Hey folks – here's a story that was spawned by several plotbunnies that mated and made themselves into a whole colony of little plotbunnies that would not leave me alone! I am a long term reader and (occasional) writer of fanfiction/fictionpress, but I have forgotten my old account details and honestly can't be bothered digging it out again, so here's me with a new account and new story.

Disclaimer: No I do not own Harry Potter.

Rating/warnings: Please note the rating. This story is rated M for language and sexual content. There are also mentions of violence.

Enjoy if you will

Chapter One: A Lousy Existence

"Ah… Ahhhh…!"

Goodness the man was noisy.

"Gods, you feel so perfect… so good… so –"

Hermione blew a strand of curly hair out of her face and tried not to sigh as the man above her thrust ever more erratically into her body. Her bed rocked as he attempted to drill her into her mattress in a manner not unlike the way her mother used to dig for slugs in the back garden. Surely she ought not to feel so… bored? So unstimulated? So impatient for this to be over? Or thinking about her mother, even?

Whatever had possessed her to invite Ernie back to her apartment? Right – drink and the promise of a good shag. That was it. Well, this was certainly shagging but there wasn't anything good about it. Now the sheets were digging into her back and this was not pleasant. The gradually increasing itchy feeling made her want to lean up and scratch her back. But this was probably not considered good sex etiquette. Sex-tiquette?

She was daydreaming during sex, again. When did this start? With Ron, probably. He was her first real lover after all. There was some adolescent fumbling with Viktor during fourth year, and more fumbling with that Hufflepuff in sixth year… but it was Ron with whom Hermione first went all the way, so to speak. It was most certainly a disappointment, that first lovemaking session, and the next, and the next... But Hermione had persevered because she adored Ron. Ronald Weasley, cheeky menace and loving friend, wrapped in one delightful red-headed package. After all, if she couldn't have good sex with Ron, at least they had great companionship. Until they both realised that their great companionship was fine as best mates, but didn't quite work for romantic partners. Ron wanted a girl who was happy to listen to him talk about Quidditch all day, then massage his feet while a pot roast was being prepared using well-honed skills at cooking magic. Hermione did not fit those requirements. And indeed, what she wanted in a partner was more intellectual discussion, maybe reading about Charms together, or the latest issue of Transfiguration Weekly, and then preparing the pot roast together while listening to Wizarding radio. In the end, Ron and Hermione had parted amicably, still loving each other but acknowledging that the end of their romance had well and truly come.

"Her- Hermione…! I'm… I –"

Oh dear, had she been daydreaming for that long? Or perhaps Ernie was one of those two-minute wonders. Either way, she was glad it was over.

Sigh.

He trembled above her and Hermione felt warmth pool in her nether regions. Unfortunately it was not warmth of a pleasurable kind. What a downer. And what in Merlin's name was wrong with her? When Ernie had undressed she noted the size and shape of his penis with glee – Lavender and Pavarti had both counselled her on the importance of a good sized "love wand", as they liked to call it. And if the size was not up to standard, then shape was also important. Thick and stout felt pretty good, they had both said, giggling and fanning themselves over afternoon tea last weekend.

Yes, Hermione was desperate enough in her love life to be asking her former roommates from Hogwarts what to look for in a good lover. She barely spoke to the two miscreants after leaving Hogwarts, but had fond memories of the two of them studying the sex columns of Witch's Weekly with a gusto that would have made their professors proud.

"Gods, Hermione – that was fantastic! I don't think I've ever come that hard before. You're amazing."

"Thanks." She wondered if that was a bit brusque. His chest hairs were scratching her nipples, and it felt uncomfortable. Scrunching up her face, she added "You're amazing, too."

She felt Ernie slip out of her and almost sighed in relief. Well, at least that's over. Hermione wondered again if there was something wrong with her. Some nerve endings deficient or so. She was the know-it-all bookworm after all. She had read up on these things and was certain she ought to feel something. And of course, she had the benefit of her own fingers to bring her pleasure, although certainly nothing up to the level worthy of screaming.

She wondered again if she ought to navigate the shagging more. Take control, as they say. Perhaps a little bit of hey- mind if I cut in whilst you ram into my body like Molly Weasley skewers ham before roasting, but if you could please just rub my nipples like this whilst also tweaking my clitoris like that, that would be lovely…

She actually wondered if any of her previous lovers even knew what a clitoris was. They certainly had not tried to make an acquaintance with hers. Lousy gits.

