Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR. This is all for personal fun and enjoyment.

A/N: My thanks to Shug for her beta work and enthusiastic support. As a brief note, while re-working the timeline, I realized that I made a mistake in the last chapter that has since been corrected. Hermione's trip to Florence took place in the same year as her departure from Britain and was thus in 2000; Amsterdam and this chapter are in 2001. My apologies for the confusion!

*

July 14, 2001

Ginny

*

It was a drowsy afternoon of the rainy sort: the kind where it just feels wet and blue, where it's best to sit by a fire reading an old book, no matter that it's the middle of July in a sweltering city.

The humidity was through the roof, and Hermione thought that she was going to die. She was relatively certain that if she didn't melt on the way to café, she'd certainly collapse after, though preferably not in Severus' arms. She'd made an awful habit of doing that and was quite determined to break the cycle.

This was, after all, their first official date. And a shitty date it was shaping up to be. Hermione had had a hellish week at work, was completely exhausted, and was in absolutely no mood to pretend to be even half-way up to par with the sort of conversation Severus was expecting – the sort they'd had the last two times they met. She had no idea whether he would take her as he was; Severus Snape was not the sort of man you met with your defenses down. His instincts to cut were too well honed, too practiced – even if he didn't mean to be abusive, Hermione had a feeling that he would go into automatic mode and strike upon the first perceived provocation.

She could be borrowing trouble. Then again, she could just be preparing for the inevitable.

Better the latter, she thought as she attempted – for the third time – to charm her hair into submission. It was becoming increasingly clear that the humidity would win this battle.

She settled for arranging it in what she hoped was a stylishly messy bun. She pinched her cheeks, grabbed her umbrella and her purse – mustn't forget that – and walked out the door, not realizing that she'd worn a white top until she was halfway down the street.

What had started out as a chic ensemble – black strappy heels, black capris, and a lacy white top – was becoming increasingly impossible.

Oh well.

The cobblestone streets sputtered rain up all over her shoes as she walked out the building door.

Shit. At least he'll see that I put in some sort of effort.

*

"That outfit is hardly practical for the weather, Hermione," Severus remarked as she sat down at their table in the café. She was a few minutes late due to the uncomfortable trial that walking in soaked heels presented.

She inhaled sharply. "Are you honestly criticizing my clothing, Severus?" she asked, a bit embittered.

He smirked. "No." He pushed a cup in front of her. "Dark Roast. It's French today," he said with a nod towards the counter, "Just how you like it."

"Thank you," she said, quite grateful. She looked up at him as she sipped and almost spilled her cup when she met his eyes. That intensity was just unsettling. Her hands shook a bit as she smelled pine. I am a better woman than this, she thought, deliberately not making eye contact with him. I will not melt into a puddle at his feet.

He met her eyes again and asked her a question she didn't quite hear. He repeated it, eyes still intense – damn him! – and his long fingers drummed against the cup of coffee.

... or I could melt, she thought and gave herself up to the delectable coffee and excellent conversation.

*

"Why France?" she asked during a lull in the conversation.

He paused and gave her a hard look.

She smiled and batted her lashes.

He sighed, conceding an easy defeat. "My grandmother."

"The cottage?" Hermione asked, venturing a guess.

He nodded. "My grandparents were English but they spent their summers in France. It's how they met."

"And the cottage was..."

"My grandfather's. I never knew him," Severus said, clearly uninterested. "But my grandmother took up the cottage full-time after his death, so that is where I spent my summers."

"And now it's yours."

"I am her only living descendent."

Hermione paused. "It's quite beautiful."

He nodded and drank his coffee.

"Are you in contact with anyone in Britain?" she asked rather suddenly.

He looked up at her sharply. "Why do you need to know?"

"I –"

"You want to know. I am not a puzzle for you to piece together, Hermione," he said, his voice low and his eyes fierce.

She opened her mouth, and he reached across the table and covered it with his hand.

"Will you desist, woman?" he hissed. "If you continue to harangue me with questions meant to satiate your own damned curiosity, I will be forced to take my leave."

She leaned back, slightly stunned. "Severus, I..."

He held up a hand. "Spare me."

They sat in silence a few moments.

"I'm sorry," she said meekly.

He grunted.

"So why did you open an apothecary?" Hermione asked tentatively, loathe to give up the conversation entirely. She thought his work may be safe ground – and even that's a guess – and was immensely relieved when he leaned in towards her.

"It's a way to make a living," he said simply, his fingers lightly drumming against his cup of coffee. It was distracting.

"Was it a dream of yours?"

He laughed. "I don't have dreams."

"Well, that's depressing," Hermione intoned with a raise of her eyebrows.

