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Hermione walks carefully around the fringe of the party. There’s sweat on the bridge of her nose, but she’s afraid to adjust her mask lest she disturb the numerous concealment charms imbued into it. As long as she’s wearing it, she will appear as a witch with short black hair and an angular face offset by a button nose. She almost startles when she catches sight of herself in the mirror. Again.
Glimpsing the door to the bathroom, Hermione dashes inside to collect herself. Her dress is too tight. Her face isn’t her own. And her voice… The modulator has given it this husky quality that she loathes entirely. Especially because the single men who have approached her thus far all seem to take it as flirtatious. She splashes water on her face before bracing her hands on the sink and staring herself down in the mirror.
“You can do this, Granger,” she mutters. “You’ve got to do this. The centaurs are counting on you.”
“And they’ll be very disappointed to learn you failed them by using your real name in a bathroom where anyone could be lurking.”
She turns sharply, raising her wand to the man emerging from the far stall. Severus is wearing a half mask like the Phantom. It does not disguise his features as hers does and so she’s forced to endure his true face looking down at her with disapproval.
“This is the women’s loo,” she hisses.
He arches his exposed brow. “I warded the door when you came in.”
“When I came in,” she repeats. “You were waiting in here?”
“You were practically vibrating at the briefing, Hermione,” he says as if that explains everything.
“And I suppose you just knew I’d hide in this loo?”
“There are only two on this floor. The other one is near the entrance where your nerves would not have yet taken over.”
“That was rhetorical.”
He shrugs. “Are you ready to do this?”
“How do you do this,” she asks. “I am sweating from places I didn’t know I could.”
Well whatever chance she had for Severus to finally see her as an attractive mature woman was now thoroughly scuppered.
Severus’ lips twitch. “I routinely lied in the face of the Dark Lord and psychopaths like Bellatrix Lestrange… these rich numpties are child’s play.”
“One of those rich numpties is kidnapping centaurs.”
“And as I have two legs instead of four, I’m rather confident that they won’t confuse me for one.”
“Sev—”
“I will do the talking,” he says as he places his hand on her arm. “All you have to do is listen to see if anyone sounds like the man you overheard.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
______________
Severus wakes up slowly. His head feels like it’s splitting. His eyelids are so heavy. Someone is sniffling beside him. He blinks. The room comes into focus. His mind quickly catalogues the ceiling, the curtains, and the distinct smell of antiseptic potion. He’s in St. Mungo’s. But why?
The night comes back in flashes. He was working the gala with Granger on his arm. Excruciating small talk with other guests. Tolerable dancing with Granger. A promising lead. He’d pursued it. Granger had… Granger had what? Fear speaks in his chest.
“Hermione!”
A sharp intake of breath. “You’re awake!”
He turns his head to find the witch in question sitting on a chair near his bed. She’s still wearing the dress from the gala and her mask. He frowns at her disguised features. He wants to see her.
“How are you feel—”
“Take off the mask when you speak to me,” he rasps.
Hermione’s hand goes to her face as if she’d forgotten about it altogether. She mutters the charm and the mask slides off. She throws it carelessly to the side. Her hair grows and curls, her face rounds out, and her eyes turn back to his favorite shade of hazel.
“There you are,” he murmurs softly, idly reaching out a hand as if to touch a curl. He freezes midmotion, his brain finally catching up to his actions. What the devil was he doing? “What happened?”
“A group of rogue centaurs grew tired of waiting for the Ministry to get results. They crashed the gala and a fight broke out. A bombarda sent me over the edge of the balcony; the doors were open, thank merlin, but my wand was knocked from my hand.” She sniffs. “We were so high up, I thought I was going to die but then you were there.”
She gives him a soft smile. He remembers it then, the utter horror of watching her body fly helplessly through the air.
“You jumped out the balcony after me,” she continues. “I’m guessing you were flying because you managed to reach me almost instantly and caught me in your arms, but then there was another explosion. No one will confirm anything to me, of course, but I suspect a bit of debris knocked you out. Fortunately, we were close enough to the ground that the impact of our landing wasn’t damaging.”
“And you’re alright?”
She nods.
“Right then. Tell Shacklebolt I’m ready for a—”
“Why did you catch me?”
His shields clamp down. “Would you have preferred I let you die?”
“You could have levitated me. You could have conjured a soft landing. There were so many spells. But you didn’t choose one of those, Severus. You leapt after me. Why?”
“Instinct, I suppose.”
“Instinct,” she repeats, faintly amused, definitely skeptical. She tentatively stretches out her hand to place it over his own. “Take off your mask, Severus.”
He blinks, allowing his occlumency to recede somewhat. “Magic wouldn’t have been good enough. I needed to have you in my arms to know that you were safe.”
“Why?” Her voice is little more than a whisper.
He swallows thickly. His eyes dart around, quickly assessing her. She’s tense but expectant. Her eyes look… almost hopeful which doesn’t make sense but he finds himself answering honestly anyway.
“Because I love you.”
“Oh.”
“I know that you’re with—”
“No one,” she interrupts. “I’m with no one. We… We broke up a few months ago. When I, um, when I finally realized that I’m actually in love with you.”
“Oh.”
“They’ve reputations for most brilliant minds of the age and the most eloquent thing they can manage is ‘oh?’”
Severus flicks the finger of his free hand and the partially latched door swings open to reveal an eavesdropping healer. She looks absolutely mortified and flushes a deep pink. Hermione squeezes his hand; he’s not sure if she means to warn him or reassure him, but something in his chest loosens when he looks over at her. The healers footsteps hurry away.
“I can be more eloquent,” Hermione says, almost defensively.
His lips twitch.
“I’m certain you can. I, however, am a man of action and if I have to have our first kiss with my arse out, I’m certainly not going to be laying down for it,” he informs her as he starts to sit up.
“Severus Snape, if you try to get out of this bed before a healer clears you, I will hex you,” she threatens.
“If you think that this revelation means you can boss me around like the other dunderheads, you are sorely mistaken,” he snaps back though it lacks his usual heat.
“That does not sound like a couple that just learned they’re in love,” a new voice says, followed by a loud shushing sound.
“Oh, for the love of merlin,” Hermione grumbles before she seizes his face and claims his mouth with her own.