you were touting for business. You fell for my obvious charms, and we were married six months later. We now live in blissful harmony in London, although we both travel a lot for work, which may actually account for the blissful bit as we obviously spend very little time together."

Hermione laughed at that. Snape with a sense of humour? Wonders never cease.

"Seriously, though," Snape continued, "what exactly is the beautiful, young Jane Eastwood doing with an unattractive, ill-tempered chemistry professor twice her age?"

Hermione inwardly glowed at the compliment.

"Well, for a start you're neither unattractive nor twice my age. You're ... striking, I think I would say. And Steven Singer is not ill-tempered – he is witty and has a subtle but wicked sense of humour."

Snape snorted. "I think you may be overestimating my acting skills."

"He just doesn't suffer fools gladly, which in a man of his superior intellect is totally understandable. And Jane is no fool, so only ever sees his good side anyway." She smiled winsomely at him. "She has tremendous respect for his knowledge and experience."

"Oh, Lord, please don't tell me this is a father-complex thing."

"Not at all. She has a reputation of being something of a ball-breaker in her professional life and tends to scare men off, so she found it refreshing to find someone who wasn't intimidated."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Are we still talking about Jane, here?"

Hermione laughed, slightly embarrassed. "Of course, although there may be certain similarities."

She paused then, trying to decide just how far she dared push this newly discovered sense of humour. What the hell ....

"Between you and me, the main reason she's with him is the sex is fantastic, and he's hung like a centaur."

Snape looked briefly shocked; then he chuckled, a genuine smile transforming his face. Hermione was stunned – who'd have guessed Severus Snape had such a deliciously filthy laugh? The deep, throaty sound went directly from her ears to her libido without as much as a by-your-leave from her cerebral cortex.

"Is this imagination on your part, young lady, or has someone been talking?" Snape asked, still smiling.

"Professor McGonagall may have mentioned something in passing."

"What gossip has the old witch been spreading now?"

"I think her precise words were 'You must get Severus drunk and ask him about Madame Francine and her enchanted handcuffs'."

Snape shook his head ruefully. "Well, she's right – you'll have to ply me with something much stronger than tea to get that story out of me."

"Maybe later," Hermione replied with a grin. "Anyway, back to work. I've got some new information to update you with."

*

They spent the next two hours working: going through all the information Hermione had gathered on Markov. Snape also shared the results of his own investigations into the Scorpion Sting potion.

"So if my assumptions about the reformulation of the potion are correct, the antidote modifications should render it effective. I hope we don't need to use it, but I felt it best to be prepared," he concluded.

"That's fantastic. All being well, it will be a matter of identifying him, calling back-up, and apprehending him, but the best laid plans and all that .... "

Hermione stretched her arms above her head and rolled the stiffness out of her neck. She was surprised to see how low the sun was in the sky. The oak tree cast a long shadow across the lawn.

"I hadn't realised it was so late!" she exclaimed. She was suddenly aware of how long it had been since lunch. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Snape leaned back in his chair. "Now you mention it, I wouldn't say no to dinner."

Hermione stood up. "Right, then, how does chilli con carne sound?"

"That sounds delightful, but I don't want to put you to any trouble."

Hermione smiled broadly. "No trouble at all. Can you clear the table? I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

*

Snape watched her as she walked into the house, still stretching the kinks out of her neck. He would admit to having had slight – all right, huge – misgivings about following his ex-pupil's leadership on this mission, but he was pleasantly surprised at her competence and obvious experience. He shouldn't really have been surprised, he reflected. However irritating he had found her general demeanour and holier-than-thou know-it-all-ness as a pupil, he could never have faulted her work ethic.

She had grown into an assured, able young woman with a nice line in self-deprecating humour. And she was as sharply intelligent as ever. With a fantastic book collection. And really rather easy on the eye, he added, before quickly suppressing the thought.

With a flick of his wand, he tidied the papers on the table into two piles, which he reduced and put to one side. His stomach growled hungrily. He supposed, regretfully, that it was far too much to ask that she should be a good cook too.

