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Ok, so here
is the second chapter. It is shorter than the first. As expected it is slightly
more serious. However, * grin *, ah, just read and you’ll see… * grin *

_____________________

Timeout after warm-up

Hermione apparated
in the same alley as she had disapparated from yesterday. There were closer
spots to her apartment but she had to think. And thinking was best achieved
when strolling. It was a wonderful and sunny summer’s day. And things had
changed since she had stood here yesterday. You never step into the same river
twice. Yet, the last oursours had been weird. Well, surreal was probably better
a word to describe the events. She tried to image the looks on the faces of
Harry and Ron when she told them that she had been getting drunk with the
miserable old bat. More so when she told them that she had actually enjoyed his
company. No, she would keep that to herself. When she thought about sleeping
smuggled to him, her face on his chest, her stomach lurched pleasantly.

Try as she might, she could not even suppress her excitement when she tried to
recall his smell. The feel of his body close to her. The comforting, enticing
warmth of it. This and the thought of his exposed throat triggered her
imagination of what the rest of his body would look like. He was lean, but she
was sure she had felt some muscles. Damn! The wretched hangover had been way
too distracting to fully enjoy the situation.

No!
Don’t think about the hangover.<

<

It felt so
much better to think about him. The other personality of the wicked Potions
Master which was almost kind and caring.

What would he be like in the bunk?

Mostly wild and voracious?

Quiet and focussed?

Sensual and gentle?

Or all of them? Press the button to pick your flavour of the day?

A warm feeling between her legs intruded her train of thought.

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks: What the hell was wrong with her?

She was not the one to indulge in silly crushes … well … after Gilderoy
Lockhard anyway. And right now she felt safer by assuming she was indeed
dealing with a crush.

The
powers that be gave you something to play with, so what are you gonna do?

A smile
played on her lips. She had a very good idea of what she was going to do once
she got home.

-----------

Severus
Snape spent a long while sitting on the bed they had shared. Every now and then
he took a deep breath hoping to inhale some of her scent. Her presence could
still be felt.

Was he mad? Completely off his rocker? Acting like some noble knight in phony
shining armour? He hated bloody noble knights in bloody phony shining armour.
Just about as much as he hated himself right now: Underneath their clothes,
both knights and Potion Masters were merely horny men. So why then had he not
done it like in his dreams so many times? Seducing her, tasting the rush of
excitement she could offer him. The thought of her body yielding to his touch,
of ping ing his lips to hers, of soft skin under his fingers …

Good gracious, his erection needed thoughtful attention, he was in no mood to ignore
it. Quite contrary. Within seconds he was masturbating to a wild succession of
images featuring himself and Hermione:

Her, in her
school dress, reaching for his crotch, asking: Sir? May I toyou you there?

Him on her, taking her virginity, her legs over his shoulders.

Her sitting beside him at the High Table, gently massaging his groin while
everyone was listening to Dumbeldore’s end of term speech.

Him deep inside her, his most private pan hen her most intimate place, stroking
back and forth while she was begging for mercy.

He slumped
back onto the bed, right where she had slept and rubbed even faster. He felt
like a pervert when he caught her scent clinging on to the sheets that caused
him to climax so hard and fast that he did not know what hit him.

Perfect ten, he thought when he was able to think again.

“Professor
Snape, are you alright in there?” he heard Madame Rosmerta ask.

Snape
rolled his eyes. Was she so nosy or had he been so loud? He was glad that she
had knocked and inquired instead of bustling in, catching him red handed in a
very literal sense. He forced his voice to sound nonchalantly:

“Yes,
everything is fine. I’ll be down in a few.”

Apart from
hating knights in shining armours, he also hated to feel like a teenage boy who
had been caught wanking by his mother.

He checked whether the covers were clean and retreated to the bathroom.

---------------

Hermione
smiled. Her skin was flushed. She was lying naked on the bed.

This had been good.

The feeling of bliss was only a bit tinged by the guilt of having used him in
her fantasies like that. But then again: It wasn’t as if he’d ever find out.

For a moment there was the idea that if they ever got together – in some
alternative universe – she’d tell him about it. Maybe while they were making
love in the deserted Slytherin Common Room. She would tell him how she had
touched herself, while she was thinking abhim him touching her. How she had
fantasized about sitting on his face, so he could have all the access he
craved, while she was able to control everything. How she felt his hands caress
her thighs with tender brushes and his tongue was dancing all over the
sensitive area.

She felt
herself blush. This was new to her. Distracting. Hermione was determined to not
let the hormones get in the way too much.

Like
they had in the past quarter of an hour?

