Dual apprentice Hermione Granger walks in on the new Muggle Studies professor and the headmaster sparring. The new Muggle Studies professor, who happens to be the headmaster's nephew, notices the witch isn't eyeing him with interest but the headmaster instead. He, of course, does what he can to ensure his uncle and his friend connect.
CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape, Robert Balboa Jr.
DATE STARTED: August 2023
STATUS: Complete
WORD COUNT: 6,200
FEEDBACK: Please, I can't write better without it.
NOTES: This is a silly idea that came to me as I was trying to think of something quick I could write. You do not have to be overly familiar with the Rocky film franchise. Just know that Robert is his son and Rocky's wife, Adrian, died January 2002.

Hermione huffed slightly at the Room of Requirement's … resistance to her request. The door was there. It just wouldn't open for her right away.

Eventually it did, and she gave a startled gasp when she realized the apparent reason for that resistance.

She wasn't the only one with the idea of using the Room at this moment in time.

She almost turned around to leave, feeling both as if she was intruding and that the Room had let her in by mistake.

Except, there, in the corner opposite the boxing ring that was currently occupied by the new for the 2002-2003 school year Muggle Studies professor and Hogwarts' headmaster was an area with weights and things. Whether it was for the two wizards or for her, she wasn't sure. It was what she wanted today, though. She wasn't going to give a bodybuilder a run for their money, but winters at Hogwarts could be long. And the food could be exceptionally good. And rich. So, exercise was paramount. She didn't get as much naturally with her role as apprentice as she had as a student either.

She eyed the two men, neither of whom seemed to notice they'd been intruded upon.

Should she stay? Should she go?

Other than while he was at St. Mungo's, she wasn't sure she'd ever seen the headmaster dressed so casually. He was forty-three now, but the shorts and tank top he wore revealed a rather nice physique. He wasn't hugely muscle-bound, but he was fit and toned. Hugely muscle-bound would look strange on him. He really was built to be exactly what he was: tall, thin, lanky, and yet still defined. Clearly capable in not just punching his opponent, but blocking the jabs aimed at him.

The other professor. Their newest addition to the staff. Well, he was nice looking, too. There was, now that she thought about it, a bit of a … similarity between them. She didn't have occasion to observe them together like this. They rarely interacted at the head table. They were not identical or anything, but their features were definitely somewhat alike.

Not overly unusual since Professor Robert Balboa was Severus Snape's nephew. (That was apparently news to everyone, not just Hermione. She had never once found any information about him having a brother. Evidently, Robert's father had been put up for adoption. In the United States. So, she didn't feel totally incapable that she hadn't uncovered that nugget of information back when she'd been researching him.)

Surprisingly to most observers, if they were given the opportunity to say something, it wasn't the younger wizard that Hermione found herself looking at with interest. He was definitely nice looking, and very nice. She'd been a bit … flattered he'd been a bit flirty with her back in August and September. They'd fallen into a friendship since then because he just wasn't the wizard who caught her eye.

Harry liked him, too, finding it fascinating Robert's dad had a statue erected in his honor that everyone, not just magical people, could see. And the fact that he was an athlete, not anyone overly heroic. So, for differing reasons, both were famous, and neither wizard was overly pleased about that fame.

Not that the wizard who had caught her attention knew it. He didn't seem to even notice her. She thought at first he had. She thought he'd even smiled at her. Obviously, she was mistaken. He wasn't rude or cruel. He was just indifferent.

She sighed softly, heading in the direction of the weights the Room provided. If she wasn't welcome here, the Room wouldn't have allowed her to come in.

At least that was what she told herself.

She picked up a couple of free weights, watching with interest as the two wizards sparred. They both had headgear on and mouthpieces in. She knew Robert's dad was a famous boxer. She was not aware that Robert and Severus engaged in the sport their relative competed in professionally as an extracurricular activity. From the way they pranced around the ring, jabbed, bobbed, weaved, and blocked - well, today wasn't their first time sparring. They were too familiar with one another for it to be new.

She wondered if the headmaster's nephew realized he was the only one he let see his neck. He kept it covered militantly every other time she'd seen him. Minerva said she hadn't seen it uncovered yet. No one had.

