Twenty-One

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

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She awoke with the lingering perception of heat. The dream itself had been brief and blurry, with few vivid impressions other than the richness of his voice and the slightly rough feeling of his skin as he ran his mouth over every inch of her body. Through the hazy images still imprinted on her mind, she remembered a blazing fireplace, perhaps the one in Snape's quarters, and the feel of a soft blanket being wrapped around her in the aftermath of intense pleasure. The recollection of callused fingertips stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh was enough to make her shudder.

By the time she gasped and awoke Sunday morning, sitting upright in her bed, Hermione recalled mostly the heat. She threw off the covers and took deep, gulping breaths of cool air. For a foolish and desperate moment, she even entertained thoughts of throwing open the windows and allowing the cold winter air to gush in. Anything had to be better than the betraying, stifling flush currently consuming her.

A quick glance at the windows confirmed that it was earlier than she'd have liked to be awake. Though she sometimes succumbed to laziness over the weekends and slept too long on Sunday mornings, she was generally in bed no longer than nine hours, and after her little adventure into Hogsmeade with Ginny the previous day, she knew that she would regret not having caught up with her sleep debt.

Still, there was nothing to be done. Instinct told her that a return to sleep would be nearly impossible, and even if she did, it would be too much to hope that she might resume the delicious dream in which she'd been immersed earlier. In order to forget him...or at least to cease to imagine him in such an inappropriate manner...she had to turn her mind to work.

Rising purposefully, she rushed through her habitual morning shower and tamed her hair as best she could. Having returned to her room, she settled herself in a sitting position on her bed and regarded the potions journal Snape had provided her the previous afternoon. She'd already glanced through it briefly and made a rough outline of the last few modifications she desired to be made to the potion, but she would have to run them by Professors Vector and Flitwick first. The spell work would be fairly elementary compared to the complex incantations she'd already performed under Professor Flitwick's benevolent guidance, but its effects would be short-lived at best. He would have to demonstrate for her how to withhold the final words until just prior to Snape's ingestion of the potion.

Two hours later, having refined her equations to her satisfaction, Hermione traipsed down to the dungeons with her papers clutched excitedly in her hands. Her hair had long since come loose from its bindings, and she felt a light sheen of sweat covering her forehead, the result of the continued flashes of her dream running through her mind's eye. Every so often a gossamer strand of sensation would find its way down her spine and curl into the small of her back, and she knew it was a reimagining of the path his warm lips had followed.

Resolutely ignoring what she must have looked like running through the halls wild-haired and lightly sweaty from her fantasizing, Hermione instead sought to occupy herself with envisioning the final eradication of Snape's symptoms and his return to absolute health. She approached his laboratory first but found him absent. His office and quarters were equally deserted.

Puzzled and more than a little disappointed, for she'd had an entire speech prepared and had been mentally rehearsing it with gusto, she found herself turning aimless circles before the door to his rooms as she deliberated. Should she wait for him? It might seem rather strange and desperate. She wondered with a flash of aggravation whether he was intentionally avoiding her. It was undoubtedly wishful thinking to assume that something revelatory, something tremendously intimate, had been about to occur between them before the fireplace, but she could feel in her gut that the air had shifted markedly between them. It had taken on a heavier significance, one stretching beyond mere student and teacher, and perhaps he didn't yet want to tolerate her presence once again.

Dwelling on the possibility that he might be actively eluding her only made Hermione feel sick to her stomach. She returned to her room and resolved to send the papers to him by owl. Opening the door cautiously in case Ginny had returned, she found that, indeed, the other girl lay asleep in bed; her hair was matted, and her eyes were smudged with dark, streaky makeup.

Hermione was frankly shocked. She'd never seen Ginny, who typically adhered to a lengthy evening skincare and hair regimen that made Hermione's own seem nonexistent, looking so unkempt. She toyed briefly with the idea of waking her up and expressing her concern but decided that it would be unwise to wake someone so visibly exhausted. Chalking it up to a possibly wild night with Harry, she tiptoed past Ginny to gather up her school bag and quills before retreating to the library, where she hoped to find some privacy in which to pen her letter to Snape.

A part of her had been chanting the hopeful mantra that she would find him in the library, but such a fortuitous occurrence wasn't to be had. Hermione was met only with Madam Pince's stinging glare when she rushed into the room rather too haphazardly, bag bouncing with audible thumps against her hip. The older woman immediately hissed at her, and Hermione flashed her an apologetic smile before retreating to her usual spot in the far corner. In addition to the tranquility she was guaranteed there, she could seat herself amidst plenty of overstuffed, comfortable chairs and large, beautiful windows that served to flood the room with whatever meager light the Scottish winters afforded.