No, she
would use the memory of last night when sheded ded it and that would have to
do.

Pretty
pathetic, really. She saw herself as an old spinster, desperately holding on to
a 50 year old memory.

She sighed.
What a depressing thought. She got up to get dressed again.

--------------

The last
week of the term passed and Snape packed his bags to head off for a deserved
vacation. However, one disturbing issue would not let him get the rest he
craved: The memory of the evening at ‘The Three Broomsticks’ did not fade. No
matter what he tried, he just could not get her out of his mind. He berated
himself for being such a sentimental idiot about this. What had they done,
anyway? As far as he could recall, nothing exceptionally binding, had they? He,
Albus and Minerva had got drunk together on several occasions, but the two had
never made it into his favourite wet dreams.

Twolacilacies in one theory, Severus, he thought. First of all, Albus and
Minerva were never ever sexually appealing to you at any time. Second: She is
not in there anymore.

Which was true.

After jerking off on the bed that morning, he just could not bring himself to
think about Hermione when he needed relief. That memory was simply too good and
too precious.

That ty mty much settled the thing for him. He was turning into a sentimental
idiot, maybe he should start eating Sherbet Lemon drops, get himself a pair of
half-moon spectacles and smile benignly during his Potions classes next term.
Laughable! Ridiculous!

------------

Roughly a
month after the incident at Hogsmeade, Hermione snatched the Kamasutra book
from the shelf, opened the page with a particularly exciting illustration and
charmed the couple in the book to assume Snape’s and her features. Out of
interest, she prodded the picture with her wand to make it move. When she
realized what she was doing, she hastily closed the book and turned beet red.

Another two weeks later, Hermione dismissed the idea of using Snape solely as
the paramour of her autoerotic reveries. Whenever she saw things she liked, she
wondered whether he would like itwellwell. It wasn’t like she wanted that to
happen. It just did. And it seemed so natural. The third stage followed
quickly: She was sure she wanted to see him again, only this time in a less
strained situation. When that awareness hit her, she spent her time scheming
and dismissing ways to meet him. She wrecked her brains. The problem was that
she needed a good reason and not a flimsy excuse. It would have to be something
that offered safety and the liberty to back out.

When she
had already given up hope to find something adequate, the reason presented
itself when Hermione was skimming through the Muggle newspapers. The moment she
saw the advertisement, she thanked whoever was writing the story of her life;
whether it be some monkey or the storyteller himself.

She picked up the phone and made the necessary arrangements. Her heart was
beating madly in her chest from anticipation and the fear of being rejected. This
plan was crazy, good and exciting, she had trouble containing herself; but how
would he take it?

-----------

Merely a
week into the new term and Snape was already sick of it all. Not only were there
dunderheads all around, Dumbledore had also come up with new annoying ways to
waste the time of the staff. Couldn’t the man simply retire? Not that he hated
Albus, far from it …

A knock at the window disturbed his thoughts.

Snape looked up to see an owl with a letter tied to her leg. He frowned. Who
would wto wto write to him? Whoever it was, he hoped that person would not
pester. Technically the person was already pestering by merely writing.

He opened
the window to let the owl in. He took the letter and conjured an owl treat. Due
to a lack of correspondence, he never had any treats in stock. The owl took
flight again.

Snape
stared at the blank envelope with mild curiosity. He turned it over several
times but it remained blank. It did not appear to contain something dangerous,
however. He would have felt that. Nevertheless, he considered tossing it into
the fire for a break of a second. Then he ripped open the envelope.

It
contained a piece of parchment and a piece of paper with bold print. He read the
parchment first. Neat writing, somehow familiar:

You are
cordially invited to accompany me. You will only be excused by personally
presenting me your official death certificate. –Kate

He frowned.
That was quite a bold tone and he was sure he did not know a woman named Kate.
He took a closer look at the other piece of paper, it read:

Anthony and Cleopatra by William
Shakespeare.

Olivier Theatre, London.

October 21^st, 1998

Begins at 7:45 p.m.

Shakespeare?
Bold? Kate?

A smile
appeared on his lips as he put one and one and one together. He had a hard time
suppressing the surge of joy that washed through him. When rational thought was
back in control, the joy mingled with an anxious feeling. He had wanted her to
think of him but the knowledge that she actually had frightened him beyond his
wits.

He
considered writing back immediately to tell her that he accepted the invitation
and to show her that he had worked out the clues without effort. Yet, his Snape
ishness was back with a vengeance. She had not specifically requested an
answer, so she would have to wait and be patient.