He shrugged and still managed to look quite dignified in the process. That was a bit annoying.

"I live in the present," he offered after a moment. "And only the present."

Hermione nodded and was relatively certain that she understood what he meant.

*

The discussion that followed was more than enough to convince Hermione that being in control was seriously overrated. Letting him lead and ask the questions made him much more relaxed than when he was on the defensive. Well, naturally, a little voice in her head said, but she shut that out quickly.

Also, her lacy shirt was distracting him, which both amused and unnerved her. Here was a man so self-controlled...

Speaking of which...

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"I visited your apothecary several times," she started slowly. "You were never there. Were you avoiding me?" She gave what she hoped was a cheeky smile, trying a bit too hard to come off as being more playful than she felt.

He stared at her long and hard. "I was not avoiding but rather delaying the inevitable."

She sputtered into her coffee. "You were avoiding me."

He closed his eyes, clearly annoyed. "There is a difference. I wanted to see you on my terms, when I deemed it necessary."

"Oh, when you deemed it necessary?" she asked sarcastically. Forget letting him lead! "So what I say or want doesn't matter?"

He inhaled sharply. "No. I just was not ready to see you. You visited three times..."

"Five."

"I am only aware of three visits, all of which I was told of after the fact."

"Why?"

"The first time you asked for me, and after that visit, I informed my employees that I wished to be apprised of any subsequent visits."

Her lips tightened into a thin smile. "Avoidant."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Informed." He sighed. "This conversation will only be as difficult as you make it."

"Well, you don't want to compromise..." she started, but he waved a hand and cut her off.

"You trespassed on my land, visited my apothecary, and you belligerently followed me at the conference in Amsterdam – all of these are invasions of my private space and property, and I am not accustomed or inclined to share them with others."

That shut her up rather quickly.

That sat there, both staring at their coffee for several minutes.

She sighed and started to pull her things together. "You're right," she muttered. "I have no right to invade your life and impose myself on you when it's clear..."

"When what is clear, Hermione?" he asked softly, his voice a heady smoke to her ear. He pressed his leg against hers under the table to prevent her from getting up, and the sensation nearly knocked her off her chair.

Shit, she thought.

"I'm confused as to what exactly you want," she said, although the look in his eyes seemed quite clear.

"I want to spend time with you," he said without missing a beat. She opened her mouth to respond but he quickly said, "Surprising, I know. For all that you're a bushy haired know-it-all and I'm your greasy git of a former professor, I enjoy your company. I do not like it, however, when you ask impertinent questions and try to assume you know me. You don't. When you aren't annoying me, you'll find that we get on quite tolerably, or has the last hour escaped your notice?"

She closed her mouth. Fuck.

"I thought so," he said, looking entirely too self-satisfied for his own good.

"Severus," she said.

"Mm?"

"Your leg is still pressed up against mine."

"I am aware of it," he said, not looking up as he glanced at the paper he'd been reading before she arrived.

She looked at him and tried to ignore her temperature. He slid his leg along hers, and she thought her eyes would roll back in her head at the sheer pleasure of it.

Gods, I should not be this easily turned on! Then again, it has been over a year since...

The thought of her last encounter with Ron – detached and decidedly unsatisfying – was enough to put her off her stomach and move her leg away from Severus'. She clamped her legs together tightly and glared at him.

He, the sanctimonious prick, had the audacity to laugh.

"What's so funny?" she snapped.

"You," he said shamelessly, pressing his leg against hers again, clearly amused by the interaction.

Suddenly indignant and embarrassed at having been so easily aroused by her former professor – but oh, how subtle it was, his leg pressed against hers, his eyes on his coffee, completely steady the whole time – well, she did the only natural thing she could do. She picked up her things, kicked his leg away, and walked out of the café.

So caught up was she in the moment and in ignoring the passive look on his face, she failed to realize that it was raining. Furthermore, she forgot to put up her umbrella before venturing out into the elements, resulting in the complete soaking of her all-too-thin lace top.

The rain was coming down harder now, the colors of dusk now blocked out by the buildings, and the resulting shadows soaked the streets in a creamy, dark color.

"Oh, Merlin," she said, exasperated, as she reached in her purse for her umbrella. She fished about for a moment and didn't look up, so she was rather shocked when she suddenly felt a dry heaviness about her shoulders. She looked up into Severus' eyes and felt his hands resting on her shoulders where he'd put his jacket over her.

She pulled the coat tight around her, watching his wet hair cling to his head. Where the rain was cold, his eyes were hot, and they had been locked on her ever since she looked up from her bag. His button-down was soaked against him and had seen fit to mold itself to his hard body.

