AN: Thank you for all the support! It is very deeply appreciated!

No man had ever gazed at Hermione the way Severus did tonight. His eyes were aflame with desire, though Hermione wasn't sure if this desire was for her love, her friendship, or for her to dance with him as soon a possible so he could leave the ball. He moistened his lips and opened his mouth. After a few moments where it appeared he wanted to speak but words were escaping him, he closed his mouth and swallowed.

Her mouth dried as she wheeled herself down the marble ramp. The closer she drew to him, the faster her heart raced. He was as striking a black hole bathed in a halo of light. Unlike his other robes which had faded from repeated washing, the robes he wore tonight were dark. They brought out the vulnerability and softness in his eyes. Then there was the cut of the robes. After colliding with him enough times in the air, she had learned he was toned. Yet, to see his figure was enough to steal the breath from her lungs. Perhaps he couldn't hike for thirty kilometers, but she didn't need a man who could. No, she wanted Severus Snape as he was: snarky, intellectual, with a kindness he hid from everyone but her.

She stopped wheeling when she was close enough to meet him at eye level without craning her neck.

"You look," he squirmed and put his hands behind his back. For a moment, he glanced at the ground and cleared his throat.

"I look?" She fidgeted. Was he attempting not to burst out laughing at her ridiculous attempts to appear beautiful? Did she get powder on her dress and he was trying to find a kind way to break the news? Had it been too presumptuous in using the wheelchair with no armrests? Earlier he'd mentioned wanting to dance. What if he'd changed his mind and decided he'd rather drink the night away than grant her one dance?

Worse, what if her hair was already a mess and he was debating on asking her if she wanted him to help her fix it? It would be just like her hair to tangle itself just as she was trying to look desirable. Granted, Severus would be the last person anyone would ask to fix their hair, but he may be considering who to find to aid her.

His voice broke the silence. "Stunning."

"What?" She raised an eyebrow.

"You look," he cleared his throat and straightened his posture. "You look stunning, and beautiful. You are both stunning and beautiful."

"I am?" she wheeled closer to him.

"Yes." His lips curled up as the confidence returned to his voice. "You look stunning, more stunning than any other woman I've seen. I've never seen a woman as beautiful as you are tonight."

"You look quite stunning yourself." She could feel the blush forming. Was it prideful to think she'd reduced Severus Snape into fumbling for the right words? He was the first man to act this way around her. This may bode well for him developing some kind of affection for her which ran deeper than friendship.

"Before we enter the ballroom, I have something for you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box.

"You didn't have to do that," she replied. "The boxed DVD set of Pride and Prejudice was sufficient for a Christmas gift."

"No, that gift was incomplete. Even at the time, it felt incomplete. It was a simple gift, and you deserved more."

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"The gift is what I wanted, unless," her stomach churned. "Was the watch I gave you too much? Do you feel your gift is inadequate because mine was too expensive?"

"No, your watch was perfect," he adjusted his sleeve so she could see he was in fact wearing it.

"Good, because I thought it was your style."

"Yes, it is perfect for me. I thank you for it."

"I sense a but," her stomach sank at the thought he was trying to return it.

"My only problem with it is that when I stand near you, my watch makes your arms appear bare," he continued.

"Bare?"

He held out his hand. "Could you please give me your wrist?"

She held up her wrist. Then, he pulled opened the box and took out a bracelet. An emerald heart dangled from a golden chain, glistening in the candlelight. With a gentle touch, he clasped it onto her wrist.

"W-where did you get this?" Her eyes grew.

"The Prince Family Vault."

"This is an heirloom?" Her voice was louder than the moment called for.

"You could call it that I suppose," he admitted.

"B-but this must be valuable to you."

"There is little value for me in an object that is gathering dust in a vault I need to clean out someday."

"Are you sure you should be giving away things like this to just anyone? This must be worth a fortune," she watched the heart dangle from her wrist.

"I have never appraised it, in part because I do not enjoy jewelry."

"But other people do."

"Are you saying you do not?"

"No, I do. I love this. Still, you shouldn't just give this to anyone." She held her hand up higher. "You should give this to a woman who takes your breath away, a woman you find captivating, one who ensnares your senses. You should give it," she swallowed and softened her voice. "You should give it to someone you love."

"I have considered my position on relationships for quite some time, and I have concluded that I am not capable of love," his voice was soft. "I'm too damaged to give my heart to anyone, too set in my ways to share my life with someone the way she needs me to. According to you, I can be a good friend. You seem to enjoy my company well enough, and I look forward to every second I spend with you. Given those facts, there is nobody who deserves that bracelet more than you."

"Are you sure? I mean, if a woman like Judith finds out about this…"

"Please don't mention Judith, not tonight."