She sighed aloud as she continued to ponder. Ernie's whispers of what a good lover you are, Hermione, and how sexy… had faded into quiet snores. For some reason, she could not bring herself to tell her lovers what she wanted. Certainly she had a fair few… Ron was her first, then Adam and Alistair from the Ministry's new Magical Tracking department (not at the same time, mind you), Chen from accounting, Rufus from the bar, John from the other bar, Anton from one of Harry's get-togethers… She had even somehow fallen into bed with Blaise Zabini, and was disappointed to find that being a Slytherin stud had not made him into a satisfying lover. Where on earth did she get that impression anyhow? Blaise had always been popular at school with the witches… surely part of this was his sex appeal? Why didn't she enjoy it then?

There was no hope about it then. She was destined to be one of those women who did not enjoy sex. Hermione had read several forums (on the Muggle computer at her parents' house) where women bemoaned that their partners could not give them sexual pleasure. She had thought at the time that it must be a lousy existence. Now she felt certain that she was living in one.

Perfect. She sighed and rolled onto her stomach, closing her eyes. At least she had work to look forward to tomorrow.

And that's what a sad life you have, you poor witch. Looking forward to work, of all things. Can't even enjoy a man next to you…

Hermione shook her fist at her subconscious voice and felt into a troubled asleep, unsated and annoyed, and more than a little disappointed.

The next day she shooed Ernie out of her apartment and got dressed in surly silence. Her work robes were a flattering shade of dark purple and underneath she was a simple loose black dress. Her nipples still ached slightly so she forwent the bra. It was all hidden beneath her robes anyhow, nobody would notice. Last night, Ernie had pulled and twisted her nipples like they were buttons on a radio. Not that he knew what a radio was, being raised entirely in the wizarding world. In any case, his rough handling had hurt rather than titillated. Prat.

Hermione considered her reflection quietly as she attempted to control her hair. Ginny Weasley – Potter now, of course – had told her that her hair was a lovely feature, not something to be slicked down with alarming amounts of Sleakeasy, but an element to be gently tamed. Hermione was sure that Ginny could not understand, with her lovely long ribbons of straight red hair, what it was like to grow up with her wild hair. Taming this beast required more Charms knowledge than even Hermione bloody Granger had. Blowing out a breath, as she did every morning, Hermione shrugged and charmed it into a loose ponytail. No use trying to do anything fancy – it isn't as though I'm going to even attempt to bring someone home tonight. She checked her security wards once again, making sure they were back up after Ernie's departure, then picked up her bag to Floo to the Ministry.

Once she got there, she noticed a strange thing. It was quiet. Sure, it was early in the morning, but there were already a few members of the Magical Law Enforcement team there. Usually there was the sound of fresh coffee being made and whisked magically towards the desks of officers just starting the day shift, or the repetitive sound of transcripts being processed and filed by charmed quills and cabinets, or even the melodic sound of Auror Finley's voice giving her debriefing in her supervisor's office. Hermione frowned as she walked past Officer Miranda Stein's desk – the blonde was sitting tensely, reading reports from the previous evening, a quill stuck haphazardly behind her ear. That was odd. Miranda usually was at her cheerful best in the morning. What on earth was going on? Was there some bad news?

"Miranda?" Hermione forced herself to smile despite the sinking feeling in her belly. "Is everything alright today?"

Miranda's blue eyes flicked from the parchment she was reading to Hermione's own amber gaze and she sighed audibly, putting the report down and twitching her fingers anxiously. For some reason this put Hermione in mind of an anxious first-year standing outside Defence Against the Dark Arts for the first time. "Oh everything's fine, Hermione. It's just that seeing him again reminds me of times at school when I was terrified of just hearing his voice."

"Pardon?" Hermione's anxiety turned to befuddlement. "Whatever do you mean?"

Miranda raised her eyebrows in confusion. "Oh – I thought you already knew he was here. After all, he did ask for you personally…"

"Granger!" The loud tones of her supervisor, the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement team, interrupted whatever Miranda was going to reveal. "In my office, now. Please."

The "please" seemed to have been added as an afterthought. Which seemed unusual for Eric Harwood, the grizzled Auror-turned-bureaucrat. He hardly seemed to think that any of his staff were worthy of polite words such as "please", or "thank you", or even "oh yes, you've had a long day. That report can understandably wait until tomorrow."

Hermione raised her eyebrows in return to her colleague. What on earth…? Miranda just shrugged and turned back to her report, but not before giving her a puzzled look.

Well, I'm certainly in for an exciting morning.

She scooted towards Harwood's office, slipping her bag onto her desk on the way as she schooled her face into a mask of polite interest. Hermione and her supervisor had a civil relationship - filled with grudging respect on both sides. Harwood knew that Hermione had been part of the Order of the Phoenix, and like everyone else, knew of her role as part of the Golden Trio. After four years working for him, Hermione had proven to be a tenacious and intelligent worker, which was probably the reason why her boss generally had little occasion to rebuke her. Except for when she skirted the law in the pursuit of some criminals… Well, that was the Gryffindor in her. Nothing to be done about impetuous and occasionally idiotic bravery.

