Severus shook his head while listening to the table full of wizards who, apparently, didn't know the meaning of the word discretion or tact. They were boisterous, not caring who might hear them. They were obviously there to have a good time. And, to this point, they were accomplishing that without being too obnoxious.

Other patrons regarded them, but no one asked them to tone it down. It might have had something to do with Harry Potter being among the group, but Severus didn't think that was the case.

It was something that wizards their age were entitled to: a good time. Most would agree. He'd fought hard, with the help of many others. Some who paid with their lives. To make it so this group of wizards who eight years ago - hell one year ago - wouldn't have sat together as they were tonight.

Not without hexes, suspicion, hatred, and cruelty in play anyway.

For his part, he had his evening free from dinner plans. His … girlfriend … was detained. Read: there was something that piqued her interest and she needed a few hours undisturbed to familiarize.

He'd feel put out, passed over, but the rather nice kiss she'd given him and the offer of a nightcap at her place made up for their dinner plans being canceled. He much preferred their time alone at one another's homes anyway.

She would react the same way if the situation was reversed. It was the nice thing about her, she got that his mind and ideas didn't necessarily work nine to five. She was as driven and curious as he was.

So, expecting dinner out and as a result not prepared to cook dinner when that changed, he had come to the Leaky Cauldron just wanting a drink and some stew before he went elsewhere later on. A loner by nature, he didn't eat out alone often, preferring the solitude and quiet of his own kitchen. Or hers he'd come to find the past week or so, now that … cooking together had been added to their involvement. This evening, though, being out amongst others felt good.

He'd even chatted his server up a bit. Nothing earth-shattering, but he asked her how her day was going and such. … and actually wanted to hear her answer.

A step in the right direction, pointing to the fact he would not live out the rest of his days as a recluse. At least not completely. That he was getting over feeling as if everyone was staring at him. Or hating him. Or wanting to kill him.

Of course the fact he had plans after dinner for a nightcap with his witch also pointed to him having at least the makings of a social life. Not that anyone here knew that.

They hadn't gotten to the announcement stage. She probably had as many reasons as he did for valuing her privacy while they ascertained if this was worth pursuing. He was rather certain there was before approaching her. He liked to think she thought so, too. She didn't strike him as the type to date someone she couldn't at least see the potential for a future with even before a first date happened.

Honestly, he had no idea when telling people became a thing. Did they have to announce it? Could they just court and let others figure out? Or would that be tacky? He had no idea what polite society dictated about such things. He'd never needed to know prior to now. He would follow her lead.

Obviously by his asking her out on a date, and her acceptance of his invitation, both thought something was between them. (He presumed when he asked initially that she'd - politely - say that she didn't like him like that.)

So far, she hadn't told him to take a hike because he let her cat out accidentally. He hadn't gotten fed up with her for taking off her shoes anywhere in the house she wanted to.

They bickered over the proper way to peel a carrot, but ultimately enjoyed the fruits of their labor. Whichever way the root vegetable had been peeled for that evening's dish.

It was very new and odd, but he was getting accustomed to it. It helped that she was patient and kind, realizing that, despite their age difference, he had not done these things before.

It also helped that, again considering their respective ages, that she didn't think he was an imbecile for not having done these things before.

A relationship.
Living life.
Letting someone in.
Trusting someone.
Learning to communicate.

None of the wizards were even attempting to be quiet in their conversation, which meant he wasn't the only one who could hear it. Glancing around the main area of the pub, no one seemed offended. He certainly wasn't the only one amused either. There were ten of them, he noticed, and they were being boisterous. From the looks of the empty bottles and glasses, they'd been here a while already.

Not that they couldn't be. Things - and, most importantly, people - were moving forward.

Weasleys. Bootses. Malfoys. Zabinis. Davieses. Macmillans. Smiths. Goyles. Potters.

He was pleased to see no one at the Leaky tonight was spouting off hateful rhetoric at the sight of these wizards coming together. Whatever the reason was that led to them gathering here today.

Pleased and a little surprised.

And to hear that their discussion was one that wizards were wont to do when they were together.

And imbibing.

They were talking about witches.

(It could've been quidditch, he supposed.)

