6: Whose Jarvey Is It, Anyway?

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money off this. I've decided that I possess far too much integrity to accept any bribes to stop.

Warning: Mobile phones are scarcely mentioned in this chapter. Reggie is fairly restrained, for her. Sorry to disappoint. Would a spritz of lemon help make up for it?

Chapter 6: Whose Jarvey Is It, Anyway?

Hermione simply flung herself at him, and they crushed each other in a mutual embrace.

This is why we need to be together, they thought simultaneously. This is what it feels like to be home. Neither of them noticed Ginny and Draco making their swift exit, slamming the door on the way.

Home did, however, need a good Spring Cleaning. Trying to be tactful, they pulled away from each other.

"Don't take this amiss, my love... but have your studies left you a bit distracted from, ahem, bathing?" Severus asked hesitantly. "You're a trifle inky, and have a... clinical... fragrance."

Hermione's shoulders caved in chagrin. "Ah... I, um, may have neglected to shower after doing double shifts at St. Mungo's...I really was busy." Her nose crinkled and she cleared her throat. "Speaking of which, love... Were you in a clinic of some sort? Or an older hospital?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just that...that smell. It's awfully reminiscent of an older-type, ethyl alcohol-based anesthetic potion. They discontinued it some years ago because it works poorly on persons with high alcohol tolerance and varies in effect based on the patient's magical ability. It also has side effects that tended to last until the body rids itself of all residual traces of the potion."

Uh-oh... mystery bottle puzzle: solved, Snape thought worriedly. Aloud, he asked, "Side effects?"

"Difficulty Apparating..."

Well, the Jarvey had taken care of their first trip, and he'd made it to Hermione's flat from The Leaky Cauldron just fine...

"...uncontrollable nausea and vomiting..."

Stomach contents still in place? Check.

"...excessive emotionality..."

No, those tears had been completely justified.

"...and impotence."

Ummm... Oh, shite.

"I don't think I could have come into contact with anything of that nature," he remarked, his neutral tone covering a frantic internal scramble after stimulating images to convince his less than responsive manhood to show initiative in the presence of his lady. Maybe a more active approach was in order. "Perhaps we could repair to the bath together and discuss our situation?"

Hermione smiled. "Just let me take a shower first, my love," she said softly, her eyes beginning to catch the light of passion.

He frowned at her in puzzlement. "We're going into the bath. Whatever do you need a shower for?"

Hermione stated (as if this were logic that anyone could grasp without half-trying), "I can't go into the bath all sweaty and mucky...just give me ten minutes, and I'll make myself presentable enough that we don't end up floating in swamp water." She planted a quick kiss on his cheek and ducked into the bathroom.

He might have tried to argue the point if he hadn't desperately wanted time to remedy his sexual plight. "Stupid drinking binge! How the hell am I going to get this out of my system before she's done with her shower? Damned if I can remember whether I have any purgatives at home," he growled to himself, pacing and urgently directing his attention southward every few thoughts, in hopes of some sign of erotic life from his trousers.

An odd tingle coincided with a familiar voice sounding from the back of the sofa. "Try now, you pervy old bastard," Regina said, her patient tone contrasting with the insults.

Severus spared the Jarvey on the couch a brief glare before testing whether he was, in fact, put to rights. He pictured Hermione in the shower, beads of water rolling off her lush curves, trails of white foam tracing the dip of her lower back and the valley between her breasts...

Ahhh. Much better. But there was still one small problem...

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, leveling a hard stare at the little silver irritant.

"What the hell do you mean, why am I doing this?" she asked defensively. "If you want me to put you back as you were..."

He quickly interrupted, "Why are you helping me when you aren't my Fairy God-Jarvey?"

Reggie was a little surprised, but she took it in stride. Male though he was, she had been pretty sure he was bright enough to figure things out...eventually. "How did you work that out?" she asked.

"Lots of little things. The fact that you had been to see Hermione first was suggestive. Then, you made the mistake of mentioning that you had been looking for me. I imagine you would always know precisely where to find me, if you were, indeed, charged with my happiness."

Fuck, she thought. There really was a good reason for rules against drinking on duty.