His back was currently to her. She doubted he was unaware that someone had come in. He was too astute to everything around him to be snuck up on. He likely just wasn't aware who it was.

Or he was and didn't care.

Robert's dark eyes gave a momentary flash of recognition when he finally spotted her. She thought she saw amusement there, too. Though what he was amused about, she hadn't a clue. The looks were fleeting, though, as he had to block an attempt by the headmaster hitting him just under the chin.

The punch hit its mark, sending the Muggle Studies professor to the mat. Hermione shook her head a bit as the headmaster stepped away from his fallen opponent.

In her opinion, boxing was pretty barbaric. She'd watched a few matches with her dad when she was young, and never quite gotten the appeal of two grown men (or women as was the case in more than just some instances these days) pounding one another to a bloody pulp.

Here, though, watching as these two men were clearly engaging in a sparring session versus an actual bout. They were exercising, not fighting. Both men looking fit and healthy, if not a little bruised (and a lot sweaty) in some places. Well, she liked the view and could appreciate the … art involved in the sport.

She turned away then, realizing she'd get caught staring if she didn't. That would not do! He'd laugh at her for certain.

"What is with you, Robert?" The headmaster asked the question in a … fond tone that she imagined most anyone would be surprised to hear come out of his mouth.

"Nothing. You just caught me on the right spot," Robert replied after a beat of silence.

More silence.

"I see," the Muggle Studies' uncle said. This sounded irritated, not fond. She fought the urge to look over her shoulder to see if he looked irritated, too. She didn't really want to know that even her presence here bothered him.

She'd never understand what she'd done to earn his ire. It was baffling to her.

She'd been the one to find him bleeding out and near death in the Shrieking Shack. She was the one who, on the brink of mental and physical exhaustion, called up - literally - every happy memory she had in her arsenal to summon a patronus and send it to the castle for help while she administered muggle CPR and first aid with the limited supplies she had in her beaded bag. After months on the run, there hadn't been a whole lot left! She'd managed to make work what she had, though.

She'd sat by his bedside at St. Mungo's while she filled out various university applications that Minerva assisted her get. He even gave a few insightful answers on various majors. (Philosophy and Sociology not being so useful in the grand scheme of things, both of which she agreed with him about.)

She'd been accepted, made a decision, and left for university. She got her degrees in History and Political Science. She hadn't returned to Hogwarts immediately after finishing, taking some time instead to take an inventory of where she was and what she wanted.

"Ogle my apprentice on your own time."

Silence, and she knew she was blushing. She was pretty sure Robert didn't ogle her. Even back at the beginning of the school year.

Flirt, yes.

Ogle, no.

There was a difference.

She was someone Robert confided in that he liked Padma Patil after they'd shared a few dances at the Ministry of Magic's New Year's ball. Why he'd chosen Hermione, she wasn't sure at first. Then she realized his choices in someone to confide in and seek advice on a witch were fairly limited, living at Hogwarts and being new to wizarding Britain. Everyone but Hermione was old enough to be a grandmother. Except Septima, but she and Robert hadn't … clicked for some reason. He had a kind of boyish charm to him. Somewhat like Harry, he'd been trying to get out from under the shadow of his name for years. (For very different reasons.)

Embracing the wizarding world and coming to England had been his most recent attempt. He seemed to like it here, and he was a good Muggle Studies professor. (Yes, she'd sat in on more than a few of his classes at his request.) She hoped he'd stick around. It was kind of refreshing to have a different vantage point of muggle life than just Britain. (One of the sixth year wizards wanted to know if they could meet his father. That had caught Robert off guard. Philip Stockton was a half-blood, but had been raised muggle. His parents had fled during the first wizarding war, and grew content with their life there so hadn't come back. He'd been homeschooled his second year, his parents refused to send him to Hogwarts during Severus Snape's first year as headmaster.

She tried not to let it … grate on her every nerve that the headmaster only thought of her as an apprentice Robert would ogle.

It didn't help that she was, evidently, rather pathetic at making her attraction apparent. Either that or he was really clueless. He was pretty astute, so she blamed herself.

Eventually, the two wizards must have finished their sparring because Robert was standing near her, leaning against the wall. He wasn't ogling her at all. She'd been on the receiving end of those kinds of looks enough to know.

