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Severus Snape did not know how to talk to people. He had never been considered deft when it came to interpersonal affairs. But it was not as if he didn’t make an effort—quite the opposite, in fact. After he’d miraculously survived the war and left his stifling post at Hogwarts, Severus had decided it was time to turn over a new leaf. So, he made (polite) eye contact with people on the Tube, murmured greetings to the cashier at Tesco, and nodded to his fellow passengers on the lift. Severus Snape was practically a new man.
Yet, these gestures and stock phrases were rarely sufficient. As it so happened, human connection required a few more words. Sometimes—Merlin forbid—entire sentences. But it was not as if Severus lacked fluency. Quite the opposite, really. If he were forgiven a smidge of pride, Severus would dare to say that he spoke with an eloquence few others possessed. His vocabulary was prodigious, his expressions cogent. Yet, when he spoke, his conversation partners never reacted as he had hoped.
For example, the other day, he had complimented a coworker on his tie, proclaiming he was bold indeed for choosing to wear such a garish color. And when the man balked, claiming it was a gift from his wife, Severus realized his mistake immediately. So, Severus took a (sensible) backtrack and informed him that the material was of inferior quality, his dear wife had not spent too much on the tie, and that he should not lose sleep over her poor taste.
“At least, she is not squandering your meager salary on silk ties!”
The man had given Severus a dirty look and promptly stomped away. Clearly, Severus had said something wrong. If only he could somehow solicit feedback on where he’d gone wrong. Unfortunately, his interlocutors rarely stuck around to provide such a service.
Severus was mulling over his latest faux pas as he made a cup of tea in the office kitchenette. Following his failed foray into pedagogy, Severus had decided to try his hand in a less stressful environment. Or, at least, a job with fewer children. So, he’d applied to work in the National Potions Library. A quiet job that suited his studious nature.
Steaming mug in hand, Severus turned abruptly and… nearly collided with someone. Thank goodness he was reasonably quick with spellwork and had been able to save the scalding water from spilling out. But, in this place, where everyone had their head in a book, such collisions occurred dangerously often.
In the past, Severus might have cursed this person out. But he was a changed man, so he said, “Pardon me,” albeit in a stiff way to demonstrate his annoyance (politely).
The careless colleague looked up. He should have recognized her by her hair, but it was up today, held in place by a clip. Hermione Granger. Her face turned sour upon recognition.
See, for all the people Severus struggled to communicate with, Hermione Granger was his greatest foe. She seemed hellbent on misinterpreting his words, twisting them into something else entirely, even when his meaning was plain.
“Good morning, sir,” she said with a sniff.
Severus was no expert, but experience told him that referring to colleagues with an honorific instead of by name was not common in their profession. Especially given that he was not above Granger in any meaningful way. They had started around the same time, so he possessed neither seniority nor a fancier job title. The choice confounded him.
“Good morning,” Severus replied. He could see she held a piece of cream cardstock in her hands. So, not a bit of archival material, as he’d initially expected. “How are you today?”
“Fine.” Granger tucked the cardstock under her arm. She was not looking at Severus, which suited him just fine. Sometimes, remembering to make eye contact was a chore he had to remind himself to do. Though he used this opportunity to take a closer look at her. Today she was wearing a purple cardigan and a pair of heather gray trousers.
Severus nodded. This conversation had been perfectly adequate as far as he was concerned, and he imagined now was the polite time to end it.
But then he watched Granger shift from side to side. If Severus wasn’t mistaken—and he might have been—she was uncomfortable. He wondered if it had anything to do with the cream-colored card.
Now, Severus had a choice: should he delve further or leave it alone?
“Are you… quite alright?”
In hindsight, it was clear that his decision had been the wrong one, but, in the moment, something must have come over him. Call it a brush with folly or a moment of insensibility—the result was the same regardless.
Granger stared at him—hard. Her eyes scanned his person until they landed on his polished boots, and he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. She scoffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Then she stomped away.
“Yes, I would,” Severus said to the ether. “That’s why I asked.”
Hermione Granger did not know what Severus Snape’s problem was. It was bad enough that they worked together, yet Snape still felt the need to rub it in her face how much he disliked her. Merlin, she had never had the misfortune of meeting someone so supercilious.
