Part Two

Hermione wasn't sure exactly what it was that made her think that approaching the Headmaster about a relationship was such a good idea.

Perhaps it was his words, "I think very well of you, Hermione." How could a woman not feel the need to respond to that?

Perhaps it was the combination of words and deeds. Thinking back, she could swear he'd played with her hair a time or two. It was difficult to say without actually having eyes in the back of her head, but there were times when he was behind her, either standing or moving, that the back of her neck just twitched.

She thought about that and the way he constantly toyed with the plumulaceous portion of a quill. It wasn't clear if he knew he did it or not, but it was fascinating watching his hands delve and stroke the downy afterfeather.

That was what she'd seen when she peeked through the gap in the door to the headmaster's office. He'd been playing with a quill again, only this time, he was doing it in front of another woman.

From what she could see, it appeared that this was the candidate for the History of Magic position the headmaster had alluded to before. Hermione was caught up in trying to see what she looked like - beautiful silvery-blonde hair, a long neck and very expensive-looking robes - when the woman's voice broke through with it's rich, husky alto,

"Are you fucking with me, or are you that interested in feeling up the quill?"

Hermione blinked twice in shock. She'd have been mortified to be so rough-spoken in front of Professor Snape! The man was like a walking guide on proper speech, even the slightest incorrect grammar made her blush in embarrassment.

"What?" He looked just as surprised, but simply looked at the quill in his hands before handing it over. "I don't know what you mean."

The woman's profile was somehow familiar… "You were fondling the damned thing right in front of me. Were you perhaps remembering that lovely night in my dungeons? I teased you with that ostrich feather for hours."

Hermione's eyes widened in confusion and she promptly forgot about trying to figure out who the woman was. Could she have been so wrong? Was Snape not interested in her at all? This beautiful creature sitting in front of him sat and smirked with her apparently carnal knowledge of the Headmaster. She strained to hear his response, hoping desperately that she'd misunderstood.

His deadpan answer wasn't very clarifying. "And I sneezed for three days afterwards. I told you, I'm allergic to ostrich."

The dark man didn't seem to share the same loose camaraderie implied by the woman's words, but he certainly shared the memory. Every word they said just made Hermione feel smaller and smaller.

"Here I was, thinking you were merely protesting to heighten the mood. You never used the safe word, after all."

"Miss Malfoy, no one can ever remember your ridiculous safe-words. Sign the damned contract and begone with you. I expect you to be here with your full course of syllabi outlined by Monday at ten."

Safe words. Ostrich feathers. Lovely nights… Miss Malfoy…

"As you wish, my dear Headmaster."

My dear Headmaster. Her voice was like melted chocolate, or warm syrup. Everything carnal and seductive that Hermione's high clarion voice couldn't possibly produce.

She looked, really looked at the couple sitting in front of her at the headmaster's desk, sharing a look over the signed contract before it snapped closed and popped off to the Board of Governors. They looked like they knew each other well.

Very well.

She didn't stand a chance with someone like this on staff. What had she been thinking? Stupid, stupid girl! With a hitch in her throat, she staved off her tears, left the stairwell as quietly as she could and practically ran back to her rooms.

Skidding to a halt in front of her portrait, the lady with the small brown and white dog didn't even bother waiting for her password. The portrait frame swung open, Hermione stumbled through, and groped her way over to her sofa - a soft, buttery yellow sleeper that reminded her of her gran's house with its chintzy floral skirting and matching, downy pillows.

She pulled one of those large, square pillows to her chest and buried most of her face in it, keeping her eyes focused on the coffee table in front of her. She stared at the table with its plain, sturdy, oak wood. That's who she was: a chintzy yellow sofa in front of a sturdy oak coffee table.

Miss Malfoy was a luxurious, velvet chaise next to a high-polished marquetry and mahogany antique.

She focused on that imagery for a while, and whenever her heart started easing her pain by saying she'd likely misunderstood, she remembered it. Breathing in and out in a steadying pattern, she calmed and accepted that Professor Snape had, of course, had a past. The unidentified Malfoy woman had been flirting with a familiarity that left little room for doubt, but the Headmaster hadn't overtly carried through with the flirtation… right?

He'd actually… yes, he'd actually told the woman off, hadn't he?

Okay. She breathed in slowly and deeply, then let it out, raising her head from the pillow that she still held close to her body. It was comforting, after all. Okay. Perhaps patience would be the right route. She'd see how Snape acted around her in the next day or so, and Monday… well, she could see again when Miss Malfoy came back, how they acted around each other.

That was the logical thing to do, and Hermione was nothing if not logical. She'd not let her divorce or job loss get her down, so why should Severus Snape do so?

Well, apparently that was easier said than done.

Hermione had spent an inordinate amount of time making herself look a bit more composed the next morning, but to no avail. The Headmaster was nowhere to be found. Convincing herself she needed to ask a question about her seventh year curriculum now instead of later, she had searched quite a bit of the castle. By lunchtime, she'd even convinced herself that the question was absolutely necessary to ask as soon as possible, so went in search for Professor McGonagall. If the Deputy Headmistress just so happened to also know where Professor Snape was, well, then all the better.

The familiar office of the Head of Gryffindor greeted her with its plaid and leather splendor, reminiscent of an old hunt club lounge. It was common for the Head of House to leave her office door open when she was there, in order to promote a more open and welcoming atmosphere. Hermione felt a slight tension ease behind her heart in its familiarity, and a smile loosened her lips. Knocking gently on the ancient and heavy walnut door, she waited patiently for the older woman to acknowledge her. Hearing a record playing a soft old tune prompted Hermione to knock again, more firmly.