"And, there is of course, the fact that no one could ever possibly consider me worthy of that sort of favor," he finished bitterly, sinking onto the cushion beside the Jarvey.

"Well, as it so happens, you stubborn git, you are right...and you are dead wrong," Reggie said, in a huff of injured dignity. "You're right that I was assigned to Hermione. Did it then occur to you that the absolute best proof that you are...for reasons that still more or less escape me...the only wizard for her, is that I, who am entrusted with helping her obtain her heart's desire, keep dragging your pathetic arse over to her?"

Snape was having trouble finding a retort to that. It was his own argument thrown back in his face, after all.

"I'm going to be on probation for-fucking-EVER now that I've spilled all this to you, but I'm past caring. I'm doing it for Hermione, whose happiness is more important to me than a stupid, wanking promotion, and I'm doing it for you, too, damned stuffy old bastard that you are! Maybe I've taken one too many knocks to the bonce, but I've become attached to you for some reason, and I don't give a pygmy puff's arse what anyone else thinks. I bloody well think you've paid double for your sins, and I bloody well think you deserve to be happy, and I'm bloody, fucking, damned well going to do whatever I can to ensure you are!"

"You have taken too many knocks to that sorry excuse for a cranium if you're attached to the likes of me," he retorted.

"Better not say that around your novia, seeing as how she's stuck on you like a barnacle on a dinghy. And yeah, I like you, Sir Snarky. Hey, what's not to like? My average case I have to deal with shite as serious as a heart attack. So far in the two times I've been with you, I've gone to a party, gotten blitzed, played dress-up, met and insulted famous portraits, and blown up a public lav. Not to mention you've got a mouth like Tio Pancho, except in English. Helping you is a fucking barrel of monkeys, amigo. Reminds me of a family reunion."

He still had a few ounces of sulk-and-snark that needed to run their course, although it was rather heartening to be so flatteringly assessed...even if it was by the raunchy rodent. "If you aren't my Fairy God-Jarvey, then how do you know what will make me happy?" he challenged.

"Oh, gee, that's a bloody tough one to work out...but let me apply my little pea-brain to it. Before you hooked up with my Frizzy Godchild, you were a lonely, miserable, cranky, downtrodden, alcoholic old sod who saw the light of day about as often as a vampire, with no social life and no sex life except for the tender ministrations of Madam Palmer and her five daughters," she commenced tartly.

"Don't try to sugarcoat it on my account," he replied sourly.

"After becoming One With Know-it-All, you ceased to be lonely, showed no measurable evidence of misery, and no trace of over-consumption of potent potables. People in Diagon Alley and elsewhere have actually been periodically blinded by the sunlight reflecting off your cave-fish pale face. You began not only to have a moderate exposure to social situations, but to recover the inklings of a professional life, as well...yeah, try to hide that grin, Sir Snark-a-Lot...I heard about your article making its way into 'Eire Elixir'. And you were so high on happy hormones from the shag-a-rama that was part and parcel of your relationship with Hermione that you actually had to work at being cranky some of the time," the Jarvey continued.

"As always, I am in awe of your eloquence," he intoned, pinching the bridge of his nose and cringing.

Reggie launched into the wrap up. "When you thought she dumped you, you went crawling off alone into the booze-bottle forest to try to lose yourself there. I finally drag your arse through catharsis and get you back here with her, at which you flung yourselves against each other like a couple of battling elephant seals, except not with intent to beat the crap out of each other. It's obvious to everyone but you, evidently, that having Hermione as Swotting Beauty to your Prince Snarking makes you one happy bunny...at least as happy as you are willing to let yourself get. Imagine the possibilities if you'd unbend a little more!" she exclaimed, standing on her hind legs and waving her forepaws vehemently for emphasis.

Snape reflected a moment. "Double for all my sins?"

"Well, that's a bit of an approximation," Reggie admitted, summoning a scroll. She let it fall, unrolling across the length of the couch and along the floor.

"Those aren't..." he started to ask.

"Yep. Single spaced, no less. With some on the back."

"Are you sure those are all mine?"

