Just You Wait

Chapter 8 - The Ballroom

Come To The Ball

Three pairs of eyes noted with interest the return of the Snape family to the Ballroom.

The six or so chevalier servants who had been attending Mrs Snape before her departure, although miffed at the arrogant and pre-emptive behaviour of her husband removing their animated Venus, had long-since forgotten her, due either to an excess of alcohol or the company of more accessible femininity.

The party in general had evolved in the hour or so the couple had been absent - never a genteel do, it had actually mellowed slightly from the ribald enthusiasm cultivated by the players and their fans. A tent had been erected in the grounds out back of the Manor, and the serious drinkers and revellers had been encouraged to decamp to that address. Most had gone willingly, taking kindly to the notion of having their own private place to drink themselves senseless.

Those who remained were more sober, both literally and figuratively; dignitaries, officials, and others who held positions of note, if not power, in the Wizarding world. Various people from the Ministry, including Harry Potter's new personal assistant Reginald Bones, younger brother of Susan, danced or made small talk over champagne with the remaining guests. Impromptu renditions of the British Quidditch anthem had been replaced by the competent if predictable repertoire of a small classical ensemble; the Keeper for Britain, who'd enthusiastically invaded the bar so as to mix `proper drinks for the lads' had been usurped by a House Elf in a white bar apron.

Sirius Black had hung on, and was chatting to the French husband of one of his ex-students (and paramours), Agrippina Trudeau, née Wilcox. Like all his former playmates, she bore no animosity towards him, and her husband, if he had known that he was speaking to the man who'd introduced her to the ways of love, would have given the Animagus his sincere thanks.

Sirius placed himself in the room in such a way that he could look over the French wizard's shoulder at his godson Harry. Tonight was the first time the Minister had more than laid eyes on his ex-wife since she'd left his house two years earlier, and the older man was just a little bit worried about him. On the surface, Harry had seemed to not even notice the departure of his wife of 14 years - but to Sirius, it was plain that he had not borne it without difficulty; but if Harry had done any work to get over her, it must have been in solitude, because after Hermione had left his house she had been forbidden as a topic of discussion.

-*~~*~~*-

The trio who noted the return of Severus and Hermione with particular interest were also the three who'd paid the most attention when they left, an hour or so earlier.

Alastor `Mad Eye' Moody had played a pivotal role in getting the two unlikely lovers together two years ago - it brought him no end of joy to see them happy, and he'd witnessed their abrupt departure with concern.

Sirius Black had played an important part also; but unlike Moody, he had observed the couple closely during the last school year, so he wasn't worried when he saw Severus in the act of wife-napping... he had a notion what his old friend and enemy was planning to do with her.

And Harry Potter was also watching, out of the corner of his eye. He'd never reconciled the Slytherin he'd known as a monster, then a spy, then a hero - with the Headmaster who'd stolen his wife away. Even after two years, it was so surreal that he couldn't even feel jealous - it was like seeing from a distance a beautiful woman who he wanted to meet, then coming closer and discovering she was a mannequin. The disappointment was for something that wouldn't be, not for something that had been.

-*~~*~~*-

The huge ballroom was comfortable, even cavernous, with the 50 guests who remained. There were about 15 couples dancing, a few people by the bar, and the rest conversing in small clusters. As the Snapes returned to the room, Moody strolled over to Sirius, keeping a discreet eye, his all-seeing magical eye, on the couple as he moved.

"Well, they're back, anyway," he said as he positioned himself in front of Sirius, with his back to the dance floor and the returning couple. "No harm done, that I can see." Sirius knew without asking that this meant that Moody had scanned Hermione magically and found no evidence of injury. Of course, Sirius was practically certain that any - damage - would be internal, and not at all unwelcome.

"No, I don't imagine so. Funny, that Hermione's hair is neater than it was when she departed - don't you think that's funny, Alastor?" Sirius winked at his companion as he spoke, but that and the accompanying leer on his face was so ubiquitous that Moody didn't get the hint.

He didn't need to, but Alastor turned and looked at Hermione and Severus with his real eye, and grunted before responding. "Well, seeing as how he was spitting mad when he left with her, I suppose he shook her a little, and then performed a neatening charm." Sirius snorted.

"Look at her, Moody. Does that look like a woman who's been shaken in anger? She looks to me more like someone who's been shagged to the point of agony. And knowing Severus, that's the explanation that has my vote." Moody stared, for a moment at Hermione, then at her husband, then back at Sirius, widening, then closing his eyes. When they opened, they held a note of embarrassment, a dram of admiration, and an iota of mischief.

