So...I finished a demon novella, as a gift to myself (I do love this fic! lol) here's the start of the Malfoy Ball. I haven't got as far with it as I would like, as I'm wading into the novel that follows on from the demon novella-and it's also on a tight deadline. I finish nothing for 2 years...then I'm on a surge. Typical ;-)

I hope to update again later in the month.

Enjoy.

Issy

"You look…enchanting."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Severus, but still she smiled at the reflection of him in her long mirror. She knew she wasn't a girly girl. Lavender Brown had often despaired over her hair and skin and nails and dress sense…but under Gret's clever magic and Madam Athcasta's brilliant tailoring, Hermione felt like a queen. "I feel regal." She smirked at him. "Would you like to be a prince or a duke?"

Severus sneered, though humour lit his dark gaze. "I'm happy to be a commoner."

"More titles for me."

He held her gaze and heat suffused her face, the memory of how he had touched her, played her, how she had come apart so easily overtaking her thoughts. And the knowledge that if he suggested the same again, she wouldn't give a sickle or a knut for all her finery. But…there was after the ball.

Severus had promised she would share his bed. The thought of it danced sparks low in her belly. Whether real or a part of the magic, she wanted to accept them now and enjoy her short time with him. After…after would take care of itself.

He fiddled with this cravat, teasing it straight. He was, as ever, the height of smooth elegance, slim and perfectly turned out in his familiar black frockcoat. Madam Athcasta's touch brought something extra…and Hermione wanted to wrestle him back into her bedroom and strip every last item of that witch's clothing from his body.

"Ready?" he asked, meeting her eyes again.

She nodded, even as her stomach knotted. Malfoy Manor. With all three of the Malfoys in attendance. How they had escaped the Death Eater purge, she didn't know. She suspected money. Lots of money had changed hands…and the aid or lack of action the family had given towards the end of the war. She didn't trust them and she didn't like them. But she would behave, because she was a ribboned-witch.

"Oh, did you see the Prophet today?" Hermione took her silver wrap from Gret with a murmured thank you. "A Hufflepuff Seventh year has accepted the ribbon."

"I saw. Her family-approved Mentoris is a fair and thorough wizard." His lips quirked upwards. "Though somewhat…unimaginative."

"Won't it be awkward for the Headmistress?"

"It will be soon. There'll be a stampede of witches fighting to wear the ribbon."

Hermione frowned. "Are there enough worthy wizards?"

He took her hand and kissed it, his obsidian gaze fixed on her. His expression was smug. "The magic only works for the worthy, Hermione."

"And those poor Sixth and Seventh Year boys. There'll be no eager girls for them."

"They would do well to take the ribbon as well. A mature woman with a firm hand. Do them the world of good."

Hermione snorted a laugh and pressed her gloved hand to her mouth. "You're wicked."

"I am indeed." He placed her hand in the crook of his arm. "We'll apparate to the gates of the manor. A carriage will take us up to the house." He paused. "Lucius Malfoy is not…approving of a muggleborn wearing the Ribbon. Be wary of him tonight."

Hermione frowned. "Then why invite me? Us?"

"Because you are the first ribboned-witch in thirty years. It is good for Malfoy name to have you seen in their home."

"Git."

"An expression best left here."

She sighed. "I know. And I know to be a good little witch. But still… Urgh!"

Severus laughed at her inarticulation. "My feelings exactly. It will be a trying evening."

"But we'll sleep well."

Hermione's cheeks warmed as his obsidian eyes held her. Something moved in their endless depths, something that made her want to tear off his well-made clothes again. The ghost of his touch was still on her body, marked in her flesh. At that moment, it seemed to have satisfied very little, only forced the ache deeper.

Did he have something more than sleep planned? She wanted to ask, but the anticipation was delicious…and in it, there was no chance of rejection. Of disappointment.

His smile was dark. "We will."

A tightening of his hand over hers was the only warning that they were about to disapparate. Hermione landed smoothly and her stomach barely turned. Cold, black night swept around her and she shivered. Great iron gates, touched by the silvering moonlight rose up before her and she jumped when they creaked, groaned and dissolved into grey smoke.

"They've recognised our signature. Malfoy Manor would not keep us waiting."

