Something There That Wasn't There Before

Disclaimer: JKR owns it all. I'm just having fun.

Chapter Six

Something There That Wasn't There Before

Hermione stood in front of the full-length mirror, critically eyeing the blue sundress she was wearing. It was sleeveless, with a high waist and full skirt that were both adorned with lace inserts. Turning to the side, she noted how the deep V neckline showed off her cleavage to its best advantage. She twirled around, the full skirt swirling around her calves, and nodded. It was almost perfect – but not quite.

Dissatisfied with the shade of blue, Hermione picked up her wand and, with a swish and flick, changed it from a medium blue to a pale blue. Her nose wrinkled; her fair skin now looked completely washed out. Sighing, she swished again ... and again. Perhaps blue was not her colour today. Thinking for a moment, she remembered a blouse she had almost purchased simply because the colour had suited her so well. It had been a bright shade of green called lemongrass, and although the blouse itself had not fit her properly, the colour had been perfect. Another swish and the blue sundress was now lemongrass green.

Satisfied with her charm work, Hermione turned her attention to her hair. It was quite long, flowing almost to the small of her back, and was still completely unmanageable. Cursing her ancestors and their bushy-haired genes, she had begun to pull her hair back into its usual ponytail when she reconsidered. Instead, she allowed the unruly curls to fall freely down her back, pulling only the sides away from her face and securing the locks with a few clips. It looked different, but in a good way.

She decided a little make-up would be nice – some eye shadow, a sweep of mascara, a little blush. Hermione was carefully applying her lip gloss when she suddenly stopped what she was doing. Why was she so worried about her clothes, her hair, and her make-up? "It's not like it's a date or anything," she mumbled to herself. The twinge of disappointment she felt surprised her. Did she want this to be a date? A date with Severus? It was absurd – wasn't it?

Hermione heard the front door close and knew he must have arrived. She grabbed the small handbag from the bed and quickly slipped on her favourite brown leather sandals. One more glance in the mirror – and a self-chastisement for doing so – and she left her room to meet her friend downstairs.

She was halfway down the staircase when she glanced up and saw him. Merlin on a mo-ped, she thought dazedly, unable to move from her position on the stairs.

Standing on the landing was Severus Snape, a man she had known for most of her life, and yet, a man she had obviously never truly seen before. He was wearing Muggle clothing, of course, but it wasn't just the clothing Hermione noticed – it was him. The crisp white linen shirt fit him as if it were tailor-made – which it probably was – the cuffs fastened at the wrists by a pair of silver cufflinks. His shirt was tucked into a pair of charcoal grey trousers that seemed to hug him in all the right places. Her eyes lingered upon the breadth of his shoulders and chest, then slowly moved downward, taking note of his lean hips and marvelling at the length of his legs. Who knew he was hiding that body under those voluminous robes?

What surprised Hermione most, however, was that his hair was pulled away from his face, held back by some sort of elastic or ribbon. The style did accentuate his hawk-like features, but Hermione was more interested in his eyes. He often hid his gaze behind his curtain of hair, but now she had an unobstructed view of what must certainly be his best feature. His eyes were dark, almost black, with thick lashes – and right now, they were fixed firmly on her.

Hermione flushed with embarrassment at being caught ogling the poor man. She quickly looked away, her cheeks flaming and her teeth worrying her bottom lip. "I'm so sorry! I've just – I've never – Oh!"

"I see," Severus replied, his lips twitching as he struggled not to laugh at her distress; he most likely had never seen her at a loss for words. "I don't believe you have seen me in Muggle attire before. I am aware I look somewhat different." He gave a long-suffering sigh, extended his arms to the side and slowly turned around. "Look your fill, then."

Rather than look, however, Hermione closed her eyes, her mortification complete. When she opened them, he had finished turning and was watching her, a look of smug satisfaction firmly planted on his face. Her eyes narrowed, and she lifted her chin. He would not get the best of her today. Lips curled in a small smirk, and with a little extra swing her in hips, she resumed her descent down the stairs.

