December 1996
As Snape neared Slughorn's quarters, his lips twisted in a scowl at the sounds of merriment leaking around the ornate wooden door. Horace's Christmas party was in full swing and Snape would rather be anywhere but here – however, he had a job to do, so endure it he must. Reaching for the pineapple-shaped door handle, Snape stepped from the dimly-lit, austere hallway into what could only be categorized as a drunken collision of gaudy Muggle Christmas decorations and useless, whimsical magic gone haywire.
Everywhere he looked, there was holly and fairy lights and silk streamers in shades of crimson, gold and emerald. Mountains of food were piled on silver trays and fountains of punch tinkled at him from both sides of the room. Snape rolled his eyes when he saw the towering pine tree tipping precariously to one side due to the excessive amount of golden candles littering its branches. He was reflecting on the relative fire hazard of such a display when Slughorn's booming voice drew him from his musings.
"Severus, old boy! I see you found your misplaced invitation, very good!" Snape had given Slughorn every excuse he could think of when the man had pestered him about attending this evening's festivities. The lost invitation had been preceded by a lack of proper dress robes ("Not to worry, m'boy, any garment will do!" Slughorn had replied jovially), an unfinished potion requiring his attention ("Now, now, Severus, all magic and no play makes poor Merlin cry!" chortled Slughorn), and an impending sickly disposition (which Slughorn had dismissed with a hearty "Lucky for us you are a dab hand at potions and can whip up something to relieve your ailments!").
Snape had finally admitted defeat and now found himself standing in the middle of the party, which was in full swing. The cloying scents of cinnamon, pine and vanilla warred with one another for prominence, and Snape's face wrinkled into a sneer as they overwhelmed his senses. Slughorn thumped him on the shoulder and continued on his way to chat with Blaise Zabini. Resolving to depart as quickly as possible, Snape stalked towards the edge of the room, glaring at anyone who looked like they might be contemplating speaking to him. Spotting a curtained alcove, Snape checked that no one was watching before quickly ducking in.
"Oomph!" The body of a student he hadn't noticed went sprawling as he crammed himself into the small space.
"My apolo- Miss Granger! What business do you have lurking in shadowy niches? I do hope I have not interrupted a rendezvous between you and your date," he said with a relish that belied his words.
"It's none of your business if you have," she replied angrily, brushing her hair out of her face and glaring up at him. "And you should watch where you're –"
But her admonition was cut short when Snape held out a hand to her. Eyeing him warily, she debated accepting his help, but eventually decided it would be far more graceful to let him help her up than to try and stand in the limited space that now contained two people instead of just one. Placing her hand in his, she allowed herself to be pulled up. It was only once she was standing that she realized just how tight of a crevice her hiding place really was – they were not more than inches from one another, and Hermione was thankful for the darkened recess so that he could not see her blush.
She twisted and began to brush any dust from her dress, and felt Snape doing the same to her arms – quite unnecessarily, but she would not tell him that. She was horrified to feel the tingling sensation that always accompanied her dreams about her Potions professor spread throughout her body. However, it was far more intense now. She supposed it was because it was actually him touching her, rather than dream-Snape, that the feeling was so strong. She had been mortified, at first, when she continued to dream about him touching and kissing her, but over the past months she had rather come to expect (and enjoy) the dreams.
She would never admit that fact to anyone, though, even under the Cruciatus Curse. In the meantime, she occasionally broke into goosebumps during class when she would catch his eye, or when he brushed very close to her desk, but they had not been alone together since her disastrous last Occlumency lesson. Realizing how very alone they were now, she felt her face heat again and prayed that he was not currently sifting through her thoughts.
"Actually, sir, I am – that is – well – I'm hiding from Cormac," Hermione spluttered to break the silence. Snape did not respond, but merely raised his eyebrows as his hands returned to his sides. "He, ah, was a little too…" but she was too embarrassed to continue.
"I see," Snape said slowly. "And so, having chosen your date poorly, you thought to evade him for the rest of the evening?"
"Um," Hermione could find no dignified way to answer this, "yes."
"I see," he said again. The silence felt oppressively thick to Hermione, and just as she was about to bolt from their hiding spot, he said, "I suppose we can remain here together for the time being, unless you would rather take your chances with the Great Grabbing Oaf?"
Hermione stifled a giggle at Snape's nickname for Cormac. He had been rather handsy. "No, sir, I'd not like to run into him again this evening," she said, looking up at him. This was a mistake, however, as she had not realized just how close their faces were. She could see the gleam from the many candles reflected in the deep black orbs. They remained that way, standing closely and staring at each other, for quite a while. Hermione was pondering the fact that she was having a companionable moment with Snape – Harry and Ron would never believe her – when he surprised her by reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear.
