Arithmantic Dating Agency

Chapter four

Of course by the time it came to preparing for the date, Severus had worked himself into a blue funk.

The first date – if you could call it that – had gone well, chiefly because it hadn’t been a date. Now he had to prepare for an evening of being charming, and he wasn’t sure that he had enough experience to pull that off convincingly. The only people he had ever been ‘nice’ to were Lord Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy – everyone else had been too frightened of him to bother with – and he didn’t think that Hermione would appreciate oleaginous fawning which was probably the closest approximation he could make to ‘nice’.

A lifetime spent as Deatheater and then spy had hardly prepared him for the subtle art of seduction. On the other hand, he could hex with his wand in either hand, brew over a hundred different poisons, and was quite handy with a knife when required. Oddly enough, Hermione might be impressed by the first, and mildly interested in the poisons.

He didn’t think that she would be entirely happy to discuss the finer points of knifing someone in the back over the dinner table, although you could never be sure. She was an academic: she would be interested in anything new, and Gryffindors tended to the full frontal assault.

That made him bring to mind several very pleasing images that strengthened his resolve to go through with the whole thing. It was also marginally less embarrassing than having Hermione storm up to Hogwarts, demanding to know why she had been stood up, and probably dragging him out to the pub by his earhole.

He wasn’t sure that having Minerva and Pomona in his rooms while he got ready was helping calm him. Ostensibly they were there to give him some last minute advice and check his appearance over before he apparated to pick up Hermione; in reality, he couldn’t help but notice that they seemed to be deriving a certain at oft of quiet enjoyment from his nerves.

He was just on the verge of sitting down in his favourite chair and refusing to go, when the ladies exchanged a significant look and started giving him the pep talk.

To his complaint that he couldn’t think of anything to say, Minerva had said robustly, “Nonsense, Severus; has no one told you that the sexiest thing a man can do is listen to a woman?”

He was taken aback. “Really?” He knew that the ladies weren’t above teasing him, but not, he thought, over something they knew was so important to him.

“Really,” Pomona said firmly.

“Lucius always said…” he stopped guiltily. Lucius had said many things about women, and none of them were pleasant.

“Lucius could charm the birds out of the trees when he wanted to,” Minerva said briskly, “but I don’t suppose he ever tried listening to a woman. It would never occur to him that a mere woman would have anything interesting to say. Just imagine what would happen if he tried that kind of flannel on Hermione; she would laugh in his face.”

“True,” he said thoughtfully.

Ok, he could do that, listening was easy. He had had plenty of practice listening to Lucius reciting his grandiose plans for world domination, for redecorating Malfoy Manor, for tupping some poor woman, indeed anything and everything, for hours, without showing a hint of his boredom. He could therefore listen to the putative woman of his dreams talk about how irritating her week had been without yawning in her face. He might even find it interesting.

“And if push comes to shove you can entertain her with all the latest news on Minerva’s amours,” said Pomona provocatively. His smile was quickly suppressed; he never knew when he might want a favour.

Minerva flashed her a look of dislike. “I don’t have any amours,” she said frostily, “and I have no intention of ever having any amours, thank you very much, especially not with Filch.”

“An inspired suggestion, Pomona,” Severus said urbanely.

Well that seemed to take care of being witty and charming. What else? Ah yes, dress.

“So do I pass inspection, ladies?”

Even he had admitted that school robes weren’t appropriate for a dinner date, no matter how much he longed for the familiarity and security of his usual garb. There had been some ribald comments from his colleagues about detention, and kissing the teacher, which had brought home to him how important it was to make a different impression.

He had taken the radical step of ordering some new robes from his tailor. They were still black, but of a finer material, softer to the touch. He had to admit that they swirled in an even more dramatic fashion than his teaching robes, and had passed an hour or so when they first arrived practising in front of a mirror.

“Severus, darling, if you weren’t already taken I’d make a pass at you myself,” Minerva drawled.

He flushed a little, and then replied, “I wouldn’t want to come between you and Filch.”

