Heaven Can Wait

A/N: Many thanks again to the wonderful peskipiksi for her patient beta work, and to the ever-helpful PP admins, especially for comma-wrangling! And thank you to those of you who have given me such lovely reviews.

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

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Chapter 3 – Heaven Can Wait

Snape groaned as sunlight filtered in through his closed eyelids. Merlin, what time was it? He reached out to where his watch lay on the bedside table and opened his eyes a fraction to squint at its face. Half past bloody five! One advantage to sleeping in the dungeons was that the sun never woke him, but that meant he now found it impossible to sleep anywhere light.

He sat up and groaned again. How much wine had he drunk last night? A little too much, if his memories of the conversation served him correctly. Hermione had proved extremely easy to talk to. And she seemed to find the same quality in him, which was a novelty. The revelations about her love life had certainly dispelled any residual impressions that she was still his student.

He heaved his legs out of bed and contemplated his plan of action for the morning. Hangover potion first, then a shower (must use a Silencing spell so as not to disturb Hermione), then coffee. Definitely coffee.

*

Fifteen minutes later found Snape rifling quietly through the contents of the kitchen cupboards. He located ground coffee, mugs and a coffee pot in mercifully quick succession, and soon the room was filling with the delicious aroma of brewing caffeine. While he waited he wandered through to the living room and opened the French windows, inhaling the fresh garden air. The dawn chorus was tailing off now, although a song thrush and a blackbird were still competing enthusiastically for dominance from the top of the oak tree.

Hermione's huge ginger cat came sauntering across the dew-soaked grass towards him, then sat at his feet with a look of expectation on his squashed face.

"Oh, no," said Snape, with a stern expression. "If you're looking for food you can wait for your mistress. You hardly look like you're starving; in fact I suspect you've spent the whole night terrorising the local wildlife."

Crookshanks gave the feline equivalent of an indifferent shrug and pushed past Snape's legs into the house, where he jumped lightly into an armchair and started his morning ablutions. Snape followed him in and began the enjoyable task of selecting a book to accompany his morning coffee.

*

Hermione came downstairs at seven to the welcome sight of hot coffee on the stove. She filled her mug, then went in search of her erstwhile professor. She found him seated on a bench in the sunny part of the garden, totally engrossed in a book.

"Morning!" she called softly as she approached. Snape raised his hand in acknowledgement, but did not look up from his book, so she walked quietly over to take a seat next to him. She curled her legs up under herself and closed her eyes as she sipped the bitterly refreshing liquid. The last twinges of a headache were still making themselves known at the base of her skull. She heard Snape close his book and opened her eyes to look enquiringly at him.

"Semantics and Sorcery," he said, tilting the volume's spine towards her. "One of yours – have you read it?"

"I didn't even know I had it!" she replied, laughing.

"It's quite fascinating," he continued. "The author discusses the effect of the language we speak on how we can use magic: as language shapes thought, it also shapes the precise form the action of a spell can take. Despite the fact that the words used to cast a spell are internationally harmonised, the way we use thought to focus the magical energy can be influenced by our mother tongue. Just as English has no equivalent word for the German Schadenfreude or the Welsh hiraeth, slight subtle differences in magical effect can be seen between different nationalities."

Hermione had let Snape's melodious voice wash over her, but became aware that he appeared to expect a response.

"That does sound interesting, but I think I'll appreciate it more once I'm properly awake."

"Good Lord, you mean the much vaunted Granger brain doesn't operate at full capacity twenty four hours a day?" Snape replied, the quirk of his lips showing he intended to tease rather than taunt.

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she looked steadily back at him. "Apparently not, because I can't even think of a scathing response. I'll opt for a dignified silence instead. Go back to your book while I wake up." She flapped her hand at him dismissively.

Snape snorted softly and did as he was told.

*

By mid-morning they were back at work at the garden table.

"Here's a picture of Penbryn Hall," said Hermione, pushing the print across the table to Snape. "Markov's country house, near Builth Wells in Mid Wales. Markov's wife, Helen, inherited it on her father's death. He died of a heart attack not long after she met Markov."

"How convenient," replied Snape drily.

"Quite. The sad thing is, I've spoken to her on the phone about this weekend, and she sounds absolutely lovely. Goodness knows how she ended up with Markov."

"Could be any number of reasons – loneliness, a fancy for an exotic foreigner, or perhaps she's fooled you and she's actually a nasty piece of work herself. Quite likely she has no idea about Markov's true personality. Alternatively she does know and is one of those deluded women who thinks she can reform her man."

"What a fascinating insight you have into the female psyche. We'll find out soon enough, anyway. Oh, that reminds me – can you ride a horse?"

