Music in Mouth

A/N: Please forgive me, patient readers! I know this chapter is two days late – I've been unwell over the last few days, and we've had an exchange student staying with us, so I was busy scrubbing every inch of the house in preparation. Thank you again for your kind reviews, and I hope this chapter will have been worth the wait.

LB x

When night stirred at sea

And the fire brought a crowd in,

They say that her beauty

Was music in mouth

And few in the candlelight

Thought her too proud,

For the house of the planter

Is known by the trees.

Men that had seen her

Drank deep and were silent,

The women were speaking

Wherever she went...

As a bell that is rung

Or a wonder told shyly

And O she was the Sunday

In every week.

- Austin Clarke, The Planter's Daughter

***

Hermione regarded her reflection in the bedroom mirror: Padma had done an amazing job of her hair and make-up. But even beneath the paint, she knew she looked better than she had for some time. Her complexion had a glow to it that had been sadly lacking while Theo had been around, and thanks to the hearty meals that were regularly served up to her by Moe, she had regained the weight she had lost following his departure.

There would be many dignitaries at the ball: rumour had it that Kingsley Shacklebolt himself was to attend. Her new clients, the senior staff of St. Mungo's, would be there along with most of the teachers from Hogwarts. Many influential wizards from the continent had been invited, and there were to be photographers and reporters, too. But it did not matter to her who would be there, really. She would look her best for Severus Snape, and if he approved, she couldn't care less what anyone else thought of her.

Leaving a few tendrils of hair to frame her face, she gathered her hair into a twist at the back of her head and clipped it into place. Then she opened her wardrobe and fingered the delicate, light-blue material of her dress robes. When she'd slipped into them, she stood in front of her mirror, her hands on her hips. She turned and looked over her shoulder with a frown. There was no doubt that the outfit was flattering: it reached her ankles and accentuated her curves without being too clingy. The overall effect was one of demure sophistication, and she supposed it was perfectly appropriate.

But it wasn't what she wanted. A single witch in her mid-twenties would surely wear an outfit that was a little more ... well ... sexy. With a sigh of dissatisfaction, she pushed the straps from her shoulders and allowed the blue robes to fall to the floor. Slipping into her dressing gown, she crossed to the wardrobe once again, determined to find something more provocative to wear.

Perhaps one of her gowns could be altered. She began to rifle through her clothes and paused for a moment to smile at the periwinkle-blue gown she had worn to the Yule Ball in her fourth year. It was altogether too childish a frock for her now, but she'd never had the heart to throw it away. That night had been the first time she had ever truly felt attractive, and that was precisely how she wanted to feel tonight. She wanted to feel desirable.

The next gown she came to was the lilac dress she had worn to Bill and Fleur's wedding, and the one after that was a yellow ensemble she had chosen for her graduation ceremony. There were several other suitable outfits: the green robes she had worn to Pomona Sprout's retirement party; the red dress her mother had bought her for her twenty-first birthday; the pink frock she had saved so hard to buy in her second year at university. She fingered the red dress: it was certainly sultrier than anything else she owned, but it wasn't quite right for a wizarding ball.

She was about to close the door and resign herself to the blue robes when her gaze fell upon her wedding dress. Even with the satin cape to hide the back of the dress, the scoop of the neckline and the cut of the material were more alluring than the sky-blue gown. Perhaps she could charm it to a more adventurous colour: a deep red or a midnight blue. She took the ivory gown from the rail and laid it on the bed.

Standing back, she tried to think of what she might do to alter it. The small train at the back would have to go, and she could always add a slit at each side to just above her knees. Recalling all she could about trimming spells, she took her wand in hand.

It only took a few minutes, and then she stood back and eyed her alterations. The dress already looked better, but it was still recognisably her wedding dress, and she had never been particularly good with colouring charms. She chewed at a fingernail. She could always Floo to Padma's house: Padma regularly changed the colour of her clothes. But she had imposed enough upon her friend for one day, and she had no wish to undergo further interrogation on the topic of Severus Snape.

After another moment of gazing at the gown, the answer came: Moe. House-elves were always good at tailoring spells, and Severus had told her the other family elves had been summoned to help prepare for the ball. Perhaps Moe could be spared for a few minutes.

"Moe?" she called.

Moe appeared with a crack before her. "You is calling, Miss Hermione?"

"Moe, I'm so sorry. I know you must be very busy, but I was wondering if you could spare two minutes to help with my dress?"

Moe nodded solemnly. "Mistress Cordelia is having lots of help now, and it is important you be looking nice, Miss Hermione."

