The Worst of All Bad Names

She hears me strike the board and say

Cold as the March wind his eyes.

- W. B. Yeats, Father and Child

***

Severus grimaced as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips: Years as a spy had taught him to read a person's body language the moment they entered the room, and if Cordelia's frosty glare and determined set of her chin were any indication, she was steeling herself for a confrontation.

"Good morning, Severus," she said coldly, taking the seat opposite him and reaching for the teapot.

"Good morning," he replied, picking up his copy of the Daily Prophet and scanning the pictures from the ball on the fourth page. "There's a charming picture of you and Narcissa Malfoy in this morning's paper."

She lifted her gaze to the paper for a moment before returning her attention to her breakfast. "And how did you enjoy the ball, Severus?"

He looked at her over the top of the Prophet. "I'm not generally fond of such events, but I thought it went quite well. Were you happy with it?"

She did not answer him, but delicately placed her teacup in its saucer and laced her fingers. "You disappeared off with Hermione for almost an hour, Severus. Let me guess: the poor girl was having problems with her wedding ring again?"

He put down the paper and leaned forward with a scowl. "To my knowledge, she had no problems with her ring last night, Cordelia, as your son was evidently behaving himself."

"Then where did the two of you go for so long? Are you going to tell me she went home and that it was mere coincidence you happened to go missing at the same time?"

"No, I won't deny that we spent almost an hour together. I don't see that it's any of your business, and I fail to understand why I should have to justify my actions, but on Friday she secured a lucrative contract with St. Mungo's. I had promised we would toast her success last night, and so we did."

"Given the copious amount of champagne in the ballroom, I cannot understand why you had to take your celebrations elsewhere." Her brow was furrowed in anger.

"Some of the Ministry people spent time smoking in the drawing room; a number of guests took their champagne out to the patio to escape the warmth of the ballroom; Hermione and I left for some fresh air. Why is that a problem?"

Cordelia tapped her manicured nails on the table. "Don't play innocent with me, Severus. You know very well why it was unacceptable: she's a young woman, and while it may be socially acceptable for the two of you to spend hours closeted away in your laboratory, it is certainly not acceptable for you to gallivant off together in the middle of a ball in front of hundreds of guests."

"Cordelia, there were, as you rightly pointed out, hundreds of guests here, and I'm certain our absence went unnoticed by all but you." He could tell by her momentary silence that he was right: no-one had noticed.

She glowered at him. "At the end of the day, no matter what the current situation between Hermione and Theo, she is my daughter-in-law, and your increasingly frequent little escapes in front of company are inappropriate."

He balled his hands into fists. "Well, while we're on the subject of inappropriate behaviour, there was one name in particular I was surprised to see on the guest list last night. You might behave as you like in Edinburgh, Cordelia, but I've never before known you to flaunt your private life in my face." He enjoyed her expression of shock.

After only a few seconds she recovered and said, "And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"

He gave her a withering look. "Do not feign stupidity; you know full well what role I played during the war. Don't you think I would have applied my talent for investigation to my fiancée before I signed on the dotted line?"

"You had the gall to meddle in my private life before we were married?"

"I've never meddled in your private life, my dear," he said with forced calm. "I made it my business to find out what I was letting myself in for, and I accepted your private life before we were wed. I've never once interfered, but I was surprised to find, for the first time since we became husband and wife, that you crossed the line and invited one particular guest into our home last night."

She looked at him aghast, and then dropped her gaze. "That's hardly the point; I believe we were discussing Hermione."

"But I believe the point I've just made is entirely relevant: I have not, to date, interfered in your personal affairs, Cordelia, but if you give me reason, I can make your life exceedingly difficult."

She narrowed her eyes. "How dare you threaten me, Severus Snape?"

He shrugged and gave her a defiant smirk. "If you make things difficult for me, I will return the compliment. I've allowed you your private life, Cordelia; I beseech you to extend the same courtesy to me."

She rose from the table and tossed her napkin onto her breakfast plate, her toast uneaten. "I'll be spending the week in France," she announced, flouncing from the room without waiting for a reply.

He watched her go, and his smirk disappeared. He had spent almost two decades playing spy. He was tired of deceit, and play-acting, and espionage. He had quite enjoyed the relative peace that had been his since the fall of Lord Voldemort, devoid as it had been of complications. But it seemed that his wife would not stand idly by and allow him to indulge his growing appetite for Hermione Granger. Perhaps the time had come to relegate the girl to nothing more than an employee. The situation was entirely too complex; it could not be allowed to continue.

