This story came about as a prompt for my friend and fellow shipper, Cybrokat, when she was having a particular shite day. Prompts: Snape as a radio DJ, Ron is an asshat who zips his todger in a wad, and Hermione walks out. Many, many, maaaannnyy thanks to Cybrokat, errandofmercy,and the lovely and fabulous Beta that Cybro and I share. Any mistakes you find are my own... because I had to keep noodling with it. *headdesk* Hope you enjoy! :) Much love!


Oh Merlin, Hermione huffed, throwing her curly mass of hair over her shoulder, ignoring Ron's pleading words, and grabbing her bag, "We are done, Ronald. Finished. Finis. The End. Goodbye! And by the way, it's called the G-Spot!"

Hermione Apparated to her own flat, seething. That was a fucking nightmare! What's so wrong with me that I attract useless, pathetic wankers? she questioned herself, as she tossed her handbag to the side of the couch, and wandered over to the sparse wine selection sitting atop her kitchen counter.

Perhaps getting a bit pissed might be a good idea. She kicked off her shoes and opened a bottle of cheap red; perfect to get her a bit happy, yet not costly enough for her to mourn it when she woke up in the morning with half a hangover.

Taking her tumbler full of red – it could almost be classified as cooking sherry, it was nearly that atrocious - she swore she'd never be like Trelawney. She'd Avada herself before she became that pitiful.

Thinking of her former professor, she began to catalogue the most prominent ones in her mind, slowly taking deep draughts from the wineglass.

McGonagall was now the Headmistress of Hogwarts and just as lovingly Scottish as ever. She'd just had an owl from the Tartan-loving woman the other day, inquiring about her career options. Anytime there was a new position open at Hogwarts, McGonagall automatically contacted Hermione to gauge her interest. She supposed it was due to the fact that Hermione had rallied for the creation of the Hogwarts' Apprentice Royale Program, or H.A.R.P., and was one of the first graduates with a cross-platform Mastery in Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Runes.

Hagrid was keeping Grawp in the Forbidden Forest still, for everyone's safety, and they both seemed to be doing well. It was almost time to stop by and have some rock cakes and tea; every 6 months on the dot she made the trip out to see him. Sometimes the boys came along, mostly not.

Remus and Tonks - dear Tonks! - would be celebrating their 5 year anniversary in a few months. Lupin was writing a memoir of the war from the werewolf point of view and filling in as the DADA professor once again, while Tonks was a part time Auror, sharing pup-raising duties for their two small children. Hermione smiled. Love.

Her mind stuttered to another former professor, the antithesis of love for most.

Snape: where had he gone? He'd survived, sure as Ron had gotten his todger lodged in his zipper tonight. But he'd disappeared after she'd received her Mastery. Once upon a time, she and he had been most... friendly, she decided to call it. Yes, friendly. But then, he had gone away. She unconsciously rubbed a hand across her heart.

Hermione sighed in disgust. Men. What good were they? Leaving, running away. Letting others down.

Ronald had let her down again. Truthfully though, when hadn't he? She growled with frustration and downed the rest in the glass.

Tonight had been the last straw. When he'd approached her after they ate dinner at 'his' shed behind the Burrow, a hastily magicked bit of slum, she'd been somewhat willing, telling herself that another attempt at sex with him couldn't get any worse. They'd sat sharing a rickety table with chipped dishes, surrounded by randomly strewn clothes as they nibbled on the leftovers from Molly's table in the main house. The smell of corn chips and unwashed socks perfumed the air.

How wrong she'd been to give Ronald another go.

Ron had started to undress, baring all his ginger glory – showing the patchwork of freckles and various scars – which she cared little about, having her own. It was when he attempted to charm the music box on the shelf into playing what Hermione's mum would call "Stripping music" that she had almost lost it. As his pale, splotchy body swayed, articles of clothing were thrown haphazardly. An undershirt had landed on a nearby candle lamp. By the time he reached her chair, he was lowering his zipper, his eyes half-lidded with lust. And then, there was a kerfuffle as he moved the zipper up for some odd reason, zipping his todger in a wad. Tallywhacker and coarse ginger hair were no doubt caught. He was screaming in pain, her annoyed demeanor making him gesture frenziedly at his cock.

Like I don't see it, you idiot!

She'd waved her wand, freeing him with a pointed Reducto spell at his zipper and trousers, thus destroying his bottoms entirely. About that time, her attention was caught by the lamp which had started on fire. The feckin' lamp was hotter than she was. Gods dammit!

She'd waved an Aguamenti charm at the lamp and headed for the door, against his now begging words, "Don't go, 'Mione, please! It was the spider I saw! Give me one more chance. I promise I'll find your j-spot this time. I swear it!"