She startled at the sharp tone of his voice.

He held out his hand again. "I only want to focus on spending tonight with a good friend. I want tonight to be about you, and only you."

"Very well then." Behind her smile, Hermione's chest constricted. Once again, she was reduced to the role of good friend. Granted, if the bracelet was anything to go by, she was a very dear friend, but just a good friend nonetheless.

She should be happy with friendship. If she was wise, she'd be happy to have one person who was such a good friend. He didn't owe her his love, nor did he owe her a sexual relationship. Still, how could she be content with her life when every night she dreamed of being in his arms, and every morning she woke up without him? How could she find happiness if she had to endure him dining with other women, ones who were just as eager for his love as she was?

"Are you well?" He was pale.

"I'm fine, I just," she sat up straighter and smirked. "I was wondering if this bracelet was a bribe to get out of dancing with me."

There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Did it work?"

"What do you think?" She gave him a playful glare.

"Very well," he gave an exaggerated sigh. "I shall dance with you as soon as I find the right song."

"What would that song be?"

"I'll know if when I hear it."

"In other words, there will be no song and no dance."

"I never said that, only that I wanted everything to be perfect. I want the perfect opportunity to dance with you."

"Things do not need to be perfect unless," she slouched. "Am I being too bossy asking for a dance? Was it presumptuous to use the wheelchair that allows me to dance when you were reconsidering your opinion?"

"Not at all," there was a gleam in his eyes. "But you know that if I ever took to the dance floor without some form of protest, you would think I was ill and take me to St. Mungo's."

She laughed. "That I would."

"Then," he gestured for the door. "Shall we go inside and await for our perfect dance?"

"It won't do us any good to be out here all night."

"It will do us plenty of good. We can avoid Aurora's off-key singing, Minerva gushing over the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, and Sybil's drunken antics."

"Ooh, those do sound unappealing," she admitted. "We should dance soon so we can leave before Sybil has her fourth glass of wine."

"Agreed."

In a companionable silence they walked to the door, where Aurora was doing her best to sing "Joy to the World" after consuming two glasses of wine.

"Where did you get that bracelet?" Neville examined her wrist.

"Severus gave it to me for Christmas." She smiled as the emerald heart shine under the multicolored Christmas lights.

"Wow," Neville grinned the same way he did when his plants won best in show. "He must really care for you if he gives you a bracelet like that."

She shrugged. "He said he was cleaning out the Prince Family vault and wanted to give it to a friend. I suppose he thought I was the best one to receive it."

"That bracelet does not say, 'I was merely doing some Christmas cleaning and gave something to a friend.' No, it says much more."

"I don't know about that. It seems practical to give this to a friend."

"You cannot be serious."

"I am. Severus and I are practical people. He was correct in stating the bracelet is useless in a vault, but," she examined it, "apparently not on my wrist."

"It's certainly not useless on the wrist of the woman he loves."

"Loves?" Once again, there was a stabbing in her chest, one not caused by her spasming leg.

"Severus may not know it yet, but he loves you. He is madly in love with you."

"No," she shook her head. "No, he doesn't love me."

"Yes he does, though it may take him some time to admit it to himself."

"I promise you, there's nothing going on between us. It's doubtful his feelings for me run deeper than friendship."

"He treats you much better than he treats any other casual acquaintance. One may say that he feels some type of love for you."

"Maybe he does love me as a friend, but not as a lover."

"Are you certain of that?"

"I am. We're friends," she took a deep breath. "Friends are good. They're less messy than lovers, and certain issues are not present."

"Like what?"

"Like," she glanced at her leg. "Like caregiving when one's leg is spasming."

"I don't think you need a caregiver, and he doesn't think that either. He sees you as a strong, independent woman worthy of his time," he argued.

"Sometimes I think he's the only one who does."

"I see you as a strong, independent woman."

"I know you do, and I thank you..."

"But I do not feel as much affection for you as Severus does. In fact, if I ever did feel the way towards you that Severus does, he'd duel me to the death."

"Severus wouldn't kill you."

"If he thought I would get between him and the woman he loves, he would."

"Look, I," she shook her head. "I know what you're doing. In your own way you're trying to be helpful, which I appreciate. Still, Severus and I are only friends. We will always be only friends. There's nothing else to say on the matter."

"How positive are you of that?" There was a mischievous glint in Neville's eyes before he rushed across the room to the record player.

"Where is Neville going?" Severus asked before handing her a spiked egg nog.

"Hopefully not to do something we regret," she muttered.

"Should we stop him before he causes too much chaos?" Severus took a sip of his egg nog.

Hermione wasn't sure how to answer the question, until the music began wafting through the room.

"Please tell me he's stopping at playing a song," Severus muttered.