Glancing at them, realizing at their age and having survived a war. Well, they were doing what they were supposed to do. At least to his mind. It was what he fought for. It was the end he'd hoped for nearly twenty years ago.

For everyone to get along.

For Potters and Malfoys and Zabinis and Goyles to sit at the same table together. And they were talking. There was no bickering or anything disguised as getting along.

"Your dad would like that car," Mr. Goyle said to, Severus presumed anyway, George and Ron Weasley. No one else's father would care about a muggle car.

"Goyle, it should not be the car that gets your attention," Draco said.

"Well, am I wrong? Their dad would like it."

"You might be right," Ronald Weasley said.

"Anyway. Enough about cars, because that's not what we're trying to do here. Come on! There's ten of us and we all like witches. Some of us have probably dated one of these witches. This shouldn't be that hard! So, I will repeat, before we got sidetracked by cars. There is no way that is Pansy," Draco said.

"You would know," George Weasley said.

"That's right, Weasley. I would know."

"Well, who is it then?"

"It has to be one of the Patils. I mean, doesn't it?" This was Neville Longbottom. And it really made him curious as to what they were discussing to go from Pansy Parkinson to the Patil twins.

"It could be Cho," Harry Potter said.

"Obviously you aren't as certain about that as I am about the fact it's not Pansy," Draco said.

This was followed by some low chuckles. Again, no bickering or rows even after that statement. No one got insulted. Or assumed Draco, or Harry, was insulting Cho or Pansy.

"Some of us didn't want to get caught by Snape in an alcove, Malfoy."

"Yes, well, you got up to no good otherwise, so you knew how to! I at least got some enjoyment out of my clandestine activities."

Severus shifted a bit so that he could try to see what they were looking at. He'd heard others near his office discussing something very similar earlier. He hadn't taken the time to care what they were talking about because it hadn't concerned him.

Now, though. It seemed he was one of the few that weren't engaged in this … quest. And it was mostly wizards he heard having said discussions.

He couldn't see the item in question very clearly so he contented himself with not knowing.

"None of us are going to win at this rate," Weasley said. The wizard sounded a little downtrodden that might be the case. This was George Weasley, but Ronald no doubt had the desire to win, too. He was a competitor.

Which led him to think … Win? Someone could win something? That he hadn't heard previously. Certainly it wouldn't hurt to take a peak at what they were discussing. He always enjoyed a puzzle.

By the time he finished his drink and his stew, the wizards were still there. His bill paid, he stood and walked the short distance to their table since he had a bit of time yet before he had to be elsewhere. His interest was piqued. They'd been looking at and discussing this … thing for a good ninety minutes. At least.

"You know if you all studied this hard for your tests…"

Ten sets of eyes fell on him, and most of the wizards smiled. The only one who was … not as enthusiastic was Ronald Weasley. Severus wasn't sure that was because the wizard still hadn't decided he could be trusted. Or if he'd found out somehow about his relationship and was upset.

This wasn't the time or place.

"Really, Godfather? That's your way to say hello. You aren't even a professor anymore."

"Yes, well," he said, glancing at the picture the younger wizards were all apparently focused on. "I'm not wrong." He said this as he looked. He was even more confused. It was a … rather scantily clad … witch with no head. The witch did not look dead, and the tone of the conversation these men were having was one of excitement. Amusement. Not being grossed out. "What are you up to?"

"Trying to name the witches."

"What?" he asked.

"Somehow I'm not surprised you aren't aware," Blaise Zabini said.

"Of what?" Severus asked. Should that be insulting or complimentary? Severus wasn't sure.

"The contest!" All ten wizards said, looking curiously at him.

"As if that means anything to me."

His godson shook his head. He looked amused but not altogether surprised Severus didn't know the conversation's topic.

"Some witches are doing a fundraiser," Neville said.

"Okay," Severus said. A fundraiser was not a contest. Last he checked anyway.

"A group of them did a pin-up calendar," Harry said. From the grins on the other wizards faces around the table, it seemed all ten of them approved of this idea.

Enthusiastically at that.

He couldn't blame them. If he was twenty, he'd likely be enthusiastic about such a thing, too. Assuming, of course, the calendar didn't feature witches like Poppy or Rolanda. (Not that there was anything wrong with either witch, but neither would be who twenty-year-olds wanted to see.)