Snape looked at her with a suspicious frown. "I have ridden a horse, but not for many years. I assume there's a reason for the enquiry?"

"I told Helen we'd be arriving quite early on the Saturday, ostensibly to avoid the traffic out of London, though actually to give us as much time as possible to have a nose around. She suggested we could go for a ride if we've got time, as she's got a stable full of horses. I said that sounded like a nice idea, though I haven't been on a horse since I was a child, and I quite truthfully said I had no idea what your riding skills were like. We'll see how the day pans out, anyway. The other couples are arriving for lunch, then we've got dinner with them and some local guests."

"And Markov is due to arrive on the Sunday morning?" confirmed Snape.

"That's right. Helen was very apologetic, saying he was too busy to be home for the whole weekend, but to be honest this is far better for our purposes. The more evidence we can gather against him the better. We haven't managed to identify a site for his research laboratory, so I have a strong suspicion it's at Penbryn."

"I have read your briefing, Hermione," said Snape acidly.

"Sorry, Severus." Hermione grimaced slightly. "I'm not used to working with anyone with quite such a retentive memory. Go on then, show off – tell me all about the other guests this weekend."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "A test? Very well. We will be joined as staying guests by two other couples. Giles Pemberton and his wife Verity are old friends of Mrs Markov – Verity and Helen were at school together. Giles has a financial stake in several successful companies in the telecommunications and IT fields. His business dealings all seem to be legitimate, and there is nothing suspicious in his bank records, but it would seem strange for Markov not to have utilised him in some way.

"The other gentleman, and I use the word ironically, is almost certainly working with Markov. Archie Price started his criminal career with small-scale smuggling of alcohol and cigarettes, for which he served a short prison sentence fifteen years ago. Since then he has stayed out of trouble with the authorities, although his business activities seem to be no more law-abiding. He is strongly suspected of being behind several large smuggling rings, associated with deals in both drugs and arms, but the Muggle police have been unable to acquire enough evidence against him to act. Which I imagine they're rather upset about.

"He will be accompanied by the current Mrs Price. Stacey is wife number three, substantially younger than her husband, and lists beautician as her occupation, though there appears to be no evidence of her actually working.

"The identities of the dinner guests are not known, but they will probably be local worthies known to Mrs Markov."

"Outstanding!" exclaimed Hermione, smiling sweetly. "It's so good to know your advanced years haven't dimmed your memory."

"Sarcastic little trollop," growled Snape. "It's such a relief I only have to pretend to be married to you – I pity the poor sod who gets the job for real."

"I can be lovely when I want to be," protested Hermione. "Anyway, on the subject of our pretend marriage, we're probably going to have to keep it up all the time while we're at Penbryn."

"Keep it up?" repeated Snape, with a slight smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Why is it that however impressive a man's IQ is, at least part of his sense of humour never matures beyond adolescence? You're as bad as Ron. We'll have to keep up the pretence, I mean, nothing else. Don't worry; I shan't make any physical demands of you. What was I talking about, anyway? You have now totally derailed my train of thought ...."

Snape smirked again.

"Oh, yes, I remember," continued Hermione, glaring at him. "We'll have to keep up the act because I have a very strong suspicion our bedroom will be bugged. By which I mean Markov will be using some sort of electronic surveillance. It would be in character for him to use the opportunity to spy on us and check we are who we say we are. I'll be able to check the room when we arrive, but obviously won't be able to remove any bugs I find..."

"...because then he'd know we know," finished Snape.

"Exactly. So we may have to take some long walks in the grounds if we're to speak freely."

"You mean to say that on top of everything else, I need to pretend an interest in gardening? The prospect of this weekend just gets better and better."

*

After lunch, Snape retired to his room to prepare for the journey to London. Hermione had told him that his Muggle clothes were waiting for him at her flat, but she'd brought something for him to wear for the trip. She had also warned him that apart from his wand, he was allowed to take nothing that could be identified as from the wizarding world. Which meant his packing wouldn't take long, he reflected.

There was a knock at the bedroom door, accompanied by Hermione calling "Are you decent?"

He opened the door, saying, "I don't think I've ever been called that, but I am dressed."

Hermione held out a suit bag to him, marked with Madame Malkin's crest.

"I thought these were Muggle clothes?" he asked, noticing the crest as he took the bag.

"Muggle design, yes, but it's easier and cheaper to get Madame Malkin to make them. Her versions tend to fit better, too. And include wand pockets, though obviously you're not supposed to be using magic at all once we're in London. Right, I'll see you downstairs when you're ready. I'm off to change into Jane Eastwood."