Embassy Waltz

Harry thought it would look good for him to dance with the ex-Mrs-Minister, particularly now that the crowd had thinned, and the right people were sure to see him.

He'd had just enough to drink to dull his nerves, but not enough to dull his dancing ability.

When the Snapes had left the Ballroom earlier, Severus had been in such a state that Harry expected Hermione to come rushing back through 10 minutes later in tears. When that didn't happen, a tiny part of his brain whispered to him that Severus might be taking one last crack at cuckolding him. Luckily, that same part of his brain responded very favourably to alcohol, and the thought soon drifted out of his mind.

By the time the Headmaster and his wife did return, Harry had almost forgotten about them (takes mental discipline, that) and the sight of them startled him. Sight of Hermione, that is. Gadzooks, but it was just a tad humiliating to see how happy she had become since she - since she left Harry for him... It took all his inner strength to continue to feel nothing. But now, she looked - rather odd. Harry couldn't help but notice when she arrived that she was looking particularly gorgeous and sexy, but now she had a kind of glazed, faraway look in her eyes, and a frown that wasn't exactly a frown, it was more of a ... grimace. And yet she looked supremely happy. Ecstatic actually.

Hmmm...

Snape had his usual public face on - neutral yet forbidding. As a chaperone, he was gracious but not fawning. He steered Hermione towards the drinks counter like she was somebody's grandmother - with one hand holding hers, and the other in the small of her back.

Was she sick?

Something was off. When Snape settled his wife (somewhat awkwardly) on one of the little stools by the bar, he stood next to her with her hand in his, stroking the inside of her wrist with his fingertips. A drink appeared in front of her, pumpkin juice by the looks of it, but Hermione ignored the beverage and just stared dreamily into the face of her husband. When Snape leaned over and whispered something in her ear, she shifted in her chair and almost fell off. He held her firmly in place, and put the tumbler into both her hands to encourage her to drink.

Snape looked over his shoulder, saw Harry, and nodded solemnly at the young Minister. He then muttered something to his wife and strolled over towards a klatch of ex-students of his from his years as the Head of Slytherin. Hermione sat staring into her glass as if mesmerised.

Harry wandered casually over to his ex-wife and cleared his throat. "Good evening, Mrs Snape. I trust your visit to the Manor has been satisfactory?" Finding no response forthcoming, he extended a hand, palm up. "May I have the next dance?"

Hermione looked up at the sound of her ex-husband's voice, and when she registered the meaning of his words, she stared at him incredulously, as if he were a head of lettuce that had just sprouted lips and started singing Britten. She blinked. "What?" she said ungraciously, and looked with reluctance at the hand he held out to her. They both started as they noticed the Headmaster, who had reappeared behind his wife.

"Hermione dear, I think you should accept." He smiled at the Minister, then at his wife. "She hasn't been up at all this evening, and I'm really not much on the dance floor." He sealed the ordinance by taking his wife's hand and placing it in that of Minister Potter. He patted her on the back, and helped her out of her chair, then glided off again.

On second thought, Hermione didn't seem ill, just distracted. And she seemed to be having trouble walking. But she wasn't limping, or complaining, so Harry put the thought out of his mind and arranged his face into an _expression of suitable blandness and expectancy as he escorted her onto the wooden dance floor of the ballroom. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed the Headmaster whispering to the fiddle player, and seconds later, the opening notes of an up-tempo waltz filled the room. Was it his imagination, or did Harry hear Hermione groan at the sound of the music? Behind their backs now, Severus Snape smirked to himself as he returned to his favourite wife-watching position, in a deserted corner of the room.

-*~~*~~*-

When she was little, Hermione had seen a silly old American made-for-TV movie, called The Boy in the Plastic Bubble. The story was about a boy who'd grown up in a completely germ-free environment, and travelled in a kind of plastic tent. The thing she'd noted at the time (which was circa Look Who's Talking) was that it featured a very young-looking John Travolta. But what stuck with her, and what she remembered tonight, were the scenes from inside the plastic tent, or bubble - vision blurred, sounds seeming far-away, tactile perception all out of whack. It was the same as the scene from The Graduate, where Dustin Hoffman's character walked around a pool party dressed in a scuba-diving costume.

Yes, that about described it.

Walking back from the salon to the ballroom, Hermione felt like she was making her way across the bottom of the ocean. Sounds hit her ears though a haze of mufflers and rushing sounds; her vision was blurred, and spots danced before her eyes; and she could barely feel the hands of her husband guiding her to their destination.