He was surprised to see her coming back out of the house; plates, cutlery, and glasses floating in front of her.

"Told you I wouldn't be long!" she said gaily as she arranged the table.

"This looks wonderful," said Snape, trying to keep the note of surprise out of his voice as he looked at the steaming plate of chilli in front of him and inhaled the delicious aromas of meat and spice.

"Well, I can't take any credit," smiled Hermione. "Thank Molly Weasley."

Snape looked at her in puzzlement.

"You must have heard of Molly's Millisecond Meals?" she asked.

"I seem to recall seeing advertisements in the Prophet, but I hadn't realised who the Molly in question was."

"She's had the business going for about a year, now. Please, eat. Wine?"

"Trying to get me drunk, Miss Granger?"

"Would I?" She opened her eyes wide in an expression of mock innocence.

"Probably," Snape replied drily. "But I think I'll risk a glass."

They ate in silence for a minute or two.

"This is really quite delicious," said Snape. "Tell me about Molly, then."

Hermione took a sip of wine.

"It all started around eighteen months ago. I went to the Burrow for dinner one weekend and made some off-hand comment to Molly about it being the first proper meal I'd had for a fortnight. I should have known better, really, but she was horrified, and insisted that when I went home I took the leftover stew with me, plus some pies she'd made that morning.

"The following evening I was working late, and ended up sharing the food with a couple of colleagues, who both said they wished they had someone like Molly to cook for them. I passed the compliment on next time I was at the Burrow, and George was there as well, and he said there really must be some way for Molly to make some money from her cooking talent. And we came up with the basic idea that evening – Molly prepares batches of food, puts them into individual portion boxes, then puts stasis, reducing, and stabilising spells on them, and sells them. They keep for a week, and when you want to eat you just need to say a quick 'Finite' over them and the food's ready.

"She started off small, using my and Ron's contacts at the Ministry to get the first customers – you'd be amazed how many Ministry employees have neither the time nor inclination to cook! Then George took over the advertising, and business has sort of exploded since. They run a mail-order service and do local deliveries. They've had to expand the kitchen at the Burrow, George has put a full-time manager in his shop, and Molly employs a couple of staff now as well."

Snape had cleared his plate while she had been speaking. "Well, she certainly is an excellent cook, and the Weasley family deserve their good fortune. They suffered too much during the War. And I don't forget that I owe them my life."

Which was no exaggeration. He'd used Arthur Weasley's blood to formulate an anti-venom after Nagini's attack at the Ministry. Then, after the Final Battle, if Ron hadn't told Arthur how Snape had "died", and if Arthur hadn't, even in the midst of his grief, remembered that the snake shouldn't have been able to kill him, then Snape probably would have bled to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack despite all of his precautions.

He became aware that Hermione was watching him guardedly, obviously trying to decide what, if anything, she should say. He decided to relieve her of the responsibility.

"So what went wrong between you and the Weasley boy? You always seemed joined at the hip from the little I saw of you during your last year at Hogwarts. Then all of a sudden there were screaming headlines in the Prophet saying you'd broken his heart, or he'd broken yours – I forget which."

Hermione looked at Snape sharply, as if expecting to see sarcasm, but seemed satisfied with what she saw, for she shook her head, a small smile on her lips.

"No hearts were harmed in the ending of our relationship, I assure you. It was just ... you won't have seen the film 'When Harry Met Sally' will you?"

Snape quirked one side of his mouth. "No, but I'm sure you'll enlighten me."

"Well, Harry and Sally meet at college and spend years convincing everyone that men and women can just be friends, and sex doesn't have to get in the way; then of course they end up in bed together and realise that was what they wanted all along. It's most famous for a great scene in a restaurant where she fakes an orgasm. Anyway," she continued hastily, "Ron and I were just like that but in reverse – as soon as we'd slept together, I realised I'd made a huge mistake and really just wanted him as a friend."

"That bad, eh?" Snape smirked.

