Disclaimer: It goes without saying of course, but I do not claim to own any of the Harry Potter characters or their magical universe created by J.K. Rowling. I'm writing this story purely for fun and not for profit.
A/N:
This story is really two stories in one.
The first story, rather short, ends with Charity's tragic death in DH. Read chapters 1,2,3. It is complete.
The second story, starts the same but will take a different turn towards a happy ending. Read chapters 1, 2, 4, 5... etc (work in progress).
It was an unusually animated staff meeting, Charity Burbage thought, but then it was shaping up to be a pretty unusual school year. Not that she had much to compare it to. After all, it was only her second year teaching at Hogwarts. But she assumed that it must be a very special occasion, given that there only was a Triwizard tournament once every four years, and the honour of hosting rotated amongst the three schools involved.
Flitwick and Sprout were still engaged in a heated debate about the best theme for decorating the Great Hall for the Yule Ball– an Ice Palace, or Fairies and Flowers? Pomona kept going on about how wonderful her singing snapdragons and glowing gladioli were, far nicer than the ones on display at Beauxbatons four years prior. It was getting a little tedious, and Minerva had started tapping her foot impatiently, anxious to get on to the remaining topics on the agenda.
"Well, we have two excellent proposals. Let's have a vote, shall we?" the headmaster finally intervened. "Hands up if you would like to see the Hall turned into an Ice Palace."
Charity raised her hand, as did everybody else in the room, apart from Sprout and Snape. The Herbology teacher seemed rather hurt by the lack of support for her idea. Charity felt a little sorry for her fellow Hufflepuff.
"Hands up if you want Fairies and Flowers," Albus continued, ignoring the fact that the outcome of the vote was already clear.
When only Pomona's hand went up, Charity felt compelled to raise hers, too.
"You've already voted!" cried Professor Vector accusingly.
"Err... yes... but I like both ideas equally," she stammered, blushing.
"It hardly matters, when it's ten to two," Snape hissed at the elderly Arithmancy professor.
Up until that moment, he hadn't spoken a single word throughout the meeting. He had been sitting in his chair, apparently in a foul mood, his eyes half-closed, pinching the bridge of his oversized nose between his thumb and forefinger, his face partially concealed behind curtains of lank black hair. The note of exasperation in his voice suggested that his head would explode if he had to listen to one more argument.
"Calm down, everybody," Albus tried to smooth the waters. "Ice Palace it is. Pomona, let's save your idea for the graduation ceremony. On to the next topic..."
"Student discipline!" Minerva exclaimed, obviously relieved to finally get to the subject she seemed most concerned about.
Charity was hardly listening as the deputy headmistress lectured about the importance of exemplary behaviour from each of their students, such as not to embarrass Hogwarts in front of its guests. Her thoughts drifted away, visualising the Ice Palace that Flitwick would create, and herself in her gorgeous new dress. How she loved that dress... As the Muggle studies teacher, she felt it was her duty to demonstrate some good Muggle fashion sense. And so, of course, her dress was Muggle style, made of purple shimmering taffeta, which complemented her pale skin and brown hair, and rustled when she moved, in a way that made her feel like a million galleons.
"...need to nominate one member of staff from each house to perform chaperoning duties on the evening..."
Well, she was not going to volunteer... Let someone else spend the evening playing the spoilsport. Pomona, for instance. She was the head of house anyway, and she was too old to really care about balls. Charity, on the other hand, looked forward to the event with the same childish anticipation as the students. She had not been to a ball since her own graduation. Oh, how she longed to be admired in that purple dress, how she wished for nothing more than some gentleman to whisk her around the dance floor all night... But that was precisely where the problem was – she needed a partner.
She envied the students, the girls in particular. Throughout all her classes for the older students, she could witness the excitement amongst them, the whispering, the little pieces of parchment passed around in secret, the gossip about who was going to the ball together... Ah, to be taken to the dance by one of the swashbuckling Durmstrang boys... But it was hardly appropriate for a teacher to go out with a student, even if she was not that much older than the seventh years.
She took a look around the staff gathered in the faculty room and sighed inwardly. There was Albus, charming, and an impressive wizard by any standard, but unfortunately about a hundred and fifty years old... And she suspected that he would be going with Minerva. Well, in any case, he was preferable to Binns, who was dead! Or Filch – urgh! Flitwick, on the other hand, only reached up to her waist, and Hagrid was about twice her size – not the perfect dance partners. What a shame that Lupin was no longer there. He had been a nice man, charming, and with the romantic appeal of a struggling artist... His successor, however, with his wooden leg and oddly whizzing eye, was spooky, not to mention that he was completely demented.