"Well, pretty sure. Maybe I was a little optimistic about that 'paying double' bit... some of these don't get wiped 'til you marry Hermione," Reggie admitted, then tactfully decided to Banish the scroll.

"I seem to be making a habit of being indebted to you for my happiness," he finally remarked in a tone of profound resignation.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't," Reg replied, draping her pointy snout over his shoulder confidingly.

"I won't tell anyone either," Hermione said, softly. Severus turned toward the bathroom door where Hermione stood wrapped in a towel and a little wreath of steam, smiling at him. He rose to meet her. "Is it true? Do I really make you happy?" she asked.

There was only so long he could argue in the face of overwhelming logic. "Yes. You do... and," he continued, not caring how reckless it might be, "if you wish to make me happier, you could answer a small question for me." He dug into his pocket, cursing as his hand met an absence of jewelry box. Sod it! Why had he thrown the thing away?

"Looking for something, Oh Count of Cranky?" Regina asked with a giggle, floating the ring box towards them. Happy ending, happy ending! Her little brain sang gleefully.

Hermione started giggling as well. "Do you realize this is the very first time you've ever expressed a desire for me to answer one of your questions?"

Severus mock-glared at her and snatched the box out of the air. "Stop laughing and say whether or not you'll marry me, your infuriating little know-it-all," he snapped (completely without venom). He rather awkwardly opened the ring box and thrust it at her.

Still smiling, she took the ring from the box. "The answer would be 'yes,'" she said, admiring the colorful twists of gold and the brilliant blue sapphire they cradled. "I believe it's customary for the wizard to actually put the ring on the witch's finger," she added, helpfully.

"Can't resist adding a little extra to a perfectly simple answer, can you?" he asked as he slid the ring into place, an almost disbelieving smile quivering at the edge of his lips.

"Would you have me any other way?" she asked, beaming back. By way of an answer, Severus swept his witch off her feet and carried her back into the bathroom.

Reggie rightfully figured that not only was her work here done, but that three was as of this moment indisputably a crowd. "See ya, crazy hinnies," she called cheerfully. "And don't forget to invite me to the wedding!" She poofed away in her trademark cloud of silver smoke.

Ginny would have worried more about being kidnapped if she hadn't felt quite certain she could jinx the living shite out of Draco just as handily now as she had been able to in school. Mainly, she was curious. What was the bastard after?

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing almost gallantly at the only other chair in what appeared to be an office.

"I'll stand, thanks," Ginny replied. "Sorry if I'm being gauche, but I admit to being unfamiliar with the etiquette of being kidnapped." Her eyes drifted over the open ledger on the desk. Pluto's piles, she thought incredulously. Can't the stupid wanker hire a better accountant? Her very next thought was, He still bloody well has more than enough Galleons to set in motion the Floo of the Future. How do I get my hands on them?

"You wound me, Miss Weasley. You are free to go at any time... once we've discussed your invention, and efforts to go into business," Draco said casually.

"Ah... You mean, my ideas that you've tried to steal," Ginny countered, equally coolly. She had wondered who was behind all those inquiries from an unnamed 'potential buyer' about the Answering Dummy and the prototype Floo-er ID box. "But finding it already patented, you began nosing into my business affairs in an attempt to see what you could get out of it," Perhaps the answer to that question of how to get my hands on some Malfoy money is, 'more easily than I thought,' she mused.

Draco gave a thin smile and waved his hand in a gracefully dismissive gesture, looking disturbingly like a much younger and handsomer version of Lucius. "Mere semantics, my dear Weasel. I am rather curious as to why you haven't availed yourself of your twin brothers' marketing machine."

Ginny decided to lay it on the line. She was tired as hell, and she hadn't any more desire to dance all night with Draco in the figurative sense than in the literal sense. "Look, Malfoy, Gred and Forge's attention can't be held for more than half an hour by anything lacking the power to explode, make someone ill, generate instant piles of cash, or get them off. It's not just a question of selling one little novelty. My plan will take years to fully implement. It is extensive, time-consuming, requires patience to execute, and will eventually prove insanely lucrative. The key word is, 'eventually.' I've got what amounts to a master plan for revolutionizing communications in the Wizarding world, but no capital and no connections."

