Single Magical Male

Still not mine, still not making any money, still bitter about all that

The surprising fact of the matter was that Snape wasn’t particularly despondent over the letter Erin sent. He was certainly disappointed – Erin was an attractive, intelligent woman, and he would have liked to have had the opportunity to spend more time with her. Still, it had only been one dinner. An enjoyable dinner, to be sure; her responto hto him during (and, to the extreme gratification of his male ego, after) their meal were positive. Her letter may have ended the possibility of a romantic relationship in the immediate future, but she did write that she had enjoyed herself and had been looking forward to spending at least one more occasion together. Not bad for an overgrown bat’s second blind date.

Also elevating his humour was the fact that the coming Friday night would be the third and final meeting. His surprisingly positive anticipation of this event resulted from two causes: first, it would be the end of this excruciating exercise; and second, while the first encounter had been abysmal, the second hadn’t. He didn’t expect a repeat of his evening with Ms. Adams-Grey, but at least he had reason to hope that the evening might be passed in the company of a relatively pleasant female companion.

Friday finally arrived and, for a third and final time, the four match-making Hogwarts staff members took their corner table.

For a third and final time, the dark Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry swooped into the Three Broomsticks.

And for a third and final time, Severus Snape received an unexpected surprise.

There, standing in the middle of the Three Broomsticks, nervously chewing on her lower lip and holding a nosegay of flowers in her hand, was the last woman he would have ever imagined: Hermione Granger.

Bloody hell.

Miss Hermione bushy-haired, know-it-all, silly-little-girl Granger.

He would have recognized her anywhere. Not that it had been that long since he’d last seen her; even though she’d graduated a number of years before, he’d seen her briefly at some of the celebrations after the Final Battle just a year ago.

The hair that was so bushy as to be nearly untameable was, tonight, in one impossibly thick plait that reached a point mid-way between her shoulder blades. Her brown eyes were as expressive as ever, but now had an added maturity – a few shadows in their depths and a few wrinkles in the skin around them. She was still rather short, probably no taller than 5 foot 4 or 5, but her carriage was comfortably upright; neither overly confident nor cowering. The curves she had developed in her last two years at the school now fit her, rather than seeming like the awkward attachments of unexpected and partially unwanted growth.

He supposed the shock on her face mirrored his own. Realizing that his peers had arranged this little escapade, he cast a glance their way. Never had four adults looked so enraptured with their placemats.

Sighing inwardly, he stalked over to his nemesis of seven years ago (‘7 through 14 years ago’ he thought) and directed her to a table.

“Miss Granger.” He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible until he was able to discover whether this pitiable excuse of a joke was being played on him or her.

“Professor Snape,” she countered calmly.

He was pleased to note that in the years since she’d been at Hogwarts, she’d at least learned to keep every last one of her emotions from crossing her face and her tongue.

“Perhaps you could share with me exactly how it is that you are here this evening –” he asked, “– and we can sort this fiasco out.”

“A ‘fiasco’? Really Professor, I’m surprised,” she ventured coolly. “We’ve barely been seated, yet you’ve already deemed the evening a disaster. I thought one in your line of work avoided reaching a conclusion until all the data were in.”

“I hardly think my conclusion requires additional data. I’m quite aware that I do not constitute your ideal escort; whatever possessed you to respond to the classified advertisement?” he snapped.

“Professor, I don’t believe you have any idea what my so-called ‘ideal escort’ would be like and I’ll thank you to keep such assumptions to yourself.” Hermione’s face began to flush.

“I hardly think spending an evening with the snarky Potions Master is the stuff of a young woman’s fantasies. Or was this your chance to get back at the great greasy git of your childhood. A once-in-a-lifetime to make a fool out of a hated teacher?” Severus spat out.

