AN: Sorry, I have been under the weather the last few days. Review replies will be sketchy until I am on my feet again.
Hermione wasn't sure if she was still breathing. She wasn't even sure if she was still walking. All she was sure of was that his hand was large and warm and slightly calloused.
When he lifted her hand up, and placed his other on her back, she shuddered from head to toe. She finally looked around and realized they were about to start a waltz.
"You do know the waltz, do you not, Miss Granger?"
"I do. But I've never actually danced one before in public."
"Try to keep up."
As the orchestra swelled, his hand tightened slightly against her, and she nearly slapped her other hand onto his shoulder.
He pulled her into a turn and they spun away as if on a cloud. They made a complete circuit around the room before she stopped saying 'one-two-three, one-two-three' in her head.
Feeling it was now safe to let her legs do the work without having to actively tell them how to move, she looked up at her partner. He was scowling darkly around them. She looked around and became aware of all the curious stares and behind-the-hand comments.
"They are merely over-curious, sir," she said. "You are a great mystery to them."
"I would rather do without their curiosity," he muttered.
"I can understand," she said, squeezing his hand slightly in sympathy. "However, I must admit to no small amount of curiosity of my own, so I fear I am no better than the rest of them."
His face turned towards hers finally, and his gaze was dark, indeed. "Are you also curious about what it is like to betray two masters? What it was like to be the most ignominious Headmaster in Hogwarts' history? How it felt to nearly bleed to death, alone and untended, discarded like a piece of rubbish?"
Her eyes filled with tears, and she swallowed thickly, shaking her head. "No," she croaked. "I wasn't curious about those things at all."
There was a long pause before his voice came, softer and gentler. "Forgive me, Miss Granger. I detest being a spectacle and am at a loss as to how I ended up out on the dance floor after all these years. You have a strange way of making me forget myself. But then, you always did. Ask your curious question. I'll not take offense."
She blinked furiously to try and recover her composure.
"I was curious about where you have been since the battle. What you are doing since you have given up teaching. That was all," she said softly.
He lifted his head and steered them around several couples, swirling her in a series of graceful loops before answering.
"I've been with my family," he said finally. "I've decided to take the time to oversee the raising of my children properly."
She stumbled badly, and he caught her.
"Are you alright?" he murmured, as he covered their gaffe well.
"I'm sorry. I was just surprised, that's all. Like you were, I suppose, to see that I was no longer thirteen. You are married," she said in a dazed voice. "With children, even. I feel so silly for not having known. I fear I might have raised you up to some godlike status beyond mere mortals, and it never occurred to me that you were simply human, with a wife and children and probably a dog and a cat as well."
He smirked. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Miss Granger. You were most likely influenced by the 'Tragic Hero' figure that Potter has been putting about, having played fast and loose with the secret of my years' long devotion to the memory of his mother. He seems to think it is far above the pathetic reality that it was."
She grimaced in sympathy. "Actually, I only found out the war was over about eight days ago. I know very little about events, and what I have heard about your crusade to avenge Mrs. Potter has all been learned tonight, before you arrived."
"Ah. I stand corrected and chastised for having opened my mouth."
"Oh, it didn't affect your tragic hero status in my mind. You were firmly entrenched as such from the moment Mr. Malfoy snatched that cauldron out of your hand and you looked like you wanted to pick up another one and clout him with it, but couldn't."
"Was I really that obvious?"
"Rather."
"Well, I was a bit out of practice with hiding my thoughts at that point. It was early days."
"Indeed it was. You were much harder to read by my second year. Tell me about your family, Mr. Snape. I would very much like to hear about them."
"I can tell you that the picture you paint is a little off. There are no cats, no dogs, and no longer a wife. She was killed just over two years ago by Death Eaters."
Hermione closed her eyes from the empathetic pain his words caused. "I am so sorry for your loss," she whispered fiercely. She opened them again when she realized the timing. "Two years? The Headmaster asked you to kill him while you were still grieving your wife? That was excessively cruel."
Snape looked at her in surprise and then spun them to a halt at a quiet edge of the dance floor. His robes swirled around her legs possessively, before falling away.
