Part the Fifth: New Orleans and Points South

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Part the Fifth: New Orleans and Points South

She kisses him in New Orleans.

They've spent about a week and a half driving from Las Vegas though New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas, stopping the at Grand Canyon and the Alamo, spending a bit of time in Houston and Dallas. When February comes, she decides that Mardi Gras is the next stop, and so they go, despite the fact that Snape is complaining about the crowds before they even get there.

They actually find a hotel room, and in the French Quarter, no less. It is loud and busy at all hours of the day and night, but is full of people for Snape to scowl at and things for Hermione to drag him off to see and do. He hates the parades with the same intensity that he once hated Harry, but he seems to enjoy the dining and sightseeing, so they do a lot of that.

At midnight on Fat Tuesday, when the mounted policemen begin clearing out upper Bourbon Street, she and Snape get caught up in the mass of drunken revelers and are pressed together, her body flush against his. They have one of those moments, one of those silly, melodramatic moments like you see in the movies when the hero and heroine look into each other's eyes and the music swells and they kiss, except the soundtrack to their moment is the sound of a drunken mob, and they never quite get to their kiss because the current of the crowd forces them apart. Snape swears brutally, which further disrupts the mood, and Hermione thinks the moment is lost.

When they finally make it back to the hotel, Snape is in one of his snits, and she would bet that there were quite a few confused Muggles going back to their hotels with mysterious welts from Stinging Hexes. He's doing the menacing stalking thing, and Hermione's just behind him, glum because she's lost her romantic first kiss moment, but suddenly, he whirls on her like he's about to take points with malicious glee. Hermione stumbles back, startled by the sudden moment, not quite sure what he's about to do...

And then it happens. He grabs her around the waist, pulls her to him like he did in that alley in Las Vegas and kisses her right there in the lobby, with the night staff looking on and a couple of college kids hovering over their friend who is vomiting into a potted plant.

Hermione has never cared for those silly romantic soundtracks, anyway.

The first time with Snape is like having a glass of water after being thirsty for such a very long time; it's lovely, but it happens so quickly that you're left short of breath and gasping for air, in need of another glass soon after because your thirst hasn't been quenched, it's been quickened.

They hurry back to their room, hand in hand, taking the stairs instead of the lift because there are too many people in the way, and Snape barely gets the door open before Hermione is upon him, hungry in a way she hasn't been for quite a long time. After that, it's a quick and desperate flurry of hastily removed coats and bruised shins and grasping hands and heavy breathing. They don't even make it to the bed; the sofa is much closer to the door, and they are both so hopelessly tangled in their clothes that actually making it to a piece of furniture at all is pure luck. His hands grip her hips, her legs go around his waist, one ankle still tangled in her trouser leg and knickers, and so very soon it's over, bright and beautiful and fantastic like a star shooting across the sky.

"I'm too old for shagging half-clothed on hard settees," Snape says, his cheek resting on her shoulder and his breath puffing across her cleavage.

"Then we should try it on a bed next time," she says.

He nods, pushes himself off of her then, tangling his fingers with hers, pulls her up and over to the bed.

The next time is a long, cool drink of water, and all she wants is more.

The next few days are a learning experience.

She learns that Snape is slightly ticklish on his ribs, that he has a heart-shaped birthmark on his hip which makes him blush the first time she finds it, and that if she works her mouth just so on his throat, she can make him moan with need and desperation.

She learns that his mouth and fingers are more talented than his sharp tongue and skill at brewing would have indicated, that the same filthy things that used to repulse her coming out of Ron's mouth are overwhelmingly hot coming out of Snape's, and that there actually is such a thing as one orgasm too many.

She learns that the mattress is terribly comfortable, the wrought iron headboard has more functionality than mere decoration, and the sashes on the canopy are easily manipulated into knots.

She learns that, though he insists that she's as bossy in bed as she is out, it isn't a complaint.

She learns that the faded Death Eater tattoo isn't as repulsive as she thought it would be, but that the scarring from various hexes and curses received from his time as a Death Eater and spy is worse than she ever might have imagined.

She learns that he tastes a bit like cinnamon.

She learns that he is a blanket thief.

She learns that she likes the sound of his heart under her ear when he's asleep and still and relaxed.

She learns that he watches her sleep, and that sometimes, if she opens her eyes at just the right moment, she might catch him smiling.

Also, she learns to drive.

"Those are tail lights, Granger, tail lights! They mean stop!"

"I know," she says pleasantly, shooting a sideways glance at Snape, who is clutching the dashboard with a white-knuckled grip. He's the worst back seat driver she's ever met, and although he's the only one she's ever met, she finds it impossible that she will ever meet anyone worse. "I can see."

"You wouldn't know it from the way you're tailgating elderly drivers in large – No, Granger, when they stop, you stop!"