"Ah, Hermione, dear. Do come in." The warm salutation melted the last bit of trepidation in the new professor's quest. She smiled at her mentor and made her way to stand a few steps behind one of the dark burgundy tufted leather armchairs facing Professor McGonagall. The older woman smiled in return, glanced to one of the chairs, and placed her neatly trimmed quill on its smart brass rest at the top of her matching burgundy blotter with golden filigree trim. "What can I do for you, this evening? I'm afraid the Headmaster is out, or I'm sure you'd be asking him whatever you're about to ask me."

At the knowing look from her former Head of House, Hermione blushed. Was she that obvious? In order to redirect, she cleared her throat and asked her question, "Erm, right. Well, the thing is… I wanted to have my seventh years be able to publish their final thesis papers at the end of summer term, so I wondered if that was an available option to them? O-or does Hogwarts own the rights to their work - Our work, even?"

The Deputy Headmistress tilted her head where one of her ears seemed put more forward than the other, as if she were having a hard time hearing Hermione. As the younger woman finished bumbling through her perfectly valid question (one she'd intended on asking anyway, but now seemed a better time than most due to convenience), Professor McGonagall smiled and nodded her head.

"That is indeed a lovely idea, one we haven't used in many years. I'm afraid Bathsheda wasn't very encouraging when it came to publications. She preferred to stand on her own reputation, rather than seek out the opinions of others."

"I'm confused, Professor. Ancient Runes is a highly academic occupation that relies heavily on connections and sharing of ideas through discourse and publications. Why on earth would Professor Babbling think otherwise?"

McGonagall tilted her lips in a moué of amusement. "One tends to shy away from things that are not successful. Professor Babbling did not share the same literary success as - well, as you."

Hermione blushed again and decided her own consternation was excuse enough to ask about the Headmaster. "You said the Headmaster is away?"

She received a long stare over reading glasses, closely followed by a derisive snort and a flippant response, "Who knows where that man is off to? I promise you, every time there's an overabundance of paperwork to be done, Headmaster Snape will find a way to make himself scarce."

The new Ancient Runes professor was taken aback by this tone and rebutted, "Surely there's a logical reason. Surely he wouldn't be so inconstant as that."

Professor McGonagall's expression seemed satisfied on some point as her eyes scanned the room, and conceded, "Oh, Aye, you're right. He doesn't do it every time." She sat back in her own burgundy leather chair, keeping her back ramrod straight. Hermione tried valiantly to hide her enthusiasm on the subject, but it must have been obvious, for the older woman smiled knowingly and continued, "It's likely his poor ailing mother again, but sometimes that reason chafes a bit. After Bathsheda left, none of the rest of us have family to fuss over, so I suspect I'm just a bit green-eyed. That and this thrice-damned paperwork is due Monday." She sighed a long-suffering, dramatic sigh, "I suppose his hiring a Histories professor took precedence, and with term starting, he's likely stocking his mother up on her prescribed potions."

Hermione devoured the new information. Snape's mother was still alive? Why did she think he didn't have any family left? When she couldn't leave that question alone in her mind, she asked the older woman about it, "I'm sorry, for some reason I thought his family was all gone, but his mother is ailing?"

Something about Professor McGonagall's demeanor suggested she was indulging Hermione's curiosity as some sort of favor. Hermione supposed she was. "Poor Eileen, she hid for years, you know. Even Severus thought she'd gone, at least until a few years ago, when she finally wrote to him. I hear she moved to the coast for her health - lungs, I think. Every now and again, he pops over for a visit." Her Cheshire cat grin could not be mistaken, and Hermione was entirely embarrassed to have her interest in the Headmaster found out. "I suppose he hasn't mentioned it?"

The new professor shook her head in the negative and redirected, unsure of Professor McGonagall's stance on her feelings for Professor Snape. "S-so, the papers? The children can seek publication?"

"Of course, granted they cite Hogwarts as their facility."

"Thank you, Professor. I'll work the steps into the syllabus." With her face blushing as deep as the leather in the professor's office, Hermione turned to take her leave.

The professor's voice stopped her before she could make it to the door. "Hermione, when will you call me Minerva like I've asked you to?"

She turned back towards her mentor, fighting further embarrassment. "I-I'm sorry. I promise it's not out of disrespect."

"It's respectful to grant me my request in how to be addressed, or had you not thought of it that way?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "No! I hadn't! I'm sorry, Pro-Minerva."

She smiled her acceptance. "That's better. You might want to practice that with the other professors, too."

Hermione nodded contritely and got to the hallway when she thought she heard, "It'll be hard to call him 'Professor Snape' in the throes of passion."

.0.

"What!?" Hermione scurried back to the open door and stared in wide-eyed shock. "Minerva!" Her scandalized exclamation was out of her mouth before she could even censor herself. Poor lass.

Minerva's best replication of Dumbledore's doddering fool act stared back at the girl in the doorway, "What's wrong, dear?"

The Herbology professor sat slumped down below the head of the armchair facing her desk and mischievously whispered, "See? She's got the hang of it already."

Glaring at her long-time colleague, Minerva chastised under her breath, "Hist! Pomona, drink your tea."

From across the room, Hermione's mouth stuttered open in confusion, "I swear I heard you say something to me about using Professor Snape's name."

Waving her hand in a dismissive manner, Minerva thought furiously on how to misdirect what Pomona had called out in jest, "Oh, that was nothing to worry about. I merely said… I said it would hardly do to call the Headmaster 'Professor Snape' in passing."

Hermione looked back at Minerva as if she had lost her mind. The older witch bit her lips and glanced at Pomona, still hidden, who was turning purple trying not to laugh.

Trying a tactic of being busy, she responded, "I'm terribly sorry, but it's getting late and I've got this veritable mountain of paperwork to handle before the week is out. Is there anything else you need?" She started shifting and stacking scrolls and parchments all over her desk. It was a time-honored tradition Albus had taught her well.

