Chapter 7 - Make the Night Just a Little Longer

Chapter 7 – Make the Night Just a Little Longer

When Hermione made her way down to the Apparition point on the evening of her dinner date with Snape, she was already running five minutes late.

She had been taking too long scrutinizing outfits and debating with herself whether her first choice, a neat black dress, was good enough. When she finally had concluded it was, the problem of what to wear with it had emerged.

She eventually matched it with a small black purse, moderately high heels and an expensive pair of pearl earrings that had once belonged to her grandmother. After a swift straightening charm aimed at her tousled hair, she was bolting out the door.

All in all she was quite pleased with her appearance. She wouldn't go as far as calling herself beautiful, but on a day like this, when she had put in a little extra effort, she felt it was within her reach to be.

Who says he'll even notice? she thought as she came scurrying down the path, feeling her pulse quicken as she saw Snape's silhouette impatiently pacing just outside the gates.

Hermione was happily surprised to discover that he was wearing a well-fitting gray jacket, a crisp white shirt and a pair of black dress pants. He had obviously made an effort to wash his hair, and as she got closer, she could feel a fresh, earthy fragrance linger about him.

Okay, be normal, say, "Sorry I'm late" and get going, she thought nervously as she came to a halt in front of him. Just as his features turned into his trademark sneer and he made to open his mouth, she beat him to it.

And maybe it was because she was indeed late and desperately wanted to divert the attention, or maybe it was because of the loveliness of the warm summer evening, or maybe it was because she hadn't been able to shake the fluttery feeling that seemed to appear whenever she thought about him, but during that brief moment of breathlessly (because of the running she told herself) standing in front of this extremely complex, yet fascinating, man (who had bothered to put on cologne for her), her brain got confused.

And instead she thought, "Sorry I'm late" and said, "You're looking very handsome tonight, Professor."

Hermione gasped, clapping one hand over her mouth. WHAT! Sweet mother of Merlin, what's WRONG with me!

Snape in turn stared at her, a horrified expression on his face. For a second he seemed to be at a loss for words, but then he scowled and said stiffly, "I can't even begin to tell you how remarkably inappropriate that was, Miss Granger, perhaps..."

"It's only inappropriate if you believe that I have other motives behind what was only an honest observation," Hermione cut off, blushing brilliantly. "And in case you're wondering, I don't."

She then quickly grabbed a hold of his arm and with a CRACK! Apparated them from the spot before he could retort.

A second later they where stumbling down a murky alley. Hermione let go of Snape's arm as if it were on fire and started rummaging around her purse, unable to look at him.

Snape put his arms across his chest, inspecting their surroundings. Garbage bins full to the brim were lined up against brick walls, trash spilling out on the concrete underneath. A shabby stray cat appeared from under a cardboard box, throwing them a vicious glare before trotting off down the street.

"Well," Snape said slowly, a smirk materializing on his lips. "I can't say I had high expectations to begin with ... but I presumed there would be a couple of chairs and a table, at the very least."

"Oh, do be quiet." Hermione smiled, relieved that he seemed to have forgotten, or temporarily chosen to ignore, her little slip up. "Did you think I was going to Apparate us right in front of the entrance? This is the back."

"Indeed," he drawled.

"Found them!" she exclaimed triumphantly and pulled out a large set of keys, rattling them in front of him, but gaining only a slightly raised eyebrow in acknowledgment. "We'll go through the kitchen," she informed him as she unlocked a large metal door.

They were immediately hit by the deafening noise and heat that only a hectic kitchen at rush hour can produce.

"This sauce is RUINED! Johan! I told you to watch it and where the hell were you? We'll have to redo the whole bloody dish!" bellowed a bulky red-haired man with a distinct accent while fiercely slamming a pot on the counter.

Waiters and cooks were rushing past Hermione and Snape, throwing discreet sympathetic looks in the scolded man's direction.

The red-haired man's face suddenly lit up as he noticed Hermione in the doorway. "Angel!" he cried out and walked up to her, ladle in one hand and a dishrag on his shoulder, embracing her in a bear hug. "I haven't seen you since you were here with that absurdly bearded man and his short companion!"

Hermione smiled affectionately at the man. "Busy night?"

"It wouldn't be if some people actually did what they were told." He rolled his eyes and jerked his head towards the place where Johan was fervently whipping up a new sauce. "And who is this?" he said, pointing his ladle at Snape.

