Chapter 27

Neither my betas, LariLee and Keladry Lupin, nor my Brit-picker, MagicAlly, were harmed in the writing of this chapter, though I am not at all certain we can say the same for any Veelas within striking range.

These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.

Thou are not lovelier than lilacs, – no,

Nor honeysuckle; thou are not more fair

Than small white single poppies, – I can bear

Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though

From left to right, not knowing where to go,

I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there

Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear

So has it been with mist, – with moonlight so.

Like him who day by day unto his draught

Of delicate poison adds him one drop more

'Til he may drink unharmed the death of ten,

Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed

Each hour more deeply than the hour before,

I drink – and live – what has destroyed some men.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Snape climbed the stairs with grim purpose and threw open the spare bedroom door, pausing in the doorway for effect, already knowing what his first words would be.

"What the devil is going on in here?"

Percy Weasley started violently, spilling hot tea upon himself from the mug in his hand, as well as upsetting the bowl of beef broth on the table by his chair.

"Good heavens, Severus!" Fleur cried indignantly. "Must you come barging in as if you were born in a barn?" She pointed her wand at the mess on the floor, causing the broken bowl to repair itself and the spilt soup to Vanish; with her own hands, she picked up a cloth and wiped the tea from the flannel pyjama top worn by the red-haired wizard under her care.

Snape leant against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, and regarded the tableau before him. Weasley was dressed in pyjamas that were at once too large and too short for him, covered by a threadbare old dressing gown of similar size. He was seated in a squishy armchair near the door to the connecting bathroom, from which the sound of running water could be heard, and from which wafts of steam were issuing into the bedroom. He had been supplied with a mug of hot tea as well as a bowl of hot soup, and a plethora of Muggle cold remedies were in a box upon the table by his chair. His red hair had been rubbed with a towel and was standing on end; his glasses were plagued with fog from the steamy bathroom, and his nose was an unattractive shade of pink.

Fleur, on the other hand, was a picture of domestic loveliness; her long, straight blond hair held at her nape by a clip and her neat jonquil robes like a splash of spring in the middle of the rainy evening. She hovered between Percy's chair and the open bathroom door, apparently busy drawing water for his bath.

"The manner in which I conduct myself is a topic upon which I never expect to hear you comment at any time, or in any way – is that perfectly clear to you, madam?" Snape demanded icily. Without waiting for Fleur to answer him, he continued, "I had thought my friend was exaggerating when he told me he came upon the two of you in an alcove, holding hands and exchanging confidences at the Averys' party at Blue Hill."

"Lucius Malfoy was a liar!" Fleur spat.

Snape strode into the room and halted just short of Fleur. "Lucius Malfoy was the best friend I ever had. You will do well to remember that and to keep a civil tongue in your head about him." The threat in his manner was implicit.

In spite of herself, Fleur took one step backwards. "Nothing happened at the Averys' party," she protested more quietly.

Snape sneered. "Oh, I see; that was just the beginning. You actually waited until Mr. Weasley began making daily visits to you in your home to begin an affaire behind my back, hmm?"

Percy glared and spoke, his nasal congestion making him sound rather silly. "Snape, you are raving. You will answer to me for these aspersions upon Miss Delacour's character!"

Snape barely spared Percy a glance. "Don't be a fool, Weasley. A man may say whatever he wishes about his own wife."

The voice in which Fleur spoke was brittle as she battled to hold on to her temper. "Percy, the tub is full now; go in and have your bath while I speak privately with Severus."

Percy stood and stepped between them. "I do not wish to leave you alone with this madman," he told her.

Snape snorted. "You had best get used to leaving her alone with me, Weasley. She will be mine very shortly and will see no one but me unless I give her explicit permission otherwise."

Percy's face went an alarming shade of maroon at Snape's words. "What kind of animal are you, Snape?" he demanded. "That's no way to treat a woman!"

"Percy!"

Fleur's voice overrode Percy's outburst and he turned back to her.

"The bathroom. Please." She spoke more quietly to him, almost reassuringly. "You need have no alarms; Severus will not harm me."

Muttering darkly to himself, Percy went into the steamy bathroom, where his glasses promptly fogged over completely; oblivious to the ridiculous picture he made, Percy spoke from the doorway. "Remember, I am just a room away, Fleur. Call me if he frightens you."

The bathroom door snapped closed and Snape barked a short laugh. "You have him trained rather well for a Weasley, my dear; they are not usually so docile." He sneered at her. "But then, you have your ways."

Fleur crossed her arms over her breasts and regarded him steadily. "What would you know about my ways, Severus? You have never shown the least interest in them. I had begun to think you prefer men."

