AN: I am soooo sorry for making y'all wait like that. Thank you to everyone that was concerned, and apologies to everyone that suffered a fit of the vapors. My internet crashed and I will spare you the details, but man, it's been a heck of a few days. I'm up and running, but have a new comp on the way, so things will be interesting around here for a minute. It's looking like 'ChapSpam' is going to devolve into a slightly less chaotic 'posting as fast as Aurettely possible'.

I shall compensate for my failings by posting one of the chapters you have been screaming for...

Grace was galloping around the bedroom in circles, excited about seeing all the pretty dresses on all the pretty ladies.

Lady Wrenham had agreed to allow the children to come down for a short while before dinner, having decided that Hermione had a point about children learning by watching. Nigel had made great strides in his understanding of his role in life after being exposed to the many guests in the other part of the house, and seeing the various levels of behavior in practice over the last three days.

The lessons were utterly lost on Grace.

Hermione sat at her dressing table looking at the reflection of her beautiful gown spread out on the bed behind her. Her mind was blank but for one thought. Mr. Snape was going to be at the ball. She had assumed he wouldn't be and had actually looked forward to a quiet evening of study and perhaps a shared meal together in the drawing room. She could have handled that. It was routine and banal enough that she wouldn't have made a fool of herself.

But ever since that moment when he'd opened his eyes and called her beautiful, she'd been having more and more difficulty keeping her face serene and keeping her eyes from following his every movement, his every gesture. His hands. She would watch, in rapt fascination, as his finger tapped rhythmically on the back cover of a book he was reading, or how he would reach out and brush his hand across any of his children that came near.

The idea of being at a ball with him was too much. There might be over fifty people there, once the neighboring families arrived, but for her, there would only be one man, and she just knew she would make a fool of herself. She stared herself down in the mirror of her dressing table and took a deep breath. You are just his governess, Hermione Granger. Remember that. He's a wizard. If he wanted you, he would tell you.

Hermione wanted to be a witch desperately. She wanted to just reach out and take what she desired. Make the first move. It was obvious on some level that he wanted her. If she were a witch, she would have been bold enough.

But she wasn't a witch.

There was a knock at the door and Grace pranced over and opened it, before Hermione could stop her. The Dowager's lady's maid came in, carrying a bag.

"Pardon me, Miss Granger, but I was asked by Mr. Snape to come and help you get ready. Would you like to start with your hair?"

Hermione blinked and turned to look at her dress. This was going to be one of the most difficult nights of her life.

There was a knock on his door, and Snape turned away from the mirror, where he had been tying his cravat and called, "Enter."

Simon came in, in his black cutaway coat, over an ivory waistcoat, with a snowy white cravat. The black breeches, white stockings, and low-heeled shoes completed the look. But for their cravats, they looked just the same.

"Are you ready?" the younger man said. "Violet is holding the children back with cake in the classroom, but she doesn't know how much longer she can keep them contained."

"Nearly," he replied looking back to the mirror.

Simon came over and smacked his hands away, assuming control of his cravat. "You always make these ludicrously elaborate," he said, adding another layer of folds and fluffing it out until it was even.

"You know why," Snape replied with a snarl.

"I know exactly why. I was there when it was still open, remember? I think you should be proud of it. It shows what you've survived."

"Don't be ridiculous. No one cares what we've survived in life, only what we bring to the table today. Gruesome disfigurements are never welcome."

"It's just a scar."

"One of many, Simon."

"A scar is what is left behind when you've healed, Severus. When are you going to heal?"

"When life gives me a chance."

"What more of a chance do you need? Things are good now. These last months with Miss Granger, especially, have been peaceful and pleasant, and yet you've just become more withdrawn and bitter. I wish you would confide in me. I wish I could ease your mind."

Snape reached up and grabbed at Simon's hand. "Leave off. It's fine now. Why don't you go escort Miss Granger downstairs. I will get the children."

Simon gave him a long, searching look, but Snape just turned away and grabbed his coat, slipping his arms into the sleeves and fussing with his lapels until the younger man had left. When the door had closed behind him, Snape sat down and dropped his head into his hands.

Hermione opened the door and blushed, as Simon's eyes nearly bulged out.

"Hermione! You look… radiant!"

