Chapter 24

"It is red."

"And is that all I am permitted to know?"

"Yes. You can see it tomorrow night, the same as everyone else."

"I doubt that anyone else attending the ball will be thinking the same thoughts that I shall, when I see you in your Yule gown."

"I hope not," Hermione grinned, leaning back on his chest and allowing her professor to nuzzle the side of her neck, his long nose just brushing against her ear as his lips sought the sensitive cords beneath it.

They were sprawled on the old sofa in his private quarters, she in her pyjamas and he in his shirtsleeves and trousers, having so far only shaken off half the day. He smelled of dungeon classroom and potions ingredients, and there was a small scorch mark on the back on his hand, caused by brief explosive moment during first-year Potions that afternoon.

It was Friday, the night before the Yule Ball, and unusually, Snape was not on night patrol. Professor McGonagall had saved his duty for tomorrow night, where spirits would be running high after the ball, and she needed her most fearsome member of staff to quell them in order that students would get to bed with as little trouble as possible after an evening of merriment.

Tonight's honour, he told her, had been granted to Professor Trelawney, whose airy manner usually made her a most unsuitable candidate for effecting any kind of discipline during a night patrol. McGonagall believed that there was unlikely to be any trouble today, with students getting an early night, and saving any 'wild' behaviour for the following evening.

Hermione had received a late call from him, through their Floo connection, shortly before she had been about to retire to bed; but had been pleased to step through. She found him looking tired and cross on his sofa, noting that the dining table was yet again piled up with books, quills and several baskets crammed with parchment scrolls – all rolled-up essays that it was his duty to mark, no doubt.

Snape's teaching robes and coat had been thrown haphazardly onto the back of an armchair, and his shirt looked as if he'd tugged at the collar and cuffs in an irritated fashion, as though he'd been keen to rid himself of the constriction; but couldn't actually be bothered. His long legs were stretched out along the full length of the sofa, and he was holding a half-smoked cigarette in his fingers, flicking the detritus into an ashtray just within reach, on the side table.

"Come here," he beckoned, as she'd entered, pulling her down to sit between his thighs and lay her spine against his chest as she looked up at the darkened ceiling of his living room, lit by a few beams of flickering light from the wall sconces.

He'd planted some rough kisses in her hair, small intimacies that made her stomach lurch and her heart beat faster. No matter how familiar their position now was, together, Snape was still dangerous, still forbidden. The thrill of simply being with him, outside of the classroom, sent the blood rushing to her head – and she couldn't get enough. Like most Gryffindors, she always wanted more.

Hermione had felt the rise of his chest as he inhaled from his cigarette; and smelt the tendrils of smoke as he breathed out. Smoking wasn't something she'd ever found particularly pleasant, but somehow with him … it was just him. His ways. Something he did. Strangely, Hermione found she did not mind it at all.

Snape was nibbling and sucking at the side of her neck, sending little pulses of pleasure running through her body, right down to her bare toes. The thought that her severe professor was looking forward to something as banal as seeing her in her Yule Ball finery was exciting, and it made Hermione want to work hard on her appearance the following evening. She was not usually swayed by such frippery, but just sometimes, it was nice to embrace all the fun that being an adult witch could be, and that included a night dressing up.

"Don't leave a mark on my neck," she murmured. "That won't go with my dress."

"You are a capable witch. If I do mark you, simply cast a glamour charm to cover it."

His voice was thick with lust as he turned his attentions to her neck in earnest; nipping at her earlobe, licking down the side of her throat before mauling the curve of her shoulder with rough, sucking kisses. Hermione loved it. It made her feel powerful. The dark wizard had made no secret of his desire for her. There was no stupid game-playing in their … well, she could hardly call it a relationship, but between them. He wanted her, she wanted him, and so they took from one another and gave in return.

Not for the first time, Hermione wondered if it was anything more, but dampened that thought down the best she could, for it seemed inappropriate to ask. They were just lucky they hadn't been discovered. Anything … more, could be discussed once she'd left school.

Perhaps.

She heard a noise of pleasure escape her lips as Snape continued his attentions, especially since one of his arms had slipped around her body and a large hand was now cupping her breast.

"I wish I could dance with you tomorrow night," she murmured.

He made a small coughing noise, behind her, and withdrew his lips from her skin.