It was almost a pity when it worked. Hermione shifted back a step and replied, "Oh, I'm sorry to keep you. Of course not, have a good evening, Profess- um, Minerva."

"Very good, Hermione, you do the same. Would you do me a favor and pull the door to?"

They both waited until Hermione's shoes could be heard on the stone steps at the end of the hallway before bursting out in laughter.

Minerva speared her friend with another glare, chuckling, "You are an evil witch, Pomona Sprout."

The middle-aged professor protested with a laugh, "I am no more than you are! I can't help it if the girl's unobservant!"

"Yes, well, the next time, I won't be so likely to let you hide. What makes you so sure that you're right about him returning her feelings?"

Pomona held up her hand, palm forward, "Now that would be telling, and where's the fun in that?"

"You've just been-"

"I've just been strategically enhancing my chances of winning the pot."

Minerva tried giving her fellow Head of House a stern glare, but found she couldn't hold it for very long. Her face twisted into a hysterical giggle as she slumped back in her seat. "So, what do we do now?"

Pomona grinned and leaned forward in her seat. "We should take this weekend to relax and pamper ourselves. Term starts week after next, so personal time is about to get very, very scarce. I also have it on good authority that Severus won't be back until Monday morning, so there's really nothing we can do about him, now, is there?"

With a quick flick of her wand, a silver tabby cat Patronus materialized on her desk. "Find Septima, Sybill and Aurora. Ask them to join us in my office for refreshments, if they please." The tabby trebled and scattered out the sliver still open at the heavy office door.

"Minerva?" Pomona leaned forward and set her tea down on the polished walnut desk.

The Head of Gryffindor raised an eyebrow in query to her counterpart, urging her to ask her question as she took a sip of her own tea.

"Who did you say Severus pulled in for the Histories position?"

Thinking back to the previous day, she tried to remember if she'd seen more than the tail of a green robe sweeping around the corner when Argus had shown them up to the Headmaster's office. "I didn't say."

"Was it a man, or a woman?"

Minerva knew immediately what Pomona was thinking, to use the new person to poke at the situation between Severus and Hermione, but she had no information to give just yet. She thought back harder to remember if the headmaster had given any inclination as to the person's identity.

"You know…? I really couldn't say."

.o.

Monday morning breakfast was nearly business as usual for Hogwarts, if by nearly, one really meant not. Whatever Minerva and the other biddies had been up to over the weekend, it was obvious by their absence that the festivities carried a bit beyond propriety. Severus looked to see which of his teachers were actually in attendance and was surprised to find that the only other occupants of the room were Argus, Sybill, and Hermione. Since his approach was passing the caretaker on his way out of the Great Hall, Severus found himself nearly alone with the object of his interest.

There was an odd moment when the older man actually winked at the Headmaster, but he couldn't for the life of him fathom why. Twitching a quick and confused smile back at his longtime colleague, Severus continued forward and looked back to the Head Table.

Hermione had not seen him yet, so he took his time watching her as he approached. She glanced to the Divination professor, who had apparently appropriated Hermione's traditional seat. Granted, it had only been hers for a few weeks and it had been Sybill's beforehand, so that was likely where the confusion lay.

His eyes were drawn back to the younger woman by an errant beam of sunlight fabricated by the enchanted ceiling.

Her hair was pulled up and away from her neck, which gave him a lovely view of the elegant wings of her clavicles above the rounded collar of her gray muggle sheath dress. She quietly sat and read a garishly jacketed book that, once he rounded the back of the table and approached behind her, he could see was a book about - what else, but runes.

He approached the table and nodded his head to Professor Trelawney absently. She was muttering under her breath about the tea leaves in her cup, anyway, so no real contact was necessary. He shook his head at the fuzzy-headed fortune teller and focused back on the young Ancient Runes professor.

Smiling, he considered his ritual of leaning down behind her. Should he do it again? What had she thought of the scene she witnessed on Friday? Was she engrossed in her book because she found it fascinating, or because she wanted to ignore him?

Remembering his resolve to be himself, only 'interested', he decided to act as if nothing had changed and bent to greet her. He took a breath as he got closer, and the heady fragrance of her bath, fresh and clean and reminiscent of honeyed pastries, rose to greet him. He swallowed the scent with relish and spied the title of the book she was reading in the small header script at the top of the page.

"The Galdrabók: An Icelandic Book of Magic. Fascinating. Muggle?"

He'd unfortunately been too occupied with the impression he was trying to make to notice he'd chosen to speak just as she was sipping her tea. In her surprise, she inhaled and choked, coughing madly to keep from drowning in drink and trying desperately not to spit the beverage all over the table. Flustered, Severus pulled her chair out so she could bend over to cough out, snatched the cup and book out of her hand, placing them out of the way on the table. Shoving the book safely out of the way of any spilled tea, he then bent to catch her eyes.

"Hermione, my apologies! Can you breathe? Are you alright?"

Her face was reddened and a vein stood out on her forehead, but she nodded and placed her hand on the edge of the table to steady herself as she bent over. Severus cast a few drying charms and conjured a handkerchief to press into her hands before reaching up to tentatively rub his palm across her upper back. She finally seemed to calm her coughing fit and patted her face with his kerchief. As she slowly started sitting up, he remained kneeling in front of her and his hand slid from her back to her arm.

They stared at each other as her coloring returned to normal and he found himself reaching up to gently push loose curls out of her face. His normally warm hands were cool against her heated skin. The calloused pads of his long fingers slowed down and caressed the pliant silk of her small cheek, his thumb taking its own leave to ply the corner of her mouth, searching out its own little secrets.