"No, not bad, just ... odd. God, no, I don't mean that either. I just knew that as much as I loved him and wanted to protect him and enjoyed spending time with him, physically there was just no... spark. And then I thought that maybe I was expecting too much, and that a relationship founded on being great friends was enough, and I persevered for about a year, but in the end I had to admit it was going nowhere and really wasn't enough. I think it came as a relief to him when I ended it, actually. I was getting the impression that when we were friends he was fine with me being brainy and tough and not needing looking after, but it's a slightly different proposition when it's your girlfriend."

"He needed someone more willing to flatter his enormous male ego?"

"I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but yes, sort of. And then a couple of years later, he and Luna got together, and they're just perfectly matched. They make each other laugh, and her other-worldliness gives her a sort of vulnerability that means he can indulge his knight errant tendencies. I'm really happy for them."

And she was, thought Snape – her open face showed no hint of jealousy or resentment.

"And what about you, Miss Granger; have you found that spark you were looking for?" he asked lightly.

"I've had a few sparks, thank you very much," she replied with an impish grin, "but nothing that's lit a long-lasting conflagration. In any case, my work doesn't really allow for a relationship at the moment. And how about you? Apart from Madame Francine, of course?"

"Oh, I've had my fair share of sparks, young lady. I'm far too old and set in my ways to accommodate someone in my life on a permanent basis, though."

Not that he was inundated with offers from women who wanted to immure themselves in a Scottish castle with an ugly curmudgeon, he reflected, but he'd rather think of it as his choice. Although why he was discussing his sex life with an ex-pupil was quite beyond him. The wine must be stronger than he had thought, though it had not escaped his notice that the bottle was replenishing his glass on a regular basis and seemed to be bottomless. He held the glass up to the fading light and examined the liquid's ruby depths.

"Lovely wine," he said. Oh, yes, subtle change of subject there! "Elf-made?"

"Naturally," replied Hermione. "I've got a barrel of the stuff in the basement, and the bottle is charmed to keep replenishing itself."

"That must have cost a few Galleons."

"Probably, but we confiscated half a dozen of them from the home of a Death Eater a few months ago. Obviously, we couldn't have left them behind for Muggles to find."

"How... circumspect of you."

"It was rather, wasn't it? Anyway, once we'd checked that the contents were safe, I shared them out amongst the team. And we sent one to Kingsley, and one to Fletcher, so they wouldn't complain about misappropriation of evidence."

Snape laughed and raised his glass to his lips once more.

*

They continued talking for the next hour or so, sharing anecdotes of idiot pupils, daring Death Eater arrests, and obscure potions research. The sun set and the garden filled with inky shadows as the sky darkened to deep blue. Bats emerged from their roosts under the eaves and began flying around the garden in erratic patterns as they chased their supper.

Hermione had removed the dinner things to the kitchen with a flick of her wand, and the table was now lit by one of her trademark portable fires. Azure and green flames flickered gently, and when the conversation paused, she studied Snape's face covertly as he watched them. His expression was relaxed and unguarded. His stories of Hogwarts life had revealed his customary lack of tolerance and disdain for ignorance, but she sensed a deep-rooted sense of contentment as well.

"So," she said raising her glass and inclining her head interrogatively, "are you drunk enough yet?"

Snape looked at her steadily. "Madame Francine?"

Hermione nodded.

"Miss Granger, if I were ever drunk enough to reveal to you the full details, I imagine I would also be drunk enough to be incapable of speech. However, if it will mean the end of the subject, you can have some edited... highlights."

Hermione beamed. "Oh, yes please!"

"Very well. Madame Francine came to us from Beauxbatons for a term to add to our History of Magic curriculum. For some reason she took an interest in me."

Can't imagine why, thought Hermione, looking assessingly at his long, lean frame, elegant hands, and enigmatic eyes.

"And Madame Francine is part Veela, so when she takes an interest the object has very little choice in the matter."

"I'm sure you put up a spirited fight," Hermione said, laughing.

