Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching By Quillusion   A/N: Some of this chapter is a replay of the last one. It was originally written in case folks wanted to skip the lemons.     When Last Some Of Us Saw our Heroes, At The Start Of Chapter 29:       "Doing a little light bedtime reading, Miss Granger?"   "Y- yes, why- well, a little, I mean, I- there hasn't been much time to- erm- wh-?" I articulate, my heart's pounding getting in the way of normal speech.   Severus is leaning against the frame of my door, his pose casual, but his eyes are glittering.   "You didn't close your door properly," he says offhandedly. "There were no wards either. But then, I expect you're accustomed to having to share quarters with a roommate." He steps into the room, his movements somewhere between stealthy and sauntering. There is something dangerous beneath his polite words, but I don't know what it is. "I knocked, but there was no answer. I was just stopping by to ask if you wanted to go see the fireworks that Professor Flitwick is putting on."   "Oh," I manage. "Er, thank you, no. I'm rather fatigued."   He looks down at the floor, where the Little Green Book has slid off my lap and down the bed covers, set in motion by my startled jump. It lies facedown, mercifully, and half-hidden by the dust ruffle, lost in dimness which I fervently hope disguises its color as well as its title. Perhaps Severus will think it's just a Mills and Boone novel- although the leather cover makes such an assumption on his part rather unlikely. Whatever he thinks, I'd better pick it up now, or at least kick it under the bed and out of his line of sight.   He gets there first, three strides of his long legs bringing him to tower over the book before I can even grasp the covers to flip them off my legs.   Just as well. I've just remembered the length- or lack of length- of my nightshirt.   He picks the book up, but does not turn it over to look at the cover. I'm so busy thanking the gods for this that I almost miss his next words.   "I should think you'd go right to sleep if you're tired," he remarks, cocking his head to one side and looking at me.   "I like to read," I say, trying not to sound defensive. I don't ask for the book back; doing so would make him curious about what it is. Seven years in his class have taught me that disinterest is the best defense where he's involved. I'm lucky enough that he hasn't even looked at it yet- he probably does think it's some silly little claptrap romance novel. I continue with my unconcerned explanation. "And my mind isn't as tired as my body. I need to slow it down a little before it will go to sleep."   Severus makes no immediate reply, but instead turns to look at my new quarters. Book still in hand, apparently forgotten, he takes a short walk to the window.   "Lovely view," he says, peering up toward the Astronomy tower. "You can actually see where the fireworks will be from here, Hermione. You could watch them without having to go out." A short pause. "Unless this book is so engrossing that you'd rather read it than do anything else?" There's a faint hint of interest in his voice now, and that makes me nervous. Echoes of the past flit through my mind: Ah… reading magazines under the table as well? A further ten points from Gryffindor… I think I had better separate the three of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than on your tangled love lives.   The last time he commented on my love life, he thought it was funny. I doubt he'll be so amused if he sees that cover. I hop out of bed, short nightie or no, and walk over to get my book back before he takes his long-delayed look at the cover and sends every dream I have straight to hell.   Because if he sees the cover of The WIKTT Archives, he'll immediately decide that everything he knows about me is a lie, a charade constructed to make sport of him or to play out a fantasy for me. That none of this is real, because I read about it first in a book.   "It's an excellent book," I reply, reaching for it. "I really do think I'd rather read it than watch fireworks. I've had enough of crowds tonight."   He withdraws the arm holding the book.   "That good, is it?" he asks. "What could possibly interest Hermione Granger enoug tak take her away from a celebration in her honor?"   "It's in your honor too, and you're not there," I point out as I try to reach for the book again. He lifts it a little higher.   "I only came to get you," he replies with a hint of mischief in his voice.   I frown at him, jump at the book- my fingers make contact with the cover, but he easily gets away from my grasp.   "Give me my book, Severus. I'm very tired, and I'd like to read for a bit and then go to sleep."   His reply tells me he's noticed my anxiety and my inconsistencies.   "Indeed," he says, his expressive voice rich with disbelief. "And does this book, which you are so clearly enamored of reading, put you to sleep, Miss Granger?"   He is utterly still now, all traces of humor gone, his face burning with something intense. His expression is carefully controlled, smooth and emotionless, and he studies me for a long moment, as if looking for something. Immobilized beneath that weighty stare, I cannot find breath to answer him, nor to ask what it is he seeks.   Whatever it is, apparently he hasn't found it. He slowly hands me the book without looking at its cover, his eyes never leaving mine. Relieved, I clutch the book to my chest, cover hidden against my shirt, and stare up at him, still utterly unable to look away from the intensity of those dark eyes.   "You haven't answered my question, Hermione." His soft baritone is slightly husky with the quietness of his speech. He's not a foot away from me now, and his eyes flick from my own eyes down to my mouth. I feel a thrill run down my spine, and my heart rate doubles again at the sight of him. He sounds tender, and even though I know this man has used a soft voice like this to make his harshest words all the more stinging in the past, I don't think that's what I'm hearing now. The deliberate, hypnotic murmur is stealing into my brain, slithering down my spine, and awakening my body to respond to it. And oh, it's responding….   "Does this book-" he taps the cover against my chest- "put you to sleep?"   I draw breath to answer, scrambling for words, but I never find them. He advances a step, and I retreat. He moves again, and I give way before him. Within six steps, I'm backed up against my bed. Startled, I sit, and a faint hint of smile curves one corner of his mouth. Pressing his advantage, he leans forward.   Still retreating, still not sure why, I lie back, and within seconds he is over me, on my bed, his hands braced against the covers on either side of my head. I can feel the warmth of his body along mine, and realize that he's also braced one knee on the bed. He lets a wicked smile cross his face, and I shiver. I've seen that smile only a handful of times, and it frightened me then. It unnerves me now- but I'm not scared. Fear wouldn't make me so aware of the heartbeat between my legs, of the slickness gathering there. Of the heat pooling in my belly, coiling out to make me want to writhe under him. Fear wouldn't make my nipples tighten beneath the cover of the book I'm still holding.   Severus reaches between us and pulls the book out of my nerveless fingers. Eyes never leaving mine for an instant, he puts it on my nightstand with a sure movement. That intensity is growing, and I feel like the mouse caught by the snake- helpless to look away, knowing the strike is about to come. His ignoring the book tells my intellect what my body has already figured out.   He knows.   No wonder he hasn't looked at the cover. He doesn't need to. He knew what the book was when he saw it in my hands. How many books have such a characteristic leather tooled pattern on them, after all? Such a precise weight and texture in the hand?   I'm definitely shaking now, my nerve endings overloaded with equal parts fear, excitement, despair, and desperation. And yet I am still unable to reply, my throat constricted with emotion. I shake my head the slightest bit, not sure whether I'm answering him or denying the explosion I can sense building.   "I certainly hope that it does not put you to sleep, Hermione Granger." His voice is a sensual growl now, his words murmured a mere inch from my left ear. The scent of him fills my awareness, and my mouth waters fiercely.   He turns his head the slightest bit, brushing my cheek with his hair, then leans just a little closer to speak right against my skin, his voice dropping to a low purr, his words measured and slowly delivered.   "Because what is in this book has kept me awake nights for the last two years. And I know exactly how you got this copy. So if you tell me again that you read it to fall asleep, I'll call you a liar to your face."   He backs up just enough to look me in the eye again, and the fire in his gaze singes me as his breath fans my cheek with his next words.   " And then I'll prove it to you."   Then Severus Snape's mouth is on mine, hard and demanding and utterly irresistible. The suddenness of the kiss startles me, and for a moment I am passive under his touch, but such desire as this cannot go unanswered for long. My arms curl around his neck in desperation, fingers scrabbling for purchase on any part of him, trying to pull him closer, and I whimper softly with pleasure. The combination of his delicious assault on my senses and my own relief that he is not angry is enough to fan the smoldering desire in my body into full flame.   My response seems to release some hold he was keeping on himself, and he deepens the kiss, slanting his mouth possessively over mine and leaning into me with his whole body. He lowers his weight to his right elbow, his left hand sliding behind my head to take control of the kiss. His left leg slips between mine, unconscious echo of my own movement on the dance floor earlier, and ancient instincts rise in my mind, female response to male blossoming in my blood.   I twine my legs around his, clenching his thigh between mine, writhing against it, riding it. I can feel every inch of him pressed against me, hot and hard, and I'm suddenly aware of just how much I have needed this. Of just how much he needs it. The kiss mounts to a frenzied blending of mouths, both of us gasping and fighting for breath as we cling to each other in our eagerness. His hands are shaking, mine clumsy; this has been building for months, and it's almost too much to contain in vessels of flesh and blood.   "Tell me to stop, Hermione, or this happens here and now," Severus pants raggedly. His mouth fastens onto my neck as he waits for a reply, and I let out a strangled moan, hoping I'll be able to see his mark on me there in the morning.   "Now," I gasp in agreement. "Here." Putting words to actions, I fumble for my wand on the nightstand. Aiming as carefully as I can, I lock and ward the already closed door, and cast a silencing spell on the room as well….   ***   We drift for a long time, his arms holding me up, our bodies still joined. When at last he settles me back on the comforter, I smile and strip back the covers to make room for him.   He comes to curl around me, his arms still trembling with effort, his heartbeat still thunderous against my side as he holds me tightly.   Here's the fun part. What does one say at a time like this?   Severus chuckles as if he's reading my mind.   "I don't suppose we would have gotten that sort of a fireworks display from the Astronomy Tower tonight," he observes.   The comment breaks the thin ice we've felt forming over the last few moments, and I laugh warmly as I pull the sheet up over us. "I told you I'd rather stay here," I murmur tenderly as I brush the hair away from his cheeks.   He sighs. "I'm not very well versed in this sort of thing," he ventures hesitantly, almost by way of apology.   I chuckle. "If you're trying to give an oblique apology for being an incredibly passionate man, then don't. I told you once before- I like you just the way you are."   Severus snorts then, and turns me over to face him. "Until now, you've never known this particular aspect of 'the way I am'. I didn't want to make any assumptions."   Snuggling down into the covers, I stifle a yawn. It's 2 AM; we've been busy for two hours. No wonder those blissful moments registered on the Richter scale. "We'll have to test all the options," I say suggestively. "For the sake of scientific inquiry, of course."   "Oh, naturally," he agrees dryly as he puts a possessive arm over my side and pulls me close into the curve of his body.   "Told you the book puts me to sleep," I murmur before sleep claims me. My last waking memory is of Severus's sleepy reply:   "Hmm. It always gives me erotic dreams."   And two hours later, he proves it to me.     Chapter 30     The light awakens me, something I have not experienced since the last time I slept in my childhood bed at my parents' house. Always, since I left for Hogwarts, my bedroom has faced west, soaking up the light of afternoon. Not so now. The clear, pinkish-blue light of dawn sends long fingers in to lift my eyelids this morning in a greeting between long-separated friends. This is my first ever awakening in my new room, and the sensation is delicious, not only because of the novelty, but because I simply feel divine.   Growing stronger and brighter with each passing minute, the light is now hitting me straight in the eyes- a most unpoetic situation- and it's uncomfortably bright. Rolling onto my back to escape the brilliance, I stare up through the maze of branches above me to the delicately plastered ceiling. Such a beautiful bed; I'm glad I took the time to make it.   Especially given the fact that it served as the fantasy setting for a fantasy encounter last night. I couldn't have timed my burst of interior designing effort better if I'd tried. And while Severus doesn't seem the sort to be overly susceptible to atmosphere or ambience, his rather Snape-like edginess last night had been overlaid with a delicate, sensual awareness that belied his pragmatic demeanor. As if he knew he were on a stage, playing a role for an audience of one. Which, I freely acknowledge, he was. He drew me out over The WIKTT Archives as a glass blower draws glass, fragile and hot and dangerous with potential explosion. And explode we did.   I smile to myself, grateful that Severus was the one to touch the match to the powder. I would never have had the courage to do what he did, but it's no surprise to me that he did exactly that. This is, after all, a man who delights in confrontation, so long as he has the upper hand. It's a Slytherin trait, hardly surprising. Still, he was remarkably direct in his approach to the matter, for a Slytherin. Direct… and thorough.   That makes me sigh with remembered pleasure. Never, in seven years of sitting in his classroom, did I ever consider that Severus Snape might be as methodical and thorough a lover as he is a potions brewer. Neither did I imagine that the intensity of that obsidian gaze could produce an entirely different reaction in me now than it did back then. To put it more clearly, never in all those years did I consider that Professor Snape might ever have been someone's lover- that he might for decades have felt the same urges and needs that were only then flaring to life in our adolescent hearts. Now that it has occurred to me- on so many levels that I'm thinking of drawing a map- it serves only to make him more irresistible to me. The heroic figure, suffering loneliness in his noble isolation. I snort softly; Severus wouldn't even have to feign his illness at the very idea. But still, it appeals to the romantic in me, as much because of its accuracy as because of the derisive reaction it would almost assuredly provoke in the oddly humble-yet-proud Potions master.   