Merlin's bare arse.
Granger -he had to remind himself that she wasn't 'the Granger girl'- anymore, she had not been for some time now. Yes, Granger, was being sent to trial for having healed him instead of turning him in to the proper authorities at the end of the war.
Snape felt nauseous at the thought of owing yet another life debt, and this time to the most insufferable witch he had ever met. Yet, in the three years that had passed, she had never demanded anything of him. They never spoke of it. She never made any snide remarks about his near death, never flaunted to the media that she had very well saved his life.
No, Hermione Granger had been quite fine with leaving things the way they were. He could understand why now.
She was a young upstart in the Ministry, fresh blood quickly climbing the ladder of success. Her brilliance lighted the way to her prominent position by the Minister's side. She had been clever to quickly use her good standing and connections to get the position she now thrived in.
That is until the law caught up to her.
Yes, the little witch had an ambitious streak to her. Obviously, the end justified the means regarding her career.
He had expected her to return to Hogwarts, to apprentice in charms or transfiguration. He was surprised and somewhat impressed with the direction in which she had set off. She was precisely what their backward and stuffy world needed. A good kick in the behind to get the ball rolling.
Change.
He smirked as he recalled their first interaction as colleagues. It had been another stifling and overly demanding Ministry affair, the glitz and glamour of parading war heroes and demanding of them to be dressed to the nines to mingle with the common folk who had escaped the war mostly unscathed. No one decent attended the blasted events if they could help it.
The Potions' Master had spotted her across the gilded Atrium alight with too many fires, decorated with gaudy ribbons of silver and gold. She stood off to the side in a long emerald gown, trying to catch her breath as she escaped her randy-handed boyfriend. He caught her eye, watching her blush as her fingers lifted to her mouth. Crossing the hall in a few gliding strides, he stood before her, holding out his hand. "Miss Granger," he said quietly, amusement flickering across his dark eyes.
Her gloved hand slid across the expanse of his palm and she had to fight the nervous giggle that threatened to escape. She had managed to wrestle her wild mane into a flattering updo, her neck and shoulders exposed. Her blush deepened as he held her gaze, lifting her fingers to his lips. Her pulse jumped and a slow smirk raised his lips. He knew all too well of her... growing interest for him.
He could not deny she was becoming quite the fascinating woman. "Good evening, Professor," she rushed out, her lashes fluttering as she tried to look away.
He raised a brow, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. He had yet to let it go. "I am no longer your teacher, Miss Granger. We both work for the Ministry now. Master Snape will do."
Her eyes snapped back to his then, something foreign flashing through them. Interesting. "Master Snape," she corrected, her lip catching between her teeth to stop herself from saying anything embarrassing.
He stepped closer still, his free hand lifting to finger the beaded strap of her dress. "Green, Miss Granger?" he asked idly. "Have you a newfound preference for Slytherin house?"
She was scarlet by then, from head to toe, she was certain of it.
The moment was interrupted by the red-headed menace. Weasley eyed her hand uneasily, still caught by their former teacher's. Jealousy had him clenching his jaw, his ears turning puce. "'Mione, why do you insist on wearing that ugly thing?" He said loudly, pointing to the shining pin at her breast. He made a great show of wrapping a gangly arm around her and squeezing her tight.
The witch gasped and tried to extricate herself. "Honestly, Ronald, manners!" She flattened an invisible crease in her dress and straightened her shoulders. Gesturing to the order of Merlin medal, she sighed. "I've told you a thousand times, Ron. It is a reminder of our status, a symbol that we won. There are still some who would besmirch the victory of a lowly Muggleborn."
Clever girl. She was demonstrating to the entirety of the wizarding world that being Pureblooded meant little to nothing when she had helped take down the darkest wizard in an age.
Weasley rolled his eyes and Snape glared at him. "Well, your engagement ring shows your status too and you never wear that." He whined, actually whined. "Cost me loads, 'Mione."
Hermione took a deep breath, taking a step away from the boy and closer to the man who still had his fingers wrapped around her own, his thumb ever so lightly brushing over the bumps and valleys of her knuckles. She gave the man a tight smile that resembled more of a grimace. "We're newly engaged," she managed, though it appeared to pain her.
Snape raised a sardonic brow and dipped his head in a low bow. "My... condolences," he purred, his eyes lifting to meet hers.
Her white-gloved hand slapped to her mouth to deny a peal of laughter as bright cognac eyes widened. Who knew Severus Snape was funny?
Ron was purple now, he would be steaming from his ears if he could. After a few more moments of tense silence, he stormed off into the crowd, telling anyone and everyone who would listen that his war heroine fiancée didn't defend his honour now that she was all interesting.
The man in black pressed his lips to her hand again and released her fingers. She brought her hand to her cheek, blushing like mad still. "I should, I should see to Ron," she mumbled, jerking her head in the direction he had stalked off in. "It's what a future Madam Weasley should do. Not that I would ever take that name. No."
A curl came loose from her careful spells at the movement. Snape reached out and delicately tucked it behind her ear, the most fleeting of gestures. "Never," he agreed. "Would you deny me the pleasure of addressing you as Miss Granger, Junior Undersecretary and brightest witch of her age?"
Her face was on fire. "Wicked, you are, sir." Shit. "Uh, Profes- Master." Elegant.
He had simply smirked and disappeared in the throng.
Weasley broke their engagement two weeks later.