***

Hermione awoke after ten o'clock on Sunday morning, utterly confused. Her black gown was hung neatly over the stool in front of her dressing table, and she was dressed in her pyjamas.

She knew a moment of panic: surely Severus hadn't brought her home and undressed her? But as she took in the sight of her neatly arranged clothes from the night before, she knew it must have been Moe. She lay back on her pillow and pulled the duvet over her head, hardly daring to believe that she'd been so utterly brainless as to fall asleep on the chair in Severus's roof garden.

She sighed. What must he think of her? Was he annoyed with her or was he, perhaps, just as disappointed as she was?

She recalled the things he had said to her: He had told her she looked exquisite; that he had been fond of her wedding gown; and that his intoxication had nothing to do with alcohol. She closed her eyes and remembered his daring in having removed her cloak, and a moan escaped her lips at the memory of his touch upon her bare skin; the warmth of his body as they had danced; the caress of his breath on her face.

Her altered gown had done the trick, in the end. After last night, there could be no more denial of the fact that they desired one another. When they met in the lab again on Tuesday morning, she fully expected him to be gruff, formal and unfriendly. But she would know that beneath his carefully constructed defence, he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

She strode to the door and plucked her dressing gown from the hook. She desperately needed some tea after all that champagne, and she could hear Moe bustling around in the kitchen, humming as she worked.

"Good morning, Moe," she said, taking a seat at the table.

"Morning, Miss Hermione," Moe replied. She Levitated a plate of crumpets to the table. "You is getting an owl," she said, gesturing to a folded piece of parchment.

Hermione picked up the note, immediately recognising Padma's handwriting. She quickly scanned the contents: Dean was taking the babies to his mother's house for lunch, and Padma wanted to know if Hermione would join her for a chat. Although she was uneasy about what her friend might say to her, Hermione was glad of the opportunity for a discussion. She needed a female companion to confide in. She looked up as Moe brought a pot of tea to the table.

"Master Severus was liking your dress?" the elf asked.

Hermione grinned. "Yes, Moe. I think we can safely say that Severus liked my dress."

***

Padma beamed as she opened the front door. "Come on in. The house is actually clean, for once."

Hermione closed the door behind her and looked around. Padma's house hadn't been this quiet and calm since the twins had been born.

"I wasn't much in the mood for cooking a big Sunday lunch," Padma said, leading the way to the kitchen, "so it's just sandwiches and cakes, I'm afraid."

"That'll do me," Hermione said. "I'm starving." She sat down while Padma put on the kettle.

"How was the ball? Tell me everything."

"Well, first off, I decided not to wear the blue gown."

"What?" Padma shrieked. "It cost you a fortune! I thought it was lovely."

"It's nice, I suppose. But when I tried it on I just thought I looked ... I don't know ... too mature, I guess. I looked like a mini version of Cordelia. I wanted to look a bit ... sexier."

Padma frowned. "For Snape?"

Hermione blushed furiously. "Yes, I suppose so."

Padma shook her head. "I'm still in shock about this. But go on...what did you wear instead?"

"With a bit of help from Moe, I altered my wedding dress and dyed it black. It looked great...Moe added lots of black beads."

"I presume you wore the cape?" Padma asked, an eyebrow raised.

Hermione laughed. "Of course I did! I'm not that daring, you know."

Padma smiled. "Go on, then. You went to the ball looking all seductive ..."

"Well, the first few hours were fairly tedious. You know I'm not really a fan of dancing, but I'd a nice chat with Neville, and Susan was there, bump and all. They're expecting a boy, apparently."

"I'd say Lucius Malfoy's delighted it's a boy." Padma took her seat at the table and placed the pot of tea before them. "So, let's cut to the interesting parts. Were there any interesting parts?"

Hermione took a nervous breath. "I suppose there were, but if you keep reacting in shock and horror to anything I say about Severus, there's no point in telling you."

Padma was wide-eyed. "Did something happen?"

"I suppose so. But don't get your knickers in a twist: it wasn't all that much. I haven't snogged him or anything."

"Look, I'll behave myself, I promise," Padma reassured her. "I know I wasn't terribly supportive yesterday, but it was just such a shock. Tell me what happened."

"Well, I was really, really annoyed, because he didn't come near me all evening. Never even said hello. And he danced with practically every witch in the room apart from me. To cut a long story short, it was after one in the morning when I finally got to talk to him. He's really different at dinner parties and balls: I don't know whether it's the wine or just that he lets his guard down, but he behaves much differently. We get on great at work, most of the time, and we have quite interesting conversations, but he's much more friendly at these sort of events. Flirtatious, even.

