A/N: This is even worse for me, as not only do I not own the characters, but for most of these, I can't even lay claim to the plot line! Here follows the drabbles (generally 2-300 words) for those that found the answers in the last chapter of 'Hour Follows Hour'. Expect fluff, and lots of it because I'm on the couch with my biccies and ready to write some romance! They're all unrelated for now.
Prompt from: Zuluqueenofthepygmies2 - Vegas!
She ran to his side as soon as his loud voice carried through the casino, pushing away the feathered boas and dancing girls as she weaved around the gambling tables. They'd separated early on in the evening, as her desire to see the lights and sights far overrode Severus' interest in actually participating.
Or so she'd thought.
"Severus! What? Are you alright?!"
Had there ever been a more beautiful sight before her? No, probably not.
Although, come to think of it, perhaps sexy was a better word?
Severus Snape stood at the very centre of the table, clad in a midnight black tuxedo, complete with a slightly off centre bowtie. His customary smirk was painted on his features as he rolled the dice casually in the palms of his hands.
"I believe," he began, voice all silk, "that I may have won!" Only a tiny hint of his voice breaking at the end betrayed his excitement, but she knew him better than anyone; Severus Snape was positively prancing with elation.
Yep. Hermione stood by her second opinion. Sexy was the right word. Sex on a stick, even.
Phwoar! Yes. A phwoar moment indeed.
Hermione bit her lip and sidled closer, grinning up at her husband as she slid an arm around his waist. He bent his head close to her ear, impervious to the gaggle of the crowd that had built around them while he had played the game.
"I seem to recall something about a … reward for coming to this insufferable city," he murmured, his breath tickling her ear. She shivered at the feel of his hand tracing circles on the skin of her back, bare from the daring red dress she wore, and shrugged innocently.
"I don't have the faintest idea what you're ta- ah! Severus!"
"Enough, woman," he growled, having lifted her off her feet as if she were a first year. He set a quick pace as he strode towards the elevators. "There is a special corner in hell reserved for this place, and if you're not naked in our bed with a feather boa 'round your neck in" – he checked his watch – "five minutes, then I'll donate all of these winnings to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes instead of S.P.E.W. Don't make that face, I know you're still running it on the side, naughty minx."
He didn't have to tell her twice.