Soul Mates?

Anything you recognize belongs to the fabulous J.K. Rowling.

My endless thanks to my beta, GinnyW, for her patience and insight.

45. SOUL MATES?

Watching the expressions cross his face was like watching a train wreck in progress. She couldn't tear her eyes away.

"Miss Granger, if you are in any way expecting me to believe that we are soul mates...." The words dripped with icicles.

"It's an insipid idea," she agreed hurriedly and defiantly. "The very word is saccharine and asinine and..."

"Then what are you telling me?" he demanded.

She winced. "Just what I said. That when we kiss, our souls kiss. When we took our vows, our souls... connected. Or bonded. Or something." She took a deep breath. "And I believe that in an ordinary life under ordinary circumstances..."

"You mean, somebody else's life, because I can assure you mine has never been blessed enough to be ordinary," he spat.

"In a life without the Marriage Law," she stated firmly, "we would have eventually..." She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, god. This is so embarrassing. I feel like a fourteen-year-old ninny even spouting out this nonsense!"

"But that doesn't stop you from believing it?"

"No."

He stared at her. Simply stared at her. The silence between them grew unbearable. Finally, when she was about to speak, to say anything, just to break the silence, he let out a soft snort.

"Well," he drawled, "as long as you acknowledge that it's preposterous, romantic claptrap, I suppose I will have to accustom myself to the fact that I'm married to the kind of witch who believes such nonsense."

"Oh, no, you don't," she said, leaping from the stool and closing the distance between them. "You're not getting off that easily. Tell me, tell me you can't...in the most secret part of your being...entertain the notion that something beyond logical explanation has been happening between us, and that this is a possible if illogical explanation!"

He glared down his nose at her.

"Or is it always this way with you? Maybe it's your soul doing all the dirty work. Tell me," she demanded, glaring back at him, "Do you spark this kind of response in every witch you kiss? Do they all feel what I feel at just the brush of your lips against theirs?" And then, before she could think better of it, "Do you feel the same when you kiss them?"

"Perhaps you suggest that my soul is so desperate it attempts to latch onto any woman I come into contact with?" he sneered.

"You twist my point," she snapped. "What I suggested...what I believe...is that we are just fucking goddamn lucky we had no occasion to kiss when I was eleven!"

"Miss Granger!" he roared, but she'd had enough. She reduced her research parchment to the size of a postage stamp, tucked it in her pocket and sailed out of the lab, leaving him to stew in his own juices while she recovered from exposing her...yes, exposing her soul to his ridicule.

She flung herself on the bed and buried her face in the pile of pillows.

She'd barely had time to assimilate the information herself. She actually hadn't assimilated it at all, for that matter. She simply recognized its validity with a click as distinct as a penny dropping and had made the mistake of blurting it out to him without due consideration.

And of course, there was the consideration that whatever he felt wasn't as distressingly powerful as what she felt when they kissed....

A consideration that distressed her more than she was able to contemplate without an empty ache.

"Are you seeking to hibernate for the winter?"

She squeaked her outrage as she sat up and sent pillows tumbling around her. He looked entirely too calm and unimpressed by her revelation. "I... just made a fool of myself, didn't I?"

"It would seem so, yes."

"Am I wrong?" she asked in a small voice, wanting it to be stronger but finding it impossible to bring more power to it. "Is it because I'm inexperienced? That what I think is... earth shattering...now, there's another insipid cliché you can scoff at...but am I just too naïve to know that it's not special at all? Is this what it's like for everyone? I don't see how it could be, or the other wives wouldn't have been crying about having to have sex so often..."

Before she could complete that thought, she was hit with another devastating idea. "Or is it because you...you're so good at it..."

He winced, but that didn't stop her.

"...that maybe I'm just mistaking something physical for something... metaphysical?"

"Miss Granger..."

"Or, oh, god..." She scrambled backward on the bed until her back was pressed against the headboard. She clutched a soft pillow to her chest as if to protect her from the final humiliation. "It's just not that special for you? And I'm an idiot and a fool and a..."

"Miss Granger! If you'd please stop exposing your myriad insecurities to the cold light of day and take a breath, I could answer you!"

"Here," she said quickly, shifting some pillows aside. "Come sit down. It's easier to talk that way."

