Disclaimer: I don't own anything that relates to the Harry Potter series or franchise. Everything you might recognize is borrowed, anything else is, well, mine.
This story is loosely based on the move Indecent Proposal from 1993.

Chapter 1 - the Bet

"Bloody hell!" Ron Weasley exclaimed excitedly as he ushered his wife into the heavily guarded VIP box of the English National Quidditch Stadium, located way above the heads of the rest of the crowd.

The 424th Quidditch World Cup was being held just outside the small town of Madeley in England and tickets to the finale between Bulgaria and Egypt had been sold out for months. Ron and Hermione, however, had, through a stroke of incredible luck, been able to not only procure two tickets, but two of the most exclusive ones.

"Oh my," Hermione said in awe as she looked around the small but luxuriously decorated room. A smooth, thick, red carpet lay on the floor and four plush high-back reclining chairs in leather were placed smack dab in the middle, facing the pitch down below. A butler with white-gloved hands hovered quietly beside the door, waiting to be addressed.

"Uhm, hullo?" Ron said uncertainly, trying to make eye contact with the thin-lipped man.

"Good evening, sir," the butler replied immediately. "Can I get you some refreshments?"

"Er, yeah, sure." Ron ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. "Butterbeer and some snacks would be great, thanks."

The butler nodded in response and quickly left the room.

"How did Harry manage to get these seats in the first place?" Hermione whispered as she walked up to the railing, clutching it tightly. The view was spectacular.

"He didn't say." Ron shrugged. "And I don't care. This is bloody fantastic!"

Harry Potter was at home, tending to his very pregnant wife. He had grumpily, reluctantly, and at the very last minute offered the tickets to his two best friends, but only after Ginevra Potter had threatened with divorce, roaring that if he so much as dreamed of leaving her side he would find himself out on the street.

The butler soundlessly returned with two bottles of butterbeer and a basket of assorted sweets and snacks, placing them on a small coffee table. "Let me know if you need anything else, anything at all."

"Thank you," Hermione said softly from her place by the railing. "You know," she smiled and turned to Ron. "I could get used to this."

Ron snorted as he unwrapped what looked like a piece of very expensive chocolate and popped it in his mouth. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? We couldn't afford this even if I got a second and a third job." He plopped down in one of the chairs, beckoning to Hermione to sit down beside him. "Come on, love, the game is about to begin."

"Sir?" The butler approached them again, hesitantly this time. "I'm sorry to bother you." He pulled out a piece of parchment from an inside pocket. "I've been instructed to ask all of our VIP-guests if they would like to bet on the game?"

Ron furrowed his brows and cast a side-ways glance at Hermione. She sat down next to him and slowly nodded her approval. "We would actually," she replied, looking nervously at the butler.

After three years of married life, Ron and Hermione were still living at the Burrow. It had started out as a temporary solution and a temporary solution alone, making it possible for them to save up some money for a place of their own. Cramped up on a moth-eaten double bed in Ron's old boy's room, where the walls were still lined with posters of old Quidditch teams and outdated wizarding bands, they had discussed ambitious saving strategies and enthusiastically planned for the future.

But when Ron suddenly was kicked out of his Aurory-training and had to take a minimum wage job as a security guard at Gringotts, their chances of leaving the Burrow any time soon had quickly vanished. Hermione, having two years of school left before graduating to be the youngest Charms professor in the history of the Charms Institute of London, was not exactly rolling in cash. With her tight student budget and Ron's meager pay they could hardly make ends meet, much less put away any money.

So after much consideration and after a particularly hard month coping with Molly, Hermione had finally given in to an insane idea of Ron's. They would try their luck at gambling.

Sometimes you have to make a leap of faith, Hermione thought, snapping back to reality.

"Splendid," the butler said, giving them a small smile. "Let me explain the set-up for you. Naturally the wager involves picking a winner of the game. The rules, however, dictate that you also need to bet on whichever team you think will lead at half time. Should your bet turn out to be correct, you double your money. If you win and would like to quit after half time, that's fine. If you lose at half-time but still want to put down more money, that's also fine. If you win at half-time and decide to continue and your new bet turns out to be correct when the whistle blows, your money is doubled once more."

"Yeah, good," Ron replied. "Sounds pretty straightforward to me. Hang on a second." He clumsily leaned over the armrest towards Hermione. "How much do you reckon?" he asked quietly, searching her face.

"I don't know." Hermione bit her lip, debating with herself inwardly. "All or nothing at all?" she said and scrunched up her face in a grimace.

"Everything? Are you sure?"

Hermione sucked in a breath of air and slowly exhaled.

Think about your future. Ron's happiness. Your happiness. The prospect of a yard. Being able to drink a cup of tea alone at breakfast, without anyone nagging you about grandchildren.

But if you lose ... another little voice in her head added ... you'll be living with Molly and Arthur for the rest of your life.

She shook her head. Shut up.

"Let's just ... let's just do it," she said finally.

"Alright." Ron squeezed her hand reassuringly. "There's a fifty-fifty chance after all ... all we need is a teeny, tiny point in our favor."

He then turned to the butler, telling him to put down their 17, 394 galleons on a lead for Bulgaria in the first half of the game. The butler lazily scribbled down the number on his parchment, then nodded almost invisibly before returning to his post by the door.

