Seven Preposterous Things

If I am unable to make the gods above relent, then I will move Hell.
-Virgil


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Hermione Granger? Of all the people to decide to drag along at the last minute, Snape had to bring Granger. Millie scowled, trying to calculate exactly how this deviation would affect their original plan.

Granger, meanwhile, was scowling back, like they were a pile of washing to be done.

"Would someone mind terribly telling me what exactly is going on here?" Granger said, with a sort of sweet coldness.

Snape was too concerned with the state of his nose to answer, and Draco was rather distracted doing all the washing he could manage in the lavatory sinks without stripping completely. His Death Eater get-up was in a pile on the floor, along with his trousers. She was glad she'd made him put on underthings before he left the house.

"They're almost out of soap," he said, lathering his chest. Snape wouldn't do badly to take a page out of his book. He was crusted up with blood and smoke, and several things she'd rather not speculate about.

Granger looked at Millie as though she expected an answer.

"We've run away," she said simply.

Granger nodded, as though she was looking for rather more elaboration than that.

"We couldn't stay, regardless of who won; the only reason we waited until the final battle was because these two hero-puddings wanted to help the great Harry Potter. Bucking for a pardon if you ask me. Anyway, we came here because it's a major city where we're fluent in the language, and we have geographical distance between us and anyone who wants to throw us in Azkaban, don't underestimate that, and..." Millie said, wondering how many History of Magic classes Granger had managed to stay awake through.

"Thirdly," Granger interrupted, "it's right on the border between the two Magical nations within the confines of the Muggle US; New England and California. Any magic that might happen to be noticed by Magical Enforcement agents of one country will probably be assumed to come from citizens of the other. You will have to live as Muggles, you know. You can't risk drawing attention on a regular basis, but it does afford you a certain margin of error."

"Obviously," Millie said impatiently.

"You, Granger?" Draco said, dripping water from head to toe. "Don't you mean we?"

In an instant Granger went flat, all except her hair.

"You don't want to go back, do you? It might be difficult, but I imagine it can be arranged," Draco said slyly. He was enjoying baiting Granger so much Millie felt obliged to poke him in the side.

"Did Snape even ask you if you wanted to come along?" Millie asked.

Snape made a point not to look at either of them.

"Of course not," Granger said.

Snape perched nervously on the bathroom counter furthest away from Granger, still giving no suggestion he might have the slightest urge to clean up.

"Then I'll ask you formally, would you like to join us? We have some provisions made, but I don't expect it will be easy. Still, it would likely be better than setting out on your own," Millie said. "Or going back and getting killed."

"You'll have to sleep with Snape if you want to stay," Draco said grinning, and Millie jabbed him again, harder this time.

"As you know, my husband talks straight out of his arse half the time," Millie said.

Millie couldn't help noting that Snape had pulled his hair forward to cover his face.

"Allies?" Granger said extending her hand.

Millie nodded. It wasn't a day she'd ever seen coming but there you were; she'd never pictured herself Mrs. Malfoy either.

After an instant of hesitation, she clasped her palm to Granger's.

Once the handshake was ended, Millie glanced at Granger with microscopic carelessness. She noted Granger did the same to her. Tall and short. Fat and thin. Pureblood and Muddy-as-they-come. She had the odd feeling for all their differences they had something in common as well; though under the circumstances she couldn't be arsed to say what exactly it was.

"So, what's the plan?" Granger asked with a false brightness Millie usually associated with people on the brink of gory mayhem.

"First, we change clothes. Sorry, we didn't bring any for you. I didn't know you were coming. Looks like you'll have to go naked," Draco said, winking meaningfully at Snape.

What a wonderful way to make the best of their new ally. Granger could stand to be quite a benefit to them, as long as Draco didn't muck things up playing the arse.

Her temper pushed to the brink, Millie reached up and grabbed Draco by the top of his ear, twisting slightly, until he was nose to nose with her.

"Don't be a bloody idiot, Dearest. Granger is an asset, and she's on our side, and she'll stay on our side if we treat her nice enough; it's the Gryffindor way. So stop trying to be cute, you're getting up her nose. Be careful or you're going to wind up getting on my wick, too," Millie said, making a conscious effort not to grit her teeth.