"Anyway, we talked for a bit. He told me I looked nice, which was a surprise, and said there were lots of curious eyes upon us. Eventually I told him I was going to go home, but he asked me not to, and took me up to this gorgeous roof garden that I didn't even know was there. It was really lovely. He grows lots of Potions ingredients up there, and it was all lit by candles."

"I see," Padma said, frowning again.

"He opened a bottle of champagne to toast my success at St. Mungo's, and we had a bit of a talk about all the people who seem to be interested in the fact that we've become friends. And then," she looked up at Padma, nervous about saying much more, "he asked me to dance."

"He asked you to dance? On the roof garden?"

Hermione nodded slowly, moving her gaze to her teacup. "It was a Tchaikovsky waltz; you know how I love Tchaikovsky's ballets. So, yes, he asked me to dance." She decided not to mention that he had taken off her cloak and had stroked her back with his warm hand. But even the thought of it made her cheeks grow warm.

"That's quite ... romantic," Padma said, a crooked smile on her face.

"I suppose it was," Hermione said, covering her face with her hands. "Merlin, Padma. I wanted him to kiss me so badly. I know it's wrong, but he's practically all I can think about. It's so long since I felt like this about someone; in fact, I'm not sure I've ever felt like this about someone." She lowered her hands and before she could stop it, a tear trickled down her cheek. "What am I going to do?"

"Oh, Hermione!" Padma said. She came around the table and drew Hermione into a hug. "Look, like you said yesterday, you can't help the way you feel. I'm not going to pretend I understand it...it's Snape, for God's sake...but I can see that you really like him." She Conjured a handkerchief and handed it to Hermione, who blew her nose loudly.

"It's not just that I find him attractive," Hermione explained, her voice choked. "I admire him, you know? His intellect; his bravery. I even like his sense of humour and his goddamn ridiculous black clothes. He has an incredible voice and this mesmerising way of letting his hand caress the steam from his cauldron."

Padma gave a short laugh. "Girl, you have it bad."

"I know," Hermione wailed, raising her hands to her face once more. "And it's such a stupid, dead-end, hopeless situation."

"Look," Padma said, relinquishing her hold on Hermione and pouring her another cup of tea. "I know I spent the afternoon yesterday trying to convince you that you should get yourself a man. And my reluctance about Snape has nothing to do with the fact that he's ... well ... Snape. It's the situation you're in. You live with the Mills; he's married to one of the Mills; he's Theo's stepfather, and more importantly, you have to work with him. If you became involved with him, how difficult would your everyday life become? All I want is for you to be happy, and if I thought for one minute that an affair with Severus Snape would make you happy, I'd give you nothing but encouragement. But as it is, you've already been badly hurt this past year, and I couldn't bear to see you hurt again. What future would there be for the two of you? I know you said his marriage is a sham, but he's still married, at the end of the day. And unlike Theo, his wife is still around. What possible good could come of it?"

Hermione dried her tears. "Everything you say makes sense. I can't deny that. Even if I tracked down Theo, there's no guarantee he'd grant me a divorce. And even if he did, I'm certain Cordelia wouldn't oblige Severus with one; that would only leave her in a situation where she would have to marry again within six months."

"I don't mean to be cruel, but the way forward seems pretty clear to me," Padma said gently. "You have to get over him. I know you love your job, and that you want to keep it, so it will be a difficult thing to do when you have to see him so often. But you need to do it, Hermione."

Hermione uttered a deep sigh. "I know. You're right. It'll be hard, but it has to be done."

She knew Padma spoke the truth. Perhaps the time had come to relegate Severus Snape to nothing more than an employer. The situation was entirely too complex; it could not be allowed to continue.

***

Hermione was glad she had the laboratory to herself on Monday: it gave her time to think about the discussion she'd had with Padma and an opportunity to ensure that she was determined to distance herself from Severus. She'd meant what she said: It couldn't go on. She would forget about their moonlit dance on the roof garden.

When she arrived at work on Tuesday morning, Severus was, as usual, there before her.

"Good morning," she said nervously, trying not to enjoy the sight of him.

"Morning," he replied without looking up.

She smiled to herself; she had fully expected him to have put up his emotional barriers since the ball. "I apologise for falling asleep on Saturday night, Severus. I hope I wasn't too much trouble." Without waiting for his reply, she busied herself with the ingredients for her first potion of the day.

"Apology accepted," he said gruffly, still not meeting her gaze.

