A/N: Ch 13, in which the heat gets turned up...
Chapter Thirteen
Hermione's next wish was a no-brainer. Well, sort of.
I wish to dance in the arms of a beautiful woman, the coin read. Signed, Argus Filch. Dated the night of the Yule Ball in Hermione's fourth year.
She may not have ever been the belle of the ball. She wasn't the most glamorous, the most fashionable, or the most ladylike, but Hermione knew her looks were at least acceptable to most men, quite attractive to a select few, and she was preparing herself for a night of dancing with one Mr. Filch.
If things went according to plan, he would dance the night away while she watched on from the floor, but that was yet to be determined.
The venue was already prepared for her, so when this coin decided to give her a little shiver, it was easy to see why.
This year, there was to be a Valentine's Ball.
No dance had been held since the Yule Ball four years past, and it was no wonder why. First Umbridge, then the focus on Voldemort and attacks at the school, then Dumbledore's death and Death Eaters taking over the castle. The simple frivolity of a dance would help return the castle to its normal atmosphere full of enchantment. It would bring the students, and the staff, back to a time when there were no worries greater than exams and what to wear to a dance.
Preparations were already underway in the castle for the party that would be in a few days' time. She had no doubt all of the castle would be in attendance, whether by will or by force. The students mostly by will, the staff mostly by force. Especially a select few, like Severus.
Severus would be at the ball. It was like her own little fairytale nightmare. She really hoped her Godmother magic behaved itself. There were accounts in her book of strange things happening in these kinds of situations, and she was focused on the fact that if anything were to happen, between her and anyone, she wanted it to be natural and unforced.
But that didn't make it any easier to find a gown. Or a hairstyle. Or the right shoes.
Hermione wanted to find something that would appeal to both Mr. Filch and Severus, but truthfully she didn't know the tastes of either. It was common knowledge, of course, that Severus had fancied Harry's mum in the past, but Hermione had no idea what about her had appealed to him, nor did she just assume that the tastes of a teen were the same as the tastes of a man.
Just thinking that gave her a little shudder, for he was, most definitely, a man.
Only having attending the one dance in her life, and not being involved in pure-blood society, she was at a loss as to how best to proceed. She endeavoured to ask Minerva, who plainly responded, "A dress? Why, you have a perfect dress exactly tailored to you right at your disposal!"
Her Godmother dress! There was no way she was going out in that dress.
"Doesn't that state publicly that I'm a Godmother?" she asked. "I don't think I'm up for that yet. I haven't decided whether to be forthcoming about my new...position."
"It's only a statement for those who know. Which is who? Filius and myself?"
"And Dobby," Hermione added in a forlorn tone.
"And a house-elf! I think you'll be just fine."
"I'll consider it," Hermione offered.
Minerva agreed that she should. "It really will be most becoming, and I have a feeling all will fall into place once you put it on."
Which was kind of what Hermione was afraid of. Activating her magic.
Catalogues from Madam Malkin's and a trip to Hogsmeade left her with no more options than she had started with. There were several dresses she found, but they were more geared towards the eager fourth and fifth-year students than the young woman Hermione had become. Nothing was really flattering for the position—and the curves—she had developed.
Which found her, on the night of the ball, in her room, fingering the silk and threads of her voluptuous gown. Coming out as a Godmother was a major, life-altering decision. But then, so was being a Godmother.
She knew she could keep it a secret. Hermione was good at those. The question was whether she would be able to keep a secret something that so many could possibly benefit from. When she was announced to the world as a Godmother, she would have different guidelines and magical abilities. A reclusive Godmother was able to answer the wishes of those from the fountain. On rare occasions, she could intervene directly on behalf of someone in need, generally a young female.
But if she was known, she would be able to affect those in need more directly, without waiting for the magic of the fountain to direct her. She would be her own box, so to speak. There were a list of disadvantages she was already aware of—the beggars, the unbelievers, the inability to satisfy all who sought her aid.
But her assistance to a world, her world, currently so torn in two could be boundless.
She put on the dress.
Opening the closet for the shawl, she found elbow-length white satin gloves and open-toed white heels inside resting on the floor.
"Okay, okay. I get it," she mumbled.
Putting on a simple choker of matching red ribbon and loosely putting up the sides of her hair, she stepped in front of the mirror. She looked the part of both a Godmother and the Valentine's Day ball with her dress of white, red, and gold.
