Seven Preposterous Things

All the world is queer save thee and me, and even thou art a little queer.
--RobertOwen

After a round of tea and jam on old bread accompanied by tinned sardines and somewhat past their prime oranges, courtesy of Severus while Millie tended the baby, Draco and Severus left to concoct the baby's elixir.


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Draco was disgusted to see his Uncle Severus' hidden laboratory was in a port-a-loo in a sprawling suburban area. The charm suggesting no one wanted to go anywhere near the place was completely unnecessary as far as Draco was concerned.

Inside was hardly better than outside. It was large enough, Draco granted, but the smell and the clutter made him shudder.

Once he saw beyond the tip that was his godfather's laboratory he wished he hadn't.

At the centre, connected by bright copper wires were ten tiny beating hearts, dove or pigeon, he guessed by the size of them. Gears and strange shiny metal shapes turned, and spun, and hummed. Wires ran into beakers improvised from old Muggle jars and filled with sparkling, smoking, bubbling, and sometimes seemingly frozen liquids. The same wires connected to strange unnameable things, to twisted puzzle shapes of stone and metal clicking together ominously. A ram's horn. A cuckoo clock. A discarded child's doll grinned maniacally inside a trap of springs. Together, it made a half-living machine. He rubbed his eyes to make certain what he saw before him was not a product of his imagination and poor lighting. It was still there when he opened his eyes.

There before him lay something so reckless, so powerful, so forbidden, he didn't know whether it was brilliant or the stupidest thing he'd been party to in his life.


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Closer to the city's centre, the two witches, one very small wizard and a pacing cat occupied a jewel box of a house, where wooden floors gleamed and perfumed cushions graced antique furniture.

"This has been a very strange day," Granger said thoughtfully, chewing the flesh on the side of her thumb the way she did when she was particularly absorbed in thought.

Millie had been thinking the same thing since Snape had opened the boot of the car but knew enough to keep her mouth shut while he and Draco were about for fear of alarming them.

"More coincidences," she said with a short nod, "than is coincidental, if you know what I mean."

"Precisely my point," Granger said holding out one finger. "One: Severus and I finally break the stalemate and... mate as it were."

"Not stale was it?" Millie couldn't help but say.

"Not in the least." Granger shook her head, and raised a second finger. "Happening number two: You find a baby, not a Muggle baby, but an abandoned wizard in a rubbish bin."

Millie nodded. "Muggles do seem to like to throw things away, but that's excessive."

"Agreed." Hermione counted off a third finger "While we were buying a milk goat for the baby, we happened upon exactly the potions ingredient Severus needed to heal him."

"More than lucky, that," Millie said, then reconsidered out loud. "Still, it's not as if we don't see them lying dead on the road on a regular basis."

"But those, as you point out, are dead," Granger countered. "Severus needed a live specimen for the elixir; have you ever seen a live armadillo before today? I haven't."

Millie had to admit Granger was right.

"Besides all that, it was because of the armadillo that Severus opened the boot," Granger went on.

Millie wrinkled her nose to recall it. "I think it might be sympathetic magic influencing the course of events."

"The entire basis for Arithmancy is that, theoretically, it is supposed that the unused power of magical beings can affect happenings around them," Granger said, all but sticking her thumb in her mouth.

"Does he look ‘supposed' to you?" Millie said, gesturing to baby. "It seems pretty clear to me that somehow, magically, me being pregnant made me more likely to find him. Perhaps if I hadn't had a ‘like' body in my body, I would have turned left instead of right, and he would have wound up crushed in the rubbish truck. Do you know every other animal I see these days has a big belly full of kittens or puppies or baby mice or what have you? What's the proper name for baby mice?"

"I'm not sure. But logically, the corpse in Severus' car? If we asked him..." Granger said.

"If we asked him, he would say he chose it because it was black," Millie said, and she couldn't help snorting.

"But your theory suggests he chose a car with a corpse in the boot because we had recently left a battleground," Granger said, and Millie could see a thin stream of blood trickling down her thumb. She watched fascinated as Granger suckled the side of her thumb, staunching the flow with her lips.

