Author's note: My thesis is over a month and a half overdue, and am I working on it? No. I am not. I am working on this, because it's ever so much more pleasant than working on some ridiculously long piece of fiction that is meant to be true. So, anyway, on with the show. Sorry to keep any of you waiting! The next chapter promises to be, possibly, my favorite, so keep tuning in! Thanks to all. -Iphy

Chapter Sixteen

With the final chord resounding off of the walls of the magnificent auditorium, the audience erupted in applause that deafened the ear with it's enthusiasm.

The ending to the performance had been bittersweet for the couple seated at the front of the left balcony. The experience of having borne witness to this incredible moment in the history of music, was unforgettable, but other delights awaited them for this evening.

Hermione thought that she would never be able to abate the passion she had stored for this man. Months, it had been now, during which she had wanted him. She suspected that it had been years, indeed, since her lust had begun to build for him.

Tonight, she was silkily smooth, perfumed and prepared. She had downed a contraceptive potion earlier, determined that, this time, there would be nothing that could halt their arrival at the point they had been approaching for months.

Now, as the audience began to file out into the grand hall for a post-canon party, she felt her own impatience building. His nearness throughout the concert had been enough to induce a simmering lust in her, and his smell, now, as he leaned forward to offer her his arm to rise, was enough to send a signal to all the erogenous zones on her body, and set her breathing to quicken.

Oh, how she wanted this man.

Glancing back to the seats behind them, she noted that the notorious Melotromaut had, conveniently, already made his departure. Sighing with relief, she strolled out into the hallway, noting how Severus' dark beauty alongside her own elegant, pale form, elicited remarks from the other audience members who surrounded them.

They proceeded slowly to the great hall, intending to make a brief appearance, take in some of the colour, and then retreat to their alleyway to spin the time turner to take them back to their own time and place.

The hall was so crowded that the wide skirts of the ladies brushed one another, obscuring the marble floor and causing no little amount of difficulty in traversing the distance from the entrance to the auditorium to the door.

The young Gottlieb was standing in a corner of the great hall, his champagne flute clutched in his hand as if to ward off the hoard of powdered and frocked ladies who pressed into his space, remarking on his youth and beauty and skill.

Hermione was smiling at this image, never having read of this particular element of this concert previously, when a voice intruded into their observation.

"Excuse me, Count Smartwell. I was wondering, if, perhaps, I could have a word?" It was Lord Stouten, the mustached man who had greeted them at the door. His face was slightly redder than it had been before.

"Certainly, my lord, how may I be of service?" Severus turned and regarded the man with a look that bordered on annoyance. It was similar to the looks he used to give her in class when she interrupted his concentration.

The man seemed uncomfortable discussing his business in front of Hermione. "Could you come with me, per chance?" He asked, touching his arm conspiratorily.

Severus turned, and with a sighed apology, he excused himself, with her assurance that she would be all right alone for a moment. As the two men wandered off towards a more empty part of the hall, she heard Lord Stouten's exclamation, "Count, I seem to have made a miscalculation. Pardon my presumption, but it seems your payment for this evening was grossly larger than necessary!"

Hermione hid her laughter from their retreating backs. It seemed that, though he had provided and planned for all else, Severus hadn't taken into account the different monetary values of currency the modern age of the eighteenth century. Oh well, the frenzied Lord Stouten could use a tip, she supposed.

Surveying the room, she took a glass of champagne for herself off of a waiter's platter. It was truly a glorious evening, she thought, as she sipped. A voice, very close to her ear, broke her reverie.

"Allow me to assess your abilities... I would have to determine as to whether you are a witch who's strength lies in charms... Or perhaps, the more concrete and elemental of crafts...Such as, perhaps, potions?"

She spun at the lightly accented words. There, standing very close to her, was Melotromaut, who held his hands behind his back and wore, on his lightly lined face, a self-assured smirk.

Calming her fluttering pulse, she realized that in order not to appear rude, she would have to respond to his rather indiscreet question.

"I doubt, Sir, that that topic is easily approachable in this very public setting."

