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Hermione paces. She brings her fingers to her mouth, pulling them away before she can bite at her nails. It’s been six months since she’s bitten them. She won’t break her streak now. There’s a knock at the door and she freezes.
Deep breath in.
Slow breath out.
She sweeps her hands down the front of her dress, smoothing imagined wrinkles. Then she hurries to the door. Her fingers hover over the handle. She almost screams when it opens of its own accord.
Severus stands on her doorstep and her mouth goes dry. His hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few loose strands begging her fingers to brush them back. She averts her gaze quickly. Instead, her eyes find his Adam’s apple as it bobs above his collared shirt. He has the top buttons undone. Utterly indecent.
“Did you just breech my wards?”
He raises an unimpressed brow. “If you didn’t want me to let myself in, perhaps you should have made them more formidable.”
“Perhaps you should have followed social etiquette regardless.”
“You mean as you did when you had me stand on your stoop for five minutes while you worked up the nerve to open the door.”
“I—” She pauses. “You’re right. I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”
“It’s alright, I know you’re nervous. Do you have everything?”
She grabs her beaded bag. “My life’s in here. Do I… Do I look okay?”
Her cheeks heat as he looks her over. He reaches out and grabs an escaped curl, wrapping it around the knot at the base of her neck. Goosebumps raise along her neck as his touch, and the magic of his sticking charm, ghosts over her.
“You look lovely.” The words are composed, but there’s something in his voice he can’t place.
“Thank you.” She blushes. Then a wave of Gryffindor boldness crests over her. “You look quite handsome yourself.”
“I’ll add the tie before we enter the Gala and not a moment before.”
“Right then. We should probably be going.”
oOo
There’s a large crowd filtering into the ministry from the apparition point. Hermione freezes again. Severus grabs her elbow and pulls her to the side. Her breath hitches when his hands move to her shoulders. His dark eyes bore into hers.
“Breathe, Granger. I won’t leave you to the wolves,” he says softly. “I know this may be hard to believe, but I’m on your side.”
“You promise?”
“Promise.”
True to his word, Severus does not leave her side. He is there as she laughs with her friends, a silent specter. His presence deters some of the more unsavory attendees—purists and perverts alike. When they speak with donors, he allows her to lead. In the lab they’ve gone at each other like rabid wolves over methods of experimentation but here he talks as if they’ve never agreed more strongly.
With him at her side, she makes it through cocktails and dinner without panicking. In fact, by verbal word alone, they’ve accrued several more donors to fund their work in the ministry labs. She couldn’t have done it without him. Hermione catches his eye and smiles, feeling another blush creep over her cheeks.
There’s a tapping of glasses, a few speeches, and then the floor is cleared for dancing. They hadn’t discussed this. In fact, they hadn’t discussed it because Severus was abundantly clear that it was not up for discussion. And yet—
“Would you dance with me, Severus?”
His eyes snap to hers. She had asked him quietly and was certain no one else had heard. He glances around the table, seemingly confirming. Then he shakes his head minutely. She gives a slight nod in return, and he excuses himself to the restroom.
Right. Just colleagues. Not a date.
“Miss Granger, might I have a dance?”
Hermione looks up to find the head of Magical Catastrophes looking down at her with a leering smile. Unwilling to risk offense on such a productive evening, she allows him to guide her to the dance floor. His hands rest entirely too low on her waist, his face far too close to her own. He steps on her foot more than once. One dance. It’s likely no more than five minutes. She can endure that, can’t she?
“Kettering, was it not enough to attempt to steal my date? Must you insist on damaging her feet as well?”
He pulls back sputtering his offense. Hermione’s eyes snap to Severus; having worked with him for over a year, she can see anger and something else in his gaze. After Kettering storms off, Severus offers her his hand.
She accepts and he pulls her in close to dance. “What’s this then?”
“I left and a wolf encroached,” he says simply. “This is my apology.”
They dance in silence for a moment. Hermione is intimately aware of his hands on her waist. His eyes are soft when they meet hers. It may be the lighting, perhaps the champagne, or her own wishful thinking, but she thinks she sees longing. Mustering all of her Gryffindor courage, she slides her hands from his neck to rest on his shoulders then pushes up onto her tip toes. Her mouth presses against his in a chaste kiss which he returns fervently.
“What’s this then?” His question ghosts over her face and curls her toes when they pull apart.
“An invitation to stay by my side.”