"Sorry, don't know what I was thinking," Draco said, sounding not the least bit contrite.

"Snape does carry a torch..." Draco went on, not quite under his breath "You think she'd be grateful...Ow!"

Millie elbowed him hard.

"Stop it. I think The Lizard Lord broke a couple of my ribs back there," Draco said pitifully.

"Serves you right for following him in the first place," Millie said, paying Draco no more mind as she opened her travelling bag.

"Here. It's all I can give you at the moment. Muggle witches do wear trousers, don't they?" she asked, offering Granger Draco's pale blue trousers. Of course he'd packed a ridiculous amount of clothes. His mother bought these particular silk trousers right after they were married, along with dozens of others, "to match his eyes."

"My mum bought those," he said, with a wounded air.

"Shut up, Draco," Snape cut in, still holding the bridge of his nose. "After we all look more...Mugglish, we're to find our way to the house. Draco managed to buy a house through entirely Muggle channels, leaving no trail whatsoever for the magical authorities. Shopping: the true talent of the Malfoy Clan. And to think he managed it without any lesser beings to help with the sweaty parts. It must have been quite an ordeal."

Draco rolled his eyes and handed Snape the travelling bag.

Millie noted with interest that Snape's slitted eyes followed Granger as she closed the cubicle door behind her.


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Draco Malfoy had seen Muggle cars before. He was a man of the world, after all. It was true, however, that the impression they gave when one was flying dozens of yards above them, cloaked by an invisibility charm, was rather different than seeing one face to face. One moment he was telling Millie what he'd like to do with the garden at the new house, and the next thing he knew, this metal and glass monstrosity had come irresponsibly close to mowing him down. They clearly didn't know who they were dealing with.

"As I was saying," Draco said, glaring meaningfully at the back end of the car that had had the temerity to try and kill him. "I would like to get a good look at the house colour before we decide definitively on which roses we'd prefer for the front garden...Excuse me?" Granger, of all people was pulling him by the collar.

"You're standing in the street," she said, gritting her teeth at him.

"And your point is?" he said, turning from Millie only long enough to give the Mudblood a withering look.

"Standing in the street chattering away is a good way to get flattened," Severus said pompously.

Draco was a grown man now and much too old to call anyone "Uncle." Draco noted Severus was safely on the median, leaning casually against a street sign.

"I wasn't chattering. We were discussing the selection of roses. It would hardly do to have the roses clash with the house," he explained, though it was obvious. It had been a difficult day, so he would give Severus the benefit of the doubt.

"Narcissa would likely disavow knowledge of us all," he said sarcastically. "Fortunately, neither your esteemed mother nor anyone else of consequence in the magical world will have an opportunity to evaluate the landscaping, so perhaps we would be better served to apply our energies to more pressing matters."

The kill joy.

"Such as?" Draco asked. Despite all his useful life-saving qualities, Severus had a remarkable ability to spoil a good time.

"Money; as in, we haven't got any," Severus said.

"What, Muggles don't take gold?" Draco said, shaking a handful of the gold Muggle coins from his pocket.

"Those are doubloons, Draco; they haven't been used by Muggles in these parts in a hundred years," Severus sneered. "Where did you get them?"

"Mother found them at the back of the vault," he said "She thought perhaps we could use them. Before you get your knickers in a twist, I'll say it again, she doesn't know where we went."

Severus sniffed at him. "There's no way we could pass those off without arousing suspicion."

"We need money for food, and what else?" Millie asked.

What a question; strictly speaking, one needed money for everything. Sometimes Draco thought his wife lived in a reality parallel to, but not quite lining up with, the one where his bank account lived.

"We'll have to pay to turn on the utilities," the Mudblood said.

"What's that?" Millie asked.

"In Muggle communities, businesses provide electricity for light and the operation of machinery, gas for cooking and heating, water routed to homes through pipes, a deposit of some sort is usually required to receive these services," Severus' Mudblood said.

"And without them we'll be sitting in the dark, with no tea, deciding which of the others to turn on and eat raw," Severus said, visibly stifling a yawn.

