Chapter 2: Are We Dancing?

A/N: This story was written for Keladry_Lupin for the Summer 2007 SS/HG Exchange. It is completely written and I will post it over the next couple of weeks. :)

Thanks go out to my alpha and beta readers while I was working on this project. JuneW, DeeMichelle, Subversa, Cocoachristy, Minuet99 & Ferporcel. They are a wonderful group of friends and I appreciate the correcting, advice and hand-holding from each of them.

Chapter 2: Are We Dancing?

Just the small comments made by George Weasley one Saturday afternoon had sparked the flame in Hermione's soul. A single candle waiting for a mate. It was an odd feeling for an independent woman who had been taught by her parents that she didn't need anyone to make her a complete person.

When she and Ron had ended things, she had convinced herself that she would be quite happy alone. Many women did it, and they were quite fine.

A woman did not need a man to be happy.

She kept telling herself that, but still Hermione yearned for someone with whom to share her life with. She'd been happy when she'd been with Ron. Okay, their relationship hadn't been all peaches and cream. It had actually been more like oil and vinegar ... they never had been able to meld. But they had been able to communicate on some levels. He had been one of her closest friends when she'd been growing up and they shared so many experiences. It was just interesting that once they had fought their battles together that they found they no longer had much in common anymore.

One could only live in the past for so long, but she missed the companionship. She wanted to have someone she could talk with to share her day. Someone with whom she could discuss new ideas and theories or carry on a spirited debate. Or someone to just curl up with and enjoy a good book. She no longer even had Crookshanks' companionship.

Maybe she actually had been mourning the loss of her relationship with Ron when she'd thrown herself into her work. Hermione kept trying to convince herself that these weren't just some unrealistic romantic notions. But the more time passed, the more she realised that her actually finding these things with someone was about as likely to happen as one of those fairy tales her mum used to read to her each night before bed.

Prince Charming just didn't exist anymore.

~~~

It was the weekend before Halloween, and Hermione was noting how much busier things had become at work – both at St. Mungo's and Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes – the closer that they came to the bewitching holiday. Hermione was working her long thirty-six hour shift through Friday night and only had to worry about a very hectic day at the Weasleys' shop... after that she'd be able to rest up for a day.

It was again Friday night, and again, Hermione was being kept a bit later than she should have been. At least tonight she wasn't knee-deep in bedpans. No, she was making her way through the incoming triage patients.

Almost as bad, really. Especially when Healer Sedgwick told Hermione that she needed to see every patient who had appeared before six o'clock.

Glancing up at the clock, she sighed; it was only half-past seven. Not terribly late then, and looking at her list, she only had one patient left to either send home with a simple fix or dispatch to another department.

Hermione could almost smell the lavender-scented bubbles and hear the sounds of the pulsating jets of her bathtub from her flat on the other end of the city. With a new degree of determination, she walked into the private exam room on the Spell Damage Ward.

"Good evening, Mrs. Graham. What seems to be the problem tonight?" she asked with a genuine smile.

Mrs Graham was an elderly, kind-hearted witch whom Hermione had seen several times in the last year. The last time, she'd been admitted with a simple case of Dragon Pox; unfortunately, as with all childhood illnesses, it became a much more exaggerated case for the elderly woman. She had spent nearly two months in hospital.

It was during that hospital stay that Hermione had learned that the old witch didn't have any surviving family, so Hermione had spent many evenings and nights keeping the old witch company. It was from those nights she'd learned that Mrs Graham's husband had been killed during the reign of Grindelwald. Their only son had been killed by Death Eaters before Harry had finally been able to kill Voldemort.

Mrs Graham had appreciated Hermione's company and had sung her praises for the wonderful service that Hermione and her friends had done for the wizarding world during the battle against Voldemort. She had taken it upon herself to treat Hermione as if she were a surrogate granddaughter.

Hermione did like the elderly woman and enjoyed her company. It just saddened her that the only time that she got to see her was when Mrs Graham was a patient at St. Mungo's.

Tonight, after fifteen minutes of talking and diagnostic spells, Mrs Graham finally admitted to having been involved in an accident with an experimental potion and an obscure charm.

Hermione put her hands to her head and began massaging her temples. There were loads of precautions that needed to be taken when someone was working on experimental magic. Not to mention the paperwork that this was going to mean. The Department of Magical Experimentation and Dangerous Potions had to approve all experiments – by commercial interests such as the Weasley twins as well as by elderly widows living alone on their savings.

With a sigh, she left the exam room so that a specialised room could be set up for her patient. Noticing Hermione's distress, the oncoming Healer approached her.

"Don't worry about it. I'll get your patient taken care of." Healer Schmidt then plucked the woman's chart out of Hermione's hand and told her, "You've been here long enough, and you need to go make sure that you weren't contaminated."

Hermione sighed with gratitude. "Thank you so much."

"No problem, Hermione. Go home and have a good night."

Not having to be told twice, Hermione made her way to the staff room to find her mentor so that she could officially leave. It was as she walked that she finally gave attention to how badly her legs and feet were hurting... not to mention the stiffness in her back. She hastened her steps. The sooner she was out of here, the sooner she could give her own body the rest that it sorely needed.

"Are you finally finished? I've been waiting here for an hour so I could leave," Healer Sedgwick testily greeted her as Hermione entered the staff room.

"Yes, I just handed over the last patient to Healer Schmidt."

"Good. It's about time. You should've been done an hour ago. You need to learn to manage your time better."

Hermione opened her mouth to defend herself, but before she could, the door to the staff room had been slammed shut after the other woman stormed out. Hermione didn't know why Healer Sedgwick had been so haughty, after she'd had a full night's sleep in the lounge the night before.

Hermione sighed, grabbed her cloak and slowly made her way out of the back doors of the building so she could Apparate to her flat.