Their looks didn't answer how the Minister for Magic felt about this. He found it hard to believe Kingsley would be able to get this backed. Kingsley he could see allowing it. He had a good head on his shoulders, and would know this wasn't scandalous.

Others, though.

No way in hell.

And yet, there on the table were pictures showing that there evidently was a way in hell.

"Kingsley backed this?" Severus couldn't hide the surprise in his tone at the very idea of the Ministry of Magic approving a pin-up calendar.

"No," Mr. Macmillan offered. "The witches did it themselves, I guess. All proceeds go to the reparation efforts. At least that's what we've heard."

Several nodded, all pointing to this being true.

"Mm," he said. It made sense. They would want to do something.

"We're trying to guess who's who," Draco said, fanning through the various pages. He seemed to be in charge of the item.

"Do you know who your models are?"

"Not for certain, no. Harry doesn't even know for sure Ginny posed."

His lips twitched at that, and he was fairly certain whichever witch Harry said Ginny was was. (Unless, not knowing if she posed or not, he didn't want to assign her name to one of the models and get in trouble that he was incorrect.)

"And this?" he asked, gesturing to the headless muggle picture on the table. This was more of a booklet, not a calendar. At least to his mind. "No heads is a bit ghoulish for a pin-up calendar."

"You know what a pin-up calendar is?" Mr. Boots asked. He didn't appear to be the only one surprised by that admission. Interesting.

"I am very aware of what they are, Mr. Boots."

"This isn't the actual calendar," Mr. Boots then offered.

Well that made sense, and relieved him to no end that someone wasn't putting something macabre out so soon after the war's end.

It still didn't explain the lack of heads.

"Right," his godson said. Seeming like he understood what Severus was getting at. "Prior to the calendar being released, they're having a contest to see who can guess the names of the most models."

He frowned a bit, hoping these wizards realized that they were still witches: sisters, daughters, mothers possibly, teachers, etc. and likely weren't going to embark on a career as pin-up models.

"I see," he said. Apparently that was the explanation for the lack of heads. "And how many have you figured out?"

"None," the Gryffindors said. "We've written guesses down, but I don't think we're confident on any of them. Harry swears Ginny would've told him if she'd done it."

"There's a dozen names to come up with. We just know that Fleur and Gabrielle did not participate. Bill told us that. Something about being Veela and photographs," Ronald Weasley said.

Severus didn't think Veela … influences transcended photography, but he honestly had no idea. He wasn't a photographer, and he'd never had the occasion to think about such a thing.

"We think this one might be Luna," Gregory Goyle said.

"Mm," he said.

They had guesses for eleven of the pictures. All were … reasonable guesses. He agreed with them that the one they'd been discussing when he arrived at the table had to be someone with darker hair as well as a darker complexion.

That ruled Luna and Ginevra out of being that months' witch.

He heard all sorts of names thrown out: Romilda Vane, Eloise Midgen, Daphne Greengrass, Alicia Spinnet, Penelope Clearwater, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones.

Honestly, he wasn't sure he'd be able to identify all of them with their heads included in the contest.

He was focused on October, setting a hand on his godson's forearm, stopping Draco from flipping the page to November when his godson went to go do just that.

"You think you know who it is," Draco asked. He sounded rather hopeful.

Ten sets of eyes were now focused on him instead of Miss October. (They must really be desperate to identify all twelve.)

"None of us made any guesses on her yet."

He swallowed hard, wondering what it was about the picture that allowed him to know who this witch was. Unequivocally. He felt it in his bones.

She was seated side-saddle style on a floating broom, holding her wand in one hand, and a crystal ball in the other. He'd seen the kind of orb at new age fairs throughout the years. He went to them, not because he believed in fortune tellers, but to ensure secrets were not inadvertently being revealed.

He would place bets with anyone at this table that none of them had ever envisioned this witch anywhere near a crystal ball.

Or a broom.

The witch in question was wearing a bodysuit type piece and nothing else. She looked as if she was about to cross her legs, one knee was raised slightly above the other with the heel of her shoe brushing against her calf. Shoes that laced up along her ankles. His gaze moved higher to her knees and then her thighs, revealing most everything given the bodysuit, and he swallowed here.