It was generally their custom to talk for a time on Tuesday mornings, and usually, Hermione would have drawn him into conversation. But today, she concentrated on what she was doing, pleased that she was already putting her plan into action. She took her hair clip from the pocket of her robes and scraped her curls into a ponytail at the back of her neck, securing it with the silver clip. Then, taking the jars she needed from the shelves, she crossed to her workbench, relieved that Severus's gaze had not followed her across the room. It seemed she was not the only with a new resolution.

After lighting the flame beneath the largest of the wrought iron cauldrons, she started to chop and slice some roots, and a heavy silence fell between them. Severus appeared absorbed in his work, and a quick glance told her he was working on a Sleeping Draught. She was curious to know for which client he was brewing it, but she held her tongue, determined not to be the one to break the silence.

Her own potion was a tricky one to brew: a balm used in the treatment of Dragon Pox. She smiled in satisfaction as she added the dried Doxy wings, and the liquid became the precise shade of yellow she had hoped for. It was the first time she'd brewed this potion since her third year in college, and, feeling smug that it had turned out so well, she reduced the flame and picked up her stirring rod. It required a full hour of slow stirring in an anti-clockwise direction, so she set her little timer with a flick of her wand and began.

She had only been stirring for ten minutes when her silver hair clip gave way and fell to the floor with a metallic clink.

Cursing under her breath as her bushy curls fell forward, obscuring her view of the cauldron, she bent down and tried to reach the clip with her left hand. If she stopped blending the potion, even for a second or two, it would be rendered completely useless. She had no intention of throwing away her morning's work and wasting rare and expensive ingredients. Standing up again, she cast a glance at Severus.

"Severus, could I ask a favour?" she asked, blushing.

"What?" he snapped.

"My hair clip has come undone, and I was wondering if you could pick it up for me and tie my hair back?" she said, feeling like his student for the first time in months.

He looked at her, incredulous. "And why, pray tell, can't you do it yourself?"

"Because I'm at a delicate stage in brewing this balm, and it'll be ruined if I stop stirring," she explained.

"Cast a Stasis Charm on it," he barked.

"Severus, you know I can't: it's that Dragon Pox Potion for St. Mungo's. A Stasis Charm won't work."

"For pity's sake, girl," he said through clenched teeth, casting a Stasis Charm on his own potion and tossing his stirring rod angrily onto his bench. "Do you take me for a hairdresser?"

He crossed to her workbench in three angry strides, his furious gaze searching the ground for the hair clip. He spotted it and picked it up with an irate grunt. "Either secure your ridiculous mane properly from now on, or cut it off," he spat, reaching forward to scoop her hair from her face.

"Sorry," she murmured, mortified. He hadn't called her hair ridiculous for ages.

With the clip in his right hand, Severus gathered her hair from either side of her face, noticing as he did so the expression of hurt on her features. He felt sorry immediately; angry though he was, he had not meant to injure her feelings. An apology sprang to his lips, but then he bit it back: he was determined that they should behave as nothing more than workmates, and she deserved to be taken to task for her carelessness.

With a sigh of irritation, he pulled her hair back, exposing her neck, and as he did so, the floral scent of her perfume washed over him. He closed his eyes and inhaled, remembering how she had felt in his arms on the roof garden.

He could feel her stiffen at his proximity, and he opened his eyes again, gazing at the smooth, white skin of her bare neck. How often had he wondered what it would feel like to run his hand along the delicate surface of her shoulder? How many times had he imagined what her reaction might be if he dared to touch her?

In the days, weeks and months that were to come, he would often look back on this moment and wonder what, exactly, had made him do it. What sudden flash of madness had caused him to throw caution, sense and all his resolutions to the wind? Not caring anymore what the rest of the world thought and not caring what complications would be wrought upon his life, he allowed the delicate silver clip to fall to the ground and reached forward, wondering if her neck would feel as warm and soft as her back.

He pressed the tip of his index finger to her skin and gently trailed it all the way down to her robed shoulder. A satisfied smile lifted the corner of his mouth as her stirring rod clattered, abandoned, to the surface of the wooden bench, splattering a trail of vibrant yellow across the polished surface as it fell. He watched, enraptured, as her eyelids fluttered closed and a soft gasp escaped her lips. He had long imagined how she would vocalise a response to his touch, and he was not disappointed.

Suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to taste her, he allowed his right hand to linger at her shoulder and twisted her hair at the back of her head in his left. Eagerly anticipating her reaction, he leaned forward and touched his lips to the vein at the side of her throat.

Her heart pounding wildly, Hermione forgot all about her important potion as he pressed his warm, soft lips to her neck. She let her head fall back, exposing her throat to him, hardly recognising her own voice as a guttural groan rose from deep within her chest. She could feel him smile against her skin at the sound, and she gripped the edge of her workbench, her knuckles whitening in an effort to steady her suddenly useless legs.