"I believe I owe you a dance, Miss Granger," he said solemnly.
"I'm sorry – what?" Hermione cursed her voice for sounding so breathless.
"Two years ago, you asked me to dance, and I admit that I responded rather less than favorably," he explained. "Allow me to redeem myself now. There is not room in here to waltz, but I think we can manage a dance nevertheless."
Completely taken aback, Hermione stared up at him, her brow furrowed. A conciliatory gesture? From Snape? It had to be unheard of…
Smiling slightly, he said, "Yes, Miss Granger… I believe it is likely a first in the history of Hogwarts." He was trying – and failing – to look offended by her obvious hesitation.
"Oh! You just… surprised me, is all," she murmured. "Yes, I would love a dance – Cormac wasn't too interested, so I have hardly had a chance all evening, which is a shame as the music is quite lovely –" She was rambling, and she knew it, but was helpless to stop herself. This man unnerved her.
He silenced her when he placed his hands on her waist. She was suddenly, forcefully reminded of the last time they had been this close, the last time his hands had caressed her person – and she nearly fainted from the wave of dizziness that swept over her. As it was, she swayed towards him slightly, her chest brushing his in the process. Hermione's eyes fell closed as she placed her arms about his shoulders, and he began to rock them gently to the hauntingly beautiful music.
O children
We have the answer to all your fears
It's short, it's simple, it's crystal clear
It's round about and it's somewhere here
Lost amongst our winnings
O children
Lift up your voice, lift up your voice
Children
Rejoice, rejoice
"If you do not look at me, I shall be forced to assume you are not enjoying yourself," he said softly, and Hermione's eyes flew open as his breath whispered across her ear. He was looking at her intently, and when their eyes met, he murmured, "Good. I would hate for my atonement to be unappreciated."
"Never," she whispered, and her cheeks flushed at his deep chuckle. Drawing her closer, he placed one hand on the back of her head, and brought it to rest on his chest. She could hear his heart beating, sure and strong. Hermione did not know how to respond, what to do in this situation – after a few moments, she decided just to relax and enjoy the moment. She did not want to spoil it and face the Snape she was accustomed to.
Pressing her cheek to the wool of his robes, she felt more at ease than she had in a long time. She felt safe, and that was disconcerting. Idly, her hands drifted upward and began sifting through Snape's hair. It was the silkiest thing she'd ever touched, and she marveled at the smooth way it slid through her fingers. Ever curious, she wanted to explore, and her hands delved deeper into the inky black strands.
Snape was unable to suppress his moan of pleasure. Startled, Hermione looked up at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted. Her hands remained twisted in his hair. He stared at her, barely daring to breathe. Slowly, Hermione stretched up on her toes until her lips were almost touching his. "Stop me… if you do not want this," she whispered, never breaking her eye contact.
Groaning quietly, Snape closed the distance and pressed his lips to hers. Unlike their kiss in his office, this was unhurried, gentle. Her hands continued to slip through his hair. His palms stroked slowly up and down her sides. She sighed and pressed herself more fully against him. He languidly dipped his tongue into her mouth, tangling it with hers. Still they swayed to the music. Her hands gripped his neck now, holding him to her. He wrapped his arms securely about her waist, enveloping her. One leg insinuated itself between the folds of her dress, and she arched against him. They kissed each other softly, exploring, until, with one last press of his lips, Snape drew back, resting his forehead against hers.
"Hermione," he sighed, and the sound of her name on his lips nearly caused her to swoon. All too soon, he had released her and stepped back. Hermione thought he sounded quite rueful, and nearly begged him to stay. However, at that moment, someone talking loudly passed by their secluded alcove, and reality came crashing back. They could be discovered at any moment.
Taking her hand, Snape bowed low over it, murmuring, "Thank you for the dance… both now and then," before pressing a kiss to her palm. With one last smoldering glance, he had swept away into the crowd. Hermione stared after him, her heart beating erratically, her hand cradled to her lips.
A/N: It's a good thing this story is nearing the end, because I'm quite out of witty disclaimers. WeasleySeeker is wonderful, I'm not J.K. Rowling, and honeywater is used in the Antidote to Common Poisons. I'm not sure there's a connection here, other than 'honeywater' sounded sweet, and this is a sweet chapter. I guess you could draw some conclusion about Slughorn's party – Slughorn is the Potions professor – honeywater is an ingredient in potions – but then I'd have to wonder at what you're doing with so much free time on your hands. Oh, and there's a little bit of movie-canon in here, or maybe just a foreshadowing of movie canon… I don't own Nick Cave or his beautiful O Children song.