“What?!” She hissed. “Professor Snape, I may have detested your teaching methods, if they could even be called that, but I would never – I repeat, NEVER – show such callous disregard for the feelings of another human being, much less one who taught me so much AND one who sacrificed so much for the Order!” Hermione’s words tumbled out of her mouth so quickly it was a wonder they were individually intelligible. Her blush began to spread from her cheeks up to her forehead and down toward her neck.

“Ah, but Miss Granger, you didn’t answer my question: why did you respond? Or did someone else answer it for you?” The blush was now deepening and her ears were turning red. Severus knew he’d found the right line of questioning to unravel the events leading up to her presence at the pub.

“N-no,” she began softly, then visibly steeled herself. “No, I did not. I do not make a habit of reading such things, let alone responding to them.”

“Then who did respond for you? Or is this yet another of the delightfully cruel pranks you and your two comrades-in-annoyance devised? How are the happy couple, by the way?” His tone was frosty.

“If this is a prank, Professor, then I suggest that we’re both victims. Harry and Ron had nothing to do with this. In fact, they don’t know I’m here. I haven’t even spoken to them since just after the Final Batt…” Hermione’s face was now crimson and her eyes were unnaturally bright.

There was a silence while Hermione turned her attention to the inn’s six-item menu and studied it long enough to commit it to memory in several different languages.

Snape was completely taken aback, and asked simply, “You haven’t spoken with them since Voldemort fell?”

Not trusting her voice at the moment. She shook her head, continuing to stare at the menu.

“Why not?”

It was such a simple question. Why not? A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. How could she explain everything that had led, almost inexorably, to their parting? She remembered her pride at having solved the puzzle of how Harry could destroy Voldemort without losing his own life. She considered her feelings of injustice and jealousy, watching Harry run to embrace Ron first, before the echo of Voldemort’s screams had even stopped. She thought about her anger at feeling excluded, watching her two best friends forge a life together, without her, leaving her to feel completely ignored and forgotten. Finally, she remembered the pain and jealousy of watching Harry and Ron go home together while she went home to no one. Why not indeed?

She was suddenly aware that the lower portion of her menu was sodden with tears and Snape was no longer sitting across the table from her. His hand was pulling her up from her chair, away from the table.

“This is not a conversation for such a public place. Forgive me, Hermione, I had no idea.” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle but she was too absorbed in the crashing waves of her emotions to give it any thought.

Rather than walk through the December cold and snow back to school, Severus flooed them to his suite of rooms.

After stepping out of his fireplace, he took her winter wrap, led her to an oversized black leather sofa and settled her in it. He excused himself long enough to hang their cloaks, charm a fire into life, and pour them both a drink.

Severus handed Hermione a crystal tumbler filled with a clear liquid. She didn’t notice any odour and looked at her former professor quizzically. “It’s water,” he said, wryly aware of her analytical appraisal. “When you’ve finished it, we’ll have some tea. I don’t think either one of us needs anything stronger than that tonight.”

She gratefully drank the water, not having realized how dehydrated she’d become. He stood patiently, waiting for her to finish. Once she’d emptied the glass, he turned and brought a tea tray, setting it down on a low table in front of the couch. She closed her eyes, wrapped her fingers around the mug and savoured its warmth.

“Thank you,” she whispered, “and I apologise.”

“You’re welcome. And whatever are you sorry for?” His voice was low, but lacked any sharp edge.

“I’m sorry I made such a scene. I remember how much you hated displays of emotion…” she trailed off, suddenly embarrassed and shy.

“Don’t be silly;” he said in that same tone, “I believe it is I who should be apologizing. I never meant to bring up a painful subject.”

“It probably shouldn’t be so painful, this long after the fact.” she said, looking at her tea. “I don’t know what got into me. Part of it, I guess, was just being in the Three Broomsticks – we spent so much time there, the three of us. It was a shock, too, to see you looking just as powerful and intimidating as when I was a student.”