"Actually, I think the key words are 'insanely lucrative," Draco replied. She's interested, Draco... don't spoil it by, say, drooling. "However, we are arguing quite pointlessly. I take it that you know well that I still possess a fair amount of capital."

"Not for much longer, unless you fire your accountant," she retorted.

Draco wasn't quite able to suppress his wince.

"You're doing this yourself, aren't you?" she asked slowly, realization dawning. It had never occurred to her to imagine that the Malfoys could ever be anything but absolutely swimming in both Galleons and devoted sycophants to polish and care for them. "Is that why...the mobile? This?" she asked, gesturing at the office.

He was determined to keep some semblance of cool. "Pounds spend just fine once you change them for Galleons," he said, challenging her to comment. He decided one last throw of the dice was in order. "What you see in that ledger is what I have left, besides a mother who thinks shopping is a way of life, a mansion that suffers from the indifferent ministrations of one mardarsed house-elf, and a name of questionable repute in the Wizarding world. Oh, I also have a few connections...a Muggle with a disused factory that wants a tenant, and a few people in the Ministry who are strategically placed and could be persuaded to help out with permits and regulations...if I had the inventions, and if there were a wizard with a respectable name..."

"...or witch..."

"...Or witch, fronting for the business. There. The mighty have officially fallen," Draco finished.

Ginny studied the wood grain on the desk. She was partially cogitating, partially hiding her excitement at the revelation that all three of the components her plan was lacking...capital, connections, and a larger manufacturing space than any Wizarding neighborhood had to offer...were hers for the negotiating. All she had to do was overcome her distaste for dealing with a Malfoy.

She had to hand it to him... Draco sure wasn't Lucius. Amazing how quickly the threat of being forced to live like someone in a normal tax bracket had overcome a lifetime of prejudice, or at least allowed him to suppress it. As poor as his bookkeeping skills were, he plainly had a useful measure of cunning, charm and resourcefulness. Even with a lifetime of goodwill towards Muggles in her upbringing, she hadn't managed to win over anyone with space to let. "I wouldn't settle for merely fronting, you know," she said. "I have experience in taking WWW international, and I'm studying law and accounting with Gringotts' best. I'm not wasting my talent on anything short of a full partnership."

Draco gave Ginny a long, appraising look, finding himself not too discomfited that it was being returned in kind. "I could just attempt to buy the rights to your invention, you know," he suggested smugly. It was more out of habit than anything else. There was no way in hell he could manage the books himself, nor ever trust anyone not fully invested in the company to do so.

"Assuming you could acquire it against my wishes, you would only have a single component of the system. What's it going to be, Ferret-Boy? Waste a substantial portion of your time and money chasing after a single invention? Or partner with me and make several absolute bloody fortunes taking the Floo system into the twenty-first century?" she challenged.

"You were mis-Sorted, my dear Weasel," he said casually, retrieving a bottle of champagne and two glasses from a charmed compartment in his desk.

"Maybe the hat saw my hair and heard the name 'Weasley' being read and simply tossed me into Gryffindor on reflex," she said, matter-of-factly drawing her wand and testing the bottle for tampering. She summoned her own glass as well, an amused glint in her eyes.

Draco raised an eyebrow as he released the lid with a seemly pop and poured for her, but otherwise did not acknowledge her actions. In a social situation it would have been hideous etiquette to bring your own glass, to say nothing of checking your host's bottle for substances more intoxicating than the alcohol. In business negotiations, it was a basic survival skill...one he had learned the hard way.

"I won't permit such casual informality at the office, of course. I must insist on being referred to as 'Mr. Ferret-Boy' during business hours," he said, looking rather mischievous himself and startling a brief laugh from Ginny. She can be caught off-guard by humor, Draco thought. The intelligence gathering begins.

Okay, if the ferret can manage to have a sense of humor, I certainly can, she thought. "And I, for my part, will not settle for anything less than Miss Weasel," she replied playfully. And if he thinks I'll bind myself to any sort of 'Gryffindor fair play' beyond accepting or giving the occasional jibe with good grace, he's got another think coming.

