A Dance

This is a story by the great Marisol, a German FF writer whose stories can be found at http://www.harrypotter-xperts.de/fanfiction?author=17037

Translated from German into English by Muggline

Disclaimer: Neither Marisol nor Muggline are making any money out of this. Everything you recognise belongs to J.K.Rowling.

A/N: Once more, I have to thank Professor M McGonagall for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 14

Hermione felt her blood rush to her cheeks when Snape's fingers gripped her hand. She wanted to protest, but one glance at his face made her shut her mouth. From the corner of her eye, she saw the heads of the people around them turn in their direction, but Snape did not seem to be bothered.

Still, he held her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, striding towards the dance floor with determination. His iron grip never faltered, even when he fought his way through the dancing couples.

Hermione drew a deep breath, steeling herself for the obvious, but to her infinite surprise, Snape stopped behind one of the dancing couples and tapped the young man's shoulder – Hermione recognized Roger Davies. Roger's annoyed expression changed to perplexity as soon as he realized who the interloper was.

"Mr. Davies, I am sorry to interrupt, but I want to ask you a favour," Snape said with his trademark fake smile, which immediately indicated to everyone that they'd better obey no matter what the favour might be. "Miss Granger here," he nodded in Hermione's direction, "expressed the desire to be led by a competent partner. You seem to meet the criteria she had in mind quite well, so would you please be so kind as to leave your most charming partner for a moment and dance with Miss Granger instead?"

The "most charming partner" whom Snape had ignored completely before, during and after his speech gazed at them with an irritated expression. "Well, I..." Roger started in an uncertain tone.

Snape let Hermione's hand go and almost shoved her in the young man's direction. "Thank you," he said with a hint of a nod, then gave Hermione one last mocking glance and turned to leave.

"Hermione, are you drunk?" Roger finally asked.

"No, but I wish I were," came her embarrassed reply. Roger had been in her year, but they hardly knew each other. Apart from some meaningless sentences they might have exchanged back at school, they had never had any contact.

He excused himself from his partner, who stormed off the dance floor looking offended, and finally started dancing with Hermione. "What was that all about?" he asked.

I wish I knew myself, she thought while she blushed. "Snape and I had a quarrel that ended in some kind of bet," she finally explained, although she knew that this explained nothing at all.

"With me as the victim?" he asked, half irritated, half amused.

She shrugged helplessly and murmured an apology. She did not need to turn around to realize that Snape was observing every single one of her deplorable dance steps and probably wore his typical mocking glare. She knew that she was not a bad dancer at all. Okay, she knew she was not outstandingly graceful, nor did she have a good sense of rhythm or beat, but she liked moving to music she liked. Now, however, she felt like some stiff puppet that trotted along the dance floor in anything but an elegant manner. "I'm sorry, Roger," she said. Her face burned with embarrassment.

"It's okay," he answered good-naturedly. "I hope you will at least win the bet?"

"I am afraid that I am going to lose it and be awarded the title 'Troll of the evening' on top of it," she whispered.

"Codswallop," he tried to cheer her up. "Just try to relax,"

Hermione nodded and tried to pull herself together. The evil bastard, she thought. She should have guessed that nothing but an Imperius curse would have made him dance in the Great Hall of Hogwarts under the scrutiny of former pupils and colleagues, and she was furious that he had managed to make a fool of her once more. The song ended after what felt like an eternity to her. She thanked Roger, whose confused and relieved gaze followed her when she left the dance floor.

She would not give Snape the satisfaction of exposing her to his mockery – not for anything in the world. She could imagine very well how he would use his wand to draw a "T" for "Troll" in the air to show her his opinion about her performance and her stupid claim that she could dance as well as the partner who led her. Without one single glance at the area where he was sitting, she stormed off to the other side of the room towards an empty table.

"What was THAT supposed to be?" Ginny suddenly appeared by her side and threw herself on a chair next to Hermione. "For one moment I thought George had spiked my drink, and I was hallucinating that Snape wanted to dance with you."

Under the table, Hermione's hands clenched into fists. "Did you? Well that's what I thought, too!" She told Ginny what had happened and got a gaze that expressed disbelief and only vaguely hidden mirth.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. You know that I don't laugh at you," she giggled when Hermione was finished. "But that's so typically Snape!"

"Yes, I can hardly stop laughing," Hermione hissed through gritted teeth. "I pity him most of the time, but I seem to forget that he is a cruel, evil git!"

"What would have been worse, Hermione: him dancing with you or him pushing you in Roger's arms?"

Hermione thoughtfully worried her bottom lip. "Dunno, maybe the first," she admitted.

"So you should be glad that at least that did not happen," Ginny said with a shrug.