She smoothed out a non-existent wrinkle. "Thank you."

He looked at her elaborately curled hair, and reached up and touched one of the violet silk roses. "You look like a different version of you. Does that make any sense?"

"I could say the same of you," she said with a smile. "You look quite the handsome charmer."

He smiled, pleased. "Thank you. And thank you for the dancing lessons as well. I'm almost sure I won't make a complete buffoon of myself. You will dance the first set with me, won't you?"

"Of course, a lady must dance the first dance with whosoever asks first."

They headed down the hall, seeing Mr. Snape herding Nigel and Grace down the stairs ahead of them.

"He looks rather splendid as well," she said.

"He always does. I learned everything I know about sartorial splendor from him. He's my personal Beau Brummel. I just wish he wouldn't go overboard with his knots though."

"He does tend toward excess with his cravats. I don't remember his doing that when I was younger."

Simon stopped and turned to her with a serious expression on his face. "He didn't have the scar when you were younger."

"What do you mean?"

"His neck was savaged in the final battle with the Death Eaters. He ties his knots to hide a vicious scar. He never told me what caused it."

"A monster. The Dark Lord set a monstrous serpent on him, and from what I read, it nearly tore his throat out."

"That it did. I was the one that found him bleeding on the rug in his bedroom directly afterwards. I nearly fainted from the site, and I'm not one to be easily put off by bloodshed. It was already healing though. That was my first, true understanding of this magic business, watching his skin knit back together before my eyes."

Simon shuddered, and Hermione squeezed his arm.

"I've no use for it, you know," he said with sudden emphasis. "I don't think being a wizard ever did him the slightest bit of good."

"Well, as you say, it saved his life."

"No Muggle monster tore away half of his neck, Hermione."

"If he hadn't been a wizard, would he have survived the streets of Manchester?"

Simon was quiet as they gained the top of the stairs. He turned to her and said, "Yes. But he would have been a different man entirely, and probably one neither of us would like very much at all."

"And there you have it. Perhaps it is all just fate."

They turned and looked down at the crowd still entering the ballroom. It was an absolute crush. The foyer was packed with people and music poured out across them like a wave.

"There she is," he murmured, drawing her attention to Clara, beaming up at the two of them. "Isn't she beautiful?" He whispered in her ear. "I'm going to ask her to marry me tonight after the ball. Severus gave me his blessing."

"Oh, Simon! Congratulations! Now I understand why Mr. Snape wanted me to join the party so strongly! I had no idea it was to be such a special night for the family!"

She squeezed his arm again as they headed down the stairs, so he could get closer to his beloved. She was still beaming when her eyes settled on Mr. Snape, looking up at her with a gaze so intense it felt like fire. Her smile faltered as her lips parted from the force of his regard.

She stumbled a step and saw him lurch forward, as if he could have reached her in time, but Simon tightened his hold and caught her. She turned to thank her escort, and when she turned back. Mr. Snape was gone.

"Did I not say you looked enchanting? I do believe even Severus noticed. Did you see that look he just gave me? If I didn't know better, I would have thought it was the blackest envy. Come, take me closer to my lovely Clara. It you don't lead I will break into a run, and I've be told I've been too obvious."

Severus patrolled the perimeter of the room rarely taking his eyes off of her. She was beautiful. More captivating than Lily, yet just as addictive. More vibrant than Elspeth, yet just as warm and comforting. He was in misery. He was incapable of making small talk with anyone and had gladly refrained from dancing, thankful of the small mercy that there were not enough ladies present.

He'd taken it upon himself to put his children to bed, leaving Violet to keep guard against their sneaking back down. Now there was nothing for it but this agonizing deathwatch as the minutes ticked by until the woman he cared so deeply about betrothed herself to his son.

He'd had to listen as people who didn't even know them talked about what a handsome couple they made, how beautiful she was. He'd watched her dancing with several young gentlemen, wanting to hex the oafs every time one of them trod on her toes. He'd wanted to cut in, to whisk her away and whirl her about the room himself. Recreate that moment when he'd some so close to brushing his lips against her own.

Now she was sitting next to Simon, laughing and murmuring in his ear, as they watched something amusing across the room. Testing every ounce of Severus's self control.