"He didn't know. No one knew. My wife was a Muggle. I kept my family a secret from everyone, until now. You're the first person I've ever told."
She smiled at him, realizing they were still holding hands. She squeezed his, and he let go. "Tell me about your children."
"Two boys, one girl. Simon is sixteen, give or take. Nigel just turned six, and Grace is over four and a half."
Hermione smiled. "And they are fine and bright and handsome, and they rule your heart. I can see it in your eyes. You are a very proud father."
He smirked. "Just so."
The smile they shared as they gazed at each other faltered, as the air suddenly felt charged around them. Hermione felt a sense of déjà vu connected to the sudden fear that she was about to fall into his dark eyes. The warmth she had felt when she and Ron had shared that one moment was nothing like the sudden fire that seemed to race along her body just under the skin. She found her gaze had slipped to his lips, and she had a powerful urge to find out what kissing him would be like.
In the blink of an eye, it was over.
He abruptly offered to escort her back to the table, and she took his arm with softly murmured gratitude.
Before she knew it, she was sitting facing her aunt, and he was walking away.
Alice stood up and walked around the table until she was sitting next to her, clasping her hands in her own.
"What just happened?" she asked with concern.
"I don't know," whispered Hermione, trying to calm her pounding heart. "I think I just fell in love."
Alice squeezed her hands tightly and replied, "Oh, Hermione. Didn't you realize? You've been in love with that man since you were a little girl."
Hermione turned and looked at her aunt. "Well, then. I have a new secret, haven't I?"
Alice made a moue of distaste. "This isn't a good secret to keep, love."
"But it's the only one I'm left with, isn't it? For it surely isn't mutual, is it?"
Alice looked over at the scowling man assembling with the other honorees behind the Minister for Magic. He didn't look happy in the least.
"I don't know," she mused. "I just don't know. But I will tell you that when you leaned over to recite your witty bit of doggerel, it wasn't your crushed toes that captured his attention."
Mortified, Hermione slapped a hand to her bosom and blushed furiously.
Snape stood to the side as Shacklebolt went through his entire vocabulary trying to deliver a memorable speech for posterity.
It was hard not to sneer, but he had been told that sneering in the background was expressly forbidden. His freedom had hinged on his concession to play his part in this farce, and as soon as it was over he was finished with his obligations to this world.
He would be pardoned, vindicated, and his Gringotts vault would remain secure. A worthy enough reason to endure the ordeal of being here.
Not that it had been the ordeal he had expected. The glares, the mutterings, and even the cowardly elbows in the side every time he'd walked through the crowd, had more than been ameliorated by the pleasant company at dinner. He'd not had such an enjoyable meal since before Potter had first come to school.
It occurred to him, in that moment, that he might just possibly have reached the other side. That this feeling of doom, which had pressed down on him for nigh unto eight years now, had come to an end. He glanced over at the table he'd sat at and looked at the Weasleys, the implausible Throgsbottoms, and the ever-curious Miss Granger, and considered a future time spent in good company.
When his eye lingered too long on Miss Granger, he twisted his gaze away.
She was a lovely girl, to be sure. Smart, witty, and undeniably attractive. Surely, now that the war was over, she would return to her studies and become a brilliant Healer someday. Probably find herself a nice wizard and settle down to raise a family of her own. He wished her well.
He was looking at her again.
Damnation.
No matter how much he tried, he couldn't shake off what had happened. Fucking hell, he'd ogled her breasts like a schoolboy, asked her to dance, of all things, and then nearly kissed her. Her. Miss Granger. Who had only been thirteen years of age yesterday. He'd almost leaned down and kissed her in front of virtually the entire Wizarding world.
He closed his eyes, ashamed of himself all over again. What the hell had come over him? Why was his hand still burning from the memory of lying against her warm body?
He closed his eyes and sighed. There was nothing to it. The moment was only the product of his near-giddiness at finally being able to speak about his secret life, her constant looks that spoke of total acceptance, his own lost-boy insecurity that he always felt around such a pretty thing, and the extremely inappropriate conversation during dinner, not to forget the way her breasts had almost spilled out of her gown when she had leaned over.
He'd simply been alone too long, that was all. He hadn't grown accustomed to it the way he always had been in the past. Before Elspeth.
