Lists

Everything recognizable and wonderful is the creation of Jo Rowling. The other stuff is mine.

LISTS

Severus had considered waking her up.

He wasn't going to go tiptoeing around his own quarters while she slept until all hours of the day.

But he found her sleeping form fascinating, slipping her looks as he dressed.

When she wasn't nattering at him or whinging about things or making a general nuisance of herself – in other words, when she was asleep – she was oddly compelling to look at.

Her eyelashes were very thick and curly for one thing. Nothing more than should be expected, considering that hair, but he would have never noticed such a thing if she hadn't been sleeping.

She had a soft spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Very pale, easy to miss when her face was animated, which it almost always was. Except, obviously, when she slept.

Her hands were long and slender, and her fingertips were stained with multi-coloured inks. Odd, that. Odd that he hadn't noticed before.

He also found it annoying that a strand of hair clung to her parted lips. How did she sleep with all that wretched mop of hair, with strands drifting on each breath and clinging to her cheeks, her lashes, her lips? He finally stopped with his shirt half-buttoned to lean over the bed to free the strand – and felt her moist breath wash over his knuckles in the process.

He stood, feeling that warmth on his knuckles, for longer than he cared to consider.

In conclusion, he found a sleeping Hermione Granger much more tolerable than an awake one, so he decided to let her sleep.

Sometimes discretion is the better part of valour, after all, he thought as he whooshed through the door and into the corridor, then meticulously checked the wards to make sure she wouldn't be disturbed.

X

First things first.

Although lurking outside the House of Slytherin was one of the least comfortable ways she could spend a Saturday morning, it was the most straightforward way she could think of to find Pansy Parkinson.

Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy emerged first. To her surprise, he was alone. All right. This could work as well.

He frowned at her. "Granger."

"Snape," she corrected.

He arched a skeptical eyebrow and smirked. "As you say."

"After the Sorting, Peregrine Burns made me a gift of his jade serpent," she began.

"Yes."

"Good. You know. Well, then, I hope you gave him another? It was the sweetest thing, of course, but I hate to think he--"

"Of course we did."

"Oh." Well, that was easy. One thing marked off her list.

"Did you really think we wouldn't?" he asked, narrow-eyed.

"I thought you might not realize he'd given his away." She didn't like the way he looked at her, now. The way his eyes flickered up and down her body. Not exactly menacing, but assessing. It was almost enough to make her cross her arms across her breasts, except that would reveal she noticed and was bothered by his appraisal.

She also didn't like the way he smelled of cigarette smoke. They were allowed to smoke in Slytherin?

He gave his head a small shake and turned his attention back to the corridor ahead of them, then smirked again. "I still haven't gotten used to the idea."

"What idea?" she asked.

"I'm just trying to imagine you with Severus. You're not at all his type," he said with a snide laugh.

Imagine? This time she crossed her arms without hesitation. "I should hope not. He's not the kind of letch who drools over the girls in his classes," she said with sharp snip.

Draco shot her a surprised look.

She realized belatedly that her words might be misconstrued. "Of course, that's no longer an issue between us," she amended, "as I'm no longer his student."

Draco glanced down her body again, and this time there was no doubt what he was imagining--

She took a step toward the stairs. "I'm sorry if it seemed I was judging you and finding you lacking when it came to your duties in the House of Slytherin," she said politely. "I have some other errands to run, now."

"What? No apologies for judging me and finding me lacking as a husband?" This time the sneer definitely held malice.

"No," she said. "No apologies for that."

She left him watching her. She could feel him watching her.

But that was the least unsettling part of the conversation.

Professor Snape had a type. She wasn't it.

Draco Malfoy knew him well enough to know this.

And to call him Severus.

None of this surprised her.

It certainly shouldn't hurt her.

But surprisingly, it did.

She'd taken two left turns and a right before she realized she was headed up to Gryffindor Tower.

Old habits died hard.

She retraced her steps and headed back to the dungeons, trying to form the word "Severus" in her mind and finding it impossible.