A small, silver and black curricle, drawn by a pair of thestrals, stood on the cobbled drive, lit by the lamps fixed to the curve of the low dashboard. Ahead of them on the curve of the wide road, other lights bobbed.

Severus handed her up and she settled in the soft, dark leather. He sat beside her, close, but not touching, made a clicking noise and the carriage jerked forward. A warming spell wrapped around her and Hermione let out a relieved breath. At least she wouldn't be cold. Her gown was whisper-thin acromantula silk, corseted and stiffened, but still, barely there.

"I'm in a Jane Austen novel," she murmured. She slipped a glance to Severus, the light from the lamps warming his strong features. In looks he was more of a Bronte hero, in manners, though, he could trounce Mr Darcy and give Captain Wentworth a good run for his hard won prize money.

"Something amuses you?"

Hermione could hardly admit she was seeing him as a granite-hewn Mr Rochester… She told a mostly-truth. "How unlike the muggle world all this is. Gowns and balls and carriages. More like a novel or a…costume drama than real life."

"As I said, we change slowly. There is little need for innovation as muggles see it or need it."

"Though you pinched the foxtrot."

His lips twitched. "With your…talent for it, should that be a cultural theft best forgotten?"

"Ooh…" Hermione tightened her wrap around her shoulders. She gave him a mock glare. "You promised to never bring up my inability to dance."

"Never to share it with others." His dark eyes glittered. "It is a secret of yours I will always have, Hermione."

Her belly dipped. How did he do that? Turn innocuous words into pure sin and bring with it her need to jump him. Her gaze lingered on his mouth, her own dry and suddenly so very needy. "How did the last ribbon wearer do this?"

His finger stroked the edge of her bottom lip and her mouth parted. "I don't know."

Was he feeling the almost physical pull? The need to kiss and touch and taste? "I want you." Her groan was soft, reluctant and heat burned in her cheeks. She lifted her gaze to his. And found desire burning in their depths. "All the time."

"I believe it is the…overeager magic of the Ribbon and the Ring. We must resist its pull."

Her heart squeezed. We. He'd said we. She ignored the painful fact that he believed it was an enchantment –he was very possibly right— but to have it confirmed that he was equally as caught as her… It put a smile on her lips. "I must be a good little witch whilst others are watching?"

Severus stilled, but it wasn't anger. Hermione's breath caught. Her ribbon thrummed. Thrummed with need and want. His desires. "The perfect little witch, Miss Granger."

Her belly fluttered and something dark and wicked coiled within her. Her gloved and stroked the sharp line of his jaw, wanting nothing more than to fist his hair and drag him into a kiss. Fuck, Severus Snape was addictive. She hungered for him. How could she deny or control it? Did they have to go this stupid ball? Couldn't they stay at Prince Albert Mansions? Until March? Three months in bed had to sate them.

The curricle bounced to a stop and Hermione almost cursed it. The tedium of the night stretched before her, in which her body ached for the only man who could touch her. Who wanted to touch her. For a moment, she closed her eyes and cursed softly.

Severus took her hand and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "You look beautiful, Hermione. You are an incredible witch and it's my honour to escort you this evening."

Hermione's heart melted and a wry smile touched her mouth. "You're not helping my need to turn this carriage around."

He smirked at her. "Perhaps as your Mentoris, I'm here to guide you in your unruly desires? I was made aware this summer that your bookworm persona disguises a witch of dark passions."

She groaned. He really had to stop. "Severus, please…"

He drew in a breath, his gaze suddenly sharp. "Words for later, I believe." He stepped down and offered her his hand.

"Evil, wicked man," she muttered. "Evil, wicked and debauched man."

"Debauchery…" His lips brushed her ear, the word hot and velvet soft. "An indulgence in sensual pleasures…"

Hermione held back a moan. "I hate you. I thought you were supposed to help me control my unruly desires."

"Guide. Not control."

A little house elf in gleaming silver Malfoy livery cracked into the air before them. "Master Snape. Ribboned-One." She flipped herself into an elaborate bow. "Please be following Pippy." Luminous eyes fixed on Hermione. "It's a great, great honour to be seeing the Ribbon again. A great honour."

