The Trail of the Black Star

Four hours and a few draughts of Especial del Jefe later, Severus found himself lying on Hermione's bed reciting alchemic equations of questionable relevance while Hermione scribbled half-heartedly in the chair. The rum sat low in his stomach, sending pleasant tendrils of warmth through his body. Now that the blistering heat in his mouth had faded to merely scorching, he glanced at his unlikely partner, who was draped languidly over the chair. Her robe was voluminous enough to cover her upper legs sufficiently, even with both of them flung over the arm of the chair, though her rosy feet and calves dangled free. The potent alcohol did not seem to have affected her much, apart from flushed skin and slightly heavier eyelids.

He was beginning to regret his nap, since it was nearly four in the morning and his energy was showing no sign of flagging. He felt he at least owed lip service to the local time, even if he was to be in it for less than 48 more hours. Hermione, thankfully, showed no sign of tiring, either.

The past hours had been, until recently, relatively industrious. He found himself attacking the problems with vigour. It had been years since he'd felt such enthusiasm for a project- not that he would ever admit it to her. She spent the time revising her notes- no small task- and designing experiments based on them, while he puttered around the lab trying to isolate target substances from the orchid essence. It was not exciting work, but he was skilled enough to make it go swiftly.

This orchid was fundamentally different from the other magical orchids he had worked with on account of its strategy for survival in such harsh environs. Unlike other plants that hoarded water in fleshy leaves or delayed their germination cycles until conditions were more conducive to growth, the orchid lived because its systems had one goal: reproduction. While the plant demonstrated many characteristics of its fellow rock-dwellers, such as delaying CO2 exchange until the sun was down and absorbing moisture from the air, its daring display of magic was its reproductive cycle. Without warning, the plant would literally transform its vestigial reproductive structures, stems, leaves, and roots into a single large and singularly impressive, mobile seed. The seed would roll off in search of more hospitable surroundings to germinate or be lost.

Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket.

Fortunately, his experience with other orchidae afforded him a fair amount of success. A few hours later, he had managed to separate the orchid essence into six unfamiliar compounds by molecular weight. Of these, two of them glowed softly; one red, and one blue.

As he held aloft one glowing red vial, Severus had the feeling that he was looking at one of the more unpleasant compounds. He put the six sets of vials back into the cupboard and went to the kitchen for more coffee.

He found Hermione there, absently brewing what looked like a pot of thick ink. A wooden spoon lay across the pages of the book she was attempting to read while stirring the black mass.

"Pitch?"

"Espresso."

Pitch would have tasted better.

Coffee led to beer, and beer led to the bottle of Especial del Jefe. The rum led to laid-back introspection, and a moment of shock when Hermione's face appeared above his and jarred him from his thoughts. Even had his iron grip on himself not been relaxed by the rum, he would have grimaced. Her curls tickled his lips.

"So did you want a refill on rum or not? If I were Tino, I would have taken your silence for a no, and finished the bottle myself. However, I am not Tino, and I don't want to waste our time together sleeping off a hangover. You've been quiet. Do you want to call it a night? I may stay up a bit longer. I think I've got my third wind. Did you have a chance to have a look at my experiment designs? If so, what do you think we should use as an assay, assuming you've got some idea our mystery compound's structure?"

She said all this very fast. Either that, or he understood it very slow. He pushed her aside and sat up.

"Stop hovering, Miss Granger. The last thing I want to see when I'm trying to think is your face."

"Thank you, Professor." She flounced down next to him on the bed.

He sat up, annoyed with her for finding a buried compliment when he'd meant to be dismissive and even more so with himself for uttering it. "A few sips of alcohol and you're reduced to a prattling schoolgirl," he sneered. "You will have no more tonight."

He snatched the bottle from her hands and began to recork it. Thinking better of it, he refilled his glass before replacing the cork and putting it on a shelf that was out of her reach.