X

She returned to her lists with a renewed fervor. Sitting on the bed against a pile of pillows with books and parchments stacked around her, and a small lap desk with quill and ink levitating beside her, she hacked away at them until she'd more or less bent them to her will.

But she'd left herself far too much today, on a Saturday when her mind was truly only on ... well, yes. That.

Which brought her to the "Ways to Make Professor Snape's Life Easier" list.

It was a short list.

That bothered her a lot.

In the week since she'd come up with her oh so clever plan to marry Professor Snape, not only had he married her, but he'd almost gotten killed, most likely on her behalf, though he'd never admitted it beyond the ominous, "The Dark Lord isn't happy."

She'd turned his life upside down, and no matter how good her intentions, she seemed to get up his nose every time they even attempted to have a normal conversation. Of course, he was usually an arse, but still, she'd known that going in. She was the one with the great debt to him, not the reverse.

He must hate himself for ever agreeing to save her.

He must hate her.

She certainly hated herself on a regular basis.

She rubbed her temples with her thumbs. Guilt was a horrid thing to carry around on her shoulders, especially when she so richly deserved it.

She turned back to the list.

She'd gone over everything he'd said to her and listed it for reference.

"... with as little fuss as is humanly possible..."

This was number one on the "must avoid doing" sub-list. And she'd tried. But it seemed just existing in his quarters created fuss.

"I don't care about the shirt."

In the language of Snape, especially as she'd literally pinched his own nice shirt out of his own armoire, this had to count as a positive. And the way he'd looked at her legs – unless, of course, he really had been looking at Crookshanks.

Well, the shirt still went onto the "how to please" sub-list.

Along with tea. At least there was no second-guessing that.

Did he like firewhisky, or was his indulgence the night of their wedding an aberration? If he actually liked it, he was certain to like single malt better. She could have her father send some, just in case.

She chewed the feather end of her quill.

Or wine. He did seem to like wine. Her parents had a very fine wine cellar, or so it was reputed. Her own experience with wine was limited to holidays and special occasions, and she hadn't spent so many of them at home in recent years.

At least her "research further" sub-list was growing.

He hadn't complained about the sheets, either the color or the softness.

But that didn't mean he wouldn't toss them in the fire when he decided they needed cleaning, either.

She added to the list, "Magical housekeeping – How to clean sheets?" Was there a wizarding equivalent of a washer and dryer? She wouldn't mind doing her own laundry if it meant she could keep her soft sheets. She'd rather they be a very pale silver, of course. The red and green was reminding her all too much of something she might find on Professor Dumbledore's bed, and that was a thought too disturbing for words.

In the meantime – she cast a freshening charm over them and felt them soften and fluff over, under and around her. She didn't dare use herbs; he'd complained about the sachet. She quickly added sachets to the "must avoid doing" sub-list.

She really should find a way to keep Crookshanks out of their bed, she thought, stroking his purring body as she considered it. In fact, this being Saturday, she really should find a way. What if Crooks misunderstood their physical activities? He could be fiercely protective of her, as Ron had the scars on his hand to prove.

She added that to the "prepare for Sat. night" list with a shudder.

Crooks was definitely due a night out hunting.

X

Snape entered the Slytherin common room unannounced, as usual. It was, after all, the only way to catch the little buggers up to mischief.

The common room was empty. They must all be at lunch....

Miss Granger must be at lunch. In fact, immediately upon thinking that thought, he supposed he should consider going to the Great Hall, as well.

He turned to leave, but Draco stepped out of the seventh-year salon.

"Severus."

He arched his brows. Draco knew better than to be familiar with him here. "Mr Malfoy?"

"Could I have a word with you, sir?"

Well. Better. Snape nodded and followed him into the salon. With a slight wave of his hand, he warded the room and silenced it.

Draco slouched onto a green velvet chaise longue and offered Snape a cigarette.

Snape accepted it and sank into the wing chair across from him. But as he started to light up, he stopped. He didn't want to taste of stale cigarette when they...

But that was hours away.

And there would be no kissing.