He looked at his spot on the bed and back at her, his eyes narrowed. But he finally did ease down beside her. He stretched his long legs out beside hers and crossed them at the ankles, leaning against the headboard. "I hope you realize that I find this entire discussion irregular, and I'm only participating because the only way to come to any lucid conclusions about... your current direction of enquiry... is to look at it from both our perspectives."

"Do you need me to repeat my questions?"

"No," he snapped, "I do not." He took a deep breath. "To begin, no, it's not always as..."

"Earth shattering?"

"I'll use my own words if you don't mind."

She bit her lower lip to keep herself from speaking.

"Satisfying."

She nodded.

"It's not always as satisfying as it has been between us."

She let out her breath, relieved.

"As for your next question, suffice it to say that I find it awkward if not almost unbelievable that I am repeatedly referred to as 'good at sex.'"

"I don't believe you."

"Please. This is difficult enough without your interruptions. The point is, I have never been considered... inept, by any means. But I admit I've not devoted myself to the exploration of that aspect of... oh fucking hell."

"That's all right," she said encouragingly. "You're doing really well."

"Miss Granger, silence." He heaved in a deep breath, his tension palpable. "I think that if anything about our... physical relationship... might be influenced by our vows, this might be it. I simply have never been tempted nor have I been inspired to put quite so much effort into the aspects of sexual intercourse that might be considered 'worshipping one's body'."

"Why not?" She immediately regretted her question as she could actually feel his glare before she turned her face to see it. "Sorry."

"At first," he continued with an audible strain, "I thought it was simply due to the constant proximity of...a female in my quarters and my life. But then I realized that my thoughts and desires were totally focused on you. That if I'd somehow ended up forced to marry some other... woman, I couldn't imagine having the same reaction."

"Really? You mean, even if...even if you'd married someone sexy and beautiful... somebody like Lavender or Parvati or...or even Fleur Delacour? And had her here with you day and night it wouldn't have tempted you to..."

"Miss Granger!" he thundered. "I'm finding this entire conversation difficult enough in the hypothetical. If you insist upon thrusting real faces into the mix, I'm going to lose my fucking lunch!" He seemed to gather his defences and continued more calmly, "Which brings us back to the questions at hand. I fear that whatever is happening between us is a compulsion brought about by the reckless mixing of Muggle and magical vows. You maintain it predates our vows and thus can't be caused by them, and furthermore, that this proves we are some kind of fucking soul ma..."

"Don't say that word!" she broke in.

"You know, Miss Granger," he said, and suddenly chuckled. "It's your reluctance to use the word, your belief that the very idea is ludicrous, that makes me most inclined to wonder if perhaps it might even be true."

She stayed so still she held her breath.

"Perhaps," he repeated.

She let it out in a whoosh and took a deep steadying gulp of air. "You're...you're not serious."

"Let's just say I'm feeling forced to entertain the possibility until a more plausible explanation presents itself, if you can give me three reasonable examples of how we might have made such a connection on our own, without the interference of the Marriage Law, and I remind you that me bedding a student is not an option I would have ever entertained."

She closed her eyes. "Perhaps... perhaps after the war, I would have come back to Hogwarts to teach. And perhaps if I did, you would somehow forget that I'd been an insufferable thorn in your side..."

"Unlikely. Though for the sake of argument, perhaps I would overlook the fact that you were an insufferable thorn in my side."

"Or perhaps... we'd be in Flourish and Blotts, and we'd be reaching for the same book at the same moment, and our hands would touch, and we'd feel the spark before we even noticed each other, and we'd turn to apologize and I'd get lost in your eyes... because I do get lost in your eyes, you know."

"Of course both of those require actually surviving the final battle," he remarked, reopening the ever-present wound in her chest.

Of course they'd survive the final battle. They simply had to. It would be too unfair to lose him now, before they'd even had a chance.

But not as unfair as if they'd never found each other at all....

She studied his profile, easy enough to do when he glared resolutely at empty air.

To have never known him, to have never known this....

She shook herself free of the terror, but not of the melancholy. "Or perhaps it would have happened on the battlefield," she said softly. "And you would have saved my life, and I would owe you a life debt, and..."

"I'd take it out in trade?" he asked, sliding her a sideways glance.

"You are a wretch," she announced with a huff.

"Is that an improvement over a horse's arse? Or am I losing ground?"

She scowled at him. "I could make up scenarios all day, and it wouldn't change a thing. It makes no difference what might have been because we have what we have, and we are what we are, and all we can do is move forward."

"And this influences Hallowe'en in what way?"