Hermione beamed. "Oh, thank you, Moe. I decided to wear my wedding gown tonight, but I don't want it to look like my wedding gown. I've removed the train and altered the skirt, but I'm not much use at colouring charms."

Moe gave the gown an appraising glance. "Is you wearing the cape?"

"Yes." She laid the cape next to the dress. "What colour do you think, Moe? I was thinking of a deep red, or perhaps a very dark blue."

Moe turned to her. "But Master Severus is liking black!"

Hermione stared at her. "What do you mean, Master Severus is liking black?"

"He is always wearing black, so he is always liking black."

"But, Moe, why would you say that?" she asked, embarrassed. Were her feelings so obvious to everyone? "Why would it matter what Severus likes?"

"If you is wanting to please Master Severus, you is wearing black." She dismissed Hermione's question with a flutter of her bony hands and turned her attention to the dress. She closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed her hands together, then she placed her palms at the shoulders of the gown and slowly ran them down the entire length of the dress.

Hermione gasped: as Moe moved her hands along the material, it changed from ivory to darkest black. When she'd finished with the dress, she moved to the cape.

"Moe, that's beautiful," Hermione gushed. "I love it!"

"I is not finished yet," Moe said. She clicked her fingers and a small tin appeared in her left hand. She opened the lid and Hermione could see hundreds of tiny black beads within. Moe poured some into her right hand and then scattered then over the surface of the dress. She clicked her fingers once more, and the tiny beads arranged themselves all over the gown.

Hermione gave a delighted squeal. The dress was barely recognisable. "Moe, you are simply the best! It's just gorgeous."

She shrugged out of her dressing gown and slipped the newly altered gown over her head. Walking to the full-length mirror, she grinned at her reflection. It was perfect. She frowned. Perfect except for her hair, which now looked entirely too formal. She pulled the clip from the back of her head and allowed the sleek waves to tumble over her shoulders. Turning, she looked at the back of the dress. Her hair reached to just below her shoulder blades and did not detract from the allure of the backless gown. Not that anyone would see it. She picked up the cape and fastened it to her shoulders.

Moe stood beside her, examining her reflection in the mirror.

Hermione beamed at the little elf. "Master Severus is liking it?" she asked.

Moe nodded. "Master Severus is liking it," she confirmed.

***

Severus was growing impatient. The majority of the guests had arrived, but there was no sign of Hermione Granger. It was only half-past-eight, but she was usually punctual, and he had looked forward to the opportunity of seeing her outside of the laboratory for some time. She always dressed prettily for such occasions.

He saw Lance arrive in his hideous pink robes and watched as Cordelia made a bee-line for her aged uncle with a deep frown. A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth as Cordelia walked away a moment later, shaking her head, and Lance hobbled towards him.

"Cordelia asked you to change into something a little less eye-catching, I presume?" Severus asked.

"Insufferable, etiquette-obsessed woman! She should be thankful I didn't dye my hair tonight," Lance grumbled. He looked about the room. "The usual crowd, I see. A few new additions: all of them tedious old bores, no doubt."

"For the most part, yes," Severus agreed. His gaze was drawn again to the door, but the newcomers were Neville and Hannah Longbottom.

"Waiting for Hermione, are you?" Lance whispered, his eyes twinkling.

Severus shot him a glare. "Lancelot Mill, I hope you're not going to cause trouble tonight."

Lance chuckled good-naturedly. "I popped in to see her before I left. She should be here shortly; she's already dressed and made herself up. She's looking particularly easy on the eye this evening, let me tell you."

"Is she, indeed?" Severus said with a roll of his eyes.

Lance poked him in the arm. "You need not pretend with me, old boy. I know bloody well you fancy her."

"Lance!" Severus hissed, checking to see they hadn't been overheard.

Lance dropped his voice to a whisper. "It's about time the pair of you stopped dancing around the issue. A good shag: that's what you both need."

Severus sighed. "I'm leaving before you cause irreparable damage to my marriage."

Lance shook his head. "And some marriage it is." He looked around the room again, until his gaze settled on Cordelia. "You know she's invited Everard this year?"

Severus's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I am aware of that fact. As long as they behave appropriately, I've no objection."

"Maybe it's time to find a little bit of happiness for yourself, Severus," he said, shuffling away towards Newt Scamander. "I have every confidence that you and Hermione would be very, very good together."

Severus frowned at Lance's retreating figure. He had been looking forward to feasting his eyes on his Potions associate all evening, but Lance's words had set alarm bells ringing. Minerva McGonagall was here, so he would have to censor his behaviour. He crossed the room to Lucius Malfoy's side, where he had an advantageous view of the doors to the ballroom. He looked on as a small delegation from the Ministry arrived, followed by Healer Thwaite and the senior staff from St. Mungo's. Excusing himself to Lucius, he went to greet his new clients.

