A Victorious Draw

Severus made no effort to contact Hermione. He went about his business, researching material for his next series of lectures, updated his database with the most current information regarding crime statistics and such, and generally kept his mind so busy on work that he’d have little time to dwell on her.

She and her. Two pronouns he had taken to using with great regularity; her name was like a drug, leading him down paths best left unexplored. He wanted her. But he had denied himself far more, for far longer. He needed order and routine, things that he’d created for himself since the war, for they calmed and soothed him.

A week before the ball, he found himself once again in the Ministry of Magic, heading down the corridor towards Hermione’s office. The Minister himself had requested that Severus speak with Hermione regarding certain classified information regarding the Ministry’s book on the war. Apparently, it was no longer her book, but the Ministry’s book. Perhaps that was for the best, he thought.

As he drew closer to her door, he heard Potter’s, Harry’s, voice, apparently attempting to calm Hermione down, from the sounds of it.

“Hermione, please! Just calm down. No! Put that down! You know you don’t want to throw it!” Crash! “Now look what you did." Pause. "Oh, clever, you’ve charmed it to repair itself.” Pause. “Hermione, please!”

Severus took another step but paused again when he heard Hermione’s voice. At least, he heard what he thought was her voice. He’d never heard that tone; it was a mixture of malice and hurt and revenge, and he wondered what could have caused such a reaction. He thought perhaps it was due to the Minister’s missive regarding the book.

"How could he, Harry? Did he give any thought to how I would feel about this? No, I can guarantee you he did not! Once again, he was doing what he felt was best. Why bother explaining his actions; who are we to questions his motives? "

Severus hurried down the corridor, arriving at her door just in time to see her crouch in front of her fireplace. If she were going to lambaste the Minister of Magic, he would most certainly want to witness the whole debacle. He might even use the whole sorry mess to his advantage. Severus did what he did best, Disillusioned himself, then watched and waited. He was astounded by what came next.

“Ronald Weasley! Where are you, you deceitful bastard?” Behind her, Harry was trying to calm her down. She whipped her head around to pin him with a deadly stare and, pointing a finger at him, hissed, “Not one word, Harry. Do you hear me? Not one word. He may be your best friend, but this is between the two of us.”

Harry had taken a step back and raised his hands in a sign of acquiescence. Hermione whipped back to the Floo and stuck her head into the green flames.

“Ronald, you best get your sorry arse through here! It won’t be pretty if I have to come through!”

Mumbling and cursing could be heard through the Floo, and even from this distance, it sounded as if there were an argument taking place on the other side of the connection.

Severus neared her door and waited for the wards to recognize him and lower. They did in a matter of moments, and he stepped through the doorway. Neither Hermione nor Harry acknowledged his presence. Hermione would perhaps be surprised at him getting past her wards. Potter, however, would not, Severus thought.

Hermione stood quickly and backed up as she saw the Floo activating. Instead of Ron walking through, however, it was George Weasley with an anxious and apologetic look on his face. He quickly raised his hand, stalling Hermione’s imminent tirade.

George bent quickly and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then turned to Harry and shook his hand. Severus was surprised to see the man standing with the Hermione and Harry. While he still carried the undeniable semblance of a Weasley, the trademark red hair and freckles, the man in the room was more of a ghost of his former self. He had lost weight, and the vitality that had been his and his brother’s trademark was missing. Severus shook his head sadly. Another casualty of the war. Back when the twins had attended Hogwarts, Dumbledore sensed rare magic surrounding the pair. The Weasley twins were special, even by wizarding standards. He, Severus, long used to Dumbledore’s intuitive nature, brewed the ancient potion Dumbledore had requested, and the results were astounding, even to him and Severus. Fred and George shared a bit of each other's souls. He wondered if the results of those long-ago tests had ever been made public, even to the family. Dumbledore rejected the idea of telling the boys’ family for fear of the information falling into the wrong hands, and what would result during the war. Afterwards, Poppy might not have shared the results. Special care must be given in these circumstances.

Severus narrowed his eyes. A trip to the Burrow might be in order.

Severus shook off his ruminations. He was not here to dwell on the Weasleys’ problems. Well, perhaps he was, he thought with a smirk a moment later as Hermione began to interrogate the redhead.