Determined not to waste valuable parchment on multiple failed attempts as she had the last time she'd written him, Hermione pulled out a single piece and pensively considered the best way to put her thoughts to paper.

Professor Snape,

A moment's rash boldness overtook her as she debated the best possible signature. Signing it simply Yours, H. Granger and reflecting with a small sigh that they were probably the most accurate words she'd ever written, Hermione sealed the missive and nodded to herself in satisfaction. She was improving: it had taken her less than five minutes to self-confidently communicate her meaning. Regardless how strongly the urge overtook her, she was not about to sit there and fret over his reaction.

After all, she'd written only the truth. Whether or not he chose to act accordingly would be his decision.

With a genuinely happy smile, bewitched by the thought of other, longer interludes in front of his fireplace, Hermione set off to speak with Professor Vector and visit the Owlery.

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"Cheers!" Ron hollered enthusiastically, raising his steaming mug of hot chocolate. Lavender giggled and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, tangling her fingers in the loose threads of his sweater.

Ginny's response, Hermione noted, was somewhat belated. The other three had already clinked mugs before she lifted hers, a distracted look in her usually soft eyes. Hermione was surprised by the subdued behavior from a girl who normally took such pleasure in her Thursday evenings, allowing herself a bit of fun and a relaxed Friday. She had no idea where Ginny had been since her last class had adjourned...she suspected the Owlery...but she'd been absent from their room essentially all day before bursting in at nine o'clock to announce, in an oddly strained and stiff voice, that Ron and Lavender were there to visit.

Hermione had dutifully followed her to the kitchens, rather surprised that Headmistress McGonagall had allowed the impromptu visit. It soon became apparent that it was Trelawney...claiming to have foreseen both their arrival and the good news they bore, of course...who had been responsible for admitting Lavender into the castle grounds. Ron had simply followed at her heels while Trelawney babbled about Lavender's aura, if Hermione's guess was accurate.

The four now sat in the kitchens, celebrating Ron's giddy announcement that he'd asked Lavender to move in with him. Hermione had been confused at first by Ginny's reticence, but she expected that it had something to do with Molly Weasley's reaction...or lack thereof, in Ron's case. She'd always been more lenient when it came to the behavior of her boys, and Hermione couldn't blame Ginny for feeling miffed by the obvious double standard at play. If Ginny had even hinted at the intention to reside with Harry in Grimmauld Place alone, just the two of them, wholly unsupervised, her mother would have thrown a veritable fit.

"We're looking at places near Diagon Alley, actually, and Dad said he thought he might have some contacts for us," Ron said, shooting Ginny a puzzled look. "Gin? You okay there?"

"I'm fine," she said crossly.

"We already told Harry, of course. I 'spect he'll be thrilled to have me out of his house so he can get you all to himself." He grimaced, drawing his lips together thinly. "As much as it pains me to say that out loud about my baby sister, I'm sure it's true."

Hermione laughed, and Lavender joined in. "Harry knows better than to expect that you'll leave him in peace," she told him, stirring her hot chocolate to cool it. "He knows you're far too protective of Ginny, all of you."

"It's true," Lavender agreed, nodding. Her hair had been piled in an interesting formation on top of her head, and it waved precariously with the movement. Knowing herself to be fashion-ignorant, Hermione decided to give Lavender the benefit of the doubt and assume the bizarre arrangement was stylish. "We're dreading telling the others. Percy'll have Harry's hide."

"Percy won't care," Ginny said immediately, her tone verging on sullen. "He's got his own life to worry about. Mum's the only one who'll care."

Ron winced again. "Yeah, Gin, we gotta talk about this. She's not going to be crazy about the two of you living together alone before the wedding, and Harry was telling me that it's going to be a while yet..."

"He what?" she demanded, eyes flashing.

"He said it could be a longer engagement. Something has to be done so that the two of you aren't alone all the time or Mum'll curse me into the next world. Say, Hermione, could you live with them?" he suggested, brightening.

"You're asking me to be the third wheel while two fiancés are shacked up?" She found the thought horrifying. She loved her friends dearly, and she admitted to being able to tolerate Lavender, but she'd hoped to distance herself from them somewhat once she graduated Hogwarts. She, Harry and Ron had begun growing apart some time ago; her recent thoughts had only been of keeping in regular contact with Ginny.