Just the other day, she had stepped into the office wearing her newly knit scarf, and the first words out of his mouth had been: “That’s a nice scarf.” And Hermione had brightened at first—her mistake—until he added, “It looks like you made it.”
Hermione knew that her work was not perfect, but she was far from her days of making lumpy hats for house-elves. So, she’d (rather maturely) retorted, “If I’d wanted your opinion, I would’ve asked for it.”
Merlin, even thinking about the moment now made her boil with rage.
So, naturally, he had to find her after she’d opened the wedding invitation. Hermione did not normally enjoy weddings, but the fact that she’d been invited to her ex’s wedding was even worse. It was a good thing Snape didn’t know about the contents of the letter, or her history, because he surely would have made a cutting remark about her still being single.
It was not that Hermione minded her singledom, but she hated that Snape would use it as another arrow in his quiver to take her down. Which was hypocritical, because, as far as she was aware, Snape was similarly unattached.
Then again, Snape was probably not looking for a partner, not when he’d already found the love of his life: himself.
Later that evening, Hermione returned home. As soon as she opened the door, Crookshanks hopped up on the counter with a trill. Hermione had tried her hardest to break that habit of his, but she knew trying to tell a half-Kneazle what to do was about as productive as dry brushing her hair. Of course, it probably didn’t help matters that she always scratched his chin when he sat on his perch, looking all the more smug for it.
“Hello, Crooks,” she cooed. “Have a good day, hmm?”
Crookshanks blinked slowly in response.
“Well, that makes one of us.”
She flashed the wedding invitation. Hermione didn’t think he could read, but sometimes she wondered.
“What do you think I should do?”
Crookshanks seemed to consider her question and blinked again.
“You think so? I don’t want to seem too pathetic.”
Crookshanks snapped at a finger that strayed too close to his mouth.
“No, you’re right. There is nothing pathetic about attending one’s ex’s wedding, even if I am single. I am an independent woman with a thriving career and a rich inner life.”
Crookshanks batted her hand with his paw.
“...And I have the handsomest cat in the world.”
Crookshanks purred in agreement.
After a long day of doing his best impression of an amiable human, Severus returned to his cold and empty flat. He was accustomed to solitude and silence, so he received quite a fright when he saw the figure darkening his space. But his heart slowed when Severus realized it was just an owl, envelope tucked in its talon. He bid the bird farewell and opened the letter.
Neville Longbottom and Pansy Parkinson request the pleasure of your company at their wedding celebration.
Severus rolled his eyes. Despite his painstaking efforts to the contrary, he had never once been accused of being “pleasurable company,” and his first instinct was to toss the invitation in the bin. Miss Parkinson had been a member of his house and not a complete pain in his arse. He could not say the same for Longbottom.
But, as he headed into his kitchen to dispose of the cardstock, Severus considered the benefits of attending. It would be an excellent opportunity to practice his small talk, an exercise in mortification. And, most importantly, given the Parkinsons’ wealth, there would likely be an open bar.
His hand hovered over the bin, but, in the end, he made the decision to not dispose of it. After all, a night out might do him some good.
Severus had visited several stores to find the perfect gift for a young couple. He wanted something practical and not just a flashy piece of homeware. In the end, he settled on a spoon rest, something he himself relied on heavily when he made soups and stews during the cold winter months. But Severus was not all about utility; he’d chosen a spoon rest with an attractive blue and white botanical pattern—the most expensive option in the shop.
Similarly, Severus had fretted about his attire. He had not attended many nuptials, so he was not quite sure what was appropriate. Could he get by in his nicest robes and dragonhide boots? He highly doubted it.
So, Severus popped by Madam Malkin’s to peruse her wares. Unfortunately, the witch would not allow him to browse in private, and somehow, he walked out of her atelier with a new frock coat, waistcoat, and tie, as well as a pair of boots that pinched his toes.
Merlin, Severus needed to work on being assertive while remaining polite. So far, he only seemed capable of doing one or the other.
Nevertheless, he arrived at the wedding and only felt a mite ridiculous in his new clothes. Severus told himself that he only needed to wait a bit longer, and he would have a nice dinner and a nightcap. There would be dancing—Severus shuddered at the thought—but no one would ever be brave enough to drag him to the dance floor, so he was safe in that regard.