Hermione ignores him as she whips around the idling Cadillac that has just stopped suddenly half way down the parking lot aisle, and slides into a diagonal parking space in front of the Castillo de San Marco. Hermione shuts off the engine, turns to Snape, grinning triumphantly, and finds his open hand under her nose.

"Give me the keys," he says.

"What?"

"Give me the keys. I was mad for even considering letting an impulsive, reckless Gryffindor anywhere near Muggle machinery."

"You were the one who insisted I learn to drive." And she's still a bit stunned even after their drive back and forth across the country that he knew how to drive in the first place, let alone has been able to teach her. Even though she knows he is a half-blood who spent his early years in the Muggle world, she still considers him a part of the wizarding world, as she saw him everyday for six years stomping about in his wizarding robes and snarling out lectures about Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. And though it seems normal enough that he was living like a Muggle in Europe, especially in that long coat that hinted at the robes he once wore, it was positively surreal to see him in America, doing things like driving and watching television, both of which he had been doing plenty since they stepped foot on American soil.

"And like becoming a Death Eater, it was a mistake I wish I hadn't made."

"That's hardly a fair comparison," she protests, but Snape's hand is still out, so to appease him, she drops the keys into his palm. It isn't like she doesn't know how to persuade him to give them back later.

"No?" Snape says, throwing open the passenger door. "Both have brought me closer to death more times than I can count."

Hermione rolls her eyes and gets out of the car. Snape locks the doors with the remote key, and as they stroll towards the admissions gate, Hermione wrestles her guidebook out of the shoulder bag she has taken to carrying when they go sightseeing.

"St. Augustine, Florida is the oldest continuously occupied European-established city, and the oldest port, in the continental United States," she quotes as they cross the parking lot. "Right, we know that. Ah, here we go. Castillo de San Marco was founded by the Spanish in 1565, but this is the tenth constructed fort on the site. It's made out of coquina, which is a stone formed from the compression of little shells-"

"Granger, must I hear your lecture before I even pay the admission price?" he asks, stopping at the booth to pay.

"I just wanted to get you started," she replies, quirking a smile in his direction as he begins counting out the American bills. He just rolls his eyes at her, retrieves their tickets, and doesn't say another word as Hermione begins reading from the guidebook again as they enter the fort.

They take their time strolling through the courtyard and meandering through the lower level rooms, then find their way to the battlement where they stand together, looking out over the bay, the chilled, salt-scented wind tousling their hair. It's a warm day for February, though apparently this is the normal temperature for this time of year in Florida; she's comfortable in a skirt and a light sweater, and Snape is only in his shirtsleeves.

She slips her arm through his and looks up at him. The wind has brought up spots of color on his cheeks. It's rather fetching; it makes him look younger.

"You know, I've been thinking about the male pride comment I made in Las Vegas," she says.

"Yes, well," he replies, glancing at her sideways out of the corner of his eye, "I suppose you deserve to get in a cruel comment every now and again."

Sometimes he misses the points of these things entirely; she wonders what kind of home he came from to think that cruel comments were fair and normal in interpersonal relationships. She's sure that one day she will find out, but for now, she's worried about their relationship. "But I don't want to get in any cruel comments. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I shouldn't be so dismissive of that sort of thing."

Snape frowns as he stares out over the bay. "And I'm sorry I lied to you about the Legilimency."

Hermione blinks, startled to get a straightforward apology from the same man who so begrudgingly complimented her on her portrayal of Bellatrix Lestrange as an apology on the train out of Hungary oh so long ago. "Well, thank you," she says, unable to refuse such a bald apology from him. "Although, I am glad to know I was right."

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye again. "You mean you doubted yourself?"

"Well, no," she says, a tiny smile stealing into the curve of her mouth. "But it's nice to have proof every now and again."

Snape rolls his eyes, and when she steps close enough to link her arm through his again, he doesn't push her away.

"When we run out of money again," she says after a bit, "will you complain if I contact Harry?"

Snape stiffens next to her. "I meant it when I said I'm not taking any more money from Potter."

"You aren't taking any more money from Harry. I am." She pauses thoughtfully, and, somehow managing to keep a straight face, adds, "You can think of it as being a kept man."

Snape studies her for a moment, then slowly nods, a smile sneaking into the corners of his mouth. "Well, I'm not too averse to being a kept man."

She leans her head against his shoulder and rubs her cheek against the fabric of his shirt like a cat. "Then we're decided?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"Good," she says sweetly, even as she is slipping her hand into his pocket to retrieve the car keys.

That night, as they lie curled together in bed with sweat evaporating from their bare skin, listening to the waves crashing in the distance and the wind blowing through the palm trees, she realizes that she can't remember the last time she thought about going home.

And she can't summon the will to care.