A more magical piece of Muggle clothing never was sewn.
The dress was navy, and all across it were white shooting stars. It hung to the knees, lightly lined, not one of her normal twirly dresses, but swooshed a bit to the side as she walked, and as she turned around. The white thread used to stitch the stars was so bright that everywhere she went, she glowed. Deep pockets in the dress (for the witch that wore it, the pockets were the most magical part) this week held a purple flower for Molly, daisies for Ginny and Hermione, and a THORNY red rose for Tonks, who had specifically requested that the flower be extra thorny.
He tried not to notice her.
It had been so many years since he had taken notice of any woman. It was difficult, because she wore a dress made of sheer nighttime, his favorite time of the day, her hair was in a curly ponytail that fell down her back, and there was a slit in the back of the dress, about four inches long he thought, that gave a peek of her back, then closed where her neck and shoulders met with two dainty buttons.
And of course, he approved of the sensible black shoes she wore.
How easy it was for her delight everyone she encountered. She distributed the requested flowers to the ladies, greeted Arthur, and hugged Remus. She complimented Dedalus on his latest summer hat purchase. She knew that Emmeline had a hard week, and squeezed her hand comfortingly.
Did she delight him?
Nothing really delighted Severus Snape.
And when she approached him, he thought she must have applied Amortentia to her skin. Highly unwise of course, as for most people, it gave horrible hives, so it was not an ideal perfume. But how else did she smell like vanilla and sea water?
His own present rested in her hand, not shoved (albeit gently) in her pocket. "Fresh cut lavender for the Potions master," she said importantly, smiling down at him as he rested in his chair. Her lips were pink, and a stray curl stuck to her lightly sunburnt cheek. It was infuriating.
"Thank you," he replied stiffly. Never was he one to accidentally let his thoughts slip out, but with her hypnotizing scent and that dress made of starlight, he wasn't sure what his tongue could be capable of if he wasn't careful.
The worst thing about her was that she was perfectly fine with his monosyllabic responses, his irritability, the way he closed himself off from everyone else. She didn't know the cause of these reactions, but she knew what was normal for him. She was comfortable enough to take a seat next to him, rummaging around in one of those pockets.
He didn't dare to look at her and immediately tried to shove these memories deep into his mind.
This cannot happen, he told himself urgently. You are a spy, first and foremost. You have no time to even think about a woman. If the Dark Lord found out, he could use it against you, and... He shuddered to think at what could happen. No, he decided. He would not allow the Dark Lord to kill another woman that he loved.
Loved?
He brushed the thought away brusquely. Surely he didn't love her. No. He told himself that despite all the time the two had spent together this summer reading in the living room, sitting together at Order meetings, and exchanging potions and plant knowledge, that he barely knew her, and that he barely cared to know her. He heard her sigh, and assumed it was safe to glance down at the table. She was poring over the pages of a Japanese garden brochure from somewhere in the United States. He was so tempted to peek at her, just for a moment.
He clenched his teeth in concentration. These feelings were only temporary. He tried to reassure himself of that. He only felt this way because she was wearing that dress with the stars woven into it, because her hair looked, er, nice, and because she smelled like his favorite things.
"Severus?" He flinched a little, her voice breaking him out of his trance. "Tell me about your day today." Her blue eyes gazed up at him expectantly.
And maybe he had these feelings because she cared to know him. She cared to know that he didn't want to talk all the time, that silence was fine, but conversation was acceptable occasionally. He knew that she was the only one who really cared, who would be excited by his success to brew a particularly tricky potion this morning.
So maybe they weren't temporary. But that didn't mean that they were acceptable, and he knew he had to put a stop to them. He was responsible for so much that it made him weary, and it made him lose sleep many nights. He was so thankful that September was coming soon, and the Order meetings would no longer be so often. He could pour himself into his responsibilities at Hogwarts, and he could put her face out of his mind.
He hoped.