Eight

Summary: Neville, Snape and Hermione return to Hogwarts after the summer. Some things have changed in the post-Voldemort world – how do they cope? (Response to prompt 12 on the Potter Place Fall Challenge Prompt List.)

A/N: Huge, enormous, massive thanks and homage to Subversa for her tireless encouragement and meticulous beta-reading.

Chapter 8

The Halloween celebrations that year were generally considered to have outdone anything attempted for the festival ever before or for a long time afterwards. Normally, there was just the feast to look forward to, but Professor McGonagall declared the afternoon free for fun and games, to be followed by the traditional feast and then, after two hours for primping and preening (the boys considered this excessive, the girls, insufficient), the Ball would begin.

The day dawned propitiously, cold and fine, which was ideal as the Headmistress had decided to hire a collection of Muggle fairground rides to be set up in the grounds. Additionally, there were to be many simple, childish games and races. The students responded with all the joie de vivre at their command. For young people being brought up in Hogwarts castle, the ghost train proved surprisingly popular. Indeed, they found it hilarious, and the castle ghosts who could be persuaded to have a go found it tolerably amusing. Games such as apple-bobbing and the sack race drew students of all ages, and even some of the staff. Professor Snape contented himself with patrolling, his daunting presence guaranteeing that things never got completely out of hand. He caught sight of Hermione from time to time, acting like a loon on the bouncy castle, emerging with her hair sopping from the apple barrel, or being dragged breathlessly along by Weasley in the three-legged race. Called on by Potter and the Weasley girl to adjudicate, he disqualified the other pair, as Ron had finished by bodily picking up Hermione and running with her under his arm. When urged to hand out a punishment, he had them run it again – blindfold. Consensus was that this demonstrated that Professor Snape actually had a sense of humour, especially as he encouraged the crowd to shout directions that put the pair of them in the lake.

Hermione made her entrance into the Great Hall that evening in the company of Lavender and Parvati. She and Lavender had long since resolved their differences concerning Ron (for Hermione's part, there was little point in jealousy, and Lavender had moved on to other prey), so the three girls had been able to spend a very pleasant two hours enjoying all the rituals involved in becoming beautiful. Checking in the mirror before going down, Hermione felt she had succeeded tolerably well. Indeed, when the three of them paused for effect in the doorway, many people turned to look at them, and there was even the odd wolf whistle to be heard as several of the young men began to gravitate towards them. Lavender smirked, Parvati contrived to look exotic and haughty though she was struggling with giggles, but Hermione was momentarily frozen in place by the abrupt and devastating realisation that there was only one head she wished to turn that evening – only one person for whom she had taken such care in her preparations. And she couldn't see him anywhere.

He, however, could see her. When the three young women had paused, framed in the lavishly-decorated arch of the Great Hall, he had barely noticed the other two. She stood a little apart from her friends, apart as she had always been, outclassing them in every way he could think of. She wore a simple, elegant halter-neck dress of the deepest crimson; its soft, sheer fabric clung to her curves and swirled round her legs to the ankles. Her riotous curls had been tamed into an elegant chignon that showed off her slender neck, accented by the red crystal drops that swung from her ears. She smiled with lips that were lush and glossy, the same deep crimson as her dress, and her eyes sparkled behind the black silk mask she wore. In every respect, Hermione was exquisite, and it pained him to the core. This was not what they had agreed, not what he was aiming for, and would doubtless horrify her if she knew how, all of a sudden, the presence of every other woman in the room had become a complete irrelevance to him. With difficulty, he forced his thoughts back into character and away from the dangerous path into which they had strayed.

Professor McGonagall, indulging her Scottish origins, had organised a ceilidh for the evening. They had a good caller, so the students and staff quickly got the hang of each dance, enjoying the sometimes complex patterns and the liveliness of the event. The masks everyone wore hid no-one's identity but gave everyone an air of faux mystery that only added to the fun. For the first hour Hermione was never without a partner, and although she regretted that Professor Snape had so far apparently not appeared, she set herself to enjoying the evening and her unwonted popularity. Thus it was that she turned a bright and smiling face to him when he approached as the band began a lilting waltz.

"Miss Granger, would you do me the honour?" he asked.

As Professor Sprout was at that moment taking the floor with Neville, and Professor Flitwick was dancing with a fourth-year Ravenclaw who was talking animatedly to the top of his head, there was nothing too extraordinary about his request. This was, so far, just what they had planned. Severus Snape had to be showcased to the rest of the school. But he took her breath away. He was dressed in his usual unremitting black, but the cut of his frock coat showed him to perfection. For the first time since their trip to London, his hair was tied back, displaying his sharp jaw and high cheekbones. The fine, dark eyes were a glitter behind the mask. The only way she was capable of answering his invitation was to place her hand in his and allow him to lead her into the dance.

He did not hold her close, but for the first few measures Hermione closed her eyes and gave herself to the pleasure of being in his arms and guided by him. She knew it was a dangerous indulgence and yet it was with reluctance that she searched for something to say, to break the spell. She looked up, her lips parted to make some comment on the evening, she knew not what, but Severus met her gaze with a slight shake of the head and a quirk of the corner of his mouth. They danced on in perfect silence and perfect accord.