"How many dead do you figure there were?" Millie asked; she knew the subject of the battle made Granger uncomfortable, but she could tough it out this once. "That many witches and wizards dead at once, violently, has to have magical repercussions. Seems to me, we carried them with us."

"When you're eleven, it all seems so simple, wave a wand and this turns into that, say the magic words and it goes back again, but it's not simple, is it. Everything effects everything else," Granger said, bitter. "There's no way we can calculate the effects of everything we do with the amount of unused power between us."

"Nothing is simple," Millie agreed.

"What are we to do?" Granger said, her eyes fixed on some point in the distance.

"What can we do?" Millie answered. "If we do too much magic, we'll be caught out."

"How do we control the sympathetic magic we're producing?" Granger asked.

"I don't think we should tell the fellas," Millie said warily. "...they'd muck it up if they knew."

"It does seem the sort of thing that would peck away at Severus' nerves," Granger said. "You and I should try to attract the right sort of sympathetic magic. It may prove impossible to foresee all the ramifications, but if we work at it in a general way..."

"It's not as if we were actually hiding something from them," Millie said, knowing it was what Granger wanted to hear. "We haven't any proof. All we have is conjecture."

"It would be wrong, really, to upset them without solid evidence," Granger said, nodding to herself.

"That's right," Millie agreed, but she watched as the shadow over Granger's features darkened.

"What do you think affected Severus and I?" Granger blurted.

"Pardon?" Millie asked, quite taken aback.

"Do you think your romance with Draco precipitated Severus and I in some way?" Granger said miserably.

Millie cocked her head, Granger swallowed hard.

"I don't think it goes that far. I think, what it effects is the things that are otherwise random, you know? You two are a good solid match." Millie said, thinking "But let's test it. Get my handbag out of the kitchen."

Granger practically ran.

"Here you go," Granger said, thrusting the bag at her.

"My hands are full. You open it. Inside there's a box. It's got words on little magnets. We have some on the refrigerator at the Tea Shop. I like to muck about with them while I'm baking so Mrs. Bertolli got me some to play with at home. She's not bad, really, just a bit mad," Millie said in a rush, thinking Granger might find her silly if she admitted her employer was growing on her, despite her manias.

"Right," Granger nodded retrieving the box and regarding it casually, as if she were well acquainted with magnetic letters for the icebox; perhaps she was.

"Now close your eyes and take out some words," Millie instructed.

"How many?" Granger asked.

"I don't know, how about seven? Seven is a good number," Millie said.

"Seven it is then," Granger closed her eyes and brought out the magnets with careful fingers. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven."

"What are you waiting for? Open your eyes and read them," Millie said.

"You. Have. Found. True. If. Problematic. Love." Granger started laughing and Millie couldn't help but join her. Granger, though, continued on long after Millie was finished, hiding her face behind her palms. Millie didn't say anything, but she suspected there were a few tears in the mix.

Millie, meanwhile, fed the baby goat milk from a teacup.

"How is he doing that?" Granger asked wiping her eyes between sips of tea. "It's not magic is it?"

Millie snorted softly. "He does it the same way you do it."

"I haven't any experience with babies," said Granger, taking another sip of tea and ripping a section from her orange.

The corner of Millie's mouth wrinkled at how odd that was. "Your mum never borrowed her mates' sprog so you could learn how it's done?"

"Most of my mother's friends don't have children," Hermione said. "My parents were more concerned that I distinguish myself academically."

Millie let that thought percolate through for a moment while Granger and the baby sipped from their china cups.

"When I went away to Hogwarts, my parents warned me not to let on I knew too much. Not to attract attention, you know, keep my head down," Millie said, mulling it over "They'd‘ve been right cheesed off if I pulled down good marks. But babies, that's practical, liking flyin' or makin' cheese or building a house out of whatever's at hand."

"Did Severus really change your nappies?" Granger asked.

"He was my granny's apprentice," Millie said, figuring that ought to be explanation enough.

Granger looked at her expectantly.

"So he had to do her bidding, didn't he? And part of the bidding was to mind the baby on Friday nights so my mum and dad could have an uninterrupted shag," Millie said. "You think perhaps you might be willing to watch baby here every so often so I could get mine off with Draco? I turn into a complete cow if I don't get at least one good fuck a week."