Of course, the simple explanation was that her nerves and senses were dulled because all the blood had left her extremities and was pooled in her...

Gah! Try not to think about it!

Did you ever notice before, she asked herself, that your uterus moves when you walk? No, she answered. I wonder if anyone knows. Good question, she replied, perhaps it could be the focus of a Muggle gynaecological study. Perhaps, she concluded. But if they need to use Severus' oil, who will they find to apply it?

Do you think, she asked herself, that this experience is more like my cunt is 10 feet long and is being licked by a thousand Severuses, or that it's the regular size, but is being licked by a thousand tiny Severuses?

Hmmm..., she replied, I don't think it's either. I think that it's more like Severus just has an incredibly long, forked, snake-like tongue stroking and darting at lightning speed so that it seems like it's everywhere at once. Or perhaps, it's a soft, wet, Snape-shaped vibrator, fitting perfectly inside and out, and attached to a thigh-strapped battery-pak cunningly concealed under your dress.

And occupied thusly, before she knew it she was seated somewhat comfortably on a stool, with a tumbler of pumpkin juice in front of her and her husband in front of her, telling her that she needed to restore her fluid and electrolyte balance.

Gods, enough with the electrolytes already!! Oh look, there's my other husband. The one who never made me plead on my knees for the application of his mouth to my body. What was his name, again...

It took her a second to realise that she'd opened her mouth, but no words had come out. Thankfully.

Her Source of Future Relief abruptly got up and left her. She wanted to keep him in view, but she daren't turn, because... because...

Other Husband approached and seemed to be undertaking a negotiation of some kind. A distant memory prodded at her, reminding her that his tongue was good for talking, but not much else. He held out his hand. What? Are you asking me to pay you to use that thing on me? No, you don't understand - it only works if Severus does it. Severus, my other other husband. The one with the tongue. I know, it's not that noticeable, but believe ME, it's there!

She blinked, confused. He appeared not to have heard her. Look here, you. I don't care if you're the Minister of Magic! My husband is here, and he's not going to be at all pleased if he finds you trying to...

The Source of her Ultimate Satisfaction reappeared and hoisted her out of the barstool. During the few moments where she was preoccupied with the image of him laying her down on the bar and... Gah! Better not to think about it! ... He had handed her over to Tightlips, who was leading her towards ... OH NO!! Not the dance floor!!!

Hermione turned a little in the arm of her pussy-napper, thinking that she might make a run for it - but realising first, that she was in no mood for running and second, where would she run to when the God of her Nether Regions was right here at the party? - she finally concluded that the best thing was to stick it out and ...Aaaaauuuurrrrrrnnnngggghhh...

Ascot Gavotte

As Harry placed his hand in the middle of Hermione's back and began to twirl her expertly around the dance floor, he thought it would look best if they were engaged in conversation.

Easier said than done.

Every time he ventured to open a topic of discussion, Hermione would look up at him with barely-focused eyes, tilt her head to one side as if she were contemplating a painting at an art exhibit, open her mouth, and then just stare. It was positively disconcerting.

Not to mention the fact that her current husband was standing in the corner of the room, watching them like a hawk, and smirking. Harry began to think this dance idea was ill-conceived, and determined to simply smile and nod at his ex-wife for the duration of the number. He focused his attention on not looking sulky, which was how he was feeling.

Meanwhile, Black had returned to Moody at the other end of the ballroom and the two men were discussing the probable causes of Hermione's odd behaviour.

"Well, I don't know if it means anything, but as she and Harry went past me on their way to the dance floor, I smelled an odd scent - like - nutmeg," Sirius said to his friend.

Moody's eyes widened, then narrowed appreciatively as he looked at the Headmaster watching his wife. "Nutmeg, eh?" The old Auror smiled a tiny, private smile.

"Yes, Alastor, nutmeg. And might I remind you that, while your legendary secrecy is appropriate in certain circumstances, right now you owe me an explanation for that evil grin you're wearing! Give!!"

The older man looked like he was trying very hard to keep a straight face. "Well, if this means what I think it means, we have an explanation for everything that has happened so far tonight, and I will be forced to revise upward, again, my opinion of Severus Snape." Moody coughed to cover up the chuckle that refused to be stifled, while Sirius glared at him with ill-concealed impatience and frustration.

"Oh my," Alastor said. His efforts not to laugh were causing tears to come out of his normal eye, and people were starting to stare at the odd couple. Sirius pursed his lips like a schoolmarm and crossed his arms. "Really, Black," Moody said facetiously, " - I don't know if Snape would appreciate him talking about his personal life like this ..."