Another car zoomed toward them; this time Draco watched in horror as Granger pulled Millie out of its path.

"Thank you," he said, once he was certain the love of his life had been saved successfully.

"You're welcome," the Mudblood said pleasantly. Draco silently granted Severus a look of acknowledgement for being so adamant about bringing her along.

"We should find work as soon as we can get properly cleaned up," Millie said.

"We'll need convincing documentation; Muggle governments tax the same as Wizards," the Mudblood said.

"We've got it. The three of us do, at least," Millie said.

"Oh, I'm sure good old Severus could come up with something for you," Draco said, leering at the good old Severus in question. Severus glowered. Some people had absolutely no sense of fun.

Millie caught Draco's eye for the exact length of time necessary to let him know she was suspicious. She knew Draco'd done all the forging. Luckily, he knew she wouldn't grass them out to the Mudblood. He smiled back at her innocently. As long as she didn't realise that he'd been in on Snape's plan to take the Mudblood from the beginning, he would be fine.


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Hermione never imagined she'd take a portkey to an airport loo, then dress head to toe in Draco Malfoy's clothes - silk clothes, no less, hemmed up by Millicent Bulstrode in the aforementioned public lavatory - and as a finale help Severus Snape steal a car. The obvious answer was that it wasn't happening. The entire day had had a dream-like quality; any moment now Crooks would leap on her chest and wake her up.

She looked to the east, at least she thought it was the east, and imagined she saw the very first beginnings of dawn. The only cat she could see was the one with its head peeking out of Millicent Bulstrode, no, Millicent Malfoy's, bag. The sun wasn't up yet and it had already been a very long day.

"Explain again why we're stealing a car?" she asked Snape, still scanning the horizon for the police.

"It is not stealing if the previous owner no longer wishes to maintain possession. The vehicle before us," Snape said, his breath heavy as he knelt, somehow cramming his rather large self under the steering wheel, "has been labelled abandoned by the authorities. Observe the notice on the windscreen. I am, in fact, saving the constabulary the cost and inconvenience of impounding it."

"I always knew you were civic minded," Millie said, and Hermione stifled a laugh. It may have been hysteria.

"I don't wonder they didn't want it," Malfoy said. "Couldn't you not-steal a nicer one? Something that didn't smell like cat pee?"

"I believe the right to complain is reserved for members of the company who did not leave our Muggle currency behind to make more room for shoes," Snape said, grunting as he delved deeper into the car's wiring.

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably in his Muggle clothing, as if it were somehow rougher than he was accustomed to. Hermione didn't like to judge, but it was poncy on his part; people had died, and he was behaving as if jeans and a white cotton t-shirt were equivalent to a hair shirt.

Dead. Harry was dead. She forced the thought out of her mind. If she thought of that, she would think of nothing else, and now was not the time for distraction.

"Just keep alert," Snape growled.

The sight of him, dressed as a Muggle, similar to Draco except for the colour of his shirt, was especially jarring.

There was something fitting about Millicent Bulstrode, her hair still in braids, wearing a cherry printed dress that looked like it dated from the 1950s. Together with Draco, she looked like the unwitting epitome of retro chic; all she needed was conspicuous tattoos and black lipstick. Hermione grumpily imagined Malfoy would manage to look well-dressed in an ensemble made of bog paper.

Snape looked weary and older than he was. Worse than that, he looked weak. Somehow, amid all the trauma of the day, she pitied him more than the dead. She pitied Snape, without his black robes rippling behind him, tired and stealing, or not-stealing, a car.

"But why are we not-stealing a car, then?" Hermione asked.

"Because...," Snape said as he continued working and Hermione pointedly avoided looking at him and wondering precisely where he learned this particular skill, "Draco and Millie have nearly been mown down by passing motorists three times in the space of half a mile, and I have no wish to deal with Muggle doctors if it can possibly be avoided." Suddenly the car's engine roared to life. "Besides, the car sits at the very epicentre of American culture, such as it is." With this, Snape gestured for them to get into the damned car. "As immigrants, we are somewhat obliged to follow the customs of our new country, within the bounds of reason. First lesson: as the driver, I have sole dominion over the radio, both station setting and volume control."