He'd been talking to Thwaite for only a minute or two when Hermione finally arrived, and although he continued to nod at the Healer's words, the man's meaningless pleasantries fell on deaf ears.

Hermione Granger very often looked pretty, and now and again, particularly when her smile touched her warm brown eyes, he thought her beautiful. But never before had she looked like she did tonight.

He tilted his head forward, allowing his long, black hair to obscure his eyes, and watched as she stepped uncertainly into the room, an expression of wonder on her face. Never before had she seen the magical ballroom enlarged to full capacity, and he eagerly drank in the sight of her as she gazed around.

He allowed his hungry eyes to travel down her body, noticing as he went that she had regained her womanly curves since Theo had left. Padma's attentions had left her with a glorious mane of gleaming curls. On her feet she wore a pair of delicate, high-heeled black sandals, and as he admired her shapely calf through the slit at the side of her dress, he realised with a start that she had altered her wedding dress. His stomach clenched at the sudden recognition: she was dressed in the very gown that he would never forget.

As Severus continued his covert scrutiny of her, she moved her gaze from the chandeliers and painted ceiling to the faces in the room. She gave Draco and Susan a wave, but before she moved to join them, she met his gaze. For a moment he fancied that a wave of understanding passed between them, some sort of silent acknowledgement of their mutual desire. He allowed the corner of his lips to curl upwards in a discreet smile, and his chest tightened as he was rewarded with a beaming grin.

She turned from him and made her way towards her friends, and he allowed his gaze to follow her as she went, her satin cape fluttering as she walked. Draco lifted his hand to his mouth and uttered a piercing wolf whistle as she approached. Hermione giggled and punched Draco on the arm, and Severus knew a moment of anger as all the heads in the vicinity turned to look at her.

He wanted to hex Draco where he stood for having drawn the admiring gaze of so many male eyes. In a fit of jealousy, he actually contemplated asking the boy to leave for such behaviour, but instead he drank deeply from his glass of champagne and continued to pretend to listen to Healer Thwaite. The other men could look all they liked: he alone in this room knew of the erotic sight that lay beneath Hermione Granger's black cape. That was some consolation.

***

Hermione felt the colour rise in her cheeks. "Draco, I could just murder you."

Draco and Susan laughed. "Ah, go on, Granger. You can't wear a sexy dress like that and then pretend to be embarrassed when people ogle you," Draco said with a grin.

"Yes, well, I didn't expect to make an entrance to the accompaniment of a wolf whistle," she responded, pretending to pout. "I don't know how you put up with him, Susan."

Susan smiled. "I'm used to him by now."

"You look really, really well," Hermione said, patting her on her now-visible bump. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better now that I've got my energy back. We found out the baby is a boy," she said, beaming.

"That's great news! Have you thought about names yet?" Hermione asked

Susan frowned. "What was it you came up with last night, Draco? I assume it was a joke."

"Scorpius," he said, entirely serious. "And it's not a joke."

Hermione guffawed. "Scorpius?"

"I told him he'd have to kill me first." Susan shook her head fondly at Draco. "We're thinking of calling him Abraxas, after Draco's grandfather."

"That's a damn sight better than Scorpius," Hermione said, smiling.

Draco looked around the room. "Your friend Hannah is looking particularly hot tonight," he said to Susan, who rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to go and ask her about the job at the Leaky Cauldron," Susan said. "She has to decide whether or not to take it by next week."

Hermione watched her go, feeling a pang of envy that she and Draco had unwittingly made such a good match. Draco was an outrageous flirt, but Susan was so secure in her relationship with him that it didn't bother her at all.

Draco took two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing house-elf and handed one to Hermione. "Have you heard from Theo?"

She shook her head. "He's ignored every letter I've sent."

"I've tried a few times, too. I presume he got the letters, but he hasn't written back." Draco moved his gaze to Severus. "Severus shot me quite a glare when I whistled at you; he seems very protective of you."

"He's been very kind to me since Theo left, but I'd imagine the glare probably had more to do with the fact that you dared to whistle in his house than the fact that it was directed at me."

"I should really go and say hello to my parents," Draco said. "Save me a dance, Granger."

He left her side, and Hermione allowed her gaze to stray to Severus again. He was still in conversation with Healer Thwaite, but she was pleased to note that he had a full glass of champagne in his hand. She spotted Moe hovering near the dance floor with a tray of drinks and decided she would make every effort to ensure that Severus's glass was kept full.