***

Severus' eyes widened as Hermione's posture changed, and the embarrassed young woman transformed into a seductive siren. As she descended the stairs, he drank in her appearance. She was lovely, yes, and he was pleasantly surprised that she had obviously dressed with special care for their outing; however, he was mesmerised by the sight of her legs – dear gods, she was not wearing stockings. He was instantly assaulted by the desire to run his hands up her bare calves to her undoubtedly silky thighs, and then continue up to palm her delectable derriere. He swallowed – hard – fighting back the impulse. It did not help matters in the slightest that she was wearing her hair down. He was used to seeing it pulled back, but now, it was natural and wild, and he wanted to bury his hands in it, to ...

"Have you looked your fill, then?" she asked, her voice filled with humour and a touch of triumph.

So she was playing his game, was she? Touché, my dear. He stepped toward her, then leant in to place a kiss upon her cheek.

"You look lovely, Hermione," he murmured, purposefully deepening his voice, his tone smooth as velvet.

He stepped back and noted with no small amount of satisfaction that she was obviously flustered. He was definitely starting to get under her skin.

Severus offered her his arm. "Shall we go?" She nodded, placing her hand on his arm, and they exited number twelve, Grimmauld Place together.

***

Severus and Hermione arrived at the Ministry-designated Apparition point near the Houses of Parliament with a loud crack, the sound masked by the noise of the city. It was a bit of a walk to Tate Britain, but it was nice day, so they set out in the direction of the gallery, discussing Hermione's upcoming exams as they strolled.

As always, conversation came easily between the pair, and it wasn't long before they had arrived at their destination. As they climbed the stairs to the portico, Hermione informed him that when the building had first opened, several architects had declared the edifice to be an artistic disappointment, but Severus found himself impressed by the Corinthian columns and dramatic central dome. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, they entered through one of the main doors.

They made their way through the small lobby, walking toward the middle of the room, where Severus admired the three-story circular space with its pale stone walls and polished stone floors. A glass dome flooded the room with sunshine, and despite all the stonework, the room felt light and airy. Severus watched as Hermione placed several pounds into the donation box; she motioned to him to follow her and led him into a barrel-vaulted space with an octagonal area at its centre. Leisurely walking across the stone floor, silently absorbing the atmosphere, they came to stand inside the eight-sided space.

"This is the Duveen Gallery," Hermione said quietly, "but most people refer to it as the octagon."

Severus turned to face her, knowing his expression was perhaps a bit more open than she was used to, but he had wished to visit this particular gallery for quite some time. That he was sharing the experience with Hermione had him feeling almost as giddy as a third-year in Honeydukes for the first time. Almost.

"Where shall we begin?" Hermione asked, her own enthusiasm evident in her voice as she turned in the direction of one of the galleries.

Severus watched as her smile faltered and pain filled her face, her gaze fixed at some point just behind him. Concerned, he followed her line of sight. Comprehension flooded him as he saw the small family – a man and a woman holding hands with an enthusiastic little girl – enter the octagon together.

"Hermione," he began, wishing to offer some comfort, but she shook her head.

"I'm all right. Please, excuse me. I'll meet you over there in a few moments," she said shakily, indicating an area down the hall.

Severus could do nothing but watch as she practically ran to descend the stairs to the lavatory, undoubtedly to compose herself.

***

Hermione had known that visiting Tate Britain would be an emotional experience for her; the last time she had come had been with her parents. She missed them terribly and, at times, had to struggle to rise above the guilt she felt regarding their deaths. After all, if she hadn't been born a witch, they would still be alive.

Shaking off the feeling, she walked to the sinks and turned on the tap. After a splash of cold water on her face and a few moments of staring at her reflection in the mirror, Hermione felt she had mastered her emotions enough that she could exude some semblance of normalcy. She quickly repaired her make-up and, with a deep breath, opened the heavy door and walked out of the lavatory.