No doubt this was the desired outcome, for the viewer to work their way up from her legs.

Merlin.

Was that?

Or was it just a shadow?

No. It couldn't be.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen his mother wear them, let alone witches this age.

Merlin.

And yet. Yes. It had to be.

That was obviously a strap just near the side of her thigh, which he suspected would lead to a garter belt underneath the bodysuit. His attention on the shadow / strap led him to focusing on her bare thighs. Bare thighs that told him she wasn't wearing any knickers. Nothing vulgar or indecent was depicted. The way the picture had been taken, left the viewer believing if he (or she) got closer, they'd be able to see everything.

He swallowed, having the perverse desire to tell Draco to tear this page out and not let anyone see it ever again.

Except.

She looked gorgeous. More than worthy of being in such a calendar.

Jealous? Yes, he could admit that was there, but not in an insecure way that he thought his witch was going to dump him for someone who saw this picture and asked her out. It was still … new, and he could admit the idea of every male in wizarding Britain eyeing her when they were out was a little unsettling.

He'd deal with it, though.

Proud? Also, yes. He knew from their conversations that she felt she was too thin. Had lost too much weight during the time she was gone. He thought she looked fine. Better than fine, but he knew it took a lot of courage to pose for something like this, wondering if you looked your best.

The bodysuit looked soft and clung to her curves very nicely.

The heels she wore weren't outrageously high, but would definitely add a couple of inches to the witch's height.

She was tan. Incredibly so. He tilted his head, wondering where the tan lines were, because between her legs and the bodysuit's scoop-like neckline. Well, there were no lines suggesting she sunbathed in anything.

Merlin.

He never knew he had a fetish before.

Hell, until recently, he never envisioned being intimate with someone to where he'd be able to act on a fetish. One-night stands weren't really conducive to that. Not for him anyway. He didn't get much enjoyment out of them to begin with. Throw in a "please wear your shoes or don this garter belt I brought with me while I'm shagging you" without exchanging names or numbers just made it seem tawdrier than it was.

Looking at a picture and envisioning his witch wearing this or that hadn't been an option for him.

Until now.

Evidently garter belts and lack of tan lines were his thing.

Who knew?

He paged back a few months.

No recognition.

No inclination that he knew June or July's model at all. Of course, he realized he likely did know them. Had, in fact, been their potions professor. There was no "well that has to be…" about any of the others. Appropriate since he never looked at any of them, witch or wizard, as anything but students occupying a chair at a lab table in his class.

Page to September.

Nope. Nothing there either as he returned to October.

He glanced at Draco, and then around the table. Ten sets of eyes were still watching him. Would she get upset he identified her?

"It's Hermione," he said simply.

Silence.

No questions on his addressing her informally even. Not even by Harry Potter or Ronald Weasley.

And then laughter.

Not in a cruel way, as if they were laughing at the idea of her being in the calendar.

He likely would have ended up in Azkaban for hexing them all if he thought they were laughing at her.

Or at Severus for suggesting it could be her.

It was more that no one could imagine Hermione Granger posing in such a way. To be ogled. Sexy.

With a crystal ball as a prop, no less.

And while floating on a broom!

Honestly, he hadn't realized she had it in her either.

She hadn't told him she'd posed for this, or that a pin-up calendar as a fundraiser was even occurring. Then, he supposed they weren't at the account for every minute of every day phase yet. It had only been a few weeks since he initially asked her out, and they didn't talk for hours on end daily.

Truthfully, he'd never had someone like him romantically before (not for the right reasons) and it had taken Filch of all people to make him see Hermione felt that way about him. He was fairly sure if it had been anyone else to mention it, he would have dismissed them as crazy. Filch wouldn't do that to him, though. And Filch had an uncanny way of knowing things.

If these pictures were done, to the point of a contest using them, likely they'd been taken a while ago. Probably before Filch mentioned her interest in him and him internally debating with himself as to the appropriateness of seeking her out for a month.

A month.

Before he'd finally asked her out on a date.

"Good one, Godfather."

He glanced from the picture to the other wizards. Didn't they see it? Didn't they know?

Merlin.

She looked perfect. Whether the crystal ball was her idea or not, it was a good choice in props. Certainly for this witch. Who'd guess she was anywhere near a crystal ball.