***

Hermione watched in great irritation as Severus swept Cordelia around the dance floor. She knew he was under obligation to begin the night's dancing with his wife: she was, after all, the one hosting this charity ball. But the possessive way in which Cordelia was clinging to her husband and whispering in his ear was grating on Hermione's nerves. She wanted to be the one in the arms; she wanted to be the one who felt the tickle of his breath against her cheek as he spoke. Snatching a glass of champagne from the buffet table, she knocked it back quickly as Neville edged his way towards her.

He smiled and said, "You don't look particularly happy."

"Well spotted," she replied with a frown. "I'm not one bit happy."

Neville followed the direction of her gaze. "You don't like seeing him with her?" he asked in a whisper.

Hermione glared at him. "No, I don't." She shook her head and sighed. "It's pathetic, Neville, isn't it? I suppose you're going to give me a lecture now because he's a married man."

"No, I'm not. I think Professor Snape is no more a married man than you are a married woman."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"I live in Scotland, Hermione," Neville explained. "I've heard rumours about your mother-in-law. Or Hannah, at least, has heard rumours."

"I see," Hermione said, eyeing Cordelia from across the room.

"Besides," Neville continued. "I thought you insisted you and Snape were just friends and workmates?"

Hermione sighed again. "Well, I've since decided that you were right and that I'm a complete fool, and no matter what happens, I'm setting myself up for more heartbreak."

Neville looked at Severus and Cordelia. The dance floor was almost full already. "Would you like to dance?" he asked.

"Won't Hannah mind?"

Neville shook his head. "She's sitting with Susan; I don't want to disturb her."

Hermione took his hand and followed him onto the dance floor, where he swept her into his arms. She'd forgotten what a good dancer Neville was. "Do you think badly of me, Neville? For the whole Severus thing?"

He shrugged. "Maybe I would've done, years ago. But no, not now. If there's one thing I've learned over the last two years it's that deep down, none of us can help the way we feel. If there's something between you and Snape, maybe that's just the way it is."

She fell silent for a moment, soothed by his words.

"Has anything happened between the two of you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. It's so complicated, Neville. I don't know if anything ever should happen. I'm still married, after all." She looked up into his familiar, friendly face. "What about you? How are things at Hogwarts?"

He grunted. "Same as ever. Hannah was offered the job at the Leaky Cauldron; she's got a week to decide whether or not she wants to take it."

"Would you be happier if she took it?"

"I don't like seeing her stuck in Hogwarts, missing her friends and feeling miserable," he said. "We're not going to divorce until one of us meets somebody else: we don't want to be forced into another disastrous marriage just because of this bloody law. In the meantime, I think she should take the job. She'd be happier in London."

"And what about you, Neville? Don't you think you'll ever find some way around the situation with your parents?"

"The problem is St. Mungo's, really. It's a hospital, not a proper care home. Mum has been ill so many times over the past few years, and I think that if I didn't call in to check on them at least once every week, they'd be completely neglected. The staff are totally overstretched at the hospital. I've looked into private care: there are a few really great wizarding-run nursing homes around the country, but my teacher's salary doesn't amount to much, and I certainly wouldn't have enough to put them up if I took off around the world to look for Luna."

Hermione spotted Kingsley Shacklebolt whirling around the dance floor with Hestia Jones and darted them an icy glare. The wizarding population might well be on the rise again thanks to the Marriage Act, but casualties of that noble cause were all around her.

***

Severus hovered by the buffet table, feigning interest in the meaningless prattle of Newt Scamander's wife, but all the while focusing his attention on Hermione, who was currently in the arms of one of their overseas guests. He happened to know that the young man in question was single and residing in one of the countries that had not adopted the Marriage Act. He watched as she laughed gaily, and jealousy gnawed at his insides. For a moment he considered using a Tripping Jinx on the fellow, but the approach of Minerva McGonagall made him push his jealousy to one side.

"Good evening, Severus," she said with a knowing smile.

"Good evening, Minerva," he said, inwardly cursing as Newt's wife left to join her husband on the floor, leaving him alone with the headmistress.

"Isn't Hermione looking lovely this evening?" she whispered.

"Yes, Minerva, she certainly is," he said, his jaw clenched.

"Lance tells me she has become your permanent associate," she said, peering at him above her glasses.

"She's proven herself adequate to the task," he snapped, scowling at her.

Minerva chuckled. "You're so defensive, Severus. I haven't come here to try to persuade you to return to Hogwarts or to dissuade you from becoming close to Hermione Granger."

Severus eyed her suspiciously, wondering if she had, perhaps, been talking to Lance. He would throttle the old man.