As they toasted their pending partnership, both tried to refrain from grinning too fiendishly. It wouldn't do to look like the Kneazle that got the cream before the cream was securely gotten. Between her legal training and his native sneakiness, writing this contract was going to be more exciting than test flying a new Nimbus.

As Severus set Hermione back on to her feet and leaned in for a kiss, she drew back with almost comical haste. At least, it would have been comical to anyone except the two of them.

"What's wrong?" he asked, alarmed at the horrified expression on her face.

Finally, through her fingers covering her nose and mouth, she gasped, "Good Lord, Severus! You could vanquish a dragon with that breath!"

His entire posture slumped into a pose of profound exasperation. "And you accuse me of being overly dramatic?" he quipped.

By way of answer, Hermione grabbed her wand from the edge of the sink and shot a well-timed 'Scourgify' right into his open mouth.

He gagged at the sudden dryness, and she quickly followed it up with 'Aguamenti', thrusting the glass into his hands, which he drank eagerly. Taking the empty glass, she quickly stopped any further complaints by pressing her lips to his, kissing out all the fear, love, and frustrated passion that had been warring within her through the last few weeks.

"I'm sorry for being so abrupt, my love," she whispered, when they finally separated for breath, "but that kiss has been building up tension inside me for almost a month, and it just wouldn't wait for a tooth brushing."

It is quite difficult to sneer and pretend to suppress a self-satisfied smirk at the same time, but Severus had an extremely talented face in that regard. "And you couldn't bring yourself to kiss me 'as is'?"

"Not the way I wanted to kiss you," she said, punctuating her reply with a demure glance through her eyelashes.

Oh, listen to the Jarvey...just in this one thing, mind!...and unbend a little. He managed a slightly sulky look. "I don't really think I should... but I suppose I could excuse your impertinence, just this once..."

"Perhaps I could make it up to you by washing your hair?" she asked coyly.

Severus gave a sort of half-moan, half-whimper as his trembling fingers struggled with the buttons of his shirt. It was like saying to the average man, 'I read a book on exotic blow-jobs today, may I practice some on you?'

Not that he would respond to that unenthusiastically, either.

Hermione dropped her towel with studied nonchalance, glancing at him over her shoulder as she stepped into the tub. Unfortunately, he was tangled in his shoes and failed to notice her seductive gesture. Sighing, she sank into the bubbles and waited patiently for him to get free. For the hundredth or so time, she wondered why a man who otherwise dressed with distinctive flair elected to wear those silly y-front underpants beneath it all. Even Ron wore boxers, for goodness' sake. Although the pictures of Snitches enchanted to fly across them reduced the sexy factor down to nil.

As Severus finally settled into the tub in front of her, Hermione reflected it was a good job she was a witch. Without Transfiguration, this absurd birdbath was barely large enough to accommodate her. He would have fit into it like a giraffe with its backside in a bucket.

"I'm so sorry about tonight," she cooed softly at him, trickling water over his head and gently scraping her nails across his scalp. "I did a poor job of explaining that cowardly letter..."

"No worse than I did of proposing," he sighed. Mmmm... hair-washing and breast-pillowing bliss... Lovely young witch wearing his ring... Why was he supposed to be upset, again?

"I'll write Mum and Dad this Monday, after my second exam," she said, slowly working up lather on the right side of his head as he turned to nuzzle her left breast, then attended to the other side as he turned. "Although perhaps I should give them a week or two to assimilate the idea that we have a relationship before I spring this ring on them!" she giggled.

That suited Severus. He suddenly found himself less than enthused about the whole business of bringing her parents into the picture as he realized it would inevitably lead to meeting them.

"It's a beautiful ring, by the way," she added, massaging just above his normally furrowed brow. Hermione couldn't help but be amused by how worked up her lover became with the application of a little shampoo, but she hoped he didn't expect her to keep this up too long. He was getting a tad heavy.

"Well, it should be... After all, it reminded me of you," he purred. It really was easy to say pretty things when he was delirious with warm, silky, utterly disarming arousal. Decisions, decisions... Continue to luxuriate in the hair washing, or turn over and start shagging her silly? Would that all of his dilemmas were so grave.