Trelawney was remembered, yet still distracted with her tea leaves, but the moment was made awkward. He pulled his hand away from her face, but not before noticing that Hermione might very well have leaned into it. Was it his imagination that saw the loss in her eyes as he stood up and brushed the floor from his trousers?

Hermione coughed lightly with the handkerchief pressed to her mouth, but kept her honey-chrysoberyl eyes focused on him. His brows knitted and he asked again, "Are you alright?"

She cleared her throat a few times before getting her 'yes, thank you' out roughly, but her smile faltered at the arrival of a newcomer into the Great Hall.

Straightening away from Hermione, Severus bowed slightly to her and turned to take his seat in the middle of the table as the interloper swished her petticoats towards them. Tres-Cerise/Lucius was in a completely different style outfit this day, looking younger and more flirtatious in an Edwardian day costume that let her use a corset to ruthless efficiency. Severus knew by experience that Lucius loved to tight-waist, so was not surprised at the ease with which Tres-Cerise navigated the long walk to the High Table in such a contraption.

He glanced to Hermione to see her reaction and her previously reddened face, which had settled into a lovely peaches-and-cream flush, was now wan and pale by comparison. Tres-Cerise continued her saunter and determinedly took the only seat left between the two of them. Severus rolled his eyes away from the Histories professor, but quickly glanced back to see Hermione's reaction.

By the time his eyes found her again, past the ridiculous pile of hair Lucius had piled atop his head, she'd returned her attention to her book and started eating again.

Tres-Cerise would have nothing of being ignored and gave a conspiratorial wink before stating, "Professor Snape, you simply must introduce me to this lovely young woman, here." She smirked at Severus who momentarily narrowed his eyes, but leaned forward to perform his politesse.

"Professor Granger, Professor Trelawney, this is Miss Tres-Cerise Malfoy, our new History of Magic Professor."

Sybill ignored them all and kept muttering into her tea. Just what had she put in that tea, anyway? He made a mental note to check with the elves about securing the cooking sherry.

Tres-Cerise, of course, looked on with confident superiority and bowed her head to the younger woman, but Hermione appeared to have taken to choking again. Severus began rising from his chair, but she saw and waved him back, clearing her throat as quietly as she could. "No, I'm fine, it was just the tea from before. Professor Malfoy, pleasure."

From the tone of her voice and the slightly perturbed twist of her lips, he was sure she was anything but pleased to meet the older 'woman', but before he could read too much into it, she'd softened her expression into a smile.

Tres-Cerise smiled back and turned to her plate as it filled with breakfast fare, keeping up a stream of casual conversation as she ate.

"Now, Hermione… I may call you Hermione, right?" She barely waited for a nod to continue, "Thank you. I see from your book that you are a true professional that takes her subject seriously. I find that refreshing. I mean, there are certain professors that have taught here, and certainly the one that came before you, that seemed to rest on their own laurels, as it were. No attempt to further their knowledge in their chosen field."

Severus looked at Tres-Cerise as if she'd lost her mind. He'd never heard Lucius be this… this chatty, at least in public. Perhaps this was the change in him from Lucius to Tres-Cerise? Was he more able to speak freely without the weight of being Lucius? It posed an interesting question he should likely think upon, but his attention was drawn back to Tres-Cerise. She was leaning forward slightly to try and engage Hermione in discussion, but Hermione seemed to be trying to ignore her. His eyes flew back in alarm to his old friend at his next statement.

"I also see that you choose to dress in a muggle fashion. Making a statement, are we? I'm sure that keeping a professional appearance is of utmost importance at such a pre-eminent school as Hogwarts. One should never appear slovenly in such a position of power."

What in blue blazes was she gabbing on about? Was she trying to insult Hermione? He flicked a light stinging hex at her to catch her attention, but he was ignored.

"Don't you agree, Headmaster? I'm sure you've considered very well what it means to be a professional female in a teaching position at this school. She should be a paragon, a font of wisdom in her field, a beauteous reminder of the pinnacle able to be achieved with application and study." This was delivered with a lifted fork, as if it were a torch to the world and Tres-Cerise was reciting a great soliloquy on stage. The vein on Hermione's forehead started pulsating, again.

Severus tried another tactic to stop what was quickly becoming a train wreck. "Professor, put your fork down. This isn't a pub."

Tres-Cerise shot an irritated glance back at Severus and lowered her fork, but kept on with the monologue. Hermione very determinedly turned a page. Loudly.

"I, for one, feel gratified to be chosen for such an esteemed position, and I choose to show it with my appearance-"

This was getting out of hand and Severus was desperate to stop it. He shot a slightly stronger stinging hex at her shoulder, but he was once again ignored.

"-A true lady takes care to look her best at all times, don't you think, Hermione?" Tres-Cerise leaned slightly forward to try to gain the younger woman's attention, but she was only spared a glance and another page-turn. She sallied forth, "We shouldn't take advantage of our positions and just dress as we please-"

Severus was growing more agitated, and was nearly certain Lucius was insulting Hermione whether he'd intended to or not. He needed to stop Tres-Cerise from talking, but what could he do?

"-or even rest on our own laurels, so to speak." She paused long enough to take another breath, but soon enough, Tres-Cerise looked to take up the soapbox again. Before she could say anything, Severus panicked and kicked her in the ankle.

"Severus!", she squeaked back at him, and both Hermione and Sybill looked at the two of them incredulously.

His cheeks were likely the color of the tomatoes on his plate, but he grumbled back to Tres-Cerise, "Cease your prattling and let the staff eat in peace, Professor Malfoy."