"If her admiring glances are anything to go by, Severus, she's as fond of you as you are of her." She turned and looked in the direction of his wife, her eyes narrowed. "And given the behaviour of your spouses, is that really such a bad thing? I think you and Hermione Granger might be very good together."

He watched in disbelief as she walked away from him, that knowing smile on her lips again. He looked around the room for Lance. It seemed a Tongue-Tying Curse might very well be in order.

***

By one o'clock in the morning, Hermione had had quite enough of Cordelia Mill's ball. Not once had she spoken to Severus, and what was more, he seemed determined to dance with every witch in the room apart from her. She plonked herself on a chair and watched through narrowed eyes as he led Rolanda Hooch onto the dance floor.

He was such a graceful man, and his dark colouring and demeanour drew the eye. She wondered why she'd never recognised any of this when she'd been an adolescent. Not once at Hogwarts had she ever seen past the billowing cloak, the hooked nose and that razor-sharp tongue.

But here she was, all dressed up and increasingly infatuated with the man who had become her employer and her friend, and not once had he seen fit to approach her. It seemed her dress had not had the desired effect after all, despite Moe's efforts.

Downing her fifth glass of champagne, she crossed her arms as Lance lowered himself stiffly into the seat next to her.

"Deary me. You're looking incredibly glum this evening, Hermione Granger."

"Do I, indeed?"

Lance raised an amused eyebrow. "Dislike seeing him with other women, do you?"

"I dislike the fact that he hasn't talked to me all evening, and I'm also rather annoyed that Cordelia has had the gall to invite her Scottish plaything here tonight," she spat, glaring in the direction of Everard Monroe.

Lance chuckled. "You're rather magnificent when you're angry. In fairness, Cordelia has behaved with perfect decorum this evening; not once have I seen her at Everard's side. And as for Severus, I'm sure he has his reasons for not approaching you. He always has his reasons, misguided though they may be."

Hermione sighed and rubbed one aching ankle. "I'm sorry, Lance. I didn't mean to take it out on you. And by the way," she added as she watched Minerva McGonagall glide past in the arms of Horace Slughorn, "what have you been saying to Minerva?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Lance replied, feigning innocence.

"She seems very interested in how I'm getting along with Severus, and I know you two are good friends."

Lance didn't answer the question, but after a moment he said, "I think Cordelia is distracted tonight, with so many high-profile guests to attend to. Perhaps you and Severus should spend a little time alone."

"A little time alone? Are you mad? He hasn't spoken a single word to me all evening, and yet you think he'd like to be alone with me?"

"Hermione, you're paranoid. He has been discreet tonight, even by his own standards, but he has rarely taken his eyes off you, nonetheless. He looked positively furious when you danced with that German chap." He looked at Severus and Rolanda Hooch. "This dance is about to end...watch him and you'll see what I mean."

Hermione watched as the waltz came to an end, and with a small bow, Severus relinquished Madam Hooch's hand and stepped away from her. Then his gaze moved around the room until it finally met her own. Realising he was being observed by her and Lance, he dropped his gaze and walked across the ballroom to join them.

Lance turned to her with a smile. "See what I mean? He's coming our way, so I think that is, perhaps, my cue to leave. Enjoy the remainder of your night, dear girl."

Even though she was annoyed at him, Hermione couldn't help but notice the flutter of nerves in her stomach as Severus reached her side and took the seat that Lance had just vacated.

"Good evening," he drawled.

"Good evening," she said brusquely, refusing to look at him.

He gave a short laugh. "Do I detect a touch of anger?"

She crossed her arms and turned to glare at him. "Yes, you do. The only wizard with whom I might have enjoyed a decent conversation has ignored me all evening."

He smirked. "Perhaps that wizard, despite the fact that he would have liked nothing better than to converse with you, had his reasons for failing to pay you the attention you so rightly deserve."

She held his amused gaze, wondering why he was in such genial form.

"Shall I fetch you a glass of champagne?" he asked.

"No, thank you," she said, her anger starting to evaporate. "I've had quite enough champagne."

"My glass seems to have magically refilled itself all evening. Did you tell Moe to keep it full?"

Hermione immediately coloured. "What on earth gave you that idea?"

He chuckled. "The fact that she said 'Miss Hermione said I is to be keeping your glass full, Master Severus.'"

Hermione shook her head and tried not to smile. "Next time, I'll make sure I forbid her to tell you of my little schemes."

He gave her a mock scowl. "Were you trying to get me drunk, Hermione?"

"Has it worked?"

"I can detect the faintest trace of intoxication."

"Only a trace? Perhaps you need more champagne."