Hermione had been able to sense Severus' growing excitement, and she found it particularly endearing. She was anxious to show him the gallery. She had loved coming here with her parents as a child, and there were many favourite pieces she wanted to share with him. Anxious to do just that, Hermione quickened her steps.

She had left Severus in the area of the gallery which held historic British art, so she walked past the shop to the stairs near the special exhibition room. Reaching the top of the staircase, she turned and entered a small narrow room filled with medieval alabaster carvings. Intent on finding her companion, she paid the artwork little heed as she turned to her left, walking through the massive marble-framed doorway, her soft-soled shoes making very little sound on the room's wooden floor. Hermione was tempted to stay and look at the portraits of the Tudors and Stuarts, but continued on when she caught a glimpse of Severus in one of the adjoining rooms.

Although he looked different in his Muggle clothing, she would recognise him anywhere. Severus stood, his hands clasped in front of him and one knee bent slightly as he studied the portrait in front of him with the same amount of concentration she had many times seen him give his Potions work. His back was to her, providing her the opportunity to study him unobserved. As if giving in to a guilty pleasure, Hermione perused him from head to toe, her eyes lingering of their own accord on his arse, a portion of his anatomy she had never had the pleasure of viewing before today. Idly, she wondered how it would feel to run her hands over the muscled flesh of his bum.

She started when she realised she was checking him out again. Feeling a little overwhelmed by her seemingly sudden interest in him in that way, Hermione shook her head to clear her mind and resolutely ignored the throb she had felt at the thought of sliding her hands across his skin.

Severus appeared to be enthralled with the portrait of a pretty young woman whose thick brown hair was piled upon her head. Her flawless skin glowed, and her cheeks appeared slightly flushed. Her full mouth was lush and red with her lips parted slightly, and a vast expanse of unblemished flesh was exposed by the low décolletage of her filmy cream-coloured gown. Her wide, dark eyes seemed to Hermione to be full of hidden knowledge. Lady Hamilton as Circe. How fitting, given that Circe was known for her knowledge of herbs. Thankfully, Hermione knew a bit about the painting, or at least the model, and so in an attempt to push aside all inappropriate thoughts concerning her friend and employer, she immediately launched herself into full lecture mode.

"Here you are," she said as she approached him, inwardly cringing at her overly cheerful tone. From the corner of one eye, Hermione noticed him glance at her for a moment, but she kept her own eyes firmly focussed on the portrait. Once Severus returned to studying Lady Hamilton as Circe, she began to speak. Unfortunately, Hermione's words spewed forth in a torrent of trivial information as she dredged up everything she could remember concerning Lady Hamilton, her life, her husband, and Lord Nelson, although she stumbled a bit after uttering the phrase ménage à trois. She could feel the heat of her blush on her cheeks, and she quickly fell silent, biting her lower lip in order to forcibly put an end to her inane babbling.

Severus turned his head to look at her – Hermione could feel his eyes boring into the top of her head. In her peripheral vision, she saw him nod solemnly before turning back to the portrait, studying it a few moments longer before he bodily turned to face her, murmuring, "Yes, she is lovely." Slowly, he moved to walk past her in the direction of the next room, his warm masculine scent enveloping her once again. His body brushed hers, and then he halted, lowering his head to whisper in her ear, "She reminds me of you."

Shocked, Hermione finally lifted her eyes to his. There was humour there, yes, but there was something else, as well – something Hermione had never seen before. No man had ever looked at her in that way. She found herself struggling to remember to breathe as her senses were overcome by the sheer maleness of him. Once again, a blush stained her cheeks, and she wrenched her gaze away from him.

Flustered, she began to walk past him into the next room. Gathering her courage now that she was no longer facing him, Hermione said, "I do hope you aren't referring to her love life, Severus."