This latest had been the worst, and probably most painful – at least for him - in a series of humiliating bedroom episodes.

There was the time he'd 'installed' a sex swing in the shed's bedroom. That fiasco had ended up with her needing an episkey on her nose and right wrist.

Honestly, had the boy never heard of permanent sticking charms before?

And dear Merlin! After all those years of her helping him in school, apparently she was hopeless to show him where her hot buttons were. After the fiftieth time of trying to guide his hands to her erogenous zones, she was mentally and emotionally exhausted.

He was a bloody git. He was pants in the bedroom; a lazy, good-for-nothing Auror in training that should have graduated when Harry did 2 years ago.

And Merlin wept! Ron still lived at home – well, in a cheap version of a hovel behind the actual Burrow home that had been transfigured from an old coal shed.

Then, there was the time – she cut herself off. She didn't need to remember anymore. From now on, she would be Ron-free. She was done with pathetic boys. She needed a real man. A sudden memory of dark, soulful eyes and the slender strength a pair of scarred hands held flitted through her mind. She shook her head to clear the brief fog.

A little background noise would be good she decided, and switched on the wizarding wireless. Perhaps it would take her mind off the disastrous evening. Tomorrow was to be Ginny and Harry's co-ed baby shower, so she really shouldn't tie one on, but a glass or two to relax her a bit wouldn't hurt as she indulged in listening to others' problems; and a dead sexy voice didn't hurt either.

Hermione curled onto the couch with her glass of almost-cooking-sherry, and closed her eyes to listen to the soothing tones reverberating through her troubled mind. She'd discovered the talk station on the Wizarding Wireless a few months back. Friday nights were her favorite, no question. The wizard who hosted it had the most fabulous voice. Her toes would curl upon hearing his first words of the evening.

What made it better? He did the "Love Simmers" talk hours between 10pm and midnight. So in the dark of Friday nights, she would lay on her couch, curled up with a glass – or 3, it depended on how awful the date with Ron had been – of wine and would enjoy his sweetly darkened tones as he answered a wide range of questions. Folks from all over Wizarding Britain were encouraged to send in their Patronus; from there, the questions were relayed to the listeners in order to preserve the anonymity of the inquirer . Everything from men 'calling in' to ask how to please their witch, to witches wondering how the male mind worked in relation to a variety of circumstances.

P. Cauldron, the host, would answer all inquiries fairly, albeit with a bit of wit and snark. She simply adored the man, with his voice like a thick, sensual blanket she wanted to cover herself with every night.

If only. I bet he's either horrible in the sack or a god too good for a mere witch. Hermione sighed and turned up the sound a bit, then sat back.

"You're listening to KWRD … your number one, and only place for the best talk radio. Warding away your loneliness every night", the deep, disembodied voice teased at her senses. Hermione snorted and downed the rest of the glass, pouring another in short order and settling further into the couch to listen intently.

"The next Patronus up is a fox...and what a lovely foxy... lady? Ahh yes," Hermione shuddered at the deep, rich tone, as he paused apparently to listen to the in-studio message from the Patronus. She drank a bit more of the rubbish red.

"I am being asked," he chuckled darkly, "What wizards want most in a witch."

She guffawed, nearly spilling the half-full glass. Feck me sideways! Where the hell can I find a good man is what I'd like to know.

His lovely, chocolaty chuckle warmed her down to her toes; she slammed back the rest of the wine glass in one go. It's not that bad or bitter, she licked and then smacked her lips. No wonder Trelawny drank so much of the swill. It definitely got better the more you tippled, she hiccuped and grinned to herself.

The fantastically velvet voice gave her shivers, "Witches, if you're listening tonight, know that what attracts wizards will differ by the wizard. A dear friend of mine looks first to the physical – the hair, the curvature of a witch's neck, her form. As for myself," he drawled, "I prefer a witch of intelligence, thinking of others' needs before her own. At the heart of a witch," his voice dripped sensually, curling Hermione's toes, "it is her confidence which will draw the wizard to her. If you are confident in who you are, then you shall have your pick of wizard. I swear it."

She snorted, and poured another glass – her fourth? Fifth? She was a confident, sexy bird. What man would drop on his hands and knees for her? Half of the men interested she wouldn't have at all! The only reason she'd kept company off and on these last few years with Ron was because he was a known quantity, she figured. But now she knew she deserved better.

A luscious, powerful single witch such as herself should not go through life with dunderheads following in her path. She needed a real man, she told herself, and she knew just whom to ask.

Fifteen minutes later, after various boring questions about relationships and other buggeringly idiotic things – she honestly didn't know how P. Cauldron did this every Friday night without perishing for all the stupid sods that came to him to answer – she heard a catch in his lovely, soft voice.