"I didn't say the intoxication had anything to do with alcohol," he said silkily, his tone flirtatious.

She examined his face, thinking she'd imagined the suggestiveness of his remark. She was usually the one to do the flirting.

He lowered his voice and said, "You look quite exquisite tonight."

She couldn't help but gape.

He smirked. "Although that particular expression is not entirely becoming."

She frowned, feeling both pleased and unnerved by the compliment. "Are you sure you're not drunk?"

"Positive," he replied. His gaze fell to her gown. "You've altered your wedding dress."

She gasped. "I was hoping nobody would notice."

"I'm quite sure nobody else has noticed. It just so happens that I'm exceptionally fond of that gown."

She looked at him in surprise, and then remembered that with the exception of Theo and her mother, he was the only one to have seen the provocative cut of the back of her dress.

"I apologise for not speaking with you before now," he said, suddenly serious. "There are many pairs of curious eyes upon us, Hermione."

She presumed he was speaking of Minerva. Not knowing quite what to say, she cast her gaze over the dance floor. "I can't believe Cordelia had the temerity to invite Everard Munroe here tonight. I thought you said they never liaised in London?"

"They never have, to my knowledge. I haven't so much as seen them speak this evening, however. There is safety in numbers."

He sat back in his chair, and they watched the dancers whirling before them. Neville and Hannah caught her eye.

"I think," Hermione said quietly, "that for the first time since Theo left, I can almost feel the unhappiness in this room. So many victims of this stupid law: Hannah and Neville; Blaise and Katie; Cordelia and Everard."

"You and me?" he whispered.

Her heart thumped in her chest. Did he just mean that they were both trapped in loveless marriages, or had he intended to infer something more? "You and me," she said, unable to tear her gaze from the intense expression in his ink-black eyes.

He looked away from her, and his scrutiny fell upon the group from the Ministry of Magic. "Just look at them, Hermione, pretending that the increase in magical births has made it all worthwhile, that the casualties of this shambles of a law mean nothing. In denial of the fact, every single one of them, that by doing our duty we have caused great unhappiness."

She sighed, feeling suddenly sorry for herself. "Perhaps I should say goodnight, Severus. My feet ache, I'm exhausted, and it's much too warm in this room."

He rose and stood before her. "I beseech you to stay a little longer. And you know what they say, Hermione: If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. Or the ballroom, in this instance. Come with me," he said, extending his hand.

"Where?" she asked, allowing him to pull her gently from her chair.

"I promised you we would toast your success with St. Mungo's tonight, and so we shall," he said, directing her towards the door.

"Are you sure we can just leave?" she asked. "What about all those pairs of curious eyes of which you spoke?" Part of her longed to be alone with him, but another part wanted to run away and steer well clear of all temptation.

"I'm not entirely sure I care anymore," he said, stopping at the door. "Do you?"

She glanced around the ballroom and turned back to face him, aware that Lance's twinkling eyes were upon them. "No, I don't."

He gestured to the staircase. "Then after you, Hermione."

She stepped through the doors and made for the staircase, presuming he intended to descend to the laboratory.

"Not that way," he said, pointing upstairs instead. "This way."

"Your study?" she asked, following him.

He shook his head. "Somewhere entirely more pleasant."

She knew a moment of panic. Surely he didn't mean to take her to one of the bedrooms? "Are you sure this is appropriate?"

He smirked. "It is not inappropriate. Besides, I thought you didn't care?"

She shrugged and decided to throw caution to the wind. "I don't."

"Then let us proceed to the fourth floor."

She climbed the stairs, and when they finally reached the fourth floor, she stopped.

"This way," Severus whispered, placing his hand on the small of her back and directing her to a narrow door at the end of the short corridor. He tapped his wand to the handle and pulled it open. "Follow me."

She saw another narrow set of steps leading upwards, at the top of which was a wrought iron gate.

Severus lit his wand, and when they reached the gate he murmured an incantation and it swung open. He climbed the last step and stood aside, waiting for her to follow.

She could feel the fresh night air on her face, and she inhaled the familiar aroma of at least a dozen fragrant herbs as she stepped out into what was the most charming roof garden she'd ever seen.

Severus smiled at the expression on her face, and as he murmured another incantation, numerous candles blazed into life around the little garden, casting a warm glow on her features. "Is it to your liking?" he asked, closing the gate behind him.

"It's amazing," she gushed, circling the garden, trying to take everything in. "You grow some of our ingredients here?"

"Yes, most of the simplest herbs and plants are grown here. It's temperature controlled," he explained.

"Why haven't you ever told me about it before?"

