Ten

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I intend no infringement and am making no profit.

***

A pregnant hush fell over the entire Great Hall as I made my way toward him. People subconsciously stepped out of my way, casting agitated glances back and forth between my face and his. Everyone expected to see him explode, to lash out and strike me where I stood, for my intentions could not possibly have been more evident. But no one spoke, including him.

My heels clicked softly as I alighted before him. He still towered over me, as dark and impassive as ever, but if I was not imagining it, there was a slightly amused set to his lips as he ran his dark gaze over my face. I noticed it linger on my shoulders, where my hair tumbled freely, before continuing upward to meet my eyes. I felt the sudden and irrational desire to impertinently ask him if he liked what he'd seen.

"Professor."

"Miss Granger." The tone was neutral, but the voice was very, very silky, almost seductive. The rest of the world seemed to fall away as our eyes caught, and the reverberation of his voice in my blood made heat suffuse my entire body.

"You are not about to ask me to dance, are you, Miss Granger? That would be... imprudent indeed." I noticed a slight rustling of his cloak where his fingers lay beneath the thick fabric. If I hadn't known any better, I would have said he was rubbing his fingers together nervously.

The thought that I might possess any power of him at all was a heady notion indeed, but I was a student, and we were standing in the center of the Great Hall. A dance was all I could possibly hope to achieve,and even then, I strongly doubted he would be at all receptive.

Why, why had I thought this would be successful? I hadn't, really. I'd known the second I had departed our table that Luna's suggestion was ludicrous, though she undoubtedly meant well. But I, foolish girl, had felt the need to test my resolve, to determine whether or not I could ask him the fateful question before nearly the entire student body.

"And if I were?' I replied slowly after a moment, resisting the urge to cock my head slightly and peer at him even more closely. A muscle was twitching in his lower jaw, and he seemed to be gritting his teeth tensely. He was far too confident and self-assured a man to be truly embarrassed, I knew; my retrospection over the incident during the trial and the debacle of the Prophet's article had led me to that inevitable conclusion. To believe it was at all possible to shake his unflappable self-confidence was absurd.

"I am afraid I would have to decline," he returned with alacrity, "and express my astonishment that you would entertain for even a moment the notion that I would care to dance with a foolish eighteen-year-old girl."

You deserved that, I told myself, the stinging emphasis of the word girl lashing into my gut. I felt the fateful pinpricks of disappointment and self-pity beginning to spark in my stomach. You deserved that completely.

"Then count yourself fortunate, Professor Snape, because I had no intention of doing anything so foolish." My words may have been cool and composed, but my tone was far too terse to maintain the illusion of complete disaffectedness. "I merely wanted to thank you for ordering those ingredients for me. They arrived earlier this morning."

I turned on my heel and fixed my eyes firmly on the door of the Hall. A few whispers began to circulate, skeptical classmates positing that I had, of course, wanted to dance with him but had lost my courage when faced with his typical cold-hearted detachment. I exited as calmly and deliberately as I could, but the moment the doors fell shut, I broke out into a hasty run.

***

I barely managed to stay upright, running precariously on three-inch heels. Finally I collapsed against the wall of one of the less popular corridors, fighting the urge to cry as I tore off the damned heels, rebuking myself for wearing something so frivolous and wholly impractical. My feet were throbbing horrendously.

Finally I managed to remove the wretched things from my feet and cast them aside. My breathing was becoming shallow even as I tried to calm it, placing a hand against my lower abdomen and forcing myself to focus on deep, measured inhalations. The window before me presented a beautiful view of the grounds, blanketed in a serene covering of snow, but I was immune to its charms. I couldn't get the derisive curl of his lips out of my mind; the expression I'd taken for bemusement had been nothing but his habitual contempt for me, inferior that I was.

I heard footsteps approaching, heavy and slow, and I immediately identified them as male. Thinking it was probably one of the boys come to ensure that I was all right, I said in a broken voice, without turning around, "I really don't want to talk right now."

"You have little choice."

It was him. I bit my lip and remained resolutely facing the window.

"Would you care to explain that little display to me, Miss Granger? Does it amuse you to embarrass one of the faculty of this school with your impetuousness?'

Well aware that I had no right to feel angered, I turned around slowly. "Why does a simple thank you embarrass you, Professor?"