"No, madam – I prefer women." He paused for a moment, to let the insult sink in. "Warm, loving, compassionate mothers, wives, and sisters, who nurture their families and devote their efforts selflessly to the care of their loved ones. But I suppose you will have to do."

Fleur's colour began to rise. "I presume you prefer Hermione Granger!"

"Well, of the two of you, which one fits the definition?" he inquired silkily. "You could not be bothered to so much as visit my stepmother and comfort her when Stormy was ill, much less to nurse the patient."

Fleur uncrossed her arms, her hands clenched into fists. "You lied to me!" she countered. "You let me believe that Stormy had some dreadful infectious disease just to keep me away!"

"It didn't keep Miss Granger away, did it?" he goaded.

"And then you let me believe she had died! Everyone else who knew you knew that Stormy was still alive, but I, your affianced wife, was kept in the dark!" she cried. "You made me look foolish!"

"Why would I tell you something so important? You are the one who gave the Death Eaters the information on where to find Stormy to begin with."

Fleur was so offended that she was nearly speechless. "I? What did I do?"

"You told a Death Eater informer that Stormy would be at the zoo on that day and they went to get her."

"I did no such thing!"

"Oh, I will acquit you of deliberation, Fleur, but not of stupidity. I interviewed everyone who knew about the zoo trip; you are the only one who had knowledge of the outing who spent time with an entire party of Death Eater sympathisers and ran your idiotic mouth. Why did you not stay away from the party as the entire rest of my family did?"

"You are unjust!" Fleur's voice had risen to a near-screech. "I was not invited! They left me out and went to the theatre that night!"

"So you divulged information about the movements of my baby sister out of petty spite?" As Fleur grew louder, Snape grew quieter.

"No! I did not – I would not do such a thing!"

"No more than you would permit Weasley to fondle you in a public place and spend day after day in private visits with him behind closed doors?"

"How dare you?" she shouted. "I found the receipts, Severus! I know all about the love nest in Potter Place! I've seen the receipts for the furnishings! I know about the South Sea pearls!" Enraged, Fleur yanked the pearl bracelet from her own wrist with such violence that the silk broke and pearls hit the floor like the rat-a-tat of bullets, rolling in every direction. "That is what I think of your stupid gift to me! How dare you humiliate me and insult me in that fashion?"

Snape spoke with arctic accents. "You have been going through my private papers?"

Fleur froze for a moment, for the first time alarmed by this confrontation.

"I saw papers left out on your desktop where anyone could see them," she answered.

"And you found the receipt for my wedding gift to Skye and Bill Weasley, as well as the receipts for wedding gifts for the Malfoys, the Longbottoms, and other friends of my family who have recently married," he told her evenly.

"They were signed by Hermione Granger!" Fleur shouted. "That bushy-haired, jumped-up cow with the style of a street urchin and the upbringing of a Mudblood! I know you're sleeping with her, Severus – I know you bought that four-hundred Galleon bracelet for your tart! I saw her wearing it last night!"

"Hermione Granger was gracious enough to do some shopping for Sophronia as a favour to her – because that's the kind of person Miss Granger is, Fleur – the kind who will go out of her way to do a favour for a friend!" He took a menacing step in her direction. "If I choose to buy and give a gift to any person for any reason it will never be any business of yours, nor will it be your place to comment upon my actions. Ever."

Fleur's reaction to these words was everything for which Snape could have wished.

After months of carefully monitored self-restraint, Fleur lost her temper. The tirade which had brought about the end of her relationship with Bill Weasley had been a cataclysmic event which had caused her to rethink her priorities, and she had successfully controlled herself for months. This, however, was simply more than she could bear.

Fortunately for Percy Weasley, who was soaking in the hot tub in the muggy bathroom, he was not a speaker of the French language. If he had been, the next few moments of uninterrupted ranting might have forever altered his opinion of Fleur Delacour as a delicately reared young woman of excellent breeding and admirable taste.

Snape, on the other hand, spoke French like a native, and had to admit to himself that the Veela had a remarkable command of French swearwords for a privately educated witch from a pure-blood family. He listened to her with a mocking sneer upon his lips, the unpleasant expression belying the excitement rising within him as Fleur completely lost control of herself.

Ending her diatribe on a note which would loosely translate as, "...and the horse you rode in on!" Fleur proceeded to remove the emeralds from her ears, her throat, and the third finger of her left hand, thrusting them at Snape, who insolently shoved them into his trousers pocket.

"You will oblige me by sending a notice to the Daily Prophet announcing that our engagement is at an end!" she ground out angrily, remembering now to speak in English.

"It shall be done at once," Snape replied, bowing stiffly. "Please accept my profound regrets and earnest wishes for your future happiness, madam."