--------------

Hermione
was livid. He had not answered. Three bloody weeks had passed since she had
sent the letter. She wondered whether he would show up at all. Chances were
that he would chose to ignore it. Like the dungeons were such a wonderful place
to frolic. Old miserable bat.

She would not send another owl to ask if he chose to be there. That would be
like begging him to react. Souldould not do that.

As the date drew nearer, she grew more nervous: It was like free falling
without net. She knew she was being dramatic about it but that was how she
felt.

What if he
did not show up? That would be a clear answer.

What if he turned out to be the old snarky Professor?

What if they enjoyed the evening?

The
afternoon of the 21^st was glum when Hermione came home from work.
She took a lengthy shower and spent a great deal of time taming her hair and
dressing up for the night. She felt a stab of hunger and managed to eat a
muesli bar.

Nervous
about dating your former teacher?

Just to
calm herself, she kept repeating that this was not a date.

Yeah,
right. Who are you kidding?

Not a date,
merely two people sharing a mutual interest.

A date.lang=EN-GB style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>

She glared
at her reflection in the mirror. That glare would have made a certain someone
proud. The glare changed into a sly smile at the thought of him.

She stepped out into the cool October night and apparated near the National
Theatre. With every step she took, her heart beat faster until she stood at the
doors and looked around for a familiar face.

-------------

Snape had
dismissed the last class in his usual bad temper. He retreated to his chambers
for a quick shower -- not like it would change much about his hair. He also
decided that another shave would be in order. Not that he was keen on leaving a
good impression. He simply felt more comfortable when he was clean shaven.
After more personal grooming than he allowed himself to admit, he picked his
clothes from the closet.

Dark wool pants and a cashmere pullover with a roll neck. One had to consider
the season after all. With the help of the man in the mirror Snape tested the
impact of a sinister face (good), brooding (appealing), shy smile (eerie) and
glowering (nice). He transfigured his black cape into a black coat, put it on
and left his rooms.

Some
fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the shadow of a dark corner. He saw
Hermione standing next to the doors, looking lost and anxious. She could not
see him here. It was not fair really, but he just stood there watching her for
a few minutes. Doubts sprang up. Maybe he should just watch her and disapparate
into the safety of Hogwarts not allowing reality to burst the bubble of his
dreams. The stronger side of him wanted to taste reality, though. So, he
straightened himself, took a little turn to surprise her.

-------------

“Con tutto
il cuore ben trovato, may I say.” a deep voice said behind her.

Hermione jumped a bit, yet she could not help closing her eyes at the sound of
his voice. She turned and smiled. He offered her his arm with an inclined head.
So he did have manners after all.

Hermione was startled by the way he looked in Muggle clothes. Ok, so they were
mostly black, but he did look good in them. Well, this promised to be an
interesting evening.

The lights
were dimmed and the play began. Hermione could not quite stifle a gasp when
Anthony walked onto the stage. Boy, Mr. Rickman did look in in real life.
Snape gave her a bit of a glare. Hermione blushed furiously.

Now what
had that been about?

Anthony had
entered the stage and she gasped like a hormone ridden teenager, which she
somehow was, he reminded himself. At his glare she had blushed. Was she
undressing this old guy with the scruffy hair and beard with her eyes?

“If you
prefer to be left alone with him, I’ll simply cast Petrificus Totalus on him
and raise the fire alarm.” he hissed.

She smiled
without averting her eyes from the stage.

“Very
tempting but I have been looking forward to sitting next to you for many weeks.
Maybe we’ll try the fire alarm next time.” she smiled and lay her hand on his.

He gulped
visibly when he felt the warmth and the softness of her hand. It felt so
gloriously good and right that he forgave her. At least for now.

-------------

After the
play, he meekly asked if she was hungry. It had taken him a lot of courage to
ask her that. Right now he was the one to feel like a hormone ridden teenager
on his first date. In almost all points this was not far from the truth. She
happily took his invitation, so again he offered her his arm and they strolled
off to find a restaurant.

They walked in silence, simply enjoying the others presence not wanting to
disturb the magic of the moment.

They found
a small Greek restaurant, sat down at a table next to a window and barely
spoke. The waiter took their orders. When he was off, the silence became a bit
uncomfortable. Hermione shifted.

“So, did
you enjoy the play?”

Snape’s
mind quickly calculated, he could not help himself to plot a little revenge.
She had invited him, she liked him but the reaction to that actor still irked
him.

Jealous,
Severus, old boy?