She smirked a bit, stepping up to him after she set the weights she was using down, and grabbing the towel he had draped around his neck.

"You missed some," she said, blotting a few droplets of sweat away from his hairline near his temples and cheeks.

"You're good at that," he murmured.

"Mm," she said. "That's what I get for being friendly with wizards who play quidditch."

He chuckled. Yeah, absolutely no ogling there.

"Mom would do that for my dad. I never understood how she could."

"Really?" Hermione asked. He didn't talk about his mum a lot. It was still raw, she knew.

"I was a kid," he shrugged. "Why would anyone want to wipe away someone else's sweat? She didn't even need a towel sometimes! She'd hug and kiss him after a fight he went the full twelve rounds in."

"Do you understand now?"

"Not really," he admitted with a shrug. He looked a little sad that he was answering that way. She wondered if he realized that to people like them, kids who had loving parents, the idea that others hadn't grown up with that was foreign to them. Perhaps it was setting them up for grander expectations than they should. She didn't think so, though. "You look at him like that, though."

Her head tilted up a bit, startled at him saying that.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do. They're not that different. My dad and my uncle, I mean. Kind of shy, not really sure what to do when it comes to women. Mom wasn't a witch, obviously. Mom thought he was kind of annoying in the beginning."

Hermione smiled a bit at that. "She did? She told you that?"

"Not until I was, you know, older, but yeah. Their first date was at an ice skating rink my dad basically broke into on Thanksgiving night."

"That's kind of sweet."

He shrugged, blushing a bit. "Yeah, they had one of those epic love stories, you know? Unexpected because they were both misfits. Or maybe not so unexpected," he said, almost as if it was an afterthought. One that had just occurred to him.

 His mum was the main reason he'd accepted the job offer his uncle had presented with and come here. His mum died about a year ago now. He'd been struggling at work. Never sure if he was there due to his academic achievements and abilities, or his father's name. Eventually, he felt he had to get away.

He realized his father likely thought he wanted to get away from him , but he'd confided in her that his mum's battle with ovarian cancer had not been easy to watch unfold. He hadn't liked feeling helpless, and felt guilty that during her time in remission he assumed she was good and had sort of gone about his life as if she'd be there forever. It took a toll on his dad, and they just weren't the father and son that hugged one another. Or cried together.

So, when the cancer came back, aggressively attacking her internal organs, knowing he had the magical abilities he had and being able to do nothing for this person he loved who was suffering. Had left him feeling weak. Instead of turning his back on magic, he'd gone the other way and decided he wanted to discover more than the lessons he'd had while at Ilvermorny. Like Hermione, he'd gone to university after school, too. He'd tried working in the muggle world. Finance she thought she remembered him saying.

Having loving parents was one of the things they had in common, and part of the reason they'd bonded. Both being far from them, but knowing they'd had a good example to feed off as they got further into adulthood. Robert had some things to work through when it came to his father, and thought that some space and time might help that. Hermione's parents liked Australia.

So here they were, oceans and a lot of miles separating them from their parents.

"You should be doing that to him," he said, gesturing with his head toward the Room's door. The door the headmaster had left through almost as soon as they were done with their sparring session, it seemed.

Hermione scoffed. "Yeah, right. Like he'd ever let me get close enough again!"

"Have you tried, you know, talking him?" he asked. "Telling him that you're into him?"

She rolled her eyes, swatting his bicep with the towel she'd just used before draping it over his shoulder where she'd gotten it from.

"Yes, sure, that would go over splendidly. You heard him. He thinks of me as an apprentice."

"Mm," he said.

He looked as if he was thinking something. Those dark eyes of his were almost as unreadable as his uncle's. He wondered if his dad's were the same way. He'd seen pictures of Rocky Balboa, but they weren't the same as seeing someone in person.

"Where's that Gryffindor bravery I heard you had an abundance of?"

"I've already had my heart stomped on once, thank you very much."

"Yeah, we'll, he was an idiot. My uncle is not an idiot."

Hermione chuckled softly. He hardly knew Ron, but since she was his friend and Ron wasn't, he took her side in the argument without question.

It was the first time she hadn't felt as if she had to justify breaking up with him when she caught him in bed with another witch.

Evidently, the fact he assumed she'd be studying at university instead of deciding to be impulsive and surprise him was her fault. And justification for him shagging someone else.

