Little bit of M in this one. Just a tad :)

Also updates will probably slow to weekly as I'm at the end of last week's writing spurt. Sorry.

Severus had pursed his lips. The low light of the library and the flickering of the fire chased gold over his stern features. He was dressed as he had been when he collected her the night before, in trousers and an open-necked shirt. His feet were bare. He was almost her dream-Severus and he looked…beautiful.

Hermione fought to listen to what he was saying.

"…will only be for reference. Any ball attended whilst we're still…together, you will dance with no one but me."

She jerked a nod. Dancing exclusively with Severus? Not a chore. "And if I'm asked?"

"You shouldn't be. These are mostly pure-blood led affairs. They are well aware of your status."

And no doubt her status before she was a ribboned-witch. A muggle-born. Mudblood. Her arm itched. She was certain someone would attempt to dishonour her by asking. "And if they're not?"

"Politely decline. Now." He conjured a straight-backed chair before the fire and bid her sit. He frowned. A flick of wand lengthened the skirts of her robes, brought them in at the waist and scooped the neck. She remained barefoot. "A facsimile of your gown, but it allows you more movement. We will do a dress rehearsal on Friday."

"Are all Mentoris this thorough?"

Severus gave her a loose shrug. "No idea. But it is how I plan to teach you. Now, Hermione," he lifted an eyebrow, "do you agree that young men are atrocious at asking young women to dance?"

Not that she had much experience, but she remembered the Yule Ball in the Fourth Year. The worst being most of the Weasleys' way of going about it. "Yes."

"I wasn't born into wealth and I'm not particularly well-bred," his lips twitched, "but what I did beat into myself was the use of manners. It's seen as old-fashioned, but am I right in that you would prefer this method?"

He stood before her, straight, his eyes firm on hers. A touch of a smile softened the seriousness in his eyes and he bowed his head. "Miss Granger, would you do me the honour of allowing me the next dance?" His voice was low and sure and she was already half holding his outstretched hand. He drew her to her feet. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "You see," his voice was velvet against her ear and she shivered. "Manners can offer a sensual feast compared to the 'do you wanna?' and a grab and haul."

A soft laugh escaped her. "And I should only dance with men who do me this courtesy?"

"I hate to see women half-yanked into dancing. Some in the middle of conversations."

His low growl deepened her smile. "You're waging war on the uncouth, Severus."

He inclined his head. "I am indeed. And I want witches to see –through you— that they should make demands on their half-witted wizards." He drew her further into the empty space before the fire, her chair gone. "Did you prefer my method?"

"You know I did."

"Then accept nothing less."

He flicked his wand and music swelled in the darkness of the library. His hand slipped over her waist and she remembered to breathe. Without her shoes, he loomed over her. His dark eyes, touched with gold, were endless, mesmerising. She spoke without thought, "Of course, it might be nice to be grabbed once in a while."

She closed her eyes, heat burning in her face at his soft laughter.

"Would you like that, Hermione?" His voice was sin and wickedness and she bit her lip to deny a moan. "Shadows and heat, the noise of a ball and there you stand, separate… Waiting." His breath stole across her ear and her chest hitched. His voice should come with a warning. It really should. "Hands grab you, one at your waist, one muffling your pretty little mouth. Can't have you screaming, now can we? Everyone will see."

Merlin and Nimue, what was he doing to her? Her head was light, almost swirling. The soft music twisted through her mind, her body, working with Severus' dangerous words.

"Where should I take you? Some place we won't be seen. Spells will work to silence your cries as I ravish you."

Hermione stumbled and became sharply aware that they had been dancing the waltz, a fluid movement across the floor, no thought, only rhythm.

"Moving without thought, your mind pleasantly occupied."

"Wicked man!"

He smirked at her. "I try."

She moved to find that ease again, the thoughts of Severus flowing. For a long moment, there was only the sounds of the music, breathing, the swish of her skirts and bare feet gliding over the parquet floor. The closeness of him was almost intoxicating. "Is that your usual conversation whilst dancing?"

"Depends on my partner. I…tailor."

The music died away and Severus brought the waltz to a graceful end. "I bow, you curtsey." His brow furrowed. "Yes, that needs work. Your waltz is adequate." He smirked at her as she muttered under her breath. "The wizarding world has cranked itself reluctantly out of the early modern era. We no longer have hour long set pieces. Though if Minerva had her way, every dance would be the Epsom Reel. Instead, we have the waltz, the foxtrot and the tango."

Hermione blinked. "I can't tango." The waltz had been bad enough with his hot whispered words. To add in the sensuality of the tango? Severus would be lucky she didn't tackle him to the floor.

"If you're truly dreadful, I have a potion."

As Professor McGonagall had half-pounded dancing into the Gryffindors, Severus had taught his snakes. Or cheated. With a potion. How Slytherin.

Gret appeared with a jug of iced water and Hermione was grateful for it. She pressed her cool glass to her heated cheek. She couldn't imagine anyone else guiding her around the dance floor with a smoothness, an elegance that stole her breath. Severus Snape was completely bewitching. But she would have to imagine it. After…

"I know…" She sucked in a breath, finding her courage. "I know that men will show an interest in me. For the time after my ribbon fades." She couldn't look at him. And she hated the memory of those wizards at the Ministry who'd looked at her as if she were the freshest thing on the menu. "How do I deal with it?"

"Informally, it's known as The Card."

His voice was tight and she wanted to believe that he hated the idea of her…moving on as much as she did. She risked a glance at him, but as ever, he was unreadable. "The Card?"