With a flick of her wand, she summoned the bottle and cockily filled her glass a bit fuller than his. What had her liver done to deserve such abuse?

"So, Professor. To what shall we drink?"

The irritating defiant tone was back. He took a hearty swig of his drink and blessed the bracing streak of fire that followed it down his throat.

"To nothing, you silly girl," he snapped, stalking toward her in what he hoped was a menacing manner. Odd. Her floor must be slanted somehow. He reached for her glass, but it wasn't where he expected it to be. He overcorrected, lost his balance and fell unceremoniously on the floor.

She stared at him with a horrified expression on her face, which disintegrated into helpless giggles.

To his horror, her giggles erupted into full-fledged peals of laughter.

For the first time in years, Severus Snape felt his face grow red. He could handle being hated, ignored, and flirted with, but her mirth at his expense made him feel like he was fifteen and the Gryffindor whipping boy again. Long-forgotten taunts rang in his ears, and in his alcohol-fogged and hair-obscured vision, her bushy brown hair mingled with wavy black, and her guileless face twisted into a malicious leer.

His hand flew protectively to his throat, as it felt as if his heart had suddenly taken up residence there, and he stared at the apparition before him. A moment later, his vision cleared, and he got to his feet. He snatched his toilet bag with a shaking hand and headed toward the washroom.

"Severus," she called after him, still giggling, and he paused without turning. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you were hurt. Peace offering? Getting food in your stomach helps with, you know, the balance problem."

She went to the table and tossed the bag of CHUMP at him. Unfortunately, he did not turn in time to see it coming, and it caught him squarely in the nose before falling to the floor.

She stared at the bag on the floor for a moment before collapsing over the back of the chair with laughter. Severus had had enough.

Several guffaws later, she realized that he was staring at her with a contemptuous sneer.

"Were you quite finished, Granger?"

The icy tone brought her to her senses. Her hand was suddenly on his arm, and she was standing very close. "I didn't mean to hit you with the CHUMP, Sir." Her breath was soft and warm on his face. He shook off the observation quickly and focused on getting words out clearly and distinctly.

"Remove your hand."

"I was just thinking when the bag fell on the ground, that I hoped you'd still enjoy the CHUMP, and it suddenly occurred to me that if that happened, you'd be off your CHUMP-"

She trailed off as he yanked his arm from her grasp.

"This drunken display of humour is nearly as disgusting as it is unamusing. I am going to bed, and I suggest you do the same, for the sake of your precious project. Pray that I am still here when you wake up."

She met his eyes for a moment, then lowered hers.

"Perhaps we better call it a night, then, Professor."

"I daresay that's the best idea you've ever had."

His shower was quick and scalding, and it made him a bit light-headed. He also used the last of Hermione's spicy-smelling shampoo out of spite. He was quite distressed to find that his Priam's Peerless Pomade was not in his bag. He hadn't required its use during his brief stay in Lima and at Vidalia's home in Cusco, as cleansing charms made showers during trips impractical and shampooing even more so.

But succumbing to the delights of hot water and petty revenge had a price, and he would have to pay it with fluffy hair unless he could find another solution. Still, he told himself, it was hardly the end of the world. It wasn't as if Granger had never seen frizzy hair before.

He tossed his hair net into the bin, for all the good it did him, and began quietly rummaging through her shelves for hair supplies. He was disappointed to discover a plethora of Muggle items, each more dubious-looking than the next. He first inspected a concoction called "mousse," that he quickly returned to the shelf, figuring the sugar would make his hair sticky. "Hot oil treatment" and "ultra-hold spray" were also summarily tossed aside. Neither looked as if they had seen much use, anyway. He finally decided on something called "leave-in conditioner," which promised to "revitalize" his hair by "nourishing it with essential vitamins and minerals."

While combing it through his hair, Severus contemplated informing Hermione that hair is, by definition dead. However, that would have involved speaking to her.

