Snacks On The Beach or De-Nile Ain't Just A River In Egypt

AN: Zambi: I snuck an Alan Rickman movie line into this story. Brownie points and a big French kiss to whoever finds it and names the movie correctly. Sorry, Mich, you're disqualified from the running on this one. Besides, remember what happened the last time I French kissed you?

Mich: sorry for the delay in getting this written - real-life kicked me in the pants last week, and Zambi patiently waited for things to subside. She's a very good friend. And Zambi, you realize I can't let my husband read this story now that you mentioned the 'issingka'. He doesn't know about us, yet. LOL

~*~*~*~

Snape knew it had been a mistake to ask Albus to send food. Glaring at the basket as if it was a time bomb, he scowled at it and would have poked it suspiciously if Hermione wasn't already pawing through it.

"Severus, this is so fantastic! Look – champagne...and – oh my God, a chocolate fondue...lots of fresh fruit...oysters..."

"I'm going to kill him," Snape scowled under his breath.

The basket was even comprised of silver, green, crimson, and gold. Snape reflected for what seemed like the millionth time in his life that subtlety was not Albus Dumbledore's forte.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

'How in the world did that girl manage to talk me into this?' he wondered, as he snapped open the large blanket Albus had included in the basket. Snape hated picnics. He especially hated picnics on the beach, in the increasing gloam of dusk. The sky was already dark enough that he could see Venus, just over the horizon.

Hermione was rhapsodizing about the romance of it all as she placed the basket to the side of the blanket and quickly removed a few candles to light.

"Isn't this wonderful of Albus?" she was chattering away, "I've always wanted a picnic on a beach. Why haven't we ever done this before?"

"I hate beaches and I hate picnics," Snape replied succinctly, trying to ignore the exasperated grin she shot his way. "Why anyone would want to take the chance of getting so much sand in their food is beyond me."

"And yet, here you are – with me, having a picnic on the beach. Why's that, do you suppose?" The little minx was purring at him, her brow arched and her lips pursed teasingly.

"I need to eat, Hermione," he retorted stubbornly, even as he reclined onto the blanket. "You absconded with the food before I could prepare a plate for myself."

"You are so full of shit it's no wonder your eyes are brown," Hermione teased as she reached into the basket and set up the fondue pot. "Why can't you just admit you like the idea of a romantic picnic on the beach with your wife?"

"I will admit no such thing," he replied shortly. "Shall I open the champagne?"

Hermione was giggling at him and he had to admit he was acting decidedly un-Snape like, despite his words. He allowed a small smirk in her direction as he popped the cork, before adding devilishly, "I think I'll need all the liquid fortification I can get if I'm to make it through the night of star-gazing I'm sure will follow this impromptu picnic."

Hermione placed a plate of sliced cheeses and crackers next to the fruit tray and accepted the small glass of champagne he offered her. "Do you remember the last time we 'star-gazed'?" The question was innocent but she had managed to infuse it with such innuendo he knew immediately she was talking about something else entirely. He decided to ignore her question as there was no way he could answer it, and instead speared a strawberry from the fruit tray and dipped it in the simmering chocolate.

"It was just last February, remember? Albus had asked you to make sure the astronomy tower was locked tight at midnight, the morning of Valentine's Day? You were so angry about it. You didn't realize it was all part of my elaborate plan to get you to the top of the astronomy tower." She popped a piece of cheese into her mouth and grinned at him, expecting him to continue in some fashion.

"The top of the astronomy tower in the middle of February in Scotland? Not one of your better thought out plans, I dare say." He kept his voice deliberately light, and hoped he'd hit the right note of teasing.

"Thank God for warming charms," Hermione giggled. "Remember, we stood there and looked at the sky – there was a meteor shower that night. It was like the heavens were putting on a show just for us. And then, just before dawn, we returned to our chambers and..." she blushed. "You yourself said you would never look at Valentine's day the same way ever again."

Snape grunted, but felt his blood heating at her words and the look of remembered satisfaction on her face. He wanted so much to share these 'memories' with her – to believe, as she so obviously did, that they had actually happened. He had never had anyone as sweet as Hermione in his life – didn't deserve to – but he couldn't deny that the idea was beginning to appeal to him more and more.