"I haven't quite worked that out yet, but I'm sure it does." And then, because she couldn't resist, and because it was true, she added, "And, Professor, I wouldn't have performed fellatio on anyone else, either."

"Fucking hell."

"Are you blushing?"

"No," he growled.

"Yes," she purred. And with that she climbed ungracefully out of bed and headed to the loo, aware that he was probably watching every twitch of her hips, which she made sure twitched quite admirably.

She paused at the door and glanced back over her shoulder.

"And Thursday is my birthday."

XX

Fucking hell.

At least she'd reminded him again.

Dinner had been uneventful. She'd kept her nose buried in a book and he'd ignored Hooch and despite a few glares from the Gryffindor gits it had been a pleasant enough interlude.

But now, standing in his office, he touched his wand gently to his Dark Mark to request an audience.

He slouched into his desk chair and toyed with his quill. There was nothing to do but wait.

XX

It was the correct bookcase. Identical in every way.

Except for the narrow space on the bottom shelf where the book was supposed to be wedged.

The book she'd burned in the Room of Requirement.

She felt a wave of horror sweep over her.

She'd never dreamed that tossing the book into the fire would result in the library's book disappearing, too.

Fretting, she coiled a strand of hair around her finger.

"Madam Snape."

She flinched at Madam Pince's voice. Could she know? Hermione thought she might die of mortification if Madam Pince realized she had burned a book.

"Are you by any chance looking for Raising the Magical Child, Vol II, Element-ary Magics from Birth to Four Years?"

Oh, god. She wasn't sure whether to admit it or not. "Yes," she finally said, deciding to fake ignorance. "Has someone checked it out?"

"Indeed, earlier today." Madam Pince gave her a calculating look which lingered a little too long on the abdomen. "In fact, you'll be pleased to know it was Professor Snape who checked it out."

Hermione felt the colour drain from her face. "Oh," she said lamely. "Thank you."

"Are we to expect an announcement soon, my dear?"

Hermione raised her chin a notch. "I have no idea what you could possibly mean."

Madam Pince just gave a short sniff.

Hermione left the library.

This was a disaster.

XX

Severus was crossing the Entrance Hall when he saw Miss Granger freeze on the staircase. He gave her a sharp nod, and she resumed descending and met up with him in the middle of the mosaic Hogwarts Seal.

"I'll be out for a bit," he announced stiffly.

Her eyes did not flicker to his left forearm, yet he felt her attention longing to go there.

"Yes," he said in answer to her unasked question. "I'll be back shortly."

He whisked through the door, ever aware of large brown eyes watching him leave.

XX

He'd no sooner arrived in the Malfoy's Apparition Foyer than Narcissa greeted him with a curt nod and brushed past to lead him into the public wing of the manor.

"Good evening," he said, placidly testing the water.

Her response was a polite-sounding, "Severus," but no more. Interesting.

As he followed behind her, he glanced at the cream-coloured silk robes that clung enticingly to her still-slender body. Women liked such things, yet other than when she'd worn her mother's frock, he'd never seen Miss Granger wearing anything other than her jeans. Perhaps this is what she'd want for...he cringed...her birthday.

"Cissy, your robes are always..." he sought a word, "nice," he finally managed. "Do you shop at Madam Malkin's?"

"Oh, good heavens, no. Not for my good things. I always go to Monsieur Worth's in Paris. But if you're thinking of buying something for your bride...though I can't imagine that you'd waste the money, all things considered...don't even consider Monsieur. I'm afraid he's quite beyond your means."

At that point they entered Lucius's study where several of the higher-ranking Death Eaters were gathered. Notably absent was Pendragon Parkinson. Such a pity.

"In fact," Narcissa continued sweetly, "I took your financial situation under consideration when I gave your dear Hermione her little bride-gift. I was careful not to purchase something that would be beyond your means to duplicate, should you decide you liked its effect."

What fucking bride-gift?

"I hope you've enjoyed it," she said, sliding him a suggestive glance, clearly enjoying putting him on the spot in front of the other wizards.

Of course. The hideous red thing she'd given as a humiliation.

"I'm sure it was well-intended, but as a bride-gift, perhaps not the wisest choice. It's not as if she would be spending much time in it."

"Surely you don't mean..." Cissy stared at him in horror. "Surely she sleeps in nightclothes. Even your little Mudblood would not be so déclassé..." She broke off, unnerved by his arched brow.