And with that she walked purposefully back down the corridor. Snape remained leaning against the doorjamb, watching her retreating arse, before he realised what he was doing and backed rapidly into his room.

*

Much as Snape hated to admit it, on the available evidence Hermione had excellent taste in Muggle clothing. He examined himself critically in the full length mirror he had slightly shamefacedly Transfigured from the small looking glass on the wall. The linen suit was a dark navy, and even he had to concede it hung elegantly from his lean frame. The light blue shirt he wore underneath was soft and comfortable, and although the collar was open it fitted well enough around his neck that the scar from Nagini's bite was hidden. His hair was tied back as directed. He was, he thought, almost unrecognisable as the Hogwarts Potions master. Almost, but not quite – that nose was, alas, all too distinctive.

He returned the mirror to its previous state with a flick of his wand, then picked up his bag and headed downstairs. There was no sign of Hermione, so he walked back to the base of the stairs and called up, "Come along, wife! We haven't got all day!"

He was rewarded with the sound of Hermione's laugh and a shouted "I'm on my way, darling!"

Moments later Hermione appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "I hope you're not planning on addressing me as 'wife' for the whole weekend," she said, an expression of mock disapproval on her face.

"Does it not strike the right note? And you can't possibly expect me to answer to 'darling'."

"What would you prefer? Angel? Sweetheart? Love of my life?"

"I would prefer we avoided endearments totally if at all possible."

"Fair enough then, grumpy sod. Come outside into the sunlight so I can have a proper look at you."

Snape followed her out of the front door and stood there while she walked around him, lips pursed. He distracted himself from feeling like a prize bull at a cattle market by covertly examining her changed appearance. Her casual jeans and shirt of the last couple of days had been replaced by tailored trousers and a floaty, silky top that, yes, gave a nice glimpse of cleavage. Although opportunities to look down said cleavage were slightly limited by the fact that she was wearing high-heeled shoes so was now three inches taller than she had been.

She completed her circular tour of his anatomy and stood in front of him, a slightly smug smile on her face.

"Well?" Snape asked. "Do I pass muster?"

"You most certainly do! I knew you'd look great in that outfit. You would not believe how long it took me to come up with a wardrobe for you. I've spent far more time than is healthy recently imagining you out of your robes."

"Time well spent, then," he replied, choosing to ignore the subtext in her comment. "So, woman, where are you taking me now?"

"'Woman' is no better than 'wife', you Neanderthal. Bloody Northern men, you're all the same!" She shook her head ruefully. "We are heading for London and civilisation. To be precise, St Pancras Station, where Jane Eastman is meeting Steven Singer off the Eurostar train on his return from a European conference. We'll then get a taxi to my...sorry, our flat. Which I am fairly sure is being watched, hence the need for an unimpeachably Muggle arrival.

"Are you happy for me to Apparate us both to St Pancras? There's a hidden Apparition point there, but it's a bit tricky to explain exactly where it is."

"Take me where you will," replied Snape, inclining his head courteously and holding out his hand.

To his surprise, instead of simply grasping his arm, Hermione ducked under it and put both of her arms around his waist, whirling him off in a tight confusion of perfume, soft curves and suffocating darkness.

*

They stumbled slightly on landing, and Hermione stepped regretfully out of Snape's embrace. When did that happen? she thought. She'd grabbed him, not the other way round. They were in a deserted, white-tiled corridor. Wordlessly, she took Snape's hand and led him out through the door at the end and out onto the crowded station concourse. No-one paid any attention to yet another newly reunited couple.

She entwined her fingers more tightly with his, and at his enquiring look muttered, "I don't want to lose you amongst this lot."

They followed the flow of the crowd out of the station and towards the taxi rank. Hermione led the way to the first available black cab, but Snape reached around her to open the door.

"Thank you, darling," she said as she climbed in, ignoring the nearly imperceptible narrowing of his eyes at the endearment.

"Fifty-seven Holland Park, please," she said to the driver.

"OK, love," he replied, and she settled herself down next to Snape.

She noticed that he had stretched his arm out along the seat back behind her, and as she sat down he brought his hand down to her shoulder, his long fingers caressing the sheer fabric of her shirt. He lowered his head to speak softly into her ear.

"Should we be putting on a display of affection for the driver's benefit?"

The deep timbre of his voice sent an unexpected shiver of desire down her spine. She lifted her hand to his face and daringly kissed his cheek gently, briefly, before whispering back.

"Some small display might be a good idea, but nothing so inappropriate he would remember us."

Snape lowered his head and kissed the bare skin at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

"Would this be appropriate?"