~~~

Each step up the three flights of stairs to her home was almost worse than the last. She fumbled with her key in the lock and toyed with the idea of taking a quick shower before falling into bed, or running a hot bath where she could at least doze some before hauling herself off to bed.

Since it was a Friday night, Hermione knew that her roommate, Heidi, was out for the evening. Hermione tossed her keys on the small table next to the front door and hung her cloak on a hook by the door. She grumbled as she walked into the lounge and saw footprints in front of the fireplace.

It was the very reason she chose to Apparate when she went places. The soot from the hearth was a horrible mess to clean and a simple Evanesco didn't always do the trick, as was evident by the three smudges on her floor... but they were too large to belong to Heidi.

Hermione groaned and squeezed her eyes shut as she walked past the lounge. She wasn't going to deal with it tonight. She wasn't even going to think about it. If she closed her eyes and didn't think about it, that meant that it wasn't there, right?

She opened her eyes as she walked into the dining area so she wouldn't trip, and it took a moment for her to reacclimate herself as a wave of dizziness washed over her. It was just a clear sign of her exhaustion. Her eyes fell on the kitchen table and she stopped short at what she saw.

There, sitting on the table, was a sight which would have rendered her speechless had there been someone else in the room with whom to converse. Hermione walked over to the table and examined the items more closely. Sitting prominently in front of everything else was an invitation to a ball, which looked like the one she'd discarded weeks ago without another thought after being told she'd not have the time off to rest. She picked it up and shook her head with slight confusion. The ball wasn't until New Year's Eve, but this invitation clearly stated that there was a ball tonight ... the weekend before Halloween.

Not even having the energy to try to figure that one out, Hermione placed it back on the table. It didn't matter when the ball was, she was still so exhausted that she was struggling to keep her eyes open and her legs ached even when she was just standing there.

Despite her body's protests, she looked back at the table where the invitation had been and found a note.

Hermione,

~FG

She didn't know whether to be pleasantly stunned or to laugh. "FG" indeed. Although, she did think it was an awfully sweet gesture for Fred and George, much nicer than them telling her to ask Viktor for a shag. Did she dare trust them, though? That was the question. True, the wizarding world had a Rejuvenation Draught, but it was very short-lived, only lasting up to thirty minutes at a time; and it left the drinker severely agitated and with a racing heart. It was worth the side effects once in awhile, but certainly not for something like going to a ball.

Hermione picked up the scrap of parchment again and rubbed her fingers along it; nothing felt different about it. Bringing it to her nose, she cautiously sniffed. Still nothing – she had no new sense of being awake and revitalised. She was fairly certain that the twins had at least tested the spell on themselves. That was usually what they did with their newest creations. But why would it wear off at midnight? Was such a thing even marketable? What sort of legal ramifications were involved?