So Gryffindor.
Deciding it couldn't be helped now, she picked up the hem of her skirt and made her way to the Great Hall.
Her entrance was bound to cause a commotion. First, she was the heroine Hermione Granger. No matter that she was the same bookworm who had been in the castle almost every day since the battle, spending her days in the library. On occasions like this, people still looked to them as symbols. The curious bystanders would want to know if she had brought a date, what she wore, and who she danced with. Second, she was a sort of persona non grata. A Muggle-born witch, neither student nor professor. Third, well, her dress was bloody huge, a fact she realized as she figured out how to manoeuvre her skirt around the door.
Of course she spotted Severus almost immediately and was pleased that the little rouge she had dabbed on would cover her slight blush.
He was standing by the wall, quietly surveying the scene. His hair, a little longer than usual, was tucked behind his ears as he kept his hands clasped behind his back.
Hermione thought he looked dashing.
After sending him a nod, she parted the crowd that somehow enveloped her. Minerva beamed when she saw her and couldn't help but come over and fuss over the dress. Hermione was afraid Flitwick was going to have a fit, going on as he did about her shoes and her gown. Both of them realized the importance of her coming out publicly as a Godmother and how her magic would now expand. Occasionally she could already feel a little tingle in her palms that she knew was the fairy magic.
Once the ball was full of happy, dancing students and the orchestra was reaching its stride, she found her target.
"Mr. Filch?" she politely asked the man who was once again rocking a grumpy Mrs. Norris on the outskirts of the crowd.
"What do you want?" he asked sharply, assuming he would be called away to his duties.
Hermione held out one pristinely gloved hand. "May I have this dance?"
His eyes narrowed as he watched her in suspicion. "What are you playing at?"
"Nothing, sir," she reassured him. "But I came tonight without an escort and would like to take a turn. It seems you are without one as well. Would Mrs. Norris mind?"
Filch looked down at his cat, who, sensing his hesitation, took the opportunity to leap from his arms and disappear into the hallway. "It seems she has a previous obligation."
Once again the students parted in wonder as Hermione brought him to the centre of the room. She gave Flitwick a discreet nod, who he cued the orchestra to play a lilting ballad with a vintage air. Something from Filch's youth when he had first spent his time at Hogwarts.
Filch grasped Hermione in a traditional and respectful pose, not too close, as he held her waist and her hand, leading her across the room with more grace than she had anticipated. She was careful to keep her countenance serene, showing no fear or embarrassment. It would all be for naught if he decided that she was trying to make a fool out of him.
A space cleared in the middle of the room as they danced, most stopping just to watch the odd pair. As Hermione circled the room, spin after lazy spin, she noticed a pair of eyes watching them with more than the shock registered on the faces of the rest of the audience. The eyes followed them as they moved about the room, swaying and swirling in time to the music, and if Hermione was correct, they seemed to be tinted green with jealousy.
She was more than a little surprised, but upon reflection, she really shouldn't have been. The signs were there. With a smile, she glided them over to that side of the room as the song crested to an end.
"Excuse me, would you like to dance? I need a bit of air and I'd hate to leave my partner on his own."
"I...I..." stumbled Madam Pince, her cheeks blushing rosy pink.
"Don't worry, Granger," Mr. Filch told her, taking Madam Pince's hand from Hermione's, "I'll be in good hands with Irma."
The old librarian smiled as her nerves seemed to dissipate under the caretaker's touch. Never looking away from each other, the two stepped out to continue the dance.
Hermione did as she said she would, stepping out for a bit of air after being in the spotlight. She never noticed the other set of eyes that watched from the opposite corner.
What must it be like, he wondered, to act so freely? To openly display your designs with the one you care most about? He envied her easy smile and fearless nature. Severus couldn't imagine anyone looking so content dancing with him as Hermione had with Filch, never mind how smitten Irma clearly was.
He could never bring himself to ask her for a dance. It wasn't his way. But surely bringing a drink to one who looked parched wasn't overt. Even if he was Severus Snape. He was allowed to turn over a new leaf.
He waffled for a moment, then grabbed the cup and headed to the door as Filch and Pince still danced arm in arm.
"Oh, hello, Severus," Hermione told him, standing from where she was leaning over the garden gate. "No one is in the rose bushes, I checked," she added with a smile.