Hermione managed a quiet "Oh, yes" before he moved his head up slightly to place an open-mouthed kiss just beneath her ear.

"What about this?"

"Definitely." She ran her fingers though the short hairs at the nape of his neck, resisting the urge to pull his mouth to hers.

He moved his mouth right over her ear and whispered, "But I suspect that ripping your top off would not be?"

Hermione felt herself flush at the image and retaliated by running her free hand gently along the inside of his thigh, looking straight into his eyes and saying, "You are a wicked man. Just wait until I get you home."

His dark eyes filled with a combination of desire and mischief as he replied, "What exactly are you planning on doing with me, wife?"

She continued to run her fingers slowly up and down his thigh and placed a feather-soft kiss on his lips before replying in a low voice, "As soon as we get through the front door, I'll pin you against it and kiss you until you can barely breathe."

Another kiss.

"Then I'll lead you to the bedroom and ask you to remove all of your clothes, slowly, so I can watch."

Another kiss.

"Then I'll remove mine, slowly, so you can watch."

She paused, observing the effects of her words on her companion. The mischief in his eyes had fled, leaving only the desire. Snape grasped her hand as it moved along his thigh and stilled it. He moved to whisper in her ear again.

"You are going to provoke an old man into a heart attack if you're not careful."

"You did ask!" she protested softly.

He dropped another kiss below her ear, swirling his tongue briefly on her flesh. She tried and failed to prevent a small moan of longing escaping her.

"I should have known I would get more information than I required when I asked you a question," he murmured.

Hermione raised their joined hands from his thigh and brought his knuckles to her mouth, kissing them lightly one by one.

"At least these answers come from practical experience rather than a text-book."

They held each other's gaze for long seconds, breath gradually slowing. Hermione watched as Snape's eyes flicked down to look at her lips, and she opened them slightly in anticipation as he moved forwards to capture her mouth with his. She closed her eyes as their lips met, his mouth covering hers possessively, tongues gliding against each other...

"Fuckin' hell, mate!"

They sprang apart guiltily as the taxi came to a sudden halt. The driver looked back over his shoulder at them.

"Sorry about that! Bloody cyclist pulled right out in front of me. Didn't mean to interrupt you!" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and turned back to the road.

Hermione caught Snape's eye and tried to suppress a giggle at his expression of affronted dignity.

"How much longer do we have to travel in this infernal contraption?" he growled as she tucked herself under his arm again.

"Only another five minutes or so," Hermione replied after a glance out of the window. "Perhaps we should just sit quietly for the rest of the journey – we've convinced him, anyway." She indicated towards the driver with a quick movement of her head. Snape snorted derisively, but tightened his arm around Hermione's shoulders and dropped a quick kiss onto the top of her head. She relaxed into his embrace.

She gazed out of the taxi window, but didn't notice the busy streets they were passing through. Instead she was reflecting on the fact that she'd just had one of the most erotic experiences of her life. In the back of a taxi. Fully clothed. With Severus Snape. That was ... unexpected. Obviously he'd been acting, but still .... Wow.

*

Snape looked down at the top of Hermione's head, nestled against his shoulder. What the hell had just happened? He knew what had nearly happened. He had been within seconds of conducting an act of gross public indecency. In the back of a taxi. In broad daylight. He was slightly shocked by how willing he had been to push their encounter to its logical conclusion. He never lost control like that.

He knew she had just been acting with her little seduction routine, but, damn, she was good. Correction, she was evil. He had totally underestimated her appetite for deceit. He had assumed she would have rejected his subterfuge, rather than going along with it with quite such enthusiasm. And his reactions to her had been alarmingly genuine. He was beginning to feel that challenging Miss Granger to any sort of duel was a spectacularly bad idea.

*

The taxi pulled over in front of a stately, white-painted Victorian townhouse. Similar buildings were ranged along both sides of the quiet, tree-lined street. Hermione paid the taxi driver with a cheery "Thanks!" then led the way out of the vehicle and up the shallow steps to the front door. Snape followed closely behind, resting one hand gently at the small of her back as she searched through her handbag for her keys.

"Ah ha!" she exclaimed, holding the errant bunch up in triumph and flashing him a brilliant smile. She opened the front door, then took his hand and led him into a high-ceilinged entrance hall. The floor was tiled in an ornate geometric pattern. Still holding his hand, she continued on up the elegant staircase in front of them until they reached a black painted door with the number 57B on it.

"This is us." She smiled, unlocking the door and gesturing for him to enter. She followed him in and closed the door behind her, then put her finger to his lips. For a heart-stopping moment the words ... pin you against it and kiss you until you can barely breathe flashed through his head, then she was gone, walking rapidly around the apartment holding up what looked like a Muggle mobile telephone. He realised with some relief (disappointment?) that she had merely been gesturing him to be silent.