"Naturally," Snape continued drily. "To cut a long story short, one thing led rather rapidly to another, and we ended up in my quarters with a bottle of Firewhisky and the aforementioned handcuffs. The evening passed in a very enjoyable manner until around three a.m., when the enchantment on the handcuffs wore off. Madame Francine was totally unable to release me, and I was in no position to use my wand."

Hermione giggled and Snape glared at her.

"That was not a euphemism, Miss Granger. In the end it took the combined efforts of Professors Flitwick and McGonagall to free me, and believe me when I say I was not dressed for company."

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth as she desperately tried to suppress her laughter.

"It was four days before the three of us could look at each other without blushing, although Francine was quite unashamed."

At that Hermione couldn't stop the peals of laughter from escaping. Snape tried to scowl, but couldn't hold the expression and just shook his head with a wry smile as Hermione tried to bring herself under control.

"I hope I don't need to emphasize, Miss Granger, that not a word of this conversation is to reach Messrs Potter or Weasley?"

"My lips are sealed."

*

She could just picture McGonagall's and Flitwick's faces. She was also trying desperately not to conjure up the tantalising image of a handcuffed Snape. Not while he was sat in front of her, anyway. She spoke quickly to drive away the thought.

"If it makes you feel any better, I was utterly humiliated by Ron's Great Aunt Matilda."

"Caught the two of you, did she?"

"Ah, actually it was Charlie, not Ron," admitted Hermione, flushing slightly.

Snape raised an amused eyebrow. "Miss Granger, exactly how many of the Weasley men have you bedded?"

"Only the two! Lavender Brown's done a hat trick. Well, she claims four, but Percy adamantly denies it, and I'm inclined to believe him. Which is all beside the point. Anyway, two Christmases ago, the Burrow was stuffed to bursting with the Weasley clan, so I said Charlie and his girlfriend could stay here. Only they'd split up so it was just him, and we both had a few drinks, and one thing led to another and..."

"Spare me the sordid details, please. Although I always thought of Charlie as more brawn than brains – your type?"

"For a life partner – no. For a couple of days' shagging over Christmas? Too bloody right. Have you any idea what riding dragons does for a man's thighs?"

"Surprisingly, no, but I'll be sure to mention it next time I'm giving the Slytherins careers advice."

"So, the day after Boxing Day he was supposed to be Flooing back to the Burrow to escort Mildred home before heading back to South America. He was all ready to go; then I decided to give him one for the road, so to speak. Next thing I knew, I could hear Great Aunt Mildred's dulcet tones saying, 'Well, Charles Weasley, I hope you're going to return the favour.' She'd got tired of waiting and had Flooed to us. She then went straight back to the Burrow and informed everyone present that Charlie would be along as soon as he'd finished pleasuring the Muggle-born."

Hermione was gratified to hear Snape's wonderfully dirty laugh again.

"I imagine that went down well with them all."

"Luna told me afterwards that George was delighted because it meant Bill owed him ten Galleons. Molly was the problem – she was briefly convinced that she was going to get me as a daughter-in-law after all. I found it rather tricky explaining afterwards why her son was fine as a holiday shag but really not marriage material."

Hermione winced inwardly as she recalled the conversation. Molly had really thought her wandering son was about to put down some roots, and it had felt horrible to disillusion her. But shortly afterwards, Charlie and his ex had reunited, and Hermione had been let off the hook.

She realised darkness had now completely fallen. Her flames made intermittent fizzing noises as kamikaze moths got too close. She met Snape's eyes and smiled.

"I'm going to call it a night. We've got another busy day tomorrow."

Snape rose politely as she stood up.

"I think I'll enjoy your garden for a little longer, Miss Granger."

Hermione laughed. "I think after this evening's revelations you can drop the 'Miss Granger'. Call me 'Hermione', please."

"Very well, Hermione. As long as you'll return the favour."

Hermione smiled softly. "OK, then. Good night, Severus. See you in the morning."

"Good night. Sleep well."

Hermione turned and strolled into the house, looking forward to her bed and dreams of a naked, handcuffed professor.