Hermione cringed inwardly at the chef's bluntness. "This is my professor, Severus Snape. Professor, this is Marius; he's the man in charge of the kitchen."

"You have a strange name." Marius squinted at Snape suspiciously. "Are you from Russia?"

"No," Snape said curtly, cocking an eyebrow warningly at the chef. "And I would advise you not to stick that thing in my face."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, we should really ... Who's our waiter for tonight, Marius?"

Still eyeing Snape with a quizzical look, Marius turned to Hermione. "It's Percy, angel, but why don't you take a seat at your usual table, and I'll send him along," he replied.

Hermione ushered Snape through the kitchen and towards a set of swing doors leading to the main restaurant. The restaurant itself was a mix of repurposed vintage furniture and colorful art pieces with huge chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the occasional bit of kitsch stirred in here and there. The tables were set with white linen, immaculate cutlery and the finest crystal glasses.

Hermione and Snape could spot a line outside the entrance with people queuing up in the hopes of catching a canceled reservation.

"Our table is upstairs," Hermione said over her shoulder as they crisscrossed between waiters, guests and tables to get to the stairs on the other side of the room.

The second floor was equally as packed with people, but it was obvious that it was reserved for special guests. Finally they reached their table, which was beautifully placed in a small alcove with large windows overlooking the Thames.

As soon as they sat down, a flustered Percy Weasley hurriedly approached them, notepad in hand, menus clutched under his arm and a pen firmly fixed behind his right ear.

He stopped short in front of their table and blanched when he realized just whom Hermione had brought with her this Saturday. Hermione couldn't tell who was more surprised, Percy for seeing his old Potions professor at a Muggle restaurant or Snape for seeing his old student, the previously high-ranking Ministry official, working as a waiter.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape drawled, a sudden glint in his eyes. "At the height of your career, I see."

"Professor!" Hermione hissed angrily.

"No, it's alright, Hermione." Percy's eyes darted nervously to Snape. "Actually, there were some... well, trust issues going back to the Ministry, and after a while, I just had enough. Hermione was kind enough to help me out." Percy smiled weakly as he handed them the menus.

"It's only temporary, of course. Until I figure out what to do next," he added hastily. "Why don't I get you something to drink while you browse through the menus. White wine as usual, Hermione?"

"Yes, thank you, Percy," Hermione said softly.

Percy turned to Snape. "And for you, Professor?"

Hermione looked at Snape with a somewhat involuntary curiosity. She had no idea what his drinking preferences were. For all she knew he might enjoy a pint of dragon blood with his entree.

"I'll have the same," he said and opened the menu.

They examined the menus in silence, and although Hermione knew it by heart, had even helped her mother design it, eaten all of the dishes on it and could order from it in her sleep, she pretended to be quite intrigued by it. Every single topic of conversation suddenly sounded ridiculous in her head. Come on, think! Didn't you read something in Potions Weekly about...

"Miss Granger."

"Yes, Professor?" She peered over her menu to find Snape staring at her.

"Stop."

"With what?" she asked, dumbfounded.

"You're humming along to the music."

"Oh." She put her menu down. "I apologize. I tend to do that when I like something."

"Spare me. You like 60s doo-wop? How incredibly juvenile," he said with a smirk as he reached for a piece of crisp bread from the breadbasket.

"Pretty well spotted for someone hating the genre," Hermione said sotto voce.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. It's just something with the harmonies that makes me ... well, want to hum."

Snape looked at her with an undefinable expression on his face and disappeared behind his menu once again, only to put it down almost immediately.

"Miss Granger," he said, this time a little bit more insistently.

"Yes, Professor?"

"You're doing it again."

They ended up ordering the same main course. Snape had gladly ordered the salmon on her suggestion, seemingly content in not having to venture too far into the unknown. Hermione had a sneaky suspicion that both Dumbledore and McGonagall had tried to persuade him into trying the pölsa and the pickled herring.

"This truly is an odd establishment," he said suddenly, placing his knife and fork at one side of the plate, indicating he had finished.

"How so, Professor?" Hermione said, intrigued.

"You've got the Swedish food, mainly fresh fish and other Scandinavian delicacies. But the chef's definitely not from Sweden."

Hermione gave him an appreciative look. "That's very perceptive. What gave him away?"