Sybill returned to her toast and tea, and after a few moments, he saw Hermione slowly return to her book. Dammit. He'd drawn more attention to the situation than he should have and goaded Tres-Cerise into revealing their first name basis before it was acceptable. Now it was obvious that they'd known each other before. What would she think now? She'd stopped turning pages, so either she was re-reading from being distracted, or she'd stopped reading because she was upset.

Tres-Cerise blithely picked up her chatter after a few bites, "This is simply delicious. Are you quite finished with the pepper, Professor Snape?"

He picked up the pepper mill and nearly slammed it down next to her hand.

She looked up at him in confusion. "Thank you," she'd said in a wary tone. Good. Perhaps she now realized what kind of damage she might have done.

The table was quiet for several minutes, and Severus had just started eating again when Pomona ambled into the Great Hall. She was quiet and walking with her eyes half closed, but as soon as she made it close enough to ascertain a new person at the table, her eyes opened wide and she squealed in delight.

"Oh, you must be the new Histories Professor!"

Pomona sat in the empty seat between Hermione and Trelawney, effectively trapping the young witch next to Tres-Cerise. The Hufflepuff leaned forward around Hermione and gushed, "Do tell me all about yourself. You look absolutely charming in that dress. What's your name, dear?"

Lucius sounded entirely too pleased to have someone that wanted to talk to him. "Good morning. Please, call me Tres-Cerise-"

Hermione made some sort of snuffling noise, which she quickly apologized for and stood to take her leave.

When everyone at the table looked at her in surprise, she pled, "Pardon me, I'm just going to my rooms to try and rest out my coughing fit. Please enjoy your breakfast. Good morning."

The Hufflepuff Head of House was true to her character in becoming immediately concerned for Hermione, and asked what Severus felt he could not. "Hermione, are you alright? Poppy should be back this afternoon, should you need her."

"Sorry, Pro- ahem, Pomona. I'll be fine, I'm sure." Hermione smiled in turn to everyone but as soon as her smile turned to Tres-Cerise, it faltered. She reached up to press Severus' handkerchief to her mouth and left.

Severus couldn't be bothered to pay attention after that. It was like the sun had left the room. He looked up at the enchanted ceiling and saw clouds rolling in. Was it, perhaps, foretelling the tone of the school year?

So distracted was he that he missed the part where Pomona curled a conniving smile at the new Histories Professor and crooned as she scooted over into her normal chair, "Lucius Malfoy, you delightful person, you. This is going to be a banner year, and I'm completely looking forward to it."

Tres-Cerise cackled in delight that her newfound coworker quickly realized the situation and planned to join in the fun.

Banner year, indeed.

.o.

Hermione made it almost to the staircase before she spurted laughter from behind her hand. She'd been holding Severus' handkerchief over her mouth to try and reign in her outburst in the Great Hall, and as soon as she felt safely out of earshot, she let out a graceless snort.

This had to be some kind of joke. She'd heard some pretty obnoxious names in the magical world, but 'Tres-Cerise Malfoy' just had to take the cake. If she played with it just a little, it roughly translated to 'Very-Cherry Bad Fairy'.

It sounded like a stage name, not a Hogwarts' professor's name. That and Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that she'd met Miss Malfoy before. Perhaps she just looked like an older, feminine version of Draco? She shook her head and thought back, past the vaguely offensive monologue of Hogwarts' new drama queen, back to her own coughing episode.

And Severus.

His reaction was… stunning. She'd been partially focused on reading her book, but she'd known when he came in the Hall. Hermione had a feeling she'd always know when he entered a room, now. There was just something electric about him that charged up her spine like a tuning fork. He'd walked straight past Professor Trelawney - Sybill - who had taken Hermione's seat this morning, to her consternation. She couldn't bear the thought of sitting right next to the older woman, so she had taken Pomona's seat, hoping the Hufflepuff would be late to breakfast, but that had put her only two seats away from the Headmaster's chair.

As he got closer, she held still, wondering what he would do. Would he act any differently? Would he say anything about what she'd seen Friday last in his office? Her mouth grew incredibly parched, so she'd taken a very shaky sip of tea, but he'd leaned down behind her and spoke in that amazing, gravelly baritone. She'd inhaled while trying to swallow and ended up choking on her tea. Before she'd known it, she was facing him, her hands were emptied… and his hand was soothing her back.

It was such an intimate thing to do, by comparison to his usual lack of touch, that she was almost instantly shocked into calm. Her face felt wet and red, but he'd thoughtfully cast a drying charm and handed her his handkerchief. She patted her face dry and coughed a few times more, but the look of genuine concern on his face was enthralling.

Even more amazing was his hand coming up to brush her hair out of her face. It was likely an absolute mess after bending over in a fit, but he just gently swept it away and held his hand at her cheek.

His hand was cool and dry, and she felt the calloused thumb play with the corner of her mouth.

It was enchanting. If she hadn't been in love with him before, she would be now, that was for certain.

Smiling to herself as she reached her quarters on the fourth floor, she remembered the look of irritation on his face when she'd looked back at him from seeing Miss Malfoy enter the room. His entire face hardened, much like the old Professor Snape she'd known as a student.

It was one more puzzle piece that told her that, regardless of Miss Malfoy's casual address, Severus was not interested in the older woman.

When she'd finagled an introduction out of him, Tres-Cerise nodded over to Hermione as if she were the Queen of Sheba, entitled to every right of privilege. If her name hadn't been absolutely ridiculous enough, that attitude surely was. She was a Malfoy, if ever Hermione had met one.

The portrait to her quarters smiled in return for the password, letting her through without even a bark from her portrait-mate. She closed the door behind her and flopped down on her yellow chintz sofa, throwing her arm over her eyes and grinning at the supercilious speech Miss Malfoy had given on a professional woman's appearance.