"And why such an old car?" Hermione asked, all the day's events conspiring to loosen her tongue and manners.

"The newer models have computers. I have no idea how to get one of those bloody things going," Snape said, the corners of his mouth curling farther down than they had been earlier.

"Something Snape doesn't know?" Malfoy crowed. Hermione heard a popping noise and didn't look to see; whatever it was Millicent had done, he had it coming.

The next thing she knew, Draco was leaning with his head out of the window like a spaniel, and Snape was twiddling with the radio. Millicent looked queasy, holding tight to the cat on her lap, not that Hermione blamed her. Snape drove with all the graceful precision of Ernie of Knight Bus fame. The car itself didn't help either; besides smelling of cat urine, it was decidedly tank-like in its movements. Hermione had ridden in smaller boats. Perhaps it wasn't a dream. The stench seemed depressingly realistic.

"Feeling superior yet?" Snape shouted at her as he passed through static and pop music stations.

Hermione wasn't sure whether it was a rhetorical question or not, so she ignored him, sifting through the swirl of questions circling in her brain.

"How long were you in contact with Harry?" she asked, staring straight ahead.

"I wasn't. I simply honoured my promise to Albus Dumbledore I would stand by the brat's side when the final battle came. He isn't difficult to pick out in a crowd. Wasn't, rather." Snape said.

"Why didn't you warn us the Ministry was going to be attacked?" she asked, turning to watch him. The radio was playing a strange hiccuppy song, and Snape's knee was bouncing as he drove, which didn't appear to facilitate his ability to control a motorised vehicle.

"You assume I knew what was to come," Snape said.

"Five minutes notice might have changed everything," she said.

"Or it might have changed nothing, assuming the Order would even have listened to a traitor," Snape said "Would you have believed me had I come to you?"

"Possibly," she said, afraid to be too sure of herself. She recalled rather vividly the night Snape had tried to tell he was going to kill Dumbledore.

"And would you have been able to convince the others to listen as well? Could you have convinced Moody? Potter?" he asked quietly.

He didn't give her a chance to answer, but rather turned the radio up until it was so loud it drowned out everything but the pounding of Hermione's head.

"That'll be the daa aa aay that I die," the voice sang.

Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to her; the Dark Mark. Voldemort could summon Draco and Snape whenever he liked.

She turned to Snape panicked and reached for the volume knob.

Snape slapped her fingers.

"What if the Dark Lord decides to summon one of you?" she shouted, uncertain whether he had heard her or not.

Snape turned the radio down slightly.

"If Voldemort," Snape said smugly, as though he relished his ability to say the name without fear, "attempts to summon Draco or myself, it will be completely immaterial as our Dark Marks have been excised."

Hermione blinked. "How did you manage? I thought it was impossible."

"That's what Dumbledore led me to believe as well," Snape said his hands tight for a moment on the wheel. "It seems it suited his purposes for me to remain as I was."

"But how did you...?" Hermione asked, at a loss. She had always imagined the Dark Mark was indelible. She hadn't even thought to question Dumbledore. The man in her mind would never leave a hideous piece of magic like the Dark Mark on a person if it could be removed. She'd never felt so stupid in her life.

"I didn't," Snape said, wiping his forehead in the creeping heat. "It was Millie."

"Millicent Bulstrode removed your Dark Mark?" Hermione boggled, too shocked to modulate her voice. "She's the female equivalent of Crabbe and Goyle."

The moment she said it she knew it wasn't quite true. The day's events added up rather differently.

Snape took a sharp turn, throwing Hermione against the door; good thing she'd locked it or she'd be lying in the street. "Perhaps you don't know the members of Slytherin house as well as you imagine."

"Apparently not," she said bracing herself against the dashboard.

"Have you heard of Black Alice Eye?" Snape asked, sniffing, his nose still seemed to be distracting him.

"The fairy story?" she asked "It's a typical warning tale, designed to remind teenaged wizards to be careful around strange witches."

"No, it is not," Snape said, gingerly touching the bridge of his nose. She watched as he gave it an experimental wiggle.

