Arithmantic Dating Agency

Chapter 6

Hermione’s little talk seemed to have the necessary effect. Severus had been pleased, if a little bemused, to find his House on its best behaviour. Then he had started worrying; they were Slytherins: if they weren’t obviously up to something then they were less-obviously up to something and he knew what was worse.

He had taken to sneaking around, a habit he had given up since the demise of Voldemort meant that it was no longer necessary to keep a protective eye on Potter, in an attempt to work out what his House was up to.

He had been even more bemused to find out that whatever it was involved Hermoine. Visions of revenge attacks flashed through his eyes, before he managed to get a grip on his active imagination; most, if not all, of the children were grateful not to be bowing down to Lord Voldemort. Sometimes that was because they saw themselves as his successor, but without the inconvenience of having to remove him first, but mostly that was because Slytherins were not naturally hem-kissers.

The mystery had been solved when he had come upon a group of his Seventh Year Slytherins gathered round a younger boy who was busy going through the Yearbooks. A group he would privately admit, but only privately, to be troublemakers but who he regularly defended to Minerva as high-spirited, “very much in the way the Marauders were high-spirited Minerva, and you have to admit they haven’t tried to kill anyone yet.” She hadn’t found an answer to that one yet.

He was relieved to find that they were merely going through Yearbooks. They weren’t renowned for decent study habits, and if they were taking a sudden interest it could only mean one of two things: a sudden interest in the Dark Arts or Wizarding porn. Mind you, most of them had access to better manuals of both kinds in the privacy of their own homes.

What were they looking at the Yearbooks for then?

“That’s her,” said the smaller boy, stabbing a forefinger into Hermione’s face. Her picture didn’t look very pleased, and had taken out its wand and adopted the traditional stance of someone about to hex another. “That’s the one who threatened me.”

Threatened? Good god, what harmiormione been up to?

“So, that’s old Snapey’s girlfriend is it?”

Another boy, less concerned with maintaining his Slytherin credentials as bein utterly imperturbable said, “Hermione Granger. Blimey.”

“You’ve got to give the old man credit,” said the first boy. “He’s brave taking her on. Did you hear what she did in the Final Battle?”

They exchanged amused glances.

“Gratified though I am to find you taking an interest in books,” said Snape in his silkiest tones. “I think twenty points from Slytherin is called for, and you know how irritable it makes me to deduct points from my own House. I expect Potions this afternoon is going to be very uncomfortable, don’t you?”

The look of shock on their faces had been most gratifying, and he felt he had gone some way to recovering his position.

The young boy had scarpered almost immediately, to be followed at a more sedate pace by his elders; only the youngest Rosier boy had the nerve to stay and face him

“I want you to know, sir, that we will be keeping order in the House, but not because she threatened us – we Slytherins don’t bow to threats – but because, well, because you deserve to be happy.”

“And that has nothing to do with wanting me to be in a better mood in Potions then?” asked Severus sardonically.

“Not at all, Sir,” he had replied, all injured innocence. Not that Severus believed that for one moment. “I think you should know that Miss Granger also had a word with her own House on the subject of good behaviour.”

He hadn’t been able to prevent the wide grin plastering itself across his face; Rosier was bright enough to pretend he hadn’t seen it, although he passed the news to the rest of Slytherin that evening.

The news spread rapidly through the school, and for a week or so Severus had been plagued by seventh year students not paying attention in classes. Some were wondering what on earth Hermione saw in him, some were wondering what on earth he saw in Hermione, but a sizeable majority were thinking that they knew exactly what Hermione saw in him and considered her to be a very lucky bitch.

In the end, Slytherin and Gryffindor had reached a tentative truce. The hostility between the two was too entrenched for it to be a complete cessation of hostilities, but a compromise was reached: pranks and other squabbles were not to be conducted on Wednesday or Friday evenings (the two days he saw Hermione every week), or during the whole of the weekend (to allow him a decent interval in which to be soppy and moon over Hermione in the peace and quiet of his dungeon). In return, Tuesday and Thursday homework had been reduced by a foot.

Nothing was said; but both parties understood the nature of the bargain.

He’d complained to Hermione on one of their Wednesday evening dates that he was a little irritated that she had managed to solve one of the most intractable disciplinary problems of the school with only two conversations. “How did you manage it?”

“That’s easy,” she’d replied. “The Slytherins know you’re on their side; they like you; they know you’re not going to take too many points away from them. I’m an unknown quantity. Besides, I think they’d actually like to see you happy. In the Gryffindor’s case, that’s because they don’t want to lose so many points, but I think most of the Slytherins actually like you, you know.”

Severus wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about being liked by his Slytherins. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to break out in a desire to be helpful or pleasant in any other way, which was a relief. He didn’t think he could take the strain.

He continued seeing Hermione, under the watchful eye of two Houses, for several months. She didn’t say anything, but he thought that she was getting a bit impatient about their lack of progress. His suspicions were confirmed when he was invited back to Minerva’s room for drinks, and she began asking how things were going with him and Hermione.