He strolled into the living room, examining his surroundings curiously. The contrast with Hermione's cottage could hardly be more pronounced. The well-proportioned room had bay windows and a high ceiling. The furnishings were stylish and minimalist rather than comfortable, and the neutral walls displayed some large modern art canvases with no recognisable subject matter. There was a flat screen television and various unidentifiable pieces of Muggle technology, but no books.

Hermione entered the room still brandishing her phone and grinned at him. "All clear. I can declare the flat a bug-free zone. So we can drop the act for the time being."

"Pity," replied Snape drily. "I was rather looking forward to being dragged to the bedroom and forced to strip."

He was amused to see Hermione flush slightly.

"Sorry about that. I got a bit carried away."

"No need to apologise. You were extremely... convincing. I commend your acting skills." He inclined his head graciously.

"You were pretty good yourself. Your acting, I mean, not the kissing, though that was good too, and... shall we change the subject now?" She held her hands up in an expression of submission, shaking her head firmly as if to clear it.

Snape took pity on her. "So, how does this bug detector of yours work?"

Hermione sat down on the black leather sofa.

"Have a seat, and I'll explain."

Snape obediently settled himself next to her, long legs stretched out in front of him and an expression of interest on his face. Hermione passed him her phone, and he examined it closely.

"It looks like an ordinary Muggle mobile phone," Hermione began, "and, in fact, it can be used as one. But it's got an inbuilt sensor to detect the sort of signals emitted by electronic surveillance equipment. It can also distinguish between different types of bug, so can tell me if there are just auditory signals or if there are cameras as well. Anything detected shows up on the screen."

"I assume this works just using Muggle technology?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Magic and Muggle electronics most definitely do not mix. Try using a spell to detect bugs, and you just fry them, which isn't exactly subtle. We have been using that incompatibility to our advantage, though."

She reached down to the floor to retrieve her bag. After a brief rummage she pulled out a set of handcuffs. She swung them from one finger, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

Snape looked at her steadily.

"Hermione," he said warningly, "I'm sure you won't take it the wrong way when I tell you that if you even attempt to put another pair of handcuffs on me I will hex you into the middle of next week."

She smiled winsomely at him. "Don't you trust me? I'm hurt."

"You will be."

"Fair enough. How about if I just ask you to hold them? They'll still work."

Snape reluctantly held his hand out and took the handcuffs from her. Hermione turned the small key in the catch to lock them, then removed it.

"OK," she said. "Keep hold of them and cast a spell. Something simple."

Snape held the cuffs in his left hand, then looked at an unlit candle on a side table.

"Incendio!" he said.

Nothing happened. He felt a slight moment of panic. He could always light a fire wandlessly. Wordlessly too, for that matter. He reached into his pocket with his right hand and removed his wand. Pointing it at the candle he repeated, more loudly this time, "Incendio!" Again, nothing.

He turned to Hermione, scowling. She had a slightly smug expression on her face.

"All right, witch, what have you done to me?" he growled.

She took hold of the handcuffs and replaced the key in the catch to unlock them, then released them again into Snape's grasp.

"Try now," she instructed.

He pointed his wand at the candle again. "Incendio!" Light flared instantly as the wick ignited.

He gave the handcuffs back to Hermione.

"Very impressive," he conceded. "I wasn't aware such equipment existed."

Hermione grimaced. "You know what the Unspeakables are like – they hardly go for publishing their research in peer-reviewed journals. They developed this technology originally for use in Azkaban. After the defection of the Dementors, new methods were needed to prevent escape. Wand confiscation was never enough to prevent the more skilled prisoners from using magic.

"It's been known for years that magic interferes with Muggle electronics, and some bright spark in the Department of Mysteries decided to investigate exactly what the cause was and whether the reverse effect existed as well. They managed to isolate the precise electromagnetic frequency where the interference occurs. The transmitter in these handcuffs emits that frequency and, well, you've seen the effect for yourself."

"Indeed. Has the technique been used over larger areas as well?"

"They've tried, but they haven't yet managed to control the field size. It gets a bit hit and miss in terms of the area affected. Even with the handcuffs, I have to be careful not to stand too close to whoever I've put them on or my magic disappears too."

"So this is one of the methods you can use to apprehend a wizard in front of a Muggle audience?"

"Exactly."

"Any other little toys you'd like to show me?"

Hermione dug in her bag again and brought out a small handgun. Snape fought the instinct to leap out of his seat.

"Bloody hell, woman, don't wave that thing at me. Do you know how to use it?"