Severus had looked ready to spit nails to get her to stop. It was all rather funny, and she wondered if she should make her way casually up to visit the Headmaster before lunch. She knew he had a ten o'clock meeting with Professor Malfoy, but reviewing syllabus outlines wouldn't take very long, would it?

She could sneak up to his office, and lean down behind his chair. She could even be brave enough to nibble his earlobe after the intimacy of this morning… couldn't she? Her nose scrunched in doubt as she lifted his folded handkerchief to her mouth again, playing the soft linen on her lips.

It smelled of green, grassy things and new parchment.

She rolled her eyes, and smiled.

.o.

Severus ran his hand over his face and tried to explain, "Lucius-"

"Tres-Cerise," she corrected.

He paused, "Whatever your name is," then glared at his old friend as he sat at his desk while she played with the hem of her skirts. "You're being ridiculous. I don't need to see your magical tucking panties, and I certainly don't need to try them on!"

Tres-Cerise stopped pulling up her petticoats to twist her face in revulsion. "For Merlin's Sake, Severus, that's unhygienic! I wouldn't share my gaff with you. I'll just conjure a new pair from home for you to try on."

Merlin, why was she so fixated on this? "No! And put your skirt down! This is the Headmaster's office, not a burlesque."

Her tone was playful, "You can't imagine how comfortable they are." Still the skirts rose. He saw curvy legs encased in soft white stockings, and looked away.

Dropping his hands from his face to lean on the desk in exasperation, he returned, "How is magically erasing your manhood in any way comfortable?"

"It's not erasing, it's hiding. Think about it. No balls catching or pinching as you sit down. No awkward shifting in your trousers. No embarrassing erections being found out… Honestly, I can't imagine not wearing them, now."

Now, there was a reason that caught Severus' attention. He'd had the distinct issue of having to hide his rather evident reactions to Hermione these past several weeks, and it was nearly tempting enough to be able to circumvent that, but it still bothered him. The restriction sounded horrible. "That's all fine, well, and good for you… but not for me."

"You don't know until you try it," she sang.

Severus looked back at Tres-Cerise, and shouldn't have been shocked, but he was. There she stood, holding her skirts up over her waist, twisting back and forth so he could see the flattening garment in a beige vee between her legs.

He blushed deeply and turned away, shaking his head. "I said no." It sounded like his protestations were becoming weak, even to his ears.

Tres-Cerise knew when she'd won. Her blonde eyebrows waggled in temptation, "Just once?"

Said the spider to the fly. He glared at the blonde and she danced her skirts back and forth, showing off the gaff in full view of every portrait in the room.

Most of the portrait inhabitants had already fled, but a few stayed behind to get a good look before discreetly shifting out of view. Albus and Phineas took the longest to leave, and he knew they'd likely stick their noses in when next he was alone. Tres-Cerise pointed a leg out towards Phineas and modeled a bit more flamboyantly. The former Slytherin Headmaster actually leered as he caught Severus' gimlet eye, and left.

That alone was embarrassing enough. "Fucking hell, what will it take to shut you up about this?"

A triumphant grin spread across her face, telling Severus what he needed to know.

"Fine," he capitulated. "Just this once, and if I ever hear about this again, I'll know who to murder."

"Yes!" She crowed, "Fantastic. Just a moment-" Whipping out her wand from her cleavage with a saucy wink, she conjured a soft handful of cloth with serged edges. As she handed them over to Severus, she said, "Now, just pull them on as you would your pants-"

"I think I can figure that part out," he interjected with a sardonic eyebrow. Before suffering the indignity of what he was about to do, he pulled out his own wand and changed the color of the gaff to a shining, satiny black. After he reseated his wand in its holster up his sleeve, he held out the oddly proportioned knickers to get a better view of just what he was getting into.

He let out a heavy sigh and bent at the waist, shoving one leg at a time through the leg holes.

Tres-Cerise giggled, "Is it worth asking you to take your trousers off?"

Severus glared up at her, which should have been enough of an answer in itself. She really shouldn't press her luck.

Thankfully, she capitulated, "Alright. Well, I suppose they'll work over, just as well."

He resumed pulling the knickers up over his trousers.

She shifted forward hesitantly, looking to lean in and help when he got stuck mid-thigh. "No, here, let me help you, your coat tail is stuck… wait… almost-"

"What in the world?"

The distinct, clearly feminine voice startled both of them into snapping their heads around to look to the door.

No.

Oh, dear Merlin, no.

Blood rushed to his face, then back out again; his cheeks tingled and he felt slightly faint. This looked horrible, he was sure. He stood up, and tried to step back from Tres-Cerise, who was busy shoving her skirts back into place from where they'd not fully fallen down. Had she seen that detail? Did he look like he was wearing women's underwear?

He jerked his head, looking between Hermione and Tres-Cerise. The latter had a very contemplative expression, but the former was looking back and forth with a face that surely was either horrified or shocked.

Hermione's gaping mouth snapped shut. "Nevermind, then."

She turned on her heels, and almost made it back around the door when Severus' brain finally kicked into gear. He desperately called out, "Oh for fuck's sake, Hermione! Hermione stop!"

She did, but only to look back over her shoulder and reply, "No, I think you two need to figure out what you're doing before I come back."

He growled, and returned, "We are not doing anything."

Tres-Cerise laughed. She fucking laughed!

Both of Hermione's eyebrows shot to her hairline, but before she could say anything, the instigator of this whole mess piped up with an entirely too cheerful tone. "Well, you are trying on my undergarments."

He glared at the betrayer. "Lucius, you are not helping!"

"What?"

That was Hermione. Oh, Christ, he'd let Lucius' secret slip, but damn it to hell, he couldn't muster up any regret for all the trouble Tres-Cerise had caused him.