What could he say? He was nervous. Whilst he knew what to do in the most general of terms, he had had little opportunity to hone his skills recently.

Minerva filled his glass and settled back to give the sort of inside track on a lady’s mind that would have her drummed out of the sisterhood.

Right, first th fir first, appeal to Slytherin pride.

“I don’t know what you’re worrying about Severus; after all, as far as I know all Hermione’s previous boyfriends have been Gryffindors and we all know that they are more interested in Quidditch than sex.”

He snorted with laughter. She was obviously on the right track. Severus was a perfectionist, and he always wanted to be the best at everything. Which, in the long run, could only be good news for Hermione.

“Now, if you’ll take my advice you won’t start off by attempting any fancy positions, just, you know, the usual. You’ve plenty of time to work your way through the Kama Sutra. All you have to do is pay her the same level of attention you would have paid old Voldy, although preferably without looking gormless,” she said with some irritation, thinking of Filch’s longing glances being thrown her way.

She ignored the faint blush rising on his face, and continued briskly, “If I were you I’d invite the girl here for the weekend. Have dinner in your quarters, get her into bed, and don’t let her out again for the rest of the weekend.” Get her on your own territory was the unspoken message.

He nodded. “That makes sense.” He looked thoughtful for the moment, and said, “Do you think this weekend is too soon?”

“Nonsense my boy, this weekend sounds fine,” she said briskly. “The full works mind youndlendlelight the lot.”

He nodded again. “I’ll owl her tomorrow.” Seveus looked acutely uncomfortable for a moment, and then asked the question he was dying to know the answer to. “How can I be sure that it’s what she wants?” He could, of course, be wrong about Hermione’s impatience; it could just be wishful thinking on his part.

“In the first place, Severus, no young lady would accept an invitation to dinner in someone’s private quarters without expectingightight of romance. Secondly, if she sticks her hand in your trousers or her tongue down your throat she’s interested. Thirdly, if she changes her mind and says no, it’s not the end of the world, don’t throw a tantrum and assume it means she’s not interested; just accept that it’s a delay until she feels less nervous.”

Severus look puzzled. “What would she have to be nervous about?”

“Severus, dear, although the woman has the luxury of lying there and doing nothing, she has other things to worry about. Is her hair nice? Are her breasts big enough? Are her hips too big? Should she take an active part, or will you think she’s too aggressive?”

There was a pause for several minutes whilst Severus reflected on the impossibility of Hermione’s breasts being other than wonderful, and how anyone could react to a young lady taking the lead in bed with anything other than gratitude and enthusiasm. Still, at least he felt a little better; Hermione had admitted to having nerves before the second date as well. They could hold each other’s hands and get through this terrible ordeal together.

Minerva interrupted his musings with more advice. “And if you get lost, or you don’t know what you’re doing for god’s sake stop and ask directions. It’s her body, she knows what she likes, and she’ll be so grateful that you even thought to ask that she would be prepared to overlook any potential deficiencies. Not that there would be any, I’m sure,” she added hurriedly, seeing him preparing to defend his honour as a shagging machine.

There were some things a girl was better off not knowing.

“And send her some chocolates,” she added hurriedly, and they spent the rest of the evening discussing which type was likely to be Hermione’s favourite.

Hermione was flattered to receive an owl from Severus the next day, and even more pleased to receive the chocolates. The stock market wasn’t doing what it should do at the moment, so she could do with a bit of stress relief.

She was slightly taken aback when she read the invitation to dinner in his quarters: for this Friday. The third date. Metaphorically speaking. The date she had thought would never arrive. Honestly, anyone would think he was a virgin the way he was carrying on.

Ginny had spotted the delivery of the letter – owl post is hardly discreet – and after a suitable interval, to allow Hermione to get all that isn’t it sweet crap out of her system so that she could have a sensible conversation - she pottered in with a pot of tea and some chocolate biscuits.

Jaffa cakes: the special occasion biscuits.

Hermione was looking pensive.

“So, what gives?”

Hermione just threw the note to her in reply. Thanks for a wonderful evening blah blah hope you like the chocolates blah blah dinner; my place; Friday; 7.30 pm.

“Well,” said Ginny, “are you going to pack your toothbrush?”

“I don’t know,” said Hermione slowly.

“Do you want to pack your toothbrush?”

“Mmmm, what? Yes, yes. I’m just not sure it’s wise. It’s all a bit sudden, isn’t it?” It was now Hermione’s turn to get cold feet.

“Hermione, how long have you been going out?”

“Three months.” She looked sheepish.

“And long did it take Millicent and Harry to get into bed?”

“As I recall they were at it like knives by the end of the first date. She dropped her scarf in the soup and started blubbing, he naturally had to comfort her, and that took the form of a week spent in bed. Presumably it took her mind off the scarf.”

Ginny sniggered. “That depends on whether he’s improved since I went out with him. Look, I know what you’re like, you get all twitchy whenever the stock market starts playing up, and you start wondering if there’s an error in your calculations. What’s the market due to close at?”