And with those fateful words, Severus Snape turned on his heel and walked out of the room, a free man once again.

---

Hermione sat upon the floor in the sitting room, her back to the hallway, idly stroking the Pufflings in the wooden box while Crookshanks looked on jealously. She heard Snape when he entered the room and was acutely aware of him standing over her, but she behaved as if she was ignorant of his presence. Now that she was at this place she had hoped to reach, she had no idea how to proceed.

Snape entered the sitting room and spied his prey, seated upon the floor by the crate of Pygmy Puffs. He was torn between the desire to box her ears and to kiss her senseless; the two emotions seemed to merge into one impulse within him. He was brought up short, however, by a niggling detail. He had meticulously designed the confrontation just completed above stairs with Fleur, choosing what he would say to cause her to react in the way he wished. He had made no plans for what he would do with Hermione once he had rid himself of his troublesome fiancee.

Truth to tell, he had little experience with these matters. It was one thing to cold-bloodedly choose a partner for a marriage of convenience and then to find a way out of that contract; it was another entirely to court the woman who held one's heart in the palm of her rather small hand.

After a moment, he growled, "I believe you were expecting me?"

Without looking up at him, Hermione said, "I keep counting them, but I never get the same total twice – they keep moving around and escaping the box."

"Get up from there," he commanded, and she willingly stood.

"Would you see how dinner is progressing?" she asked him, keeping her eyes on her feet.

"I think that would be a singularly pointless exercise," he told her, amused. "It is their wedding night, you know. Perhaps it would be a kindness to leave them alone."

Hermione dared to dart a look at his face, noting his sardonic amusement, but there was something else in his eyes – a warmth which she found strangely unsettling. Feeling herself suddenly short of breath, she walked away from him, her heart hammering in her chest.

"If you wish to eat this evening, we will have to go elsewhere," he said, noting the signs of her obvious distress with dark satisfaction.

"But what about the Pufflings?"

"Your cat is herding them rather efficiently – and as Black was so quick to point out, they are his problem now, not mine."

"What about Fleur?"

"Miss Delacour is occupied with her patient, I'm afraid," he answered, wilfully misunderstanding her. "She will not be accompanying us."

Hermione swallowed with some difficulty. "Where will we eat? Shall I change clothes?" This time when she looked at his face, his eyes were half-lidded; he was watching her as a cat will watch a mouse it has trapped in a small space.

"No," he drawled, "I will take you as you are." Let her make of that what she will, he thought.

"All right," Hermione said, "I'll come with you."

He was behind her in a flash, moving upon feet made silent through years of necessary stealth; she felt his breath upon her cheek as he spoke, his lips so close to her ear that she could smell the oil of peppermint from the mints he had eaten. "Were you under the impression that you had another option?" he purred.

Hermione's eyes closed and a tiny tremor went through her, induced by his proximity and the texture of his voice. What would he do now, so close that the tiniest shift would bring his lips into contact with her skin?

Snape stooped to whisper his taunt into her ear and was immediately assailed by her ever-present scent. As the strawberries and essence of almond flooded his senses he felt control of the situation shift beneath him like a living thing.

As quickly as he had come down upon her, he moved away, striding to retrieve his mackintosh from where it had slid from the chair onto the carpet. He shrugged into it, saying, "Did you bring a coat? Get your things."

He informed the otherwise-occupied Black that he was taking Hermione home, then waited in the hallway as she slipped into her raincoat. He opened the door so that she might precede him onto the porch. Resisting the urge to grab her as she moved past him out the door, he glanced once more about the hallway. Standing in the doorway, his eyes fell upon the puzzle cube with which she had been occupied when he arrived; she had abandoned it on a tabletop in favour of counting Pufflings.

The puzzle was solved, each side of the cube one colour, just as his had been when he first removed it from its packaging. The infuriating girl had accomplished with apparent ease that which Snape had struggled with for untold hours: she had unravelled the dilemma of the puzzle as if she had been born to do so.

He chose not to muse upon what parallels might be found therein for his life.

---

"A limousine?" Hermione asked uncertainly, seeing Mr. Swift's vehicle parked on the street.

"Well, Hermione, you invited so many people to this soiree – I was uncertain how many I would be obliged to provide with transportation back to London," Snape replied, as if daring her to challenge him.

Wisely keeping her head down, Hermione preceded him down the path.

"Dumbledore returned today," he said to her as Mr. Swift opened the rear door of the limousine for Hermione to climb in.

Hermione paused and looked at him. "Did he?"

"Oh, yes," Snape assured her, allowing himself to feel for the first time the freedom from his duties as chaperone. Hermione was now Dumbledore's problem again, a fact which brought him a feeling of immense satisfaction.