Hermione eyed him calmly.

"Severus Snape, seriously? This is me you're talking to. Brightest witch et cetera? It's not loaded. The safety is on. And of course I know how to use it. Firearms training was part of the syllabus during my year in the States. To be honest it was a piece of cake – if you can aim a wand you can aim a gun."

"You can't just cast a Jellylegs hex with a gun, though, can you? They're rather all-or-nothing weapons."

"I agree, though aiming to incapacitate rather than kill should generally be the goal with a gun as well. Believe me, this is very much a weapon of last resort, but it's always useful to have that extra back-up."

Once again, Hermione Granger had managed to surprise him, Snape realised.

"Is that the lot or have you got a small crossbow secreted in there as well?"

*

That evening they walked to a nearby Italian restaurant for dinner. Hermione had confessed that she managed to run the apartment very well without magic as long as she had a cleaner and always ate out. Snape had laughed at that.

They sat at the bar with a beer each while they examined the menu and ordered their food, then a young waitress led them to a table in a secluded corner of the dining room.

Snape held out a chair for Hermione. "Come along then, wife."

Hermione looked up at him as she took her seat.

"Are you really going to call me that all weekend, Steven?"

Snape sat down opposite her.

"I rather like the proprietary ring it has. And I'm sorry, but you just don't look like a Jane. I suppose I should be thankful you didn't choose to christen me Rochester."

Hermione shook her head. "No, that would have been a bit obvious. Though you do have the dark forbidding countenance."

"You forget, I'm missing the mad wife in the attic. Unless you count Sybill Trelawney in her tower."

Hermione chuckled. "I must admit I'm surprised to find you have such a familiarity with Muggle literature."

Snape grimaced. "I don't. I read Jane Eyre at a time when I was foolish enough to want an insight into what a Muggle-born girl might find romantic."

"Ah, I see. Did it work?"

"Not so as you'd notice, no. And of course, Jane Eyre isn't Muggle literature – Charlotte Brontë was a witch."

Hermione looked at him, steadily. "A witch? Really?"

"Of course, isn't it obvious? That hopeless cover story about three sisters brought up in isolation in the wilds of Yorkshire? Total naifs who manage to write about passions they've supposedly never experienced? Honestly, I'd have thought a girl of your intelligence would have worked that out. And failing that the use of Vocant Amoris as a narrative device to return Jane to Rochester..."

"Vocant Amoris?" Hermione interrupted. "What's that?"

"Of course, I forgot. One of the advantages of being Muggle-born is that your head wasn't stuffed with all the usual superstitions when you were an impressionable child. Vocant Amoris – the Lover's Call – where two people whose hearts are as one can cry out to each other across any distance at a time of great need. Supposedly." Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Rochester calling to Jane to bring her home. Of course. But you said supposedly? I see how such a thing could theoretically be possible; I mean we normally use a Patronus to send messages over a distance, but I'm sure some other mechanism could work, and it would be easy enough to test, and it could be terribly useful if the whole love aspect could be removed..." Hermione faded into silence as her mind raced over the possibilities. Snape snapped his fingers in front of her face.

"Stop that. It's just superstition of the sort beloved by weak-minded romantics, and there is not one single well-documented case of its occurrence. Oh, many a love-struck teenager has insisted it has happened to them, but no-one has been willing to subject themselves to testing. Although to be fair the failure to demonstrate Vocant Amoris during a test wouldn't necessarily prove it doesn't exist..."

"...it could just be the case that the two involved weren't truly in love. Yes, I could see how that could be a problem. But still ..."

She paused as the waitress put their starters on the table then left.

Snape looked at Hermione enquiringly.

"Are we going to be debating mythical love spells all evening, or are we actually going to eat?"

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. But while we're eating you can tell me if there are any other Muggle writers who weren't what they seem."

Snape picked up his knife and fork. "Let me see. You never believed any of that Bard of Avon crap about Shakespeare, did you?"

*

They emerged from the restaurant two hours later. Hermione paused to take a lungful of the warm, summer air, tainted as it was with exhaust fumes.

"God, I hate London. Great shops, great food, but bloody awful apart from that. I can't wait to be back in the country tomorrow."

She'd surprised herself with that small realisation, several years ago. She always thought she would love living in the city. When she was imagining her future, it always included a jolly little video montage of her striding through London streets in heels, laden with shopping, hailing taxis and eating in nice restaurants. The reality was that the years of Hogwarts air, not to mention the extended camping trip in their seventh year, had left her feeling polluted and claustrophobic after a day or so spent in the capital. She thanked Providence and Apparition for the fact that distance was no object when it came to the daily commute.

