Chapter Two

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. Huge thank you goes to my beta – Glorioux.

Chapter Two

Two Hussars – Two Friends?

There was a specific reason for Severus' quick capitulation, a certain brown-eyed, curly-haired reason, I would say. That reason had been torturing him for about eight years now.

There is nothing to figure out, my friends. Yes, it was she – Hermione Granger. She saved him, pulling him from death with her ever knowing-all attitude. She was the one who put the Stasis charm on his wound before leaving to deal with Voldemort (freaking brave Gryffindor). She was the one who came back and took him to Poppy Pomfrey.

Miss Granger was the one who sat near him for weeks, changing the dressings on his wound, giving him potions by the hour, stroking his hair from his sweaty forehead. It was she, and only she, who, armoured with her unique stubbornness, managed to pull it off. Against all odds, this little witch made it happen – she saved him; she brought him to life again.

Then, with a quick peck on his cheek, she just had disappeared from his life, leaving behind a huge, gaping hole in his heart. The question that had tortured Severus all these years was – how could she, Hermione Granger, be so kind and so cruel at the same time? How did she dare to save him, tame him, to give him the gift of life and hope again only to cruelly leave him alive, healed, but lonely and bereft, floating in the big ocean of emptiness?

How could this slip of a girl have gotten him, a stone-cold man, used to the soft touches of the tips of her fingers, to her warm palm on his forehead, to her feminine murmurs that she uttered while she nursed him back to life? Foolish girl, she made him long and yearn for all that, every morning and every afternoon, since the moment she left. She had showed him how it felt to be cared for, and then, she had taken it all away.

To stay true to the facts, she didn't actually leave him. No. Severus had simply reached the point where he felt well enough to go home, and Hermione needed to stay at Hogwarts. She needed to finish her education, and he needed to start his life anew. And yet, the hole in his heart ached, and ached quite badly. It did not know any better – it just hurt. Throughout the years, the pain had dulled somewhat, and then it slowly metamorphosed into the light stirring that Severus felt every time he saw the young witch. Luckily, or unluckily, (damn, who knows which one of the two?) our Potions master didn't see much of her. To be precise, he saw her only once a year at the Victory Ball. Nevertheless, he needed these once-a-year rendezvous. They somehow had become an essential part of the wizard's life.

Thus, this evening there were exactly four minutes filled with undiluted agony for Severus. It started from the moment an old clock chimed six times and continued to the second of Casimir's hectic announcement of Lucius' arrival. Our stone-cold wizard simply wouldn't know how to act if his arrogant friend hadn't made an appearance. Oddly enough, Lucius, with his undiminished passion for public functions, was a blessing for Severus. It was a real boon, which effectively had eliminated the necessity for self-justification. Year after year, ball after ball, Malfoy pursued him almost to death, making him go. And that was it – so simple there was no need to overanalyse.

This year, though, there was one significant new development. Frankly, the absence of Ron Weasley from the side of Miss Granger last year had made the stirring in Severus' heart stronger and hotter. Thus, the need to see her was squeezing and pressing his heart with prominent urgency. However, the heart's owner didn't pay any attention to it, not in the slightest, of course.

With these musings, memories and thoughts swirling wildly in his mind, Severus finished his toilette. With precise movements, the wizard fixed the collar of his crisp, white shirt, which was peeking out of the heavy, black, formal robes and, with a last glance over his appearance, our former professor set off to meet his blond friend, who had been patiently awaiting him in the library.

Meanwhile, in the library, Lucius poured himself a generous helping of Firewhisky and waited. His keen, grey eyes gazed thoughtfully over the vast number of books' spines. He knew that Severus would not be long. The man was a former spy, for Merlin's sake. He was always ready for whatever fate might decide to throw at him, be it a dangerous mission, or an urgent need for a potion or a matter of life and death, or, as in this particular case, a mere Ministry function.

Their little charade of 'going or not going' amused Lucius quite a bit. Nevertheless, it was still quite a mystery to our Lord Malfoy why Severus obliged him every year. What did he find appealing at these soirees? Lucius was not a fool. There was no doubt in his mind that no one among those living on Earth had the power to change Severus' mind should he choose not to go. There was something that interested Severus at these balls, that much was obvious, but what? Lucius clicked his tongue thinking that his alleged friend was certainly an inscrutable character. Oh well, Lucius himself wasn't exactly an open book either. They were perfect companions, those two. They called each other friends, but, at the same time, neither ever truly trusted this friendship. Slytherins ...

At least, Malfoy knew exactly why he was venturing to this year's Victory Ball. It had taken him a few years to recover from Narcissa's deceit and Draco's disappearance. But, eventually, Lucius bounced back. Now, he needed to re-establish his connections, repair his reputation, and find a new witch, a new Lady Malfoy. And perhaps, it was not even too late for a new heir. Who knows, fortune may decide to be kind to him, and he might just get lucky? One more chance, why the hell not? In other words, Lucius needed to mingle.

Brisk footsteps announced Severus' arrival. "Ready?" asked Lucius, standing up from the settee.

"As ready as I can ever be for such torture," muttered his black-haired friend.

"There are times in every wizard's life, my friend, when true friendship demands a sacrifice," uttered the blonde wizard with mockingly solemn look.