Pulling another piece of fruit from the simmering chocolate, he offered it to her gallantly, watching intently as she leaned forward and took it from his spear, licking the chocolate from her lips as she did so. "It seems I've made you happy?" he was curious. Just why did she think she was married to him, of all people.

"Not at first, no you didn't," Hermione replied suddenly serious. "Don't you remember how angry you were – how angry we both were – at being forced to marry? If I recall, you had no desire to marry some 'stupid girl who would not only bore you to death with her insufferable know-it-all ways but expect you to kow-tow to her every whim like the Potter and Weasley whelps did.'" She did a fair impression of him, he had to admit.

"Forced to marry?" He raised a supercilious brow at her, "I don't believe I was forced to do anything."

"What would you call that damned Marriage Law, then? At the time, you were ready to kill someone. Admittedly, you weren't forced, per se – you were trying to protect me from the Crabbe's – but I know you felt as if you didn't have much of a choice. I felt the same way. It's amazing how well everything worked out, in the end."

Snape was staring at the waves as the hit shore, watching the moonlight reflect off the water as he took in her words. His head was spinning, as it often did when she revealed things about their 'marriage' that had too much the ring of truth to it. He knew the ministry had been bandying about the idea of a Marriage Law in the months since the end of the war. They believed it was a way to repopulate the Wizarding World, and by forcing pure bloods to marry half bloods and Muggle-borns, they also believed it would put an end to the ridiculous prejudices that still existed among many of the older Wizarding lines. How could one be prejudiced against their own family members, if they were half blood?

As far as he knew, the Marriage Law was still something being pushed forward, albeit slowly, by a determined faction of the Ministry. He would need to find out from Albus if there really was a possibility of this actually becoming a mandate.

He stiffened when she scooted closer to his side and rested her chin on his raised knee, "Where have you gone to?" she asked him softly.

"Just thinking about the Ministry and how they invariably try to fuck up everyone's lives," he replied. "What were the idiots thinking?"

Hermione shrugged, "They were probably thinking 'no more squibs' and no more nonsense about pure blood and half blood. I think their intentions were good – just the way they went about it was wrong. I know at the time we hated it, but if it weren't for that damn law, I never would have married you. And if I hadn't married you, I never would have realized what a wonderful man you really are – I wouldn't be in love with you now."

Snape smirked at the irony, but decided to drop the subject. Instead, he reclined back onto his elbows and looked up at the night sky. Hermione quickly moved up his side fitting herself to him, the press of her body delightfully warm against his side, as she joined him in looking at the stars.

~*~*~*~

Snape lay in bed, Hermione's lovely weight pressing him into the mattress. He could not sleep, no matter how exhausted he was. They had been in Greece for one complete day, and it felt like years to him.

As they had stargazed, Hermione had pointed out constellations to Snape. The Three Sisters, Orion, Ursa's Major and Minor. Then, they had both fallen silent as their eyes rested on Draco, the constellation that Snape's godson had been named after.

Snape decided that it was miserably unfair how the death of Draco was four years old for Hermione and she had never liked him anyway, while the memory was only a few weeks old for him. It was true that Draco had died trying to save Voldemort, but Snape still regretted his death – probably more so than anything else. Draco had been a horrid little sot, but Snape had always recognized that was more due to Lucius' influence then anything else. The boy had tried too hard to be everything his father wanted, to the point where he had lost himself somewhere in the mix. Snape recognized that – the same thing had happened to him, except he had been lucky enough to realize it and rectify it while he could. If it hadn't been for Albus...Snape shuddered and tried not to blame himself for Draco's loss. Draco had been the only person he had ever allowed himself to show any sort of affection for. As a boy, the affection had extended to ruffling his hair and the occasional smile, but as Draco grew older their affection turned to handshakes and brief nods. But there was still affection.

A hundred excuses could be thought up to redeem Draco's behavior. Certainly there was a lack of nurture at his home, and he was taught to be cruel and bigoted. But Snape knew that Draco was still his own man, and he knew the difference between right and wrong. Draco could have attempted a better life, he chose not to.

Knowing that the boy had been wrong did not dispel his grief at his passing. Now there was no chance for redemption, no hope for recovery. Draco was gone like so many others, his father included. It was a loss that was still so confusing to Snape, so bittersweet.