"Bear in mind that this is my rather biased opinion, but I have always pictured Swedes to be a bit less ... intrusive."

"You're right," she chuckled. "He's from Kiev, actually." She motioned for him to continue. "What else?"

"The interior looks, and to some extent feels, French, and the music ... is utterly horrendous," Snape concluded.

Ignoring the last sentence, Hermione shrugged and said, "Well, my grandparents on my dad's side are Swedish; he grew up in Gothenburg. But then he met my mum when he was an exchange student in his last year in high school and moved here after he graduated. So that was the obvious choice for the culinary orientation. As for the ... ambiance, if you will, that's all my mum's doing. She claims her inspiration comes from being a romantic at heart."

Snape scoffed. "French interior is as romantically cliché as doo-wop. You should tell your mother that."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you enlighten her yourself?" she replied as she broke out into a wide grin, waving to someone across the room.

Jean Granger, an aristocratic-looking lady in her late forties with well-manicured hands and impeccably groomed chestnut-colored hair, instantly made for their table, her high heels clicking on the floor.

"Mum, this is my Potions professor, Severus Snape," Hermione said after giving her mother a brief hug.

"It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Snape. How do you like our little piece of Sweden?"

"It is..."

"Actually, I think Professor Snape had some minor adjustment propositions," Hermione said, hiding a smirk behind her napkin.

"Really?" Jean Granger said with an irritated click of her tongue, folding her arms across her chest.

"Wait, I just said ..." Snape put his hands up, in a rather pointless attempt to fend off the Granger women.

"Don't be shy, Professor. It was something about the music?" Hermione pushed.

"Well, Mr. Snape, I can assure you that our concept so far has turned out to be quite profitable, but please go ahead. What would you have listened to instead?" Mrs. Granger inquired.

Snape ran a hand through his hair irritably. "I don't know, maybe Frank Sinatra," he replied, shooting daggers at Hermione.

"Frank Si ..." Mrs. Granger pursed her lips. "I wouldn't expect you to know this, but every sloppy little pizzeria in the whole of England plays Frank Sinatra. We're trying to be less ... generic, if you catch my drift. But thank you for your feedback." She smiled at him sweetly and then turned to Hermione.

"Christopher is here as well," she said a bit more cheery and clapped her hands together. "He was just behind me." She threw a glance over her shoulder. "There he is!"

The snigger Hermione desperately had tried to hold back caught in her throat as she watched the lanky, sandy-haired man appear at her mother's side. He bent down to give Hermione a wet kiss on the cheek and then straightened up to greet Snape.

"Christopher Collins. How do you do, sir."

Snape only grunted in response, earning him a glare from Mrs. Granger. But Christopher didn't even seem to notice. He only had eyes for Hermione, a wide, goofy grin plastered on his face.

"Will I see you tonight, Hermione?" he asked hopefully.

"Uhm, I ..."

"But you said you were allowed to come home on the weekends," he insisted, looking thoroughly disappointed.

"Yes, we are, it's just ... "

"Then what's the problem? I haven't seen you in ages..."

Snape cleared his throat. "I believe Miss Granger has promised to assist me in a project I'm working on."

Hermione stared at her Potions professor, bewildered.

"On a Saturday night?" Christopher asked skeptically. "That doesn't even make sense. What kind of project is that?"

Hermione felt her cheeks burn at the unintentional insinuation, but once again, Snape came to her rescue.

"There is no such thing as 'regular office hours' in the field of Potions, Mr. Collins," Snape said pointedly. "We were just discussing the conundrum that is the Hellebore flower, which is also the protagonist of my project, when you came over. Coincidentally, it needs to be plucked every third month, exactly at midnight. And, well ... " He quirked his lips at the younger man.

"Let me guess," Christopher sneered. "That just happens to be tonight."

"We better leave you to it then," Mrs. Granger said firmly, grabbing a disgruntled Christopher by the arm. "I do hope you'll enjoy the rest of your dinner, Mr. Snape, despite our musical differences." And with that she blew her daughter a kiss and forcefully guided the young man away from the table.

"That was some impressive lying, Professor," Hermione said, not without a hint of appreciation in her voice.

"Yes, well. I have had some practice on that front," Snape said and looked at Hermione thoughtfully. "So. Tell me about your beau, Miss Granger. I don't recognize him, which means he didn't go to Hogwarts."