He never kissed if he could avoid it and had developed more than a modicum of skill at effective kissing without tongues for those times when he felt it necessary. Early in his study of potions he'd considered the risk of the introduction of foreign elements to one's body through the exchange of bodily fluids, and frankly, snogging simply wasn't worth the risk. Fortunately, there were protection spells for more intimate acts, but the human mouth was a nasty place by definition, and it would be difficult to find a better incubator for some of the more malicious elements he'd encountered in his years of spying.

But here he was, struggling with a deep and dangerous desire to kiss her....

He looked up to find Draco studying him, the little whelp. "Is there something amiss in my appearance?" he snapped.

Draco shrugged, smirked, and exhaled a soft stream of smoke. "I'm just beginning to wonder if you did me any favors by marrying Granger. Since the Sorting, everyone has discussed how eagerly she seems to have adapted to your bed."

Snape willed his body to stillness and simply cocked his head.

"Having a Mudblood around to fuck wouldn't be the worst fate in the world," continued Draco with a whinge.

The cigarette exploded in his hand, spraying tobacco. He wanted to reach across the short distance between them and snap the boy's neck. "You are talking about my wife."

Draco laughed. "Really, Severus."

"Yes. Really."

"My father told me that you've been known to share." Draco's eyes darted nervously to his cigarette, which he seemed more interested in staring at than actually smoking.

Wandless magic being what it was and his Dark urges being what they were, he wouldn't even have to reach. Just a flick of his hands... He could almost see Draco with his head dangling sideways....

He tasted bile in the back of his throat.

Images flashed into his head, images he usually repressed.

Images of a seventh-year Lucius and Narcissa, drunk on their newfound sexual prowess, deciding to initiate a fourth-year Severus Snape into the delicacies of love.

Of Narcissa welcoming him into her naked embrace.

Of Lucius smoking hashish and watching, smiling, giving advice. Touch her there, that's right, you like that don't you, pet? Once even moving his hand over Severus's to demonstrate the correct technique, the soft yet firm pressure....

And then pulling Severus off of her and flinging him out of the way to finish the deed, leaving him to wank and watch and seethe and experience an orgasm like none he'd experienced before.

Images that taunted and haunted him for years.

Lucius had told Draco about that?

Draco cleared his throat, nervous.

Lucius is playing games. No way would he expose Narcissa to such knowledge from her son.

"Draco," he said, his voice soft and cunning. "Are you telling me that your father suggested a man should share his own wife?" The words, your mother, hung between them unspoken.

The boy's face suffused with an ugly red. "You know that's not what he meant, not if she's pureblood and a true wife."

"Just because my wife is Muggle-born does not make her any less the wife of a pureblood Slytherin. It would be a grave mistake for anyone to forget that."

Draco jerked a nod. "It's just – it's just that I see pureblood Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws with their Mudblood wives and know that they're all fucking like rabbits and here I could have been..."

You could have been eligible for the Dark Mark the moment you were married! Snape finished silently, his rage palpable in the pulse of the blood pounding through his veins. None of my House will sport a Dark Mark in these halls, as long as there is a chance in hell of ending this madness before they leave Hogwarts.

"Yes, you could dilute your line with Muggle blood, couldn't you? And after you, how many other Slytherins would follow you, Draco? And they would follow you. You would lead them right into the Ministry's hands."

Draco squeezed his eyes closed.

"I thought we all agreed, no Slytherins will take part in this travesty until they are forced to by graduating. No pureblood Slytherins will allow their lines to be tainted."

"I don't know what kind of game your father is playing with me, Draco. I don't expect you to take my side. But I do expect you to use your fucking brain and control yourself. Use your hand. Use a Knockturn Alley whore. But don't play into the fucking Ministry's schemes, and don't turn yourself into a murderer when you have to rid yourself of a Muggle wife once the Dark Lord returns to power.

"Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Draco nodded, to all appearances chastened.

Snape removed the wards and silencing charm and made his exit before his fury could erupt.

If Draco Malfoy threw away the sacrifice he'd made to stop him from taking the Dark Mark, to give him time to come to his senses or the war time to end or the bloody fucking world to stop spinning on its axis –

If Draco took a wife –

Or touched his wife –

He'd rip him limb from limb.