Chapter Two: Valentine's Day

A/N: My second attempt at writing fanfiction. My Beta, Amy Louise, is by far the most wonderful beta you could wish for. Her help and support is invaluable. Thank you.

If I was J.K. Rowling... But I'm not, so let's not go there.

-2-

Valentine’s Day

It would seem decidedly out of character for the current headmaster of Hogwarts, one Severus Snape, to be having a Valentine’s Ball for the students. Indeed, many wondered at the strange decision and attributed it to love potions and the like.

The truth was that the Board of Governors, many of whom had teenage children at the school, had succumbed to the pressure of their progeny to throw a ball and thus had pressured the headmaster into this uncharacteristic decision. So Hogwarts held a Valentine’s Ball for the students, albeit without the singing dwarfs.

The students, however, were thrilled at the opportunity to dance, drink punch, and snog their little hearts out.

Hermione Granger stayed in the corner of the hall where she could keep an eye on the punchbowl. She didn’t have high expectations for Valentine’s Day, though she had received a few Valentine’s cards. One from a third-year Hufflepuff, who’d taken a particular shine to her. One from a seventh-year Gryffindor, who’d written a lewd poem. One from little James Potter, though Hermione suspected that Ginny had written it for him. She’d put that one on the mantelpiece. She’d also received one from one of the clerks at Flourish & Blotts, but it was addressed ‘To my Dearest Harmony’, so she didn’t really take it any more seriously than the others. Instead, she resolved to stare at the punchbowl for the rest of the evening.

An hour went by as couple after couple twirled by her, resplendent in their finest robes. It was really quite depressing. She’d only attended two balls in her life: the Yule Ball, where Ron had accused her of ‘fraternizing with the enemy’; and the Victory Ball, where she’d gotten so drunk she’d expelled the contents of her stomach right in front of a photographer from The Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter had had a field day.

Her third ball, and she was chaperoning. Staring at the punchbowl and wearing her nicest but most unremarkable robes, she felt a little low. She’d stomped down on her feelings since the disaster at Christmas, but a small part of her had hoped….

Was it just her, or had the punch changed colour? She should check it out.

She was just about to take a sniff of the punch to see if something was amiss when a rustle behind her stopped her. She whipped around to look into the smirking visage of the headmaster.

“Would you care to dance, Professor Granger?” He held out his hand. Hermione glanced back at the punch - the colour had most definitely changed, she was sure – but before she could voice her concerns, he spoke again: “I wouldn’t worry about the punch.” His hand came up to rest on the small of her back as he led her to the dance floor. The slight pressure sent tendrils of warmth all the way through her body.

He was an excellent dancer, she could tell, even though they mostly just swayed. He kept her at an appropriate distance, not too close. Her heartbeat was so strong and fast, she feared she would pass out right there on the floor. His thumb stroked her back, but it was over so quickly it might as well have been a twitch.

“Are you familiar with the Antibius Potion, Professor Granger?” he asked. She wracked her brain.

“I think I’ve read about it somewhere,” she answered, and he raised his eyebrow at her in a look that clearly said ‘Of course you have’. “It renders alcohol useless, right?”

“Not only that,” he murmured, smirking. He was clearly very pleased with himself. “I added some to the punchbowl. Should a student find it in himself to add alcohol to the punch, not only will he not achieve the results he set out for, but it will also render the punch undrinkable.” She noticed his eyes follow a certain student through the hall: Mr. Bray, fifth-year, Gryffindor. A troublemaker, the like of which would make Fred and George Weasley green with envy.

As it was, she felt green with envy that Mr. Bray garnered more attention from Snape than she did. Distracted by her own thoughts, Hermione accidentally trod on his toes.

He winced, but his gaze returned to her. A piece of heart-shaped confetti landed on his brow, but he flicked it away with a look of disgust. Clearly, he hadn’t been in charge of the decorations.

“Have you received many Valentine’s cards, Professor?” he asked, and she flushed at the sudden hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d sent her a card, and it had gotten lost in the mail. She had of course considered sending him one, but after the disaster at Christmas, she hadn’t dared.

Before she could answer the question he had posed, the song was over, and he’d returned her to the crowd and disappeared. She stared out at the crowd but couldn’t see him anywhere. Instead, she found Madam Pomfrey making her way towards her, a glass of punch in her hand. “He’s a wonderful dancer, isn’t he?” she asked Hermione, throwing a significant glance out on the dance floor. Hermione followed her gaze and saw something that made her racing heart drop to her stomach.

Snape was dancing with…

“Trelawney?” she whispered in disbelief. The couple on the floor turned slightly, and she saw the sneer of distaste on the headmaster’s face. Trelawney, it would seem, was having a splendid time as she nattered on, clinging to Snape’s robes. Hermione felt a little lighter at the thought that Snape would probably have done well to put some of the Antibius Potion in Trelawney’s sherry.

Madam Pomfrey tittered, clearly thinking the same thing. “He always dances with all the female staff-members. Some of the students tried asking him a few years ago, as a joke, but the amount of points lost made sure that that never happened again.”

Hermione thought that made sense. They were a bit too young to remember Snape as a teacher, and those who did had apparently forgotten. But he’d clearly established a level of respect, as not even a curious glance was thrown at the sight of the headmaster and the batty professor. Something was niggling in the corners of her brain, though. “I’ve never seen him dance before tonight….”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Madam Pomfrey said, taking a sip from her cup. With a wince, she set it down on a nearby table. “It would seem Mr. Bray has once again tried his luck against the Antibius Potion.” She looked out into the crowd again, to see Snape disentangle himself from Trelawney then stride over to Professor McGonagall, who was wearing an indulgent smile. “It is, you could say, the Headmaster’s duty to dance with all the female staff members. It doesn’t say so in the rules, but it has been tradition since the short period in the 1600s where female professors were prohibited. A show of tolerance for the other sex, so to speak.”

Hermione felt a little queasy. So he’d danced with her 'as a show of tolerance’? She felt the overwhelming need to either faint or leave the Great Hall. She excused herself from the concerned matron.

Being in love with your boss sucked.

A/N: The Antibius Potion was inspired by Disulfiram, a drug that has pretty much the same effect as the potion. It is used to treat chronic alcoholism. In Denmark we call it Antabus, and as you've probably deduced the name of the potion came from that. My dear friend and muse, Marc, inspired not only this story, but also the name of the potion. I also stole his last name for the mischievous fifth-year, Mr. Bray.

Thank you for reading.