Hermione proved more decisive, or maybe just less lazy. He would also accept 'more randy' as an answer. The result was the same...she squirmed slickly out from behind him and re-situated herself in his lap, reaching for the flannel.

As nice it was having the rest of his body soaped (by the teasing little minx who seemed intent on warming his cock without actually giving it anywhere to go) he was a bit put out at the fact that she'd not finished the job when it came to his hair. "You didn't rinse me," he protested, indicating the foam on his head.

She responded with an apologetic look. Then, she ducked him.

He came up, spluttering "You do realize, witch, that killing me to get your greedy little hands on my paltry assets will not work until after we're married?" he asked, narrowing his eyes dangerously at her as he pulled her close. Teasing time was over.

Hermione giggled and let him pull her into a kiss. "Well, you are rinsed now," she whispered. "And you still feel pretty lively to me."

It was hard to argue with that assertion, particularly as she fitted herself smoothly onto his rampantly erect shaft. Slowly, as if to savor the fact that neither of them was going anywhere, they rocked their hips in rhythm that sent the bath water slapping against the sides of the tub and slopping over onto the floor unheeded. Even their kisses were incredibly languid.

"I'm afraid all I really have in the world is you, love... and a house that even pests, both magical and Muggle, scorn," he confessed between slippery kisses. "Having you quite makes up for the house, though."

"The only assets of yours I can't live without are this," she said breathily, pointing to his temple, "this," she continued, caressing the spot where his heart thumped in his chest, "and this," she finished, running her hands lovingly over the rest of his body that she could reach.

"I do believe you missed a few parts," he purred smugly at her, giving a few emphatic thrusts to illustrate exactly which parts he meant. He had to hang on to the sides of the tub to keep from ducking himself in the process, but that only made it more interesting. A bit like bondage, without the chafing.

"Definitely... for about three weeks," she moaned, drawing herself up along his hot length before plunging back down forcefully against his thrusts. Ooh, that was creating turbulence in some very interesting places. Wherever they ended up living, a tub big enough for two was in order. Love among the bubbles... absolutely brilliant.

"Three weeks, two days, and approximately eight hours... not that I was keeping track," he hissed, rocking faster and capturing one enticingly bobbling nipple in his mouth. Soap had never tasted so sexy. God, it was hard to talk... or think... or breathe... so good...

This time, when she climaxed, she bit his hair.

As he let go, he realized he'd missed that, too. He wouldn't have minded even if she'd assaulted his nose again.

It was quite a heady experience, being told so pointedly that you are wanted for the exact sum of your component parts, and Severus was feeling quite relaxed...to the verge of unconsciousness. But since falling asleep in the tub was an act of exceedingly poor judgment, even with someone trustworthy on hand to fish you out in the event of the worst, he settled for talking. Brain and mouth seemed vaguely connected again. "Ah, I almost forgot...my library. Are you sure you have absolutely no interest in it, my dear? There are a few rare and first editions in there," he whispered silkily.

"Ummm... The library is just icing. Although I figure it will be a bit of a comfort to me when I outlive you," she replied mischievously, appreciative of his record good mood. Mildly humorous, teasing Severus was a rare and wonderful beast, whose infrequent appearances were to be encouraged and savored.

"'When?' So you are plotting against me," he mock scolded her, playing idly with her wet mess of curls.

Hermione gazed at him with serious eyes. "If I had my way, we'd grow quite old together..."

"To two hundred, at least," he interrupted, kissing her nose.

"...then turn into two trees, like Baucis and Philemon in the Greek myth...so that neither of us need ever mourn the other's death," she finished softly, her voice catching.

They held each other close a long while after that. Finally he said, "I agree with the sentiment, love... I just don't think I'd take to life as a tree."

She giggled. "What about me? I'm so short compared to you, I'd look like a glorified shrub."

"Oh, out of the tub with you, already," he said, giving her a light slap on the backside that sent water splashing everywhere. She splashed back at him as she climbed out. "We may be planning to grow old together, but we don't need to get all wrinkled beforetime," he grumbled unconvincingly as he clambered out in turn.