Hermione looked fascinated, and stepped back into the room. "Lucius?" She was clearly asking for confirmation, but Tres-Cerise preened. She fucking preened!

Severus had had enough of this and gritted his teeth. "Yes, Lucius. He's decided to cross-dress, and says he enjoys it, but I think he's really just trying to make my life miserable."

"Severus, that hurts."

"Then loosen your corset, you wazzock! What do you think you've been doing to me? Every time I make headway with Hermione, you find some ungodly way to bollocks it up!"

Tres-Cerise's husky laughter irritated him immensely. He tried to move to sit down at his desk, but the gaff was in the way. Reaching past his coat tails, he tried to yank down the undergarment, but the tight elastic was pulling against the wool of his trousers, getting stuck.

"Get these blasted things off me if you want to keep them. Three more seconds and they're banished."

"Um, that might not be advisable since you don't know what-all will be banished with it."

He grunted, and his embarrassment clouded his reasoning and balance. His hip caught against the desk, he lost his footing and with a painful crack, and he ended up on the floor like some overturned beetle. He was merely thankful to the loyal castle for enlarging the wool rug under his desk to catch him.

This was it. He was going to die of shame, undone by a pair of men's knickers.

He dropped all his limbs to the floor in defeat, and groaned, "Get out. Just… get out."

A blonde pile of hair disappeared away from his desk when he opened his eyes, and he heard her move away to the door. She still had an amused lilt to her voice as she called out, "I think I'll leave helping you to Hermione."

"Why, thank you," Hermione warbled back to his ex-friend.

She wasn't leaving? He blinked up to his office ceiling, confused by the shadows the torchlight was throwing across it. His face still burned with humiliation, but his heart was rising in hope.

A shadow came around the corner of his desk, and he looked over to see Hermione peer down at him.

She tilted her head, and asked, "Headway, huh?"

Was she upset? The look in her eye said not, but he wasn't sure. He shrugged his shoulders against the floor and rolled his eyes, beyond any point of pride. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

To his surprise, she smoothly knelt down onto the rug beside him. Apparently, Hogwarts approved, for the rug suddenly became much more soft and cushiony. Just what was the old castle up to?

With a determined air, Hermione deftly pulled the offensive undergarment off his legs and over his boots. Aborting a move to toss them over her shoulder, she looked at the black satin in her hand, back to him with a thoughtful smile, then reached over him to open up the first drawer she could grab and shove them in. When the drawer slid shut, she stayed where she was, on her hands and knees across his prone body.

He was so tempted to just reach out and slide his hand along her waistline, but held his hands out of the way for fear of scaring her off. Her hands walked over to bracket his head, braced on the carpet and some of his hair. He looked up to her, and was fully and completely captivated.

She slowly bent closer to whisper, "What other manners of speaking would apply?"

He chuffed a breath of laughter, reached for one of her hands, and pulled her off balance to drop down onto him. She squeaked a little, but held still, now anticipating his response.

A smile played at the corner of his mouth. "I can think of a few things that might apply."

Her lips curled into an indulgent smile. "Do I need to interview for this application?"

He regarded her for a few moments, completely in love with the open admiration in her eyes. He knew then that she was in this as well, and - it seemed - nearly as deeply as him. His hands slid up to hold the sides of her head as he lifted to meet her face with his. His hands tingled with untapped magic.

"You've already got the job," he said, just before meeting her lips with his for the first time.

His mind spun away as he lost himself to the dizzying heights of finally kissing Hermione.

.o.

Argus and Pomona were waiting for Tres-Cerise as she sauntered down the Headmaster's staircase.

The Herbology professor was the first to break. "Well? Did it work?"

The caretaker interrupted, "O'course it worked. I told you it would. Just look at her face, there's winning all over it."

Pomona didn't give up though, and looked beseechingly to the new Histories professor. Tres-Cerise polished her fingernails on the sleeve of her shirt and flung her hand out in satisfaction. "It worked like a charm."

The older woman laughed. "Trust a Malfoy to pull off a scheme like that."

Argus leaned in around Pomona and asked eagerly, "What are the odds they're gonna do it tonight?"

Tres-Cerise blinked her surprise, then laughed. "I honestly don't know. I tried to stick around to listen outside the door, but they were too quiet to hear, so I left."

"They'd better not!", cried Pomona. "I've got twenty galleons on tomorrow being the big night!"

"I'm sorry, my dear, I honestly-" The blonde broke off as a loud series of shouts rang down from atop the stairs, and the entire castle rumbled and shook. Two of the three co-conspirators looked at each other in confusion before rushing up the flight to the Headmaster's office. Argus had a smirk on his face and pulled up the rear, patting the walls. Tres-Cerise beat them both and deftly opened the door to stick her head in, but then pulled sharply back as the door closed itself in her face.

She stared at the door, then looked to her co-workers in bewilderment.

Pomona recovered first. "Well? What's going on? Are they trying to kill each other?"

Tres-Cerise smirked as she finally registered what little bit she'd seen. "Well, they're certainly aiming for a little death!"

"Wha-No!" She slapped her hand to the door. "You stop that this instant! You're not supposed to have sex until tomorrow!"

Tres-Cerise laughed at her antics. "I don't think they'll hear you, now."

Argus crowed with glee, "Ooooh-hoo-hoo! Ante-up, Hufflepuff! I win! I win! Minerva's gonna have kittens! Haha!"

The older pair made their way back down the stairs, but Miss Malfoy stayed behind. As another chorus of lovemaking reached her ears, she peered down to the gargoyle to make sure they had left before reaching for the door handle again. Before she could grasp the handle, however, the door unlatched itself and slowly crept back open a few inches.