He indicated that she should seat herself and she did, scooting to the middle of the long seat. His face then appeared in the doorway. "What would you like to eat?"

Hermione answered without thinking. "I don't think I could eat anything, right now." With the adrenaline coursing through her it seemed as if she would never be hungry again.

One side of Snape's mouth went up, and without looking behind him, he said, "Drive, Mr. Swift – just drive. I will notify you of our destination when we have determined what it shall be." Then he, too, climbed into the back of the car, seating himself on the bench seat directly across from her, their knees nearly touching, and Mr. Swift shut the door, closing them into the intimate space of the limousine interior, alone together.

The vehicle began to move and Snape settled back into the very comfortable upholstery, allowing his gaze to settle on the window to his right, staring out into the ever-darkening night sky. Now, he would let her wait and wonder.

Hermione huddled on the seat across from Snape, a cacophony of emotion swirling in her mind. He had promised that he would "deal with" her, yet he had not scolded her. He had spoken quite naturally to her, seeming to fall back into his former, friendly manner with her, such as she had known from him during their short idyll at the Estuary. And now he had deposited her in this automobile and he was looking out the window, ignoring her – he seemed to have no interest in her, and nothing to say. Desperately, she tried to think of something to talk about to break the ongoing silence, but nothing came to her. Discomfited, she twisted her hands in her lap and tried not to look at him.

After a period of time, Snape pressed a button on a console next to him, and soft light flooded the space from electric lights mounted in the doors. Still, he did not speak, but looked at her, his posture relaxed, his expression enigmatic. Hermione's eyes darted about the compartment, as if looking for an avenue of escape, and she shifted uncomfortably, causing her knees to bump into his. Jolted with embarrassment, lest he think she had done it on purpose, she murmured an incoherent apology which trailed off into silence as he continued to look at her, without response.

She had become somewhat reconciled to having his unblinking gaze trained upon her when he confounded her by rising and swiftly moving to sit beside her, abandoning the facing bench seat. Alarmed by his sudden move, Hermione scooted away, feeling her heart beginning to pound in that unaccountable way again in reaction to his nearness. Unfazed, he followed her, moving so close that he had to place his arm on the seat behind her head, all the time, never looking away from her face.

Panicked now, Hermione uttered the first words which came to her mind. "I – I'm sorry!"

Snape gave her a look of polite inquiry. "Sorry, Miss Granger? Sorry for what, pray tell?"

She spoke in a voice choked by an emotion she could not name, averting her eyes and staring all the while at her hands, which were clenched in her lap. "For the books! I'm sorry I broke into the cupboard and disturbed the Dark Arts books."

"What mendacity!" he said, amused. "You broke into that cupboard with premeditation and malice aforethought!"

Hermione forgot to stare at her hands and gaped at him. "Why would I do that?"

Snape's face moved infinitesimally closer to her. "For attention, Miss Granger."

Outrage now jostled for position in her features. "Whose attention?"

Snape looked like the cat that got the cream. "Mine, of course."

Hermione took a deep breath, ready to defend herself against such a base accusation, and even as her lungs filled with oxygen, she became acutely aware of his propinquity, and she remembered how she had longed to be this close to him. What he said was no less than the truth, after all. And yet – and yet ...

"You said we could see one another after I left school!" she cried, flinging this accusation into his smug face.

"You kissed Krum!" he countered. "In front of the entire student body and faculty! In broad daylight!"

Her mouth dropped open. "He kissed me! And I slugged him on the shoulder and told him for the hundredth time not to do that! Did you miss that part?"

Snape's avid eyes drank in her face, her dark eyes flashing in indignation, her chin lifted in her familiar combative attitude. She was magnificent. He told her, "What I said was that it would be quite something to know you in private life – and I was right; it has been quite something." The arm placed innocently along the back of the seat behind her head moved to her shoulders and he jerked her to him, his face descending. "It has been maddening, appalling, beguiling – and I want to know more," he breathed, his lips plunging to capture hers in a bruising kiss.

Hermione felt the pressure of his mouth upon her own, was overwhelmingly aware of his hair swinging down to curtain them both, and could not prevent her eyes from closing in sheer abandon as her greedy hands reached out to signify her approval of this course of action. One hand grasped the lapel of the Muggle mack he wore as the other hand slid under his hair to caress the back of his neck.

When he felt her fingers on the bare skin at his nape, he gasped, his lips leaving hers to trail a path to her throat, where he groaned, "Hermione," before lifting his head to look down at her face. Seeing her closed eyes, her dark eyelashes feathered across her fair skin, he kissed her again.