Just in case he was actually annoyed (which Hermione doubted) she took extra care toweling him off. She did such a good job, in fact, that they almost didn't make it out of the bathroom, especially as he insisted on reciprocating.

However, cold tile can only hold so much appeal for tired bodies. They whisked enough textual debris aside to make a clear path to the bedroom. Hermione tried to put on her nightgown, but it was rather difficult with Severus firmly affixed to her back and gently countering her every attempt to don said garment by further entwining his arms with hers. Her protestations gradually weakened, and he pulled her down into his lap on the edge of the bed, from which position he eased them both to the horizontal. Hermione finally relaxed, staring up at the boring, familiar ceiling and luxuriating in the never boring, familiar warmth of her fiancé at her back. He was amazingly comfortable to lie upon. Mmmm. The virtues of a firm mattress...

"When are the rest of your examinations?" he asked, murmuring into her hair as he fiddled with the unruly mass. The trick was to make it seem as if he were caressing those outrageous locks while he was trying to get them tucked securely away from nose-tickling range. She was feeling too entirely light atop him. Definitely not eating properly.

"Monday, eleven hundred hours, part one of..." she began rattling off her schedule.

He sighed heavily, fluffing her curls in all directions. The hair was as out of his way as it was going to get. Time to proceed with the calming. Yes, stroking her eyebrows... a nice, unconventional place to start.

"I know I'm obsessing again. But it's truly important to me," she said, shivering a fraction as his fingers drifted lightly down her cheeks, detoured over her ears, then slid down to circle the tip of her chin.

"And you are truly important to me, which I why I don't want you succumbing to a nervous breakdown between now and then. You aren't taking care of yourself. You're wasting away, my love," he said in a soft, solicitous purr, tracing a line down either side of her neck.

"I've been trying to lose weight for years. It's the only good thing to come out of all this stress," she countered, her voice growing soft and breathy as his slender fingers trailed across her sharp collarbones and lightly brushed the perimeter of her breasts.

"Not to me, it isn't. I'll not have my witch looking like a starved waif," he growled into her hair. He winced slightly as he ran his fingers down her torso, finding hints of her ribs and the points of her hipbones.

"I'm not underweight," she sighed, carefully rolling over (without rolling off) to nuzzle his chest. "I promise, I won't waste away."

He made no reply, but his resolve to restore her to warm, soft plumpness at the first opportunity was unshaken. In fact it was reinforced as he ran his hands over her pert little peach of a bum, inwardly tsking at its diminished fullness. There was no way he was going to let Hermione end up looking like his mother. The thought alone was quite depressing. His mother had been so thin, so neglected... so very, very, sad. Hermione would never look thin and neglected, not as long as he was alive to say anything about it. There were ways of making her eat.

And as for sadness, he had it on very good authority that, for some unfathomable reason, he made her happy.

"Severus?" she asked, wondering if his silence meant he was brooding again, or just falling asleep.

"Yes, my pet?" he murmured.

"I... I'm so sorry about what happened earlier tonight. I thought that I was failing...failing you I mean, not making you happy...I wanted to protect myself. I was so insecure, I almost ruined everything for us."

"No more so than I," he replied.

She hummed inquisitively into his sternum, and he clarified, "I've... been known to fight an insecurity or two myself." Severus stared at the ceiling, willing his heart rate to slow down from the anxious pitch aroused by that confession. Damned uninspiring ceiling. If the room were larger, he'd suggest a canopy for the bed. How does one brood in a supine position without a fabric pattern to gaze at?

Hermione nuzzled a few wiry hairs within reach of her pert nose. "It seems strange to think of you as ever being insecure. You always seem so... pulled together."

He snorted. "You were going to say 'buttoned down,'" he scolded, but his voice was plainly amused.

"Yes, well, about that...why all the buttons?" she asked.

"You've been dying to ask that question for years," Severus accused, unable to keep a smirk from taking possession of his face.

Odd how intimate association with a person makes it possible to sense their facial expressions, even when not in line of sight. Hermione persisted, egged on by the smirk as much as her own curiosity. "Absolutely. Are you going to answer it, or are you saving that profound revelation for a wedding present?"