Hermione nodded. Ginny's words were full of logic, and they sounded perfectly reasonable. However, she realized that things were not as easy as they seemed. She ought to be glad that she had not danced with Snape, but she was not. She changed the subject, and after several minutes, she dared to glance in the direction where she presumed Snape to be, but she could not see any black clad figure. Therefore, she immersed herself in a friendly chat with Ginny and Hannah Abbot, determined to get back at him for the "dance incident." Her eyes scanned the crowd for him every now and then, but Snape had obviously left the party.

oOoOoOoOo

Long after midnight, Harry – who looked a little worse for wear – laid an arm around his wife's waist and suggested that they Apparate home. Many guests had already left, and Hermione started longing for her own bed, too. It had been her first party and her first alcohol in a very long time; obviously, her body could only tolerate this up to a certain point.

They said their good-byes, and Hermione stayed behind to have one last polite chat with Professor Flitwick. He had been standing next to her and seemed astonishingly chirpy considering the late hour. After she had managed to get away from him, she looked around for McGonagall because she wanted to thank her for the invitation and say good-bye, but she could not find her former professor anywhere. "Minerva?"

"Oh, I guess she has gone up to her rooms already," said Neville who had noticed that she was looking for someone.

"Thanks, Neville. It was good to see you again. Please get in touch next time you are in London, okay?"

"I will. Promise!" He agreed with a smile and blushed a little when she gave him a peck on the cheek as she left.

She waved to Ron and Cecilia who were sitting next to Seamus, Dean and Lee and started climbing the stairs towards the headmistress's office. To her astonishment, Professor McGonagall met her half way. "Oh, Professor," she exclaimed, "I was on my way to your office to say good-bye."

"Yes, I would have liked to have been there quite a while ago, but Severus has not finished yet," McGonagall said with a frown. She looked very tired.

"Pardon?" Hermione asked in bewilderment.

"Severus asked me if he could visit my office to talk to Albus. I thought he only wanted to chat a little while, but it seems that they have more to discuss than I thought. In any case, I have been wandering along this corridor for quite a while, waiting for him to leave my office so I can go to bed..."

"Oh, I see," Hermione murmured. So this was why she had been unable to find Snape; he was talking to Dumbledore's portrait. "I was looking for you because I wanted to thank you for hosting this Alumni Feast and say good night. We have all been very pleased to be here again."

McGonagall gave her a friendly smile. "It was my pleasure to meet you all again and see for myself the impressive persons my former pupils have turned into. Although, as far as you are concerned, it did not come as a surprise at all," she added, and Hermione blushed. The opinion of her former Transfiguration professor had always mattered very much to her, and she returned the older woman's spontaneous affectionate hug.

"Get home well, Hermione. Good night." Just when she had said these last words and turned around, Snape emerged.

"Minerva, we have talked much longer than I had intended. I am sorry," he said politely. In spite of his trademark cool posture, Hermione sensed that he was somehow churned up inside, as if talking to Dumbledore had shattered him.

Why did he want to talk to Dumbledore?, Hermione thought. Then she turned around quickly and hurried down the stairs. Her memory of how unpleasant he could become when he presumed – rightfully or not – that someone was eavesdropping on him was still very fresh in her memory. She did not want to run the risk of being suspected of such behaviour, and so she did not hear Professor McGonagall's answer.

She reached the bottom of the stairs. Although she had not dawdled, he had already caught up with her. "Not home yet, Miss Granger?" he asked in a light conversational tone that was very uncharacteristic for him.

"Of course I'm home already," came her spiteful answer. "You're just seeing things."

"Tut, tut," he reprimanded mirthfully. "Sarcasm does not suit you at all."

"Right. That's your domain," she spat at him.

"It seems that you are a little annoyed with me," he noted.

She almost laughed aloud. "I have always admired your power of observation, Professor. I just ask myself why..." She fell silent and bit her tongue.

"What did you ask yourself, Miss Granger?" he probed while he studied her face attentively.

"Why you are like that."

"How am I? Do tell."

She drew a sharp breath. "Indifferent towards everyone who tries to be friendly and integrate you into any kind of social life. Do you find human company insufferable in general, or do you find pleasure in offending other people's sensibilities?"

"No, maybe it's just you that I find insufferable," he replied in a velvety voice.

All blood drained from her face while she stared at him. "Why?"

She had wanted to refrain from asking that question at any cost, but the conversation had somehow gotten out of hand and she could not prevent it. He took one step in her direction, and she instinctively lifted her arms as if to block him. He grasped her wrists at chest height and held them firmly in his pale hands.

"Because you always seem to be in places you should not be." His warm breath touched her face and she shivered, unable to reply. "You are like perfume in the air, Hermione. You linger though you are already gone."

His words did not make much sense, but on some mysterious level of her consciousness, a series of complicated ideas and thoughts started to form. His face was so near she could discern every single small wrinkle around his black eyes.

"And I don't like it," he finished with a hiss and let her go abruptly as if he had burned himself.

Her gaze followed him as his billowing robes disappeared, and her fogged brain slowly formed two realizations. One: he had used her given name for the first time since she could remember. Two: well, she did not really want to think about number two.