If this went on, he would start to hate them both.

He couldn't do this. He wanted to be a better man, but he simply wasn't. There was no way he could stand by and watch the young lovers any longer. He needed to leave. Run away. Perhaps even leave the country for a while. He would take Nigel and Grace with him and let the newly married couple settle without his darkening presence.

A footman came by with a tray and he snatched a glass of champagne from it, replacing it with his empty glass.

"It is more than obvious that you do not know the language behind a lady's fan," Hermione said with a laugh.

"What do you mean?" Simon asked.

"Clara has been sending you messages from across the room, and you are sitting there staring at her like a love-sick calf."

"What, you mean all that fluttering and weaving she's been doing?"

"Of course, silly. She's been telling you that it is safe to ask her to dance now."

"She has?"

"Oh, Simon. You are beyond adorable. Yes, she has, now go. You've been waiting for this moment all night. Remember, don't look at your feet."

Simon shot her a near-panicked look, and she laughed and pushed him off the settee. She was still watching him weave his way through the crush when a shadow fell across her. She looked up to see the one person she'd been avoiding all night.

"Miss Granger, may I have this dance?"

Her hand lifted up and settled in his warm, slightly rough palm, almost without her consent. His hand closed around hers, and he tugged gently. She came to her feet and looked up into his incredible, black eyes and sighed. She was hopeless. She had reached the point of no return somewhere in the past without her knowledge.

He led her out onto the dance floor as the strains of Bach floated across the room and they stepped into slow Allamande.

As she turned and whirled and ducked under his arm, she silently repeated, 'just a governess, just a governess,' to herself. When she finally had the courage to look up, she saw he wasn't even looking at her.

She calmed down and enjoyed the dance. Halfway through, she even worked up the nerve to speak.

"I understand now why you wanted me to be here. Why it was so important. That was very thoughtful of you, sir."

His head turned to her sharply, and she gave him a timid smile.

"Do you? So he has already made his offer?"

"No. I believe he intends to wait until after the ball, so as not to detract from Kate and Mary's evening."

Snape stared at her, his brow creased with confusion and something else.

"You don't seem as excited as I would have thought. I somehow got the impression that young women went all aflutter over such things."

"Well, at twenty, I am hardly young anymore, am I?"

He smirked. "You seem remarkably young from my vantage point, Miss Granger."

She frowned at that. "I guess that's true. No doubt I will always be just a silly little girl to you. I have little hope of aging in your eyes, do I?" She winced, realizing her voice sounded more despondent that she would have preferred.

"On the contrary, Miss Granger. It grieves me to say that you have grown up rather quickly in my eyes."

She looked up again to find he was looking at her with such gentle longing that she stopped breathing. She tilted her head to the side and returned a hesitant smile, having no idea what to do to fan that tiny flame of desire she saw buried so deep. She squeezed his hand, gently, and on the next spin, she felt his fingers graze her waist in a way that seemed to make her insides turn to liquid. When she finished her spin, she looked at him again and swallowed, her mouth having suddenly gone dry. His look seemed to scorch her as the air around them thickened. Disguised as part of the dance, their hands seemed to linger and slink against each other like illicit lovers, hiding in plain sight.

They finished another turn and faced each other again, just as the music ended. She swayed closer to him, as his eyes filled with a terrible pain. She reached up her hand, and whispered, "Tell me," but he spun away from her without a word. She watched him as he made his way off the floor, past the tables, and out the door of the room.

She was left standing alone in the middle of the room as the second dance of the set started, feeling utterly confused and bereft.

Severus sat in his darkened office behind the bulwark of his desk and slowly got drunk to the sounds of celebration. The clock on the mantle ticked, endlessly marking the minutes until his newest doom settled on him.

He was thoroughly confused and sick with self-loathing.

He constantly replayed every moment of that dance. The look in her honey-gold eyes that spoke of desire and sexual awakening, too long denied. He could still feel the slight trembling of her hands, or had it been his? He could close his eyes and call up the way her pulse had jumped and raced right in that one place on her milky-white throat. She hadn't been thinking of Simon. She'd wanted him. He'd felt triumphant, primal. He'd come close to crossing a line and marking her as his, and damning his own son to hell with a laugh.