"Cissy, you know not to use that language around Severus." Lucius said, but his cold tone and his narrowed eyes were clearly aimed at Severus, not his wife.

As were all eyes in the room, and though Severus idly gazed at his own fingernails, he had little doubt that his other observers didn't share Narcissa's horror and disdain at the thought that a naked witch shared his bed every night.

"Narcissa," Severus finally said, "as my wife is not aware of all pureblood conventions, surely you're not surprised that I haven't seen fit to illuminate her."

That brought a chorus of male laughter.

"Severusss."

All present turned to the doorway as the Dark Lord entered, followed by Bellatrix. They dropped in deep bows of obeisance. Only Severus was near enough to go full out and kiss his hem. He reached one bony hand down and touched Severus's shoulder, indicating to him that he should rise.

"You must forgive Narcissa for her lapse in deportment. It seems she's chafing at the thought that once you marry an appropriate wife she'll be relinquishing her role as my official hostess."

Ah.

He'd known that the cards were all on the table regarding the Dark Lord's plans for the future when Parkinson had made his offer. But to have it spoken of so openly, and in front of Lucius and Narcissa...well, that must chafe them raw.

Indeed, from the icy heat of Lucius's stare, it did.

Bellatrix, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned by this revelation. Had she no desire to be the Dark Lord's 'official hostess'? Rodolphus had best watch his back, because as she stood there dripping with Dark glamours and devouring the Dark Lord with her hot eyes, Severus had little doubt she had aspirations that would necessitate an end to her marriage. And Bellatrix had never been the sort to seek her goals via the legal system.

"The gardens, perhaps?" the Dark Lord queried directly to Severus, ignoring the others. "A stroll seems in order."

Severus nodded and followed him, feeling the heat of a dozen pairs of eyes on his back.

XX

The late roses were in full bloom, as were a multitude of cannas and dahlias. Floating lanterns lit their way, more than even Hogwarts felt the need to display.

The Dark Lord had chosen the South Garden, the one with the most exuberant display of colour. He plucked a rose from one of the nearest bushes and held it to his almost nonexistent nose. "Too sweet," he said, and tossed it onto the gravel path. "I'd hoped it might have more tang, being as its colour was so hot. Ah, well."

Severus watched the Dark Lord grind the sunset-hued bloom under his heel with a loud crunching of gravel, then resume his stroll.

"You requested an audience, Severusss. How can I help my most loyal servant?"

"These coming weeks will be intense, my Lord. I'm being pulled in many directions."

"Are you complaining?"

"My Lord," Severus said directly. "Is it your desire that Bella find me a wife, or did she offer out of her own ill will to do so? I find her efforts so far to be intrusive if not insulting."

"Mincing no words, I see."

They continued their stroll in silence.

Finally, the Dark Lord flicked a hand dismissively. "I'll tell her to hold off on her efforts for a time, if that is more comfortable for you. I merely assumed that as you anticipate losing your present bed warmer, you might be distracted most pleasantly by anticipating the next."

"My Lord, you are a romantic at heart," Severus said with a smirk.

The Dark Lord chuckled and plucked another rose, sniffed, and cast it aside. "Narcissa's gardens are as overwhelming as her choice in scents."

"You have a preference for patchouli?"

The Dark Lord turned a sharp glance on him. "Jealous?"

"Of whom?" Severus countered.

"That would be the question, wouldn't it? Are you jealous of Bellatrix and her supposed position in my affections? Surely you of all people realize how little my interests lie in that direction since my return. Or do you seek to have Bella return to your own bed?"

"Neither, my Lord," Severus snorted. "Just ascertaining where I stand in the new order of things."

The Dark Lord stopped in the middle of the path and placed a gentle hand on Severus's shoulder. "Don't vex yourself, my boy. Your position is safe."

"I'm not vexed," Severus responded wryly. "Just practical."

"You've been a spy too long. How will you manage when the need for secrecy and manoeuvring is past?"

That brought an outright laugh from Severus's lips. "My Lord, you are talking about Slytherins."

The hand on his shoulder gave an affectionate squeeze, and then released him. "As always, your point is well made. So tell me, was there another reason you sought my company today?"

"Perhaps," Severus said idly, "just a breath of cleansing air before diving into the next few days of insufferable classes and the more insufferable wife I've had foisted upon me."

"You know I can tell when you're lying, Severus. You are not finding her insufferable."