George had begun explaining why he had come instead of Ronald. His tone was apologetic, saying his brother had received an owl from the Procurement Office of France’s Auror Department that must be dealt with immediately. He and Ron had been arguing as to who should take care of the situation, and George insisted that Ron go, as he was, in fact, the liaison for the division.

Hermione pursed her lips. It was clear to Severus she wasn’t pleased with George’s explanation, yet she couldn’t disregard Ron’s obligations, either. He couldn’t wait to hear what happened next.

Hermione, for her part, was livid, and in her mind, she raged. How dare Ronald invite someone to the Victory Gala without first telling her? They might no longer be a couple and confide in each other or make decisions together, but surely he could have been decent enough to let her know personally. Did he think she would stop him? Did he think she would be so jealous that she would have some kind of fit? She admitted that she was jealous, jealous Ron could so easily walk away from their relationship without so much as a backward glance, where she had collapsed into the arms of her former Potions professor.

She paused midway through her prepared rant. She stood there, her mouth open, her finger pointed at George’s chest, but no words came forth. She was not jealous that Ron had invited someone else. She was relieved, in light of their recent conversation. She was not happy that Pansy saw it fit to seek her out and request her permission to attend the gala with Ronald. What she was unhappy about was being taken by surprise.

But Ron had tried to contact me, she reminded herself guiltily. He had Floo-ed twice during the week, but she’d been tired and distracted and hadn’t wanted to face whatever it was he’d been trying to say. She thought about the owl he’d sent. The letter. She’d get to that in a moment. But first…

“George, when did Ron decide to ask Pansy to the Gala?”

George looked confused for a moment, then replied, “He asked her three days ago, ‘Mione.” But Hermione shook her head.

“That’s not what I asked, George.” She looked at him, taking in sad brown eyes and gaunt features. When had he become so thin? she wondered. “I don’t suppose it matters. You both," she turned to to glance at Harry, "need to know I’m going to the Gala with Severus. Snape. Severus Snape.”

She looked back and forth between the two men, wondering why they weren’t reacting as she’d expected they might. She hadn’t actually planned on telling either of them today, but it was as good a time as any, and it soothed that little part of her that was jealous of Ron for finding someone else, despite being happy for him.

“That’s good, Hermione,” Harry said quietly. “I’m glad you won’t be alone, and Severus hates the Gala almost as much as you. You and he will have a grand time eviscerating all those who cross your path.”

Hermione looked at him in quiet surprise. “Am I really that bad, Harry?”

“Well,” Harry, looking distinctly uncomfortable, rubbed the back of his neck. “We know you hate the Gala and how hard it is for you to look on this as a celebration. We realize that it is also a reminder of all those we lost, as well as a celebration that we won, that we still have our world to live in. We understand, but it makes our friends a little nervous to come over and say hello when you are so obviously unhappy.”

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. Her friends stayed away from her? Why hadn’t they said anything to her, ask her to… Her thoughts ground to a halt. They had, but always on the night of the Gala, when her emotions were wild and hard to reign in. This year would be different, she thought to herself with a smile. Very different.

Hermione smiled and turned to apologize for her outburst. She was amused to see the men looking relieved. She still did not quite understand their easy acceptance of attending the Gala with Severus, but she supposed it was a testament to not only their belief in her judgment but also in his character that left the remarks left unspoken.

Hermione heard Harry and George breathe a sigh of relieve as they left her office.

Hermione sat down at her desk, found the letter Ronald had sent a couple of days ago, and began to read. She sat and read of Ron’s decision to ask Pansy Parkinson to the Gala. When she finished, she set it down, her spirits lifting. She should have known, should have trusted him. Ronald would not hurt her, would not turn her away, and would not walk away from their many years of friendship. One more misstep on her part, it would seem.

Pansy was just as much a victim and refugee from the war as so many others. After the last of her family died, Pansy had finally come out of hiding to claim her inheritance and resume her life in Britain. Ron’s father had helped her escape to Brussels, and Ron himself had gone to fetch her home. Even Harry had not known where Pansy had gone or the Weasleys’ part in her flight. It explained why Ron had asked her to attend, why Pansy had come to her, asking for permission.

