deficiency
[5]
The Ministry occasionally threw lavish, ridiculously over-the-top displays in the wintertime, where they exchanged gifts and dropped a New Year's ball, but it was all rather haphazard, in the way most wizards viewed Muggle traditions. Harry had begun it a few years ago, and Kingsley had taken to it with gusto, and now it was a mandatory attendance for all of the higher-ups. Which, of course, meant Harry and his "Golden Trio". He had brought Ginny one year, but now she came in her own right, considering she was queuing up for the Head Auror position. Apparently she was bringing a date, that should be interesting.
Ron was waiting for him downstairs, looking miserable. "Mum's making me bring Luna," he moaned. "She'll wear something mad, Harry, I know it!" he said, making it sound as though bringing Luna to a dance would permanently destroy his self-esteem.
Harry chuckled, patting him on the back. "Cheer up. At least you have a date."
The ginger harrumphed. "You could've had your pick, you know. My sister included." Ron, at times, became miffed that things hadn't worked out between Harry and Ginny, and then went through bouts of relief.
"No, Gin's bringing her own date I heard," Harry said, and took the flowerpot off the mantle. "Shall we? I'm sure Luna's waiting."
"Oh yeah, let's hurry up and find Looney Lovegood," Ron muttered, and threw the Floo powder into the fireplace. "Ministry Ballroom!" he shouted, stepping inside.
Harry smiled to himself followed suit. There were times when he thought Ron just liked to complain.
Blinking and dusting ash off his lapels, Harry scanned the room. Apparently Ginny, Hermione, and Luna had come early, since they had been shopping the day before and decided to attend together. Music floated dreamily through the air, and an enormous crooked Christmas tree stood proudly in one corner, festooned with lovely ornaments; already, more than a hundred people were already there, broken off into small groups and chatting. A dance floor held several couples waltzing to slow music, and there were Christmas lights hanging in the air, small multi-colored candles Levitated over their heads. The effect was rather corny, but wildly cheerful.
He recognized Ginny's flaming red hair and athletic build, and noticed she was talking to some slender, elegant woman in a backless dress.
It took him a moment to realize that it was Hermione wearing a backless dress.
She didn't look a thing like herself. She had…done something with her makeup and her eyes were large, dark, and bright, her hair was fluffed into a loose pile on her head; her cheekbones seemed sharp and her lips were stained red. Hermione fiddled with a wineglass and looked almost awkward, standing still wearing pumps—pumps!—and an outrageous black velvet dress that shimmered with beading. It was black, of course, because Hermione looked amazing in black.
Ginny noticed him staring. "That," she told Hermione matter-of-factly, "is the exact expression Professor Snape is going to be wearing when he sees you in that dress. His eyes are going to pop out and we're going to need to Conjure a bucket to catch all the drool."
Hermione's cheeks flamed red. "Don't be ridiculous," she mumbled, "I didn't wear this for him."
"Of course you did," Ginny laughed and winked.
"Did you wear the green knickers?" Luna asked dreamily, nearly smirking. "He's going to love the green knickers."
Luna was, for once, dressed surprisingly normal, wearing a very Ginny-ish blue dress. Her white-blonde hair was in ringlets and she wore a silver speckled cat mask, which suited her rather well; her skyscraper silver pumps, though, made her tower over Ron and Ginny. Harry nudged Ron, who had taken note and perked up.
"Yes, I wore the green knickers, now will you please shut up?" Hermione hissed between her teeth.
"Good," Luna said mistily, "he'll love the green knickers, especially with the Slytherin insignia right on your—"
"Luna! Please! For the love of God, do shut up!" Hermione squeaked.
Ginny burst into giggles and signaled the server for champagne. "Oh, this night is going to be lovely," she said. The server came over and she turned to gather some glasses, tapping each one with her wand and turning the fizzy liquid pink.
"To us! This is going to be a lovely night," Ginny said with a warm smile.
They all clinked drinks and downed them, with the exception of Ginny, who paused and smiled. Hermione noticed and quirked a curious brow, but Ginny merely shook her head mysteriously.
"Well," Ron said, sounding a bit less like a hanged man, "would you like to dance, Luna?"
"I'd love to," Luna beamed, taking his arm.
"Gin—" Harry asked, about to ask How about a dance for old time's sake? when he spotted a familiar blond head. A little voice inside his head told him to go get a drink. A drink sounded like an excellent idea right now. Perhaps he'd get one for Malfoy as well. "Er, well, I'm going to the bar," Harry said, and smiled broadly at the group. "See you in a bit!"
Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear and drank a little more of her pink champagne. What would Professor Snape say when he saw her in this dress? Half of her wanted him to attack her and drag her off into the hallway, to be appreciative of her Slytherin other half wanted to go home and make sure he never saw her in this get-up. It wasn't…her. She took another sip for courage.
"Look! There's your Professor, Hermione," Ginny said, grinning. "Go over and watch his jaw break his knees."