Tres-Cerise smiled and caressed the doorframe. This castle seemed to know what she was about, and seemed to agree that there was nothing like a good bout of voyeurism to cap off the night!

The… end?

THE MOST IMPORTANT NOTE! Gender is obviously in question for a large part of this story for Lucius/Tres-Cerise. It is not my intention to insult or demean the issue of gender roles or transgenderism. This is a story, and I am trying to stay in the character's heads. In this story, I think Severus knows very well that his friend Lucius is sexually curious from past encounters, and has seen him in women's clothing before. There is a VERY large degree of difference between dressing as the opposite gender and realizing that you have an incorrect gender assignment. Lucius is at a crossroads in his life where he is exploring what it means to be the gender he wasn't assigned and still hasn't fully realized that he can be gender fluid. In this story, I feel that's where he's headed. Severus also has a hard time, after knowing this person for somewhere around forty years, changing the personal pronoun use in his head. I think this is something not uncommon when faced with someone exploring their gender expression. All of this is meant with respect, so if I've misstepped somehow, please let me know. :)

Daghrise vs Degrees - forgive me. That is my own bastardization of a rune translation, one I would have easily made if I were stressed and tired, just to be a little bit spiteful and to make sure someone on the other end was paying attention. There is "some" merit to the "mistranslation": daghrise is roughly translated to the distance one can travel in a sun's course.

WVD - you know if it's a muggle-derived wizarding tech, Arthur's gonna have it.

Avocado porn - not the green fruit you get in deconstructivist hippie breakfast joints. Here, avocado (according to urban dictionary online) refers to "a homosexual who is indiscernibly gay. Because avacados are fruits, but do not look or taste much like fruits, the term is applied to gay people who do not fit the 'Will & Grace' stereotypes". In this instance, I'm using it to say that Ron enjoys his homosexuality but does not appear in public to be homosexual. In no way am I trashing gay porn ;)

Suleiman Babbling - Bathsheda means Murmur, but her name always makes me think Bathsheba, who gave birth to Solomon. An alternative spelling to Solomon is Suleiman (means man of peace). I decided that having a random brother was easier than having a random child. Interesting note: Suleiman the Magnificent was the 10th ruler of the Ottoman Empire and was considered an extremely learned man.

Interview questions. They were pulled directly from several sites with questions on interviewing teachers.

Classroom and Office locations - there are no notes on any of JKR's maps or movie maps that state exactly where the AR classrooms or offices are. There doesn't seem to be a necessity for the offices to be next to the classrooms (just convenient in some ways). I've chosen what I did arbitrarily. Sue me )

Cock-a-licky soup - LOL rather a weird reference to the result from giving a blow job (aka pearl necklace, aka bukake) play on words from Cock-a-leekie soup. It's a Scottish soup dish consisting of leeks and peppered chicken stock, often thickened with rice, or sometimes barley. The original recipe added prunes during cooking, and traditionalists still garnish with a julienne of prunes. (pulled from wikipedia, meh) also, LOL: prunes. ;)

Ado vs Adieu. The actual term is "without further ado", popularly from Shakespeare meaning without any further action or speech. I like the play on words to make it also mean that she left without saying goodbye. (shrugs)

Limerence is a state of mind which results from a romantic attraction to another person and typically includes obsessive thoughts and fantasies and a desire to form or maintain a relationship with the object of love and have one's feelings reciprocated. (cite: Wikipedia, go sue me) You probably knew this. I did not.

Hermione's portrait door. 1782 Lady Hamilton (as Nature) by George Romney. Lovely English painting.

Grandmother Lobelia Malfoy - made up, sorry. I was watching Ouran Host Club just before writing that scene, so Lobelia was fresh on my mind (Lo-be-liaaaaa! LOL)

Georgian Era Gilflurt - Gilflurt means "A proud minks, a vain capricious woman," Definition taken from The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, originally by Francis Grose. Georgian Era is the time in which the term was most commonly used, and also refers to Tres-Cerise's mode of dress when we first meet her.

"Hist" - archaic exclamation to bring attention to something or to call for silence.

"Pull the door to" Obviously when you pull a door to, you pull it until it is closed or nearly so. The Oxford English Dictionary gives numerous examples from 1673 on.

The Galdrabók: An Icelandic Book of Magic by Stephen E. Flowers, PhD - (it's real) The text consists of a substantial topical introduction that covers the history, theory and practice of magic in Iceland in the medieval and early modern periods. This is followed by the translation of the Galdrabok itself with copious explanatory notes. There are also a number of appendices which contain magical material from other Icelandic books of magic as well as spells from other Germanic areas. (summary from Google Books)

The thumb searching out its own little secrets - I always found it charming when someone said you keep your secrets in the corners of your mouth. I'm kind of saying Sev is looking for Hermione's secrets ;)

Soapbox - Hyde Park, London is (apparently) known for its Sunday soapbox orators, who have assembled at Speakers' Corner since 1872 to discuss religion, politics, and other topics.

Gaff - a specially designed undergarment that some people use to hide or tuck the penis, presenting a female appearance of genitalia ;) The basic ones just look like granny panties, but there are many, many kinds and shapes. For this story, I'm choosing to have Tres-Cerise use something that looks like a traditional ladies' panty (bikini, high leg, satin).

Wazzock - according to Buzzfeed, it's one of the "18 Very Sweary British Words You Need to Use Right Now". It is a Northern slang, but I wasn't sure if this was anachronistic, so I looked it up further: "Possibly from wiseacre, influenced by pillock, or possibly wazz + -ock. First attested in the 1984 novel When the Martians Land in Huddersfield by Mike Harding" - Balderdash and Piffle (2010), page 242 (OMG I LOVE THIS WORD!)