She tried to swallow discreetly.

They stood nearly nose-to-nose for a moment, breathing softly, falling slowly, until he broke and pulled her in tight against him, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing his lips to hers in a fervent kiss, the force of the rain pressing them even tighter against one another.

Her arms came up around him, and neither of them noticed as the coat fell from her shoulders.

"Severus," she said softly, breathing against him when he finally released her lips in an audible pop. She shifted against him and he groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck, right where it met collarbone. He pressed his mouth against her dampened skin and then sucked with such force that she almost cried out.

Almost.

"Stop, stop," she said softly, the sight of a stunned passerby bringing her back down to earth.

"Why should I?" he whispered against her ear, and his voice sent tingles down her spine.

"Because we're in the middle of the street," was the answer that brought a smile to his face.

She stepped away from him, hating that he knew how easily he affected her but loving the sensations all the same. Two can play that game, she thought, so she leaned against him again, feeling her rain-soaked torso come into contact with his. He exhaled quietly, and she reveled in it.

"Why stop?" she asked against his ear, standing on tiptoe with her arm around his neck to balance her.

His hands rested on her hips and rose up to stroke her back.

She sighed. "Because it's too soon." She nipped at his ear and stepped away, reaching down to pick up his coat. "I'll see you soon," she said with a smile, and then she stepped back into a sliver of dusky light.

"Alright then," Severus said, visibly more relaxed as his breathing regulated itself. "I'll send word," he said, and the look in his eyes made her a bit weak at the knees.

It also alarmed her enough to turn on her heel and walk the other direction.

*

July 15, 2001

Present

"He kissed you in the rain?" Rose asked, incredulous and really, really impressed. She whistled and leaned back in her chair. "Damn, Mum. That's romantic."

Hermione laughed and sipped her wine. She put her glass down, smacked her lips, and threw her hair back over her shoulder.

"Yes, it was."

"Hot?" Rose asked with a wink. The wine had loosened them both up a bit; they were almost through with the bottle.

Hermione laughed heartily. "Quite. I recommend kissing in the rain. It's wet but – well, inexplicable." She waved her wand and another bottle of wine flew over.

"So what happened after that?" Rose asked.

"We were together – wait." Hermione drew her shoulders back and gave a haughty look. "Miss Granger," she mimicked, dropping her voice and smirking, "I do believe we are involved." She held the pose for a second before she burst out laughing and rocked forward into the table.

"That's what he said?" Rose asked. Hermione laughed again, almost a cackle. Rose smiled, amused. "You might want to get a glass of water, Mum."

"Oh, tosh, I'm fine," Hermione said, recovering herself.

"So you were exclusively involved?" Rose asked, trying to get them back on track.

"Essentially – but we weren't in a relationship, mind." Hermione rolled her eyes. "We weren't together, we weren't exclusive, even though, naturally, we were, I mean –" Hermione ran a hand through her hair, distracted "– Merlin, the physical pull was just so intense. I'm sorry, Rose. I'm sure you'd rather not hear about your mother in that sense, but the physical was definitely a driving force of our relationship. We fought like crazy – I was pushy, he was cutting – but we just couldn't stay away from each other."

"Strong attraction," Rose remarked nonchalantly. Honestly, any illusions of the stork or images of her mother as an asexual being had vanished long ago. She had walked in on her parents more often than she could remember, all of which when she was home on breaks from Hogwarts – she supposed her parents had become sloppy with silencing and disillusionment charms after their children were gone. Also, most traumatizing, she had once seen a rather racy note her father had written to her mum. She'd been home for the hols during sixth year, and that note had put her off her stomach in the worst way. Why Hugo thought that it would be funny to show her she had no idea.

"Yes, attraction," her mother was saying. "A very strong one, physically and intellectually, of course, and I daresay a stronger attraction than either of us had ever experienced." A shadow passed over Hermione's face but was quickly replaced with a smile. "But there was also the fact that we were cut off from Britain – both of us had done so voluntarily, though his was more out of necessity, but we were both... desperate, I suppose, for that comfort. We were familiar to each other, and that I think had a good to deal to do with it as well, though I think we both suppressed that notion. Two people desperate to forget yet clinging to the only visible wreckage – an entertaining contradiction," Hermione murmured.

"But you were together..."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, we were. We were together for a long time – for a very long, trying, difficult, yet immensely pleasurable and satisfying time."

*

I hope you all are still enjoying the story.

As a brief note, Sage has been nominated for Best WIP at the Quill to Parchment Awards. My sincere thanks to whoever nominated the story! I am honored to be in such esteemed company. To vote, go to http://awards.quilltoparchment.com/