"I'm fine for now."

"Says the witch who just wiped a friend's sweat away."

"I did that to Harry, too! I didn't want to date him."

He arched a brow, waggling them a bit. "I mean, I'm sweaty in other places, too …"

"Did I not say to ogle my apprentice on your own time?"

Morgana! He had come back? He had left, right?

"This is my time, Uncle Severus."

"That you asked to spend with me."

"I did," he said, looking properly reprimanded, despite the minor infraction.

"Were we or were we not going to check out the reportedly vandalized bust of Mr. Kincaide on the sixth floor?"

"I didn't realize that was such a pressing thing."

"Well it is. Finish cleaning up."

Robert smirked, his eyes were practically sparkling. She had no idea what he was so amused about.

"Yes, Sir, Unc," he said. He leaned in, kissing her cheek. "Epic, remember? I guess you didn't notice he calls you his apprentice." This was whispered against her ear. "Thanks for the cool down, Hermione." This was not whispered. And it was followed by a kiss to her mouth. Nothing more than a peck, but it was still surprising. And no doubt deliberate.

She rolled her eyes, knowing she was blushing profusely at the implication of his words. And the kiss. Two of them.

She turned then, refusing to let the headmaster see she was in any way embarrassed. They hadn't done anything that warranted her being embarrassed.

Did he really call her his apprentice? She truly hadn't noticed if he had. Was that just tonight? Or was that an ongoing thing?

Her eyes met his as she stepped toward him. She didn't have a choice, as he stood in the direct path between where they'd been standing and the exit.

She saw a flash of … confusion in the wizard's eyes. It was gone as fast it was there, so she couldn't even be certain she'd seen it. Or what had brought it on.

"It's nice to see you, Headmaster."

"I just saw you no more than fifteen minutes ago," he said, sounding a bit gruff and gravelly. He did most of the time now due to the injuries he'd sustained.

"Yes, well, I didn't say hello to you then, but am greeting you now."

"Thank you."

"Is there a problem with vandalism?" She couldn't help but ask. She hadn't heard about anything happening to the point of being a problem. Kids were kids, though. So, there was always something being messed with, it seemed.

"There won't be," he drawled.

"Ah," she said, giving a stifled giggle. No doubt her doing so bothered him. She sighed, tugging on the end of her sleeve. She wasn't sure why she bothered him.

"Maybe Hermione can come with us," Robert said, draping his arm over her shoulder. He had never done such a thing before.

"I am sure Miss Granger has more important things to see to."

"She likes old stuff. She likes showing me Hogwarts."

"You want to bring a date?"

"I want to bring Hermione," he said.

That confused look was in his eyes again. Hers probably mirrored it. She had no idea what Robert was doing!

"I don't believe that's necessary nor that it will take us overlong to investigate the issue."

Robert sighed beside her. She kind of did, too.

"It's okay, Robert, I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow," she said.

The headmaster snorted before the three of them left the Room.

Hermione went in the direction of her room. The two wizards went in the direction they needed to head evidently. She set her hand against a nearby wall once they were out of sight.

Why was he so stubborn? Why was he so … indifferent? Would it kill him to be friendly?

Okay, maybe being friendly was expecting too much.

He was the headmaster. She was an apprentice at the school he was in charge of. She was not a dunderhead! She'd saved his bloody life! There should be some … cordialness there.

She showered and got ready for bed, settling into her comfortable oversized armchair in front of the fireplace to read for a bit before turning in. She didn't crack open the book, though. Instead, running her finger down its spine as she thought over her former professor and the current headmaster. She hadn't seen him since he'd left St. Mungo's after recovering from his wounds. She'd gone to university, gotten her degree, and took a year off to decide what exactly she wanted to do.

And to try to cure her broken heart. And get over the humiliation and embarrassment. (Truthfully, she was more embarrassed that her breakup was so publicly followed than the breakup itself.)

Viktor had helped a ton. They'd spent a lot of time together during that year. She still wasn't a quidditch fan, but she could admit that there was definitely a difference between being a spectator at a professional match and those at Hogwarts.