Snape crooked his elbow towards her. "Shouldn't we be walking arm in arm, as a blissfully married couple?"

Hermione smiled at him as she slipped her arm though his. "An excellent idea. Walking in these heels gets a little tricky when I'm tired."

"I don't know why women feel the need for such ridiculous footwear. I would have expected rather more sense from you."

They began to walk slowly back towards the flat.

"Well, for a start I'm in character, and this is how Jane Eastwood dresses. I tend to wear heels for work anyway. I'm generally the youngest person in the room and the only woman, so the last thing I need is to be the shortest as well. At least this way I don't need to be physically looking up to anybody."

She turned her head to face Snape, tilting her chin up a little to meet his eyes. He returned her gaze steadily. She smiled slightly. "Though there are still those I look up to metaphorically."

He stopped walking and looked down to where her hand was curled round his arm. He moved his other hand to cover it, and she felt the warmth and strength of those long fingers on hers.

"You've shown me over the last two days that you don't need to be looking up to anyone any more, least of all me."

The unusually gentle tone of his voice moved Hermione more than his words.

She moved her fingers until they were entwined with his and shook his hand slightly. "Listen to me," she said. "I was always in awe of your talent, your intelligence, your bravery. But it's only since I've been doing this job – working undercover, having to keep straight two separate lives, live in two different worlds – that I've fully appreciated all you had to go through for so long. And what I'm doing is safe. If my Muggle cover gets blown I can just Obliviate a few people and run back to the Ministry. You were putting your life at risk every day."

She looked at his bowed head, afraid she'd said too much, brought back memories he'd rather were left buried.

He raised his head to meet her gaze, and she was relieved to see a calm expression in those black eyes. "That was who I was," he said softly. "Now I'm just a Potions master whose only subterfuge is pretending to the students that I'm far more frightening than I am."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Snape silenced her with an impatient shake of his head.

"No, let me finish. My fighting days are over. The wizarding world owes me nothing, and, for the first time, I feel I owe nothing to the world, to anyone. I'm content to live a quiet life, but that doesn't mean I don't have every respect and admiration for those who are carrying on the fight, and that includes you."

Hermione blinked back sudden tears and replied unsteadily, "Can we agree to admire each other, then?"

Snape gave a warm smile and inclined his head. "I think that would be acceptable."

Hermione looked deep into his eyes and felt she'd won a victory of sorts.

They resumed their walk in silence. As they neared the house, Hermione said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?"

"If your fighting days are over, and you don't owe anyone anything, why on earth did you agree to this mission?"

"Well, initially I thought I was agreeing to provide protection to an ex-student, which rather came within my remit as a teacher. And then after you'd deposited me flat on my back on the Transfiguration classroom floor, I was too scared to tell you I'd changed my mind."

Hermione's peal of delighted laughter echoed down the street as they walked up the steps to the front door.

*

Half an hour later Hermione was gazing into the depths of her glass of whisky, trying to decide exactly how to phrase her next question. They had decided to have a nightcap on returning to the flat, but she could now feel her eyelids starting to grow heavy. She leaned forwards in her armchair and looked at Snape sitting opposite her, reclining comfortably with his legs up on the sofa. She took a deep breath. OK, you can do this, she thought. You kissed him earlier, for Merlin's sake.

"Come on, wife, spit it out."

Hermione jumped slightly at Snape's words. He was observing her with amusement in his eyes.

"I can hear you thinking from here," he continued.

"Um, I was just trying to think of the right way to put this, but ... do you want to sleep with me tonight?"

Oh no, that didn't come out at all awkwardly. She watched his face carefully for a response, and was relieved to see that his amusement wasn't replaced with horror.

"I assume you're not propositioning me, and when you say sleep together, you mean just that?" he asked.

"Oh, God, yes, totally," she responded rapidly. "I just thought that as tomorrow night we're likely to have eavesdroppers, it might be best to have a trial run. To make tomorrow a bit less awkward?"

"Well, as long as it's not just a flimsy excuse for you to have your wicked way with me, I think that the idea has merit. I would appreciate some forewarning if you snore like a flobberworm or sprawl across the entire mattress."

Hermione chuckled. "You are such a gentleman."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "As you're proposing to share a bed with me you'd better hope I am."

I'd really rather you weren't, actually, thought Hermione wistfully.

She downed the last of her whisky and heaved herself out of the armchair. "I'll go and get ready, then. You should find everything you need in the bathroom, and your clothes are in the wardrobe in the spare bedroom."

Snape raised his glass to her. "Off you go then, wife. I'll just finish this then I'll join you."