"You think I'm wrong?" Severus asked.

"There's no way Granger would …"

Oh.

There was a way Granger would. What better way to move forward. To put on a strong front. To heal. And to assist the reparation efforts.

In fact, he'd put money on this being partly her idea. He couldn't see anyone else coming up with a fundraiser.

"Five hundred galleons says I'm right," he said.

A few gasps. Surprise at the dollar amount no doubt. He was being stared at. He shifted a bit, returning his attention to the picture. Why couldn't they see it?

"How do you know it's Hermione?"

"Well," he said. How did he know? Good question. "The curve of that foot," he said, reaching to trace her foot with his pinky finger. The foot that looked as if she was getting ready to cross its leg over the other was arched in a way he recognized.

He'd seen her sit in a similar way before. Fully clothed, unfortunately he thought today. He'd … admired her feet more than once when she was wearing sandals or heels.

"The way her calf flexes."

Whoever put these proofs together had done a good job. All of the pictures had their faces hidden (obviously), but even their hair wasn't visible. Making it very difficult to ascertain who was who.

Except he knew.

"The shape and set of her shoulders," he said, gesturing to the area in question. He had noticed something other than her feet and legs!

Again, he realized it was very apparent she wore no brassiere under the top. Obvious both because one wasn't visible nor was a band where it fastened visible under the top. Also obvious, because in the pin-up, peek-a-boo style, a hint of her dusky areola could be spotted through the just barely-see-through top. (Had she chosen that top deliberately?) A glimpse. The hint of what was under it.

Had any of these wizards ever seen such a thing, he wondered? (He assumed they'd all seen areolas up close and personally, but not in this form of expression. Art.) He couldn't recall where or when in the magical world they would have. He knew about them because of his grandfather and father. In fact, he was pretty sure there was one from the fifties still in his Cokeworth home's garage.

The scar from Anton's curse was faded but not gone, he knew. It wasn't visible here. No doubt they'd done something with this picture to hide it. They likely did that for all of the witches, hiding or covering up anything that could make them recognizable. Thus the hair. Ginevra and Hermione would both be obvious.

Silence as the other wizards seemed to be looking at her feet, calves, and shoulders. Trying to see what he saw.

"Her feet? Calves? Shoulders? Godfather, just say you have the hots for her."

What was wrong with noticing those things?

"Have you asked her out yet?" Goyle asked almost immediately after Draco's statement.

Severus shook his head a bit at that. Two months ago he wouldn't have been happy about his response to Goyle's question. This wasn't two months ago though.

He'd manned up and asked the witch out for dinner three weeks ago.

Finally. (Her words, not his.)

"As a matter of fact…"

A round of surprised responses followed. He was honestly surprised none of them knew. It wasn't as if they were hiding anything. They were just starting slow.

"We've been seeing one another for a few weeks now."

He was getting to the point - and seeing this picture likely didn't help - where he didn't want to go slow anymore. He'd taken years to get to this point. He wanted to jump in with both feet. To shout it from the battlements at Hogwarts. To make her his witch completely to where she couldn't possibly want someone else.

He was finally on a healthy path to happiness. With a witch by his side to walk that path.

He was worthy of being loved.

"I'm going to see her shortly, in fact."

"Did you know?" Weasley asked Potter.

"No, I knew she was dating someone." Harry said.

That was interesting. He wondered why she hadn't told them yet. He'd mention it later. Maybe she was just enjoying the newness of it.

"Later?" Blaise said. "It's like eight o'clock."

"As if we are children with curfews, Mr. Zabini. She had plans. She invited me to share a nightcap before our day ends."

"I see," Blaise replied.

Severus returned his focus to the picture.

"Picturing where those legs could wrap around you later on? You already ate, so that nightcap obviously won't include food," Blaise quipped. He waggled his eyebrows at his former professor and head of house. "I bet she knows how to hang on tight."

"Don't be crude, Mr. Zabini," Severus said.

Not too far from the truth, though.

Merlin.

He'd seen her in shorts and skirts, so seeing her legs wasn't anything new. This, though, was doing exactly what it was supposed to do.

Be enticing.

Get him curious about what she'd feel like.

Taste like.

Sound like.

Gasp like around him.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "She's like my sister."