Not that those weren't fun. They absolutely were. There was still something enthralling about cheering on Gryffindor. And some of the players like Harry, Ginny, and Oliver were quite good. Being quite good, exceptional even, didn't take away from the fact some weren't quite good, which made watching not so fun at times.

He'd gotten a good laugh out of the articles about him "acting fast to pick up the pieces of Hermione Granger's shattered heart".

Harry suspected they were merely friends. Companions. He never asked outright, though. Viktor truly didn't relish in quidditch groupies following him. So the rumors helped him, too. (Though he admitted it made some of the witches worse. As if since Ronald Weasley had cheated, he would too. Because of course it was Hermione's fault and not the wizard who couldn't keep it in his pants until Hermione was ready.)

Robert was right. Sitting here doing nothing about her attraction to the man, that was not decreasing at all. She sort of expected it to.

That was what had happened with Ronald. She kissed him and it was like kissing her brother. She assumed with space and time to heal after the war, that would change.

It hadn't.

This hadn't lessened in months!

The dreams she had about him. Morgana.

There were a few mornings at breakfast in the great hall when she thought she'd die of mortification if he chose that moment to perform legilimency on her. And hoping that any blush was attributed to her taking an extra warm shower that morning.

And a few mornings where she wished he would do exactly that because maybe that would get through to him.

The first month or two, she assumed it was Lily. It was easy to blame Harry's mum.

She knew that wasn't the case any longer. He didn't behave like a man who was mooning for a dead woman.

She saw that look in plenty of witches and wizards who'd lost someone during the final battle.

Eventually, she'd come to the conclusion that while there was likely truth in fiction as to the stories about the headmaster and Harry's mum, that most of it was probably embellished. If not completely made up.

Who would tell? Sirius had been in Azkaban for years. Remus wasn't the type to do that. Maybe he had been back in 1982, but not sixteen years later. And he'd seemed to want to give Severus the benefit of the doubt. Sirius couldn't, but it wasn't because of Lily. At least she wasn't left with the impression it was.

Lord knew the story of her breakup with Ronald hadn't been reported on accurately, and they were both alive!

She and Harry talked about it over Christmas. They'd had too much eggnog, spiked of course. And, well, she asked him what he thought. Harry didn't think the headmaster was in love with his mother. Did he love her when they were students? Likely so, but Harry believed the memories he saw were taken out of context. He didn't have the full picture. The whole situation.

Did the man feel that he owed it to Harry's mother and father? Likely so.

And, likely, that apparent feeling of debt was what led to what he did.

Of course, she had no way of knowing for sure, which was what (she tried to tell herself anyway) prevented her from doing as Robert suggested and letting him know.

It wasn't at all that she was afraid he'd laugh at her.

*****

Almost a month now, she arrived at the Room at the same time they were in it. She'd wonder if there wasn't magic involved, but if there was … It wasn't hurting anything. She did wonder if it was making things worse, seeing him like this night after night.

And yet, here she was tonight, back at the Room and when it opened for her they were there as usual. She approached the ring as neither seemed to notice she was there. She didn't normally, but tonight they seemed to be a little more serious than they usually were.

Really, she wondered why Robert didn't box professionally. He clearly inherited some of his father's abilities. She'd read about him. Some said he wasn't that good. Others claimed he was. She didn't know enough about the sport to judge. Clearly, though, he'd been the champion for a while, so it wasn't a complete fluke.

In barely the blink of an eye, Robert hit Severus on his jaw. She'd seen him hit him like that plenty of times, and already a few times tonight. This, though, must have caught him just right, as the headmaster fell to the mat and she saw blood coming from his jaw and neck.

She didn't even think about what she was doing, grabbing one of the towels that were draped over a rope before she hopped into the ring.

"Really?" she quipped with a shake of her head in Robert's direction as she set the towel against the headmaster's jaw. She startled a bit, realizing as she grazed her thumb over what she assumed was the towel that she'd gotten the skin of his jaw instead.

There was that … look in his eyes again. She really wished she understood him and body language in general, to know what it meant. They were even darker, though she didn't think that was even possible. Her eyes fell to her thumb, still pressed against his jaw. He must have noticed that she realized she was still touching him because he gripped her wrist to stop her from moving it.

Her eyes flicked to his jaw and neck, the small trail of blood trickling down there. She tested his grip on her wrist, moving her hand a bit to try to graze the streak away with the pad of her thumb. He swallowed. He didn't seem mad.