“Eighty points higher.”

“If it hits the target, accept the invitation.”

Hermione thought about it for a bit, then said, “Sod it! I’m going anyway. Bugger the stock market, I’m taking my toothbrush regardless.”

It actually closed eighty-three points higher. Hermione was relieved to find her status as an Arithmantic Genius was confirmed. It seemed a good omen.



He was nervous, there was no doubt, but finally the moment had arrived.

Hermione was sitting next to him on the couch, sipping at her brandy. The conversation had died out nearly ten minutes ago. The silence wasn’t awkward, merely expectant; they were sitting there like two bookends, waiting for the slightest hint that they were ready to embark on a night of passion.

Hermione put her half-empty brandy glass on the small table to her left. Her hand, now empty, slid into his and her thumb started tracing circles on the back of his hand.

An invitation offered.

He turned to her, smiled a little uncertainly, and then moved to kiss her.

An invitation accepted.

It was a soft kiss at first, assessing her intentions, determining how welcome his advances were, but not for long.

He wasn’t sure how it happened, how the transition occurred from exchanging fairly innocent kisses – at an awkward angle it must be said – to half-sprawling on top of her, kissing each other passionately, with one hand on her breast and the other inching up her robe.

That hand had only reached as far as the knee so far, but she had raised no objections; the soft sighs and gasps she was making could only encouragement.

Her hands moved round from their position on his back, and started unbuttonhis his jacket. He grew impatient when she was only halfway through the task, and rapidly freed the remaining buttons and shrugged out of it. She tugged his shirt free of his trousers, and slid her hands underneath it to begin tracing patterns on his flickering flesh.

He gave a soft sigh of contentment into her neck and then began working on the front of her robe. She made no demurral as his lips moved long the line of her underwear. When he teased her nipple with his teeth, she scrambled upright. He thought he had gone too far, too fast, and was on the point of apologising when he realised that she was sliding her arms out of her sleeves.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one getting a little impatient.

He helped push her robes from her shoulders, with slightly shaking hands, and then won the battle with the clasp of her bra. Then he was free to taste her without restraint. To lip at the underside of her breast, to tease the nipple erect with his tongue, then nip at the peaks until she squeaked, then soothed where he had nipped.

There was a brief scrabble to free him from his shirt, and then Hermione was returning the favour, placing open-mouthed kisses on his chest. A hand dipped beneath his waistband, and stroked his lower back, before moving round to his fly.

There was a pause; they both realised this was the moment of no return.

The verdict was unanimous as they returned to the serious business of removing clothes. Hermione’s robe was on the floor, as were Severus’s trousers, soon to be joined by their underwear.

The first moment of contact between their naked bodies was electrifying. He wanted both to stay there to savour the moment to its fullest, and move on to the inevitable conclusion. Several ragged breaths later he had nudged her thighs apart, and settled between them.

He drew out the moment as as as he could, easing slowly into her, being engulfed by her. He began to move in her, cautiously at first, feeling his way, judging her reactions. She moved to meet him, pressing herself against him, and then falling away; her hands stroked his back, down to his buttocks, to pull him closer to her.

He could feel his blood thundering in his veins, and his breath shortening. He reached between them to stroke her; he couldn’t last much longer. He was rewarded by a sudden gasp, her body stiffening as she came with her head thrown back; a few thrusts later and he was home himself.

He looked down at her fondly. She lay there, wrapped around him, with a dreamy and contented expression on her face. She smiled at him, the smile of a very happy woman. He bent down to kiss her again.

He was startled to hear a sudden round of applause. “Well done, Severus, I’d say at least an Exceeds expectations there if not an Outstanding, what do you say Pomona?”

Minerva! Where had she sprung from?

“You’re being too harsh on the boy,” Pomona said, “I’d say it was a straight Outstanding.”

Pomona! What on earth….? This couldn’t be happening.

Startled, he turned round to see the two ladies, sitting on chairs on either side of the fire, each sipping at a glass of Firewhiskey, and was that popcorn?



He woke with a start, and salt bolt upright in his bed, in a muck sweat.

Thank god, he’d only been dreaming; despite the very pleasant beginning, he was fairly sure that that qualified as a nightmare.

He didn’t know whether his subconscious was telling him that there was nothing to worry about, merely reflecting his anxiety about pleasing Hermione, or his mind reminding him that he should remember to cast warding charms on Friday night, but one thing was for certain. He was going to find it very hard to face Minerva at the breakfast table tomorrow.

He punched his pillow and settled down again, pulling the discarded covers up around him.

He reflected, a little wryly, that if he performed half as well as that in reality he should definitely get an Outstanding and he doubted whether he would be allowed out of bed for the rest of the weekend. Exceeds expectations indeed! He’d demand to be re-marked if that was the grade he got. Perhaps he could persuade Hermione to prepare a report card on him and hand it to the nosy witches.

When he finally managed to fall asleep again, there was a wide smile on his face.