"Don't play coy with me, girl," he growled, and I actually flinched and stepped back upon hearing the malice in his voice. "We both know what happened in there, as does the rest of this school. You have made a mockery of my position as your superior, and you will pay for it."

"I have done nothing inappropriate," I shot back shrilly, "and frankly, Professor, I think the Headmistress will agree with me that your vanity is causing you to jump to totally unwarranted conclusions."

He said nothing, but I swear his eyes were literally aflame.

"Is this"...he swept his hand demonstratively in the direction of my frame, encompassing the now windswept hair, the unkempt dress, and the heels cast aside so haphazardly..."how you think to entice me into your little game, Miss Granger? Do you really think me so profoundly stupid?"

"What exactly," I growled back with enough force to rival his own voice, "are you implying, Professor?"

"Did you really think that I could be won over like some incompetent boy?" he whispered venomously. "I do not appreciate being toyed with, Miss Granger."

"If you're referring to the glasses, I might remind you that it was you who made the connection first, Professor."

The unspoken "and so you must be attracted to me" hung between us, strung more tautly than I had ever imagined the tension between two people could become. The fury of final verification flashed in his eyes, and I knew that he'd suspected that his magazine had been the impetus behind my sudden transformation, but of course he hadn't wanted to believe that I had discovered such a dirty secret. We both knew I couldn't possibly prove whose schedule had been written on that page, but the mere suggestion was damning in itself.

He began to circle me threateningly like a large, predatory animal. "If I find," he hissed, bringing his face within scant inches of mine, "that you have trespassed upon any more of my private belongings, I will have you expelled from this school before you have the time to exhale.

"Now I suggest you return to your little friends before I reconsider too deeply the decision to expel you." At his full height, standing directly before me, he obscured everything from my vision. The world narrowed to the black expanse of his chest and the intense heat of him so near, and I forgot how to breathe. "It is a pity," he added, almost achieving a diffident tone, "that you have abandoned your books for these juvenile, coquettish games. You did show such promise."

Then he was gone, and Ginny was rushing toward me, alarmed when my knees gave way.

***

It became increasingly obvious to me over the course of the Christmas holidays at Hogwarts that Dumbledore's constant and at times subversive presence was very much in charge of the school, even posthumously. Madam Pomfrey and I popped in and out of the Headmistress' office, apprising him of our progress and commiserating about our setbacks. He seemed genuinely anxious to help us, though I could never quite understand why; but every so often I would catch him shooting me a concerned glance as though he found himself unsure whether or not he should inquire about the source of my obvious distress.

I had endeavored to avoid Professor Snape as much as possible after our confrontation in the hallway the night of the ball, and I had no doubt that he was equally determined we should have no contact whatsoever. Several times Dumbledore suggested in an unnaturally gentle voice that perhaps I should take my questions to Severus...he never referred to him as Professor Snape anymore in my presence...but if he was disappointed when I demurred, he didn't allow it to show.

I was positive, however, that he was behind the Christmas Eve celebration held for those who remained in the castle. Professor McGonagall, the four Heads of House, and several of the other instructors had no family whom they were obligated to visit over the Christmas holidays, and thus Dumbledore began plotting with the house-elves in an effort to plan a celebration which would cheer us all up.

Madam Pomfrey and I finished up at six o'clock Christmas Eve and retreated to her office, where we were just about to indulge in steaming cups of tea and some warm biscuits when there was a silent "ahem" from the door. We both turned, startled, and found one of the kitchen house-elves standing nervously, tiny, wrinkled hands clasped behind its back. I felt momentarily outraged that Professor McGonagall had required them to work so late, but the elf quickly dispelled my fears.

"Miss and Madam are requested in the teachers' lounge," the skinny elf piped up. "If Miss and Madam will come. We is able to go when the teachers is all there..."

"Of course," Madam Pomfrey said automatically, setting her cup aside and hastily cleaning up the tea service. "There is no need to escort us. We'll be along directly."

"Thank you, Miss, Madam." The elf bowed briefly and then popped out of existence. I was relieved that they were allowed to return to their kin once they'd finished with whatever arrangements lay in store for us.

"What's Albus up to this time?" Madam Pomfrey grumbled as we approached my room. We were by now quite accustomed to one another's presence, so I invited her to stand inside my sitting room while I disappeared into the bedroom in order to change my clothes. Had she been one of my class instructors I would have hesitated to do so, but I doubted if anyone would mind.