Pressing herself back against his body as she had so long wanted to do, she turned her head towards him, all her good intentions forgotten, determined at last to discover exactly what his lips would feel like against her own.

Severus pulled away from her neck as, slowly, she turned to face him. In that short second that would remain in his memory forever, their gazes locked, and he was, for once, grateful that her Gryffindor nature meant she wore her heart on her sleeve. The permission and mutual desire he had yearned to see while she had slept on the roof garden was there in her expression, her eyes wide with yearning.

That suspended moment came crashing down around him as their mouths met, and his sense of everything external vanished. He was lost in the smell of her, the feel of her. And he didn't care if he never found his way back to sanity again.

It was not often that Hermione found it easy to read the emotions in his black eyes, but in that short moment before their lips met she could see the undeniable hunger that had overwhelmed them both. And as they met in a tangle of hands and lips, she thrilled with the knowledge that he wanted her, just as much as she wanted him. As his mouth crashed upon hers, her first thought was that his lips, his hands, his tongue, were so warm. For such an austere man, she had not expected such heat, such fervency.

They kissed frantically, both of them tangling their hands in one another's hair, their breathing quickly becoming shallow and ragged. Severus pressed himself against her, and she could feel his hardening erection against her hip. She had never before been a vocal lover, but as he moved his eager mouth along her jaw, she moaned aloud.

One hand still entangled in her hair, he trailed his other hand down her body, brushing his thumb against one already taut nipple, enjoying the sound when she moaned again. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her more surely against him, knowing, but not caring, that she could feel his hardness, wanting her to know that he was only moments away from having her, no matter what the cost.

Hermione reached behind her, scrabbling for her wand. Her fingers closed upon it, and, groaning again at the feel of his lips on her throat, she brought it between them. After pushing his cloak from his shoulders, she ran the tip of her wand along the long row of buttons on his coat, and they popped open as her wand passed. As he found her lips again, the sensation of his searching tongue making her want to whimper his name into his open mouth, she shoved his frock coat from his shoulders, and he allowed it to fall from his arms, joining his cloak in a black heap on the stone floor.

She dropped her wand and pressed the palms of her hands against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his linen shirt. She shivered as his hands moved up her body again, moving over the sides of her breasts as they rose to the base of her throat, where he undid the clasp of her work robes and tossed them across the room.

Severus buried his hands in her glorious hair once more, amazed that he had, only minutes before, described it as ridiculous. How could he have thought such a thing when he could just picture it spread across his pillow or dangling over the edge of his bed as she threw back her head in ecstasy? He gave a groan as she lowered her fingers to the waist of his black trousers and fumbled at his belt. Having undone the buckle, she bit gently at his lip and moved her mouth to his ear. He choked back another groan at the feel of her panted breaths against his stubbled cheek.

"Severus," Hermione whispered into his ear, "don't make me beg." Her pulse raced, and something swelled in her chest, some desperate, overwhelming emotion that she knew must be desire, stronger than she had ever felt it in her life before. She threaded her fingers through his fine hair and pressed the palm of her other hand against his still-clothed erection, marvelling at her own daring.

He kissed her again and in a voice hoarse with need he said, "There is no need for you to beg."

Moving his hands to her waist, he lifted her and pushed her on top of the potions bench, so that she was sitting on the very edge of the yellow-spattered wood, her hips level with his own. One of her sandals clattered to the floor, and, with their foreheads pressed together, he moved his eager hands to her knees and pushed her light, summer skirt up her thighs, enjoying the feel of those smooth legs that he had ached to touch on Saturday night.

Hermione gasped as he snaked his hands around her hips, and, looping his fingers around the sides of her knickers, he pulled them down her legs. She was already damp with craving, and she didn't care if he knew it as he dropped her knickers to the floor, where they joined his discarded coat.

Kissing her again as she wound her arms around his neck, he moved his hand along the softness of her inner thigh and smirked as she wantonly spread her legs for him, her modesty forgotten in her fervour. He could feel the damp heat of her against his fingertips, and she let out a strangled cry as he circled her clitoris with the pad of his thumb.

"Severus," she moaned into his mouth, "please."

It was all the invitation he needed. He moved his hand to the tented front of his trousers and freed himself from the confines of his clothing. She reached down to touch him, but before she could press her fingers to his length, he pulled her to the edge of the workbench and buried himself within her.

They groaned in unison, still for a moment as they absorbed the first sensation of their coupling. Then, as she wrapped her legs around his waist and lowered her panting mouth to his lips, he began to move, biting back a moan each time he plunged into her.