"You miss him, don't you?" her sweet voice broke his contemplations but he didn't answer her. She seemed to accept this, and slid closer to him, adjusting her arm more firmly around his waist as they continued to look at the stars. "There was nothing you could have done for Draco, Severus. He didn't want to be saved."

Snape stifled his response and allowed himself to turn his head, burying his face slightly in her mass of hair and inhaling her clean, comforting scent. Hermione's hand traced his own softly, and after a moment she started pointing out other stars and constellations. They lay like that for a long time, her soft voice washing over him like a benediction as the warmth of her body and the touch of her hands seeped into him, warming his soul.

It was the absolutely stillness that woke him up. He was enveloped in warmth, one of Hermione's legs twined through his, the weight of her head heavy on his chest. He could feel the rhythm of her breathing, her breath warm and moist against the nape of his neck. They were still on the beach.

He could feel her stirring beside him, her head nuzzling into him as her arm – the one that had been thrown across his chest – tightened infinitesimally, the dainty hand on the end tracing the contours of his ribs through his shirt. It all felt wonderful.

Sighing, he gingerly slid away from her, ignoring the drift of her hand across his chest as he slowly sat up. The stars were still out, but the horizon was slightly tinged with celestial blues and pinks – it was almost sunrise.

He tilted his head and looked at Hermione, still lying on the blanket. One side of her face was creased with lines and he realized they were from his shirt, where her head had been resting. The skirt she had been wearing had hiked up over the course of the night, leaving her legs bare to his gaze. He briefly regretted the loss of their weight between his own, before firmly pushing the thought from his mind.

He supposed he should wake her and get her back into the villa. It was really too early to be up and about, and a couple of hours sleep in an actual bed would probably be good for her.

"Hermione," he leaned forward and spoke her name softly, "Wake up. Let's go back to the villa."

"Severus?" she murmured sleepily.

"We fell asleep on the beach. I think it's about five in the morning."

"Hmmmm?" her voice was slightly gritty with sleep and the sound of it sent little frissons of electricity through his system.

"Poppy would have my head if she knew you slept on the beach all night long while recuperating from a concussion."

"Sleepy," she replied.

He leaned closer, allowing his hand to trail up her arm, trying to ignore how soft and warm her skin was. "Hermione, you must wake up and move inside. I don't want you to catch cold."

"Severus," she sighed back.

He looked at her, slightly bemused for a moment, before allowing a small smile to flicker across his features. "Definitely not a morning person," he muttered to himself. "I suppose I'll have to carry you in."

She was a little heavier than he had anticipated, but it was a pleasurable weight. Grunting slightly, he adjusted her so that she was nestled securely against him and headed slowly up the beach.

The colors along the horizon were more brilliant now, streaks of purples and oranges joining the blues and pinks. If Hermione had been awake, she would have been rhapsodizing over them. He made a mental note to tell her about them later in the day when she was awake, and it occurred to him suddenly that he had never even noticed the colors of a sunrise before, let alone wanted to share them with anyone. What was she doing to him?

When he finally reached the bedroom, he gently placed her on the bed and pulled a light cotton sheet over her. He supposed he'd go and lie down on the sofa.

"Severus?" her soft voice caused him to freeze, "where are you going?"

"I thought I'd go lie on the sofa, Hermione, and let you get some sleep," he replied softly. "I think that's best."

'Best for her,' he thought wryly. He wanted nothing more than to join her and feel the warm weight of her against him. He was developing surprisingly sexual feelings for her in short amount of time and it didn't help matters that, in her current confused state, he knew she wouldn't turn him away.

"Don't be silly," she protested sleepily. "The bed is much more comfortable then that silly sofa."

"Hermione," he started to reply, but she cut him off.

"I don't feel right, in the big bed without you. I know what Poppy said, Severus. I know. I promise I'll keep my hands to myself. Don't you trust me?"

"Hermione," he started again, "of course..."

"Or is it you don't trust yourself? That's it, isn't it? Severus...I'm not made of glass you know. How could loving you ever hurt me? Come on, please. Come to bed."

Snape grimaced at her. How could the girl read him so well? He didn't trust himself, not to do what was best for her, instead of what was best for him. He was being sucked into this little imagining of domestic bliss far too easily for his peace of mind. If he allowed himself to play his role too well, he knew he would be hurt in the end. He had to protect himself from the way she made him feel; couldn't allow himself to become used to her presence or to rely on the comfort of her body against his in the nighttime.