He's done a good job keeping himself apart all these years; what a shock it would be to any of his former students- possibly even his colleagues- to see him lying here, wrapped up with Hermione Granger, former Head Girl and Public Irritant No. 1 on Snape's private list. His academic reputation is well-known; his romantic one is rather more circumspect. Hidden, very effectively, behind a sneer and a carefully neglected appearance. Hidden in plain sight, where anyone with sense and a little bit of patience could find it, if only they cared to look for it. He knows me well enough by now to know I won't be pushed away by superficial things, and to know that I'm neither revolted by nor afraid of the darkness he's carried in himself for so long. That's more than I think I can say of anyone else who has ever known him, save only Albus.   "Good morning," comes a soft, husky voice from beside me, and I turn my head to smile at him.   "Good morning, yourself," I reply, shivering at his sleep-deepened tone as it sweeps down my spine. "Although I'm not sure it isn't closer to noon."   Severus props himself up on an elbow, giving me a delightful view of his chest, and squints at the window.   "A little after ten, I should think," he murmurs, and sinks back down beside me, hesitantly reaching out to smooth my hair back from my shoulder.   I arch into the caress, and his touch becomes firmer, more sure. He adjusts the blanket around me against the morning chill, and I smile sleepily. Then, noticing how warm he is, I snuggle closer to him.   He makes a soft noise of appreciation as he gathers me close, and I'm touched by the blend of this uncommon shyness and his usual forthright manner.   There is none of the awkwardness I had expected to feel at this moment. All thought of it vanished at his softly spoken greeting, the very idea banished when he reached out hesitantly to touch me, as if expecting that I might refuse him in the light of day. He reached out first, took the dangerous first step that risked denial- today just as he had last night. He's a brave man, Severus Snape. He's risked a lot for me. His life, his reputation- his heart. I cannot feel awkward at being given the love of such a man.   I know it's love- I could see it in his eyes. I felt it in his touch this morning. I knew it when he laid me at the foot of the heel stone at the henge, and I heard him whisper it softly that night after he neutralized the last of the poison. Not the words- but the meaning. And that's what matters to me.   He's studying me, his face carefully blank- a sure sign that emotion lies just beneath the surface.   "Thank you," he says at last, quietly.   "For what?" I ask, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.   "For last night. For the last six months. For everything."   I feel the corners of my mouth lift. "I ought to be thanking you just as much," I counter.   "Not so," he disagrees, one fingertip carefully tracing my right eyebrow in a delicate caress. "I never thought that anyone-" he stops, as if thinking, and closes his eyes for a moment. The faint line between his brows deepens slightly, the dark eyes open again. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says,   "I had given up on ever knowing what it felt like to care for someone this way. I gave up on it years ago- before you were ever a student here. Partly because I felt that I was largely unworthy of anyone's attention after all I'd seen and done, and partly because I knew I was not likely to even draw anyone's attention in the first place." One expressive eyebrow quirks up in an eloquent gesture of derision. "Renounce the world before it can renounce you, and all that. I believe the Muggles call it 'sour grapes'." He pauses, idly toying with a lock of my hair.   When I tilt my head up to study his face, I am overwhelmed with tenderness. He looks like a little boy all of a sudden, despite the lines on his face. Lower lip caught between his teeth in uncertainty, he looks down at me as if he's afraid to go on. But he must take some courage from my expression, because he continues.   "Then I met you." There is a smile for me now- one full of irony. "Oh, you drove me nuts as a student- I have no doubt you knew that only too well. You're nosy, bossy, too smart for your own good, and on top of it all, you're best friends with Harry Potter. A nightmare, according to my original assessment of you." He suddenly realizes he may have insulted me, and his eyes widen with alarm.   "That's all right," I reassure him with a chuckle. "That was Ron's original opinion of me as well. I overheard him saying it the day Quirrel let the troll in, which is why I was in the ladies' room cryi- er, feeling sorry for myself, and not in the Great Hall when Dumbledore told everyone to go upstairs. Which, subsequently, is why Harry and Ron came to find me. Because Ron knew he was the reason I had avoided the Great Hall, and they knew I was in danger not knowing of the troll."   His expression clears, as if a long-pondered question had been answered. "I had wondered why you lied to us after the troll was knocked out."   I blush slightly. "Students have their secrets, just as professors do," I quip, hoping he'll be shy enough of revealing too much too soon to back off before I confess about the boomslang skin. Or the exact timing of my theft of the soul from his storerooms in my seventh year. He scrutinizes me for a moment, then shrugs.   "Never mind about that. Time enough for reminiscing later."   Severus sits up a little bit then, and I slide back to face him. He's propped his pillow up on the headboard for comfort, and I find myself suddenly imagining Sunday mornings spent in this bed, with tea and books for company.   Or perhaps without anything else for company at all. He looks positively delicious.   