Anxious to feel her fingers upon flesh, Hermione slipped her hands beneath his shirt and moved her hands up his back, running her nails lightly along his skin. She had enjoyed sex before, yes, but never like this, never with this kind of desperate, frantic need. Already, so soon, that warning tingle was building in her belly with every thrust. She had wanted this for so long, had imagined this with such regularity, that she knew she wouldn't last. Allowing her head to fall back, she was rewarded by his hot mouth on her neck once again.

Severus watched her through half-lidded eyes, admiring the way her hair skimmed the top of the bench, the way her curls swung wildly every time he drove into her. He opened the buttons on her blouse, trailing kisses down her chest as he went, inhaling her scent as he buried his nose between her breasts. Pulling down one of the cups of her satin bra, he gazed at the delicious swell of her breast, the dusky areola. Then he traced a line across her skin with his tongue and took her hardened nipple into his mouth.

Hermione cried out as he circled her nipple with his tongue. Arching her back, she pressed herself further into his mouth, knowing she was only moments away from orgasm. She sighed as he released her breast and returned his attention to her mouth, his breathing almost as ragged and erratic as her own.

He lowered his hands to her hips and pulled her as close against him as he could. He moved faster still, aroused by the sight of her as she leaned back on her elbows, her exposed breast jutting through her blouse and her long hair dangling into the contents of her cauldron, scattering more yellow droplets across her workbench. He was close to climax, and he moved his hand beneath her bunched up skirt once more, circling her swollen nub in rhythm with each thrust.

He watched her face, magnificent in passion, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted provocatively. He clenched his teeth, silently urging her on until she cried out once more, and he knew he had succeeded. She arched her back and her head fell back further, her muscles clenching around him.

Biting her bottom lip in an effort not to scream aloud, Hermione allowed the most intense orgasm of her life to consume her, aware, but hardly caring, that Severus's gaze was upon her as she came. Then, still breathless, her heart still racing, she sat forward and wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs tighter around his waist.

Severus gave an inarticulate moan as she brought her soft lips to his, and, still feeling the last contractions of her orgasm, he spilled himself inside her as a hiss of pleasure escaped through his gritted teeth.

He gave a deep sigh of satisfaction as she leaned her head on his shoulder, his breathing slowly returning to normal, the reality of what he had just done beginning to seep into his lust-addled brain. They stayed that way for a long moment, the only sounds their calming breaths and the bubbling of Hermione's now-useless potion.

"I've wanted to do that for some time," she whispered eventually, lifting her head from his shoulder.

He pulled from her and quickly rearranged his trousers, pulling up his zip and buckling his belt. He watched her expression from beneath his hair, wary of how she would react and unsure of how they should proceed. She looked beautiful, her hair wild, her cheeks still flushed and her breast exposed. About to comment that he, too, had wanted to do this for longer than he cared to admit, he quickly shut his mouth as she raised her hands to her face and uttered a small sob.

"But, Severus," she whimpered, lowering her hands, revealing scarlet cheeks and tear-filled eyes. "We shouldn't have. It was wrong."

He knew first a throb of terrible disappointment, and then a cold, creeping feeling of rejection. Hurt, he took a step away from her.

"Well," he snapped, tucking his shirt into his trousers, his jaw clenched, "you didn't seem to think it so wrong when you were moaning and asking me not to make you beg."

Hermione raised her unsteady hands to her face again, a horrible wave of guilt and shame replacing the fire and passion she had felt only minutes before. Suddenly aware of her dishevelled state, she fixed her bra and buttoned her blouse with quivering fingers, unable to stop a tear of self-loathing from slipping down her cheek.

"I'm still married, at the end of the day," she said, too afraid to meet his gaze.

"Your spouse doesn't seem to have such a problem with his conscience," he said, his tone angry.

"I know," she said, wiping her cheek. "But it's still wrong. No matter what she's up to, Severus, Cordelia has never done me wrong, and I've betrayed her."

He gave a grunt of disbelief. "What a splendid time for some misplaced Gryffindor dramatics." He picked his coat up and shrugged into it.

Overcome by shame now, Hermione hardly heard what he said. She slipped from the bench and looked at the ground where her knickers, her wand and her sandal lay discarded, evidence of her adultery. Slipping on her knickers in as dignified a way as possible, she slid her foot into her sandal and picked up her wand.

Severus stood before her, his hands on his hips. "Hermione ..." he said, his tone more gentle.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she said, crying freely now. "I have to go."