"MERLIN'S RUDDY UNDERPANTS! I can't believe this!" Ron yelled happily, punching the air. Bulgaria had indeed managed to score 200 - 165 at half-time, doubling their stake. Wildly grinning, he rushed over to where Hermione was sitting, scooped her up in his arms and swirled her around the room.

"Put me down!" she squealed in between laughs.

"Wow, I mean ... wow, this is crazy," Ron stammered as he put her down, planting a wet kiss on her forehead. Hermione heaved a joyous sigh of relief and slumped back in her chair. She couldn't believe they had just landed over 17, 000 galleons on sheer luck. If this wouldn't push them in the right direction, i.e. out of Molly's suffocating arms, she didn't know what would.

"Ahem." The butler cleared his throat loudly, in a not so subtle attempt of getting their attention. "I've been notified by the owner. He wants to congratulate you personally and will be here in a minute."

"Oh," Ron said, a genuinely surprised look on his face. "Alright. That's ... nice, I suppose."

"I wonder who he is?" Hermione said distractedly, a grin still plastered on her face.

A soft knock on the door brought her out of her daydreaming. "That must be him," she said to Ron as she got up on her feet. "Why is your shirt so wrinkly?" she hissed, making Ron nervously try to flatten it out. The butler cast a swift look over his shoulder, clicked his tongue disapprovingly and then slowly opened the door.

"You!" Hermione gasped in astonishment and almost toppled backwards over the coffee table when none other than Severus Snape strode into the room.

"What the ...?" Ron said, but trailed off, bewildered, his eyes widening like saucers.

Hermione hadn't seen Professor Snape since a team of Healers rushed him to St Mungo's Hospital right after the final battle four years ago, and she almost had to force her mouth shut at the sight before her.

The rather tatty teaching robes he had been wearing back in her Hogwarts' days were replaced by a set of much more expensive ones in dark navy, with large silver snakes embroidered in the fabric. The billowing qualities, however, and his trademark buttons, were unsurprisingly incorporated in this new but still strangely familiar look of his.

His hair, although still at shoulder-length, had threads of grey in it and looked washed and tended to. His sallow skin had a healthier tinge to it and the yellow, crooked teeth from his earlier life seemed to be a mere memory. He looked elegant ... and rich.

Snape observed his two ex-students, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," he said, almost politely, and gave them both a nod.

Why isn't he surprised to see us? Hermione thought, confused, but then it dawned on her. Oh. He's the damn owner. Of course he knows who uses his VIP seats.

"It's Mrs. Weasley, actually," Ron said, finding his voice, snaking an arm around Hermione's waist possessively.

"Of course," Snape drawled, raising an eyebrow. "I do apologize, it was not my intention to … intrude. I am merely here to congratulate you on your … shall we say spot of luck?" He gave them a nod. "As is the custom of anyone in my position."

"You own the English Quidditch team?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Amongst other things," Snape replied vaguely, snapping his fingers. A house-elf immediately appeared by his side.

"What can Tibby do for master, sir?" the little elf said, bowing deeply before Snape.

"Champagne, Tibby, if you would be so kind."

The house-elf disappeared with a pop but returned almost instantly, balancing a tray of three champagne-filled crystal glasses and an expensive looking bottle of Dom Perignon.

"To your success," Snape said and held up his glass in a toast towards the couple, taking a sophisticated sip.

He then put down his glass and clasped his hands behind his back, watching as Ron gulped down the champagne like it was pumpkin juice and then wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

"I wonder ..." A crease between Snape's brows appeared. "Will you continue?" he asked, turning to face Ron.

"I-I ... it's a lot of money at stake," Ron replied, his eyes swiveling between his wife and his ex-professor. "I don't think—"

"It's your decision to make, of course," Snape said, running a hand across the back of one of the chairs. "To walk away with whatever it is you've already got or ... to double it." A gleam appeared in his dark, obsidian eyes. A sort of gleam that belongs to somebody with too much money, too much time, and too little respect for either.

"Yeah, well. Maybe we should," Ron replied quickly, sudden determination flitting across his face.

"Ronald, wait. He's baiting you," Hermione hissed through clenched teeth as she dug her fingers into his arm. "Let's talk about this. Please."

"Can't you feel it, 'Mione? We're on a roll here. And think of all the things we could do!" he said enthusiastically. "We can buy any house you want and travel to, to, wherever and … and maybe I can get a motorcycle! We might not even have to choose, we could get everything!"

"I just think we're pushing it." She lowered her voice, turning away from the penetrating eyes of Severus Snape. "It's everything we have, everything we've saved up." She stared at Ron. "And we're not getting a motorcycle!"

"All right, fine." Ron pinched his nose. "But 'Mione … if there's one thing I know, it's Quidditch," he said, taking her hands in his, a pleading note in his voice. "I have a good feeling. Trust me, love, just this once."

"Sir?" the butler inquired, forcing the couple to brake their gaze. "The game is about to resume, I need to know if you—"

"We'll do it," Ron cut off firmly, letting go of Hermione's hands. "We'll put the lot on Bulgaria."

"Very well," the butler replied, nodding in affirmative.

Ron cast a quick glance at Hermione but she refused to meet his eyes.

"Brave, Mr. Weasley," Snape said slowly. "Or foolish." He smirked. "We'll just have to wait and see."

All right, so here's what's going on. I walked away from this story a couple of years ago and never thought I would get back to it until ... today. I'm re-reading and editing some parts and intend to finish it as soon as possible. So, yes. Hi. Let's get on it.