"What makes you so certain it was Professor Dumbledore?" I called absently through the door. I rummaged around in my trunk until I found a pair of stretchy, comfortable black jeans and an equally cozy black sweater. I pulled on both, ran a brush through my hair, pulled it back into a ponytail, and emerged again to find her examining my book collection.

"I doubt Minerva would have gone to all this trouble to ensure that we all socialize," she replied with a good-natured grumble. "She does not worry so much about those of us who aren't quite so merry on Christmas."

I had no doubt of whom she was speaking, but I simply nodded. I had developed the unfortunate and childish habit of assuming anything even remotely mysterious or cryptic automatically implicated him, and I knew it was a ridiculous way of thinking. Perhaps Dumbledore had simply wanted an excuse to see everyone gathered together closely and conveniently so that he could talk to us all in turn.

We found several others already convened in the teachers' lounge, sipping eggnog and chatting idly. Dumbledore's portrait had been hung proudly above the fire, its frame polished smartly. No doubt he had enlisted the house-elves' assistance for that as well. I sank into the chair farthest from the center, surprised that no one else had already appropriated it. My puzzlement was answered when the source of my preoccupation strode into the room and shot me a decidedly irritated look. I held my ground, accepting a cup of tea from Professor McGonagall and slouching even further into my seat.

Eventually he returned to his usual refusal to acknowledge my presence. He sat in the chair nearest the fire, where he commenced trying his damnedest to avoid a conversation with Dumbledore, who was asking him in a rather annoyingly jolly voice if he was enjoying his holiday thus far. Professor Snape, of course, merely grunted noncommittally and buried his nose in a cup of tea.

Dumbledore released an audible sigh and turned to the rest of us. "How is everyone?" he asked cheerfully, and most returned his good mood with equally upbeat greetings and wishes.

"Minerva and I agreed that it was time the staff had an evening to socialize and be themselves," he said idly by way of explanation. "The house-elves have kindly made us quite the feast, so everyone sit back and enjoy! It's rather a shame our Head Boy couldn't be here as well," he remarked, his eyes sparkling in my direction. "It's wonderful to have you with us, Miss Granger. You've really brightened things up for us this year."

I wondered if it was a slightly sarcastic remark about my somber choice of clothing encroaching upon what was intended to be a joyous occasion, but I simply smiled. "Thank you, Headmaster. I'm glad to have helped."

"Best Head Girl we've had in years!" Professor Sprout agreed through a rather large mouthful of roast beef. "You really have been a marvelous help this term, Miss Granger. Especially sitting up all night with Helena, poor thing." She shook her head compassionately. "The first years do get so homesick around this time of year, especially my Hufflepuffs."

"I can understand how they feel," I replied quietly. I was in no mood for food now that I had been thrust into the public eye, and I wondered how little I could get away with eating before I retired to my room. "It was my pleasure to help."

"How are you parents, Miss Granger?" Professor Flitwick called from somewhere in the vicinity of the fireplace. It sounded as though his voice emerged from one of the chairs near Severus', but I couldn't be certain.

"They're... fine," I called back uncertainly. My gaze had caught on him and I had been forced to reassert in my brain the command to breathe. He'd removed his robe and unbuttoned his frock coat slightly, probably as a concession to the blazing fire so close to him. I had no doubt that he'd stubbornly weathered it as long as he could before giving in and removing his armor. Though I'd seen it all before...and more, God knew...I couldn't hep but feel terribly distracted.

"Any plans for after graduation, dear?" Professor Sprout couldn't seem to get enough of me. I smiled, hoping I looked more excited than I actually felt.

"Well, I've been to talk with the Healers at St. Mungo's. I had hoped to apprentice there..."

"Surely they'll be thrilled to have you." She beamed.

"Well, they are. That's... not really the impediment. They said they'd admit me even before seeing my NEWT scores. The trouble is that they don't offer any type of scholarship, and I simply haven't got the money..." I trailed off, mortified to have embarked upon a conversation about such a private topic amongst my teachers.

"But that's terrible," Professor Vector interjected suddenly. "They ought to be damn grateful to have you. And there's nothing your parents can do?"