Unfortunately, that left only Snape - not exactly charming, and certainly not handsome, but at least young, tall, and able-bodied. And with that certain pureblood haughtiness that was sort of – umh – sexy. She didn't know much about Snape at all, including his blood status, but she imagined that, as head of Slytherin house, he would obviously be pureblood. She had hardly spoken a word with him during her time at the school, as he was totally resistant to all her attempts at being sociable. But she knew that he was acquainted with people like the Malfoys. And while he had neither the charm nor the looks of a Lucius Malfoy, and probably not the money either, he did have the style. There also was a new rumour spreading about the school... A rumour that Snape could dance!
As part of the preparations for the Yule Ball, each head of house had been charged with teaching their students at least the basics of dancing. The stories of what had happened at the respective sessions for each house had been a great source of gossip and entertainment throughout the school. From the sound of it, the Gryffindors had been the only ones to actually learn anything, for Minerva had conducted her lessons with the same discipline and competence as her Transfiguration classes. Professor Sprout, on the other hand, had been somewhat out of her depth where dancing was concerned, and had enlisted the help of Professor Binns to teach the Hufflepuffs. The result, however, had been a disaster... The Ravenclaws had fared hardly better. Professor Flitwick had kept his lessons purely theoretical, and abstained from any practical demonstrations. Everyone had been most concerned about the Slytherins though, doubting that their head of house even knew what a dance was. Minerva had offered her help, but Snape had refused with a sneer.
From what had transpired, Snape had pulled out Pansy Parkinson to dance with him, to demonstrate the basic steps of a waltz. The girl had been slightly clumsy, stepping on his toes a number of times, for which she had been reprimanded with some scathing remarks that had left her in tears. He had then proceeded to pair his students up, and told them to practice, while he was watching, and picking out their mistakes with his usual sharp-tongued sarcasm. As a result, the Slytherins had all been terrified, and probably put off dancing for life. Well, there was no surprise in that... The really sensational piece of news had been that Snape could apparently dance with a skill and elegance nobody would have expected of the dour Potions Master.
It sort of made sense though. He probably had been invited to many pureblood high society balls, giving him ample opportunity to practice. Maybe that's why he had looked so bored throughout the meeting, because a Yule ball no longer held any of the novelty value and excitement for him that it did for her. Maybe Snape was not such a bad option, after all. She was an acceptable dancer herself, so should be able to keep up with him, and she was also perfectly capable of dealing with his acerbic nature. And while she found all those theories of pureblood superiority rather abhorrent, maybe a touch of their glamour would be a nice thing to experience for one evening. Surely, Snape had not asked anybody out. So if only she could work up the nerve to ask him, the prize would be hers. She decided to approach him after the meeting.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, every point had been covered, from the catering arrangements to the music, to the timing of all the speeches. With a sigh of relief, Charity got up from her chair, and positioned herself close to the door, in order to intercept Snape. The darkly brooding Slytherin seemed just as pleased that the tedious affair had reached its conclusion. He was about to sweep past her out of the room, when she took a brave step forward to stop him.
"Severus – I was wondering... Would you do me the honour and go to the ball with me? I hear you enjoy dancing as much as I do."
His obsidian eyes looked down at her with loathing, and his lips pulled into a sneer.
"I see nothing enjoyable about it. And had you paid any attention during the meeting, you would know that I am on chaperoning duty all evening. Now if you would be so kind to get out of my way..."
Charity swallowed hard. She tried not to show how hurt she felt by his rebuff, being at a complete loss of what to say. Thankfully, Dumbledore had moved over, and came to her rescue.
"Ah Severus, of course you can take dear Charity out to the ball. Your duties won't hold you up all evening, and the two of you would make such a lovely couple."
If looks could kill, Dumbledore would have been dead on the spot. But as it was, Snape just gave her a curt nod, and swept out of the room with his long, black robes billowing behind him.
"Does that mean he accepted?" Charity turned to the headmaster, uncertainly.
"Of course he did," the old wizard replied with an amused twinkle in his eyes.
She could sense her stomach flutter with excitement, still feeling a little light-headed from the adrenaline rush a moment earlier. Skipping down the spiralling stairs with a spring in her step, she rushed back to her quarters to try on that dress one more time.
On the evening of the ball, Charity regarded herself in her tall bedroom mirror with deep satisfaction. The dress fit her perfectly, and was of a very flattering cut. It concealed her less attractive points, while accentuating her slim waist, and the neck line presented just a modest but tantalising enough amount of cleavage and creamy-white skin. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in glossy brown curls, thanks to the Muggle conditioner that her mother had sent her. She felt beautiful, and couldn't wait to get out there on the dance floor. She sat down on the edge of her bed, awaiting the arrival of her date with nervous anticipation.