Her heart leapt into her throat. "He's not my Professor," she mumbled, but went off in the direction of the flowing black robes anyway. He was deep in conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt, sounding very serious and quiet. Hermione hesitated; was it a good idea to break up a meeting? What would she say? Why was she so nervous over all of this? Above all, her head was full of little voices, telling her to do this and that—what had been in that drink Ginny gave her? It had to be laced with something in it, without a question.
"Minister, I think it's not a very well advised—"
Severus stopped short.
Standing before him was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, looking up at him with hope and fear in equal amounts. All he could register was soft—the soft sheen of her full lower lip, the soft curl of her hair, the gentle swell of her hips, the shimmery fabric of her dress. She was a touchable kind of beauty, a beauty that magnetized and begged to be stroked, petted, caressed.
She was beautiful.
"Miss Granger." His voice dipped into a low, honeyed growl, making her shiver."You look lovely this evening."
"Um, thanks. I mean, yes, thank you. I came over here to say, uhm, would you like to eat? They're…they're forming lines for food and I thought we could get a table together." Hermione stuttered. Professor Snape looked as though he wanted to devour her.
"Of course. If you'll excuse me, Minister."Snape nodded formally and turned to Hermione.
And just like that, her professor dropped the Minister of Magic cold to follow her, and Hermione felt a flicker—no, a surge—of power. He liked how she looked. She felt sexy, dangerous, and powerful. He had been right, it was a weapon. Hermione put a little sway into her hips and turned around, lowering her lashes. "I'm so sorry to have interrupted your conversation with the Minister."
"It was nothing. You made a much more enticing offer," he murmured silkily in her ear, allowing Hermione to slip her hand into the crook of his elbow.
"So, you like it?" Hermione asked, playing coy. "Ginny picked it out. She thought I ought to go with something a little more formal for tonight."
"Remind me to thank Miss Weasley later."
"I think you'll be too busy…later." Hermione almost covered her mouth. Had she said that out loud? With no thought? This dress was intoxicating.
His eyes narrowed. "Vixen. We should skip dinner," he suggested, purring.
"No!" Hermione protested. "I want to dance, and besides, I'm hungry. We have plenty of time to play later."
"There's never enough time," he muttered under his breath, following her to a table.
Harry was, in fact, gloriously pissed.
The barkeep had been thrilled to see the great Harry Potter, and kept serving him free drinks. The pink champagne Ginny had given him was still knocking him hard in the head however, and right now he wanted to play Quidditch. Or snuggle. Actually, he'd really love a cuddle with someone right about now, he felt so drunk and lovely it was wonderful. What had been in that drink Ginny gave him?
"Turning to alcohol to numb the pain, Potter?" a sneering voice at his elbow said.
It was Malfoy. Git. "You're a git," Harry said aloud.
There was a pause. "Tell me something I'm not already aware of, Potter."
"You're fucking gorgeous," Harry stopped. Had that come out of his mouth?
Malfoy smirked. "My, my, how many drinks have you had? Half the ocean must be inside of you."
But I'm not inside of you, Harry thought, and just like that everything clicked. That's why he hated Malfoy. Not always. He always hated Malfoy because he was a little shit. But now he was a gorgeous little shit, with red lips and blonde hair perfect for tugging and…
"I'm not gay," Harry mumbled, shocked. "What…? I'm not."
"Really?" Draco asked, signaling for a brandy. He took a sip. "You could have fooled me, Potter."
Harry felt his hackles rise. "I'm not."
"Prove it."
"Are you calling me gay?" Harry snapped, enraged. How dare he insinuate that he wanted to fuck Malfoy senseless against the arm of the nearest couch? How dare he imagine that he wanted Malfoy on his knees, sucking his cock and looking up at him with that slant-eyed smirk?
Malfoy checked his nails. "As a matter of fact, I am. Do we have a problem, Potter?"
Harry swung at Malfoy's blond, perfect, git head. Not hard. Well, maybe a bit hard.
It happened so suddenly, and then they were all over the place; glass and barstools and teeth and blood, nails and fists. They rolled over and over, until Harry pinned a rather unresisting Draco to the ground, amid the shattered remains of their glasses. At least two hundred partygoers looked on as Harry snogged his nemesis senseless.
God, it was hot and wet and Draco tasted like sour brandy and something else. Somethinglike old hatred and new beginnings and the idea of that talented tongue swirling around his length was making him hard in his trousers. Draco's slender fingers were tangled in his hair and the two of them were biting at each other now, pulling at lips and jaws, the blond pressing hard, suckling kisses to his neck and ear, and Harry groaned in pleasure.
He left a rather harsh hickey on Draco's throat and growled, "I am not gay!"
Draco sneered up at him. "Oh? Then you'll be able to fuck me with no problem, right? Straight man like you?"