Hermione released a hot, tight breath. Her pulse thudded, her mouth dry. He was right there. Elegant, sexy, so clever...and just everything she wanted. Everything. Why couldn't she fist her hands in his hair and demand his mouth? But she couldn't. Not yet. That final, delicious thought worked the needed smile for the little house elf. "It's my honour to wear it knowing it keeps you safe."

Pippy squeaked and a blush flooded her flat little face. Her long fingers waved towards the mansion, suddenly speechless, and she trotted towards the house.

Malfoy Manor loomed out of the darkness, an Elizabethan pile, all angles and paned glass, flickering with golden light. Austere and beautiful. The doors to the hall stood open and Hermione's stomach turned over, not even her need for Severus able to wash away her anxiety. Not this time. He had done a wonderful job of distracting her, but now…

She scrabbled for something, anything, as they followed Pippy. "What am I saving them from?" Her fingers tightened on the cool sleeve of his coat, fighting her panic. "Gret said something about using magic to change them?"

"Elves call it simply 'The Potion'. Never speak to them of it," Severus murmured, his large had covering hers, his voice calm and measured. "An of age virgin's hands and thigh bones, her tongue and brain form the basis of a dark potion. It breaks the bonds of master and elf."

Hermione frowned. "Clothing does that."

Severus shook his head. "It goes far beyond a mere knitted hat. It transforms the elf. Makes them selfish and lazy, with no desire to work or to serve… Their worst nightmare." He shrugged. "An unknown potioneer created it in sixth century Byzantium. Elves have the myth that it was one of their own, maddened by the plague. Wizards leapt on it. Used it to destroy rival Houses. Take away the service of loyal elves and the family would fall. Even a free elf hungers to work."

"So anyone who denies the ingredients for this Potion, they adore?"

"Indeed."

They were inside the house, when that had happened, Hermione wasn't certain. She'd been caught up in Severus' smooth voice. She pulled in a long breath, the odour of lemon polish, wood and exotic blooms filling her lungs. Not the same. Something was missing. And its lack unnerved her.

"Hermione…" Severus voice was soft. "No one will harm you here. I will not leave you. Our magic will protect you."

"The last witch. It didn't protect her. How—?" Her thoughts jumped, sparking over ideas and information. "Voldemort. Voldemort killed her. And that's what's missing here. Him. Like a layer of stinking rot. Like a corpse under the floorboards. Like—"

"Hermione…" He wrapped warm arms around her and pressed his lips to her forehead. His comforting scent surrounded her. "He is gone. Gone. And no one is left who could threaten our magic. No one." His lips brushed her ear. "I. Will. Protect. You."

She believed that. It was the core of who he was. He always kept his word and he protected others. The raw burning of her nerves faded back and she could take the first easy breath. She looked up at him and smiled. "Perfect witch time."

"The Ribboned-One is feeling better. I'll open the doors now." Pippy bobbed and waved her fingers.

The doors surrounding the all clunked and swung open, prompting Hermione to step out of his loose hold.

Narcissa Malfoy swept forward, all blond and diaphanous silver, a beatific smile gracing her perfect features. "Severus, my dear." She offered her slender, manicured hand for him to kiss. Which he did. "This house is determined to fight me this night. Would you believe none of the doors would open? Lucius was ready to throw a Reducto at them. At Grinling Gibbons carved doors. Can you believe the nerve of my impetuous husband? He would have us live in a sty."

Narcissa closed her eyes and her tight shoulders dropped into a more elegant line. Sharp blue eyes fixed on Hermione. "Miss Granger." A sure and social smile fixed on her lips. "We are honoured to have you here."

They exchanged curtseys. Severus had held her in place at one point to drive the shape-memory into her muscles. It had insured she'd never forget it. Even then, she could feel the ghosts of his hands on her stomach and spine. "The honour is mine, Lady Malfoy."

And she got that out in a courteous voice with no sarcasm and not a hint of bile. Hermione counted it as a complete win.

"Indeed." Narcissa drew in a breath and swept a graceful arm towards the open doors. Beyond them, was the gleam of lights, chatter and the swelling strains of familiar music. "Welcome to Malfoy Manor's Winter Ball."

Let me know what you think! :)