"Oh, so you'd rather I ogle over Ginny." Blaise said.

"Well, no, of course not, but I don't want - or need - to imagine where you want her legs wrapped either."

Blaise chuckled then.

Severus, for his part.

Merlin.

They hadn't gotten to the intimate part of things yet, but he honestly wanted to know if she wore a garter belt and stockings regularly. Or was it something she did for this picture? If she didn't, would she?

He let out a huff of laughter as his eyes drifted to her hand. The crystal ball really was a nice touch.

"You're positive?" Draco asked, regarding Severus and then the picture.

"I am certain."

Did he truly think he'd wager five hundred galleons if he wasn't? This was his witch. 

"You must be. You mentioned her feet and her calves," Draco said.

He squinted, trying to ascertain the meaning behind that statement. He couldn't. "What is wrong with that?"

"None of us noticed the curve of any of their feet," Draco offered.

Severus shrugged. He could admit seeing this picture and realizing he knew this witch, and hoped to get to know what was underneath the skirt and top in due time. And, yes, have her wrap those tanned legs around any number of … tantalizing places on him.

He closed his eyes, realizing Draco was likely right. If the first thing he noticed was her feet rather than barely visible areolas. That was probably a sign he was well and truly on his way to being smitten.

After all, he was forty not twenty, so he liked to think that wouldn't be the first thing he noticed on any witch.

Then he didn't know. He wasn't like other men when it came to such things. He never ogled or looked witches up and down in a … sexual way.

However, he knew what Draco was getting at.

If he recognized her by something like that, Severus was further gone under romance's spell than he realized.

Not that he was complaining.

Again, he was forty not twenty. He wanted love. He deserved love. He'd been alone and bitter for so long. It was time.

"I like her feet," he quipped. He knew that wasn't telling Draco anything his godson likely didn't already know.

Severus was in love.

Not the infatuation, Romeo and Juliet, type that ended in disaster either. This was … Real. And returned. Funny he thought of Romeo and Juliet, as they were featured in a song from the sixties about a girl being the singer's calendar girl. In October they, if he recalled correctly as it had been years, dressed up as Romeo and Juliet.

"You won't tell anyone else?" Zabini asked.

"No, I won't."

"Excellent. No one else would ever think she'd do this. Or look like that doing it," Draco said.

"Draco," he said, knowing he sounded cautious.

"She hides it, Godfather. I'm not saying that's wrong, but you definitely are dating above you."

Severus scoffed. "Don't I know it."

Silence as he and his godson looked at the picture. A crystal ball and a broom. Clever of her to use those props.

Her idea?

It had to be.

"What will you win anyway?" he asked.

"A free photo shoot," Weasley said. This was George not Ronald. "We figured maybe we could do our own calendar."

George stood from the table then and, after bracing his hands on the top of the chair, posed in - Severus presumed anyway - what the wizard assumed was a provocative stance. One leg was stretched behind him, his chest was thrust out, and his head was tilted back.

Severus sputtered with a shake of his head.

He looked ridiculous.

"Please tell me when you do, so I can brace myself to see that in the stores."

Ten wizards laughed then.

"Not to mention, you're short two men if you're going to do a calendar. There are twelve months in a year."

"There's still time for you to join in," Goyle offered.

"No," Severus said simply.

"You could use the same crystal ball she used. Placed just so…" George said.

"You're assuming the crystal ball is large enough to hide all of this," Severus said, gesturing to himself.

"Well, yes," George said, squinting a bit as he regarded Severus. No doubt thinking over what he said. He glanced from Severus to the picture. "You're not really a centaur disguised as a human, are you?"

Severus' lips twitched at George's question.

"I am not that, no."

"And you don't have that infliction?"

"Infliction?"

"Yeah, we watched a movie with Hermione and Harry. It's something about elephants."

Severus shook his head, closing his eyes, and pinching the bridge of his nose. He was going through his mind for what George could have been referring to. Somehow, he didn't picture them watching Dumbo.

Elephants.

"Elephantiasis?" Severus asked.

"Yes!"

"You watched a movie with Harry and Hermione and someone in it had elephantiasis?" Severus asked. He glanced at Harry, who seemed to have no idea what George was talking about. So, Severus presumed, no, there wasn't someone in the movie with the ailment.