"Yes, it is. It's a classic example. Not that there's anything wrong with that, all cultures have them," she said, warming to the subject. She'd read a book on the topic recently.

"Black Alice Eye is Millicent Bulstrode's maternal grandmother," he said, wiping away the fresh trail of blood creeping down his upper lip, leaving his forearm the worse. If he'd left it alone, it wouldn't have started bleeding again.

He might as well have said Bulstrode's grandfather was Santa Claus.

"No, really," Hermione laughed.

"Yes, really," Snape said both slowly and sourly. "Millie's gran is Black Alice Eye, which explains, to some extent, how it was that she came to Hogwarts with abilities beyond those of some graduating students."

Hermione looked at Snape sharply. He was in complete earnest. The only prodigious thing she recalled about Bulstrode from her school years was the number of buns she could put away at one sitting.

"Her school work was appalling," she said.

"When she could be bothered do it at all, and her ridiculous spelling and punctuation were not feigned, I will grant that much," Snape said with a look of remembered annoyance on his face. "But Millie's abilities could have wiped that smug smile off Minerva's face once and for all with just a modicum of effort. But, no, of course not, it only would have enabled her poor beleaguered Head of House to hold his head up in the staff meetings; what did she care?"

"But why play stupid?" Hermione asked, baffled.

"Black Alice hoards knowledge the way a goblin hoards gold," Snape said. "No doubt she passed her attitude on to her granddaughter."

"Does Black Alice actually...." Hermione asked, still holding tight to the car.

"What? Lure adolescent wizards into the woods and shag them until they're dead or close to it?" Snape said.

"It would be Dark Arts," Hermione said. "Someone would call the Aurors."

Snape sniggered, "Calling the Aurors after Black Alice would be as effective as calling the Aurors on a lightning strike, and as effective."

"But..." Hermione began to protest, the law was the law, and a witch couldn't go about ravishing boys with impunity.

"Her wood is unplottable; her powers greater than you can imagine," he said.

"And you know her?" Hermione asked.

Snape turned and with a look of utter smug pride grinned at her, his show of teeth reminded her of something feral and she recalled his former self. "It was Black Alice from whom I learned the subtle science and exacting art of potions."

Hermione had experienced all the shocks she was capable of and so her next question only stood to reason. "Were you her victim as well?" She laughed. If the world had gone mad, she might as well go along with it.

Poor Snape's response was to look crestfallen and shake his head sullenly and mumble.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked.

"She said I was weedy," Snape enunciated clearly.

Hermione mentally noted the past tense; since she'd last seen him two years ago, Snape had gone from being whip thin to starting to thicken around the middle.

"Does she really live in a gingerbread cottage?" Hermione asked.

Snape nodded. That explained quite a bit.

"The spell work for something like that has to be extensive," Hermione said thinking aloud.

A groan came from the back seat.

"A right pain in the arse is what it is," Millicent said hanging her head over the front seat "There are charms for keeping away the insects, charms for mice, for heat, cold, humidity, dryness, rain...and even with all that you're constantly baking new walls, reshingling the roof with biscuits, pouring new sugar windows. The upkeep is murder."

Hermione had never been near enough to Millicent to smell her before; the definite odour of tea and cakes clung to her and seemed to be getting stronger in the heat.

"So the point of a gingerbread house is..." Hermione asked.

"Exactly," Millicent said nodding. "I'll take... what's it called? Drywall and linoleum any day."

It was then that Draco let out a long loud noise Hermione could best describe as a hoot.

"There it is!"


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He had thought his life was going to be salvageable. How bloody naïve. Of course it was going to be buggered irreparably; it was sheer folly to think otherwise.

Severus Snape was drenched in sweat, on his knees before the loo as the twist in his stomach rose like a basilisk uncurling in his gut. The last of his long ago breakfast of Firewhiskey, Wensleydale, and black bread hit the bowl with force, splashing his face with yet more bog water and sick. Unbidden, a sob came up from his belly.

This was not how it was supposed to have gone. It would have been easier had someone ended his miserable life; either Voldemort or Potter could have done it without undue effort. He wasn't picky.