Severus's voice interrupts my less than high-minded train of thought. "Whatever we were back then, Hermione, it's certainly not what either of us are now." He smiles, just a tiny smile, as if testing the waters, and I return it in encouragement.   "Hardly," I agree. "For which gift, much thanks."   "We're not even the people we were last month," he says with a sigh. "A lot has happened since the night I came back from Voldemort's meeting, and things will never be the same again- for which gift," he echoes to me with an arched brow, "even more thanks." Then, as if fearing he's said something wrong, he looks down at his hands, nervously pleating the finished edge of the sheet across his lap.   I lay my own hand on his arm, intent upon making my point now before I can lose the courage or the sudden words that have sprung to mind.   "A lot has changed," I acknowledge quietly. "But a great deal has not. Our circumstances have changed- but I'm still Hene, ne, and you're still Severus. Voldemort's death and its consequences aside, we are still who we were. I might have found my courage in the face of the dangers we were facing, Severus- but I have done nothing in the heat of the moment that I would not do after cool consideration."   That wins an intense look from him. No regrets, no retractions; this time, I'm the one who's taken the leap.   And he catches me on the other side.   "Neither have I," he confides softly, laying his hand over mine. "If it weren't for that idiot waiter in Diagon Alley-" He breaks off, smiling despite his obvious reluctance to admit anything out loud. His fingers squeeze mine in unspoken acknowledgement of the truth.   I smile back. "He probably never even figured out why I left him two Knuts for a tip," I agree. "Under an up-ended glass of water, no less."   And so we lay to rest the unspoken idea that the high emotion of approaching battle had provoked an otherwise unintended display.   "Likely the only flak he'll get for being an unobservant waste of protoplasm- since they've outlawed hexing someone for sheer stupidity," Severus grumps, and I shake my head fondly. "It all came right in the end," I murmur philosophically. "Perhaps we'll go back for lunch someday and give him a chance to get it right." Severus chuckles into my mouth as I lean over and kiss him tenderly, the way I wanted to that charmed day in Diagon Alley.   It is several moments and a gentle position shift before we speak again.   "You figured out the nuances of the soul donation for the Cleve Potion, didn't you?" I ask, and I have my answer when his arms slide around me to gather me close again.   "Yes," he tells me tenderly, his lips beside my ear, and I shiver with delight.   "I love you, Severus" I tell him quietly, looking into his dark eyes and seeing joy spark in the gold flecks in their depths.   It seems to me that he is having to remind himself that this is all real, for it takes him a moment to gather breath to reply.   "I love you, too, Hermione."   There is so little that one can say after that. There are still things to discuss- events to review from two points of view, insights to compare- but they will wait. They were not the things that most needed saying. We drift for a while, drowsing in each others' arms, enjoying the quiet while we can. For tonight is the Yule Feast, and then tomorrow morning the Hogwarts Express will take students and alumni alike home.   Except for me. I already am home.   I should point out that I have never been particularly alarmed by unexpected knocks on my door. I don't usually have anything to hide. But then again, I also don't usually have a decidedly unclothed Potions teacher snoozing in my bed, in plain view of anyone standing in the doorway when the door is open. So, naturally, the brisk rapping at my new front door startles me out of my pleasant dozing and into wakeful panic. Who on earth could it be? Only Ginny Weasley and the friends who came with her last night know where ve nve now- and Albus, of course. But who would come knocking at-   Aaaugh! It's five o'clock. Where did the day go?   No, don't answer that. I know exactly where the day went. I cannot say the same for the clothing I half-heartedly tried to don around lunchtime. Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House, is as persuasive as any snake that ever slithered in the Garden of Eden- and twice as seductive.   But that doesn't help me answer the door. I leap from the bed in a flurry of covers, which I hastily swath over the aforementioned Head of Slytherin, and then skim hastily into a robe. The knock on the door sounds again before I can get to it, and I turn to flick a swift glance at Severus. Still asleep- or feigning it well. Somehow I doubt he is an overly heavy sleeper.   "Hermione?" comes a concerned voice through the door, and my heart rate at once skips into double time, then settles back to normal.   Ginny. One of the few potential people who would understand. If I let her see. But I don't think I will; after all, this is still new to the two of us. I want to enjoy it a little before I let the world share it.   "Coming," I mutter, and hear the sudden scuff of feet backing away from the door. She must have had her ear to the wood, listening for sounds of habitation. My nearness must have taken her by surprise. I smile at that; Severus must be rubbing off on me, for me to enjoy her discomfort at nearly being caught. But it's a benign sense of glee, rather like finding someone when you're playing Hide and Go Seek, and you're It.   