However, she was asleep by the time he emerged from the washroom, limbs tossed haphazardly on top of the covers, snoring softly. She had transfigured the chair into a single bed for his use. He was most annoyed with himself that he had half expected to repeat the afternoon's sleeping arrangements, though, this time, with no interruption by Tino. Well, so much the better, he thought to himself as he settled into bed.

In spite of Granger, he was enjoying himself far more as Severus Snape on this trip than as Johnson Palmer on any of his others. The last thing he wanted was for it to turn into the next of his books.

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In Severus' experience, alcohol, in any quantity larger than a couple of drinks was best slept off. However, the shriek of breached magical wards an hour later left him very little choice in the matter.

He leaped unsteadily out of bed and lit his wand. Hermione was attempting to shove the pillow into her ears, and he considered doing the same but for the rush of adrenalin that accompanied the blaring wards. He shook her shoulder until she emerged, albeit with a few muttered words that would have made a curse breaker blush.

They both stumbled out of the tent into a small crowd of sleepy-looking people who were milling about the fire pit. The sun was just beginning to lighten the edge of the eastern sky, and the air was still cold, which made Severus' head ache.

One shivering girl in a satin chemise approached Hermione. She had to yell to be heard over the blaring wards.

"What's going on? Where's Tino?" The flat vowels indicated some sort of American upbringing, though it was not an area with which Severus was familiar.

Hermione gave the slightest of winces at the girl's loud voice. Heh. Served her right. "I don't know what's happened, Brittany," she yelled back. "I only just got here myself. Tino's on dragon duty tonight. What time is it?"

The girl put one hand on her hip. "Hello? Does it look like I'm wearing a watch?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and wandered off behind her tent.

The girl's eyes fell on Severus, and she began raking her fingers through her hair with seeming nonchalance. Severus' stomach sank, partially because she was very obviously about to speak with him, and partially because the cover of the book in her hand featured a familiar improbably endowed couple sprawled across a piano- his third book, Fantasy Impromptu.

Fortunately, at that moment Hermione managed to silence the wards, and the girl was lost in the crowd of people that bombarded Hermione with questions.

She spread her hands for silence.

"Honestly, don't you people pay any attention at meetings?"

Silence.

"Well, one of you at least remembered to check the periphery for stunned intruders, right?"

Somewhat nervous shuffling of feet. The girl in the skimpy nightdress waved a hand derisively in the air. Either that or she was drying her nails. "'Scuse me, Hermione, but isn't that what Tino is supposed to here for?"

Hermione matched the girl's false courtesy, but with far less concealed venom. "No, Brittany. Tino is supposed to be here to research dragons. We're all responsible for camp security. That's why he told us all how to disarm the wards. I don't know about all of you, but I want to be able to sleep when I get back to bed." She lit her wand and stomped off toward the edge of the camp.

A few of the group followed suit. Few others returned to their tents. Brittany did neither. Fuming, she turned to Severus.

"The nerve of that know-it-all! Who died and left her in charge?"

Severus, torn between agreeing with her assessment and disdain for the girl's choice of reading matter, shrugged noncommittally.

"If she's not bitching at us about one thing, it's another. Can you blame us for not listening when she explained the ward thing? We call her 'Professor' when she's not around." The conspiratorial facade fell as she surveyed Severus with a practiced eye. "You came out of her tent, but you can't possibly be the Professor's new student. There's no way a man like you could be interested in her. So what brings you here?"

"I can assure you that my business with Miss Granger is entirely professional, and, thankfully, of short duration."

"So the Professor's interest in you is only academic?" She sounded doubtful. Severus saw no reason to be explicit.

"That's what I was led to believe."

Severus pinpointed the moment that the child-sized puzzle pieces of the girl's mind clicked together to form a picture eerily similar to the one that graced the cover of her book. Perhaps he wouldn't have to invent his next book after all. He certainly wouldn't mind a break from that intolerable woman and her intolerable project. He conducted a brief survey of Brittany's topography. Far from his worst, certainly.