"Having a wife with an upcoming birthday is insufferable indeed," Severus said. "Make that wife a teenaged witch and the situation is compounded."

"Poor Severus. When is the special day?"

"The day after tomorrow, as she keeps reminding me. Merlin only knows what the chit thinks I intend to do with that information."

"Oh, how perfectly delightful. Does this mean you have diversions to share?"

Severus opened his eyes and mind, and endured the shuffling through images he'd carefully prepared. Miss Granger, falling quite pitifully apart in the Room of Requirement, interspersed with images of a hostile Harry Potter. Order members glaring as Miss Granger nestled against him in their midst, seeking solace. A heated kiss interrupted by the arrival of three Weasleys and one werewolf, and their shocked faces.

And again, an emotional Miss Granger as she stood in the Gryffindor guest suite, her heart breaking at the thought he was sending her away.

"Severus, you are a cruel man. If it weren't that it suits our purposes so beautifully to keep your bride distraught, Harry Potter frustrated and the rest of Albus's pitiful assortment of supporters off balance, I'd wonder if you weren't quite the sadist at heart."

"You wound me, my Lord." But he said it with a laugh.

"If I were in the mood for a wager, I'd put money on the fact that you are here hoping I'll call you away from your duties on Thursday."

Severus smirked.

"However, I think that would not serve my greater purpose, so alas, dear boy, I must return you to your bride with the knowledge that this too shall pass, and sooner than you might anticipate...."

Severus sighed. "I shall endeavour to endure."

"I'm sure you will." The Dark Lord's chuckle filled the air. "And the poison? Have you chosen her poison?"

"I'm working on it," he responded. "There are a few ingredients I have yet to locate. But all will be as planned."

Again, the bony hand squeezed his shoulder in approval. "You will be greatly rewarded for your loyalty." Then the hand hovered before his face.

Severus pressed it to his lips. "My Lord."

XX

He entered Madam Malkin's intent upon finding something quickly, hopefully without being spotted by gossip-mongering fishwives. Before the door had closed behind him, he was overwhelmed by odour...an assault of warring scents, none of which could be even charitably described as pleasant, though his nose detected familiar tones that he recognized from some of his female students.

Fucking hell.

He lifted a handkerchief to his nose and dove deeper into the shop.

Robes of all shades, fabrics and styles were displayed on invisible mannequins so that they seemed to float above the wooden racks of more robes in more shades, fabrics and styles.

A witch who had to have been Madam Malkin sailed up to him.

"Shopping for your wife or daughter or...?" she asked helpfully.

He graced her with a barely-restrained snarl and reached into his robe. When he pulled out the topaz-hued cashmere dress, her eyebrows met her hairline.

"Muggle."

He agreed with a mere nod.

Her lip curled.

"She likes the colour, I believe," he said. "Can you match it?"

"I'm sure I can," she replied, and then with a scowl, "You can put it away. I won't need to look at it again. Now, what style are you looking for?"

She ascertained quickly that he had no answer to that question, and then asked, "How old is she?"

"She's a young woman," he responded crisply with a glare that dared her to inquire further.

"Has she shopped here before? Perhaps I might have a better idea if I knew her size and previous purchases."

Fucking hell. He hadn't wanted to get this involved in this ridiculous process...certainly not down to revealing whom he shopped for.

Why not? She was his wife, after all.

But he felt as if he was part of a spectacle, as if prying eyes were on him. He finally said, "I'm not certain. Her name, if she did, would have been Miss Hermione Granger at the time."

She withdrew behind a brocade curtain, and he waited impatiently as the loud sound of rustling fabrics and a few ill-concealed grunts revealed her search for something appropriate.

She emerged with several robes of varying shades ranging from golden toffee to orange. "You're certain of the colour?" she asked.

"Did I seem confused, Madam?" he sneered.

She sniffed and with a wave of her wand, all the robes became the precise shade of topaz he'd requested.

Another wave, and they rose into the air...seven of them, it turned out...and revolved at eye level, giving him a clear view of plunging necklines, frilled hems, ruffled sleeves, layered silks, heavy brocades and...

He couldn't envision a single one of them on Miss Granger.

Apparently reading his reaction, Madam Malkin sighed, but her voice was kindly as she said, "If wizards would pay more attention to their witches, they wouldn't have so much trouble shopping for them."

"Indeed," he snapped.

"I'm sure I'll find..." she began.

What she found was herself speaking into thin air as he Apparated out of the shop with a soft pop.