He must have stood there silently for too long, because she suddenly sighed heavily and rolled towards the wall, facing away from him. "Don't you love me anymore?"

The worry in her voice – the slight hitch of tears – was devastating to him. He moved closer to the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "It's not that - "

"Poppy's just an excuse, you know. To stay away from me. What's going on, Severus?"

"Nothing...it's just...you're right. I don't trust myself." It pained him to admit it. "But...I suppose I will join you, if it will help you sleep better. Just promise me, Hermione..."

He didn't need to say anything else. Instead, he quickly slid out of his pants and pulled on a pair of cotton pajama bottoms he had found in his bag earlier, before climbing into bed beside her.

Hermione turned to look at him. He could feel her eyes burning against him in the gloom of the room. "I love you, Severus," she murmured as she slid against him, "Loving you could never hurt me. You would never hurt me."

"I'd never want to," he admitted softly as he drew her more firmly against his side, allowing one of his hands to tangle in her soft curls as she nestled into him.

"I know," she sighed sleepily. He could feel her lips curl in a smile against his bare chest and shuddered at the heat of it, "and I'd never want to hurt you, either."

'But you will,' his heart whispered, 'It's already too late to stop it.'

~*~*~*~

The next morning followed much the same pattern as the day before. They walked down to the shops again, determined that nothing would keep them from buying food this day. Zorba The Geek still stood in his tent, oblivious to his new title. Hermione stayed away from the bookseller this day, and she told Snape that it was because he had made her so angry. Snape smiled to himself that even with all the untapped treasures Zorba might have had, Hermione would not deign to grace him with her presence again.

"He's not the only bookseller in Greece," she mumbled, more to herself than him, he suspected.

"Indeed not," Snape answered. "I'm sure that his books are full of dust, mold and silverfish. Not fit for reading at all."

Hermione gave a derisive snort, but looked longingly at the books. Snape made a mental note to ask about a bookshop at their next stop, which turned out to be a fruit stand.

"You have been keeping your eye open for Flavius, haven't you?"

Hermione referred to his brother as though they were old friends. "Yes, of course. Here, I'll take the basket. We need some more grapes..."

"Oh, Severus! Clementines!" Hermione squealed with glee, holding up a fruit that looked a lot like a tangerine. Or perhaps and orange. "They're wonderful, we need some."

Snape shrugged and grabbed five to add to their basket, already laden with grapes, cherries, fresh olives, and grapefruit.

"Do you know of a bookshop here, aside from Zorba's," Snape asked the proprietor as Hermione looked through his billfold for the correct amount of the strange Muggle money that was made from paper.

"Ah...yes..." the man answered with a thick accent. "It tis very close to here, by de med-ee-cine store." His sing-song voice and pauses might make one think that he was not as intelligent as a fluent speaker, but Snape knew better. He could tell by the man's eyes that he was very intelligent, and more than likely made a good living at this small fruit stand.

"Thank you, sir," Snape said with a smile, taking his change from Hermione's hand.

"Your fruit is beautiful," Hermione said as she took the basket from Severus while he put his Muggle money away and smiled at the older man. It looked like she was about to say something more when she paused suddenly, tilting her head to one side.

Someone else had entered the fruit stand and his voice was quite loud in the sudden silence. "Oh, honestly, Flav, you can be so stuffy sometimes."

Turning, Snape found that the owner of the voice was a flamboyant-looking man with short blond spiky hair and way too much eyeliner. He wore a white and lavender shirt with a large silver star in the middle of it. Next to him stood a tall, stout, older replica of Severus Snape, dressed in black save for a plain white tank top under his black leather vest.

"Not in the least, Xan. Come along, we need fruit."

Neither men paid attention to the stunned couple standing by the proprietor, who looked equally shocked, but for different reasons.

"We are fruit, my dearest love...oh my!"

The last part was spoken directly to Snape when the blond turned and came face-to-face, or face-to-chest, considering his small stature, with him.

Snape looked from the man in front of him to his brother, unsure of what to say, his chest feeling tight as though his heart and lungs were suddenly too big for his ribcage.

"Flavius," he whispered.

TBC