Granger looked sympathetic, if uncertain.

"Once he's well, I mean," Millie went on.

"To tell the truth the idea of caring for an infant makes me slightly uncomfortable."

"What for?"

"They're so small and they can't... communicate," Granger said, displaying the aforementioned discomfort.

"Sure they do, if you know how to read ‘em."

Granger raised an eyebrow at her, looking fairly Snapish.

"A baby," Millie said "is like a beast; all they want is to be comfortable and safe. Feed them, change their nappies, cuddle them up and that's all they want."

"You make it sound simple," Granger said sceptically.

"It is simple. Pretend you're in Care of Magical Beasts; witches and wizards are magical beasts after all, same as a Blast-Ended Skrewt,"

Granger nodded, "Go on."

"Young," she said, "any sort of young that expects to be looked after by its mother comes with instinctive ability to read her feelings; not Legilimency or anything difficult like that, but they put all the little things together without thinkin'."

"What do you mean? Give me an example of the little things," Granger said.

"The little things like skin temperature, or the how tense your muscles are when you hold ‘em, how long you look in a baby's eyes, they can put all that together and tell if you like them or if somethin's gettin' up your nose. They come out knowin' how to do it, same as any other beast. Then when they start to talk, lots of times what people say is the opposite of their body says, so they learn to stop listenin' to anything else. Other than that, babies want to be comfortable, same as anyone. It's not that difficult to keep ‘em healthy or there wouldn't be any."

Granger looked at her. "It still sounds like a complex skill to me."

"Taking care of a baby is as simple and as complicated as fucking," Millie said, staring in the baby's eyes wondering what colour they'd turn.

"So is Severus any good with infants?" Granger asked, worry in her voice.

"Nah, I mean, he's better with babies than he is with actual children, but you know Severus..." she shrugged. "He'll keep ‘em safe and fed, but he's too high strung to make regular work of it. I wouldn't be too worried about him getting a wild notion he wants one of his own if I was you. He's too interested in being the baby, himself, to like ‘em. Too bad he's too big to fit in the cot."

Granger looked to be pondering for a bit as she finished her orange and got herself more tea.

"What Severus said earlier, about putting you across his knee, got me to wondering at Hogwarts," she asked, flattening her lips together as if she'd been thinking on it for some time. "Did Severus ever whip you?"

"Me? Not me personally; he threatened all the time, but you know how he talks to hear the sound of his own voice. I think he might have given a couple of boys the strap for playing fast and loose with dangerous magic, something a bit more stupid than usual, but a female in Slytherin could commit bloody mayhem in the common room and get out of it with nothing but a good talking to. How was McGonagall? I always thought she'd be handy with a switch."

"We hardly ever saw her outside class and meals. The worst anyone got that I knew was detention well... except Fred and George Weasley, and I might have been tempted to strike those two myself,"

Millie chuckled, she couldn't disagree with Granger on that, not that she would have kicked them out of bed back at Hogwarts, but they had a talent for annoying the shit out of a person.

"Would you do me a favour, Granger?" Millie asked.

"That depends on what it is," Granger said, between swallows of tea.

"Call Mrs. Bertolli for me? Tell her I have Hinkypunk fever or something, and I'll be covered with pustulant boils for the next three days,"

"Muggles don't get Hinkypunk fever; they don't even know what it is," Granger said.

"Ebola, then," Millie said, "that's Muggle, I heard it on the radio."

"I'll say you have stomach flu," Granger answered.

"We'll call you a taxi so you don't have to spend half the morning walking to your University," Millie said then paused, waiting for her real question, the underlying request. "Do you reckon, now that you've taken on Snape, as a husband, he'll be moving into your room."

Granger choked a bit on her tea.

"Am I off? Did I get it wrong? You called yourself Snape while we were in the car and you've got a ring. D'you know Americans wear it on the other side? Mrs. Bertolli told me," Millie said, watching as baby shut his fluttering eyes again. "Look, the truth is, I want Severus' room for a nursery."

"In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose," Hermione said "It does seem backwards to marry him first and then quibble about sharing a bedroom."