I shook my head miserably. "No. They're anxious to help, but... Well, they were a bit older than average when I was born, and they've got their retirement fund to worry about now. They've already spent so much to send me here, to Hogwarts, and it is the most expensive apprenticeship training in the Wizarding world."

"I hadn't realized the cost was so prohibitive," Professor Vector admitted. "No wonder so few of the students who are admitted manage to make it all the way through."

"The curriculum is quite challenging too, of course," Professor McGonagall pointed out firmly. "Even for Miss Granger, it would be a difficult accomplishment."

"But it's such a shame the poor girl can't even try!" Professor Flitwick called again, his squeaky voice resonating over the room. I still couldn't actually see him.

I sought solace in my cup of tea, relieved when the conversation swayed to Professor Sprout's direction, and she began to talk about some marvelous vacation she'd been planning for ages in order to harvest some rare plans in the tropics. Dumbledore was watching me with sad eyes, and I noticed him give me a slight nod when our gazes met. I smiled at him, and then his eyes moved rather prominently to Severus' direction, almost as though the movement were meant to lead me.

I allowed my gaze to follow, though as briefly and surreptitiously as I could, for I found that he was studying me with unabashed scrutiny. I couldn't fathom what was running through that labyrinthine mind of his, and I strongly doubted that I would be at all satisfied even if I were successful. It was the first time I had seen him since the Yule Ball, and I wanted nothing more than for him to forget I existed altogether. It was a perfectly agreeable strategy to me.

I stared into the fire, mesmerized by the prancing of the flames, but I continued to observe him in my peripheral vision. Like me, he hadn't touched any of the food; he was probably just as desperate to return to his quarters and escape the others' chatter, which was of little consequence to him.

Discovering that I was in a decidedly retrospective mood, I replayed in my mind the conversation with Professor McGongall at the head table when I'd been observing his memories over the summer. She had mentioned him saying that he wanted to move on with his life if he survived the war, perhaps marrying and eventually having a family. Looking at him in that moment, I found it perversely easy to imagine him passing Christmas in the capacity of a husband and a father. He wouldn't be too tolerant if his children woke him up at four o'clock on Christmas morning, of course, but I could envision him sitting in his living room nursing a cup of tea while his kids opened their presents, periodically allowing himself a small smile of benevolence when they thanked him and hugged him.

It was painfully easy to imagine myself as his wife. I would make us our tea while he walked the children into the living room to gasp and exclaim over their pile of presents. I would sit on the arm of his chair, handing him his tea, warmly congratulating the children on their presents while he scolded me softly for spoiling them so badly. When we would all finish with our presents, the equivalent of the Hogwarts library would be spread out before us, and I would send the children off to bathe and dress before allowing them to curl up with their new books and toys.

An unusually loud crackle from the fireplace jolted me from my daydreaming. When had I become so sentimental? I wondered. I wasn't even certain that I wanted children, and yet I was sitting here morosely, imagining all that I would be missing if I weren't the one to marry him and raise a family with him. There was no guarantee he still wanted such a future for himself, and the chances he would be capable of envisioning that future with me were infinitesimally small.

"Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall's voice called softly. I looked up, suddenly aware that my tea had long since gone cold, and I was still holding the cup halfway to my mouth. I put it down, clattering it loudly against the saucer.

"Professor Sprout was just asking if you'd care to go gather some mistletoe with her this evening."

"Sure," I replied, relieved at the prospect of escaping the lounge. "What time did you have in mind?"

"I thought we'd finish our dinner and then go have a look." Professor Sprout had finished her roast beef and was exuberantly working on her dessert. "And Severus did promise me last week that he'd help out, and I intend to hold him to it!"

The expression on his face betrayed the groan I knew was resonating in his mind.

"Meddlesome woman," he muttered, though not entirely without affection. She waved him off.

"Every year he says he'll no longer waste his time helping me, and every year he goes along because he wants to be sure I don't ruin his ingredients!"

"I'll just... go to my room and get my cloak, then." I stumbled slightly in rising from my chair, suddenly aware of how drowsy I'd become during my introspection. "I'll be right back."

"No hurry, dear, no hurry. And don't forget...there's plenty of dessert to go 'round!" She saluted me with her fork as I left the room, questioning how much more uncomfortable the night could possibly become.