His words were cut short by the arrival of Albus Dumbledore, looking relaxed, rosy and slightly dishevelled. "Greetings, my dear friends. How have you been enjoying the party so far? Isn't it nice to see Hermione dancing with Harry? Although it is an unfortunate choice of music, considering her present condition. I think she's holding up extremely well, under the circumstances, don't you? Have either of you tried the trifle?"

-*~~*~~*-

The number seemed to go on forever, and a little while later Black and Moody approached the Hogwarts Headmaster, who was still watching Harry propel Hermione around the dance floor. The duo had a conspiratorial air, like a pair of amateur teenage pickpockets. Snape glanced and nodded at the two before resuming his observation.

-*~~*~~*-

Hermione felt herself reluctantly being sucked back into reality, like the woman on `That's Incredible' who had a near-death experience during liposuction. From the moment she'd started walking out of the Salon, her attention had been entirely focused on not thinking about the bundle of moistened nerve endings between her legs and Gods! behind her belly-button...

The first fifteen minutes back in the ballroom, including her first meeting with her ex-husband in two years, had gone by in a blur, and she'd spent the last few minutes dancing with that same man without hearing a word he'd said.

It was like being drugged. The song seemed to go on forever, and the man she was dancing with ...what was his name again?... kept humming - and he was always looking at her with an _expression on his face as if he expected her to say something. She tried to keep her eye on Tongue-Man, who kept looking at her with the most incredibly sexy expressions. Sex on a stick, she thought, then no, that's not right. Sex is a stick. Sometimes sex is sticky, sex is being stuck, sex is having the sticky stuff licked off your ... Gah! Don't think about it! And stop looking at Tongue-Man.

But somehow, her body must have started adjusting, or coping, or accepting, (what are the nine stages of Acute Arousal? Resistance, Shameless Grovelling, Denial, Numbness, Deafness, Awareness, Acquiescence, Acceptance, and (hopefully) Ecstasy). At any rate, she was with it enough now to realise that Harry was irritated, probably at her, probably because she'd sleepwalked through the first - how many minutes? - of this unusually long dance number.

Oh dear Merlin - it was very difficult not to be furious with Harry for swinging her around with such vigour - but maybe that was a good thing. She focused on feeling annoyed at her dance partner, hoping that that would distract her from ... other things. Apparently, Harry noticed the change in Hermione's demeanour, for he picked up the one-sided conversation he'd been having with her, and was so pleased with the result that he kept hold of her when the waltz ended and moved her smoothly into a two-step.

"So, Mrs Snape, how have you been finding life as a professor," Harry asked a little diffidently as the music continued. Hermione forced herself to look at the Minister of Magic when she replied.

"Oh, it's extremely pleasu - pleasant, thank you," she managed to reply, with a little smile as if to say how pleasant it was. Thoughts of her husband's hands and mouth threatened to overtake her, and she struggled to keep her attention focused on this man who - didn't smell right. "Harry, call me Hermione. You don't expect me to address you as Dear Minister after all this time, do you?" Over her ex-husband's shoulder, she saw Black and Moody talking to Ton - her husband, and an inadvertent groan escaped her lips at the sight of the wicked smile he was sharing with the two men.

As Severus swung out of view, she saw the flash of reluctance across Harry's face, and realised that, in fact, he did wish her to address him by his formal title... the fresh wave of impatience she felt might have found _expression, if the dancing couple hadn't been interrupted by a smooth, amused voice from very close-by. "Good evening Minister. May I cut in? I wish to have a word with my wife."

I Could Have Danced All Night

Black and Moody lit on Severus Snape like two Pro Quidditch players who just found out that their geeky manager just got laid for the first time.

"So, Snape, how's your lovely wife this evening," Moody asked casually as the two men came to rest on either side of the Headmaster.

Severus smiled briefly, never taking his eyes off Hermione. "Oh, she is well, thank you. I shall tell her that you asked after her. And how are you, Alastor?"

Black and Moody exchanged glances. "Well. Well, thank you. A bit curious, actually. Is your lady-wife ill? Haven't been - mistreating her, have you? Noticed you whisking her off earlier, hope there weren't any ... fireworks. Heh heh." As he spoke, Moody's magical eye rolled about in his head in an insolent manner, giving him the saucy look of a pirate.