*

In fact, Snape helped himself to another couple of fingers of whisky, which he knocked back in one swallow. He could do this, he thought. Hermione's idea had been sensible. Far better that any issues were sorted out in advance. Who slept on which side of the bed – that sort of thing.

Severus Snape was perfectly capable of spending the night in a bed with a woman without doing anything inappropriate. Even if that woman was twenty years younger than him, was his intellectual equal, and was quite unreasonably attractive. And had nearly caused him to pounce on her in a taxi like a hormonal adolescent. Oh, bugger. He steeled his shoulders and headed off to find some suitable bed-attire. Preferably something very loose-fitting.

*

Snape gently pushed open the door to the master bedroom. He had taken his time getting ready for bed in the vain hope that Hermione would already be asleep. The room was softly lit by a bedside lamp, and she was curled up under a white sheet on the side of the bed furthest from the door. To his slight dismay, as soon as he entered the room she sat up with a welcoming smile. He tried not to notice the brief vest top she was wearing – and utterly refused to speculate on what else she was wearing under the sheet.

She put her head on one side and studied him quizzically. "I couldn't decide if you'd wear that T-shirt or not."

Snape looked down at his grey top, emblazoned with the slogan 'Chemists experiment in bed'.

"I'm planning on keeping it – I'll Transfigure it to read 'Potions masters' instead of 'Chemists' when I get back to Hogwarts."

Hermione grinned broadly. "I can just imagine the expressions at breakfast if you turned up in the Great Hall wearing that!"

He closed the door behind him and walked over to the bed, bare feet silent on the wooden floor. The room was warm, and he was glad he'd put on a pair of sleep shorts rather than pyjama bottoms. As if reading his mind, Hermione said, "I've opened the window, but it's still warm in here. No air-conditioning, I'm afraid, and no Cooling Charms allowed either."

"I'm sure we'll be fine," he replied as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Was it deliberate, leaving me the side of the bed closest to the door?"

"Yes – I guessed you would prefer that. Was I right?"

"Indeed you were. I understand we are not using magic, but I hope you appreciate I need to sleep with my wand close at hand?"

Hermione reached under her pillow and pulled out her wand. "I agree. Emergency use only, obviously, but better safe than sorry."

Snape nodded briefly, then put his wand on the bedside table and swung his legs into bed. Hermione flipped the sheet to one side to accommodate him, and smiled at him as he lay down and made himself comfortable, facing her. She switched off the lamp then shuffled down to lie next to him, close but not touching.

"Good night, then," she said into the darkness.

"Good night. Sleep well. No snoring," he replied, and heard her soft giggle as she rolled over on to her side, facing away from him.

He lay on his back and stretched his long limbs out under the cool sheet. There, that wasn't so bad, he thought. Close your eyes and it will be morning before you know it.

The long day and the whisky soon combined to make him feel pleasantly drowsy. He moved to lie on his side, facing Hermione, and his fingers accidentally brushed against her back. They both flinched a little at the contact and she moved, very slightly, out of his reach. Her breathing was even, and he couldn't decide if she was asleep or not. He stretched his arm out, bringing his hand into contact with her back again. Once more, she moved fractionally away from him.

Deliberately, he reached out to her back again. This time she inched away further, then crash! With a thud and a muffled squeak, she fell out of bed.

She clambered back up, and, even in the dim glow from the streetlights outside, he could see she was glaring at him.

"You did that on purpose!" she accused, lying back down next to him with a huff. He propped himself up on one elbow.

"I didn't expect you to dive out of the bed, but, yes, touching you was no accident. Why did you keep moving away?"

"I was trying to give you more room! I thought you were just stretching out. Touching seemed a bit, well, intimate."

Severus laughed softly. "We will get no sleep at all if we jump every time we make contact – the bed isn't that big. Now come here, wife."

He reached his arm out and pulled Hermione back firmly until she was lying on her side, her back to his chest. He curled slightly around her, and she pulled his arm in close around her stomach. She gave a quiet sigh.

"Better?" he murmured.

"Much. You're right: I can relax now. 'Night."

"Good night. Try to stay in the bed this time."

Snape inhaled the faint fragrance of perfume from the back of Hermione's neck and relaxed his hand against her belly. Sleep beckoned again. He smiled softly. He was rather proud of that little bit of persuasion. He'd almost believed it himself.

---

Author's note:

Schadenfreude is a German word meaning to derive pleasure from another's pain or misfortune. Hiraeth is a Welsh word for a feeling of longing for a place, person or time past. Like homesickness, but not necessarily for home. Neither has an equivalent word in English, though we can experience both emotions!

Vocant Amoris is Latin for "Call of love".