Now he just needed a familiar face to practice his small talk on, and he would be good to go. Perhaps one of his former colleagues at Hogwarts. Or—
His focus snagged on the back of a woman’s head. Her hair was pinned up, exposing a long and elegant stretch of neck. Still, one curl had escaped the elaborate twist, a telltale clue to her identity.
If Severus had paid more attention, he might have noticed that the cream-colored piece of cardstock Granger had hidden was strikingly similar to the one he’d received. But Severus had not been paying attention, and so, he had not expected to find her at this wedding.
He paused. If she were any other colleague, Severus would make pleasantries. But Granger had proven time and time again that she found his presence distasteful. As such, Severus thought it would be best to beat a hasty retreat and avoid her for the remainder of the evening.
Unfortunately, Fate had other plans.
Just as Severus was about to exit her line of sight, Granger turned. Her eyes widened in shock and recognition before narrowing in disgust. But now that she’d seen him, Severus thought it was only polite to say hello.
“Good evening. Don’t you look lovely?”
Severus had only offered such praise perfunctorily. In situations involving formal dress, he knew men were expected to comment on the effort a woman had put into her appearance. Yet, the longer he looked, the less perfunctory his words felt.
Granger had donned a satin burgundy gown which hung from her shoulders with two thin straps. The flowing material invited the eyes to travel lower, hugging her curves and revealing the slit at the hem. Her feet were clad in silver strappy heels, which glittered in the light. Merlin, she was lovely indeed.
But when his eyes met hers once more, Granger was wearing a frown. “Can we save this for another day? I’m really not in the mood, sir.”
Severus was about to say he had no clue what he needed to save when he felt something small but powerful knock into him from behind. Before he knew it, he was staggering forward, nearly toppling Granger in the process. But Granger, even though her shoes looked like they were inviting a twisted ankle, managed to keep both their bodies upright.
They looked down, wondering at the source of this commotion to see an overly excited dog hopping around on short legs. Given its diminutive stature and house-elf-like ears, Severus guessed it was some kind of corgi, but he was hardly an expert on dog breeds.
“Poppy? Poppy?” a woman called, pushing through the crowd. “Pop—Oh, there you are!”
It took Severus a beat, but he soon recognized the young woman as Iris Parkinson, the younger sister of the bride. The dog—Poppy, evidently—scurried over to Iris, who crouched low to pick her up. Pink tongue lolling, Poppy seemed inordinately pleased with herself and her poor manners.
“Please forgive her. She’s my sister’s dog,”—Iris’s eyes widened in recognition—“Oh, I hadn’t realized you two had come together.”
Severus blinked, nonplussed. Why the devil would Miss Parkinson ever assume such a thing? Confused, he looked at Granger, only to discover that his arm was wrapped around her waist and her hand was pressed against his chest—a compromising position if Severus ever saw one.
Granger seemed to realize it at the same time, and they jumped apart, both eager to put some distance between them. But the damage had already been done.
“Iris, wait,” Granger said. “It’s not what it looks like—”
But Iris put her hand up, halting further discussion. “I understand completely. You have a type, don’t you?” She gave Granger an indecipherable expression. “Honestly, you should’ve told me sooner. Now I’ve got to change around the seating chart.”
“You don’t have to do that…” Severus said. When he had pictured this event, he had not envisioned receiving glares as he enjoyed his salmon dinner.
“Oh, pish posh. What kind of maid-of-honor-cum-wedding-planner would I be if I couldn’t handle a minor seating change?” She pulled out a clipboard seemingly from nowhere and consulted the page. “Maybe this is for the best. I’ll seat Uncle Algie with Aunt Cordelia. I imagine they’ll have a lot to talk about.” Iris smiled. “Alright, it’s settled. You’ll both be at table seven. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a wedding to run.”
Then Iris walked away, corgi in tow.
Severus had been about to offer his apologies when Granger stormed off.
Well, he thought. So much for my peaceful evening.
Hermione could not believe her rotten luck. She had not put all this effort into her hair and makeup to spend her evening with him. In truth, she’d been hoping to snag an unattached cousin, but now she’d have to settle for eating dinner with Snape as he made snide comments about her appearance.
Merlin, he’d called her lovely. It wasn’t enough for him to undermine her at work. No, he needed to insult her here, too.
She should never have agreed to come.