Without retrieving her cloak, she fled from the laboratory, her yellow-stained hair swinging behind her.

As the front door slammed shut above him, Severus dropped his gaze to the floor, where the silver hair clip lay next to his cloak. Picking it up, he was gripped by sudden self-disgust and hurled the delicate clasp against the wall.

A sweep of his arm sent phials and glass jars hurtling to the ground, and the yellow-filled cauldron followed, hitting the floor with a sickening clunk, its contents quickly trickling between the flagstones.

He had behaved like a complete and utter idiot. He had not meant for this to happen. Yes, he had desired her since the day he had first seen that accursed backless gown, but he had never meant for it to happen. Not like this. She required, deserved, much more than a quick fuck on a workbench.

He closed his eyes and raised a hand to his brow. He was a fool.

***

Hermione ran across Kensington Square, tears streaming down her cheeks, not caring who saw her or what they thought of her tousled appearance. When she reached the house, she threw open the door and fled straight to her bedroom, determined to avoid Moe's penetrating stare.

She collapsed onto her bed, sobbing, overcome by the enormity of what she had just done. After all the promises she had made to herself and to Padma, she had done that which she had sworn she would not. She had always known it would be too complicated. How was she ever meant to return to work, pretending everything was normal?

It had all been so manageable, so magical in a way, when it had hovered between them, silently acknowledged but never spoken aloud. It had been almost acceptable. But now, it was finally out in the open: They desired one another, and they had acted on that desire. How could things ever be normal between them again? She had ruined everything.

Her career was now in tatters. Severus had been difficult enough, at times, before this morning, and now he would be impossible. She started to shake, her heart pounding again.

She sat up on the bed and hugged her knees to her chest, but still the shaking continued, her teeth chattering. An adulteress. That's what she was.

She made her way unsteadily to the bathroom, searching through the contents of the cabinet above the sink until she found a Calming Draught. Knocking it back, she returned to her bed, overwhelmed by fatigue and remorse, and as she cried herself to sleep, she caught sight of her wedding band. She had completely forgotten about it, until now.

As she succumbed to sleep, she thought that the one redeeming aspect of the morning's events was that somewhere, wherever he happened to be in the world, Theodore Nott's ring had burned. She hoped it hurt like hell.

***

When she woke it was afternoon, and there was a tray of sandwiches and a steaming pot of tea on her bedside cabinet. With a rush of affection for Moe, she sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. It was sticky with the yellow residue of the Dragon Pox potion. Her stomach rumbling, she picked up one of the sandwiches and leaned against the headboard, more composed than she had been earlier. Now that the panic had subsided, she could think straight.

She shook her head. What on earth had made him do it? He'd been positively grumpy this morning. She was annoyed that he had been so bold as to touch her neck, to press his lips to her throat, precipitating them both into such a morass. But then she remembered the hair clip. Maybe he thought she had done it on purpose; maybe he was sitting across the square, pointing the finger of blame at her, just as she was doing to him.

Trying to ignore the guilt, she closed her eyes. The feel of his lips on her neck had been divine, and the heat of his kiss ... The colour in her cheeks grew as she remembered the things she had whispered, the inarticulate groans that had come, unbidden, from her own mouth. Never before had she behaved so gratuitously; no-one had inspired such a passionate reaction from her. No-one had ever made her feel that way. And what if she was never, ever, to feel like that again?

She poured herself a cup of tea, taking comfort from the warm mug in her hands. She'd always been the perfect lady, but that morning, something had woken in her. Some passionate nature that she hadn't even known she possessed.

But it was wrong, fundamentally wrong, and that could not be denied. She had meant what she’d said to Severus: Cordelia had never done her wrong, had never treated her badly. No matter what Cordelia's faults, no matter how she treated her husband, she did not deserve such a stab in the back from her daughter-in-law.

Now that she was calm, she felt no remorse for cheating on Theo. Perhaps, if her ring had not burned with such regularity over the preceding two months, she would have felt bad. But as it was, she felt nothing. That still didn't make it right. She was married; Severus was married. There might be extenuating circumstances, but it was still adultery.

And there was something else niggling at her. Passion-filled though their encounter had been, it was not at all what she had imagined. For weeks now she had fantasised about all kinds of scenarios where he might kiss her, and that kiss had always been tender, lingering, moving. Yes, it had always led to more in her dreams, but it had never been the frantic, frenzied affair that had actually transpired.

She had imagined a moment that was altogether more romantic. She had never even seen him naked. She had so badly wanted to run her hands over his bare chest; she had longed to feel his naked skin against her own. But it had not at all gone according to script, and now it was ruined.