I crack the door open and put one bleary eye to the crack. "What's up, Gin?"   "Hermione! We missed you at lunch, and the feast is tonight. I thought we'd agreed to meet at 4:30 to start getting ready." She tries to peer around me, but I thump my forehead against the doorframe to convey my chagrin- and block her view.   Because she's right. We were going to do one another's hair, try a few things out before the feast. I had forgotten- though if she knew the whole of it, I think she'd forgive me. I was distracted by masculine wiles. I was lured astray by the sight of a hard mouth curved in a soft smile, just for me. I was seduced by a glimpse of the heart and soul I've always believed were hidden under the dark robes and darker scowls of the Potions master.   And now that I think about it, the idea of doing myself up just right for tonight is looking even more attractive than ever. After all, Severus and I have told no one of our attachment; even though everyone knows we kissed before the final battle, and we danced together last night, no one knows we're actually attached. Why should anyone even think so? We have not been seen in one another's company since the last battle, except for the dance last night and the formal debriefings. And I'm ha the the only one to have unbent toward the sarcastic Potions teacher, after all. Minerva has been seen joking with him, Flitwick and he have been known to toss harmless little joke charms at one another when passing in the hall, and Harry and Ron have even struck up a sort of friendly insult swap when they cross one another's paths.   "Give me a minute, Gin," I murmur, and swiftly scramble around the room, gathering clothing and undergarments and my wand, along with anything else that looks useful.   The idea that has just blossomed in my head is growing on me. For all anyone knows, our dance last night was the stuff of comrades in arms, embracing one another when the last of the aftermath is laid to rest. It was, perhaps, a tad intimate for that- but given the emotional high, I don't think anyone will think too much of it. Not coming from Hermione Granger, who has been known to burst into tears when her two male friends finally make up after a row. Who shrilled an insult at Draco Malfoy and slapped him full in the face, choosing the gut instinct over the cool intellect of her wand. Who stormed up to Hagrid's hut and bellowed that he was being stupid for hiding away when it became known he was half giant. Who argued with Ron in the common room about asking her to a dance before someone else did- and made no bones over who heard her.   No, my reputation for mild emotional lability is established enough to make my growing plan worth while. If only for the sake of shocking Harry and Ron- and giving Severus a little something he's long overdue to receive.   "Severus," I murmur, kissing him on the cheek. He turns over, brushes my mouth with his thumb.   "Yes?" he says, looking up at me with an intensity that is sweeter than any kiss.   "You were awake, weren't you?" I ask, mirth and irritation mingling in my tone.   "Mmm hmm," he confirmed. "But I didn't think you wanted me answering your door."   I smother a chuckle. "Ginny's waiting," I tell him. "I was supposed to meet her a half hour ago to get ready for tonight."   He frowns at me. "It takes you four and a half hours to get ready for a feast?" he asks, and I have to bite my lip to keep my laughter quiet.   "If only you knew how like Ron you sound," I tell him, and kiss him quickly on the forehead. "I'll see you tonight, my love," I whisper. "And I'll be looking forward to it."   He nods, and watches me go with something soft in his eyes. I think it might be fondness.   "What is going on, Hermione?" Ginny asks me in even more worried tones as I slip out to join her in the hallway.   "Nothing," I reply as we trot up the hallway to the Gryffindor common room entrance. Ginny mutters the password, and before five minutes are up we're sitting on her bed in her dorm. She's Head Girl this year, and has the room that was once mine. She turns to study me, hands on her hips, and cocks her head to one side in a gesture that, oddly enough, reminds me of the twins.   "Whatever's going on," says Ginny Weasley with a shrewd glance at me, "it isn't 'nothing'. But I haven't seen this kind of sparkle in your eyes in far too long, so I allow that you've the right to keep secrets- so long as this one doesn't stay kept from me for too long." She smiles at me.   "Hardly," I agree with a-- oh, Merlin's' sacred Oaks. Was that a giggle?   "Is it a guy?" asks Ginny, and I sigh with relief. If the perceptive young woman before me has not assumed that Severus and I are together, then no one will. At least, not seriously.   "Yes," I affirm, all the while wondering how nauseated Severus would be to hear himself referred to as a 'guy'. "I need to look great tonight, Gin. Can you work your magic on me?"   She chuckles. "I doubt I can do better than you did that night of the Yule Ball," she says with a shake of the head. "But we'll get to work."   Severus would be amused, I think, to know that it does, in fact, take four and a half hours for two women to get ready for a special event. I did Ginny first, simply because I feared I'd mess myself up in the process if I were to go first. She looks great- Ron will be furious with me for gussying his little sister up, even if she is grown up already. Ice blue crepe with a wisp of chiffon, that gorgeous cinnamon hair swept up with lazy curls to trace her neck- dynamite. No maroon for this woman- no thank you. I smile to myself; poor Ron. I wonder if he ever found a good color for his dress robes.   