Just as it usually did, thinking about the legalities of anything that Fred and George Weasley did began to make her head hurt.

For a distraction, she turned her focus onto the dress robes they had sent. She wasn't quite sure why they hadn't been the first thing on which her mind had focussed when she'd approached the table. Perhaps it was her brain's attention to detail, or maybe it was simply because she was extremely tired. Either way, she was looking at them now and the only word that would come to mind to describe them was... Stunning.

The robes were a rich royal blue colour. The bodice, the short sleeves and the front panel of the skirt were made of velvet, while the side was a fine satin of the same shade. She brushed her hand over the soft, heavy material.

There was a small black velvet cloak to go over the top and also to cover up what appeared to be a rather low-lying neckline. The cloak had a small round silver clasp. Then to top everything off, there was a small locket hanging by a gold chain, which she realised had her initials engraved in it, "HJG". Although, oddly enough, the letters weren't in the proper order. Well, they were... but...

Traditionally, when something was monogrammed, the centre letter was larger than the two letters on the sides; that letter in the middle was supposed to be the initial for the person's surname. Fred or George, or both, obviously didn't know that. So, the "J" stood out prominently in the middle of the clasp, flanked with an "H" and a "G" on either side. She had to smile at it. It was still very thoughtful of them.

Turning her eyes back to the table, she saw a small black butterfly-shaped mask that would cover the area around her eyes and the tops of her cheekbones. And sitting next to that was a brand new bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.

Hermione sighed. When she'd first walked in the room, all that she'd wanted to do was to crawl into bed. Now she was beginning to feel more alert, and the achiness in her legs and feet was beginning to lessen... not to mention that she would feel incredibly guilty if she didn't use the gifts bestowed upon her.

There was no decision to be made. Determined, she grabbed the items on the table and went to ready herself for an evening of dancing. Who knew? Maybe she'd even meet someone new...

~~~

Hermione had opted for a shower and then began her rush preparations for the ball. She'd be arriving late, obviously. There was no other option. If she was going to make an appearance at all, she had to be quick about it. She really didn't have that much time as she'd not returned home from work until after eight.

It was half-past nine when she Apparated into the reception area of the Grand Hall, where the ball was being held. Like many other wizarding places, it was hidden from Muggles. This one was below Wandsworth Park in London.

Hermione walked up to a side door, where she took off the small velvet cloak and checked it in the cloakroom. Then she went to the entrance to the ballroom, handing her invitation to the gentleman at the door. After a quick glance at the velum, he nodded his head, and opened the door for her.

The ballroom was swarming with people. This was the upper crust and elite of the wizarding world; the people with whom Hermione rarely socialised. Truthfully, she didn't have the time, nor did she even have the inclination. It was a duty that her status after the war had demanded of her – war heroine role model to young witches everywhere, especially to Muggleborns. Smile, shake hands, sign autographs, answer the same questions again and again. She had always told her friends that it was one of the reasons she'd decided to become a Healer, as it kept her busy enough to keep her mostly out of the spotlight.

Like the Halloweens she remembered from Hogwarts, tonight there were jack-o'-lanterns and candelabras floating high above the room, providing the main source of light. It was dim, true, but not dangerously so.

There was a large orchestra at the upper left-hand corner of the room near the large dance floor. The dance floor itself was surrounded by numerous small round tables with linen tablecloths, each table holding a circle of several chairs. Hermione saw trays with drinks floating amongst the crowd, and she nearly screamed when she bumped into a body slightly in front of one of these floating trays, only to find that it was a house-elf.

"I'm sorry. Please excuse me."

"Izzy is sorry, ma'am," apologised the elf, who hurried past Hermione before she could say anything else.

Hermione could only shake her head and move on. She found a table off to the side of the room where she had a clear view of the rest of the ballroom and could look for familiar faces. Not that she could tell who was who. The lighting was too low to see faces well, and most people were wearing at least some form of mask.

However, as she was looking out at the room, she was saved from wondering too much when someone with unmistakable red hair came over and sat down at her table.

"Hello" she said politely.

"Good evening." He paused for a moment and looked at her. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

Hermione smiled. "Please."

With a snap of his fingers, Fred Weasley had a glass of wine at the table before her.

"Thank you."

"Nah. I owe you," he said sincerely. Then his faced cracked into a broad smile.

"You know that those experiments are going to get you one of these days," she said. But she stopped herself from saying anything more; she wasn't here tonight to talk about work, with an employer. "Anyhow, I'm glad it worked. Thank you."

"Well, I'm glad you came," he answered, before he rose from the table. "Can I get you anything else? No? Well then, I need to go find a lovely young witch who doesn't know yet that she's crazy for me."

"No love potions," she scolded.

He gave her a winning smile as he stood from her table. "Would I do something like that?" Then he winked at her before he walked away and was soon lost amongst the sea of people.

Hermione didn't lack for company, however, although most people didn't recognize her. She decided after a while that the only reason that Fred had guessed who she was, was because he'd given her the dress robes to begin with. After being there for over an hour, she found that she quite liked her anonymity. It made for a pleasant change from the other functions she'd attended. For the first time since Voldemort's death, she felt free enough to say what was on her mind, or to flirt – because the man sitting across from her had no idea he was talking to a war hero and one of Harry Potter's closest friends.

Most men were too intimidated by both of those things. So, whenever anyone asked for her name tonight, she simply told them the truth: "It is a blessed change to be anonymous for once and I would quite like to keep it that way... for now." If that didn't suffice, she gave them her middle name and left it at that. She'd then give them a flirtatious smile and gracefully change the topic to something else.

Through the evening she ran into a surprisingly large number of people that she knew, although by the time she'd finished a casual conversation with them and a dance or two, it was rare for them to have recognised her. Only Ron seemed to know who she was, and even then, he'd seemed slightly bewildered.

It was all rather odd when she thought about it.