What the hell was he to do? Cunting Draco Malfoy. The son, like his father, would not rest until he destroyed any chance at happiness Severus might have once had. Severus thought to the papers lying abandoned on the floor of his room. There was no way to account for them, except perhaps for the truth. He might as well jump in front of an oncoming lorry himself as explain to Hermione that Draco had drawn up documents making her his wife out of a misplaced sense of largesse.

True, he had more or less asked the little turd to do it, but they had both been pissed beyond all reason at the time. He had never expected the boy would make good on the promise. The House of Malfoy deserved to be scoured from the face of the earth. That settled it; he was going to kill Draco with his bare hands, provided he ever set foot outside of the loo again.

Not knowing what else to do, he lit a cigarette. He'd wiped off most of the blood and offal from the debacle at the Ministry, but the front of his shirt and trousers were now crusted with sick; he couldn't avoid a shower. At least they had water. It wasn't exactly Maison de Malfoy, but it was a damn sight better than Spinner's End. Of course, he'd seen cardboard boxes lying in London alleyways that were more inviting than his childhood home.

It was morning and the heat was already grotesque; a fact which made the notion of unheated water almost bearable.

His reverie was broken when he heard female voices on the other side of the door.

"He does fancy you," said one and he felt his stomach roil again. Et tu, Millie. He forced down the bile that threatened to rise.

Fancy her? His soul cried her name in the dark of the night.

"I know," the other answered and the skin on his arms went to gooseflesh. "I've known since he stuck his tongue in my mouth in my sixth year."

Severus' stomach plummeted.

"A witch could do worse; still he is pretty..." Millie said, somewhat encouragingly.

"Pretty what? Demanding? Hygienically challenged?" Hermione said, and Severus laid his forehead against the cool tiles of the wall, his shoulders shaking.

Draco's voice broke in full of shrill outrage. "Severus Snape is a great wizard, Mud..."

"Go to your room, Draco, this is a discussion for witches," Millie said.

"What am I supposed to do in there?" came the reply.

"Not butt into our conversation," Millie said. "If you don't like our room, why don't you go out and assess the back garden?"

Indecipherable grumblings were followed by the sound of sullen padding feet.

"I was going to say he requires a good deal of maintenance. Still, Draco's right, he is a great wizard," Millie said.

"I am well aware of that; I have a great deal of respect for Severus Snape," Hermione said. "This has been a very trying day and to discover he's married me, at least technically, without so much as a by your leave..."

"That was Draco's work," Millie interrupted.

"Are you certain?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Millie said. "Draco did our documents so it only stands to reason he did yours as well. Besides, Severus doesn't have the nerve. The Snape I know'd prefer suffering in silence to risking being turned down."

"You think?" Hermione asked.

"I'll it put like this: I've known him since I was born. He's one of my dad's best friends. He studied with my gran ‘til she thought he'd learned enough, and I've never even heard of him being involved with a witch," Millie said and Severus willed her to shut her big mouth. "He doesn't have the nerve enough to ask a witch to dance much less marry one."

"Really?" Hermione asked, sounding genuinely fascinated.

"My mum thinks he's probably never had a good grope, let alone a shag. I've seen him in action; he's right awkward trying to talk to grown up witches," Millie went on, and Severus added Prunie Bulstrode to the list of people he would roast slowly on a spit with impunity if he ever rose to dark lord-dom.

"Severus Snape is a virgin?" Hermione said. "I find that very difficult to believe."

"I know," Millie said. "He's dead sexy when he isn't trying."

"Perhaps it's all the frustrated energy," Hermione said.

Millie chortled. The cunt.

"Still..." someone said; he thought it was Hermione.

"Old Snape put the F in Fucked didn't he?" That, he knew, was Millie.

"Good god, what a day," Hermione said. There were quite a few different ways he could choose to take that.

"I'm not asking you to go in there and suck his dick," Millie said.

"Why not? It would make as much sense as anything else that's happened today. I'm wearing Draco Malfoy's trousers, and I've been an accessory to stealing a car. All my friends have most likely been killed, and evil has triumphed over good," Hermione said. Her voice sounded eerily light and cheerful. "So why shouldn't I go in there, tell him to drop trou, and make his eyes roll back in his head."