Sprout shuddered. “That isn’t an image I needed putting into my mind: a Snape and Filch threesome. Ugh.”

“You think I needed to hear that?” snapped Minerva. Her voice softened as she moved closer to Severus and smoothed down his robes, “You’ll do fine, dear, don’t worry.” She turned to Sprout. “I think we’d better escort him to the front door, make sure he doesn’t make a run for it at the last minute.”

Severus didn’t think they were entirely joking; he knew he had half a mind to bolt. As they walked him to the entrance, flanking him on both sides, there was an uncanny resemblance to the escort given to condemned men on their last trip to the gallows.

As he apparated away he was sure he could hear them giggling. He found it oddly comforting; if they thought it was funny it was because he was being silly; and if he was being silly it meant that he could make it through the evening without causing a disaster. After all, if it all went horribly wrong, he was a Potions Master wasn’t he? All was fair in love and war.

He straightened his perfectly orderly cuffs, stiffened his sinews and girded his loins and prepared for the battle for Hermione.


Severus would have been relieved to hear that Hermione was also a bundle of nerves, and had called in reinforcements for her preparations for their first date. She had talked Ginny into helping her when she had returned to the office after lunch in a state of euphoria, not all of which could be attributed to drink.

Ginny had been relieved to see her. She had apparently been surprised when Hermione had taken a ranting Snape out to lunch. When she hadn’t returned for four hours she was nearly frantic with worry. And whilst the sensiblee ofe of Ginny had argued that he wouldn’t do anything in a public place, and that he was after all a ‘good guy’ there was a part of her that remembered potions classes and the almost overwhelming fear he had inculcated in his students.

Nothing had prepared her for the sight of a giddy, slightly drunk Hermione standing in the doorway with an idiotic grin on her face.

“What was lunch like, as if I didn’t know?” she had asked.

“Wonderful,” sighed Hermione. “Absolutely bloody wonderful.”

“You’re drunk.”

“A little,” she admitted.

“I’d better make you some coffee.”

“Sod coffee,” Hermione said indignantly. “I’m not wasting this wonderful, fuzzy feeling by being sober. Come on, we’ll close up for the day and I’ll buy you a drink, or four, and tell you all about it.”

Since the choice had been that or going home alone, Ginny had agreed. Of course, she was dying to know what had happened even though the idea of Snape as romantic lead to Hermione’s ingénue was vaguely disturbing. No, make that very disturbing.

Locking up had consisted of grabbing her handbag, a quick wand wave, and then they headed for the pub next door. They ear early, and had arrived before the influx of city workers having one for the road to fortify them for the commuter trains home. Hermione was happy to be a witch for many reasons, but she had to admit that being able to apparate and never, ever having to use London’s erratic public transport system was the thing that gave her the most satisfaction on a daily basis.

It was the little things that counted.

Like the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and the way he …..

Her reverie was disturbed by Ginny bringing the drinks – a couple of double vodkas to get things going, and a bottle of white wine to keep them going – and a packet of plain crisps clenched between her teeth.

“So, give,” Ginny said. “First things first, have you snogged yet?”

Hermione shook her head. “Oh dear, do you think we should have? Should I have, you know, given him a peck on the cheek at the very least?”

“I shouldn’t think that Snape would approve of snogging in public,” Ginny said reflectively.

“He certainly took enough house points for it!” They both giggled.

“So what did you find to talk about? Potions?”

Hermione gave her a level look. “Don’t be silly. We talked about charms.”

There was a long moment where they just looked at each other very seriously, before Hermione cracked first and burst out laughing.

“No! “Ye “Yes!” Hermione wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes

“So,” Ginny said conspiratorially, and shifting a little closer, “what do you think he’ll be like in bed then? All dominating and tying you to the bedpost?”

“Maybe,” she said, “but I suspect that to start with he’ll be a bit shy and nervous. He’s actually a very shy man you know, beneath all that indignation and bluster. After plenty of practice though…….” Hermione’s voice faded away as she contemplated the prospect, and a very broad grin spread across her face, “……plenty of practice, I suspect so.”