~~~

Hermione was watched as she finished another dance. Her third, perhaps? She did seem to be enjoying herself, although there were unanswerable questions regarding her choice in dance partners. From the flaming red hair, it was obvious that her present partner could only be a Weasley.

At least Hermione was making some progress. There was some concern that the young trainee-Healer would simply sit at a table all evening ignoring everyone. Sending Fred Weasley over to speak with her and relax her a bit had been a good decision.

Healer Granger gracefully excused herself from her most recent partner and made her way towards the bar. There was no way that she'd approach one of the house-elves to ask to be served; her penchant for house-elves was a well-known fact. Once there was a drink in her hand, she went to sit down at one of the far tables, again, far away from the crowd.

Perhaps now was a good time to see if there was someone a bit more suitable for her. After a moment, the target was spotted. Then, with a snap of the fingers, one of the house-elves was summoned.

"Do you see that gentleman over there? The one with the long black hair and the... erm... prominent nose?" A crooked finger pointed to the famed Quidditch player across the room.

"Yes, Qwerty knows."

"I'd like you to take him a glass of champagne. Be certain to tell him that it's from the woman sitting over at that table. The one wearing the blue robes. Do you understand?"

"Oh, yes," answered the eager elf with a nod of his head.

The little elf went on his way towards the star Quidditch player, as a set of determined eyes carefully followed Qwerty's every move.

~~~

Qwerty made his way to the group of men that had been pointed out to him.

Black hair, big nose, he repeated to himself

He was pulled from his mission when a man gruffly called, "Elf!"

"Y-yes, sir," Qwerty asked, looking up at the wizard.

"I requested a glass of firewhisky from... someone... more than ten minutes ago."

It was then that the house-elf looked at the man. Black hair, large nose. Qwerty glanced over at the Quidditch player he'd been on his way to see. The two men were standing less than six feet away from one another. And this man's nose was much larger than the Quidditch player's.

Qwerty then looked over at the woman at the table who now seemed to be looking right at Qwerty and the sour-looking wizard.

Oh, Qwerty had been about to make a terrible mistake. He was very grateful that the sour man had stopped him.

"I'm waiting, elf."

"Oh, Qwerty is sorry. I have champagne for you from the woman sitting over at that table," Qwerty said, pointing at the woman sitting alone.

When Qwerty looked up at the sour-looking wizard and saw only a brief look of surprise, he handed the champagne flute to the man and ran back to the kitchens before he could be summoned to do anything else.