"No, actually, he went to..." Hermione stopped when she noticed how Snape suddenly stiffened, his eyes fixated on a spot just above Hermione's left shoulder. "What?" she said and whipped her head around.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the infamous Severus Snape himself, resurrected from the dead," a familiar voice drawled. Lucius Malfoy, in an incredibly slim-fitting, emerald green jacket with matching pants, came into view.

"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world... " He paused, a haughty tilt to his chin.

"Yet here you are. The renowned Potions master. War hero. Receiver of an Order of Merlin, First Class." Malfoy bent down, almost touching Snape's ear with his lips. "And lest we forget ... traitor," he whispered.

"Been sprucing up your knowledge on Muggle culture, Lucius?" Snape asked through gritted teeth.

"Ah, you know what they say ... Keep your friends close and so forth." Malfoy stood up and tapped his silver-plated cane against Snape's lapel.

"Look at you, all dressed up." He looked down his nose on Hermione. "And you brought a girlfriend. Things really have changed, haven't they?" he said airily.

Snape remained quiet, a slight color appearing on his otherwise pale cheeks.

"Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said, mimicking the same exact sugary smile her mother had given Snape just moments ago. "Are you enjoying your evening so far?" She dabbed her mouth with a napkin as she eyed the man.

"It has been adequate ... I suppose," Malfoy drawled reluctantly and wrinkled his nose, a remnant of a time when it was socially acceptable for pure-bloods to be openly condescending towards Muggle-borns.

She cast a glance behind him and noticed his wife, Narcissa Malfoy, a few tables away. Hermione was well aware of the fact that the Malfoys were regulars at the Björn and the Sill and that they had made it into a near weekly routine to visit the restaurant.

"So adequate that you choose to bring your wife here practically every Saturday?" Hermione asked innocently.

"How do you..." Malfoy began but trailed off, giving her a bored look. "No matter. Well, you could say I am a creature of habit. Not that it concerns you."

"On the contrary it concerns me more than you could imagine. You should probably get back to your table and finish your meal, seeing as it will be the last time you'll set foot in this building again," she said casually.

Malfoy laughed a harsh, rasping laugh, full of contempt. "Snape, what's your little chihuahua yapping about?"

Snape quirked his lips slightly and looked at him. "Her family owns the restaurant, Lucius. I suppose Miss Granger has some say regarding its clientele."

"You just wait until my father hears about this," Hermione quipped.

Affronted, Lucius let out a small hiss and without another word stalked away to his wife.

"I'm sorry, Professor. He has no right to speak to you like that," Hermione said softly.

"Don't worry about it, Miss Granger," Severus sighed. "Some things never change."

"Well, if you want my opinion, he's an idiot."

Snape snorted. "I couldn't agree more."

She smiled at him. "Do you think I need to worry about this sudden rush of empowerment? It might just go to my head if I'm not careful."

"I would say that there is quite a vast amount of evidence from the past weeks suggesting that you're already on that slippery slope," Snape replied.

"Behave, or you'll meet the same sticky fate as Mr. Malfoy, Professor," she said, giving him a mock glare.

"Indeed," Snape said, folding his napkin absent-mindedly and putting it on the table.

"Do you want to wrap this up or ... ?" Hermione asked, suddenly uncertain.

He looked up at her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "What, no dessert?"

Hermione relaxed, glad that he didn't seem to be in a rush back to the castle. "You want dessert?"

"You sound surprised?" He put his elbows on the table, leaning in towards her.

"It's just ... " Suddenly the realization of the whole situation struck Hermione. The sun setting on the horizon, candles slowly burning, both of them comfortably intoxicated. Snape had a light in his eyes she hadn't noticed before, and she had seen him almost smile more times that evening than she had during all of her years at Hogwarts.

"You don't seem like a sweet-toothed kind of guy."

"Really? I find that deeply mystifying," he drawled.

"But if that's the case, I would highly recommend you to try the specialty here. It's called 'the Swedish Sin' and by the name of it you'd think it would be some sort of inappropriate, chocolatey concoction." This earned her an amused look from the Potions master, and she immediately blushed. "But it's actually lingonberries with a fudge-like sauce," she hurriedly added.

"Sounds ... endurable," Snape teased.