“You’re a very sick girl, you know that,” said Ginny.

Hermione’in hin hadn’t faded one iota. “I know. It’s wonderful isn’t it? Tell you what, if Snape and I work out, you’ll let me run the formula and find someone for you.”

“Okay,” Ginny said doubtfully.

“And you promise that you’ll give whoever come out a chance, even if it’s Lucius Malfoy.”

Ginny had nearly snorted wine outher her nose at that suggestion. She rolled her eyes, and then had agreed. After all, there was no way that Hermione and Snape would be an item in a month’s time, she was certain of that.

“You’ll be disappointed to know that Filch has already gone, I know you had your heart set on him.”

“Who?” asked Ginny, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“Pro…..Prof….Professor,” Hermione could barely get the words out for laughing, “Professor McGonagall.”

“Fuck me,” exclaimed Ginny.

“I bet that’s what she said when she read the note,” and the two of them lived up to all stereotyping of witches and cackled.

The rest of the evening had been spent discussing what Hermione should wear to the second date, whether or not she should kiss him, and if so, where. Ginny’s suggestions on that had been increasingly vulgar as the evening wore on and the third bottle of wine was broached. Eventually they had tottered off into Soho for a curry, and some more late night drinking.

Hermione had some vague memory of a taxi and struggling out of her clothes to flop on her bed, and giggling at the thought that soon she might have someone who would help her out of her clothes – Severus was a gentleman she was sure - and put her to bed.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

The smile had even lasted through the ensuing hangover; she had smiled soppily at the bottle of hangover cure. Potions. Potions Masters. Severus. She had managed to pull herself together sufficiently to get to work and at least look like she was doing something, but any productivity was brought to a halt by the arrival of the plant and the invitation.

Ginny had summoned Neville to make the identification, lecturing Hermione all the while on the Language of Flowers, and the rules of courtship as laid down by old-fashioned pureblood families. She had no idea what this particular plant meant, and was determined to find out.

Neville had identified it straight away, and had been taken aback when telling them the plant’s nickname had resulted in Hermione collapsing into fits of laughter. It was at that point that Ginny began to believe that Hermione and Snape were suited to each other. The idea that Snape could make someone laugh, and at least partially at his expense, had been amazing.

It seemed he was an entirely different Snape to the Snape she knew.

Hermione had been calm, if a little abstracted, for the rest of the week, but had suddenly broken out into a panic on the day of the date, and had only been calmed with the suggestion of shopping for a new dress, and the promise of help with her hair.

Ginny had never seen Hermione nervous before. She had coped with Voldemort, potions classes, NEWTS, and gambling large sums of money with equal aplomb. Initial sympathy had quickly been replaced with irritation, until Ginny had eventually threatened to slap her for being silly.

Hermione had laughed at that, a little uneasily because she knew Ginny would make good on her threat, and then started chanting the mantra that got her through the rest of the day in relative calm: I am an Arithmancy genius.

Ginny had then parked her in front of a big book full of lots of long words and left her alone until an hour before the date, whilst she went and had a very large cup of soothing tea, and a substantial piece of chocolate cake.

Hopefully, they would get through the nd dnd date in one piece; the next one should be easier. She hoped they managed to make it into bed fairly soon, because she wasn’t sure she could take much more of this.

An hour was barely enough to achieve the transformation from hard-hearted businesswoman to attractive dinner date, so they ended up running a little late. Ginny soothed Hermione by pointing out that making him wait was probably the right thing to do tactically.

She left Hermione putting on her shoes, whilst she went to open the door. If she had thought Hermione was in a bad way, it was as nothing compared to the twitching man before her. She bit back a smile and invited him in. This was going to be interesting.


He was prompt, arriving exactly at the time suggested. He expected Hermione to be on time, and was slightly surprised to be greeted by Ginny Weasley at the office door.