~~~

That was not what was supposed to happen. There was nothing to be done for it now. It was obviously Hermione's choice, whether conscious or not.

~~~

Hermione sat at her table, sipping her wine and now nibbling on a canapé. Her present entertainment had been watching the interactions of those around her. The most amusing was the tall wizard with long black hair ... not uncommon for a wizard ... who seemed to be arguing with a house-elf. Well, at first she thought that they were arguing. It appeared that the little elf had said something to stop the wizard's brief tirade. She smiled when they both seemed to glance in her direction and then she turned her attention onto a couple who were now arguing off to her left.

It was merely a minute or so later when she felt the presence of someone standing before her. She looked up and found a wizard at her table ... the same wizard whom she had seen speaking with the house-elf just a moment before.

"Hello," she said politely.

"Good evening." The gentleman held out his free hand to her. "My name is Severus Snape. And you are?"

Snape? She hadn't recognised him, and the man wasn't even wearing a mask. Although, looking at him now, he naturally looked older than he had the last time she had seen him. Older and... more relaxed. The harsh lines on his face had softened, and the scowl that she was sure she'd seen when he'd been conversing with the house-elf seemed to have disappeared.

"Oh," she said, realizing that she was still sitting there gawking. "I'm..." What should she tell him? Quickly deciding it was prudent to maintain her anonymity, she answered with the only name that came to mind, "Jane."

"Thank you for the champagne."

"Erm, you're welcome," Hermione stammered a bit uncertainly as a few of the pieces to the puzzle began to slip into place. "Would you like to sit down?"

Snape gave a perfunctory nod of his head and sat at the table, careful to leave the chair immediately next to Hermione empty. He seemed to be sizing her up much as she was doing with him. The last time she'd seen him was before the battle, when Voldemort fell, and truly, she'd had little or nothing to do with Snape, since he was her professor at Hogwarts. Though she had, on some level, admired him, she had no idea what to make of him now.

"So, Severus, what do you do?"

He looked at her a bit oddly before answering. Hermione was certain that he was trying to decide if he knew her or not and how it could be that someone here didn't know what he did. Most everyone in Great Britain knew what Severus Snape was up to. His every move was well-documented in rags such as the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly and the like.

"I am a part-time consultant for the Ministry of Magic and I am an adjunct professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Oh? What do you teach?"

"I teach N.E.W.T. level Potions." Snape narrowed his eyes. "Do I know you?"

Careful to school her features, Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't believe so." She convinced herself that this was the truth; after all, she never did know Snape as anything more than "Professor Snape". Even after the help he'd given the Order of the Phoenix during the war, she had never been involved with anything that had to deal with Severus Snape. Her main role, concerning Snape, during the war had simply been lecturing Harry that Snape truly wasn't all evil.

They sat in silence for a moment, just enough to allow the quietness to seep in between them and cause Hermione to become uncomfortable. Later, she would blame the discomfort she was beginning to feel for her next words.

"Would you like to dance?"

Her heart caught in her throat when she heard the question leave her mouth. But the worst thing, or the best thing, rather, that could happen would be that he'd be so appalled by her request that he would leave.

Of course, that's not what happened. Instead, Snape stood from his chair and moved before her. Within moments, Hermione found herself being led out to the dance floor. The instant that their hands touched, she fought the small gasp which had tried to escape from her throat as a slight tingle ran up her arm and sparked in her chest.

Magic, indeed.

With one of his hands clasped around her own and the other on her waist, they began to move to the music of a classic waltz. Even without speaking through the first several bars of the music, the awkwardness that had settled over them before seemed to have evaporated.

"So, tell me, Jane, what is it that you do?"

"I am in medicine," she said, using the Muggle term.

"Which field?" he asked, his interest seemingly piqued.

"I'm actually in the middle of a training program. I haven't chosen a specialty yet." Her answers were still vague, and she questioned herself whether that was because she simply wanted to maintain her anonymity, or because she knew that once he figured out who she was, he would no longer have anything to do with her.

He moved his head back and gave her another appraising look. "Are you sure we haven't met before?"

"Why?"

"I have been a professor far longer than I have been working for the Ministry." Then, in a professorial tone that Hermione well remembered, he added, "And I make it a point not to associate with former students."

At his last statement Hermione smiled but chose remain silent on the subject. Instead, she took the opportunity to ask what it was he did at the Ministry.

"I work in the Department of Magical Experimentations and Dangerous Potions."

