It all started at the Yule Ball. Victor had left for a moment in search of a drink, and Hermione felt a blush of joy settle over her features. It wasn't just the surrounding decoration that made her feel as if she was floating.
She gasped and put a hand to her forehead. Was this all a dream? Perhaps it was; perhaps she would awake any moment now and be ugly and detested for her intelligence once more. She would enjoy this while it lasted.
Turning, she was surprised to find a dark figure standing before her. Professor Snape was gazing at her with dark eyes, and he was rather striking against the icy background. He was like a walking shadow. His cheeks were flushed (how peculiar!) and his hand was extended.
"S-sir?" She asked nervously, uncertain. "What..."
Her hand was snatched, and she was pulled from the room.
No one noticed, and soon she was standing outside in the snow amongst a series of carriages. She had heard some of the other (daring) girls boasting that they were perfect for more than just kissing, and Hermione blushed at such a risqué thought.
The windows were tinted with frost and Hermione saw her face warped by ice before the professor grabbed both her hands. Her eyes searched his, frightened, unsure, curious. Very slowly, he began to dance. It started as simple swaying, evolved into proper movement and ended in a simple but elegant waltz.
Hermione was confused but who was she to break the hold? This was a magical night and this was an otherworldly moment. Like the first time she had seen a unicorn face to face, having tagged along with Hagrid into the forbidden forest when some other students had made her cry. The great beast had smelled of earth, but in a pleasant way like the deep blue sky and fragrant flowers and salty ocean water.
She was wearing heels and they clicked against the snow as it melted into a fog and surrounded them in a thin haze of cold, white smoke. Snape dipped her, and that was the end.
Hair tumbling around her shoulders and lips far too close to his to be innocent, she breathed, "why?"
Her breath mixed with his, and he dropped her as if burnt. She fell to the ground painfully hard. His eyes were wild like an animal's and he was panting like a wolf staring down prey. His own hair was tousled, and his hand was icy cold when it touched her cheek.
His lips brushed against hers and her eyelashes fluttered closed with surprise. A shock coursed through her whole body like a lightning bolt, and when she opened her eyes he was gone and she was weeping. Upon finding his date sprawled in the snow crying, Viktor expressed concern.
"Hermy-own-ninny? Vat 'as happened?"
"Oh Victor," she whispered, grabbing him in a hug so desperate he spilled the drinks. "I haven't the faintest."
Severus Snape was lying on his bed, everything in disarray. Everything (His hair, his features, the room) was a mess. He had destroyed it not just with magic but his own furious fists. What a drunken fool he had been! Too much worry the night before had led to too much alcohol, which had led to him- his pillow burst into feathers and he slammed his hands onto his face.
"Damn it all to this hell and beyond," he snarled.
What was he supposed to do? Miss Granger was clever enough; she would no doubt be aching to ask him why, why he had danced with her and why he had kissed her like she mattered more than anything. When was the last time he had truly felt such fire when he touched anyone?
He had bedded plenty of women, most of them after Lilly's demise, in an effort to cleanse himself of misery. But it only led to him buttoning up his collar and telling the girl that he never wanted to see them again. She usually agreed wholeheartedly.
The bottle of brandy he had been nursing was flung across the room and it shattered into a million shards of glass and liquid. He had shown Hermione a magic he did not like to speak about, had invited her to join in! Lust never led to anything except for disgust.
The mark on his arm was a deep inky black, and he knew of wizards and monsters who had seen their own tattoos flourish as well. A pocket knife materialized in his hand and he slashed at his most horrifying scar with the tip of the blade.
Severus bled crimson and the blood fell languidly onto the cream colored bed sheets, staining. The knife embedded itself in the wall with a loud thump.