"You would be the only witch with whom it would be my pleasure to dance with," he replied, gruffly.

"Really?"

"You sound surprised."

"Oh, I don't know. I'd expected you to scoff; and tell me you hated dancing."

"I do not hate dancing."

"You can dance? And you like it?"

The professor drew both his arms around her; and pulled her closer to his chest. Hermione turned her upper body slightly to the side, so that her ear was resting on his shirt, and she could feel the rumble of his deep voice against it.

"Yes, girl, I can dance. Moving in pureblood Slytherin circles whilst a student, meant that I adopted a few of their ways. I learned their social expectations and customs, such as being able to lead a witch in a formal dance, not that I am invited to many balls, these days."

"Who were your friends? You know, at school?"

"I doubt you would know of them, but I believe that you are aware of one Regulus Black? He was a year younger than I, but a great friend, and we were united through our mutual hatred of his brother."

"Sirius was a very good man," Hermione replied, wanting to defend her friend's godfather, and the foolhardy, but very kind and brave, man she had known.

"Not to me, he wasn't."

There was a tense silence, as she, and it seemed he also, forced themselves to accept that they had wildly different opinions about Sirius Black. It was probably better not to discuss it.

Hermione trailed her fingers over his upper arm, feeling the strength in his bicep through his white shirt. His muscles were surprisingly defined for one so slim, and the sheer magical power radiated from him, even at rest.

"I never discovered what became of Regulus," he continued, unexpectedly. "He went missing not long before the Dark Lord killed the Potters. I presumed that Black must have displeased the Death Eaters and was therefore … eliminated."

"I know what happened," she blurted, before she even thought about the good sense of what she was saying.

He pushed her to sitting, turning her in his arms so that he could see her face.

"Tell me?"

Hermione gave him a truncated rendition of Kreacher's tale, seeing the sadness and shame reflected in his black eyes.

"Well, then," he said, once she had finished. "It is highly likely that I created the potion that killed one of the few men I would call a friend."

She sat between his legs, taking both his hands in hers, thumbing them gently to attempt to provide a quiet comfort as he processed the information she had just imparted to him.

After a short pause, Snape extracted his legs from hers, and stood up, keeping hold of her hand and tugging Hermione to her feet.

"May I request the pleasure of this dance?"

"What?"

"If we cannot dance tomorrow night at the ball, we shall dance now."

Drawing his wand, he cast a subtle movement in the air, and whispered a curious series of incantations. All the furniture suddenly flung itself back against the walls, creating a larger space, and the lyrical swell of a slow waltz filled the room.

"Music? But how …?"

Hermione's eyes darted around the room, looking for a gramophone, or a wizarding wireless.

"Sometimes, Miss Granger, you forget who I am, and what I am capable of."

He gave her a slightly arrogant smile as he tucked his wand back into his sleeve, before taking her in a formal hold, as they had been shown in fourth year.

"Now, to dance?"

She smiled. Already his confident hold felt different to the nervous attempts of the Gryffindor boys. Allowing him to sweep her around the room, albeit in a confined space, it was a relief to be led, to be guided. Hermione was a quick study, and had learned basic dance skills swiftly, but Snape was a master, it seemed, and her body bent to his lead, just as it did when he made love to her.

"You're a very good dancer," she told him, honestly.

"I did what was expected of me," he answered, splaying his hand on her back to draw her a little tighter.

The music appeared to slow, along with their movements. Soon, they were barely moving, and his hand had crept to her face, caressing her cheek with his fingertips before leaning in to place the lightest kiss on her lips. His feet and hips were still swaying to the beat of the music, that had somehow become a more contemporary tune, full of soul, and the movements of his body prompted hers.

"Now this," he muttered, curling a lock of her hair around his finger, "is why we cannot dance in the Great Hall tomorrow night."

"I believe this kind of dancing would be considered inappropriate," she replied, smiling, and tilting her chin up to receive another soft kiss.

"This is what I will blast students out of the rose garden for doing."

"That's rather mean."

"If I cannot kiss the witch I desire, neither can they."

Their lips were so close, they were brushing against each other with every word spoken.

"You'll have to kiss me now, then, Severus."

"Oh, I intend to."