"Really? What do you do there?" Hermione fought to control her features. The lights may have been dim, but she had no doubt that Severus Snape would be able to spot any sign of embarrassment or guilt that crossed her face.

"I work in the potions division. It's mostly a lot of reading and paperwork to decide if the applicant's theory is sufficiently sound to be attempted safely. That's what I officially do. In fact, it's nothing more than bureaucratic rubbish. I took the job at the Minister's behest with the impression that it would further my own research. Instead, I am responsible for giving people permits or declining them."

Hermione nodded. "That sounds about right, at least from my own dealings with the department." So, he was going to hedge the truth as well... interesting. She knew very well that Severus Snape was working for the Ministry as part of his probation, a secret known only within the Wizengamot and Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Of course, Ron learned it from Auror staff meetings and told Harry and Hermione. But she understood the man's need for subterfuge tonight, as she too wanted to be anonymous. For the moment, they were neither war heroine nor Death Eater spy; they were merely trainee-Healer and potions bureaucrat.

"Ah. Yes, it seems that we get a lot of papers filed by Healers and mediwizards when they've treated someone who has caused themselves harm through experimentation."

"Well, they are breaking the law," she pointed out mildly.

"Indeed. But the law is also hindering progress."

"But you work for the department."

"Just because I work for the bureaucrats on some level does not mean that I agree with what they are doing. My department has been open for two years. In that time the number of new spells and potions has decreased by eighty-five percent."

"How many lives have been saved?"

"And that, in and of itself, is the summation of the present argument going on in the Wizengamot."

Hermione found herself smiling in spite of herself.

Their conversation continued and easily took them through three more dances; with each one, they stood closer to each other. And, much to her surprise, Hermione found that speaking to Severus was actually comfortable. When she'd been a student, it was a well-known fact that Professor Snape longed for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. Once he had the DADA position, he fell under the same curse as all of the previous professors and was driven out of the school before the end of the school year. But she hadn't realised how much the man truly enjoyed potions. It seemed that now, being able to dabble in another position that could satisfy that itch, he was content.

After their fourth dance, they went back to sit at a table and continued conversing.

"How long is your training program?" Severus asked.

"It's eight years. I'm currently in my seventh. This year has only just begun, but I'm counting the days until I finish next summer."

"That would make you... twenty-five?" His tone was a bit harsher as Hermione watched him make the mental calculations.

"No, I'm thirty-one, actually. I took some time off after school. Travelled a bit and then wound up in London seven years ago." All right, it was deceptive, she knew, but she wanted him to believe that she'd been to school elsewhere. And mentioning the war would completely give her away. This was no longer an issue of preferring to maintain her anonymity. In the time they'd spent dancing while he told her about his experiments, Hermione had begun to enjoy talking with him.

"I see." He relaxed momentarily, and then his eyes narrowed at her as if he were trying to put the rest of the pieces of the puzzle together. "And where did you go to school, Jane?"

"I..." she began, but stopped just as she started to hear the chimes coming from the clock in the front hall. "What time is it?"

"Midnight, I believe."

"Oh, I lost track of time. I need to leave," Hermione said as she scooted her chair back from the table and stood.

Severus' eyes narrowed further as his hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. He remained silent, as if waiting for her to explain, and did not relinquish his hold on her. Thus, Hermione struggled to pull away.

"I'm sorry, but I have to leave now, Severus." Her voice was now pleading.

Just as quickly as he had grabbed her, he released her from his grasp. Hermione recognised the scowl that was growing on his face as one that he only wore when he'd been about to do something vile to Harry.

And at that moment she knew exactly what he was going to think of her running out of the room. She silently cursed herself for not speaking to him about her time limit a bit sooner. Reluctantly, she took a step away from him. "I'm truly sorry. It's not you, but I have to leave right now."

"What? Or your carriage will turn back into a pumpkin?" he sneered.

Now there was the former professor that she remembered. Hermione heard another chime. Which one was that, ninth or tenth?

"I'm sorry," she called again as she ran towards the door, Summoning her cloak from the cloakroom and running out the door to the reception area so she was free of the Anti-Apparation wards.

It wasn't a moment too soon that she made it back to her flat, where she ran to her bedroom. She was just in time to hurriedly remove her dress robes and slip into the comfort of her bed. Almost instantly, she found that she could no longer keep her eyes open, and she was left with nothing more than her dreams.