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If Severus had been secretive about what he had been up to in the hours he'd stolen away to the magical interior of a port-a-loo in the suburb of Richardson, it had been with good reason. If he'd partly used it as a refuge from his desire for Granger and partly as a last ditch attempt at righting things, it was no one's concern but his own.

While Draco could be won over, he couldn't imagine either Granger or Millicent taking his pursuit in their stride. He may not have exactly quailed at the thought of opposing both those witches at once, but he wasn't foolhardy enough to fly in their faces either. He wasn't certain he'd lose, but he was certain he would never get into Hermione Granger's knickers if she knew he was trying to build a time machine.

Not that it mattered in the end, he thought, feeling a bit ambivalent. It hadn't worked, and now that Granger was his own he was frankly relieved that all remained unchanged.

He'd been so certain it would function properly as he laboured away on it. But he'd completed the damn thing, written a detailed message to Dumbledore, detailed yet containing one important omission: nowhere in the note was mentioned the fact that Granger has escaped Voldemort's followers, nor even that such a witch as Hermione Granger might ever attend Hogwarts or be of consequence.

He'd sent his vital message off in the time machine, aimed its eye at Hogwarts, specifically the Headmaster's Office on the morning before Harry Potter was to arrive as a tender eleven-year-old... and not a damn thing changed. He hadn't saved wizarding Britain, yet again.

He'd probably missed something obvious. It drove him mad all week, checking and rechecking his notes and work, though he found he didn't care quite so much now that Granger had taken him on. He counted himself fortunate if setting all to rights would consign him to spend the rest of his days alone, in a dungeon, teaching imbeciles, taking what solace he could in liquor and his own fist. It was to his benefit that the machine had done a fat lot of nothing.

Still, he found it inherently off-putting to be wrong. He might be wrong about people from time to time because people were inherently stupid and irrational - how the hell was he to predict irrational behaviour - but Severus Snape was never wrong about things, much less magical things.

He shot Draco a look that suggested the building of a time machine in a port-a-loo was nothing remarkable.

"It will be a few hours before I require your life's blood. Make yourself useful and take that down," he instructed Draco.

"Does it work?" Draco asked, the impertinent arse.

"That is a singularly stupid question," Severus said.

Draco shrugged.

"Were I in possession of a functioning time machine, I would hardly have spent my evening riding through the greater Dallas area with a goat, chasing an armadillo, and disposing of a corpse," he said wearily.

"Never thought of that," Draco said "What about you and mmm... Miss Granger?" he stuttered, apparently catching himself at the last moment.

Severus gave him a long hard look to remind him that while he might be lenient for the sake of affection, the boy should not make a habit of straining good will. Beyond that he wasn't sure what to say, so he kept quiet and set to brewing while he dredged up some sort of reply.

"What of it?" he said, finally, quite dull of him, really, but it was only Draco.

"Is it everything you wanted? Is she treating you... well... considerately? You're not disappointed in any way?" Draco asked with what seemed genuine concern.

Severus kept on at his work, not sure how to answer. He did not wish to sound like a simpering idiot, nor did he wish to convey the notion that anything about his new relationship with Granger was less than ideal.

"I love her," he said the words without intending; they had been more of a thought than anything else.

Draco gave a little jump at the declaration, bumping his elbow quite into the time machine.

"For fuck's sake, boy, remove the hearts from the main spring, then release the torque, that should slow the gears before you cause a tragic accident," Severus said.

"I'm twenty years old, Severus, and I'm a father, must you speak to me as if I was eleven?" Draco whinged, imploring him with wide grey eyes.

Severus couldn't help but snort. "Then for fuck's sake, MAN, remove the beating hearts from the main spring, then release the torque, that should slow the gears before you destroy half the city."


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Curiosity wouldn't allow Hermione to let Millie clear out Severus' room on her own.

As Millie put it, leaving the job to Severus meant more emotionalism than the task warranted and most likely an extended wait.

Amid the half-eaten apples, sea of scrawling scraps of paper, cigarette packets both empty and half-full, and dried month old ends of sandwiches, they found rather more pornographic magazines than Hermione had expected.

