She could recall the intense look of direction given to her in contrasting accompaniment to the pudgy smile. Professor Slughorn wanted Harry for his ball. However, his frequent meetings with Dumbledore made such an event nearly impossible. Plus, if she had brought it up with Harry it would mean discussing it with Ron and for some reason she didn't feel like seeing him at the dance. Was it because her Professor of interest would get the wrong idea? The prospect was likely and it almost felt like she had already asked him and he had surprisingly accepted. Now, Hermione was a smart girl and she was running over the implications of her developing feelings for the mystery that was Severus Snape. If it had only been a crush, she would have ditched the idea long ago, or at least decided not to act upon it. Yet, she was drawn to him with a curiosity and desire that caused her stomach to turn at night. There was unspeakable danger; she could sense it just being around the man. His guard was high and his patience with was short. Something was taking from him and leaving him with just enough vitality to function under the safety and comfort of a façade. It could be seen in the shadows around his eyes. She grasped bits of information over the years, but it felt like she was reading a book in the dark with a match that was fading. She couldn't get all of the information and with this war looming, she felt that the match would be snuffed out and she would never be able to finish the novel that could have been her favorite. Right now it was burning her fingertips.

The night had come. She did feel a bit giddy in the purple dress that Parvati had lent her. Hermione also felt Slytherin in lying when her friend had asked about the date, but not many Gryffindors would be there and they could speculate for all she cared. You could tell that the dress did not belong to her, the way that it plunged to peek at her cleavage, and hugged her in all the right places. This was a far cry from the loose fitting robes that she favored. Yet, the way that the fabric shimmered made her feel that for a night she could be a princess from the muggle stories. The girls had helped her with her hair and makeup as well, adding to the effect in soft shades of plum. It was only until after she had left the tower that Ron had heard the story with the stomp of a foot.

On her way to the ball, Hermione spotted Harry spying around one of the castle corners. 'Bingo.' She thought. She grabbed him by the arm and tugged him along at her pace.

"Blimey! Just what do you think you're doing?" Harry hissed in a whisper, "I was trying to catch what Draco was up to!"

"Brilliant." said Hermione, "I know for a fact that he should be appearing at the Slug Club Ball, at least for a brief while."

Harry's sour face turned into a smile. "Oh." He said.

Hermione pointed her wand in his direction, "You'll need some proper attire." She spoke with a spell. Suddenly, his clothes were shifting into fine wizard's dress robes.

"Thanks again, Hermione." Harry said as he put an arm around his friend's shoulder, entering the ball.

"Ah!" They were greeted by a round, jovial Slughorn, "Hermione has brought a special guest tonight! My two star pupils, together!" He raised a glass merrily. Eyes were upon them.

Hermione and Harry exchanged surprised glances and his arm dropped swiftly. They both laughed at the awkwardness. She could feel one pair of eyes in particular boring into her.

Snape certainly had not expected this. First it was the redhead and now Potter? Potter? Sure she was dedicated to her friends but wasn't there a line between dedication and decency? His robes whipped up as he curled one arm around the other. He kept watch over the adolescents from a spot on the wall near a large stained glass window. This flower of his, he noticed, was beginning to show its petals.

As soon as Harry had let go of her arm, Slughorn's arm was on his, off to parade him around to the various attendees. Hermione gave him a glance of sympathy. Then, her eyes came to the direction where she had felt the intensity before. There was Severus Snape, looking almost like a disgruntled teenager at a high school dance from one of the 80's movies her mother had shown her. She cautiously walked in his direction, chatting with others along the way as to not be so obvious in her intentions. Soon her back came to rest against the same stone wall as his. He did not look at her; she did not look at him.

"Enjoying yourself?" Hermione questioned.

"I can't recall the sentiment." replied Snape to the air, "Perhaps you and Potter are getting along famously?"

Hermione's head jerked in his direction, a look of abrupt confusion on her face. What emotion was there a hint of in that sentence her Professor had just spoken? Was it jealousy or teacherly concern? Was she just hoping? Her head swiveled forward as she stated, "He's not my date, if that's what you're asking." She could see him merely swallow as she glimpsed up at him. He glanced down at her and their eyes met as he slowly held out a rough hand. Her small hand seemed swallowed in his as a new song was beginning, a waltz.

His hand fit well on the small of her back while hers was reaching; just a little, to go over his shoulder. His other hand held hers elegantly. He seemed regal in his movements. His robes were nicer than those she had seen in class, the buttons were golden and so was the trim around his collar and cuffs. Everything else of course, was black. She was afraid to speak, to miss a step, to breathe. He could see this in her face, and the sides of his mouth upturned. "What are you happy about?" She smiled, "I'm not the best dancer, you know." He could see her blush. The room and the people in it were a blur beyond their faces as the traveled across the floor. All seemed simple and right with their bodies lightly pressed against one another under the soft glow of candelabras, just secure enough to know that the other was there. That was until the song ended, and a pain was growing in his left forearm. Snape made an effort not to grab at the burning thing as he let go of Hermione. She did not seem too keen on the abrupt detachment.

Hermione noted her Professor's change in demeanor. His face was again covered by a pale mask.

"If you'll excuse me." He stated to her, before treading towards the door. The music flooded her ears again in slow motion. Others were already dancing, and she knew that many of them would relish in the absence of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Instructor. Nevertheless, she that knew something was wrong as her shorter strides were struggling to keep up with his longer ones.

"Professor? Professor!" She shouted, imploring him in the dim hallway.

He wrapped his hand around her wrist and tugged her into a dark stairwell. His eyes reflected the moonlight. "Hermione, I must go. Tell no one. Alert Dumbledore if I do not return." He directed. She nodded as he seemed to disapparate, the feeling of his hand still on her wrist.