Hermione thrilled at the sensation of his lips on her throat, felt as a physical sensation his uttering of her name in that broken groan, as if he was speaking a holy thing aloud. For a moment, he moved away from her, but she scarcely had an instant to grieve his absence before his lips came to hers again. Very soon, she was clutching at him as the only solid entity in an inexplicably swirling universe. The despicable man began to move his lips over hers, the pressure of the last kiss gone, now kissing the corner of her mouth, now nibbling her lower lip, teasing, coaxing, until she gasped. Taking the opportunity offered by her parted lips, his tongue slipped into her mouth and the sensations of the kiss multiplied ten-fold with the increased intimacy of this caress. She felt as if he was devouring her and she eagerly offered herself up for his delectation, timidly moving her tongue to touch his, unsure if he would welcome this active participation on her part. His reaction to this move was to moan directly into her mouth, as if he was unwilling to relinquish his possession of her lips for the space of time necessary to do the thing properly. Soon, though, he raised his face from hers and her eyes opened.

Snape's heart was racing as if he had just run a sprint and his breathing was a bit uneven as he looked at Hermione's lips, swollen from his kisses; her head lay against his shoulder and she watched him with wondering eyes. The only sensible course of action seemed to be to kiss her again.

He dipped his head and she said, "But what about Miss Delacour?"

Her hands released their grip upon his mack and her eyes blinked, as if she was struggling to gather her wits.

"You heard her screeching – you know she ended it. Don't be coy."

His expression of indulgent amusement, overlaid with that blazing hunger in his eyes, brought a tremble to her voice. "I certainly heard her, but French is not my strong suit," she excused herself, almost wanting to look away from his glittering black eyes, but unable to do so.

The arm about her shoulders moved down to the small of her back, urging her hips closer to his own as the fingers of the other hand grasped her chin and his thumb stroked over her inflamed lower lip. "No, and neither is subtlety your strong suit," he said, as the thumb pressed gently at the crease between her lips and she yielded to him, opening her lips and lightly nipping at the pad of his thumb with her teeth. The thumb delved more deeply into her mouth as his eyes held her own and she allowed it, bringing her tongue forward to sooth the bite she had given him. As her tongue caressed his flesh, Severus drew a ragged breath and drank in the sight of her licking his thumb with her tongue. "But we can work on both the subtlety and the French," he assured her, allowing her to see his own tongue as he bent to French kiss her again.

Hermione eagerly received him back into her mouth, revelling for a time in the way his tongue stroked her own, and in the way her body responded to his languorous, sensual kisses. At one point he ceased to kiss her so deeply, his tongue retreating further into his own mouth, darting back out to tease her before retreating again. In frustration, she thrust her tongue into his mouth in pursuit and was rewarded by him closing his lips upon her tongue and sucking at it as if it were a rare delicacy. Her physical response to this move of his was such a deep throb in her core that she moaned audibly into his mouth.

Severus lost no time, hastily seizing her and pulling her fully into his lap, burying one long-fingered hand in the hair at the nape of her neck for better control of the kiss and sliding the other beneath the hem of her tee-shirt, seeking and finding the smooth expanse of warm flesh on her back. He knew that the situation was getting away from him, but he could no more stop ravishing this ambrosial offering than he could willingly cease to breathe.

Until the squirming began.

"Damnation!"

Severus shifted Hermione back onto the seat at his side and dug into the pocket of his coat.

"What?" she said dazedly, wondering why she had been banished to this cold place out of his lap – she had thought things were going rather well, really.

By way of explanation, Severus pulled a humming ball of purple fluff from his pocket.

"How did you get in there?" he demanded of the Puffling, dangerously.

Hermione laughed softly. "Oh, it's the one you were stroking before you went upstairs – I think it likes you."

Severus held the creature on eye level and glared at it. "Don't be ridiculous; these are not sentient beings – they are hairballs that hum."

Hermione, however, was not paying him any mind. When he pulled the Puffling from the pocket of his mack, it came out dragging a plastic bag in its wake. Hermione recognised the visible portion of the store logo emblazoned on the bag – it was a well-known Muggle lingerie shop in London. Frowning, she slid the bag the rest of the way from his pocket and looked within – it was something slinky, but shapeless in the bag.

Severus realised, too late, what she had in her hand. "Give me that!" he said, reaching to snatch it from her.

Hermione landed a sound slap on his hand as, with her other hand, she dumped the flame-coloured cloth into her lap. "What is this?" She picked up the bit with cream coloured lace and held it up, identifying it as a nightgown.

"Nothing!" he said firmly, attempting to snatch it again, only to have her hold it in the hand farthest from him, as far from her body as she could reach.

"It is very nearly nothing!" she said, giving the satiny garment a shake. "You said you were finished with her!" she cried, incensed.