At precisely eight o'clock, there was a knock on the door, a sharp and demanding knock that could only announce Snape. She opened the door, to find the austere Potions Master standing outside. He was wearing the same black attire as always. She wondered if it was to demonstrate his disregard for the occasion or because he did not own any dress robes.
"Are you ready? I haven't got all day," he said, glowering.
If she had hoped he would show some surprise or appreciation at seeing her in her dress, she was disappointed, for his face remained perfectly stern and impassive.
"Yes, let's go!" she replied brightly.
He offered her his left arm in a gesture of old-fashioned formality. His body felt unexpectedly firm and taut underneath the rough wool of his coat, as she wrapped her hand around his elbow and he led her on.
Her office and living quarters were on the first floor of the castle, only a short walk from the Great Hall, down one flight of stairs, which was just as well, because Snape moved with such long strides that she struggled to keep up with him in her high-heeled shoes. She would have liked to make an elegant entrance, but his pace did not allow her to walk gracefully.
When they passed through the doors into the Hall, Charity's jaw almost dropped in awe, so beautiful was the setting. Icicles hung from every cornice and every joist, every pillar was frosted over with silver glittering rime, the floor appeared smooth and shiny like a frozen lake, and in the centre stood the most magnificent Christmas tree she had ever seen, decorated with silver baubles and tiny real snow fairies. She was so absorbed by the sights and sounds, taking it all in, watching the beautifully dressed young people, that she hardly noticed when the music started.
"And here I was, thinking you wanted to dance..." Snape's deep voice pulled her out of her stupor.
"Oh! I do!" she replied.
He smirked, placing his right hand firmly underneath her shoulder blade, and drew her closer to him, so close that her abdomen rested against his. She swallowed. This was closer than she had been to any man in a long time, no less the saturnine head of Slytherin. He took her right hand in his, holding it at shoulder level in formal dancing posture, while she rested her other hand on his upper arm, feeling the bulge of his biceps underneath the black fabric.
"Ready?"
It hadn't been intended as a question, and he didn't wait for an answer, before stepping forward between her legs to lead her into the first waltz. But the gentle pressure of his hand against her back and her palm was enough to guide her securely, so that she had no difficulty following him.
He was truly a competent dancer. His movements were precise and economic, just like his wand work. She relaxed into the gently rolling music, enjoying the sensation of relinquishing control, and floating along in the strong arms of man, covering the ground effortlessly. She realised that their performance on the dance floor probably looked rather impressive, as she noticed several pairs of eyes following them, and people moved out of the way to make space.
Snape's black eyes were staring at her relentlessly, with an intensity that made it impossible to hold his gaze for longer than a few moments, so instead, she focused her eyes on his hand. She noticed how beautiful it was, large, but long-fingered and fine-boned, the nails short and well groomed. His palm felt warm and dry against hers. For a moment, she envisaged it cupping around her breast.
She was shocked by her own imagination, she had never thought of him that way. Nor would she! It was Snape, for Merlin's sake!
It wasn't made easier by the fact that she could smell him, though. He smelled good, not in a perfumed way, but a deep, musky, woody scent that she suspected was just him. If he was good at dancing, what other things might he be good at? As the music built to a crescendo, he started into a turn, swirling her around, and when he moved forward again, his thigh brushed against hers. Her pulse accelerated a little at the unexpected contact.
By now she found it impossible to look him in the eyes, trying hard not to blush. She glanced up at his mouth. His lips were full and just a shade darker than the pale skin of his face. He was cleanly shaven but for a slight shadow on his chin and upper lip. Deep lines ran from the corners of his mouth towards his nose. She wondered if his nose would get into the way. Oh, no! She must be going crazy if she considered Snape kissable!
The thought of his lips against hers was so distracting that for a moment she lost her rhythm, and stepped on his toes. He gave her a scathing look, making her blush furiously, but decided to let it pass, instead slowing down to allow her to find her step again. His hand slid slightly lower, to give him more control over her movements. She was painfully aware of his eyes resting on her, of his hand on her waist, and the feel of his buttons rubbing against her belly through the silk of her dress. An ache spread outwards from her groin, making her breathing turn shallower. She imagined him naked, lying on top of her, between her legs...
Suddenly he leaned closer, his hair tickled against her cheek, and she could feel his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, "I think you'll find you can stop now."
Mortified, she realised that the music had stopped, and that she had been too entranced to notice. She feared the colour of her face was rivalling that of her dress. After a brief moment to ensure that she wasn't going to keel over, Snape let go of her and took a step back.
"One dance will have to suffice. If you would be so kind to excuse me," he said coolly, before turning and walking away, leaving her standing in the middle of the floor, bereft and wanting.
