It Starts With A Dance

It Starts With A Dance

Chapter 4: Oh, When the Students Come Marching In


Hermione didn't know whether to feel relieved or annoyed that nothing happened when Severus left her at her quarters Friday night. They'd said good-night rather chastely, without more than a quick embrace. Hermione's body was expecting more, but Severus's remark about Tonks reporting to Ron made her shudder.


Nothing would bring Ron back quicker than hearing that Hermione was into it up to her nose with Severus Snape, potions master and big black bat extraordinaire.


Hermione had chuckled herself to sleep at the image of a big red weasel trying to fight a big black bat. [AN: hahahahaha. . . the idea cracks me up, too!] When Hermione woke up, it was a little past eight, and she was ravenous. Forgoing a shower in deference to her growling belly, Hermione rubbed her stomach as she padded around getting into comfortable muggle clothing of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt that read 'Property of Pittsburgh Steelers' a cousin had sent her from a trip to the U.S. The jeans were so old and had been washed so many times that they were as soft as the sweatshirt, and so faded they were almost white. Hermione grabbed her robes and headed for the Great Hall and breakfast, hoping to dodge Oliver the entire trip.


Hermione jogged to the Great Hall, arriving just before Oliver and just after Neville, who was having a contest of some sort with Nearly-Headless Nick. Hermione smiled as she recalled her first encounter with the gentleman ghost, and didn't realize that Oliver was right behind her as she turned and trod on him accidentally.


"Oh, Oliver," Hermione said shakily, trying to put some distance between the two of them. "Didn't see you there; sorry?"


Oliver smiled broadly. "No worry, 'Mione."


Hermione bared her teeth in a grimace that Oliver took as a smile. He had no right to call her ''Mione'; no-one called her that who wasn't closer than family to her. "Good. Breakfast?" And now she sounded the dolt. Where was that big black bat when she needed him?


"Ah, 'Mione! I saved you your favorite seat!" Neville called to her, floating her way. He winked and Hermione wondered what was going on. "This way, dearie."


Hermione followed her friend to the faculty table along with Oliver. When they reached their seats from the previous day, Oliver moved to pull a chair out for her, but Neville stopped him.


"Sorry, mate, but this is Hermione's chair," Neville motioned to the chair on the other side of Severus's.


And speak of the devil, the older man showed up to pull the chair out for Hermione. As Hermione sat down, Severus whispered to her, "I informed Professor Longbottom of the situation last night."


"Lovely," Hermione said, setting in to her plate. Students would begin arriving around 10 am and Hermione wanted to be on hand to help acclimate transfer students, the prefects and the Head Boy and Head Girl. As a professor, Hermione was a representative not only of the school itself, but also of the House that had reared her.


"Hermione, shall I take you out on the broom later?" Oliver said, leaning around Severus, who was smirking at the situation.


"Ah, you know, I'm not too good on the broom," Hermione said carefully, trying to diffuse the situation. "Ron and Harry always said I had no stomach for it."


"Well, unlike Harry and Ron, I have a wee bit of faith in you, Hermione. I wish you wouldn't bring them up when I know their unnatural desertion hurts you so," Oliver said fervently.


Neville snorted; Oliver Wood never spoke like that, and he certainly wouldn't bring up such a touchy subject. "Oliver, she's telling the truth. She doesn't enjoy flying because it usually upsets her stomach."


"You, too, Longbottom? After all I did to try to teach you how to ride properly?" Oliver became angry without any sign of a mood swing.


"You know, maybe I do want to fly today," Hermione said without thinking. Severus looked at her sharply. She shrugged helplessly. "Maybe it'd be nice?"


Severus and Neville shared a look and a sigh. Oliver smiled again as he finished his breakfast.


"Lovely. Shall we?" Oliver got up and extended his hand to Hermione, who took it gingerly while mouthing 'HELP ME' to Neville and Severus, who could only watch as she was led away by the drugged professor.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Hermione spent the morning with Oliver on the quidditch pitch while he 'taught' her to fly. Hermione always felt more comfortable in an airplane than on a broom, something she'd never been able to explain to Ron and Harry. Finally, Hermione climbed on a broom and kicked off, doing a few quick laps around the pitch before she set down by Oliver's feet.


"There we are. Thanks for helping me, Oliver. I'll see you later then," Hermione said, handing over her broom and heading for the main buildings.


"We haven't spent our day yet, Hermione," Oliver said, his smile never wavering as he reached for Hermione and tugged her up on his own broom. "We'll have a grand time, and I'll make sure we're back in time for the sorting feast."


Hermione froze as Oliver settled her on his broom, locking his arms around her. She was in deep, and neither Neville nor Severus knew what was going on.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*