In her anger, Hermione practically stomped to her seat. She had chosen a chair in the middle, hoping that couples would fill in on both sides. And they had, for the most part. Only, no one had taken the seat beside her.
Hermione had the bad feeling that this meant—
“Pardon me,” a familiar voice asked. “Is this seat taken?”
Given that the room was positively full to bursting, Hermione could not exactly deny him. Nevertheless, she could make herself feel (somewhat) better by keeping her eyes pointed forward as she gestured for him to go ahead.
Stupid Snape and his stupid silk tie.
In all the years that she had known him, Hermione had never seen Snape stray from his uniform: starched white shirt under a black frock coat. Today, however, he wore a dark gray—almost black, but not quite—morning coat and a… purple tie? While the color was subtle, there was a definite hint of purple in the threads. Merlin, it felt almost as scandalous as seeing him in hot pink.
“Is there something the matter with my manner of dress?” he asked.
Hermione blinked. She hadn’t realized she’d been staring. “No, of course not,” she replied with a sniff. “I’ve just never expected to see you wear a shade other than black.”
“Oh, I see.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I suppose I must look quite foolish, then.”
Hermione made a derisive sound and rolled her eyes. “No one is even looking at you, sir. Today’s not about you.”
Snape was quiet after that, for which Hermione was immensely grateful. She had never thought him the preening, peacocking type, but she supposed that it made sense given how much he loved the sound of his voice. Yet, she also heeded her own advice. This moment was not about Snape, or even herself, but Neville and Pansy.
Hermione met Neville’s gaze at the altar. She waved to her old friend and offered him a reassuring smile. At least there was one friendly face in attendance.
The same could not be said for the sourpuss beside her…
But then the band started up and Hermione forgot all about Snape and his purple tie. She turned and watched Pansy walk down the aisle. Tears threatened, and Hermione sniffled. In another life, she would not be in the audience and would be dressed in white instead of burgundy. But this was not that life, and Hermione was alone.
A piece of gray and purple fabric appeared in her tear-streaked vision. Hermione accepted it without a second thought and dabbed at her eyes. It was only belatedly that she realized the handkerchief could have only come from Snape. Hermione returned it to him, heartened by the fact that she’d soiled it.
Serves him right, she thought bitterly.
The rest of the ceremony progressed much more smoothly (read: no further tears), and Hermione was even smiling at the end as she cheered for the new couple. Her mood had improved as she considered her dinner and the open bar, but quickly soured when she remembered that she would once again be sitting beside Snape.
No amount of free liquor could make his presence tolerable.
When Severus saw the tears in Granger’s eyes, he had not spared a moment’s thought; he’d simply acted. Granted, he could have chosen a different bit of cloth than the pocket square which now sat, wrinkled and damp, in his breast pocket. Still, he would offer it again in a heartbeat. Not because Severus cared about her emotional well-being, or anything, but because it was the polite thing to do.
And the new Severus was nothing if not polite.
“What have you chosen for your meal?” Severus asked, doing just that.
He and Granger had found their seats—albeit separately—at table seven. Unfortunately, the rest of the table was full, so they’d had no choice but to sit beside each other. Although as Severus looked around their table, he realized this was a small mercy, as he hadn’t the faintest idea who the rest of these people were.
Granger did not bother to hide her disdain. “Salmon.”
Severus nodded. “Likewise.”
Silence hung between them, uncomfortable and precarious. Severus did not know if he ought to endeavor to fill it, or if it would be more polite to leave Granger alone.
After much consideration, he decided on the latter.
“Hermione!”
Severus’s attention was drawn in the direction of the voice, even if it had not called his name. He saw Hannah Abbott walking over. But just as he saw her, she saw him, and her shock was apparent.
“Oh, hello, Professor Snape!”
Severus had lost this battle long ago. Although he had not set foot in a classroom in many years, his former students insisted on using the outdated title.
“Hello, Miss Abbott.”
Hannah tittered. “Oh, no. It’s Mrs. Corner now.” She held up her bejeweled left hand to punctuate her point.
Severus had been about to inform her about his correct form of address when Hannah added, “Look at us, the two exes.” She lowered her head to whisper in Granger’s ear, quiet enough so Severus could barely hear. “Can you believe they invited us? Who does that? I had to come, though! I would never turn down a wedding.”
