I know, bad me. But evil RL has been in the way.
On the plus side, the anthology I was in got to the USA Today Bestsellers list. Yay, for riding on more popular authors' coat tails! *grin*
And today, with most of the crap behind me, and it being almost a year since I started this little fic (!) here's the first part of the Malfoy Ball (I know, finally...)
Everyone stared at her. Everyone. From the gimlet glares of the purebloods, to the shining adoration of the hovering house-elves. Her gloved fingers tightened on Severus' sleeve, biting into the smooth fabric and she willed her heart into a slow rhythm.
"Breathe."
Severus' voice held a soft warmth that eased the manic rush of her blood. Hermione lifted her chin. She was a brash, muggle-born Gryffindor in the heart of pure-blooded superiority...and she would beat them at their own rigid game.
She would thrash them.
And that thought ran over and over in her mind as the ethereal elegance that was Lucius Malfoy swept up to her. "My dear Miss Granger." He flowed into an intricate bow —walking stick and all— before he straightened and fixed one of his sharp smiles on her. Hermione's skin pricked.
"It is an honour." A flick of his head sent an unruly blond lock back over his shoulder. "I am pleased beyond measure that the time of the Ribbon and the Ring is with us again."
Hermione dropped a curtsey, her social smile as diamond-sure as one of Narcissa's own. "It is my pleasure to begin my time as a Ribboned-Witch in your home, Lord Malfoy."
Lies. And he knew it. It was there in the sly twitch of Malfoy's perfect lips. But this was her education. The one Severus had agreed upon. Providing her with the ability to be yet another oh-so-polite shark in the pure-blood pool.
An elf hovered with a tray of champagne saucers. Severus took one –his ring pressed to the glass's low curve— and presented it to her. "Miss Granger." His dark eyes were sharp. Offering a warning.
Their fingers brushed as she accepted the glass, the swirl of protecting magic mixing with the heady feeling of his touch. He'd ensured that Malfoy had not found a way to tamper with her drink.
"From our vineyards at Chateau de la Marquetterie. One of the finest in France." Malfoy breathed in its scent, sipped and swirled the glass. The golden liquid sparkled in the candlelight. His tongue touched his lips and his smile was a mask of pleasantry. "Its taste is something to be savoured, wouldn't you agree, Miss Granger?"
Hermione held back a shiver at his blatant innuendo. Foul man. "You're a Tattinger, Lord Malfoy?" She'd lined her question with innocence and sipped her champagne. "How marvellous. My grandparents owned a gite in that part of the Champagne region. I spent many wonderful summers there."
Malfoy stilled for little more than a heartbeat, an dark furrow marring his perfect brow, but then he looked over Hermione's shoulder and a spark danced in his pale eyes. "Madam Athcasta." His gaze fixed on Hermione again. "Miss Granger, may I introduce you to Madam Amelia Athcasta? There is little she doesn't know about the ways of fashion. Her creations are…sublime."
The tall, willowy blonde curtsied, her dark eyes keen. "Miss Granger."
Hermione returned the curtsey, her insides twisting. Bloody Malfoy. He had to know about the…connection, the friendship between the witch and Severus. Was this a spike meant to cause a tear between them? "Madame Athcasta." She fixed her social smile on Malfoy. "I have the pleasure of wearing one of her creations." She looked to the bulky, brown-haired wizard beside the witch and waited for his introduction.
And waited. Seconds ticked by, meant to make Hermione feel uncomfortable as she could hardly introduce herself.
Athcasta pressed a gloved hand to her lips and Hermione fought not to roll her eyes. Was this all pure-blood society was? These nasty little games? The witch stroked her companion's arm with an elegant hand. "Oh, please, I forget myself, this is Master Clannan Tam. Tam, this is Miss Hermione Granger and Rogue," Athcasta blushed, yet her eyes sparked, "forgive me, an old habit, Master Severus Snape."
Rogue. Her pet name for Severus? Another dig. Had Severus once enjoyed these games? Did he still? She pushed down those thoughts and fixed on a mask of polite interest, though she was now being rather effectively ignored. No skin off her nose, as her father would say.
Her thoughts wandered. Would Severus give her a mark for the evening? Presentation? Outstanding. Social discourse? Exceeds expectations. The swell of music swept around her and guests took to the floor in an elegant waltz. A smile lifted her lip. Dancing? Still most definitely a Troll. In every sense.
Master Tam exclaimed over Severus' brilliance as a Potions Master and her smile deepened. She caught Severus' gaze over the bulky wizard's shoulder and his dark eyebrow arched. Damn, she would not find his eyebrow sexy. She wouldn't. She drew in a breath, still caught in the wild patter of her pulse. Too late.
Distraction. She needed something to pull her mind away from thoughts of one distinctly sexual Severus Snape. Something academic? Yes. Oh, would he allow her to brew with him? To see –without the risk of the dunderheaded herd threatening life and limb— one of Europe's greatest Potion Masters at work… Her belly dipped and it surprised her that working with him brought her as much excitement as his bloody eyebrow—
Malfoy stepped closer and Hermione's skin pricked. Shit. Severus was right there…but Tam was monopolising him. Her hand brushed the wand sheath sewn discreetly over her right thigh. He'd be a fool to touch her. But the Lucius Malfoy –whilst not a fool— did believe himself above and beyond every law. That he was free and apparently blameless rather proved his point
He stared out over the gathering crowd, lifting his glass in a salute to his son who loitered with his old school cronies at the edge of the dancefloor. Draco smirked and Hermione's fingers itched, the rising need to punch him again threading under her skin.
Malfoy's voice dropped low, his breath flaring across her jaw. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. Bastard. Severus could take him in a duel. But she couldn't risk it. In three months, the Agreement would be over. Neither of them could afford to make an open enemy of Lucius Malfoy. Fuck.
