A Victorious Draw

Hermione was a nervous wreck. She’d spent every non-working minute either thinking of the kiss, thinking of questions to ask Severus, the Gala, or wondering if he was going to kiss her again. She’d spent an inordinate amount of time on the last thought. Did she want him to?

How very ironic that the one day of the year that she despised, that she had such a hard time coping with every year had become the day she had been looking forward to all week. When she saw Severus again, would once more be able to spent time in his company, have a reason to talk with him, to share with him. Yes, presumably it was to talk about his war effort, but she realized that she didn’t need to know the grisly details to be able to tell his story. In fact, the more she had thought about it, the more she realized the information she wanted most would fit well in her book, but that wasn’t the reason for wanting to know. No, now she wanted to know for herself.

Severus was a nervous wreck, although one would not be able to tell simply by looking at him. He neither broke a sweat nor had any telltale signs of discomfort. He’d kissed Hermione. She had kissed him. And it was more than he’d shared with any soul on earth. More than Lily, and he’d poured his young heart out to her. No, for the first time in his adult life, he wanted to share himself with someone.

Taking a walk in Hyde Park was not as appealing as the thought of taking Hermione to the Gala, of being able to spend time with her, sharing himself with her. And it might be under the pretext of her book, but he knew it would be for more important reasons.

He was ready. He’d been ready for three years now. After the war and his recovery, he’d been on a quest to purge his soul so that he might one day make a life for himself. He no longer wanted to be alone. And as nervous as it made him, she was the one. Would he have to convince her of it? He doubted it. He’d been as aware of her reaction to the kiss as his own. Still, nervousness was his partner for the evening.

He Apparated a short distance from her home and walked the few yards to her front door. As he was about to knock, the door was flung open and there she stood.

She is a vision, he thought, awestruck. A deceptively simple claret-colored gown, but when she took a breath, the dress shimmered in the soft glow of her sitting room. Miniscule strips held it up. It was modest in the front, but when she turned to fetch her wrap, Severus inhaled sharply. The back dipped alarmingly behind her, exposing the expanse of her back. She simply could not be wearing undergarments he thought as he tried to swallow the alarmingly large lump in his throat.

He was afraid to compliment her, afraid he would sound like those foolish teenagers at the school, but by the way she blushed as she held the wrap outstretched so that he could lay it across her shoulders, he was moderately certain she understood the meaning in his eyes. His cock tightened painfully and he was thankful for the layers of material that separated him and his sudden, embarrassing erection from her amazingly soft-looking skin.

Walking out into the evening air, Hermione shivered suddenly, and Severus pulled her closer to him. She smiled, and he realized one of the many benefits of her evening attire.
They Apparated effortlessly, and the magic was easily absorbed into the electrical grid. He did not question her decision to live in a Muggle neighborhood. He quite understood her need to feel connected to that part of her world. Her two best friends, however, had different thoughts on the matter. Well, he would find out soon enough.

They arrived at the huge double wooden doors. Two elves garbed in official Ministry hand towels nodded austerely as a third removed Hermione’s wrap. Her magical residue on the wrap made it impossible for someone else to make off with it. A simple and efficient form of coat check, Hermione thought, amused for the moment. An uneasiness settled across her shoulders, however, as they slowly approached the doors leading into the ballroom where the Gala was taking place. Severus slowed, and Hermione looked up at him questioningly.

“A moment, if you please,” he said in a low voice. He led her into a small alcove off to the side of the doors. Casting charms so they were neither seen nor heard, and turning to her, he said softly, “I thought perhaps you’d need a moment to compose yourself. I know this is not a pleasant night for you.”

“Neither is it for you, yet here you are. I believe we can do this together,” Hermione replied.

Severus gave her a small smile and nodded towards the doors. “Ready, then?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, not yet.” Severus looked at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to compose herself. Instead she stood close, and raising herself to her tiptoes, she laid her cheek next to his and breathed in his scent. Her body pressed softly against his, and it took a supreme effort on his part not to haul her into his arms.

“Thank you, Severus,” she whispered. “This night is already a success because of you. Instead of approaching tonight with dread, I looked forward to sharing it with you because you understand.” She stood straight again. Before she moved away, Severus raised his hand and laid it on her cheek. He ran his thumb over her cheekbone, and she lifted her eyes to his.

“I feel the same, Hermione.” And then he did what he’d been contemplating since she’d opened the door to him. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her. It was not the hesitant kiss of her office. It was lush and full and with the exquisite knowledge that this night was theirs to do with what they wished. He gathered her his chest and under his palm her satin skin heated his blood as he stroked her back. She shivered once more and pressed herself closer. Her arms wrapped themselves around his waist, her hands splayed against the rich, heavy silk of his robes.

When he withdrew, her lips were slightly red and swollen. Drawing deep breaths, he held out his arm, and together they entered the ballroom.

They hadn’t meant to make an entrance. Usually Hermione arrived early, and there were few people around to make a fuss. Given the fact that Ron, along with Pansy and his family, not to mention Harry and Ginny, were already in attendance, all eyes turned to see the late arrivals. Severus stood as proud and austere as usual. The noticeable change was the stunning woman on his arm, and the crowd parted and drew a collective gasp when they realized the woman was none other than Hermione Granger, the war hero who had always worn black, to honor the war dead. That tonight she was dressed in a deep claret colored gown that revealed her softly rounded breasts and lithe frame, made the guests wonder if perhaps she’d been slipped some potion or was under some spell.

They’d spotted Harry and Ginny standing apart from the Weasleys, and Hermione felt comfortable enough to approach them. Severus escorted her to the couple, and while Harry was struck dumb, Ginny smiled and complimented the couple for not only looking like the height of fashion, but also causing quite the stir.