Granger straightened up. “Not really. Neville is one of my oldest friends.”
“Of course! And I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I am just grateful that Michael is with me. I couldn’t imagine being here without him.”
“Really? It doesn’t bother me to be here alone,” Granger said with a haughty sniff.
If Severus had not been so rudely eavesdropping, he would have missed the look Hannah gave him.
“I’m not with him!” Granger emphasized. And if Severus hadn’t been used to such treatment from her, he might have been offended.
“Right…” Hannah furrowed her brow, likely confused by the outburst. “Well, I hope you enjoy your night! You too, Professor Snape.”
Hannah skipped away, and Granger’s sour expression darkened. Suddenly, many things started to make sense. So, she had once been romantically entangled with Longbottom? Severus supposed that explained her reaction to receiving the invitation and her tears at the ceremony. Given he had some experience with “the one that got away,” Severus was sympathetic to her plight.
“Don’t say anything,” she snapped. “I don’t want to hear it from you.”
Severus raised a brow. “I didn’t say anything…”
Granger scoffed. “I know what you’re thinking: I’m pathetic.”
“Pathetic?” Severus asked, once again at a loss as to how she had drawn such a conclusion from a total lack of utterances on his part.
“Yes!”
“Pathetic?” he repeated.
“Yes!”
“I seem to have missed a few steps. Would you be so kind as to explain—in detail—why I think that?”
“Because I’m alone!”
Severus frowned. “But if I thought that, wouldn’t I be a hypocrite? Since I am, myself, alone.”
Granger looked at him askance. “No, it’s different for you.”
“Forgive me my ignorance, but why?”
“Because… Because you want to be alone!”
“I do?”
“Yes, you do!”
Severus thought about coming home every night to his dark and empty flat. He thought about eating every meal by himself. He thought about reading something funny, interesting, or infuriating in a book and having no one to share it with.
“Again, forgive me, but I disagree.”
Granger’s face contorted in disbelief. She looked him up and down as if she didn’t know what to make of him.
Severus shrugged. In the past, he might have hidden that truth. And maybe it was because he felt indignant about her incorrect assumption, but he expressed his feelings nevertheless. If that made him seem weak, then so be it.
Hermione was ready for dinner. Unfortunately, dinner was not ready for her. She still had to sit through the maudlin speeches and the saccharine toasts. At least there was one consolation: servers were walking around the room, asking guests for their wine preference.
“White, please,” Hermione said. She would never have anything else with fish.
Little surprise, but Snape asked for the same thing.
Hermione took a sip and made a face; sweetness coated her tongue. No, this wine would not do at all.
“Too sweet,” Snape whispered from beside her. The speeches had begun in earnest, and he seemed to be doing his best to be polite. But sometimes even bad wine could trump politeness.
Hermione nodded. For once, they could agree on something.
“I prefer drier wines.”
“Likewise,” she said. “The drier, the better. Anything else is not worth drinking.”
Snape’s lips curled. At first, Hermione could not place the expression, thinking he was suffering some kind of bad-wine-induced affliction. Yet when she turned to face him, there was no denying it—Snape was smiling.
“I want it to be so dry, it feels like I’ve grown hair on my tongue.”
Hermione made a face, but felt a laugh burbling in the back of her throat. It burst past her defenses, and she dissolved into a fit of giggles. Many pairs turned in their direction in disapproval, so Hermione tamped it back down.
“Horrible image,” she said sotto voce, leaning close so only Snape heard. “But accurate.”
Only belatedly did Hermione realize how near she was to Snape. Close enough to spot the nick in his cheek from shaving. Close enough to smell his cologne, a heady, masculine scent, which was decidedly not unpleasant.
Did Snape always smell this good? she wondered. Or was it just for special occasions?
She hadn’t known she was staring until his dark eyes met her own. A red-hot flush crept into her cheeks, yet Snape made no cutting remark or snide comment. Instead, he held her gaze—not as a challenge, but an invitation of sorts.
Their shared attention broke when the room erupted into applause. Hermione stared at her wine glass, sitting with a strange feeling brewing in her belly. Not only did she not hate Snape’s presence, she almost… enjoyed it?
But, no, such a thing was unheard of. Unimaginable. Inconceivable!