"Similar to a dance card."

Hermione winced. "That's…" She shuddered. "And I have to decide as I go on who will be first, second…?" She pressed a hand to her throat, her stomach turning. "Dear gods, no."

"It's not obligatory. Again, any insistence made by wizards for their place on The Card can be met with a hex."

A wry smile pulled at her mouth. "Your solution to everything."

"A good hex goes a long way." He took her glass from her fingers, the brush of the tips against hers pulsing. "We should continue." He reaffirmed his hand at her waist and flexed his fingers around hers. "Can you foxtrot? I believe we should avoid the tango. It's not a seemly dance."

Relief and disappointment warred within her. Severus was a very able dancer. To dance something so…sensual with him. It would've been a form of bliss. But he was right. She didn't want an audience for that dance. With her luck, another photographer would capture her desperate want of him…and there wouldn't be the distraction of Rita Skeeter's vile words to save her.

She couldn't foxtrot. The third time she tangled herself in his legs, Severus finally admitted defeat. It was decided that she would only waltz. It was the best solution for all parties.

The clock on the mantle softly chimed the hour and Hermione was surprised to see it was eleven.

"A wizard will see you back to your friends and thank you." His lips twitched and humour shone in his eyes. "Even if his shins are black with bruising."

Hermione glared at him. "I'm a bookworm."

"As am I. Yet, I seem to be able to move my feet around adequately and in time…"

Hermione had the real urge to stick her tongue out at him. She huffed a breath instead. And damn it, she really didn't want the night to end. She'd had fun…and she wouldn't end it in his bed. "Touching."

Severus' eyes narrowed on her at the blurted word.

"We've covered dancing etiquette. The Card." She shivered. No. Not happening. Not at all. "You haven't been specific about touching. Should I hex first and ask questions after?"

His voice was soft in the darkness and she was happy to draw out her time with him. "The same rule applies as those who insist on questioning you. The third touch equals a hex. The first touch. State you do not wish to be touched. You are being polite, perhaps it was a mistake." He snorted. "If he's under thirty, it won't be. A second touch. You are giving them a chance, perhaps they are ill-mannered oafs. The third touch. Enough. You take their legs out from under them. There is no excuse to continue to touch a witch who does not wish it."

"And if it carries on through the night? From myriad men?"

"First touch. State no and hex them." A smile touched his mouth. "A rule I instigated as Head of House."

"I will become you, though I rather like black." She tilted her head. "Do you think a cravat would suit me?"

He drew a slow finger along her jaw and the sensation rioted in her flesh. Her eyes fluttered shut. Such a light touch sparked all of the aching need that she'd supressed through her day. Her body was too ready for him…and she loathed the thought that she had only a cold empty bed to return to.

"Would you deny me the delicious dip of your collarbones, or the beauty of your throat?"

His voice was low and soft and slipped over her like honey, like chocolate, like every single decadent moment in her short career as a ribboned-witch.

"Severus…"

His name escaped her and she stared up at him. Wanting him. Wanting in that hot moment, for her ribbon to declare that her status had changed. That Severus Snape had taken everything he could from her—

His kiss was hot. Unexpected. His fingers tunnelling into her hair as his other hand pressed her hard against him. No one would interrupt them this time. No one.

Hermione groaned, wanting more of him, her hands fisting his shirt.

"Gods, girl…"

He growled against her mouth and pleasure rolled through her in a crashing wave. Almost, she almost came at the raw sound of his voice.

"Such a tiny little witch." A brief spell and her back was against the wall of books, but softened by a cushioning charm. Severus lifted her, his hot mouth on her throat, his hands gripping her arse. "Wrap your legs around me."

Hermione did and cried out as he pushed against her, the length of him hard between her legs. She cursed the clothes that kept her from his skin. She wanted him. "Please…" He rocked, finding something, something that seared a fierce pleasure in her flesh, wild and hot, wave upon wave, thickening… Her body jerked against his, her hands fisting his hair and shirt. There. Just like that morning. Gods, she was going to—

Her orgasm smashed into her and she cried out, lost in the pure bliss of him, of his touch. "Merlin, Severus…" Her shaking fingers touched his jaw. Had he…? Had he found his release? She wet her dried lips. "What…what can I do for you?"

He huffed a breath against her neck and she shivered. "I am fine." He drew back, easing her trembling legs to the floor and for several long heartbeats, his forehead pressed against hers. "Good night, Hermione. I will see you in the morning."

"Severus—"

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Not yet. I would not have you up against a wall. Your first time…" His lips tilted up and that delicious hint of wickedness made her want to kiss him –and more— again. "Will be a…superior moment of bliss. I promise you."

Her hand pressed to his chest, the warmth of his body and the hard beat of his heart there under her palm. "When will I share your bed again?"

Severus groaned.

"Please. I have never slept so well."

His lips pursed into that kissable shape. "After the party."

"When I'll be acting more like a strung out pixie."

"Precisely." He stepped back from her. "Again. Goodnight, Hermione. Sleep well."

The door clicked softly shut behind him and Hermione sank bonelessly to the floor before the fire. Was the binding magic amplifying the sensations that burned between them? If…if she slept with him without the ribbon, would it be a disappointment? Would it be awful, if after the ribbon faded and his ring vanished, she kissed him and he drew back in disgust? That the fury, the wildness of their joining had become nothing more than barely palatable in comparison?

How did the ribboned cope after? How could any other lover compare?

She resisted the real urge to stroke the ribbon at her throat. It was wonderful…but Merlin's shrivelled nutsack, it was so confusing.

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