My palms are damp with anticipation, and I feel like a fourth year again, nervously waiting to see if Viktor approved of the changes in the bookworm's colors and markings. I cautiously turn to look one last time in the mirror, and even I can't deny that Ginny has done a beautiful job- and that what she and Mother Nature were not able to supply, Severus Snape has provided in plenty: sparkling eyes, a flush to the cheek, and a fluttering pulse that lifts my bosom a fair bit more quickly than usual. Perfect.   Black- of course. What else could it be, for the man I am thinking of tonight? Muggle- because there are times when dress robes just don't say enough. Floor length, with a slit along one thigh up to there and a beautiful pair of silk sheer stockings, complete with seams. The front of the gown is demure, with a bateau neck that just brushes my collarbones- but the back plunges to the small of my spine, graceful folds framing my shoulder blades and brushing my lower back before arcing back up to the other shoulder. Add heels- for height, after all- and an elegantly tousled updo full of ringlets that tumble from my crown, and I'm all set. One last, careful swipe of scarlet lipstick- and a charm to keep it from smudging- and it's time to go.   Ginny looks me over. "Rrrowr," she says suggestively, and I laugh. "Whoever he is," my friend tells me, "I can tell he's special. You've really put some effort into this one. Do I know who the lucky man is?"   I smile, a secretive, thoroughly un-Gryffindor smile, and take Ginny by the arm. "Let's let things unfold naturally, shall we?" I murmur, and then we're out the door.   The staircases are apparently feeling festive as well; by the time we reach the stairs, the stone balustrades are shuffling faster than anyone can jump aboard.   "Oh, great," Ginny mutters, gathering her skirts and eyeing an approaching landing with skepticism.   "Wait," I tell her, remembering the banister ride I'd enjoyed. I don't fancy a repeat trip- not in this dress- but now might be a good time to see if I can't talk some sense into the staircases.   "Pardon me," I say, but there is no change in the wildly swinging stairs.   I try tapping the stone railing beside me, but nothing else happens. It's been a while since I spoke to a stone- perhaps I've lost the knack. The thought sends a sense of loss sweeping through me.   At that, the staircases come to a swift halt, one landing stopping neatly at our feet. When we step onto it with caution, my hand on the railing echoes with reassurance. And a sense of wistfulness- the castle's stones actually miss me!   "Thank you," I murmur to the stone carvings that surround us, making a mental note to 'visit' again soon, and then the staircase is moving again, more slowly now, letting us make our way down to a more direct path to the Great Hall.   Ginny lets out a low whistle of approval. "You're right useful to have around," she remarks, and I chuckle.   "You should have seen me last week," I say saucily, and with that, we enter the Great Hall.   I stop in my tracks in the doorway, my eyes and mouth open with childlike wonder. I have never seen this gorgeous, ancient hall so delicately decorated before. Whereas Christmas usually brings massive, full trees and greenery swags among the silk house banners, weighty ornaments and thick swags of rich fabric, this Yule Feast is full of… light. The Christmas trees stand at the front of the Hall as they always do, but there are no banners, no House distinctions, no sign of giant ornaments or anything of the sort. Just lights. Tiny glowing ones, large pulsing ones, flickering from candles and swirling on the ceiling in patterns, hovering in midair and sending soft cascades of sparks to filter down like fireworks. Lights of every color, even lights that have scents to them! Pine, peppermint, cocoa, cinnamon- and all of them subtle. The lights play on the ancient stonework, highlighting the delicate tracery of the windows and bringing the Great Hall to life as never before. And above it all, the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling shows the universe of stars spread above us like diamonds on velvet. The Milky Way stretches across the darkness like a sash of soft silver, looking for all the world like the most lovely ribbon on the perfect package. It's beautiful, and subtle, and I know in a heartbeat that Albus had nothing to do with this. My money is on Flitwick.   We make our way through the throng toward a table near where Gryffindor's House table usually stands; as always, smaller tables are in evidence for this party. It's already crowded, as we made our entrance slightly late- as any respectable woman wishing to be seen and admired would do.   And seen and admired we have been. Harry and Ron are both on their feet, waving enthusiastically at us- and I can see that Ron is indeed cheesed at the evidence that puberty has had its way with little Ginny Weasley.   Harry, however, looks far from displeased. In fact, I think he may actually be seeing Ron's sister for the first time. Really seeing her.   