As she slipped through the door, Hermione stopped in surprise as she caught sight of a set of long, dark robes. Her breath caught as she suddenly realised who was standing in her supervisor's office.

"Professor Snape!"

It was he. The terrifying Potions Master of Hogwarts, Head of Slytherin house, spymaster of the Order of the Phoenix, former Death Eater, double agent… wait, was he half-smiling?

"Miss Granger." Snape inclined his head slightly and rose to give her a small bow. "I'm afraid I am no longer "Professor" now. It is a pleasure to see you once again."

"Oh, of course." Hermione couldn't stop the grin from blooming across her face at the sight of him, and the sound of his deep baritone voice. The last time she had seen him he was walking out the door of St Mungo's, with a ragged scar on his neck and a raspy, husky voice nothing like the usual timbre. "My apologies. A part of me will always think of you as Professor Snape." She paused and took a longer, more appraising, look at him. "You are looking very well."

And he did. He was lean and tall, as he had been, but without the gauntness, unhealthy pallor or even the heavy tension that he had always seemed to carry in those dark years. He had cropped his hair shorter, still long by Muggle standards but no longer the lank greasy curtain that as a spy he had used to hide his facial expressions from inquiring eyes. Most surprising to Hermione was the absence of the formerly eternal scowl that used to grace his visage. Now, she thought, there were little lines beside his dark eyes, and she fancied that Severus Snape had re-acquainted himself with laughter and joy once again.

Seeing him again inevitably turned her thoughts to dark times. It was Arthur Weasley who had found Snape bleeding to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack after the Dark Lord had set Nagini on him. Although his eyes were closed and his skin deathly pale, there was a weak pulse, and Arthur had acted quickly. Arthur had Apparated with him directly to the Burrow, where he forced down Snape's throat a variety of potions – Blood Replenisher, Strengthening solution, Calming draught – and most importantly, the antivenom that he had prepared in the aftermath of Nagini's attack on him at the Ministry just some years prior. Arthur had left a stable, but still unconscious and dangerously near-death Snape at the Burrow to resume the fight at Hogwarts. Needless to say, Snape survived, and was rallied back to health by the Healers at St Mungo's.

Hermione had sat at Snape's bedside for weeks during his long recuperation at the hospital. At the time, Ron and Arthur Weasley had been so grief-stricken at the loss of Fred that they had been unable to leave their home and the comfort of their family for some time. Harry, of course, had been unwearyingly petitioned the courts and the Ministry to pardon Snape for Dumbledore's death and for everything he was forced to perform in his charade as a Death Eater, and had barely had time to dash between appointments. Harry occasionally had come by the wards at St Mungo's to exchange a few quiet words with Hermione and glance worriedly at their former Potions professor, who lay unconscious and unresponsive for many days. Even Minerva McGonagall was conspicuously absent, as she had been given the mammoth task of rebuilding Hogwarts and preparing it for a new term of students as quickly as possible. And so it fell to Hermione to sit by Snape's bedside during those difficult weeks, where it seemed as though Snape floated in the small space between life and death. Not that she minded terribly. Harry had shared the contents of Snape's bitter memories with his best friends, and later the Ministry, and Hermione had felt horrified at the way Snape had had to live all those years. She had felt terribly guilty for how they had always mistrusted him, and how the whole Order had failed to acknowledge his great trials. They all owed him a great debt. So it had seemed like little sacrifice to her to sit by his bedside each day, spooning warm broth into his mouth, gently wiping the sweat from his brow, helping the healers to administer potions. After three whole months of unconsciousness, Hermione had been overjoyed to see his eyes snap open, dark gaze flashing with recognition at the sight of her relieved face. Although they had soon slid shut again, apparently against his will, that small event had signalled the start of a determined battle for recovery.

He has decided to live. The healers had all said to her, as they bustled around Snape, casting diagnostic charms and topping up his medicinal potions vials. No one fights this hard against Death if they do not wish to live.

"Granger, Mr Snape has a report to make, and he needs the attention of the department to apprehend what may be a very dangerous criminal." Harwood's no-nonsense bark brought Hermione's thoughts crashing back to the present. "Take Mr Snape to the meeting room and discuss the case with him there."

"Yes, sir." Hermione was relieved to find her voice calm and controlled as usual, despite the pleasant shock she had had that morning. Snape had been assessing her with his dark eyes, and the expression on his face was surprisingly pleased. Perhaps I am not the only happy one at this reunion, Hermione thought, surprising herself with the strange thought. "Please, Mr Snape, follow me."