Hermione took another sip of her wine without thinking, feeling the sticky sweetness coat the back of her throat. She set the glass back down and resolved to wait for the time when it would be deemed socially acceptable to visit the bar.
The speeches had finished, and it was time for dinner, for which Hermione was grateful. She chewed her salmon in silence, happy to have something other to focus on than the enigmatic man beside her. And at least the fish was better than the wine.
The band started up again, strings straining to produce the cloying notes of an overplayed melody. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes; of course, this would be the song chosen for their first dance. But as she watched Neville lead Pansy around the dance floor, her disdain turned to lead in her stomach. What did it matter if she found the song unbearable if it was meaningful for them?
The music petered out, the violin produced its final note, and the room erupted in applause once more. She brought her own hands together, feeling the weight of the clap, but distant from its noise.
Hermione was vaguely aware of Snape standing up, and her shoulders sagged in relief. But then she felt his hand on the back of her chair and his warm breath on her ear.
“Would you care for a firewhisky? Or brandy, perhaps?”
Hermione froze. His proximity was making it incredibly hard to form a thought, let alone string together a sentence.
“Oh, um, well…” She cleared her throat. “Whatever you’re having.” Hermione winced; her response sounded so unsure. And Hermione was never unsure.
But Snape simply nodded. “Alright. Poison, it is, then.”
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but then she caught Snape’s expression. The barest hint of a smirk had graced his face. He’d been making a joke.
She crossed her arms and stared ahead, finished with this man and his exasperating ways. Couples of all ages were spilling onto the dance floor now, and Hermione watched them. None were as practiced as Neville and Pansy had been, but their movements were joyful.
The glass of brown liquor appeared in her field of view, and she accepted it silently.
“Not going to check to see if it’s poison?” came Snape’s velvet baritone. For all she disliked about him, Hermione had never disliked his voice.
Hermione shrugged and took a sip. The drink was rich and smoky and reminded her strangely of Snape.
“Severus!”
Hermione’s head shot up to see Pomona Sprout rushing to their table. She looked beautiful in her emerald crushed velvet gown, as verdant as her greenhouses.
“I had hoped I would see you here.” Sprout wrapped her hand around Snape’s, which she patted affectionately. “It has been too long.” She turned to Hermione. “Do you mind if I take him for one dance?”
Hermione had been about to correct her former teacher, but she could scarcely explain herself before Snape was dragged to the dance floor. In return, he offered Hermione a desperate expression. She chuckled despite herself. When Snape did not move, Sprout placed his hands on her hip and the small of her back. He appeared horrified, yet he made no protest, and gamely allowed himself to be led around.
“Someone’s in a good mood.”
Hermione turned to see Pansy in the seat beside her, her poofy white dress spilling over the legs of the chair. She had Poppy in her arms, scratching the dog behind her ears. Poppy, meanwhile, was giving Hermione a weary look; she had never been Hermione’s biggest fan.
“Iris told me you were here with Snape. I didn’t believe her at first.”
Merlin, when would this rumor die?
“I have to say: you two are well suited.”
“Really?” Hermione was too incredulous to correct Pansy.
Pansy nodded, gray eyes sparkling. “Oh, yes. You’re both incredibly pedantic—”
“Hey—”
“And stubborn to a fault—”
“False.”
“And I imagine this will lead to many happy years together.” Pansy reached forward to squeeze Hermione’s hand. There was genuine tenderness to her gaze. “You deserve as much.”
Again Hermione’s eyes found Snape. His face was stuck in a grimace, yet he remained in Sprout’s grasp. Could she imagine herself in the other woman’s position? The recipient of such an expression?
Pansy stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to find my husband.”
Severus watched as Pansy departed from their table. He couldn’t begin to imagine what she and Granger had spoken about, but he imagined it couldn’t have been good. House rivalry aside, Granger had once been entangled with Longbottom, which likely made for uncomfortable interactions.
Yet, when Severus saw Granger up close, her face was not pinched with disgust or anger. She seemed… oddly pensive. Granted, Severus was not an expert on reading her moods, so what did he know?
She looked up when she heard him approach, offering a small smile. “How was your dance?”
If Severus was not mistaken, there was no venom in her voice, but genuine interest. He blinked, nearly stunned into silence. “Tolerable,” he replied.