He nodded
and shook his head at the same time. When he saw her puzzled look, he
explained:

“It’s a
nice play. Not one of Shakespeare’s best but in a way I can identify with it.
It is about war, which I know a lot about and about betrayals and treachery.
Maybe it is not so popular because i not not fictitious enough. People love to
be entertained and prefer not to be bothered with too many facts.” he stopped.
“Sorry, I was getting philosophical. Anyway, I found the lack of sexual tension
between the two actors made the whole play rather tedious. There was too little
passion between them to make the whole thing believable.” he paused again.
Hermione’s eyes glittered, when he started talking about passion. He grinned
inwardly, and positioned the trap carefully.

“And the
actor, well … that was a rather woebegone interpretation of Anthony. After all
Anthony was a warrior and a man who was deeply in love. That performance was
anaemic.”

Hermione
tensed, opened her mouth, closed it again, clearly upset and at a loss for
words. Then she saw the mischievolintlint in his eyes.

“Severus
Snape!” she hissed, slapping his arm playfully.

He grinned.<

<

“Sorry, had
been looking forward to spending an evening with you for weeks. Having to share
you with him was…” he stopped for he realized that he was saying the thing he
had been determined to keep inside.

She smiled,
showing him that she did not expect him to continue.

The rest of the late evening passed in a pleasant conversation until the waiter
signalled that they were the only guests left. Snape and Hermione blusho:p>o:p>

Once
outside, he offered to apparate with her to make sure she got home safely. She
accepted.

So he could be perfectly likeable when he was sober. Well, close enough as the
Ouzo and the two glasses of Retzina did not really count.

They
apparated in front of the building and silence fell again. Both stared at their
feet and then at each other.

“It was a
wonderful evening.” Hermione managed to say.

“Yes. It
was.” he answered, paused. “Would you like to … I …maybe we should meet again
soon?”

Merlin’s
beard, he was stammering like Longbottom.

“Yes, we
should.” she said when she really wanted to ask him if he would not like to
come up with her. However, that question was probably not yet part of the
protocol. Or was it?

“Can I owl
you, sometime?” he almost cringed at his question. This was so … adolescent.

“Anytime.”
she smiled, seeming not to mind his question.

“I will.”
very meek. Was this the time to kiss her? He made a hesitant motion towards
her. She did not pull back, so he assumed it was ok.

His nose
touched hers, he adjusted the angle and brushed her lips in a very chaste kiss.

Come on,
Severus you can do better than that. After all you were the one talking about
the passion of a warrior, she thought.

When he was about to pull back, she deepened the kiss.

Hermione, be careful. I am a very very starved man, he thought. He responded a
bit clumsily and broke the kiss slowly. He was scared of his own reactions.
Deep inside he knew that he was nowhere near the man he was in his dreams. And
probably hers as well. He pushed that thought aside.

“Good
night, Hermione.” he whispered.

“Good night,
Severus. Sweet dreams.” she replied gently.

He nodded
and watched her open the door and close it behind her.

Snape stood
for another moment. Her perfume had been intoxicating. Her lips had been so
soft. His fingers brushed his lips. She had kissed him. Life was good.

_____________________________

A.N.

First of all “Thank you” to everyone who is reviewing. Never underestimate the
power you guys have over the author. :>

I apologize
for all the masturbation but there is a proverb which applies to the situation
of the two love birds: You gotta crawl before you can walk. LoL

And no,
Freudian approaches that translate into: sex fantasies of the characters < =
> kinkiness of the author are not
welcome. LoL

Once again,
I used a phrase from ‘Taming of the Shrew’

Anthony and
Cleopatra: Have to apologize yet again. This was just too tempting. Hermione
and Severus got comfortable around each other using a passage from TotS, Alan
Rickman plays Snape and happened to play Anthony in 1998, so I made it fit time
wise (I hope).

Maybe I should point out that I am in no way agreeing with Snape’s judgement of
Mr. Rickman’s performance. I merely took what the critics had to say about the
play and put them into Snape’s mouth. (That little git LoL)

I have not seen the play, therefore I cannot judge. I hope that no one is
offended by this little twist. It was something I have been thinking about for
ages: Confronting Severus Snape with Alan Rickman by having a girl swoon over
both.

For the record: I love Alan Rickman, even if the performance was a disaster, I
think I would have loved it.

Another
little crossroad: Having just finished ‘Around midnight’ by Anne, I caught the
little allusion to ‘Fool on the hill’ by Matt Ruff. I read that book several
years ago and can only recommend it. (No, I don’t get money for
recommendations. LoL)

Those who know me, know that I am extremely fond of the typewriter / monkey
idea. Basically it’s what every author wants: monkey take care of the routine,
you take over when the fun begins (Affen für die Pflicht, der Autor kümmert
sich um die Kür)