Hermione huffed indignantly, cheeks still burning. Suddenly Percy rushed by, and she seized the opportunity to shift focus.

"Percy! Can we have two 'sins' and coffee, please?" she called out after him.

"Absolutely, Hermione, coming right up!" Percy yelled back, not skipping a beat.

A couple of minutes later, Percy came balancing what seemed to be desserts for at least ten tables, putting down their "sins" and coffees and then hurrying along.

"Where do you see yourself in ten years, Miss Granger?" Snape asked as he bit into the sweet and sour creation, making an approving noise.

"Well, there are a number of careers I would love to pursue, actually. Equal rights has always been close to my heart, and there are a lot of things to improve on in that area. I'm almost equally as interested in Charms and the things you can create when adding Arithmancy to the mix." She gazed out the window for a moment.

"But I also feel drawn to potion-making, experimenting in particular. Maybe I could be working on a better Wolfsbane brew, for instance, or assist in creating something for the aftereffects from the Cruciatus Curse."

"That's some rather ambitious goals you have set for yourself."

"What, you don't think I can do it?" She gave him a challenging look.

"I am certain you will make an adequate attempt. You have a natural aptitude for Potions, Miss Granger," he said slowly.

"But seeing as I am the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion, I am also aware of the fact that it took decades of trial and error and experience to even get it to the stage it is today."

"We will just have to wait and see then," she replied, grinning at his compliment. She had been striving for that kind of academic acknowledgment since her first shivering day in the Potions classroom. "Maybe we'll have to meet here in ten years, and I can lend you my notes."

Snape cocked an eyebrow at her cheek.

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"I just remembered, it seems I am otherwise engaged. How ... unfortunate."

"This particular date, at 7 p.m., in ten years, you have somewhere else to be?" Hermione narrowed her eyes at the man in front of her.

"Yes."

"Alright, fine." She shrugged and took a last bite of her dessert. "But if you change your mind, I will be sitting right here, with all my awards lined up, waiting to be admired."

"Don't hold your breath," he smirked.

They had, quite reluctantly, Apparated back to the school after a long, drawn-out second coffee and were now standing in the entrance hall at the foot of the stairs. It was well after curfew, and the castle was empty, except for the house ghosts and the occasional patrolling prefect.

"You know ...," Hermione said slowly, examining the House point hourglasses. Gryffindor was in third place, almost tied with Ravenclaw, while Hufflepuff had an iron grip on the lead by nearly a hundred points. "Taking those fifty points from me the other day was really unfair."

"You think so?" Snape frowned. "Then you should get them back. Fifty points to Gryffindor for calling Lucius Malfoy an idiot," he said resolutely.

The Gryffindor hourglass sprang to life instantly, adding fifty red rubies to the lower bulb and placing Gryffindor in second place.

Hermione looked at him, awestruck. "But you never give points to Gryffindor," she whispered.

"Ah. When you're right, you're right," he said, casting a mischievous glance at her. "Sixty points from Gryffindor for making me wait at the gates," he said, equally resolute.

The rubies within the hourglass clattered around once more, only this time the gems plus an extra ten retreated back into the upper bulb, putting Gryffindor in third place.

"What, hey! Sixty points! Really?" Hermione shrieked.

"This is fun," Snape said smugly.

"I should really get going before I do any more damage to my House's chances of winning the cup," Hermione muttered and made for the stairs.

"Wait." Snape grabbed a hold of her arm. "Miss Gra-Hermione-Miss Granger. Bollocks." He let her go and pinched his nose.

"If you want to call me by my given name, you have my permission. And if you want to continue calling me Miss Granger, that's also fine. What I won't allow for you to do is call me 'bollocks', Professor," Hermione said with a giggle.

Snape quirked his lips. "I really enjoyed myself tonight. Maybe a little too much. Perhaps ... " He quieted down as the Bloody Baron floated by, giving the couple an odd look.

"Perhaps, you'll let me return the favor sometime." He turned towards the corridor leading down to the dungeons. "Although ... I didn't actually see you pay."

She raised an eyebrow. "Did you really think I would at my own parents' restaurant?"

"Well. Nevertheless, thank you for an unforgettable dinner." He gave her a small smile. "Hermione."

Make the Night Just a Little Longer – Chuck Jackson

For an idea of what Jean Granger's playlist looks like, see all the collected author's notes.