She wondered on what Snape could possibly be reaching out to her department for, as she led him out of Harwood's office. Although Hermione had not seen the wizard in years since he had left St Mungo's, she had surreptitiously kept tabs on him, just in case he needed help. She knew that Snape had left Hogwarts two years prior, after serving five years at Headmaster following his recuperation at St Mungo's. Her connections at the Ministry had kept her informed of his whereabouts, so Hermione also knew that he had been living a solitary life in the east of the country for the past two years. Of his activities, though, she was unaware. What in Merlin's name would drive him to seek help from Magical Law Enforcement?

Well, at least this explained Harwood's politeness to her this morning. Hermione smiled to herself as she motioned Snape into the meeting room, shutting the door behind her as she stepped inside. Even Eric Harwood was a little star-struck at being in the presence of war hero Severus Snape.

She turned back to Snape and looked at him, again. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the shorter hair and smile-lines. He looked years younger. Healthier, fitter… well, almost like a new man, really. How strange to see him without the brooding intensity, the scowl, the feeling that if you did not get out of his way this instant you were going to be hexed or cursed or…

"You are looking… well, Miss Granger." Snape cleared his throat in mild embarrassment at her frank appraisal. Hermione supposed that most people reacted to him the same way Miranda had – either with fear, or terror. Or great terror.

"Thank you. I can't say enough how very nice it is to see you in such good health, Mr Snape." Hermione pulled out a quill and a small sheet of parchment from a hidden pocket in her robes. "What can we help you with?"

In turn, Snape pulled a tightly rolled piece of parchment from his robes with the same elegant flourish she recalled from her schooldays. Indeed, Hermione noted that although he may be the bat of the dungeons anymore, he still favoured the flowing black robes that he had worn during his tenure at Hogwarts. She suppressed a smile. "As you may know, I have been living in the east these past years, doing research mainly, but also making potions in my private laboratory for mail-orders."

Snape unfolded the parchment, which listed carefully all the orders from the past weeks in his easily recognisable handwriting, cramped and spiky as she remembered. "My advertisement states that I make potions of all varieties, with discretion being the key selling point. No one who buys my potions knows my name, and I promise not to reveal the identities of my clients. The usual clients are those who want something done quickly, with high standard, with no questions asked – generally contraceptive potions, healing potions, strengthening potions – nothing too surprising. Needless to say, I also get a few rather unsavoury orders from time to time, potions that could cause disease, maiming, depression… the usual Dark sort. Of course, these clients are promptly reported to the relevant authorities, your department included –"

"Wait – I thought you said that you never disclose the identities of your clients." Hermione interrupted. As she was reading the Snape's parchment with her usual care, she missed the fleeting expression of amusement on his face.

"I do not reveal the names directly… I just, well, let us just say that I drop a few hints here and there to ensure that these witches or wizards are punished for their attempted crimes."

"Ever the Master spy." Hermione smirked. Her reading of the parchment did not reveal any obviously unsettling orders, and she said so aloud. What could be the problem?

"Yes, if you look at the orders at a glance, there is no reason for concern." Snape pushed up the sleeves of his black robes to pull the sheet of orders towards him back towards him. The movement exposed cuffs of a cream-coloured linen shirt and long, elegant hands lined with small burn scars. "However, recently I noticed several orders, all from different names… that if one were to carefully mix together the potions the capacity to cause catastrophic harm."

Hermione's heartbeat quickened at his words and she leaned forward, resisting the urge to snatch the parchment out of Snape's hands - lovely hands, though – and read through the list again. "I don't…"

"You would need more than a Mastery of Potions to know what I speak of, Miss Granger." Snape said. The tone of his voice made her look up at him, he spoke not unkindly, but his voice held something… almost a sigh of remorse. "You would also need an intimate knowledge of the Dark Arts."

She felt her spine tense. Hermione could not tear her eyes away from her former Professor. Somehow she felt that this would be something that not even she was prepared for. Oh gods, don't let this be happening again…

"Dreamless Sleep potion, twenty vials…" Snape's fingers touched each order in turn as he read them aloud. "Catatonia's solution, fifty vials. Hospital-grade Calming draught, double strength, twenty vials. Warming potion, double strength, twenty vials. Breathe-easy potion, fifty vials. Thirty vials of industrial-grade Dragon's breath potion…" Here Snape looked up at her again and said softly, "Do you know what would be made if one was to carefully combine these five solutions, Miss Granger?"

She shook her head. Somehow the answer was there, niggling in her mind, but unable to be voiced. The potions were innocent enough by themselves, but somehow, instinctively, Hermione knew that something else was happening. The horrible dread that she had felt since earlier that morning began to gnaw at her stomach.

"A bomb." Snape whispered. "A magical bomb of sufficient strength to put the entirety of Muggle London in a catatonic slumber, indefinitely."

Whee!