Ha, I think. Ignore that Valentine your second year, did you? I think fondly, and with a subtle punch on the shoulder I stop Ron from making some hotheaded remark at his sister's display of cleavage.   "What did you do to my sister?" he hisses hotly as we circle the table to where four empty chairs beckon. "I know how you dressed up for the Yule Ball in fourth year, but I had no idea you could do this to Ginny!"   I open my mouth to reply, but a deep, smooth voice cuts me off.   "It would appear, Mr. Weasley, that Miss Granger has a host of hidden talents."   I pivot on one foot, and feel my jaw part company with my face as my eyes roam up the dark, mouth-watering shape of Severus Snape.   The eyes are glittering, the mouth in a hard line, and there is only the faintest lift of mouth to suggest that he has caught on to my game- and is intent on playing it to the fullest.   Ron is looking at me with something between shock and pity, but I can't be bothered to look back at him. I'm captivated by the sight of this man, cleaned up.   Even that day we spent in Muggle London cannot compare to this. There is no mistaking him for anything but a powerful wizard, and the aura around him is so incredibly different from the usual Professor Snape we all knew that even Ron can feel it.   The clothing is still dark- but gone are the billowing robes, the acres of fabric with which he hid himself from the world. The trousers outline powerful, lean legs, the soft flexing of muscle almost visible as he shifts his weight, the fabric tightening across his thigh as he moves. It takes all my willpower not to let my gaze drop to the buttons at the fly. His coat is impeccably cut, clinging to the angles and lines of his body. The look reminds me of the day he dueled Lockhart: lean, dangerous, and far from old. The change in garb alone has taken thirty years off his appearance. But it's his hair and skin that catch my notice the most.   Gone is the greasy mane- the long, disarrayed locks I remember. I had called his appearance 'carefully neglected' before, and I was more right than I knew. With just a little attention, he has banished the memory of Snape the Greasy Git forever and replaced him with the stuff of schoolgirl fantasies. The dark hair is clean, soft, and the faint lift of curl in it brings the locks to play around his face in soft arcs of silk that beg to be tucked behind his ear. Not long like Lucius Malfoy's, or even Albus's, but long enough to tempt the fingers. His face holds more color than I've seen before- and I wonder is that from some effort on his part, or from the same thing that brings pinkness to my own cheeks?   He crosses his arms over his chest as he stares down at me, the flexing movement displaying the shoulders and chest I remember so vividly. Only now, everyone can guess that they're there. I feel jealousy flicker in my breast, and so I smile up at him winningly; after all, that's what this night is all about.   Flirting.   All his life, Severus has done everything in secret. From being a bad guy, to being a good guy, to everything he has ever done for anyone. He has only now been given acknowledgement for the things he has done clandestinely for twenty years. And now that Professor Snape has done the unthinkable and fallen in love- how that thought will shake the foundations of the student body's beliefs!- he's even done that in secret. He's never been able to bask in the approval of his peers, never had the chance to banter or brag or seem in any way full of good emotions. Because of the isolation necessary to his position, he has never been able to flirt with a woman- at least, not since his sixth year at Hogwarts as a student.   We've done it all backwards, in a way. We were friends, first; then we became comrades in arms. We've fallen in love in the best way possible from the standpoint of the heart, connecting on all the right intimate and emotional levels- but we've missed the playful side of this thing called love, simply by virtue of the fact that we lacked the luxury of time.   But I'm going to make the time. He deserves the enjoyment- and I will admit that I'm still dying to shock Harry and Ron. And anyone else who can't see Severus as I see him now. Even if we stop short of acknowledging our relationship publicly, I think I want people to speculate about the Potions master and the young alumna. It'll be good for Severus, I think. If I don't have Snape's reputation up in the air by the end of the night, I will be very disappointed in myself.   I smile up at Severus knowingly, but make no verbal reply to his remark. I had wondered, when I started down the stairs tonight, whether Snape even knows how to flirt. But it seems I have nothing to worry about.   Perhaps that isn't the best way to phrase that. He knows instinctively how to flirt- and it seems he does it as he does everything else: with sharp wit, clever tongue, and subtle art. This man uses words as he would use a sword; it will be up to me to make that sword a foil for my own flirtations.   Putting my hand on Snape's arm, I draw him to a chair beside me even as Harry, Ron, and Ginny sit down. He makes no resistance, and I know that he's agreeing to the rules of the engagement by doing so; he would normally retreat to the staff table and try to take me with him.   I don't think I've ever seen this group sit at table together before, but the smile Snape shoots Ron- polite, but with something devilish underlying it- sets the mood perfectly.   This is going to be an interesting evening.