"That seems like such a waste of your... talents," she purred, taking a step closer to Severus. "I hope the Professor'll let you have some time for your own enjoyment."

Her tactics were sub average, but her breasts were really quite extraordinary. No need to discourage her just yet.

He allowed his voice to drop an octave. "Really, my dear, what makes you think that Miss Granger is the Professor in charge of the lessons?"

It took her a moment to process this. "So you're the... Principal?" Suitably breathy, another step forward. The effects of the cold temperature on her were delightfully prominent.

"I prefer 'Headmaster.'"

She chuckled throatily and looked up through her eyelashes at him. "Then perhaps the Headmaster might have the time to deal with an especially naughty pupil?"

Good lord, had she memorized every awful line from La Belle Dame of the Golden West? Appalling! He wanted to stop. He wanted to snap at her and send her huffing back to her tent, but instead, he hovered over the junction of her shoulder and neck. She smelled of gardenia and eucalyptus. The words came of their own volition.

"Now, what could such a sweet little girl have done to merit the Headmaster's attention?"

She managed to push her chest even higher as she clasped her hands behind her back. This was a familiar role for her, as vaguely disturbing as the idea was. He quickly shook off thoughts of anyone attempting to seduce Dumbledore in a similar fashion.

"Why Headmaster, you know what I've done."

His lips were centimetres from her ear. "Why don't you refresh my memory?"

She didn't need much encouragement. Thankfully, her eager pupil act was far better than her naughty schoolgirl. Her mouth was sweet, her fingers were rubbing his scalp, and her foot was running up and down the back of his leg. He felt her back arch, and he deepened the kiss, pressing the full length of his body against hers. Pleasant give and take, excellent command of the embouchure. Perhaps she'd taken more from the book than just the bad lines. She pulled her mouth from his and whispered hoarsely in his ear.

"I'm burning."

Severus chuckled. "So am I, my dear. Which is your tent?"

"No, like, I mean, 'I'm burning!'" She yanked herself from his embrace and began vigorously rubbing her mouth and tongue with her hand and then her forearm. Her voice was growing increasingly higher.

"What the hell did you do to me?" She was flapping her hand in distress. "Oh my God, make it stop!"

Severus swore. "It must be remnants of the native pepper I had earlier. You can counteract it with milk-"

She wrinkled her nose. "Don't you brush your teeth? And I let you kiss me? And where the hell am I supposed to find milk? There aren't any cows in this stupid jungle!"

Severus had had enough. "Do you or do you not have a wand? Or did I overestimate your abilities?"

Her eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed. "You asshole! You and that bitch deserve one another." She flounced back to her tent, still fanning her dangling tongue with her hands. Pity about the breasts.

Still, it was disconcerting. His seductions never went awry. Never. They were always the same, down to the last scented candle. So what had gone wrong?

Granger, that's what.

Granger and her stupid plans, her foul liquor, and her inadequate hair products. Thanks to her, he was now suffering from a condition he hadn't had since he was seventeen: frustrated lust.

He yanked his cloak across his front to conceal the evidence of his failed rendezvous and surveyed the camp surreptitiously. Thankfully, nobody appeared to have witnessed the scene. But when he slunk uncomfortably back into Hermione's tent, he found, with minimal grappling in the darkness, that his bed had been banished and his belongings shoved into the corner.

Oh.

She must have witnessed the beginning of the scene, but not the end.

Cheeks burning, he slid into the opposite side of her bed, shifting the mattress as little as possible. He lay with his back to her, and was mildly surprised when she snuggled her sleep-warm body closer to his. He was even more surprised to feel what was distinctly a caress on his posterior. He twitched violently away from the hand.

Was she asleep? Did she think he was someone else?

"Hermione?"

No response.

He pulled his body to the precipitous edge of the bed, away from her and her invasive hands.

Sleep was fitful.

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