Severus looked at the old Auror with a suspicious grimace. "Alastor. You of all people should know that our personal life is exactly that - personal. If Hermione had anything to complain about, I am certain you would hear of it. If not directly from her, then through Casanova the Hogwarts Agony Aunt, here," Severus nodded towards Sirius. "Surely you have better things to do with your evening than to artlessly fish for information from me."

"Just passing the time, Severus. Actually, I rather than getting information from you, I may have some for you. Sirius reported something ... disturbing ... to me a few minutes ago, perhaps you in your wisdom will recognise its significance?"

Snape arched his brow in response. "Well, go on then," he said reluctantly.

"Hmmm. Well, Black and I were both a little perplexed by Hermione's demeanour when she returned with you - you took your time, by the way, you old dog!" Snape looked at the older man with distaste mingled with growing horror. "But then, Black told me that when he passed Hermione and Harry on the dance floor, she smelled distinctly of nutmeg."

Moody let his words sink in for a few moments. The Headmaster, looking progressively more flustered and defensive, glanced back and forth between the two men, as if trying to determine exactly how much they knew. Moody kept his face customarily neutral, but Sirius (of course, Gryffindor that he was), let his glee at his friend's exposure and embarrassment show amply on his face.

Finally, as if making a decision, Snape closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, he said, "So. Is there anything short of Obliviating the both of you that I can possibly do to ensure that I don't hear about this for the rest of my life?"

The two men looked at each other and grinned. "Only one thing, my dear friend," Sirius said with a chuckle. "Tell us all about it."

-*~~*~~*-

The moment the Headmaster took his wife in his arms, the tune changed to a slow rumba. Hermione groaned again, and leaned back in Snape's embrace to grimace at him. Smiling back at her, he pulled her close and whispered in her ear, "D'you see what I mean about interpreting your facial expressions? Now, past experience dictates that you are trying to tell me you are thoroughly fed up with being left to your own devices, and want some of the attention that only a husband can give." With his last words, he pulled her even closer, brushing his erection against her belly. With another groan, her knees gave way and he was forced to hold her up as he turned her slowly around the dance floor.

"Hmmm...I suspect I'm right, at that," he murmured seductively in her ear. His dear wife was so far gone that he could see the contractions of pleasure distinctly on her face, with every brush of his body or sound of his voice. He had truly planned to end her torture before this, but it was so enjoyable watching her squirm under the gaze of Harry's guests, trying not to stare desperately at her husband, that he felt tempted to let her dangle a little more.

But regardless, there was this dance to get through. He had escaped the clutches of his two interrogators without spilling all the beans - he knew it was a diversionary tactic, corralling Hermione - but he wanted a moment to arrange his thoughts before returning to them. And she had made such a pretty, amusing picture, captured in the sterile embrace of the Minister, while gazing longingly at Snape. She was, as always, irresistible.

Thinking, rightly, that using his body would likely put Hermione in a comatose heap on the floor, Severus decided to use his voice alone to stir her from the catatonia she had been exhibiting in Harry's arms. He knew what his voice could do to her under normal circumstances - and he was just enough of a bastard, yes, he could admit it - to use it on her now, when she was at her weakest ever. He smiled.

"Mmmm, my wife," he began, his voice deep and velvety, with just a hint of danger, "I enjoyed our time in your salon very much. I hope you did as well." His wife's response was a gurgle. "But there was one thing that we didn't get to do tonight, my lovely," he whispered, "something else that I enjoy very much." He stopped to drink in the sweet fragrance of her hair and the salty, sexy heat that rose from her skin. "I did not have the opportunity to taste you." Hermione squeaked and sagged against him even more, restlessly moving her hips to some internal, private rhythm.

"Severus..." she sighed and clutched his dress robes in her little fingers, "please, oh please, take me home?"

His reply was so soft that he couldn't even hear his own voice. "Soon, soon my love, I'll take you home to bed. I will unfasten your hair," Severus felt Hermione's chest rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths as she listened, "slide that beautiful gown off you and caress every inch of your soft skin." His wife gasped, and he clutched her to him as she stumbled. "Then I will lay you down on our bed and lick every drop of that oil off you, before I slip into your body and into your sweet embrace, my love." Realising that he'd gone too far, Severus was just quick enough to stop his wife from grinding her hips into his, in full view of his two Inquisitors and Harry. Guiding her away from them and towards the bar, he delivered one parting shot. "All I can think of, Hermione, is how much I am looking forward to filling you to overflowing, with love, with pleasure, and with the gifts of my body." Not a second too soon, he sat her down on a barstool and fetched his wife something cold to drink.