Hermione leaned back in her chair with a smile. She was free. Free of the Weasleys on the ghastliest night of the year. Free from the obligation to smile and nod and act as if all were bunnies and flowers. She could be as miserable as she wanted, for she would be attending with Severus.

For a change, the worst night of the year just might turn out to not so horrible. All because of Severus Snape, Potions master, war hero and maybe, savior. Severus. She leaned her head back and smiled.

Severus still stood in the doorway, unable to move, transfixed by her smile. Quickly coming to his senses, he retreated down the hall and reversed the Disillusionment Spell. Straightening his clothes and giving himself a mental shake, he once again approached her doorway and knocked.

She looked up at the sound and softly smiled and lowered the wards before crossing the room to meet him. “Hello,” she said quietly.

At that moment, Ron stuck his head through the Floo, intent on speaking with Hermione now that the small crisis had been averted with his newest client in France. Seeing Hermione and Severus together, he quickly retreated as far as he could into the fireplace while still being able to overhear.

“I’ve stopped by to finalize our arrangements for Saturday evening. I’d have sent an owl, but I’d an appointment in the building. You have sufficiently recovered from earlier this week?” Severus asked quietly.

Hermione gazed at him for a moment. She thought she knew this man in front of her, the one who had taught her all those years while in Hogwarts, the one she’d stood shoulder to shoulder with in the Order, the one she’d fought beside in the war. But looking upon him now, her eyes were opened. There was so much to this man she didn’t know, hadn’t realized was there. She wanted to know more, and not for the damn book. He was new to her, new in a way she’d never experienced, like finding a hidden gem in the jewelry box, always there, but never really seen. Suddenly, she was unsure. She knew her own mind, her own heart, but what of his?

Severus watched emotions flitting across Hermione’s face and wondered what the witch was thinking. Did she regret the moment of weakness she’d shared? Was she uncomfortable that he’d offered a measure of comfort? He knew is own mind, knew what he wanted. But what of her?

Hermione smiled. “I’ve sufficiently recovered, thank you.” She appeared as if she was waiting for him to say something, but after a moment of silence, she continued. “About Saturday, should we perhaps…” He didn’t give her time to finish her suggestion, but interrupted.

“I think perhaps it would be best if I escorted you to the Gala, seeing as how Mr. Weasley is not accompanying you this year. If you would kindly provide your address…”

“Oh! Of course,” she answered happily and moved towards her desk to grab her quill and a bit of parchment.

“Hermione,” Severus began quickly, taking her hand. She lifted her eyes, looking startled to hear her name on his lips and his hand covering hers. “I assure you, I’ve an excellent memory. If you would but tell me…”

Hermione laughed nervously. “I’m sorry,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders and proceeded to recite her home address.

He stepped towards her, unconsciously pulling her towards him. They stood silently, holding hands, content to share the moment just gazing at each other. Severus finally remembered where he was, cleared his throat and took a step back, slowly releasing her hand.

“You may expect me at half-six, then. On Saturday,” he said lowly. Hermione licked her bottom lip, and Severus could not take his eyes off her mouth. He had a sudden urge to find out if they tasted as they looked, like ripe strawberries.

Hermione was mesmerized by what she saw on Severus’ face. He was staring at her mouth and suddenly, it was too much. She needed to know, she had to find out now, damn the consequences.

Like a choreographed dance, they moved as one, taking a single step each, their lips met in a soft hello. Too hesitant to whisper across the soft skin, they brushed lightly. They broke apart, and their eyes flew to the other, frightened, yet eager to discover the other's reaction. There was surprise and embarrassment. And acceptance.

“Half-six it is then, Severus.” Hermione said softly, wanting desperately to lift her fingertips to her lips, to experience those lips once more.

Severus gave her a small smile, then turned and left.

Ron backed out of the Floo moments before George walked into the office.

“Were you speaking with Hermione just now?” George asked tiredly as he flung himself into a nearby leather chair.

“No, actually, I was going to go through, but Professor Snape was there, and I didn’t want to interrupt,” Ron said casually as he straightened his clothes and climbed to his feet.

“Are they still screaming at each other?” George asked with a small grin, and it was impossible for Ron not to return it with one of his own.

“Nah. They’re making a couple more moves,” Ron answered.

The brothers mulled over the possible scenarios for a span of several heartbeats.

“Wicked,” was their shared observation.