Granger tilted her head. “I am surprised that you didn’t put up a fight.”
Severus shrugged. “It certainly was not my favorite experience, but I felt I owed it to her after a lifetime of kindness on her part.”
Her gaze narrowed, as if she found him difficult to read. Under Granger’s scrutiny, Severus felt a rush of blood suffuse his cheeks. He was not usually so bashful. Then again, he didn’t usually have a beautiful woman staring at him.
“Would you endure such a thing again?”
What an odd question, Severus thought. Why would she ask—Oh.
“Me and… you, dancing? Are you quite well?” He stared at her drink on the table—still full. Unless, of course, she’d refilled it in the intervening time.
Granger laughed, but the sound was harsher than before. “I know; it’s ridiculous.”
“No… I just imagined that you would find dancing with me repulsive.”
“Me?” Granger said with a scoff. “You’re mistaken. You hate me, remember?”
“Again, Miss Granger—”
“Hermione,” she corrected.
“Hermione,” he amended, the name fuzzy on his tongue. “I try my hardest every day to be polite to you, and you rebuff me every time.”
“Polite? You called my scarf ‘handmade’!”
“Was it not?”
Hermione made a face. “Well, yes—”
“Then I fail to see what is wrong with such a statement.”
Hermione sighed, and Severus imagined that was the end of that conversation. But then she said, “So do you want to dance with me, or not?”
“I would be honored.” And he offered his arm as he’d seen done in many films before.
Hermione balked but reached for his elbow and allowed herself to be brought to her feet. She stumbled a bit but righted herself with Severus’s help.
He felt all eyes on them as they joined the fray. Severus didn’t care about others’ opinions—a lifetime of being subjected to small minds tended to have that effect—but Hermione’s concerned expression told him she didn’t feel the same way. Or, perhaps, she was already regretting inviting him to the dance floor.
Then, she stopped at the edge and refused to take a step onto the wooden surface. Severus knew this was the end of this little adventure. Oh well. Such was life.
The band was playing a lively tune, and at this distance, it would be hard to hear one’s conversation partner. Severus leaned in and said, “Would you like to go back to your seat?”
Hermione shook her head. “I’m building up the courage,” she yelled over the music.
“Take your time.” He felt that was more polite than saying, I thought Gryffindors were full of courage already.
“I don’t know how to dance,” she admitted. “Not well, at least.”
“Neither do I.”
“Wouldn’t you be embarrassed?”
“Of what?”
“Being seen dancing with me?”
Severus shrugged. “Not particularly, no.” Although if he was being honest, he was getting a bit tired of waiting.
“Alright.” She exhaled. “Let’s do it.”
As she took her first step onto the dance floor, the song changed from something upbeat to a slow ballad. Hermione’s eyes widened; she was spooked now.
But Severus would not have it. He placed his hand on the small of her back and at her waist. He was pleased to discover how warm her bare skin was, though she shivered under his touch.
“Forgive me,” he said. “Cold hands.”
“Right.” Hermione looked down and away, abashed. It was strange having her so near, to be breathing her air. She smelled wonderful, like a well-spiced Christmas punch. Severus hoped he smelled okay. He was sweating through his shirt at the moment, which was probably not helping matters.
Severus also didn’t know what to say at this moment. Was one supposed to talk while dancing? For some reason, he didn’t think staring at her silently was correct.
“At least your ex is seeing you dance with someone new,” he offered.
Hermione exhaled. It sounded like something between a laugh and a sigh. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“Well, Longbottom really missed out.”
Hermione made a face, and Severus knew he’d said the wrong thing. Then she burst out laughing. “Neville? You think I was with Neville?”
Severus blinked. He did think so, actually. Why was that so ridiculous?
“No, I dated Pansy. For a few years, actually.”
“Oh,” Severus said. Honestly, it was his fault for assuming otherwise.
“But, yes, I suppose I don’t look so pathetic now after all.”
“You never did.”
Her face crumpled, and Severus was afraid that she was about to cry again. But then Hermione smiled and took a step closer. “You’re not pathetic either.”
“Good to know,” Severus teased.
Hermione rolled her eyes but stayed close. Then one dance turned in a second. A second became a third. They remained intertwined until they were the last pair on the dance floor. His boots had only pinched a little bit—not that Severus really noticed anyway.