The fact that she had obviously been swept up in the moment as well was also easily explained. She was evidently extremely foolish and extremely impressionable. It didn't take a genius to know the girl was as virginal as fresh snow and ripe for picking. Half the young bucks in the room were gagging for a taste of her. She must have sensed it all night and only unconsciously reacted when she thought it was safe. Around her teacher. It wouldn't have been the first time Snape had been on the receiving end of a female student's awakening ardor.
It was just the first time he'd been utterly defenseless in the face of it.
Upon further contemplation, he found his sudden attraction for his former student was beyond tasteless; it was shameful.
He took a deep breath and expelled it, hoping to expel this foolishness with it. He didn't need this. He didn't even want this. Elspeth may have been gone these two years, but it still felt like an indecently short amount of time to be contemplating bedding anyone else. His obsession with Lily might have evaporated with his own near death, but his grief for Elspeth hadn't.
He had always thought highly of Miss Granger. She was innocence personified, and he sullied her with this sudden lust. She was just playing dress up. Clearly, she had no idea what effect she had.
It was just as clear that he was staring at her again.
Her aunt gave him a quizzical glance, and he just raised his eyebrow and turned away. God only knows what she must think; he was most likely showing his ubiquitous disgusted sneer. That was far more preferable to looking like just another leering idiot.
He was pulled from his thoughts by an exceptionally loud burst of applause and only then realized that most of the honorees were already up on the dais wearing their medals. He took stock of who was left and winced. Only the Golden Trio remained, aside from himself. Surely Shacklebolt wouldn't be foolish enough to call him last?
"Neville Longbottom!" The crowd applauded wildly again, and Snape closed his eyes. What a fool. What a short-sighted fool.
"Ronald Weasley!"
Don't do this. Don't call my name at all.
"Harry Potter!"
Snape pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin, as the assembly went wild applauding their hero.
"And finally, Severus Snape!"
There was a smattering of applause that emanated from his fellow honorees up on the dais, as well as the table he had eaten dinner at. The rest of the hall was deathly silent as he walked up the few steps and stood before the crowd.
He bowed his head, as Kingsley placed the medal around his neck and when he straightened there was a shout of, "Murdering filth!"
The crowd went wild with screaming. Not all of it was aimed at him, he had his supporters, it seemed. Some of the screaming was aimed at others in the crowd itself. But the one phrase that consistently rose above the rest was, "Death Eater!"
"Stand your ground, Severus," McGonagall urged behind him. Flitwick and Sprout added their voices of support as well. However, it was obvious that the pitch was rising, and something dire would happen if it were allowed to continue.
Snape reached up and pulled the Order of Merlin, first class, over his head to frenzied cries. He turned to young Potter, who was shaking with fury and looked as if he would leap into the crowd and begin maiming people, just to defend Snape's right to be up here. Potter, who without the mitigating influence of the bit of the Dark Lord trapped in his scar, was now just a frightened boy who'd had to grow up too fast.
Severus wished he had understood the nature of why he'd taken such an instant dislike to the boy much sooner. By the time he had, they were locked into the terms of combat and could not step out of their roles.
With a tight smile, he placed his medal atop the other hanging around Potter's neck, adjusting it, so the two fell side by side.
"This should have been your mother's," he told him quietly. "I want you to have it."
Potter dashed surprised tears out of his eyes. "You're the only one left alive that really knew her," he said.
"So I am," Snape replied, "and I shall tell you about her someday."
He reached his hand out, and Potter shook it. "You're an inspiration, Snape," he said. "They can all go hang.
"I thought the point was rather to save them all," Snape replied.
"I must admit sometimes lately I can't find the point," Potter quipped back.
Snape smirked and turned to Weasley who shook his hand vigorously, as if to show the world how it was supposed to be done. "Congratulations, Mr. Weasley. Without you, he wouldn't have made it. You came into your own, once you were free of other people's assumptions about you."
"The same can be said for you, sir."
He turned to the last of the Golden Trio and shook his hand as well. "Longbottom. You have my undying thanks for killing that blasted snake."