The professor crashed his mouth down upon hers with a ferocity that made her squeal, and he swallowed the noise, pushing his tongue between her lips whilst holding firm to the back of her head. Her mouth was full to the brim with his rolling, coiling tongue, and Snape held her so tightly.

He snogged her with a passion that made her head spin, her knees buckle, and she returned every bit of it; listening to the music with closed eyes, imagining that they were any normal couple, getting it on, on the dance floor. His other hand on her bottom, pressing her hips against his as he swayed, only enhanced her pleasure.

Severus Snape was quite the devastating kisser.

-xxx-

The following evening, it had not taken Severus very long to regret his decision not to fuck the girl whilst he'd had the chance.

She had entered the ball alongside her friends, looking so astoundingly beautiful in her long, red gown that it had taken much restraint not to fall to his knees and declare his undying love before the entire school. Whilst many Gryffindor girls resembled gaudy Christmas decorations in their scarlet finery, Granger's floor-length dress was such a dark red that it was beginning to veer towards black, like a baccara rose. The girl was an exquisite flower that he wanted to unwrap, and pull the garment from her body, piece by piece.

Her curls were tamed, for once, and were spilling down her back in sumptuous waves that he wanted to touch, now. The top of the dress resembled a Grecian toga wrapped around her, gathered at the waist with a gold clasp, before falling in layers down her legs and around her feet. When she moved, Severus could see there was a split in the skirts that went all the way up, but it was still modest, offering only the slightest tantalising glimpse should she move in a certain way.

Suddenly, he was hit with a pang of angry jealousy. He didn't want every little shit in this hall feasting their undeserving eyes upon her, unworthy teenage runts who had no business gazing upon a witch who was a far greater prize that any of them would ever win.

And you are; you stupid bastard?

His own innate negativity crushed his train of thought with the power of a well-cast Reducto curse. Severus attempted to get a hold of himself, and stalked over to the beverages table, where wine and other spirits were laid out for the staff, and for the older students who were of age to drink it.

The entire staff had been summoned to arrive in the Great Hall, lavishly decorated for Yule, in advance of the students. Once there, Minerva had given them all strict instructions regarding their own conduct; including the necessity of dancing, and using sensible judgment pertaining to alcohol consumption.

Since Filius Flitwick already had one drunken elbow in a bowl of strawberry blancmange, Severus suspected that the diminutive Charms professor had not taken her advice. Flitwick was a notorious drunk, but at least he was amusing, unlike Sybill Trelawney who spent most of the time in a mildly depressed, inebriated state, her breath stinking of cooking sherry purloined from the kitchens.

The staff had been obliged to open the dancing, and Minerva had firmly taken his wrist and dragged him to the centre of the dance floor, all the while managing to make it look as if he were accompanying her willingly.

"Did you have to?" he moaned, as he dutifully turned her into the first formal waltz.

"I did, Severus, yes," she replied. "I'm not having you stand in the corner like a dark ghost all evening."

"Is your concern for my happiness your sole reason for strong-arming me to the dance floor?"

"Well, of course not, boy. You were the best choice. Can you imagine me attempting to dance with Filius or Rubeus? Plus, you can dance. I remember, Severus."

"You should have been a Slytherin, Minerva."

"How rude, Severus."

He arranged his features in a neutral line; although truthfully, he found her rather funny, and continued to glide the surprisingly-elegant Headmistress around the floor. The last Yule Ball, she had opened the dancing with Albus, and they had made a handsome partnership, both skilled at dance and equally flamboyant fucking Gryffindors. The pair had remained on the dance floor for a long time that night, and Severus wondered if Minerva was remembering him now. Not that he was going to ask, given the circumstances of the man's demise.

As soon as the waltz finished, he released her into the hands of Hagrid, who had been waiting for the opportunity. The look of helpless resignation she shot him as he left the dance floor was worth the month of night patrols she'd probably schedule, in revenge.

Following the lead of the Longbottom boy, who respectfully asked his mentor Pomona Sprout for the next dance, some of the other staff began to pair off with the older students, which would have been amusing had Severus not been so fearful that he'd be expected to do the same. Unbidden, his eyes travelled the room, seeking the beauty in the baccara-red dress. They met, only for a split-second, for they could not risk more. They could not risk giving in to the temptation of dancing together. He knew that.