Tears welling in her eyes once more, she placed the mug on the tray and rose from the bed. There were two hours left until Severus left the laboratory for the day. She would shower, dress, and then she would do what was right: She would face him and tender her immediate resignation.

***

She tapped nervously at the door when she reached the basement, her hands shaking. When there was no response, she pushed it open.

Severus stood at his workbench, his back to the door, gentle spirals of steam rising from the Telenium cauldron. She closed the door behind her, drinking in the sight of his tall, black-clad figure, wondering if this really was the last time she would ever see him like this.

She allowed her gaze to move around the room, taking in the shelves full of ingredients, the torch-lit walls and the workbench where she had spent so many enjoyable hours. She saw, with a start, that he had done much more than clean up the mess. At one end of her bench sat her work robes, neatly folded with her silver hair clip sitting on top, and at the other end sat eight corked phials of vibrant yellow potion: He had brewed the Dragon Pox Potion in her absence.

Feeling oddly touched, she swallowed hard, bracing herself for what she knew she must do and gathering her courage to that end.

"Welcome back," he hissed in a menacing tone, making her jump. He didn't turn from his work. "Let me guess," he said, obviously seething. "In a fit of ill-founded conscience, and displaying a distinct lack of that renowned Gryffindor courage, you have come to quit your job."

She slowly crossed the room to his side, knowing he was not going to make this easy. She stood beside him, waiting for him to turn and face her.

He cast a Stasis Charm on his potion, and as he turned to confront her, rage blazing in his black eyes, she suddenly understood: Like her, he had never meant to let it happen this way; he had been swept away by a moment of craziness, and now he was filled with regret. What was worse was the damage she had done by running away. She knew he must have taken it as rejection. She had hurt him.

As he waited for her to speak, she searched his face hungrily, filled with doubt about quitting her job now. It was wrong to want the man standing before her, but everything about him had become dear to her. She probably knew more about the real Severus Snape than anyone else alive, and she wanted him. Their spouses were involved with other people: surely that meant the only ones who truly stood to get hurt were themselves?

Hermione looked into his defiant eyes and accepted the fact that she no longer wanted a life without him in it, no matter what the cost. She simply could not be without him.

"Yes, Severus," she said. "I came here to offer my resignation."

"How predictable," he drawled, returning his attention to his work.

She reached out and laid her hand on his arm before he could lift the Stasis Charm. He met her gaze, his eyes still blazing.

"I know it's wrong, Severus, but I can't help the way I feel. I never, ever meant for this to happen. But I ... I also know I can't just walk away from this."

He grunted and turned away again. "I'm sure you'll find employment elsewhere, Miss Granger."

She tugged at his arm. "Damn it, Severus! I'm not talking about the bloody job." She waited for him to look at her once more. "I mean you, Severus Snape. I can't walk away from you."

"And what if I don't want you? What if I intended to hand you your dismissal as surely as you intended to tender your resignation?" he snarled.

She knew, without knowing how or why she was so certain, that he didn't mean it, that he wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him. Closing the distance between them, she stood on her toes and, wrapping one hand around his neck, she pressed her lips to his.

His arms remained by his sides, and he did not return her kiss. Her mind began to scream that she was too late, that her reaction that morning had caused too much damage and he would never forgive her.

But suddenly she felt him relax against her, and as his tongue parted her lips, he wrapped her in his arms and drew her to him.

This was the kiss she had visited so often in her dreams. This embrace was everything and more than she had imagined it would be. It was slow, searching, and filled with so much more than anything they had shared earlier that day. A thousand different emotions stirred in her chest, and when he pulled away, she felt bereft.

"Are you certain this is what you want?" he asked, his breathing ragged, his eyes still uncertain.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," she insisted hoarsely.

"Then know this, Hermione: I cannot proceed if I am to be constantly confronted with tears, doubts and guilt."

She knew very well she would be plagued by guilt, but she would deal with it herself. It would be her burden, and hers alone to bear. "You won't be. I've made my choice."

"We will have to be very careful," he whispered.

She nodded, aching to touch him again. "Yes, I know. But this is what I want. I want you."

She watched in delight as the uncertainty left his eyes and was replaced by desire. "We can work on the details later," he said with the smallest of smiles. "First, however, let us do this thing properly."

He took her hand in his and gently pulled her to the door of the laboratory. She knew, as she followed him through the door and up the steps, that the fight was over. She would follow this man anywhere, no matter what the consequences.

***

A/N: Well, well, well. And so it begins ... I have a few things to say, so let's number them. I'm in a numbering kind of mood. :)

LB x