“She’s running a little late, sorry,” she had said in a harried way. She was obviously too distracted to realise precy why who she was being off-hand with. He was on the point of reminding her when Hermione came, a little shyly, into the room.

Whatever urge he had felt to assert himself faded in the face of what Minerva would urge him to call a vision of loveliness, and which even his sensible side – which was struggling to assert itself - had to admit looked well, sod it, lovely.

“I’m sorry, have you been waiting long?”

“Not at all,” he said, sweeping up to her and kissing her hand. Hermione flushed delightfully, and Severus thought smugly that he had the upper hand quite nicely. Minerva would be impressed; Minerva would doubtless want a blow-by-blow account.

Actually, Minerva was probably making sure she didn’t need a blow-by-blow account.

He put his hand on his wand, and cast a couple of warding charms. There was no way he was providing the evening’s entertainment for two frustrated witches, who were now almost certainly even more frustrated; although he wouldn’t mind providing the evening’s entertainment for Hermione, whether she was frustrated or not. His uncertainty as to the appropriate moment of propositioning Hermione had been replaced with a determination to make it as soon as possible, and politeness be damned.

“You look wonderful,” he said, mildly annoyed he hadn’t prepared something more original to say.

“So do you,” she said, and he felt a warm glow spread through him.

They would probably have stayed there, just looking at each other, if Ginny hadn’t disturbed them with a noisy sigh. “Off you go,” she said, a bit misty eyed. “I’ll open up the office tomorrow, so there’s no need to rush in, and remember, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” With that she herded them towards the door, and gently pushed them out onto the pavement.

He courteously offered her an arm, and placed his other hand possessively over her hand. “Shall we?”

The restaurant he had booked, after prolonged consultation with Minerva, was neither flashy nor expensive, but he was assured that the food was good. He couldn’t afford to take her anywhere like the Gryffindor monstrosity they had been at last time, but now he had seen Hermione again he found he wasn’t worried about her reaction to the restaurant at all.

He still had butterflies, but they were of an entirely different nature.

Gone was the worry about whether Hermione would see sense in the intervening time; instead, he was pre-occupied with the next steps in the game, with working out how and when and how soon. Very much how soon.

Hermione gave every impression of being pleased with the Restaurant – French - and scanned the menu with interest. The mundane business of ordering was quickly completed, and he even remembered to consult Hermione over the choice of wine. Not something that would have happened in his youth, when the prices were only printed on the gentleman’s menu.

Those days had passed apparently, which was all to the good in his mind, and not merely because it had meant writing a blank cheque to the female guest; he was prepared to sacrifice the sole right to choose wine if it brought with it a loosening of morals and the prospect of pre-marital sex.

And of course he was in favour of equal rights for witches too.

He shifted in his seat a little.

The warm, slightly knowing smile Hermione sent him did nothing to ease his situation. He was grateful when she then opened the conversation by asking how Minerva and Filch were getting on.

“He sent her some flowers – roses - and she hasn’t thrown them away, but she’s still insistent that she isn’t interested.”

“Not a very thoughtful choice of plant,” she said still smiling, “unlike yours, which was wonderful. Bat plant, indeed.”

“I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Perhaps he should have tried catnip,” she said mischievously.

He snorted. “Then follow it up with a pretend mouse for her to play with, and perhaps a new collar?”

“A scratching post?”

“Seriously, though, I think the problem is that she’s always had a bit of a thing for Dumbledore.”

“Really?” Hermione made a little moue of distaste. “You don’t have to be an Arithmantic genius to see that would never work.”

He shot her a look. “I don’t see why. They’ve been close friends for a long time.”

“Which is the problem. They potter along in this cosy friendship, and nothing ever happens. He takes her for granted, and she lets him. If anything was going to happen it would have happened, and if it hasn’t happened it’s for a reason.”

“Still, he has to be a better choice than Filch.”