"That was an honor, sir. Had I known what it had done to you at the time, I would have killed it twice."
Snape rolled his eyes. "Had you known what it had done to me, at the time, Longbottom, you'd have brought it back to life and fed it a biscuit. Let's stick to the truth, shall we?"
He turned and made a small bow to Miss Weasley. "You were my most valuable ally. I only wish I could have done more than send Aberforth with food."
"You did keep sending me to Hagrid for detention, sir," she said with a smile. "I did eventually see that for what it was."
"It was very little when we look back. You did a fine job of keeping those students safe. I commend you for it."
He turned away, and with a nod toward the Headmistress and the rest of his former staff, and nary a glance toward the Minister, Severus Snape strode off the platform and through the crowd to the Floos.
With a flash of smoke and a billow of robe, he was free of them all.
Hermione stood shaking with clenched fists, as the crowd reacted to the dramatic exit. She'd been furious from that first cry of 'murderer.' How dare they? What gave them the right to judge him harshly after having been told the truth?
She looked around the room and saw ugliness from one side to the other. Those that reveled in his public shaming were only a degree more foul than those that just enjoyed a scandalous show. Far too few of the faces showed affronted sensibilities, never mind the horror that Hermione was experiencing. Only her friends up on the dais. There she saw fury. Harry clenched his hands repeatedly, while Ginny alternated between soothing him and staring the crowd down.
Headmistress McGonagall raked the room with a gaze heavy in judgment, before she and the other professors stepped down off the small stage and followed Mr. Snape to the Floos. The celebration of the Battle of Hogwarts was left without a single representative of Hogwarts.
Hermione turned and only then realized that Molly still had her hand clamped on Hermione's shoulder. She'd nearly dashed across the floor to give them all a piece of her mind, and Molly had wisely stopped her. Mr. Snape had handled himself with an incredible amount of dignity. She would have just made a fool of herself.
She turned to her aunt, who was still looking up at the podium in shock as well.
"I would like to leave now," she said. "I would like to leave this place and never come back. This isn't the world for me."
Alice nodded and Molly rubbed at her shoulder before pulling her into a hug.
"Don't cut us off quite so completely, this time, alright?" Molly said, handing over her reticule.
"I promise," Hermione whispered.
Alice and Mercury settled on either side of her and together they all walked to the exit. Several people tried to get her attention as they passed, but as none of them were actually a friend, so she didn't even turn her head.
As they waited to board the Knight Coach with another group of people, Alice said, "Hermione, Mercury and I want you to know that if you come to stay with us it would not be charity. Otterwold will be yours someday. It is your home. Or will be, when we get it rebuilt."
Hermione looked at her aunt and uncle and smiled sadly. "Your words mean the world to me, and I consider the two of you the only family I have, but I must make my own way in life, Alice. This," she waved a hand at the building behind them, "isn't for me."
Mercury handed his wife his handkerchief when she started to cry. "I just want you to be happy, Hermione. Whatever you chose, I will support. Please don't cut me out of your life again, that's all I ask."
Hermione threw her arms around her. "I won't! I couldn't! I'm so sorry I hurt you, Alice. I just… for some reason I thought I was justified in not burdening you with the truth. It was so awful. To find my magic was gone, Otterwold burned, my Grandmother had stolen my parents' money... I'm stronger now. It won't be like before. I promise."
The silvery-blue moonlight slipped through the slight divide between the heavy curtains, danced across the discarded dress robes on the floor, and fell in a stripe across the face of the man sleeping in the bed, as it always did this time of the year.
It illuminated the relaxed, soft smile when he dreamt about the young, green-eyed girl that had chased him down the hill toward the canal.
It deepened the shadows in the lines of sadness carved into his face, as he dreamt of a young woman with powder-blue eyes that lured him like a siren from her doorstep, one summer night.
When the dream changed to that of a beauty with honey-gold eyes and a pointed little chin, the man's own glittering black ones flew open.
The moonlight witnessed his alarmed breaths and disoriented looks, until he remembered himself and where he was.
It settled across his brow like a balm and whispered encouragement, when he closed his eyes again to recapture that last dream.
Best wishes to my Egyptian friends. May the new era bring you peace and prosperity.