"I am! Give me that, Hermione!"

"If you wanted to be finished with her, why were you buying her negligees?" This question was punctuated by the throwing of the gown, which hit him squarely in the face. "Is that your idea of a good-bye gift?"

"No, dammit!" he said, seizing her wrists to prevent further flailing. "It's for you!"

Hermione was furious with this obvious lie. "Why would I wear something like that?"

"For your husband!" he snapped, trying to keep her from hitting without holding her too tightly.

"I don't have a husband! Who would I wear it for?" She was near tears, her emotional state fluctuating wildly.

"Me! Stop fighting!"

"You?" A rush of resentment coursed through her and she managed to free her hands from him, landing a good, flush hit to his jaw with one open palm. "You haven't even asked me!"

Severus glared at her, rubbing his jaw. "Forgive me for not caring to make up part of that parade."

"You infuriate me!" she cried, drawing her hand back again.

Severus held up his hand in a halting gesture. "I can see your point, of course," he conceded.

Hermione slumped back in her seat, absentmindedly rubbing the fabric of the robe, which still rested in her lap. It was hard to remain furious with someone who agrees with you, though she was getting rather tired after her long day, and did not find fighting with him to be as entertaining as being kissed by him. After a few moments, he spoke again.

"How did you envision that?"

"Envision what?" she said sullenly, refusing to look at him.

"Your proposal, Hermione," he responded patiently. "How did you imagine receiving your marriage proposal?"

She shrugged wearily. A girl doesn't want to be questioned about such things; she wants them to magically and perfectly occur. "I don't know – nothing special – just something like, 'Will you marry me?'"

She was startled when she was bodily picked up and placed back in his lap. "Yes, I will," he told her, seriously, "but only if you promise to be a good girl and never, ever break into the Dark Arts books, again."

This time she smacked him on the shoulder. "I wasn't asking you!" she protested.

That smug smile on his face had been tempting people other than Hermione to slap him since he was ten years old and had learnt to do it. "Don't you want to marry me?" he asked her, snarling his hand once again in her hair. He pulled her down and pinned her head to his shoulder with the force of his kiss. With his free hand, he gathered her closer to him, caressing her hip and the outer length of her thigh through the denim of her jeans.

Hermione slipped the arm trapped between them down and about the small of his back, holding him closer even as he cradled her in his arms. Her other hand she raised to his face, caressing first his cheek, then his throat, and finally coming to rest on the back of his neck, holding his mouth to hers.

At last he ended the kiss, but raised his head only enough to murmur to her, his lips stroking hers as he spoke. "I believe I asked you a question," he said, the hand which had been stroking her hip now slipping up the back of her tee-shirt again and beginning to caress her bare skin with long strokes; her skin put the satin of the negligee to shame.

"Yes," she breathed into his mouth and pressed forward just enough to engage his lips in another long and all-too-short kiss.

By the time they broke apart they were each breathing in short, ragged panting gasps, their hearts racing and their senses entirely disordered.

"Severus..." Hermione spoke in protest, shifting her bum provocatively across his lap and pressing herself to him, unsure of why he had stopped.

Severus had never seen a more desirable woman than the one sprawled across his lap in the backseat of this wizarding limousine; he could have her undressed and have both of them sated in quite short order – but he chose not to do so. He wanted this woman for his wife, which made her an object of reverence – everything would be done properly, as befitted her dignity. He was, after all, the more adult person here; it was up to him to do the thinking for both of them.

"When is your father home from Europe?" he asked her, bending to press his lips to her throat as he awaited her answer.

"What difference does that make?" she said, and he proceeded to show her.

The hand which had twined in her curls released her hair and slid up over her throat, stroking down, ever so lightly, over her breast. Hermione whimpered and arched involuntarily into his hand. With a groan, Severus attached his lips to her throat and caressed her in that way again, moving his mouth up from her throat to plunder her mouth again, his caressing hand becoming more exact and precise in its explorations with each pass.

When he was, at last, able to release her lips again, she clung to him, trembling, and gasped, "Tomorrow. He'll be home tomorrow afternoon."

He buried his face in her hair, immersing himself in her scent, and murmured in her ear, "Then perhaps you will use your influence to have me moved to the front of the queue, ahead of Lupin and Weasley? I wish to be the first to ask his leave to make you my wife," he explained.

"It isn't necessary, Severus," she said, running her hand through the ebony strands of his hair. "My parents are Muggles; they don't do things that way."

Severus straightened up, cupping her chin in one long-fingered hand. "You, however, are a witch – you are my witch – and I will always make sure that every appropriate observation is given to preserve your honour. I will petition your family for the right to make my addresses to you."