"It would appear that we have," he laughed low and thick like molasses, "a slightly pissed admirer."

"Why I'm not -!" her righteous indignation was cut off when she turned to see the now empty red wine bottle. Hmm... perhaps he's correct.

"Her Patronus is simply stunning as it's flitting here and there, luminous eyes. Very strong, powerful even. By the tone of her voice, I would hazard a guess she's very much a … know-it-all." His voice seemed a bit pensive as he did not identify her otter, but changed to warm laughter as he continued, "She relates that her on-again-now-off-forever boyfriend as of this evening, was such a nightmare in the bedroom, a no-good wastrel, and lazy git that she is looking to find a real man. Apparently, he lit a fire in his room – instead of within her breast – and ended the evening with a quite literal cock-up as he zipped his. She wants to know where the real wizards are and if so, would they be interested in her intelligence and the curvature of her neck – myself especially." His laughter came across the airwaves, welcoming.

Hermione nodded sloppily, "Damn straight!" nearly falling off the couch.

"Ahhh witches and wizards... if only we could all find that one. The one that bewitches our mind, ensnares our senses, brewing a love to last all time." A pause, "And now, for adverts from your local Wizarding supply stores. I will return momentarily." His serious and longing intonation gave her pause. She knew he'd said something important. Dammit. Something of what he had said was important. But what? Shite. She checked the clock; almost midnight, meaning nearly time for bed if she wanted to make the baby shower tomorrow.

Time to down a Sobering Potion. She quickly rifled through her bathroom cabinet and noisily sucked the vial dry.

She ran to the living room when she caught his voice coming back on:

"As it happens, my eligibility means very little to this conversation, although I am flattered. It sounds as though you have spent too much time in the company of boys playing at being men. I would hazard a guess, perhaps, that you seek a real man not just for his prowess in the bedroom, but for meaningful conversation. Discourse that will prove you are not the only intelligent being in the room. That can be had in any social situation," he paused again, but moved forward, albeit with hesitancy. "Just seek out the quiet man in black. He will usually appear aloof, but he will be fully aware of you. Trust me on this."

Her mental faculties somewhat restored, she frowned, brows drawn together. This wizard is making no sense whatsoever. Where are all the men in black?

"And so, I bid you farewell this evening. I will return next Friday at 10pm on KWRD. Until then, may your love simmer endlessly."

Ginny poked at Hermione. "What's got you buggered? You've had this thoughtful frown on your face all day. Even when we were making the cupcakes. You just seemed to be thinking very hard on something else." She bustled around the room, her seven months pregnant belly preceding her every step.

Hermione flushed and continued setting out the gifts for the Potter baby on the table, "I did something a mite stupid last night and I'm still not sure what to make of the answer I received."

Ginny laughed, "You talking 'bout Ron? Oh please! I've been waiting for you to turn him over in the apple cart for a while now. Good on you! Even mum was laughing – sympathetic – but chortling when Ron told her the latest story. I can't be arsed to worry about him right now. We've got at least forty guests arriving soon." The redhead busied herself with arranging silverware, napkins, and plates on the table opposite side of the room from her friend.

Hermione brushed away her long, mutinous curls away from her new sapphire robes, "I'm so glad that even your mum knew about our awful sex life," she said sourly. I'm done with him. I mean it! I realized last night that I only stayed with him because he was familiar - but familiarity with him bred contempt in his case. I don't know when, or how, but I am going to find a real -"

"Miss Granger. Mrs. Potter." The dulcet tones of their former professor stopped Hermione cold. She'd been so focused on her task with the presents and speaking with Ginny, that she'd not realized her former Professor had entered; she'd frozen all movement at the first sound of his voice.

His voice. It was him. No, it couldn't be.

"Oh Professor! How are you?" said Ginny. "You're here a bit early for the shower, but Harry's in the library, looking up childproofing charms if you're interested in seeing him..."

Hermione raised her head slowly, drawing her brown eyes quickly to his black ones. Hers widened as she took in the ensemble.

Severus Snape stood before her with black trousers, and a black, shiny button-up dress shirt. Black dragon hide boots encased his rather large feet.

I'd never noticed how big... she trailed off dazedly.

"Black?!" she blurted out with an undignified squeak.

The corners of his eyes crinkled with suppressed humour. "Indeed, Hermione." Her name rolled off his tongue like the warmest caramel sauce; she nearly melted in a pool of desire right then and there. He'd obviously had his voice distorted for the wizarding wireless broadcasts, probably because at full power it was so incredibly potent. She felt lust pooling low in her belly. That voice!