"Well, it won't be forever. Or were you going to stay here to start your apprenticeship?"

Hermione sighed. "It's complicated. I want a degree in addition to the apprenticeship, so I may be living on a university campus the first couple of years. I have to figure out where I'm going before I can hammer out the details."

Ron arched an eyebrow and whistled. "You want a degree too? But I thought getting an apprenticeship accomplished the same thing."

"Not quite," Lavender clarified, leading both Hermione and Ginny to raise their eyebrows. "What?" she demanded, doing her best to look huffy. With the milk foam clinging to her lips, she didn't quite manage it. "I know a bit about this stuff from when I wanted to study Divination."

"You wanted to stay in school?" Ron hooted skeptically. "You hated schoolwork!"

Lavender thumped him on the shoulder and turned to Hermione, looking sincerely interested. "You want the degree so that you can do research and theory, and the apprenticeship helps with teaching, right?"

Suitably impressed...but striving not to show it...Hermione nodded. "Essentially. I can't say for sure what the requirements are in other disciplines, but it's virtually impossible to gain acceptance in the theoretical Arithmancy community and publish papers without a solid background that includes a degree. Apprenticing with an instructor or practicing Arithmancer will help strengthen my qualifications to practice it and consult with other researchers, and, of course, to teach."

"And you're doing the degree first?" Ron gulped the last of his hot chocolate. "Blast. I was really hoping you'd live with Harry and Gin. We'll have to make other arrangements."

"Why don't you stop arranging my life, Ronald, and allow me to sort it out myself."

Hermione had never heard Ginny's voice so low and snakelike. She looked positively murderous, and Ron backed off instantly, holding up his hands to protect himself.

"Merlin, Gin, I didn't mean anything by it! No need to look like you're going to hex me. You want to deal with the fallout at home, fine. You and Harry can handle Mum and Dad. Lav and I are moving in either way." He ran a hand affectionately across Lavender's back.

They passed the next fifteen minutes in strained conversation. Ginny remained largely silent, allowing Hermione and Lavender to keep a stilted rhythm going, mostly small talk, inquiring about the other's work. Hermione apprised them of Snape's progress, and both Lavender and Ron did their best to look pleased at his improvements, but Hermione could tell their hearts weren't much in it. They seemed to be genuinely happy for her in regards to the success of her project, however, and Ron promised to pass on the good news to Molly and Arthur. She appreciated the gesture.

Eventually, she grew weary of the pouting disapproval radiating from Ginny, who hadn't stirred beside her except to release exaggeratedly large sighs and look pointedly at the doors. Hermione wondered if she was anxious to return to the Owlery to send off yet another message to Harry. If the sudden lack of free parchment in their room and Ginny's feverish, secretive writing were any indication, she and Harry had been communicating prolifically in the five days since he'd proposed.

"So," Lavender said as she and Ron rose from their seats, "you girls have any plans for this weekend? A Hogsmeade trip?"

"Not this weekend," Hermione replied firmly. She hadn't meant to convey any irritation...she'd forgiven Ginny for the enforced march to Hogsmeade the previous Saturday...but she felt her friend stiffen beside her. "Next weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend, though, I believe. But I really can't go anywhere this weekend: we've a huge Potions exam to study for."

"You can tell Snape's back in top form, eh?" Ron joked. "Torturing the students like always. Well, we ought to be off, Lav. Bye, Hermione. See you, Gin."

Awkward hugs were offered all around. Oddly enough, the only seemingly affectionate embrace was the one Lavender impulsively gave Hermione, who froze initially, startled, but recovered her senses quickly enough to place her hands around the other girl's back and wish her congratulations. When she pulled away, Lavender allowed her hands to linger on Hermione's shoulders a moment, searching her eyes. Hermione was about to open her mouth and ask the other girl if something was wrong when Lavender said with smiling, crinkled eyes, "So did you put your gift to use yet?"

Hermione flushed and shook her head. "No. But I will for graduation. I promise."

"You'd better!" Lavender admonished as she pulled on her winter cloak. "Clothes like that are meant to be worn and admired, not sit in your underwear drawer."

"What?" Ron demanded, looking flummoxed. "What's this about graduation? And why are we talking about Hermione's underwear?"

"You aren't. It's none of your business; it's a girl thing." Lavender prodded him gently with his cloak, which he obligingly pulled on. "Bye! We'll see you soon!"

Ginny fled the room directly after them, red hair flying, in an obvious fit of pique. Baffled and concerned, Hermione wandered after her.