Millie was chuckling. How bloody delightful that the idea of his receiving some small portion of the happiness due him amused her so.

"I need to get my bearings," Hermione said.

"We all do. But you'll give him a chance? You'll consider Snape an option?" Millie asked. Severus was unsure whether he loved or hated Millie Malfoy at that moment, it likely depended on Hermione's answer.

"I won't rule it out," she said.

Severus blinked. It wasn't fellatio, but suddenly his head felt light, and he'd gone from clammy to sweating again. She hadn't ruled him out, despite Draco's little stunt. Severus realised his cock had gone from trying to burrow into his abdominal cavity to painfully hard in seconds. That accounted for the light head, at least.

The words echoed in his brain: she wouldn't rule it out. Hope was both exhilarating and terrifying.

He opened the shower door and stepped inside, fully dressed. The cold water was refreshing pounding against his chest. He stood there for sometime. He hadn't realised how much blood he'd left under his nails. He scrubbed vaguely at the sick on the front of his shirt. There was no soap, or if there was, it was in Millie's bag where it wasn't going to do him any good.

Perhaps he should have taken off his clothes before he stepped into the water. Awkwardly, he pulled his shirt up over his head. There was thick-crusted blood turned brown and yellow on his chest. He scrubbed at it as the tepid water poured, rubbing until his skin began to protest; the rest would have to wait for soap. Hygienically challenged indeed. He resolved to shower compulsively from here out, whether he needed it or not.

He ran his hands over his own belly, allowing himself to pretend the touch was hers.

It seemed pathetic, so he stopped.

He stopped and ducked his head under the showerhead in hope of washing some of the sick out of his hair. Something in the Muggle processed water stung his eyes. He closed them a moment before he identified the culprit as chlorine. Unbidden, he pictured Hermione before him. He had trouble imagining her as she was - older, more poised - but her 17 year old self was disturbingly easy to conjure: unkempt hair, softer face, and narrower body. It was even easier to imagine the pressure of the water on his lips was her kiss.

He fumbled, the wet unfamiliar trousers taking a moment to open. He clamped his eyes shut tight. It was so much more natural to play this game when he had a little alcohol in his belly. Still, he squeezed his cock roughly; it could be her, she could touch him, she had agreed to consider it and that was as heady as any vision of fellatio. He loosened his grip and pulled once, twice, three times, knowing she was not far, only a few feet beyond the door. His breath grew ragged at the thought. Unlikely as it was, she could walk in at any moment, strip wordlessly and join him.

He opened his eyes and pulled back his foreskin to see a drop of clear fluid weeping from the slit, and even as the cold water washed it away he imagined her taking it with her tongue. There was plenty more where that came from. His lip curled into an approximation of a smile at the thought. Be my guest, dear, dear Hermione, drink deep. Not only the best and brightest, she was such a pretty, pretty girl.

His left hand built a steady rhythm sliding back and forth over his cock. He kept his grip loose in an attempt to mimic her no doubt gentler touch. With his right, he pulled his nipple hard. His hips bucked forward of their own volition. Her imagined kisses were exquisite, raining down his throat and across his chest. He was certain without question she would study the text of his pleasure as though it were Hogwarts: A History. The very notion made his knees buckle briefly. Hot and cold pleasure radiated out from his cock, until his entire body trembled.

Hermione on his arm would wipe out forty odd years of abject failure. A witch like that was not only lovely and powerful, but pointedly possessing an elusive quality he could neither name nor describe, except to say he knew it was a thing he was desperately lacking. A thing with which Hermione Jane Granger had been richly endowed.

Shoving his cock into whatever part of her beautiful body she allowed him would mean rebirth as that which had eluded Severus Snape his entire life, even if he could not express its basic nature. It didn't matter.

His hand a blur, his hips thrusting wildly, Severus ejaculated, sending sticky white strand after sticky white strand over his fingers and into the pelting water.

He stood under the endless flow of cold water, watching the cloudy clots of semen wash down the drain.

Granger would keep the promise both his former masters had broken and grant him favour that would transform his life. Provided Draco didn't bugger it up.

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Author's Note: Thank you to Shiv for insightful Beta