He smirked as she gathered her composure. Git, she thought. Then turned the tables with, "Ginny, Severus and I have some unfinished business..." Ginny waved her off. "We're nearly done. Mum'll be here any minute with Fleur and the food. Nearly had a fit when I told her I wanted to do my own shower," she snorted and grinned at Hermione, looking back and forth between her friend and their former professor calculatingly. "The rest of the guests won't arrive for another half hour or so. Go out into the garden to steer clear of mum or Ron."

Nodding, Hermione took Severus's proffered arm in hers and guided the way to the private garden behind Grimmauld Place. Ginny really had done wonders with it. Greenery framed a perfect flower-bloomed alcove for snogging. She had suspicions that the newest addition due in the next few months had been conceived there.

Snape motioned for her to sit on the stone bench among the blooming Chrysanthemums.

She crossed her legs demurely, folding her hands in her lap and looked everywhere but at the man in black beside her.

"I'm happy to see you have recovered from your … ordeal... yesterday." He looked straight ahead, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped as he bent forward in a comfortable slouch.

"All this time? Really? And that's all you have to say to me? Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered painfully and chanced a sideways glance at him.

A deep sigh, "Tell you what? 'Drop the dunderhead and be mine?' I'm nearly twice your age girl, think!"

A frigid, "I am not a girl anymore, Severus."

She pushed her hair back and left her hands on the bench to support herself. "I saw you every day during the first year, more during the second; I thought we'd become friends. Of a sort. Sharing meals, debating scholarly articles – when you avoided everyone else." Her fingers drew runes absently on the stone between them.

"You were still a student working on graduate credentials. Do you realize you are the reason Hogwarts offers a more active apprentice program? I could not interfere or appear interested." He defended, "It would have tainted your accomplishments, bringing things into question that simply were not so." Severus turned to face her, placing her small hand in his, "Would that I had known ..." He sighed and hung his head as she picked up with, "But I was still with Ron. The worst and most worthless two years of my life... but I was still faithful to him."

"We had many close calls", he reminded her warmly, tugging her closer until they were knee to knee, eye to eye, "Remember the library? The 'E' section?"

Their unblinking stare brought about a rush of desire as his voice curled through her body, making her knees weak – she was even still sitting! - and her heart palpitate.

"Ecstasy," she whispered, slowly bringing her arms up and around his neck, playfully running her fingers through the ends, smiling sweetly up into his dark eyes, and locking her hands together. His once sallow complexion was much healthier now, the deep flush of pleasure and desire coloring his cheeks.

"Witch," his chest heaved against hers, "Ecstasy can be many things. Allow me to demonstrate..."

He dipped his head until he was a mere hairsbreadth away from her lips.

"I cannot stop you", she smiled wantonly, "from bewitching my mind..." Hermione moved to place her lips against his as he whispered, "Allow me to ensnare your senses..."

Twining their arms around one another, they were bodily startled as one when a red-haired, red-faced figure stalked towards them, his fists clenched and a whinging growl emanating from between his clenched teeth.

"Ginny told me I would find you here! You! Oi! Unhand her, Snape!" Ronald Weasley looked a bit worse for wear; his shirt was mis-buttoned, his robes wrinkled, and the trousers beneath bore smudges on the knees. If Hermione had cared enough, she would have asked after his disheveled state. He drew his wand, pointed it at the man in black; his hand none too steady as he faced his former professor. Severus drew his body apart from Hermione's, as if in slow motion.

Snape's deep, furious grumble words were like glass shards to the ego of the ginger, "Mister Weasley, this witch has been horribly abused by your person. You know little of her heart, and less of her physical desires. I suggest you take a long toddle off a short cliff." His black eyes bore into Ron's menacingly.

"But... but...", Ron sputtered, his face paling, "You were mine, 'Mione! You were with me last night. cheated on me?" His eyes widened in disbelief.

Hermione tossed her hair back and sighed impatiently, "Of course not you fucking eejit! Never. I guess you could say I cheated on him with you. Not very satisfactorily, I might add", she harrumphed.

Ron took a stunned step back. "All this time..." he trailed off.

"Oh bugger off, Weasley!" Snape growled, effectively dismissing the ginger menace.

"But... but!" A couple quick waves of Hermione's wand had Ron silenced and petrified on the grass a few feet from them. She stowed it back in her sleeve and made to snuggle up to her dark wizard.

"Now, where were we?" Hermione grinned mischievously as Severus smirked and replaced his arms around her, pulling her to his chest.

Their first kiss was nearly chaste, but quickly morphed into an explosive exchange. He angled his head just so to avoid bumping her face with his nose. Lips parted, tongues sought one another in an elegant dance as their hands roamed one another's' bodies. Both felt the warm rush of magic, and perfect communion.

So this is what it's supposed to be like, she thought.

And that was her very last thought for a very long time.