A few months before she'd entered Hogwarts, Hermione had accidentally stumbled onto a small stash of pornographic magazines in her parents' garden shed, her father's presumably. The women in those had been air brushed and filmed through a hazy filter, legs demurely closed and only their balloon like breasts displayed.

The women in Severus' magazines looked as if they were giving demonstrations in human anatomy. There were no exotic sets behind them. The ones with the most loose and dog eared pages appeared to her to be those compiled of pictures of everyday looking women, "amateur photos" taken by lovers, she presumed. Disarmingly ordinary.

It seemed at once more innocent and altogether more obscene. Like Severus himself.

In his dresser were, as she had half expected, six shirts and four trousers, all identical. White cotton socks. White cotton underwear. And then folded neatly and alone in the bottom drawer sat one set of wizarding robes: the one from her childhood with a hundred tiny buttons. Paperback books lay scattered about the room, ranging in topic from physics to human evolution to a narrow volume of poetry titled "The Wasteland". It sounded vaguely familiar.

There was little else in the room.

Still she felt strange moving his things in with hers. It followed logically from the vows they'd taken in the car and she had no doubt he'd be pleased once he did his requisite grumbling.

She looked at her ring, unsure how much of her excitement was mixed with fear.


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Except for half an hour around dawn spent chasing the blasted armadillo, the rest of Severus and Draco's labour was without incident.

Two days later, they returned to the house with the elixir.


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They put the baby on Millie and Draco's bed, stripped of his nappy, as per Severus' advice: "He's going to shit his little intestines out once I give him the elixir, that nappy will only get in the way." Lying in the midst of a blanket Draco decided he would simply toss out after the nastier effects of the potion were over, the baby looked worse than ever.

His head was too big and his body was too small. He was yellow and veiny and he trembled.

Atop Draco's bureau, Whack switched her tail violently.

Hermione watched with trepidation as Severus swirled the glittery red liquid in the jam jar that served as a vial.

"How does it work?" she asked.

"The most essential ingredient in the Sangremorphus potion is the blood of a wizard, freely given. The other elements serve only to remove the tainted and malformed portions of the drinker's mind and body and replace them with ones patterned after that of the wizard from whom the blood was received," Severus said.

"So it's like Muggle gene therapy?" Hermione asked.

"Except the Sangremorphus potions is a reality, not theory," Severus said. "What do you think he weighs, Millie?"

"Five pounds and a bit," Millie said.

"A bit?" Severus asked. "Is that more or less than an ounce? I should have known better than to ask you; you have to take off your shoes to count above ten."

Millie stuck out her tongue.

"Draco, what does your son weigh?" Severus asked in the classroom voice that indicated the time for banter was passed.

Draco lifted the baby, who began to fuss, and closed his eyes in concentration.

"Four pounds fourteen point five ounces, I'd say," Draco answered.

"Granger, double check," Severus ordered.

Hermione lifted the baby in her palms, one hand under his wrinkled little bum and one under his pointy head. She settled her mind and felt gravity's pull on the little body. It was definitely less than five pounds. Less than four pounds fifteen ounces. More than four fourteen. More than four fourteen point four.

"I say he's right," Hermione said, setting the baby back down on the blanket.

Severus looked from her to Draco. "If the two of you agree, I feel obliged to see for myself. Hold this," he said, handing her the liquid; though the elixir was fluid, it seemed to have facets which caught the light.

"Little... whatever-you're-going-to-call-him weighs four fourteen point six," he said, supporting the screaming baby with one large wide spread hand.

"We're going to call him Severus," Draco said looking from Millie to Snape and back again.

"Call him Severus and I withhold the elixir," Severus said still holding the baby.

"You have to be joking," Draco said.

"Try me. It's a wretched name, and he'll never be able to make his way among Muggles as long as he answers to it," Severus said, his lips pinched "Call him after your father-in-law. Phillip is perfectly inconspicuous name among Muggles and Wizards alike."

"Fine! We'll call him Phil, " Millie said, "just give him the bloody elixir."

With a gentle flourish, Severus laid the newly named Phillipus Malfoy aka Phillip Black back on the bed and took a small square of white cloth from the pocket of his leather jacket. With the measured eye of a scientist, he soaked and squeezed the knotted centre of the fabric until he deemed the dosage was correct.