There was a smile in his voice. "It is fitting is it not, that the reappearance of the Ribbon and the Ring should happen here."
Hermione resisted the urge to take another sip of champagne. She needed a clear head. Malfoy was too close. The scent of him, something acrid, like soured ginger, burned across her senses. He was alluding to the last ribboned-witch. He wanted to rattle her. Yet again, bastard. Her magic screamed that the poor witch had met her death in the gilded Manor. Most likely at Voldemort's own hand…
She willed her breathing even and sure. She glanced at Malfoy, holding his pale gaze. "Her end…colours the magic of your home?"
Malfoy's perfect lips twitched upwards. "Does it really?" And the bastard seemed pleased. He let out a long breath, shifted his weight on his walking stick to strike an elegant pose and took another sip from his glass. As if horror and death were another form of fashion. "She was a charming girl. Beautifully bred. Such a shame. Miss Dymphna Taggart –a scion of the Abbott family— attended this very ball twenty nine years ago. Her Mentoris was a…muggle-born." His mouth turned down over the word. "Lord Voldemort saw it as, well, simply a step too far. Tell me, Miss Granger, what could a muggle-born know of our ways?"
His grey eyes fixed on her over the rim of his glass and a chill ran over her skin. Was he telling the truth? Oh, she could feel the fact that Voldemort had executed the last ribboned-witch, it had scraped under her skin, against her bones, but was the reason true?
"If he were attentive and learned, a great deal, Lord Malfoy. A very great deal."
His gaze narrowed. "Indeed."
"Miss Granger." Severus was breaking his own rule by interrupting their conversation, but she was glad of it. "May I have the pleasure of this dance?"
Hermione offered her gloved hand as an elf appeared with a tray and she disposed of her glass. "The pleasure is mine, Master Snape."
"I have enjoyed our conversation." There was an edge to Malfoy's voice that ran ice through her flesh. "We will speak again, Miss Granger."
Her answer was a brief nod, before all too quickly -and happily- she and Severus were swept into the growing crowd of dancers. Hermione let out a long, low sigh. Severus' scent surrounded her, the heat, the strength of him bringing the feeling of safety that Malfoy robbed from her. What did he want? She shoved down the obvious thought, not letting herself think it. No. Not that... And for a moment, she luxuriated in the protection Severus offered, letting him lead her around the dance floor, his hand firm at her waist, the other laced through hers, with his steps sure and graceful in the swirl of music. There was nothing but him. Only him.
She met his gaze, the knots twisting in her stomach for wholly other reasons than the odious Lord Malfoy. The light glistened in his dark eyes and edged gold over his sharp features. He would deny it with his last breath, but in that moment he was beautiful. And hers. Hers.
She caught a flash of long, white-blond hair and her thoughts jerked back to Malfoy. "Don't ever leave me alone again with him, please, Severus."
He frowned and his mouth thinned. "Did he touch you?"
"No," her fingers flexed in his tight hold, "no. But I don't trust him to obey the rules. I don't want to put you in the position where you would have to duel a friend."
"Friend." He huffed a laugh and swung her expertly beyond the wild gyrations of Tracey Davies and Marcus Flint. "Though I am glad to see you're beginning to play the game."
Hermione pouted and earned a smile from him, making her heart beat just that bit faster. Her gaze delayed on his mouth and all thought of the ball, of games and words and politics fell away. All fear of Lucius Malfoy incinerated. There was only the memory of Severus' lips on her skin, the stroke of his fingers driving heat and joy deep, deep into her flesh—
She blinked and met his darkened gaze. Desire burned there. Anticipation be damned. She had to know. "Tonight." She wet parched lips and willed her question out. "What will happen tonight, Severus?"
His lips brushed the exposed shell of her ear and Hermione bit her lip to deny a moan. Her fingers pressed hard into his shoulder, even as his smile curved against her skin. "I will give you…pleasure."
She swallowed and her heart pounded. The ache between her thighs pulsed and only his sure footing kept her moving around the dancefloor. What he could do to her with a few words was almost impossible. "Tell me. Please."
"How should I have you, Hermione?"
She closed her eyes. She hardly knew what she wanted, her experience gleaned from the illicit reading of some of Lavender Brown's more racy novels, but…Severus had opened her eyes. Her senses. Her sensuality. And there, racing through her mind, the heat and taste of bared skin, of fingers and mouths, the play of tongues and teeth on every inch of her skin, of his, seared her thoughts. "Have me in every way. Take everything. Please, Severus."
Severus groaned, something low and almost desperate. It rumbled though her. "Oh my little witch…" It was half endearment, half growl and Hermione's chest bloomed. In that moment, she didn't care if the magic of the Ribbon and the Ring drew him to her. He wanted her. Just as eagerly as she wanted him.
Severus drew back and his gaze fixed on her. He breathed. In and out. Fighting with every ounce of strength he had to bring his errant body back under his control and will down the erection that took all of his blood from his brain. Fuck. She couldn't offer herself in such a way.
He crushed the thought of after, when she was no longer his, and another man would hear her plea— No. No. He'd teach her never to give herself like that to another man. Never. Because he'd almost dragged her from the floor, propriety blasted to dust, in his need to simply have her. Now. Right now.
Severus swept her around another knot of rampaging elephants, forcing his anger and need into the dance. Control. He had to find balance and control. His breath evened. There... But he caught a flash of narrowed grey eyes. Malfoy. He was too aware of Lucius watching them. Watching Hermione. Wanting her. Anger swelled anew in his gut. Never. Never with him. "We will leave after supper." Shit. So much for his much vaunted self discipline.
Hermione gave him a breathless smile. "Promise?"
Fuck, he was hard again. Yes, the little witch would be the death of him.
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