XX

Hermione stared at her schedule, suddenly filled with blank places where classes had been. She'd received a few messages through the Floo and had been able to add back tutorials in Arithmancy, Charms, History of Magic and Transfiguration. But everyone had agreed that one hour of private tutorials per subject per week would be more than enough to keep her working throughout the fall, with a readjustment in the new year as N.E.W.T.s grew closer.

They had great faith in her ability to stay focused and accomplish much without constant supervision, which was a relief and a temptation.

Because now, staring at the schedule, she was more inclined to make a quick trip to Flourish and Blotts to track down a copy of Element-ary Magics from Birth to Four Years than open her Arithmancy textbook

She sighed and pushed that thought to the back of her mind. She wouldn't be flitting down to Diagon Alley alone, and it wasn't as if she could ask the professor to go with her. She'd already searched as carefully as she could through the books in his office to find the library copy, to no avail. Was he reading it himself, trying to discern her interest? Or was he waiting for her to come out and ask him for the book and then have to explain why before getting it?

Neither scenario pleased her.

Nor did remembering how he'd returned the night before, smugly satisfied but refusing to reveal why. Smelling of Dark Magic and a whiff of patchouli. Fully appreciative of her tea and her caresses, yet a little detached, as well.

This morning his mood had been surly, yet not unusually so. This was Professor Snape, after all. He'd disappeared after breakfast and returned in a snarling mood with an assortment of packages from Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, though he threatened her with hexing if she dared touch them.

She ignored his mood and his threats and continued mulling over her schedule, her lists, and her priorities. Finally it was lunchtime. She peeked into his office and found it empty. Then into his classroom, and again, found it empty.

She was walking down the dungeon corridor toward the staircase when she saw Ginny.

"There you are," Ginny announced, and then tossed a glare at a group of Slytherins who passed and gave her hard looks.

The smallest, first-year Peregrine Burns, had slowed as if he intended to speak, but seeing Ginny, he sped up. Hermione wondered if he'd truly wanted to say something to her. None of the other Slytherins ever did. She thought of her jade serpent drowsily blinking on the mantle and felt a smile quirk the corner of her lips. She'd seek him out later, just in case.

"Hermione," Ginny said more loudly. "Are you or are you not coming to lunch?"

"I am, of course," Hermione responded. "But why are you here?"

"I need to talk to you, and I thought maybe we could grab sandwiches and go out to the greenhouses."

Hermione felt a sinking in her stomach. She'd spent the morning thinking of lunch with Professor Snape, even if it only meant sitting beside him and occasionally rubbing her calf along his, or giving him an 'accidental' nudge of the elbow as she turned a page.

But upon entering the Great Hall she saw his seat empty, and it felt a little easier to take a sandwich from one of the trays on the Gryffindor tables along with a mug of pumpkin juice and follow Ginny outside.

"All right," she said, settling onto the cool grass beside Ginny after they'd surrounded themselves with silencing spells. "What do you need, and why are you suddenly wanting to eat lunch with me when you've been doing nothing but giving me poison looks since before school started?"

"Now that you mention it, maybe you should check that sandwich before you eat it," Ginny said with a smirk.

"I'm sure it's quite safe. You wouldn't risk annoying Professor Snape by killing me," Hermione said smugly, though she was moving the food around her mouth more carefully, probing for any flavour or texture that rang false. The power of suggestion was an annoying thing.

"Why did you ditch classes? Not that I blame you."

"A million reasons. First of all, I'd rather not be the reason people are pulling their children out of Hogwarts..."

"Ravenclaws," Ginny sniffed dismissively between bites.

"And...well, you know we can't discuss it here, but I have special projects I'm researching."

Ginny nodded. "I say you're a lucky cow, but Ron and Harry are worked up and blaming Snape."

"They would."

"All right, and it's like this," Ginny said, leaning closer and dropping her voice as if they might be overheard. "All anybody can talk about is you and Snape, and what's going on, and it's got Harry in a dither."

"What on earth do you mean?"

Ginny stared unabashedly into her eyes, probing. "Are you sure he doesn't have some sort of spell on you? You're acting all too cosy with him, and unless he really is a brilliant tosser in bed..."

"Ginny!"

"Whoa, Hermione. You're red as roses." Ginny put her sandwich down and stared in awe. "He is? He really is a brilliant shag?"