It was obviously pointless to debate with him. Hermione sighed and hid her face in the curve of his neck, one hand fingering the edge of his Muggle dress shirt collar. "Why are you dressed in a Muggle suit?" she asked him.

"I was doing a spot of shopping in Muggle London when I received your summons to join you at the Dark Arts cupboard; I haven't thought about it again, today."

"Shopping for this?" she asked, raising the gown from where it had fallen on the seat beside Snape.

"Will you please stop waving that around?" he growled, plucking it from her hand and moving it out of her reach.

"Why?" she asked idly, beginning to kiss his throat, just beneath his jaw.

"Because I can't see it without imagining you wearing it, minx," he answered, tightening his hold upon her.

Hermione stopped kissing him and pulled back a bit so that she could look him squarely in the face. "Women are not objects," she said.

He leant back from her and caressed the side of her face; she turned into his palm, pressing her lips to his fingers, clearly loving his touch. With his other hand, he brushed her hair back. "I cannot speak for women in general, Hermione, but I assure you that you are the object of my desire – would you have it otherwise?"

She endeavoured to assure him that she would not.

---

A lifetime later they were thoroughly dishevelled, clothing rumpled, hair mussed, lips bruised, aroused beyond bearing – and Hermione was ready to kill him.

"But why?"

Severus pressed the console button beside him. "Mr. Swift? Would you please deliver us to number twelve, Grimmauld Place?"

Hermione regarded him from the facing bench. "We're going to be married as soon as we can, so why can't we –"

"No," he told her, basely revelling in the power he held over her. How many times had she driven him insane with her taunting wiles? Now he had the upper hand. If he could not carry his woman off to his bed to properly claim her, he could, at the very least, enjoy stirring her passions and leaving her in a bit of torment.

"But dinner!" she tried. "We were going to go to dinner."

He surveyed her splendidly disordered appearance and smirked. "That was a few hours ago. It is a bit late for dinner, now. If you are hungry, I am sure that the house-elves will feed you when you get in."

Hermione hated whinging, but really! He couldn't just do this to her and then leave her! She was ready to jump out of her skin – how could he bring her this far and abandon her? "I don't want to go back," she whispered.

Severus relented somewhat, his tenderness for her overriding his ornery bent. He held out his hands to her and she joined him on his bench seat, wrapping her arms about him and burying her face in his shoulder as he held her close.

"It won't be long, Hermione. If your father gives his consent, we can be married as soon as you wish."

"Oh, Severus," she said, reaching up to twine her arms about his neck and to press kisses to his face.

Thus it was that when the limousine arrived at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Hermione was forced to wait a moment for him to join her on the stoop.

"Shall I get the door for you, sir?" the driver inquired through the console speaker.

"No need," Severus replied, unpeeling Hermione from his body and urging her to open the car door. When she had climbed out and turned to look in at him, he gave her pained smile. "I'll be with you directly," he said, reflecting that the child had no clue what state she put him in if she thought he could jump out of the car and walk around in this condition.

In the entrance hall, after dismissing Winky, she made a sad face at him. "I suppose we go to our rooms now?"

He pinched her chin. "You will go to your room, and I will Floo to the Estuary."

Now she looked dismayed. "You're not going to stay here?"

Though he was not touching her with his hands, the weight of his gaze upon her, and the craving in his eyes made her feel as if she were once again wrapped in his embrace. "No, Hermione. Dumbledore is here to resume his role as chaperone. And it will be easier for us both to sleep if we are doing so under separate roofs."

The shining smile she gave him at this confession gave him the urge to kiss her again.

"Severus?"

Minerva McGonagall appeared on the landing. "I see you found Hermione," she said dryly, eying their untidy appearances askance. "Come up, please."

Rolling his eyes expressively, Severus allowed Hermione to precede him up the stairs. They entered the sitting room to find Dumbledore in conversation with Tonks and Lupin, who were sitting on a love seat, fingers entwined.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Something you perhaps forgot to mention to me?" he murmured to Hermione.

She giggled. "Just that Tonks and Remus kissed and made up," she whispered back.

Dumbledore stood when he heard the whispering and he smiled at the newcomers. "Kissed, made up, and became engaged," he corrected. "I see that Hermione has survived the promised strangulation."

Minerva threw Dumbledore a quelling look, as Hermione looked questioningly at Severus.

Tonks, who felt she had a score to settle, said, "Oh! Is that what you children are calling it nowadays?"

Eager to divert attention from the state of his and Hermione's appearance, Severus offered his congratulations to Lupin with great alacrity. Not only did this engagement satisfy Ted Tonks' request that his daughter be looked after, but it tied Lupin up quite neatly so that Severus would no longer have to endure the sight of the werewolf mauling Hermione. What could be better?