He flashed her one of his rare, genuine smiles. "It's one of my most closely guarded secrets; with the exception of Lance, I don't believe I've ever brought anyone here before. Most of the Mills know about it, of course, but when I moved here it had fallen into complete disrepair. A few weeks of effort soon turned it into a productive herb garden."

She looked about her again, recognising a number of the plants in their terracotta pots. It the corner was a pair of wooden chairs and a small table. "It's just lovely," she said, turning on the spot. "Do you spend much time here?"

"I read up here occasionally in the summer, and Lance joins me from time to time for a nightcap."

She crossed to the thick stone wall that reached to her waist and gazed out over the roofs and the twinkling lights of London.

He joined her and Conjured a pair of champagne flutes with a flick of his wand; one further flick, and a bottle of Bollinger Reserve appeared. "I told you a bottle of good champagne would be set aside to toast your success." He popped the cork and poured them both a glass of champagne.

She smiled. "Are you sure this won't tip you over the edge, Severus? I thought you said you were already faintly intoxicated?"

"Yes, and I thought I had already said that my intoxication was not due to the effects of alcohol?" he drawled, handing her a glass of champagne and watching her face. Before she could react to his innuendo, he had raised his glass. "Here's to enchanting associates who appear to have the ability to charm even the hardest of hearts."

She smiled, wondering whether he meant himself or Healer Thwaite. "Here's to Potions masters who are willing to give a girl a chance," she responded.

They clinked their glasses together and raised them to their lips.

"So," she said, leaning against the small stone wall. "To whom do all these pairs of curious eyes belong?"

"Has nobody of your acquaintance expressed interest in how we have progressed from hostility to camaraderie over such a relatively short space of time?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"I suppose they have. Lance is constantly badgering me about how we're getting on."

Severus grunted. "That makes two of us. Minerva's no better. It would seem that once you hit eighty you lose the ability to keep your nose out of other people's business."

Hermione laughed. "So I've noticed. But it's not just the older generation who've said something. Neville and Padma have also ... well ... asked questions."

"Neville Longbottom? Who would have thought?" He considered telling her about Cordelia's remarks, but decided to keep it to himself for now. "You drew the admiring gaze of quite a number of the male attendees this evening, and in more than the spirit of mere camaraderie." He allowed his eyes to flicker over her figure.

She swallowed rapidly. "And you would describe this as camaraderie, would you?" she asked, pointing from her chest to his.

He stared at her with such intensity that she was forced to drop her gaze. "How would you describe it, Hermione?"

She uttered a short laugh and looked out over the rooftops. "I think I would describe it as skating on very thin ice." She sipped at her champagne and continued her scrutiny of the skyline.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, and the sound of the small orchestra Cordelia had hired could be heard above the clink of glasses and the chatter of the guests so many floors below. The musicians struck up another waltz, and Hermione gasped in recognition.

"It's Tchaikovsky: the waltz from The Sleeping Beauty." She closed her eyes for a second, enjoying the familiarity of the introduction.

He placed his glass on the wall. "Would you care to dance?" he asked, offering her his hand.

Hermione's eyes widened. "What? Here?"

"Why not? We are far from all those curious eyes, and I've longed to dance with you all night."

Feeling almost hypnotised by his dark eyes and the pull of the music from below them, she placed an unsteady hand in his.

He led her to the centre of the tiny garden, but before he took her into his arms, he raised his fingers to her shoulders, ignoring the questioning look on her face. Willing his hands to remain steady, he undid the clasps on her cape and tossed it onto one of the garden chairs, his gaze never leaving her face.

"A woman should never dance with her cloak on," he murmured.

He took her right hand in his left and placed his free hand on the bare skin of her back, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth as she shuddered in response. He paused for a second, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin against his palm, pleased at having finally realised one of his long held fantasies.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, shivering at the twin sensations of his body pressed against hers and his warm hand on her bare skin. The black eyes she so often found unreadable seemed to be laid bare tonight, and she could clearly read desire in their depths.

"We are playing a very dangerous game, Severus Snape," she whispered as they started to dance.

"And what game is it we are playing, Hermione Granger?" he asked, that satisfied smile still playing about the corner of his lips.

"I'm not entirely sure," she said, her voice trembling.

"Then why is it so dangerous?" he whispered next to her ear, and she finally had everything she had longed for earlier that evening: she was in his arms and had the tickle of his breath against her cheek.

She did not answer him; she did not know what to say, and her heart was beating so rapidly that she was certain she would faint if she didn't calm herself. She breathed deeply, trying to memorise the feel of his body against hers. He was as graceful a mover as he was a Potions brewer.