-xxx-

Hermione broke her eyes away from his black gaze just as soon as it had connected. Yes, there were students dancing with teachers, but she doubted that Neville Longbottom was having mind-blowing sex with Professor Sprout. She couldn't be that close to him in a public setting, not after he had kissed her senseless last night, ending their brief dancing session. She picked up her glass of red wine, sipping it slowly, because the last thing she wanted to do was to get drunk and embarrass herself at such a big occasion.

Looking around at some of the other seventh-years, it seemed that not all of them were of the same opinion as her. Ernie Macmillan was already extremely tipsy, his ruddy face even more florid than usual, pulling a confused looking Ravenclaw around the dance floor.

Professor Briner approached their table, and to Hermione's horror he seemed in a worse state than Ernie. His cravat was pulled loose, and his forehead was sweaty. He lurched towards Hannah, taking her hand and urging her to her feet.

"What say you and I take a turn about the dance floor, Miss Abbott?"

It was not a request, nor a polite question. Without waiting for a response, he tugged Hannah towards the floor, clamping her into a formal hold that looked distinctly uncomfortable and starting to sway without skill or finesse. Hermione could not hear what she was saying, but it appeared that Hannah was attempting to reason with him; and trying to extricate herself.

Susan, who was sitting with them, made a tutting noise, and set off towards the drinks table, pouring herself a large goblet of mead and tossing it back in a few gulps before pouring another one. Poor Susan. This crush was exquisitely painful for her, but at that moment, Hermione was more concerned with Hannah.

Drumming her fingers on the table top, she watched Briner intently, not trusting him for a second. Her suspicions were proved right, when the Transfiguration professor dropped his head to Hannah's neck, as if he were trying to nuzzle her. That was enough for Hermione. She leapt from her seat and began to stride on to the dance floor, before noticing that Hannah's rescuer was already there.

"Get your hands off her! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The voice of Neville Longbottom could be heard loud and clear above the music, and he did not waste a moment.

"Excuse me Professor," he said to Sprout, releasing his dance partner with impeccable manners before stepping over to where Briner was 'dancing' with his girlfriend, putting his hands in between their bodies and forcing them apart.

"Fuck off, Longbottom," Briner spat, attempting to draw Hannah back against him and finding himself blocked by the tall, wide form of Neville, who had physically stepped in front of the witch he was protecting.

"I will. And I'll be taking my girlfriend with me."

"As if an idiotic dick like you could ever satisfy a hot little piece like Abbott," the professor sneered.

"Professor Briner!"

The strident voice rang out across the Great Hall, and everyone turned to see the Headmistress walking quickly towards them, summoned by Professor Sprout.

"What is this disgusting behaviour, Richard?" McGonagall asked, icily.

"Nothing, Minerva. Only a jealous young man here. How dare you put your hands on me, Longbottom?"

McGonagall narrowed her eyes at the wizard who had taken her cherished position in the Transfiguration classroom. The band had seen the disturbance and stopped playing, which meant that the silence was deafening. Everyone wanted to see and hear what would happen next. Neville now had Hannah in his arms, and the two of them stood defiant before the professors.

"I am, Richard, possessed with excellent hearing, and indeed vision, too. You have clearly had too much to drink, but that does not excuse your behaviour towards Miss Abbott, and your words to Mr Longbottom. This is reprehensible for a teacher. I suggest that you remove yourself from the Great Hall immediately and retire to your chambers. Tomorrow morning you should attend my office and we will discuss your future here at Hogwarts, for I am most severely displeased."

Professor Briner stared at his employer for a few moments, as if he was deciding whether to fight or flee, before turning on his heel without a word and stalking out of the hall, his boots clacking on the stone floor in the silence.

Hermione wasn't sure if people were going to burst into spontaneous applause, as it seemed that everyone was holding their breath.

McGonagall clapped her hands briskly.

"Music, if you please! The situation is dealt with. Continue with your evening; and let this be a lesson to you all, on the dangers of consuming more alcohol than you can tolerate!"

The band began to play again, a lively tune that soon had many students dancing again, Hannah now safely in the arms of Neville, who was smiling, and encouraging the distressed girl to return it.

Professor Flitwick slid off his chair and under the table, dragging the blancmange with him.

No one noticed.