"I merely thought you could use some refreshment after your little display," he told her and she turned away.
"Was it so terrible? I just wanted to see him happy," she asked, taking a sip from the cup he offered.
He shrugged. "No, just wouldn't have expected you to be so forthcoming about dancing with Filch."
"It was for him," she said simply. "He shouldn't feel like he is anyone to be ashamed of. And it looks like it worked." Filch could be seen from their vantage point on the terrace. "What about you?" she asked, as he looked at her without an answer. "Don't you like to dance?"
"No one has ever asked."
Her heart clenched in her chest. She knew she shouldn't pity him. He was lying in the bed he had made but...had no one ever really asked? Had there been any normal part of his childhood? Did his actions and attitude define his place in their world or was the place that they had put him in what defined his actions and attitude?
It didn't matter, she decided. She liked who he was, and thought he should have every chance that others had.
"Would you like to dance?"
His breath caught, causing a huff from his overly large nose. "Out here in the shadows?" he asked. "Where no one can see?"
Without answer, she slipped her hand into his where he reflexively clenched it. Grasping back, she pulled him into the crowded ballroom.
The students were aghast. There was simply no figuring out Hermione.
Flitwick saw her come in —truthfully he found it hard to stop watching her, eager to see a display of her magic. The orchestra had been about to begin a more upbeat number, but he quickly slowed it down into a more languid waltz, wondering what Miss Granger was up to.
Snape had regained his footing and was now walking with Hermione as though he had always intended to be in the room dancing with her. She turned, grabbing his free hand and placing it firmly on her waist. Instead of lifting their other hands as she had with Filch, she let his go, placing it on the other side of her waist with hers at his collar. For him, it seemed a much more intimate pose.
He didn't say anything.
For the first few beats, Hermione led before Severus lifted his chin with a purpose and began to lead her. She admitted to herself she that liked being led around the floor by him.
The students around them whispered as Minerva and Sprout chatted with their heads together, neither willing to admit that they had thought about taking him for a turn themselves.
He spun her in a perfect circle, the skirt of her gown twirling around her. She felt like a princess.
"I'm so glad you didn't turn me down," she told him breathlessly as he pulled her back to him.
"I had to make it worth your while to ask, didn't I?" he challenged.
"Well, you certainly did. I hope you don't mind if I ask again."
"I had better just dance with you all night," he told her. "Now that you've shown everyone I am capable of not tripping over my feet and made me seem approachable, I'll be fending off third- and fourth-years all evening. And who knows what Pomona will do."
"I'm terribly sorry," she told him with fake sincerity. "You're right. It's only my duty to save you from that chore, being as it's my fault in the first place."
"Too right it is. You'll just have to suffer the consequences."
She turned her head to hide her grin as the students looked on in both fear and awe. They spent the rest of the evening as Hogwarts Strangest Couple, leaving Irma and Argus to sneak off when no one was looking. No one could blame them for finding a quiet corridor or for snogging in the library. And the only one who would come looking was currently occupied.
In fact, most of the students faced that dilemma. Whether to take the opportunity to snog in the roses while the old bat of the dungeons was busy or just stay and watch to prove it was real, while waiting for him to realize he was dancing with Granger and to hex her into next week.
Most stayed to watch.
But the rest of the evening was uneventful. Severus and Hermione would stepped off the floor on occasion to keep an eye on the children or grab a drink, but most of the night they spent under the moonlit glow of the enchanted ceiling, the space between them growing ever shorter.
When the music at last faded and the students were hustled off to their dorms, Severus insisted on walking Hermione back up to her room. There were several favourite places students like to lurk, he told her by way of an explanation and she didn't press him.
When the portrait to her room opened, she paused. "Thanks, Severus," she told him. "That was a much better ball than my first one."
"Weasley," he almost hissed.
"Yes, Ron," she agreed. "Tonight was much more enjoyable, and I couldn't have asked for a better partner."
She leaned forward, not giving him a chance to back away as she tilted up her head to brush her lips across his cool cheek.
"Good night," Hermione told him quickly, gathering up her dress and leaving him in the doorway, disappearing before he could chastise her.
The portrait swung shut as she pressed back against it.
"I'm in so much trouble."
Outside, Severus lingered, his fingers gently touching where she had kissed.