When the waltz came to an end, they walked hand in hand, as dictated by custom, off the dance floor. They parted with a few formal words of thanks, but an unmistakable squeeze of the fingers. Each, unbeknownst to the other, felt almost a revulsion for another dance, unwilling to displace the ghost of their last touch.

Hermione returned to her group to meet a barrage of questions. Yes, he was a good dancer; no, they hadn't talked at all; no, she wasn't in shock.... And so on. It was all quite tiresome. From the corner of her eye she could see her professor (her professor) escorting the Headmistress through one of the less riotous numbers. Every girl in the vicinity seemed to have tuned her radar to his presence, and the discussions about him were spreading like wildfire. Snape wouldn't have to sit out a single dance if he didn't want to. "Come on, Ron," she said suddenly, and dragged him off to where another set was forming. The best way to deal with this now was to put it off until later – she would not make a spectacle of herself. The evening progressed, as evenings are wont to, and Hermione danced as if it was her last chance in the world to enjoy herself. To everyone else, it looked as though she was having the time of her life. She partnered Ron, Harry, Neville, Dean, anyone who asked her. At midnight, she cheered as hard as anyone at the ritual unmasking. But there was a little voice inside her which droned, "Later, later, later...," and she tried resolutely not to notice when Professor Snape danced with other people. People who were behaving with much less hostility than before. People like the attractive Professor Sinistra, who smiled up at him as they talked.

"I need some air," she said to Ron. "Come with me?" She didn't really want to be alone to face her feelings just yet.

They left for the rose gardens. Ron noticed her silence and reached for her hand.

"Something wrong, Hermione?"

"No. No – I'm just tired, that's all."

"You look nice this evening."

"Thanks, Ron. So do you."

They walked for a little.

"How are you getting on, Ron? You know, since..."

"Oh – fine, I suppose. Actually, I know. You did me a favour, Hermione. I've been able to think about things a bit straighter, if you know what I mean."

Her sense of humour reasserted itself a little.

"Straighter...?" she laughed.

"You know what I mean," he grinned back at her. "I think I might even tell my parents soon." He paused. "Do you think you could be with me when I do?"

"Of course I can. You're my friend."

He wrapped her in a big hug, and she took comfort from his familiar, uncomplicated presence even though she couldn't voice her inner turmoil. After a moment, she shivered and they went back inside the castle, Ron's arm round her shoulders. They were unlucky enough to surprise Professor Snape being backed up against a wall by Madam Hooch. The look he gave them could have shrivelled granite.

Hermione knew enough about keeping up appearances to return for the final dances, though inside she was screaming to be anywhere else. Severus, too, managed to sidestep Hooch's advances (she had clearly gone one Firewhisky too far) and escape back to the Great Hall, where he was in time to watch Hermione, her hair now loose and whirling round her, flying down the set in "Strip the Willow", being swung around by every great oaf in the school, it seemed. He had seen red when he noticed Weasley embracing her, and now he had to endure this. Reaching the limits of his tolerance, he found Minerva to congratulate her on the arrangements and then beat a retreat to his rooms, where for the next several hours he berated himself for the imbecility of having feelings for a woman twenty years his junior, who was his student, who had a boyfriend, who had offered him friendship but clearly wasn't interested in anything else.... Above all, he did not want to put that in jeopardy; it was too precious to him. He resolved that, however difficult it might be, he would behave as if nothing had changed.

Hermione finally made it to her dormitory at around two o'clock, but not to sleep. She undressed, put on her favourite old cotton nightie, got into bed, drew the curtains round all four sides, warded them for silence and against intrusion, and then, finally, let herself cry. She wept until there were no more tears. Her face was sore, her eyes swollen, and her head ached viciously. She was thirsty. She slunk miserably out from behind her wards and curtains and went to get a drink of water, feeling too tired to conjure one. By the time she got back, she was ready to think. So she had been stupid enough to fall in love with Severus Snape. There didn't seem to be anything she could do to stop it, but the question was: what was she going to do about it. She considered his reaction were he to find out how she felt. He would be mortified, wholly embarrassed, that a silly little girl – his student, for God's sake – had developed a crush on him. He would ban her from his presence, quite rightly. Hermione couldn't bear the thought of that. They had, over the past couple of months, developed a genuine friendship, and on reflection she decided that if she was to be a real friend to Severus, she would not burden him with the knowledge of her other feelings. So she was in love with him? She would just have to deal with that on her own. She would have to try to be pleased with the apparent success of the scheme they had hatched, however much it hurt. She would not sacrifice proximity to a person who had become dear to her on many levels. She resolved that, however difficult it might be, she would behave as if nothing had changed.

A/N: A ceilidh (pronounced "kay-lee"), for those unfamiliar with the term, is an evening of Scottish dancing, with a live band playing traditional dance music, and a caller who teaches everyone the patterns of the dances, which are usually performed in sets of eight couples. Good fun. And yes, during most of the ceilidhs I've been to, they do play the odd couple dance, usually a waltz as most people can cope with that one!