And then the dance had ended, and he'd realized what kind of bastard he was.

Of course Simon hadn't been on her mind, he hadn't let her think of anything else. From the moment he'd followed through on his insane idea of one, last dance with the enticing Miss Granger, he'd done his level best to overwhelm the girl. No, not intentionally, but it was easy to see in hindsight. She was innocence personified. She was all soft voice and repressed desire, so much dry tinder waiting for a match to set her ablaze, and he couldn't resist her purity.

It felt as if he'd been born tainted. That the filth and degradation he'd been born into would always suppurate from his pores. Lily had been his first glimpse of something sweet and innocent, something above and beyond what he'd known. Elspeth had been innocence despoiled. He'd felt almost a compulsive need to put that broken angel back on the pedestal from which she'd fallen. Miss Granger? This was something different, entirely. He wanted her. He wanted her with such a powerful need it was as if he believed that by touching her, he, himself might finally become clean.

Which was patently untrue. To have her, he would have to break his son's heart. There was no way he could live with himself if he did that.

A rising crescendo of voices and an absence of music announced the end of the ball. He glanced at the clock in the moonlight from the window and saw it was half past two.

So.

The time was upon him. He would let his pure, sweet, Miss Granger go, and she would settle like a downy feather into the arms of his brave, steady boy, and together they would find a happiness Severus Snape would willingly commit murder for in vain.

A growing brightness out in the hallway announced the presence of someone coming his way with a candle.

He was watching the doorway through the V made by his feet up on the desk and froze, with his glass of Firewhisky to his lips, when he saw Miss Granger walk past. He listened to the sound of the drawing room door creaking open and swore violently under his breath.

Somehow he'd assumed that Simon would have spirited his lady love away somewhere more private to ask the inevitable. It hadn't occurred to him that he would be trapped witnessing the event.

He carefully placed his drink down and pulled his legs off the desk, wondering if he should stay hidden where he was, or try and make a break for it back down the hall to the safety of the guests still saying goodnight in the foyer below. Perhaps he should Apparate to Spinner's End and spend the night there. No. He was too drunk not to leave his bits behind. As useless as they were these days, he was rather attached to them

The minutes ticked past and Simon had yet to show. Unless he was already there?

Maybe he should just head down the hall and find his own bed. If he made enough noise, the young lovers might just shut up long enough for him to make it past the doorway.

He stood up, bolted the last of his drink and headed out of his office, making more noise than he'd intended due to his more than slight inebriation.

He was just passing the open doorway to the drawing room, when Miss Granger called out to him.

"Mr. Snape! Come quickly!"

"No."

"No?" she repeated in a surprised voice, "but you must come and see this; it's lovely!"

"I don't want to. I want to go to bed."

"Oh, just come here, you fool man," she snapped, exasperated.

He scowled and entered the drawing room, walking over to where she was silhouetted against the moonlight flooding the window. Her lone candle had been left by the door.

When he drew near, he could smell the rose water she'd bathed in, and the delicious aroma of ratafia on her breath.

"And just what are we looking at, Miss Granger. I am in a bit of a hurry and have no time to dawdle."

She beamed at him, with that impossible amount of happiness she kept tucked down inside, and pointed down into the garden below. "It's Simon! Look!"

"Simon? What the devil is he doing down there? Who the hell is that with him?"

"Miss Clara," she said in a strange voice, as if he were the one confusing her.

He looked again and saw Simon getting down on bended knee. Shocked, he leaned so far forward he bashed his forehead against the window pane.

"Shhhh!" Miss Granger hissed, dragging him down below the windowsill with surprising strength. "What are you doing? Are you drunk?"

"What am I doing?" he snapped, jumping back up and staring in shock down into the garden. "What the bloody hell is he doing?"

"I should think that was obvious, sir. He's asking Miss Clara to marry him."

Severus watched Miss Clara Beaton throw herself into Simon's arms and felt his world shift off its axis.

*YAYS!*

Okay, informal survey time!

Pick one you think most likely:

a. Severus laughs and laughs and laughs and then explains the joke to Hermione.

b. Severus gets really, really mad and then makes a hash of everything.

c. Severus blushes furiously, admits his misunderstanding, and tenderly asks the lovely Miss Granger if he can court her.