She just shrugged. He had a feeling that there was something she wasn’t telling him, and he also had the feeling he was better off not knowing. It might be graphic, and he had no wish to think of Minerva shagging either Albus or Filch. He hadn’t finished his dinner. He had no wish to see it again so soon.

“Tell Minerva I’ll come and see her; I’ll check through her answers with her and sort out whether she and Filch are suited. If they aren’t, I’ll have to come up with another name for Filch.”

“You think that they could be suited?”

“Why not? Just because Minerva is having a fit at the thought, it doesn’t mean they aren’t right for each other. We get it all the time; people are often disappointed with their chosen partner, and then they write to us complaining, and we say: just try it. Sometimes they do; sometimes they don’t. After all, you weren’t exactly happy at the prospect of going out with me to start with, and look how well we are getting on now.”

He thought about that. Minerva and Filch were unlikely it was true, but no more unlikely than he and Hermione. He had been so indignant at the thought of being linked with her; he wondered what she had thought of him.

So he took a deep breath and asked her.

“It was a shock: I didn’t even know my name was on the list, no one was supposed to be able to get through the protective charms, and then there was the fact that you used to be my teacher. So of course, my first reaction was horror, and then I noticed you’d washed your hair. If that had changed about you, what else had? So I decided to give you a chance. And I am an Arithmancy genius!” From the wide grin, Severus deduced this was some in-joke, and he quirked an eyebrow in query.

Hermione looked mildly embarrassed for a moment, then said, “This afternoon, I started getting a bit anxious about the date, so Ginny had me chanting that over and over again.”

“Did it help?”

“A bit.”

“I had Minerva,” he said simply. “Minerva and Pomona.”

She sniggered.

“They were full of good advice.”

“So was Ginny: don’t do this, do do that, don’t have sex before the third date.” Her voice trailed off as she realised what she had said. “Ooops. I’m not supposed to tell you that. I’m supposed to keep you guessing.”

“Is this our first or second date?” he asked, with a suggestive smile.

“Probably the second,” she said, and he felt a surge of blood to the head, “although what you have to bear in mind is that just because you shouldn’t have sex before the third date, that should in no way be taken to mean that sex is compulsory on the third date.”

He spluttered, and was about to burst into a spirited defence of his motives, when he spotted the twinkle in her eye. “Oh well, I’ll have to fall back on Plan B then.”

“Plan B?”

“The Lust potion.”

“Which one were you planning to use?”

He blinked. That wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting. The following discussion about the relative merits of lust potions carried them through desert and coffee. She seemed to be remarkably well informed on their use and brewing, almost too well informed. He was beginning to wonder whether he ought to be checking his coffee for added ingredients.

Mind you, he wouldn’t be complaining if she had slipped him something. He’d always wanted to try some of them out, but had never had the chance. He wondered if all that curiosity could be put to some practical use later.

After all, it was Potions Master’s duty to try these things out, for the furtherance of magical knowledge.

He was so busy pondering this issue during the tedious business of paying the bill, collecting their coats and leaving the restaurant, and considering whether the aforementioned third date was too early a point to introduce the topic – but not the potion, that would be tacky – that he was caught by surprise when Hermione pressed up against him for a goodnight kiss. Not that his abstraction prevented what might be called the lower brain function from instructing his arms to go round her, to pull her close, and for his tongue to begin investigating her mouth.

And Severus Snape, who, at the start of the evening had worried about holding hands in public, now realised that he had absolutely no objections to snogging in public; that he was fully in favour of snogging in any situation whatsoever; and would happily snog Hermione in front of a potions class or in the Great Hall.

This was subject to the caveat that he really would prefer to do it in private and in the immediate vicinity of a bed –or any flat surface, preferably horizontal, although vertical had its possibilities – because he didn’t want to stop snogging her.

I think this must he she second date,” she said against his lips, “because I certainly wouldn’t be doing THAT on the first date.”

Later, in the privacy of his bed, when he pondered how the evening had gone, he would be delighted to hear that; right now, in the centre of Diagon Alley, he could only think that she was ing ing too much.