“Our evening just became much more interesting, Hermione.” Ginny grinned. She turned to her husband and watched him swallow hard. Twice. She elbowed him in the ribs. Appearing startled, Harry turned to his wife, smiling, then turned back to Hermione and drew her in for a warm, welcoming hug.

“You look gorgeous, Hermione,” Harry said as he pulled away. He turned to Severus, and the men shook hands. Severus glanced over towards the Weasleys and saw Ron walking towards them, while Pansy stood with Arthur and Fleur, chatting amiably. He saw Harry lifted his chin in a salute to his best friend as he drew closer. Hermione saw the gesture as well and turned, her smile warm and genuine for her other best friend.

Ron lifted her off the floor, twirling her happily and planting a kiss on her cheek. “You look gorgeous, ‘Mione,” he said cheerfully. He turned to Severus, who greeted him with a scowl, as if displeased with such an outward display of affection. But Hermione didn’t seem to mind the man’s attention, and he was pleased. A jealous woman would not act happy to see her ex-lover at a function with his new paramour. It boded well for the rest of the evening, in Severus’ opinion.

The first chords of a waltz were struck, and Severus reached out and took Hermione’s hand, silently drawing her away from her friends and into his arms. As in her dream, Hermione felt as if she were floating above the dance floor. They were a true fit, and they moved as if they were one. The crowd parted as they watched them dance past. Neither Hermione nor Severus paid any attention to their surroundings. They were lost in each other’s eyes, the golden brown and obsidian black. When the music ended, Hermione was breathless. Severus escorted her off the floor with the intent of finding some refreshments, but soon, friends and well-wishes wishers alike pressed in on her, congratulating her on her fine entrance and thanking her for her war effort and telling her how pleased they were she had managed finally to move past her grief.

Hermione felt weak, caught up in a wave of people, becoming lost in a sea of people, set adrift with no anchor or support. She looked around frantically, hoping to find a friendly face when she felt a strong arm around her waist. Panicking, she struggled to free herself of the restraint when she heard, “Shh, I have you,” close to her ear. She slumped against the strong body. Severus. She looked up at him, into those black eyes, which comforted her and made her feel safe. His eyes flared briefly, and her breath caught in her throat. Desire flared in her belly. She wanted this man.

The crowd stood still, witnessing the silent exchange between the two. “Would you like to leave?” he asked hotly in her ear.

“Yes!” The word came rushing past her lips. He held out his hand and Summoned her cloak. The soft cashmere wrap floated through the air, high above the invited guests and floated gently onto Hermione’s shoulders.

Severus gathered her into his arms. “Yours or mine?” he growled.

She was momentarily speechless. “Yours,” she answered in a rush. He nodded once, turned, and they were gone.

Moments later they were standing in his sitting room which was softly lit with the candles that were haphazardly scattered around the simply designed room.

Severus removed Hermione’s wrap and indicated the sofa. “I’ll make some tea,” he offered while Hermione sank down onto the black sofa.

“Oh, I thought we’d…” She stopped at the arrested look on his face. A hot flush crept up her neck and face, and she ducked her chin to hide her reaction.

Severus knelt on the floor before her and grasped her chin gently, lifting it until her eyes met his.

“We will,” he said, amusement in his voice. “But more importantly, we need to talk, don’t you agree?”

“Oh.” Hermione laughed softly. “Yes, we do.”

Severus leaned in and pressed a small kiss to her lips. “I’ll return in a moment.”

While Severus prepared tea, Hermione took the time to explore his flat. There were several paintings on the wall and sculptures and wooden carvings scattered around the room.

Before she had time to finish her tour of the room, Severus returned. She returned to the sofa and together they slowly sipped their tea.

“What happened at the Gala?” Severus asked gently. He watched Hermione intently, determined to find the cause of her distress.

“I had a dream a week or so ago, maybe a little more. I’d gone to the Gala, alone. You came up behind, and together we entered the ballroom. We danced a waltz, and when we were done, I was alone on the floor. Everyone was pressing in on me, demanding things of me. I was frightened. There was no one around, nowhere I could turn to for help. And then, you appeared.” Hermione shrugged her shoulders. I suppose tonight was a little too much like my dream, and I panicked.”

Severus stretched his arm along the back of the couch and caught the tips of her hair in his fingers. She leaned into his hand.

She told him of her other dreams, as well. He sat, listening, and when she came to the end, he asked several questions. “They are very telling, are they not?” Severus asked her.

“Do you know, this entire time, I’ve been concentrating on how I felt and the events of what had been going on, that I neglected the words. I realize that I’ve been torn between two worlds: afraid to embrace the Wizarding world for fear of what I would be leaving behind. Fear of letting go of the Muggle world, for fear of not being accepted fully for just being me. Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born witch.

“Oh, Severus, how has it come to this?” Hermione heard the slight desperation in her voice.

Severus chuckled. “You aren’t the first, Hermione. I’ve seen it quite a bit, Muggle-borns not prepared to enter into our world. I’ve often thought that, in addition to Muggle studies…”

“There should be Wizard Studies! Yes! That sounds perfect, doesn’t it? We had hardly any help when I was told, and Mum and Daddy needed…”

Severus stopped her mouth with a kiss. “Do you think we could take up this matter up in the morning? Preferably late morning?” Severus gently kissed Hermione’s neck, and all the air left her lungs in a giant whoosh.

“I’ve wanted to bury myself in you since the first time I held you in my arms,” Severus admitted, trailing open-mouth kisses down her neck to her shoulder.

Abruptly he stood and pulled Hermione to her feet before sweeping her into his arms.

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Gorgeous artwork created by Pennswoods for this chapter may be found here:
http://hermione.magical-worlds.us/viewstory.php?sid=48&textsize=0&chapter=13