Hermione put the final touches on the low bun that hung from the back of her head, the little curls that escaped it framed her face. She straightened the front of her red dress robes and stared at herself in the mirror. Red lipstick, light eye makeup, she thought she looked decent, not as good as she could had she used a bit more sleak-eazy and heavier eye makeup.
She didn't want to look too overdone though. This was a heroes ball and she was not trying to flaunt herself to the masses.
"You look lovely, you worry too much." Snape was behind her, black eyes narrowed on her image in the mirror as he leaned against her doorframe. "You've missed something, though." He took long strides toward her and his cool fingers brushed her back as he curled the back of her dress robes away from her hair, so they wouldn't snag and tug at it.
Chills raced across her skin and she gave him a grateful look in the mirror, his hand fell to her shoulder.
She looked so right stood in front of him like this, his feelings were, had been deepening for some time. He fought them back, as he always had.
"Thank you." She hummed and spun to look up at him, her red lips curled into a bright smile.
"You're quite welcome. Weasley will be here for you soon?" He cocked an eyebrow and she gave a little nod, folded her hands in front of her. She was still torn on matters with Ron, unsure where they stood.
He was drifting away, he came to see her less and less.
She could almost feel his interest in her waning.
"He and Harry will both be here, Ginny would come but she says they stifle her." He adjusted his own dress robes and her fingers came up to the collar, adjusted it so it sat just right on his broad shoulders.
It was such an intimate action that it made his stomach coil with tension, unwanted- yet not.
"Hermione…" His fingers caught hers and he was staring into her eyes. She was afraid to blink, break the moment, end the beautiful tension between them.
He broke the moment, blinking and stepping away. This witch was spoken for, as ever he had lost a golden opportunity. He hardened his stance and stepped back to the doorway, an attempt to escape her intoxicating scent, her soft eyes. She looked hurt, it burned down to his gut, such an unpleasant sensation.
A knock at their chamber door broke their gazes and he turned, one last glance over his shoulder as he strolled from the room. Hermione brushed the moisture from the corner of her eye.
What was wrong with her?
SSHG
Hermione was leaned against the balcony railing , she and Ron had stepped outside of the ministry's grand ballroom to have a 'talk' and Hermione's stomach was rolling with discomfort. She didn't want to have this conversation.
She had so many other things on her mind at the moment, couldn't he just give her some time to cope with everything they'd seen?
She'd never understood how he'd simply moved on, as if he hadn't felt the burden of loss. As if the faces of the dead didn't haunt him every time he closed his eyes.
"Hermione," he paused, came up beside her and leaned heavy on his hands against the railing, she cast her stare toward him, her eyelids felt thick and scratchy.
"I know Ron." She put her hand on his and he pulled away as if she'd bitten him.
He didn't look relieved like she'd expected, she'd hoped to take some of the weight of this break up off of him.
"I've met someone else." She couldn't say it didn't sting, she kept her brave face on though, not wanting to upset him. It was her own fault, remaining at Hogwarts instead of following him and Harry into the ministry.
"I understand." She wrapped her arms around herself and he shot her a look.
"I need you to know, I never wanted to hurt you." He tried to touch her arm but she pulled away. Not physical contact, not yet.
"I know." She repeated herself, she wasn't sure what else to say.
What did one say?
Had he cheated on her with the someone he'd met?
"We've been together for a month now." He winced when her shoulders slumped. She'd thought that may have been it, why he'd begun to withdraw from her. He'd met someone, had been seeing them, while he was supposed to be with her.
But honestly, was she much better? She'd basically hidden herself away from him with one of the people he hated most in the world.
"I understand." She bit her lower lip, turned her face away. He didn't reach for her again.
"When this- when this heals, I'd like for you to meet her, she's really wonderful. Intelligent and so patient." Hermione cleared her throat.
"I'm not ready to know, Ron." She grasped herself tighter and he gave a little nod, almost imperceptible from the corner of her eye.
"We can still be friends, right?" She glanced at him, he looked nervous, as if she would say no.
"Of course." Her voice sounded monotone even to herself and she took a deep breath.
"I'll give you some time." He looked back at her over his shoulder one last time as he walked into the ballroom. Hermione had turned her back to him, leaned over the thick wood railing. He tried to pretend her shoulders weren't shaking violently.
Severus took the redhead's departure as his moment to step from the shadows behind the open door. He'd not meant to be there, to eavesdrop but he'd been there when they'd stepped outside and they'd never given him a good moment to escape.
He couldn't pretend he didn't see her shoulders shaking with tears, couldn't hear the pale sobs as she braced herself against the balcony rail.
It made that burn return, that painful acidic feeling in his chest and stomach.
This sweet, kind, intelligent witch was broken. Broken by a wizard who'd simply found her traits in another and latched onto them.
Why? Because she wasn't as emotionally available as he wanted her to be?
It annoyed him.
He had no right to cast her aside because she'd been hurt. War damaged those involved, always had.
"Hermione." His deep voice was soft and settled on her shoulders like a blanket, she glanced behind her at him, her hands swiped at her face as she turned.
"Sorry, is it time? I'll- I'll get myself together." She stared at the floor, her shoulders fallen.
This was meant to be a night of celebration, a night that they praised the little group of three for everything they'd done to save them from the Dark Lord.
She had given so many years of herself, suffered such hardship.
She deserved this happiness.
"It isn't." He shook his head and in three long strides he was nearly on top of her, her head level with his chest. She refused to look into his face, even though he stared down, wishing she would.
"Hermione, look at me." He demanded, her eyes immediately shot up to his, her fingers grasped at her own dress robes. She wanted to bury them in his. Bury herself in him.
The deep scent of herbs and parchment settled around her as his hands came up to grasp the railing, trapping her.
Now she couldn't flee, even if she wanted to. Would he make her want to?
His breath brushed her cheek as he bent, his face closer to hers. He wanted her to hear him, to feel him.
He felt the tightening in his chest, the knowledge he was about to do something he could never go back from.
Would never want to.
"He is a fool not to see what he has before him. You deserve every patience, every affection, every forgiveness in his body, any wizard's body. You deserve worship, and loyalty, and faithfulness, you deserve everything this world has to offer you, you have given so much of yourself. If he cannot understand that, if he cannot see what he had in front of him, beautiful, intelligent, kind, selfless- he doesn't deserve it. I can hardly find reason in my mind to think any man- wizard- anyone deserves it." She had stilled beneath him, her eyes wide as he muttered, voice deep, heavy, in her ear.
A divine twist of heat in her abdomen at his words, her skin rose gooseflesh and she closed her eyes, breathed in his breath.
"You can't mean it." She finally found the words, tears burned at the edge of her eyes.
She tried to convince herself he was only saying it to make her feel better. A difficult task when one considered who it was speaking the words to her. She shook her head, the curls tickled his cheek.
A deep rumble resonated from his chest, his body insinuated itself closer to her, closer, closer, until her lower back was pressed against the rail and his body was pressed against her front. She whimpered at the intense heat of him, surrounding her, possessing her.
Herbs and potions and parchment clashed with peaches and vanilla, a deeply sweet scent, strange but somehow perfect.
Her fingers found themselves in his robes, grasped, tugged, closer, he couldn't come closer. She groaned. "I mean every word." He rasped into her ear, shivers convulsed her nerve endings.