Her quip was rewarded with a deep chuckle – she had never heard him laugh before. She shuddered in pleasure as the velvety sound washed over her in waves. Still laughing softly, Severus gently grasped her elbow to guide her into the room, the feel of his fingers upon her skin sending tingles along her spine once more. Dear Merlin, she thought, what is happening to me?

***

Severus escorted Hermione into a room filled with British landscapes, praying she did not notice his rather stiff gait. By the gods, he should never have stood so close to her. When he had whispered in her ear, he had wanted nothing more than to bury his nose in her wild, fragrant curls and press his mouth to the delicate skin behind her ear.

Releasing Hermione's elbow, he allowed her to continue on ahead of him. As she gazed upon each painting, he gazed upon her. He could never tire of looking at her, studying her in the same manner in which she was currently studying the landscape in front of her. She was a living work of art, and he found himself entranced by the graceful way she moved, her delicate mannerisms, and the varied expressions of her face. Hermione Granger was slowly bewitching his mind and ensnaring his senses. The prophecy had said he would enrapture her heart, but in this moment he wondered if she was not the one enrapturing him. Dear Merlin, he thought, what is happening to me?

***

Hermione and Severus spent the rest of the afternoon exploring Tate Britain, only occasionally encountering other patrons as most people were spending the sunny afternoon out-of-doors. They both enjoyed the room referred to as the Victorian Spectacle, as well as paintings from the Romantic period. Neither was particularly fond of the more modern art, but both were thoroughly enamoured of the Pre-Raphaelite works, Hermione being especially fond of Millais' Ophelia. Her mother had once shared with her an interesting bit of information regarding the painting, and Hermione decided to share it with Severus.

"Did you know," she began, "that the model for this painting spent weeks lying in a bath of water and became quite ill?" He turned to look at her, cocking an eyebrow in a silent query. Hermione nodded earnestly. "It's true! Apparently the lamps that had been placed under the tub to keep the water warm went out, and Millais didn't notice. The model spent quite some time in a bath full of cold water – the poor thing didn't want to break the pose."

Severus hummed in response, then asked, "This depicts the scene from Hamlet, does it not?" When Hermione nodded her agreement, he raised his hand, indicating the numerous flowers. "Look at the flowers Millais chose to surround her with. Some of these are mentioned in the play, whilst others are quite symbolic, befitting the scene. See here," he said, pointing at the flowers floating near the young woman, "are daisies, which represent innocence and are mentioned in the play. And see the weeping willow stretched above her head? That is a symbol of forsaken love."

Hermione was enchanted – she had never paid attention to the symbolic nature of the flowers before, but now that she was aware, she began searching for more examples. "Oh! You're right! And look here, the buttercups represent childishness ... and, oh! The poppy – that's an indicator of death! I've never noticed that before."

They spent the next few minutes analyzing Millais' use of symbolism with flowers and foliage in the work before Hermione saw Severus move away, his attention caught by a portrait of a small child.

***

As Severus approached the painting of the sleeping infant, he read the title, Study of a Dead Child. Instantly, he realised the baby was not asleep but had been painted posthumously.

"Sad isn't it?" he heard Hermione whisper from behind him. "He was the artist's son."

Severus stood, mesmerised by the painting, a strange feeling overcoming him as he considered the profound grief with which the piece must have been painted, each brush stroke a loving memorial. For all the sorrow Severus had experienced in his life, he imagined nothing could compare to the loss of a beloved child.

He was momentarily shaken from his melancholic thoughts when he felt Hermione tuck her hand in the crook of his arm. Together, they silently mourned the child whose father had so obviously loved him.

***

After another hour spent perusing the vast collection of art, they exited the gallery, walking down the entrance stairs to the pavement running alongside Millbank. It was a gorgeous late afternoon; the Thames was lovely this time of year, and there were several families walking about. Suddenly, Hermione nearly jumped in delight, startling Severus so badly that he stumbled. She grabbed his arm, all but squealing in excitement.