Hermione watched as Severus somehow managed to be both tender and grandiose as he brought the potion soaked material to the baby's wailing mouth.

"Live, boy, live and be whole," he commanded.

It surprised her, in that it didn't surprise her at all, that the baby suckled at the elixir quietly and obediently.


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As for Severus, he hardly could have been more pleased that Granger had installed him in her quarters while he was away. She meant it. She had every intention of being a wife to him.


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In the days that followed Hermione learned a great many things, only some of them academic. She learned Severus had four distinct smiles; the most common a small subtle curling at the corners of his mouth easily missed by the casual observer, the second a nervous sort of lips pressed together that meant he was making a concerted effort not to smile, the third a lopsided grin that he only wore on one side of his face at a time in some sort of Severus Snape emotional economy, the last and rarest of all was a smile as silly and broad as anything that had ever graced a human face, it wasn't the sort of expression she'd even imagined he could make. At first she'd mistakenly attributed it to menace. It was maddening how many things he did were easily misinterpreted. The broad grin was rare though and usually seemed to appear in a sexual context, so it was fairly safe to say there was little irony to it.

Sex, interestingly, made him happy like nothing else; perhaps that was why he'd been so dismissive of it at first.

Hermione herself had always looked at sex as its own realm. Like food, it was necessary and nuanced and more or less what you made of it, but Severus seemed to simply be pleased by the fact that it existed. That she existed. That he could combine the two. In some ways, he was as simplistic in his desires as Ron Weasley; though he would have flown into a world class snit had she been foolish enough to tell him so.

Now that she knew what was happening, it didn't take long before she became aware of the magic as it shot out of him and into her, like a shower of subtle stars. Afterwards she felt a bit guilty in a way that correlated directly to how much she enjoyed the sex. While she was reasonably certain it was a cause and effect relationship, she wasn't at all sure which was cause and which was the effect.

His technique improved, and if he was slightly awkward from time to time in the course of execution, it only stood to make things more piquant when he displayed the sexual inventiveness of someone who regularly spent long hours thinking of what could be done to whom and what particulars would make it most pleasant. Above all else, she was aware when the two of them were alone together that Severus Snape was an astoundingly powerful wizard. Due to obvious circumstances, they were constrained to limit their magic to sporadic use outside the house and even then mostly small and circumspect spells; it was the one time she could feel they were both wholly themselves. The magic at the core of his self was muscular and sly, and she could feel it even when she kissed him, like a spark on his lips.

She also became aware of something else. She became aware that while she tended to spend a great deal of time thinking, Severus spent more time in his own imagination than he did any place else. She understood it; she was a lonely in a crowded room sort, too, but sometimes, sometimes, she would have given anything to climb inside that ponderous brain of his and have a good long look round.

She could spend a lifetime occupied by him. He was that interesting, and there were that many things about him she didn't understand at all. It was the first time in her experience that a wizard had been more exciting after a month's worth of sex than he was before it.

She understood precisely what she got out of it. It felt good and her orgasms were delicious, and afterwards she felt amazingly strong; sometimes she half believed she could fly without a broom. He was electric and exquisite in his way; there was some quality peculiar to Severus Snape himself that thrilled and interested her. All this and more were what she had to gain.

While she did her best to make sure Severus' experience was as pleasurable as hers, it was difficult to comprehend the silly grin on his face as he lay pale and languid beside her. It was odd to think sex had as much to do with the massive organ between Severus ears as it did with the one between his legs.

None of that, of course, meant he stopped being Severus Snape. His hair was every bit as awful and greasy regardless of how thoroughly he shampooed. His teeth remained crooked and cigarette stained. The nose, oh god, his nose remained every bit as long and hooked and crooked to boot, very nearly baroque, though it was dear to her in its imperfection. He drank straight from the bottle and smoked foul smelling cigarettes. He was still quick to take offence and slow to grant forgiveness. It was a strange perk, of sorts, that he made her feel vivacious and carefree in comparison, which weren't words anyone had ever used to describe her, to the best of her knowledge.

