Severus scarcely dared breathe in case he awoke from this miraculous dream. For surely being here, at the Ministry Ball, with a luminous enchantress in his arms could only be a figment of his love-starved imagination?
He concentrated on the tangibles: her delicate gossamer skin, her subtle floral scent, the faint rustle of her coral silk gown, the whisper soft brush of her lips on his exposed, vulnerable throat.
I am the envy of every man in this room. This is no dream. Hermione is in my arms, dancing with me; loving me.
The stars were smiling on Severus Snape.