He made a sound that could have been a laugh or a cough. “Apparently, I wasn’t intimidating enough to stop a certain young Gryffindor from setting fire to my robes, breaking into my stores, violating countless rules…” He mentally smacked himself for making such an insensitive comment but before he could launch into verbal damage control, Hermione started to laugh.

He turned towards her to be sure she wasn’t simply having a hysterical reaction, but her laugh was genuine and infectious and soon he too, started to chuckle. After a few moments, they quieted and he asked if she wanted to talk about what had happened between the three friends. Hermione thought for a moment and said, “No, not really. I suspect I do need to talk about it, but I’m finally starting to enjoy the evening. I’d rather not risk ruining it, if that’s all right with you.”

Hoping he didn’t sound too relieved, he assented, and asked if she was still working in St. Mungo’s spell damage department. Hermione was surprised that he knew where she’d gone after University. She told him that she’d been there up until the previous year, when she’d taken a position at the University to do advanced research.

They began talking about potions and their effectiveness in countering spells. While the immediacy of countering Crucio or Imperius or even some of the lesser spells and hexes that had been so common during Voldemort’s reign had lessened, the need still existed. Neither Hermione nor Severus was an idealist; they both suspected that there would always be someone willing to misuse their power with such brutal spells. Her research had focused primarily on potions that would block the nerves, negating the effect of Cruciatus. Snape challenged her work, pointing out that such a block would likely render the person insensate or, if a strong enough dose was taken, paralyzed. They began debating ingredients and brewing methods that might limit such side effects, at times arguing heatedly and at other times, thoughtful and impressed with the other’s intellect.

They’d talked so long that the sky was beginning to turn pink with the morning sun.

Rather than send her home in the chilly dawn, he insisted that she stay to breakfast. He ordered a breakfast tray that arrived nearly as soon as the request left his mouth, and included enough food to keep them full through the following evening.

As they ate, they continued to talk. Their conversation moved from potions and research methods through current events, to favouriteks, ks, films and music. Hermione teased Severus about his taste in authors when she spied the Stephen King collection hidden in the uppermost corner of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in his room -- but Severus was quick to observe that the only way she could have recognized the books from her vantage point would be if she was intimately acquainted with the cover art. For his part, Severus was surprised to discover that Hermione had not only heard of Emerson, Lake and Palmer but she also had two of their albums (“Works, Vol. I” and, inexplicably, “Love Beach”)

After a particularly passionate debate, oddly enough about Chicago- vs. New York-style pizza, Hermione’s voice suddenly became hoarse. Severus looked at her, eyebrow raised, and she shrugged in response. “Guess I’ve just talked it out,” she whispered. Snape took a quick glance at the clock – followed by a perfectly executed double-take – and realized that they had been talking for over 15 hours straight.

The adrenaline that had fuelled their conversation evaporated suddenly, leaving both of them drained and exhausted. Hermione was just beginning to wonder if she had the strength to apparate home when Severus surprised her by seeming to read her mind.

“Right, off to bed with you,” he grunted as he stood, “You go in there – yes, that’s my room – and get some sleep. I’ll just do some reading in here. Once you’ve rested, you are more than welcome to accompany me to dinner in the Great Hall. I’m sure Minerva and Albus would be thrilled to see you.” Hermione started to protest, but was too tired to think of a logical argument to counter his statement that she would likely splinch herself if she tried to apparate while she was so exhausted.

A few minutes later, she was tucked into his bed in a dark green silk pyjama top he lent her so that she wouldn’t have to sleep in the dress she’d been wearing since the night prior. He’d spent several minutes looking for the pyjama set and she’d raised an eyebrow at him when he admitted that he normally didn’t bother with such sleeping attire. While she changed in his bathroom, he put on a pair of loose-fitting lounge pants and heavy cotton shirt. Once he made sure she was settled in, he extinguished the lights, crossed the threshold and closed the bedroom door behind him.


A/N -- I appreciate all reviewers (but especially nice thoughts go to those of you who are kind); individual thanks coming next chapter.