"Ah, but, my dear, we are surrounded by those who don't understand the subtleties of the English language. No mind. I already can tell. You are a studied witch. None of this flighty and unreliable divination or charms for you."

She was horrified, and somewhat perplexed by his similar disregard for the magic that Severus disliked. Perhaps, she rationalized, it was an old-blood thing. In fact, she pondered, while attempting to see clear to the exit, if not for Severus, and the fact that the man standing before her was a psychopathic murderer, she would find him fascinating... Dark, brooding, scientific and knowlegable, she might even, she supposed, have found an interest in him, at one point in time. Not anymore. Not in the slightest.

It was at that point, she realized, that she was officially "taken," and had been for some time. No man could ever dislodge Severus from the pedestal and four poster bed that resided within her. But, another time to consider her new realizations. For now, she had to seperate her person from Melotromaut, who was edging closer to her as he slowly backed her into one of the marble columns.

"Very keen insight, Sir. And now, I must take my leave. My escort-"

He cut her off, "Is quite busy with Lord Stouten, discussing his disgustingly lavish overpayment for seating this evening. I would take this choice opportunity, my dear, to speak privately with you. Come."

He took her arm, firmly, and began to lead her towards a small alcove that sported a bench and table. She thought about resisting, and felt for her wand in the disguised pockets of her gown, but, she realized, it would be far more foolish to disobey him. They sat, and she regarded the man seated, too close in her opinion, on the bench beside her.

"Doesn't my lord have another lady he has promised his attention to, this evening?" She asked, proud that her voice only wavered slightly.

"I dispensed with her. Poor company, I'm afraid."

She was shocked that his tone had softened, and his face looked, actually, pleasant, if not slightly malevolent around the edges. She glanced into the crowd, seeking out Severus and finding only unfamiliar faces engaged in animated conversation in Dutch. She began to feel slightly frantic in her visual search.

"And," he continued, "I was horrified to come to suspect that she was not entirely pureblood. There was a muggle, I think, somewhere back in her lineage. A disgusting tidbit of information that she failed to supply me with previously."

Hermione felt a silent rage descend on her.

"Unlike you, my dear." His hand reached as if to caress her chin, but she pulled away, attempting to make it look accidental.

"I can tell by your refinement and obvious insight, that you can be nothing but pure, untainted..." His hand finally caught her chin, and held it there. His grip was painful.

"If you'll excuse me, sir." She attempted to pull away, but his other hand clamped onto her wrist.

"It's true, isn't it? You're not like them? Not like those... cattle." He gestured to the crowd. "You're better. You're far more than any of them could ever hope to be or become..." His breath was close enough for her to feel the hotness against her cheek. She felt panic and gorge rising in the back of her throat.

"You are mistaken."

The statement was simple, but conveyed what she had intended it to.

She saw his eyes darken with fury. "No. You're pure. I can tell. I can always tell." His hand that gripped her wrist clamped down harder, and she cried out, inadvertently, attempting to maneuver her other hand into her pocket to get to her wand.

But he was too fast for her, grasping his cane (which, she realised too late, had his wand concealed within it) and pointing it at her, he muttered a harming curse in Dutch, that knocked her off the bench, and onto the floor.

She thought, though her Dutch was not so good, that it was possibly a curse that was used traditionally for beating women. The words "wife" and "Daughter" were briefly intermingled with the rest of the mumbled curse, and she felt glad that she had thought to attempt to recall his exact words before the aching pain in her side became too much to even think. It was not too much that she could not retaliate.

Gasping for breath from having the wind knocked out of her, she managed to return a newer, advanced curse for tremors and hallucinations, one that he would most likely be unable to countercurse for some time. As soon as she gasped out the words, she felt strong hands lift her from behind, and was suddenly wrapped in Severus's shaking arms.

Melotromaut was shrieking and staring at the tabletop in horror at what his mind had portrayed there, and her midsection felt like she had been beaten with a baseball bat for the past half hour. "Home, please!" she coughed out, and though Severus was trembling with rage, and barely restraining his temper to fly at the man, he pulled her through the gaping crowd and out into the alleyway, where they promptly spun the time-turner and apparated back to where they belonged.