Hermione willed her cheeks to calm down, willed her breathing to stay even, willed her fingers not to overflow with her desire to hex Ginevra Weasley into silence. When she trusted herself, she said, "What do you need to know that will help Harry? And it had better not be about my sex life."

Ginny was clearly annoyed that she wasn't going to get any salacious details, but she shrugged and took another bite of her sandwich. After chewing and swallowing she reached across and pulled a strand of hair out of Hermione's eyes. "Harry thinks the Dark Lord wanted you to marry Snape to upset him, and you're a victim of some nefarious scheme."

Hermione bit back a few choice words. Calm. She needed to keep herself calm. Isn't that what Professor Snape had to do time and again, when god knows what was being said in front of him or done with him present?

"I understand why he'd think that. I mean, if anyone had said to me even the day before, that I was going to marry Professor Snape and that it would even be my idea...well, I would have assumed there was Dark Magic involved, too. If I had time to assume anything before I killed myself, that is."

She took another bite of her sandwich and watched Ginny choke on pumpkin juice.

"But it was my idea, and if I had the choice to make again, I'd choose him again. I can't explain more than that because it defies logic, but there it is." Clearly, honesty was a bloody powerful thing when a person wanted to avoid telling the truth.

"And it has nothing to do with mad, passionate shagging?" Ginny asked, disappointed.

Damn.

She took a deep breath and tried again. "Ginny," she said, allowing a certain low resonance colour her tone, "I never told you about any of the things I got up to with Viktor, did I?"

"No..." Ginny breathed, leaning closer.

"Then what makes you think I'd discuss what I do with my husband?" She finished off her sandwich, pleased with Ginny's frustration. "Is there anything else?"

"What can I tell Harry to calm him down?"

Well, this was one case where the truth definitely wasn't going to do the trick. Not when the truth did involve things like brilliant shagging and souls kissing and....

"Just remind him that I'm doing it for the Order," she snapped, out of patience. "That if he can face down Voldemort again, I can marry Snape."

Ginny nodded, disappointed, but clearly not hearing anything different than she'd actually expected. "That's what you said before, but that's before you...well, before you were hanging all over him at the Order meeting, and of course George and Fred said you were snogging fit to shag in the Library, and it's just kind of hard to accept that you're doing that of your own free will..."

Hermione glared at her.

"I can't decide whether I'm more comfortable thinking you're under a spell or that Snape is really shagging you senseless," Ginny sighed, gathering their trash. "We've got to head back in. Some of us still have classes, you know."

Hermione followed her into the castle torn between wanting to hex her and feeling a small twinge of jealousy that the redhead actually got to go to class.

She sighed, then mentally slapped herself and headed back down to the dungeons.

XX

"I need my laboratory," he announced to her at dinner.

She carefully avoided showing any dismay at having to clean up her things. "I can have it cleared for you in twenty minutes. What are we brewing?" The thought of brewing with him made the idea of cleaning a lot more palatable.

"We are not brewing anything," he said. "You will stay out while I'm brewing."

And that had been that.

She hadn't even bothered to rub her calf against his.

And now her things were reduced in size and on a side table, and he was locked in his lab.

She stretched out on the bed feeling oddly bereft.

She'd thought that being in their quarters would make their days more intimate, but instead, the professor seemed more distant. And without the distraction of classes...even annoying ones...she was feeling lonelier than she'd felt since first year.

Finally, she went and knocked on the laboratory door.

He opened it to a narrow crack and blocked her view inside.

"Will you be coming to bed soon?" she asked hopefully.

"I won't be coming to bed until I complete this potion, and I won't be completing it at all if you insist upon interrupting me."

She recoiled. "I won't bother you again."

She walked stiffly away, determined not to let him detect her hurt feelings.

Of course he sometimes would need to do things without her. What kind of idiot was she to expect otherwise?

But knowing it and feeling it were two different things, and as she lay in the dark waiting for him to come to her, it got harder to bear....

She didn't know how long she'd slept when she was suddenly aware of him leaning heavily over her, raising her up from her pillow and holding a vial to her lips.

It was thick and warm and disgusting...she would have spit it out if he hadn't held her lips closed and murmured to her to swallow, and so she did....

And hoped whatever it was hadn't counteracted with the taste potion, because now her mouth tasted horrid.

But when he pulled her into his arms and whispered words she couldn't quite hear into her ear as she drifted off to sleep, that was, after all, the only thing that mattered.

The last thing she knew was a brush of lips and a kiss that felt like home.