"I hope so. Still," she stretched her right leg. "I do like this song."

"Indeed, I quite enjoy this song too." He held out his hand.

She gave him her glass of egg nog. He set the drinks on a nearby table and motioned for her to follow him. With a smile, she did so.

The first part of the dance was the tease. He took a few steps towards her, but she wheeled backwards. After a few seconds, she stopped and wheeled towards him. He backed away, leaving behind the aroma of his cologne. It was a mint-based scent, mixed with the usual herbs of his robes. It proved even more intoxicating than the egg nog she had sipped on for the last hour.

Once he stopped moving, Hermione did so. For a few more turns, they did their dance of walking and wheeling back in forth in rhythm. Once Hermione tired of the tease, she stopped the wheelchair and outstretched her arms perpendicular to the chair. He stepped behind her, tracing the tip of her finger with his. Slowly, he walked in rhythm, tracing his finger across her shoulders.

Merlin what that one finger could do to her body! It was more electrifying than any muggle device she'd shown to her students.

He took her left hand when he finished traversing her body. She grasped it and allowed him to lead her about the floor. In order to maintain some control, she kept her right hand on the wheel. The first few times they'd danced, she had rolled onto his foot. Thankfully, he'd taken it in stride, even if it killed Hermione to see him in pain.

Although she didn't trust herself not to harm him, she trusted him to lead her where she needed to be. His touch was firm enough to let her know he was present, yet gentle enough to give her control. If she wanted to leave she could. Not that she did. If she had her way, she would never leave his side.

With grace, he extended his hand upwards. In response, she maneuvered her wheels until she was spinning about. After stopping, Severus lowered himself under her arm, where he began to spin. Once he stopped, he glided across the floor. A smile graced Hermione's face as she received the signal to perform one of her favorite dance moves. She tipped her wheelchair upright until she was doing a wheelie as she followed him. He paused to ensure she landed without tipping. It was a sweet enough gesture, especially given that Hermione had bruised her head performing these tricks before. It never stopped her from perfecting them, and rejoicing when she could master her wheelchair. Then, she outstretched her arms again.

Now, he ran his entire palm along Hermione's arms and shoulder, left to right. Once he reached his destination, she took hold of his arm with her right hand and wheeled away with her left. Never before did she think Severus would allow another person to guide him, yet he trusted her. The man who did not trust anyone allowed her to lead him until they moved together again.

Wasn't trust more important than love?

"Don't they look happy?" Neville beamed.

"How can either of them be happy?" Sybil slurred, already on her fifth glass of wine. "Severus is a lying cheater, and Hermione has a heart that is as shriveled as an old maid's, her soul is as dry as the pages of the books to which she so desperately cleaves, and," her eyes grew.

"There's no need to be nasty," Neville frowned. "At some point, you need to make peace with your colleagues. If Severus and I can be friends, surely you can get along with him and Hermione."

"Oh God, I was right!" She cheered. "My dream was a prophecy!"

"Prophecy?"

"Yes, my dream was right!"

"Right about what?"

"Right about them getting together! A few months ago I saw them together! I told Severus that a woman like Hermione would come and now," she gagged. "I envisioned together. I envisioned doing…doing so many things."

Before Neville could respond, she let out a wail before turning green, covering her mouth, and fleeing the ballroom. He shook his head, knowing the day he understood Sybil was the day he'd completely gone round the bend.

Once again, Severus twirled Hermione. Once she stopped, he awaited her to raise her arm. This is where Hermione planned to show him the surprise she'd been perfecting all day. Rather than raising her arm, she levitated her body, keeping her eyes open during her ascension. He beamed as he spun under her arm. Once he stopped, she gave him a sheepish grin and whispered, "I still don't know how to land."

He took her body and pulled her down. Then, he twirled her around. Both of them laughed as the music swelled to the climax.

After placing Hermione in her wheelchair, Severus waltzed to her right. She did another wheelie as she embraced him. Then, he backed away, keeping a hold of her arms Once assured she was on the ground safely, Severus draped himself over her wheelchair and onto her lap.

"Did I tire you out?" She wheeled him to the center of the dance floor as the music stopped.

"Indeed you have. You are an energetic witch, and I am an old man." His face was glowing.

"You aren't an old man," she embraced him before stopping the wheelchair. "But you are an excellent dance partner."

"I could say the same about you," he held her. "There is nobody I would rather dance with than you."

"Bravo! Brava!"

Both of them looked ahead, where Judith Turner was clapping her hands, looking every bit like the woman who was ready to reclaim the man she believed was hers.

Severus and Hermione's dance was inspired by a wheelchair waltz I saw two men do in honor of Pride Month. I cannot find the video for it, but check out wheelchair dancing sometime! It's a beautiful art form.