She watched as he reached into his pocket, drawing his wand, and marched from the Great Hall with long, purposeful strides, his black hair bouncing on his shoulders.
Feeling deeply disappointed, she decided to get a drink, and sat down to watch the other couples dancing. Dumbledore seemed to have noticed that she had lost her partner, and asked her to dance a couple of times, and she even had one rather awkward dance with Hagrid, but nothing compared to the waltz with the dark Potions Master.
As it got later, the formal dancing came to an end, and the Weird Sisters took over the stage. Before long they had the crowd bouncing up and down in abandon, but Charity did not feel like joining in. Feeling oddly restless, she sat and watched, nursing her third glass of champagne, looking around in the hope that Snape might return, but he remained frustratingly elusive.
When it got close to eleven o'clock, the first couples started to leave the ball. She watched with more than a trace of envy as Miss Delacour and her partner walked past her, arm in arm. That girl was getting laid, for sure. Emboldened by the alcohol, she decided to go looking for the object of her desire. She passed Dumbledore out in the corridor, who was heading back inside.
"Severus is out there in the courtyard," he told her with a wink.
Shivering as she stepped out into the cold air, she soon spotted Snape a few yards away, checking the cosy spots between the rose bushes for any students snogging.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and the same from Hufflepuff, Ebbens," she heard him growl. A red-headed boy and an embarrassed looking girl crept out from their hiding place and hurried past her. Charity was not pleased at all to see her house loosing points like that, and decided to confront Snape.
"Do you ever take points from your own house, Severus?" she asked pointedly.
"I don't have to, as I, for once, make sure my students adhere to high standards of behaviour," he replied. "You, on the other hand, wriggled out of your chaperoning duties, so it hardly befits you to criticise those who do uphold discipline at this school."
The sound of his deep voice made her skin erupt into goose flesh.
"For you it is hardly a duty. You just enjoy playing the Grinch Who Stole Christmas," she retorted.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"It's a Muggle story, about a grumpy, bitter, heartless creature, hell bent on ruining everybody else's fun," she explained.
He let out a derisive snort. "What are you doing out here anyway, without a coat? You're going to catch your death."
"I just want to give you one more opportunity to appreciate me in this dress."
"I'm sure you'll find much more appreciation inside in the Great Hall, Charity."
"But I want your opinion. So – what do you think?" she asked with a coquettish smile, twirling around in a rustle of silk.
"I think that you're going to catch pneumonia. Go back inside."
"Will you at least come with me? You've only danced with me once."
"I told you, I have to chaperone."
"Well, I'm sure you're no longer required here, as you've already scared everybody away. We could go inside and have a glass of wine."
He sighed, exasperated.
"No. I will however escort you back to your quarters, as you are obviously incapable of looking out for your own health."
He removed his coat, and placed it over her shoulders, revealing the white linen shirt he was wearing underneath. With his hand in the small of her back, he ushered her along towards the entrance. He accompanied her down the corridor and up the stairs to her room. Once there, she unlocked the door, holding it open for him as an invitation to follow her inside, but he remained standing where he was.
"My coat," he demanded with a stern look.
"Come and get it," she teased him, throwing him a flirtatious look over her shoulder as she turned to head inside.
Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist and spun her around, until her back rested against the wall next to the door frame.
"Stop playing games with me!" he hissed, with a dangerous undertone to his voice.
He placed a hand either side of her, effectively trapping her in the space within. His face was only inches from hers, his nose almost touching hers, while his obsidian eyes pierced her mercilessly. She wanted to lower her gaze, but could not. Like a deer caught in the headlights, she was unable to move and unable to think.
Memories and thoughts flashed in front of her inner eye in disjointed order. It was both confusing and disconcerting; she seemed to have no control over her own train of thought. Snape was the main subject of most of the images bubbling up in her mind, including some of the salacious fantasies she had indulged in during their earlier dance. Suddenly it occurred to her that he might be able to see everything that went through her head, that he might in fact be causing this mental haemorrhage, perusing her mind like an open book. It was a humiliating feeling of being powerless, and exposed. When it finally stopped and he broke eye contact, the embarrassment she was feeling quickly gave way to indignation and rage. She lashed out at him, in an attempt to slap him, but he caught her hand, holding on to it with a vice-like grip.
"How dare you!" she spat.
He looked at her with a mix of bemusement and condescension.
"You really are crazy," he scoffed.
For one long moment they looked into each other's eyes, her expression defiant, petulant, challenging, while his seemed to change from sneering to curious, to almost predatory.
Suddenly, he leaned closer, and claimed her mouth in a rough kiss, which was more a way of staking his claim, than an expression of tenderness.