"You know what movie I'm talking about, Harry. They were at school on Saturday."

"The Breakfast Club?" Severus asked.

"You've seen it?" This was asked by Harry, Ron, and George.

Ten sets of eyes were on him again. Evidently that was a surprising response. Did they think he did nothing prior to 1998 ever?

"I have," he said.

"I think that girl was a witch, being able to put her lipstick on like that." George said this, pulling the collar of his jumper over his chin and imitating the application of said lipstick. George didn't have a tube of lipstick. Nor did he have the … cleavage to afford the ability to accomplish such a feat.

Severus' lips twitched a bit again. At the time, he'd been about twenty-five he supposed when that movie came out, and most warm-blooded, straight men had a crush on the actress. He wondered if George had any idea how that scene played out back in 1985!

He'd been a little old to see it, but it had been an enjoyable way to pass a couple of hours of his day.

"She's not a witch," Severus murmured.

"You've met her?"

"No, but certainly if she was a witch, we would know about it by now. That was like fifteen years ago."

Come to think of it, she had gone through a spell where she didn't do much. At least not on par with the leading lady she'd been in films of the eighties. She was, as far as he knew, still gainfully employed, though. Magical people who were famous knew they had to bow out eventually, so people didn't wonder why they weren't aging as they should be.

"I suppose," George said, nodding as if thinking that over.

"Do you want to borrow this?" Draco asked, closing the calendar.

He wasn't sure what it said, but he truly had no desire to ogle any of the other witches contained in the spread. He was more than content with the pin-up model of his own he'd be seeing for a nightcap after leaving here.

"Not tonight," he said.

"Are you going to ask her to see that bodysuit up close and personal?" This was Harry. He blushed after asking it.

"I plan to do exactly that, yes," he said, fingers at his side twitching at the prospect of touching the garter belt straps, fastened to stockings he could roll on or off her or not, was intriguing.

Merlin.

Maybe he wouldn't take the garter belt off.

Or the shoes.

Maybe he'd leave them exactly where they were, and … work around them.

That was a tantalizingly naughty idea.

He waved his hand, wandlessly paging through the calendar until it got to October again.

Merlin, in the right chair and at the right time (not their first time), he could pretty easily work around the crotch of the bodysuit and…

Well, he knew exactly where on him he'd want her to wrap her legs at any rate.

"Severus Snape is blushing," George said.

He could have denied it, but he knew by the warmth on his face that he was indeed blushing. It wasn't often he thought of such things. He'd gone without a … partner for so long that he shoved such thoughts far far down years ago.

"Observant as always, Mr. Weasley," he said.

"Was it the good kind of blushing?" he asked.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him it was none of his business. And yet, they had all been pleasant to him this evening. They certainly hadn't needed to be. He butted into their conversation.

"It was," he said with a nod.

Most definitely the good kind of blushing.

"You sure you don't want to borrow it, Godfather?" Draco asked.

"No," he said, waving his hand to close the calendar once again. "I think, in fact, I will take my leave in favor of seeing the real thing."

"Lucky bastard," he heard Goyle mutter.

Yes, he knew he was lucky. It was different and new. His heart was feeling and doing things that it had never had the opportunity to feel and do before now.

"Thank you, Mr. Goyle," he said with a slight nod in the wizard's direction.

"So you're all going in on the guessing together?" He asked this, realizing that made the most sense if they were working together to identify the witches as they were.

"We are," a group of them said.

Whoever was doing the photo shoot would be in for a rude awakening if these ten wizards won. He could very easily see them wanting to do their own pin-up calendar.

"Well, good luck then."

"Aren't you going to try to guess any of the others models?" Ronald said.

"Were there other witches to look at?" he quipped. "I didn't notice."

"Woah, that was a pretty decent answer," Harry said.

"No, Mr. Potter, it was actually a pretty Outstanding answer," he quipped before turning away from their table to take his leave. He couldn't help but smile in response, even if he had just formally announced to them that he and Hermione were dating.

Now, to her home and their scheduled nightcap. Tonight he would spend the time with her wondering when she'd model that pin-up outfit for him. Preferably on a weekend, when neither had to work the next day.

It couldn't hurt to put in the request.

~The End~

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com