"Intimidation, of course," he yawned.

"Buttons are intimidating?" she asked, resolving to stay awake until she got a satisfactory reply.

Bother. He knew she wouldn't be satisfied with a simple answer. "The right buttons certainly are. Nice, uninterrupted, identical, neatly queued... they project professionalism, rigidity, uniformity, everything that is unyielding, official, and, generally, intimidating. Compare a pullover to a button-down shirt, or one of those silly things with novelty buttons to a similar garment with the standard conservative two-hole mother-of-pearl models," he explained, too tired to bait her any further.

"I can understand the last bit. But really, I find it a little hard to believe that it has a large effect," she said wonderingly.

Teaching must be a habit that becomes ingrained after a while. Severus found he needed to stay awake until she understood what the hell he meant. "It's true. Arthur Weasley would have gotten farther in the Ministry if he made a better showing of buttons."

"Now I know you're having me on," she scoffed.

"I am absolutely earnest. How can anyone consider him a wizard to contend with when he goes about bundled in soft fluff? Even a Hungarian Horntail would have to work at being intimidating if it were muffled in a Weasley jumper," he said with greater seriousness than he could have allotted the topic if more alert.

Hermione gave up, succumbing to giggles. "I love every secure and insecure inch of you, Severus Snape...down to the last button," she sighed. She meant to finger his navel by way of a punch line to her little joke, but was just too tired to move sufficiently

His answer was somewhat muffled by her hair, which he was contentedly sniffing. "Ah, but now that I have you firmly in my clutches, I doubt I shall be experiencing much insecurity, my lovely little witch. Had I known that 'I love you' was the incantation to bind you to me, I would have said it long ago." Must add more Neroli to the next batch of conditioner, as soon as I can afford it, he thought, analyzing her fragrance approvingly. That orange blossom essence is incredibly sexy on her. Though it seems to be making me say some rather absurd things.

"Just don't forget to renew the spell every so often, my love," she mumbled, her lips pursing slightly against his skin as she drifted off.

Severus sighed. Of course, she had to fall asleep on him, literally. Now what? He simply wasn't a cuddler, regardless of her consistent efforts to encourage him in that direction. However, he wasn't just going to roll her off to the side, not after all he'd gone through to get her.

Oh, what the hell. "'Accio' blanket," he said quietly. Hermione barely stirred as he spread the blue flannelly softness over her back, fluffing it so that it neatly covered both their feet. "Don't think I'm going to make a habit of this," he muttered, resting one hand protectively on her lower back and caressing the riotous mess of her curly hair, currently nestled under his chin, with the other.

A feline sneeze issued from the chair in the corner. Severus narrowed his eyes at Crookshanks. "I care about your opinion only slightly less than I wish to know what it might be," he said with a sneer. The cat (whose feelings toward him could have been similarly summarized) yawned disdainfully and went back to sleep.

His last thought before falling under the sway of Hypnos was that they'd be stuck in his flea-trap of a house. As things stood, they couldn't afford to rent, much less buy, a place big enough for his lab...or their books. But it scarcely mattered. As long as they were together, they were home, and he wasn't about to trade that for anything.

Even if it meant occasionally waking up to Hermione shamefacedly cleaning a reddish smear from his leg, and apologizing that his planned weekend of incredible celebratory sex would have to be postponed in favor of a weekend of conversation, tea, and... sigh... cuddling.

almost FIN

Author's Note:

Tio Pancho: Uncle Frank (Pancho being short for 'Francisco'...I don't know why, either)

Anyone want an epilogue? No? What about an epilogue with lemonade? Well, I'm going to write one anyway. Stick around or not, as you prefer. Thanks to all those who have reviewed! Do you realize Reggie's head is now almost too big for her little body? We lurves you all!

Hee hee... just to show I never forget a remark... Severus doesn't care what Crookshanks thinks either, Sun. ;-)

Hang in there, Larilee...we're almost done! Wow... you mean, you like this? Oh, great. You realize the Jarvey's going to want her own room, now. With a star on the door, no less.