Lupin readily shook Severus' hand, then looked sharply from Severus to Hermione. "Did you have something to tell us as well, Severus?"

Severus turned to Hermione and held out his hand; she felt the flush as it flooded her face and she obediently crossed the floor to take his hand. She was unbelievably proud to be seen with him as a couple, but she was also a tad embarrassed to think that these people might know that she and Severus had been wrestling in the back seat of a limousine for the last several hours.

Then she saw the dark purple love bite on the back of Tonks' neck and she stopped worrying about it. Apparently, wrestling and snogging occurred amongst all couples – even the prim, proper Sophronia had been helpless in the arms of her Sirius. Hermione smiled and darted a glance at Severus from the corner of her eyes; he gave her a look which promised retribution if she did not straighten up and behave.

"Miss Delacour and I have agreed that we do not suit," Severus said, addressing the room at large. "I will be speaking with Hermione's parents tomorrow to ask their permission for us to marry – which reminds me! I have a notice to write; excuse me."

Severus moved to the writing desk in the corner, where he grabbed a quill and parchment and began to write. McGonagall approached and laid a hand upon Hermione's arm. "I would be seriously alarmed about this if I had not been aware of your attachment since the Malfoy ball."

Severus' looked up from his task, his face registering shock. "What do you mean?"

"It was when you danced with the girl in the faerie silk gown, Severus," Minerva told him gently. "You knew your heart's desire, did you not?"

"The flame-coloured gown?" Dumbledore murmured. Minerva nodded to him, and their eyes locked, and held.

Severus stood from the desk, calling softly for Dobby, who popped into the room. Instructing the house-elf to immediately send the letter by owl to the Daily Prophet offices, he looked up to find Hermione had walked away from the others, into the corner with him. An idea came to him, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered.

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his mack, bringing forth a bar of Honeyduke's dark chocolate. "May it minister to your needs," he told her as he placed it in her hand.

"...because it tastes just like your voice sounds," she murmured provocatively.

"Stop it, you unprincipled wench, or I will never get out of here, tonight."

Doubt assailed her. "How do I know you'll come back?" she whispered.

Severus' eyes darted about the room, noting that the other occupants were speaking amongst themselves. "Hermione..." he entreated her, wanting to sweep her into his arms to reassure her, but too reserved to do so before these witnesses. He began to pat his pockets, pulling from one a tiny golden key.

"It's to my Gringotts vault," he told her, placing it in the palm of her hand and closing her fingers over it. "I will come back for it tomorrow."

"Oh, no!" she whispered, pushing it back into the pocket from whence it had come. "I could never take your bank key!"

He stiffened in some alarm and grabbed her wrist, not wishing to be seen with her hand in his trousers pocket. Slowly, he withdrew her hand, which emerged with Fleur's jewels clutched in her fingers.

For a moment, Hermione stared uncomprehendingly at the emeralds in her hand, then looked back into Severus' face with something like an accusation in her eyes.

"Don't be daft," he said to her gruffly, removing the offending items from her hand and placing them back in his pocket. He bent to place his lips by her ear, and growled, "Only rubies for my lioness."

Than she impulsively threw her arms about his neck, and his resolve to show no display of affection before the others dissolved.

"Nor here, nor there, find any refuge from thee," he murmured to her, taking her hand and leading her to the hearth.

With a bit of a self-deprecating smile, Severus took a handful of Floo powder from the box on the mantel. "I'll be here tomorrow for the chocolate bar wrapper," he promised her. "I need a bookmark." Then he tossed the powder into the fireplace, saying, "Severus Snape's bedroom, the Estuary."

Just before the Floo activated, he caught Hermione's speculative eye and read her perfectly. "Don't even think about it," he said, and whirled away.

"Think about what?" Remus said with a small frown.

Tonks, however, grinned and linked arms with Hermione. "Told you no, did he?"

Hermione nodded morosely. "He said we'll be married soon enough."

Tonks' happy lilting laugh brought Remus' warm eyes to her face, and caused Dumbledore and McGonagall to look up from their reminiscences. "Well, you'll only be married once, you know – and hopefully you'll do the other thing more than once."

McGonagall spoke in a shocked tone. "Nym-pha-dora!"

The laughter of the others in the room, and the knowledge that they were laughing with her, rather than at her, still did not keep Hermione from flushing crimson once again.

With a suddenness she was not expecting, the exhaustion from the most important day of her life washed through her body, and though she doubted that she would sleep, she longed for the privacy and comfort of her own room. Excusing herself to the others, she exited the sitting room and started up the stairs, clutching her treasure, wrapped in a Honeyduke's label.