The sunlight in Granada was liquid, flowing through windows and dripping off trees like shimmering molten gold. It poured into the fountains that stood sentry in every public square, mixing with the cool water, making it almost too radiant to gaze into. It bathed even the palest traveler's skin in a warm, forgiving glow that would last even after they returned to their normal, unilluminated lives.

Severus Snape was disgusted.

This was all Dumbledore's fault, he seethed, sending him here on the flimsy pretense of stocking up on organic potions ingredients. Snape did not know what sort of drug exactly the Headmaster was on, but he suspected it was also responsible for the appearance of something called "tofu" on the nightly dinner menu. In any case, the Headmaster had appeared at Severus's dungeon rooms and immobilized him in a chair while two of those horrible little house elves had rifled through his drawers and stuffed a suitcase with trousers, shirts, and - Severus flinched - underwear. Dumbledore had, with what Snape privately thought was a rather manic glint in his eye, explained that Severus would be departing for the considerably sunnier climes of Spain in approximately seven minutes. As it was the summer term, his schedule was open, and Peeves had given his solemn word to watch over the dungeons in Snape's absence (oddly, Snape was not much comforted). He was informed in no uncertain terms that he was not to return before Dumbledore instructed; if he did, Dobby would be given free reign to redecorate the dungeon chambers. Just before pushing him into the green flames that filled his fireplace, Dumbledore had slipped a paper into Snape's hand and looked him in the eye. "You need this, Severus. I will not have the man who saved the wold from Voldemort lost to his own melancholy." Then he'd given him a good hard shove, and Severus was hurtling through the network of chimneys, before being unceremoniously deposited on the richly tiled hearth of a small cafe. The proprietor was unfazed, and even offered him a small, stiff-bristled brush in an oddly solemn gesture. Severus rid his clothes of any lingering ash particles with short, sharp strokes, picked up his bag in as dignified a manner as possible, and fairly stalked out of the establishment.

Dumbledore's sheer, unmitigated gall astounded him. Though Severus would be the last man alive to deny the debt he owed the old codger, it certainly did not give him the right to ship a person off on any harebrained scheme he conjured up in his addled mind without so much as a by-your-leave! Perhaps he had been spending more time than usual in the his rooms and labs. What of it? Surely defeating one of the most powerful wizards who ever lived earned a bit of a respite. Not that he had exactly defeated him, per se. No, The Boy Who Lived And Went On To Claim Even More Bloody Worship And Adulation dealt the killing blow, of course. Severus had just kept Potter alive and in one piece until he got the chance to do it. And, of course, it was Potter on the front page of all the newspapers, Potter whom all the reporters and wellwishers wanted to talk to. Not that Snape envied him - if Rita Skeeter had taken even one step in the direction of the dungeons, she'd've been not only hexed into oblivion but lucky that's all he'd done. Snape was quite contect to leave Potter his publicity.

He wouldn't have minded being able to go into the Three Broomsticks for a glass of Firewhisky without having to ignore the whispers and not-quite-covert stares at his left forearm, though. That bit wouldn't, he mused, have been so bad.

If there was an up side to this little... excursion, he thought that was probably it. This area in the south of Spain was largely Muggle; while there were wizarding establishments, such as the one he'd floo'ed into this afternoon, they were few and far between. Here, as long as Severus took pains to dress in Muggle fashion, he would avoid odd looks and whispers. For that, and that alone, he was perhaps a little - a very little, mind you, a truly miniscule amount - grateful to Albus. All in all, however, he thought this was one of the worst ideas Dumbledore had come up with yet. And considering it was Dumbledore he was speaking of, that was really saying quite a lot.

His mood was not improved by the fact that he had no idea what sort of arrangements Dumbledore had made for his accomodations. If he had made any. At the moment all he had was an address. For all he knew, it could've been a drycleaners.

***

It was not, in fact, a drycleaners. It was a magnificent, almost palatial villa set into a massive hill. It looked for all the world as if it had hewn itself from the bedrock, and polished itself into it current state, gleaming immaculately in the sunlight. The front courtyard curved gracefully towards the front door, and held a beautiful fountain with water bubbling and flowing, catching the light and tossing it back, patterning dancing baubles of reflection on every surface. The door itself was intricately carved of thick, dark wood, majestic in its old age - it had clearly presided over the entrance for as long as the villa had been standing. Windows with panes of bubbled, uneven glass flanked the door, and above, a terrace protruded, creating a sheltered nook just beyond the entrance to the house. Plants flourished, foliage lining the walkways and growing everywhere there was a spot of earth to spare. Flowers sprung from every branch, and blooming vines trailed from the terrace railing above. Snape found such blatant displays of color distasteful. He brushed the hanging flowers aside and stepped towards the door. Might as well find out what I'm in for, he supposed, and knocked.

There was a pause of several seconds before his knock was answered, presumably due to the fact that whoever was coming to the door had quite a distance to walk. Severus could see a figure approaching, blurry through the wavy glass of the windows. As it came closer, it grew more clear; he could now see it was a female figure... quite a figure, in fact; softly rounded hips narrowing slightly to a well defined waist. She was clothed in white, wavy honey brown hair shining like a halo above it all.

Perhaps Spain has some virtues to recommend it after all, thought Snape appreciatively.

The the door opened, and whatever vaguely warm thoughts he might've been entertaining crashed down spectacularly around his feet.

"Professor Snape?" Hermione Granger smiled at him. "Welcome to Granada."

--

A/N: This story was inspired by , by Suzanne Vega.

The story is complete; chapters will be posted every few days for the next two to three weeks. I hope you enjoy. Please, if you liked it and especially if you didn't, leave a review. Plot bunnies feed on them, you know.