His penchant for sarcasm took on a different light once she understood his rudeness was in part a buffer between the world and what seemed a nearly egg-like fragility. He fretted about everything, misunderstood people's meanings and intentions, all without, of course, ever letting on. Socially, he was at an utter loss much of the time not because he was stupid but because he attributed to others a complexity of thought and emotion that, in Hermione's experience, usually wasn't there. One reason things worked out so well between them was that Hermione said plainly and precisely whatever flitted through her head and had no difficulty explaining herself.

While Harry and Ron had always found this frightfully tedious of her, having things explained to him in precisely this manner seemed to settle Severus' nerves quite a bit. Had Hermione been like Ginny Weasley, or even Severus himself, and expected to have her feelings understood and anticipated, they would have been sunk from the outset.

She also learned that she had to badger him into explaining himself.

When she'd tried that tactic with Harry and Ron, they'd rolled their eyes and run off to play Quidditch. She had a sneaking feeling Severus liked being badgered if it meant he had her attention, quite apart from the fact that he needed her guidance.

A thousand incidents, both pleasant and unpleasant, proved learning experiences for both of them.

Once, while driving her to class, he spat out the car window.

"Severus Snape, you did not just spit in public," she said, cringing.

He looked at her, puzzled, as he scratched the back of his neck. "So. What." It wasn't a question but rather a statement.

"It is rude. It is unhygienic. And it is embarrassing," she said consciously feeling herself pale. What would her mother say?

Severus stared as if he had never heard an objection to spitting in his life. "It wasn't as though I spat on Draco's Persian carpet."

"It's disgusting," Hermione countered. "No matter where you do it."

"It's out of doors. It is perfectly permissible to remove a bit of phlegm from one's throat by spitting if one is out of doors," he insisted. "Do you expect me to swallow it?"

"Either that or carry a handkerchief, because spitting in public is horrid. No one wants to be subjected to other people's bodily fluids," Hermione said incensed.

"How telling," Snape squinted at her. "You do not wish to be subjected to my bodily fluids, you mean to say."

"Oh... you... you know what I mean and that wasn't it. Don't twist my words round," she said "you're trying to start a row and..."

"You started it," he said accusatorily. "You think I am beneath you; grotty old Snape."

"Spitting is... grotty, by definition, this isn't something I made up. It's a socially agreed upon norm," she said wondering at the apologetic tone in her voice, she hadn't been the transgressor.

"Admit it, I disgust you," he said.

"When you spit, yes," she said. "Because it's a disgusting habit."

"I am attempting to delve into the deeper meaning behind your outburst, examining the subtext if you will," he said glaring. "Do you wish to give back my ring."

"What?" she said. He was mad; she was involved with a mad man.

"If I disgust you, it follows logically you would not wish to be wed to such a person," he said.

"First of all it's the spitting that disgusts me; unless spitting is integral to your very being I don't see how..." she said before he cut her off.

"Perhaps it is," he said with a frown.

"Stop being..." she said.

"Being what?" he said.

"Wilfully obtuse and hyper-sensitive. Stop reading in meaning that isn't there," she said briskly. "I like you. I don't like spitting; it's bad manners. The two are not inseparable."

"There's always subtext," he said.

"No, there isn't. I'm terribly dull that way. I also dislike smoking, stealing, and being rude simply because one can," she said.

"Is there anything about me you do like?" he asked, tossing his burning cigarette out the car window.

"Quite a few things actually, You are honourable, unless there are crisps or cigarettes involved, brave, frightfully intelligent, curious, you take care of the people you love," she was interrupted by a loud snort.

"What a load of sentimental nonsense," he said, lighting another cigarette, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Nothing you could say would ever convince me that you do not love Draco and Millie like a father," she said.

Severus Snape had no protestation to make to that. He smoked. Stepped on the gas when the light turned green.

"I will not give up my fags; you can't make me," he said, sounding childish.

Hermione supposed this meant, in light of his comment about subtext, that he would refrain from spitting.

"I'm sure I have habits you find unpleasant," she said experimentally, hoping to leave the door open to his thoughts. Encouraging him in the criticism he seemed to enjoy so was a gesture of good will on her part.

"No, you're quite perfect," he said, sullen.

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Author's Note: Special Thanks to Shiv and to Lora