"I rather expected you to hum along, seeing as it is a Tchaikovsky waltz," he said quietly.

She smiled and looked up at him. "I think I've forgotten how to hum," she replied breathily.

He gave her a satisfied smirk, and, overwhelmed by the hunger in his gaze, she laid her head against his shoulder.

Severus closed his eyes and leaned his chin against the top of her head, basking in her warmth and her subtle perfume. Without even thinking about it, he started to stroke the exposed skin of her back with his thumb and was rewarded when a small sigh escaped her lips.

Hermione would have liked nothing better than to remain in his arms for hours, but the short waltz ended with a flourish, and she almost cried with frustration.

They stilled when the music stopped, and as they pulled apart, his gaze fell to her lips. He was so close that she could still feel his breath on her skin, and she knew that if she just inched forward, their mouths would meet.

Hardly knowing what she wanted anymore, she could think of nothing but how his lips would feel upon hers, when he relinquished his hold on her with a muttered, "Thank you, Hermione."

She tried not to let the disappointment show on her face. "You're welcome," she whispered.

He moved back to the wall, and she followed him, picking up her glass with trembling fingers. There was an ache in her chest; an ache of loss. She wanted to feel those long, warm fingers on her skin again. She looked up at him, but he was examining his glass, apparently lost in thought.

"Tell me, Hermione," he said, turning to her. "What will you do if Theo never comes back?"

She gave him a sad smile. "I've no idea, and it's a question I've been asked many times over the past few weeks." She sipped her drink. "What will you do if Cordelia never leaves?"

"I do not know, but I've never yet let it get in my way."

They stood in silence for a minute, and Hermione realised the orchestra had not started to play again. Severus glanced at his watch.

"It's two in the morning," he said. "Many of the guests will be leaving. I must descend and say goodnight to a few of them. Would you like to accompany me, or would you prefer to remain here?"

"I'll stay here if you promise to come back," she said hopefully.

He nodded, already turning towards the wrought iron gate. "I'll return as soon as I can."

Hermione sighed as he disappeared from view and buried her head in her hands, her shoulders sagging in a sudden release of tension. What in Merlin's name was she doing? She had sworn she would not let this happen, but if the last hour had proved anything, it was that she was more besotted than ever by this complicated man.

What was she supposed to do? Was she supposed to just ignore these emotions and hope they would go away?

Her hands still shaking from the effect of his touch, she crossed to the chair where he had tossed her cape. Still marvelling that he'd had the daring to do such a thing, she wrapped the satin cape around her shoulders and sat on one of the wooden chairs, tucking her legs beneath her. She had meant what she'd said to him back in the ballroom: her feet ached and she was exhausted. She closed her eyes and awaited his return, wondering what would happen before this night was through.

***

It was almost an hour later when Severus had at last seen off most of the important guests. While Cordelia was busy with the remainder, he decided to return to the roof garden while his absence might go unnoticed. As he climbed the stairs he vowed to proceed with caution. He had behaved with atypical boldness this evening, and although he did not regret their moonlit dance, he had no wish for events to spiral out of control.

He pushed open the gate and saw with a pang of dismay that Hermione was fast asleep on one of the garden chairs. Closing the gate quietly behind him, he crossed to her side and gazed down upon her slumbering figure.

She was curled up on the chair, her cape wrapped around her shoulders, her lips parted as she slept. Despite the sophistication of her gown and her makeup, she looked young in her slumber. He smiled: the sleeping beauty waltz seemed more than appropriate.

A wave of longing swept over him, and he knelt beside her, tenderly brushing an errant curl from her flushed cheek. The split skirt of her gown had ridden up her thigh, exposing the smooth, flawless skin of her leg. Desire coursing through his veins, he reached out to touch her, but stopped. If ever the opportunity arose for such an action, he wanted to read the permission and mutual desire in her hazel eyes. Perhaps that day would never come, but he would wait.

With a frustrated sigh he rose to his feet.

"Moe?" he whispered.

The little elf appeared before him with a crack. Hermione did not stir.

"You is calling, Master Severus?" she asked.

"I was wondering if you would be so kind as to Apparate Miss Hermione to her bed, Moe. It would be inappropriate for me to do so." He cast one last, longing glance at Hermione's sleeping face and stepped back.

The elf nodded and placed her hand on Hermione's arm. With a click of her fingers they both disappeared, leaving Severus alone on the roof garden.

He Vanished the bottle of champagne and the glasses with a flick of his wand and turned to descend to the ballroom once more.

With a deep sigh of regret, he wondered what might have transpired if she had not fallen asleep. Perhaps it was better this way. They were, as she had said, skating on very thin ice.