"Lucius do shut your mouth, please. You know quite well that my share of sacrifices would be enough to cover a few lifetimes at the very least." Two seconds later, our wizards stepped into the green flames of the Floo.

The Ladies Cried "Hooray!" and Threw Their Bonnets in the Air

Hermione stepped out of the Ministry's west wing fireplace. She was late, angry and felt horribly dishevelled. Where did she find the courage to come at all? Let's see, my friends, she had not found it. However, she did find something other than her missing courage, bravado and confidence. She replaced all three of them with something quite powerful in its own right – annoyance with a capital 'A'. And frankly, this rather unpleasant emotion was as strong as her positive ones, if not even stronger.

Who was that daring, fearless, or maybe just idiotic, person who had dared to annoy someone as volatile in her anger as this witch? It was Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister. Perhaps there was something seriously wrong with him these days. When, at around half past six, after long and rather violent debates with herself, our lioness had decided that she, indeed, was not going anywhere, her fireplace had lit up and the familiar, authoritative voice of the Minister had sounded.

"Hermione, dear, you do understand that not going is not an option? You're needed at the function as an official representative. I hope you are ready. Would you like me to escort you there?"

And that was it – a tipping point. Hermione was boiling, ready to explode in a second. Who needs that bloody confidence when you are superlatively annoyed? Huh? Our fiery witch's response was short and clear.

"With all due respect, Minister, and for the last time – I... do... not... need... an... escort. Thank you very much, and see you in a bit. Goodbye now."

A flustered wizard bid his farewell and the angry green flames of Hermione's Floo consumed the contours of his face.

Therefore, here she was – utterly furious, darting through the Ministry corridors in her exquisite outfit and her chocolate curls all wild around her face. Five minutes later, still quite agitated and with rapid breathing from all that running on four-inch heels, Hermione was standing in front of the entrance to the hall. Thank God, she was still angry enough to make this last, tiny step and enter the venue.

The moment she crossed the threshold, all her doubts were gone – there were so many familiar faces: Molly and Arthur, George with Angelina, Professor McGonagall, Neville with Hannah, Luna. After half an hour, a deep sense of gratitude towards the Minister filled Hermione's heart. She truly appreciated his efforts and persuasion and genuinely enjoyed herself. The official ceremony, which followed the cocktail party, brought tears to Hermione's eyes as usual. She was the one who stood up and proposed the minute's silence in honour of the dead. It was a sorrowful but beautiful moment when all had risen. All the wizards and witches stood silently, remembering and honouring all the loved ones they had lost during those horrible years.

There were a few speeches, and then there was dancing. By this point in the evening, our witch had already had a few drinks, spoken to almost everyone she wanted to and was essentially ready to leave. On her way out, however, she noticed a certain wizard, customarily clothed all in black, for whom she had unconsciously kept an eye out the entire evening. Furthermore, this particular wizard had been visiting Hermione's thoughts and dreams quite frequently lately, maybe even more frequently than was appropriate. But who cared? – certainly not our Gryffindor princess.

Thus, when Severus Snape suddenly appeared to our golden girl, she couldn't stop herself. The drinks she had consumed along with those bloody dreams were pushing her. A genuine smile lit up her face as she determinedly walked towards her former professor.

She had missed him, simply and honestly missed him. She remembered that summer after the war bright and clear. Everything. How at first all her efforts at saving him seemed to be hopeless and futile. How ghostly and weak Severus had looked. How, after many, many sleepless nights, she finally noticed the tiny signs of improvement in her only patient. And, when the worst was passed, how beautifully calm and peaceful this fascinating man looked in his sleep. Yes, she remembered everything – the heat of his forehead when he was burning with fever and, later, the warmth of his feverish skin under her fingertips.

During these past eight years, Hermione hadn't had many opportunities to stop, sit and remember. Life was quite demanding, time consuming and heart filling. Only recently, with University finished, and after Harry's tragic death and her parting with Ron, she quite often found herself alone on evenings and weekends. Thinking about that summer and her former professor had become her new favourite hobby – after reading, that is.

The brave and daring witch swiftly covered the distance between Severus Snape and herself, and breathed out in greeting, "Professor Snape, how are you?"

One Wrong Move, Prelude

Severus Snape couldn't comprehend what was happening. How the hell it had come to this, and what kind of terrible outcome and dire consequences this would bring into his life? About the latter, by the way, he was positively certain. I must reassure you, my darlings, that this came as a complete surprise for everybody, including me. You are asking what 'this' refers to. All right, my dear ones; just remember, you asked for it.

So, Severus Snape, to his complete surprise, found himself firmly attached to Miss Granger's pulse point, the one located on the deliciously sensitive area of the neck, right under the jaw line. A bit to the left – yes, right there. To his further mortification, our Potions master was not only attached to Miss Granger there, but he was also sucking and nibbling the area, occasionally uttering an embarrassingly appreciative, humming sound. Moreover, his hard and muscled body was quite forcefully pinning Hermione's warm and pliant form to the wall conveniently located directly behind them. And as if this were not shocking enough, his hands were behaving utterly inappropriately. Oh Merlin, how deft were those fingers!

"Ahhh." That would be Miss Granger.

"Mmm." And that would be our Potions master.

How exactly the evening at the formal Ministry function spiralled down, or up as our former professor's body suggested, to this, we would gather in the next chapter. Adieu.