Harry hauled him upwards, dragging him towards the restrooms. "Yeah! Yeah, with no problem!" he snapped.
"Idiot," Draco said idly, setting his teeth against Harry's ear and then pulling him down for a kiss. "Such a fucking idiot, Potter."
Hermione let her head fall on Severus's chest. "I wonder where Harry is," she murmured. The music was slow, soft, and sad, and she could feel the warmth of his hand on the small of her bare back. The drink Ginny had given her was making her head deliciously fuzzy, and she wondered for the umpteenth time what the ginger had slipped into it. Those sly smiles Ginny kept giving her were definitely not innocent.
Severus hadn't responded, and Hermione looked up. "What's the matter, Professor?" she asked.
His mouth was tight. "You're beautiful, Miss Granger."
The words rested on her heart, and she nuzzled a little closer. "Thank you."
"I have a tendency to break beautiful things." Severus said flatly.
She looked up into Severus's dark, impenetrable eyes, and smiled at him. "Oh, Professor…it's a little late for that."
And it was. Because he would never break her, he was too gentle with her—almost kind, in his own way. There wasn't a person on earth who could make her feel this safe. She trusted him.
Hermione kissed him, then, standing on tiptoe. One gloved hand rested on his lapel, almost politely, asking a question without saying a word. It was like falling forward a little, letting her mouth open and it was like giving him a little bit of her soul through her lips. He froze, uncertain, and then…
And then he kissed her back.
His hands cupped her jawline, tilting her head and kissing her like the world would end. It was almost desperate, and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat, because she realized why they had never kissed until now. Kisses were honest; there were no barbs to hide behind, no clever quip or sarcastic remark.
The whole world stopped and turned on a pivot, because nothing else mattered. It was just the two of them, entwined, allowing themselves something selfless in a world of selfish people. And all of a sudden she didn't care that she was kissing her professor, that this would be headline news tomorrow, that it would be a scandal, a tragedy, because the whole world imagined she would havemarried Ron. But it didn't matter, because…because of something. Hermione's mind couldn't stop whirring, thinking over and over This is kissing Severus. This. All of this. This—and this—and—this…
And this.
She pulled back after a final chaste kiss.
"I think…" she began.
I think I…
"I think we should leave," Hermione whispered against his lips. "I'm wearing…well, I'll leave it a surprise, but Luna picked out a pair of knickers she thought you'd like."
He nipped her lower lip and then murmured, "And we both know Miss Lovegood has impeccable taste in fashion. I sincerely hope they're not edible or flashing or neon."
"None of the above," Hermione laughed softly. "Let's leave."
Ron sat down next to the fountain. It had not been a horrible evening, and Luna had kept her moony-eyed prophecies to a minimum. They had waltzed, with Luna leading him stridently around the dance floor, and then the two of them had tried every single thing at the buffet table, eating off one another's plates. It had been…kind of nice, actually.
Up close, Luna's eyes were very blue.
"Would you like to kiss?" she asked, somewhat hopefully. "If you don't want to, I won't mind. But if it's not too inconvenient, I'd very much like to kiss you."
Harry most likely was shagging Malfoy's brains out in the restroom. Hermione and Snape were kissing like a pair of besotted lovers on the dance floor. His sister was dating a Slytherin.
"Why not," he sighed.
Luna gave him a dazzling smile, and Ron felt his heart thump a little. A girl had never looked at him like that. So what if Luna didn't have all of her marbles, neither did Lavender. Besides. Luna had grown on him.
The sparkling fountain provided a lovely backdrop for them, who looked for all the world like a couple madly in love.
Ginny laughed out loud and leaned against Blaise. "Oh, Merlin, I'm good," she chuckled.
"Potter snogging my old school mate, Granger getting it on with my favorite professor. Somehow I think you're behind this, little minx." Blaise said quietly, his brown-black eyes crinkled only slightly at the corners. He was strikingly handsome, dark-skinned and broad-shouldered, with a kind of easy, feline grace that would horrify Mrs. Weasley. Ginny considered him quite a catch.
"A bit. It was only a nudge. It's a kind of…Felix Felicis, I think? My brothers made it. 'Lucky potion to help you get lucky tonight'." Ginny said happily. "It's harmless."
Blaise smirked. "So where can I acquire my own little pink champagne? There's a redhead I'd like to get lucky with."
She slid a hand over his thigh and pressed a bit of material into his palm. "You don't need any potion," she breathed in his ear. Ginny stood, straightened her skirt, and headed towards the exit.
Blaise tucked the lacy black knickers into his pocket. "Minx," he said again, and followed her.
Posting this a little earlier in the day because I have a DRs appointment this evening. God this one was fun to write. COUPLES EVERYWHERE.
And I basically owe araeofsomething my firstborn, she's helped so much to fix my rambling sentences and lack of description. Also I'm thinking of writing a story where Severus is mandated by the Ministry to visit a therapist. thoughts? -nylex