"Oh, Severus, look!" she exclaimed, her face alight with glee, her finger pointing in the direction of a white and blue van with pictures and words imprinted along its side. There were several people, mostly children, standing next to it, as if waiting for something.

"What is it?" he asked hesitantly, as if he were unsure if he truly wanted to know the answer.

"It's the ice cream van! Oh, I remember my parents bringing me here, and afterwards they would buy me an ice cream. It was always so lovely," she explained, her voice tapering to a whisper, and her eyes misting as she reminisced.

"It's a tradition, then?" Severus asked, rolling his eyes when she clung to his arm with both hands, her wide brown eyes instantly filled with hopeful anticipation. He motioned toward the van. "All right, fine," he acquiesced, shaking his head as she immediately dragged him toward the queue.

As they waited to purchase Hermione's ice cream, her mind was awhirl with questions. She had thoroughly enjoyed her day with Severus and had to admit she would love to do it again sometime in the near future. She was a tad worried about her newly discovered attraction to him, although her traitorous thoughts reminded her that she had been attracted to him for quite some time – she simply had not been in a position to do anything about it before ...

***

Severus, meanwhile, was wishing the day would never end. He had stopped by Gringotts earlier in the day to exchange a few Galleons into Muggle currency with the intentions of inviting her to dinner. Now he was wondering if it might be too soon – they had spent the entire afternoon together, after all – or Hermione might wish to return home. He was still debating with himself when suddenly they reached the front of the line. Hermione ordered her treat, and Severus swiftly moved to pay the young man before she could open her handbag, pulling out a random note from his pocket.

It was obviously a mistake. The man inside the van eyed him curiously, and Severus looked at the note. Fifty pounds? Dunderheaded goblins! The man inside insisted he could not provide change for such a large amount. Thinking quickly, Severus looked at the line behind him and said, "Keep it. It should be enough to pay for the rest of the children in line, should it not?" The man assured him that yes, it would, and Severus nodded, leading Hermione away from the van. He saw the amused look Hermione was giving him, and with a slight sneer, informed her, "It was only to put a stop to the incessant whinging of all those children."

She did not appear to be convinced.

***

They continued walking side-by-side toward the Apparition point near the Houses of Parliament, Hermione eating her treat as she considered her feelings regarding Severus. Did she want to pursue a relationship with him? What if it ruined their friendship? Was it worth the risk? Her rapidly melting ice cream dripped onto her hand, and she mindlessly licked it away, completely absorbed in her thoughts.

***

Severus almost groaned aloud as he surreptitiously glanced at Hermione, only to see her delicate pink tongue emerge from between rose-coloured lips to lick a drop of the melting confection from the back of her hand. Good gods, she was going to be the death of him.

"Was this a date, Severus?" Hermione asked suddenly, surprising them both. He looked at her for a moment, but her eyes remained steadfastly on the ice cream she was holding. He had no idea how to respond to her. What did she want to hear?

"If you'd like," he finally answered, refusing to look in her direction.

Hermione was quiet as they continued walking. Suddenly, he felt her small hand slip into his, and she said, "I think I would – like that, I mean."

He did look at her then; a small smile curved her lips as she continued to eat her treat. Severus' eyes dropped to their clasped hands. He interlaced their fingers and squeezed lightly. "As would I."

They strolled hand-in-hand along the Thames in companionable silence as Hermione continued to lick her ice cream, simply enjoying being together.

A/N: Links to the artwork mentioned in this chapter:

Lady Hamilton as Circe

http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/explore/large_img.jsp?workid=12742

Ophelia

http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/explore/large_img.jsp?workid=9506

Study of a Dead Child, the Artist's Son

http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/explore/large_img.jsp?workid=16264

*When I uploaded this chapter, the Tate Britain site was not working. Hopefully, they will have it up and running again, soon.

For more information on Lady Hamilton:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emma,_Lady_Hamilton

Up next ... a party at the Burrow! Three people learn about the new relationship. How do they react?

My continued thanks to my fabulous betas!