Her other hand was still free, and she used it to blot his jaw and neck with the towel, mindful of his scars as she went.

"It's almost stopped already," she said, gesturing to the spot on his jaw that was cut. The headgear offered protection, but obviously there were fluke things that happened when two people were punching one another, even for fun.

She offered him a smile, searching his face for some sign of what he might be thinking. He didn't let people, anyone but Robert anyway, get this close to him. She wasn't sure what that meant. Poppy at one time was on that short list, but he no longer required her services as he had when he was a student and a professor here.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," he said, voice sounding hoarse more than it usually did these days.

"Hermione, but you're welcome." She drew the towel away once again, seeing that the small cut did seem to have stopped bleeding. "I don't have my bag on me…"

"It'll heal without any potions or plasters." He gave her a bit of a smirk. "They likely wouldn't stay in place anyway."

"Yes, of course."

She pulled away, and he released her wrist then, brushing his thumb along the pulse point there before he'd completely let go. A touch that felt like a jolt right to her heart. And between her legs.

Morgana.

What in the hell was that?

She swallowed hard and stood.

"Try not to maim your uncle, Robert," she said, stepping carefully out of the ring. It was much easier getting in than out, that was for certain.

Robert smirked at her, watching as she draped the towel she used back over the ring's rope.

Their time there eventually ended. They must have been there a while before she got there today, because she ended up staying for a bit longer versus most other nights being ready to go about the time they finished sparring.

She returned to her rooms, taking the long way this evening. Not at all put out when the staircases weren't cooperating with her. Maybe they sensed she wasn't in any particular hurry to be anywhere. She didn't really want to go to her rooms. The library wasn't appealing. (And what did that say?) It wasn't really late. She could get dressed to go out, send Harry a patronus to see if he'd meet her at the Three Broomsticks.

"Did you get lost?" A low and familiar voice said once she'd made it back to her rooms.

"No, headmaster…" Was she in trouble for something? Did he not like that she had gone to help him earlier? Not to say that he wasn't capable of tending to a scrape from sparring himself. It was more the fact he'd fallen to the mat, so she wasn't sure how hurt he was.

People could get pretty injured sparring.

"Are you okay?"

"I am."

She frowned then. Not sure exactly what he was doing here. As far as she knew, he didn't even know where her rooms were. Obviously, as headmaster he would be aware of who resided where in the castle, but he'd never used the information before tonight.

He stepped toward her then. Some might find the movement menacing or scary, but she wasn't frightened of this wizard. She was fairly certain he was aware of that fact.

He lifted his arms, dropping his hands to her biceps, drawing her against him. There was that … almost pitch black look in his eyes again.

"What game are you playing?"

"I, um," she muttered, confused by the question.

"Speak. I know that you're capable."

"I'm not playing any games."

"Then why did my nephew want you to join us the other night?"

She scowled. The other night? That was like a month ago. Why was he asking her about it now?

"You'd have to ask him."

"He is not pursuing you?"

She frowned with a sigh. She knew where that question was coming from.

"Not that I've been told, no."

"Would you be receptive if he was?"

"Why?"

"Because, Witch, you keep looking at me with longing and it is confusing."

Did she? Morgana! Did everyone know?

"Yes," he murmured.

"Don't read…"

He rolled his eyes with an exasperated-sounding sigh. "I didn't. I didn't need to to know what your next question would be."

"If you're here to embarrass me…"

He tsk'd, shaking his head, which made her stop talking as she imagined he intended.

"I presumed you were with Mister Krum, until Minerva informed me that you were not and were interested in someone closer to home."

"Really?"

He smirked, which made her heart gallop in a way she hadn't felt in years. "Which part surprises you?" he quipped. He didn't sound annoyed. In fact, if she wasn't mistaken, she thought he sounded rather … amused.

"That you thought I was with Viktor."

He nodded simply.

"So, I started watching. It's what I excel at," he murmured.

Well, yes, yes, he did. He certainly wasn't lying. She swallowed a bit here. How long had he been watching her? Morgana.

"I thought you were interested in my nephew. I thought that was who Minerva meant."

"I, well, he's nice," she said. It seemed wrong to tell the wizard's uncle that she wouldn't ordinarily be interested in him. She was sure she might have been. If his uncle wasn't in the equation.

"Until that night, I'd never seen any … displays by either of you that suggested intimacy."

"No," she said simply. He wasn't wrong. And that first night they'd met up in the Room wasn't what it appeared at all.

"So, it is not my nephew?"

"It's not," she whispered.

"You've come to breakfast more than a few mornings getting flustered when you get to the table."

"I, um, have dreams," she said softly.

"That fluster you?"

"Sometimes," she said.

He leaned in then, and her heart was no longer galloping but pounding as his lips found hers. She gave a soft moan at the feeling of his against hers. They were … softer than she expected. A bit of stubble over his top lip, not unexpected given the time. Still, soft. As if he took care of them.

His hands still at her arms, drew her even closer still against him, and she mewled as her arms crept around his waist. He let go of her biceps, sliding his arms around her. She was very glad she wasn't wearing robes this evening. He was able to slide his hands under the hem of her top, which meant she felt the warmth of his hands skin to skin at her lower back.

Hands she'd wondered about more times than she could admit the past few months. What they'd feel like. What they'd taste like. What he'd do with them. What she'd watch him do with them. To her and to himself. What she'd do with them.

He chuckled softly, drawing away.

"Turn your mind off, Granger."

"Huh?"

"You seem to have an infatuation with my hands…"

"Oh," she said, moving to duck her head.

"Ah ah," he said, sliding a hand under her chin to stop her from looking away from him completely.

"I didn't say I minded. Not at all. We can get to those things. In due time."

"When?" she asked.

He chuckled.

"Not tonight."

She tilted her head a bit, catching the tip of his finger with her lips, kissing it. "Why do you call me Apprentice Granger?"

He shrugged. "Again, I thought you were…"

"So, because I might have had a boyfriend…"

"It is impolite to do otherwise."

"Hmm," she said. "Really?"

"I suppose to you it might not seem so, but yes, especially in my role."

She nodded.

"You're not anymore, are you?"

He snorted softly. "Do we want people gossiping so soon?"

She bit her lower lip, knowing she was blushing a bit at the question.

"I suppose we can wait for a while."

"That was my thought."

"Robert…"

"Yes. I think he hit me the way he did tonight intentionally. He has never drawn blood before."

"Really?"

"No, not like that. Bruises or scuffs on my jaw from his gloves, sure, but an actual bleeding wound, no matter how small."

"He mentioned his mum used to kiss his dad after his fights."

"I only met her a few times. They were rather in love, though. That much was obvious to anyone who saw them together, or heard them talk about one another."

"That's sweet."

"I suppose."

She leaned up, kissing the spot that had been bleeding earlier. It was really not much more than a scratch. "Are you sparring tomorrow night?"

"We spar every night."

"I'd noticed. I just wasn't sure if it was standing, or when you had time and the past month you had the time every night."

"I think between my nephew and the Room, we have been set up."

She wondered about that, too. The Room did let her in. Every night.

"I'll come watch tomorrow night then."

"Mm," he said.

She grazed his jaw with her lips again, finding his ear. "And I'll kiss you when you're done."

"I saw in your eyes tonight that you wanted to. That was when it finally clicked what Robert had done."

"You touched me!"

"Because no one's ever willingly touched me before."

"Oh," she said.

"I did not mind."

"Me either," she whispered.

"May I see you officially to your door?" he asked.

They weren't far. She could see it from here, in fact.

"I'd like that," she said.

He bowed his head a bit then, releasing her from his embrace. She missed the heat of his hands against her back immediately. Until he offered her his arm, and that made her stomach flip as she settled her hand over it.

"Good night then, my apprentice," he murmured, kissing her again once they had made the short way to the door that would lead to her rooms.

She smiled a little at that. "Good night, my headmaster."

"Mm," he said. The smirk told her he didn't mind the joke, though.

She closed the door behind her, pressing her back against it, her hand still on the knob. She was running the fingertips of her other hand over her lips, trying to confirm that had really just happened. They hadn't kissed very long or deeply, but she could definitely still feel the tingle from his lips against hers.

She dropped her hand from her mouth to her other arm, pinching herself.

"Not a dream this time," she said.

~The End~

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com