Chapter Text
The time had finally arrived for the Ministry's Fundraiser. The grand ballroom within the Ministry of Magic, usually reserved for the most ostentatious of state galas and weighty diplomatic receptions, had been transformed into an even more glittering, almost blindingly opulent spectacle for the St. Mungo's Charity Dinner and Fundraiser. Crystal chandeliers, magically enhanced to drip cascades of pure, diamond-like light, hung suspended from the soaring, enchanted ceiling, which currently depicted a breathtaking, slowly swirling nebula of deepest silver and vibrant sapphire. Round tables draped in rich, midnight-blue velvet were artfully arranged throughout the vast space, each adorned with elaborate, towering centerpieces of shimmering, self-illuminating moonflowers and delicate, enchanted silver bells that chimed softly with the ambient magic, creating a symphony of subtle, melodic sound. The air itself was thick and heady with the scent of expensive perfumes, rare and exotic magical blooms flown in from around the globe, and the low, sophisticated murmur of hundreds of influential witches and wizards mingling, their dress robes a dazzling, ever-shifting kaleidoscope of silks, satins, and intricate, shimmering enchantments.
Hermione Granger, taking a deep, steadying breath that did little to calm the frantic fluttering in her stomach, stepped into the glittering, overwhelming fray. She had, after much internal debate, several near-panicked owl-orders to various robe-makers, and a rather frantic last-minute emergency shopping trip to Diagon Alley with a determined Ginny, chosen a gown that was intended to be both a statement and a shield.
It was a severe, yet elegant, column of midnight-black silk, deceptively simple in its clean cut, but utterly breathtaking in its understated sophistication. The gown was sleeveless, with a gracefully draped cowl neckline that hinted at the delicate curve of her collarbones, and it clung subtly to her figure before flaring out into a subtle mermaid silhouette that whispered around her ankles as she moved. Her usually unruly hair had been coaxed into a sophisticated, intricate chignon at the nape of her neck, with a few soft, artfully escaped tendrils allowed to frame her face. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of delicate diamond drop earrings that had been a thoughtful, if modest, birthday gift from her parents. She felt elegant, poised, and, she fervently hoped, utterly unapproachable, at least by one particular, silver-haired co-host of the evening.
The DMF team, as per Minister Shacklebolt's rather pointed "mandatory attendance" edict, had been assigned a prominent, circular table near the front of the expansive ballroom, not far from the main dais. As Hermione approached, navigating the throng of mingling dignitaries, she saw her colleagues already beginning to assemble. Neville, looking remarkably smart and surprisingly dapper in dark, forest-green dress robes embroidered with subtle silver leaves, was seated beside Luna, who was a true vision in a gown that seemed to be woven from actual moonbeams, its fabric shimmering with an ethereal, otherworldly light. Her usual radish earrings had been replaced tonight by delicate, dangling silver stars that caught the light as she moved. Ron, looking slightly uncomfortable in the formal setting but undeniably proud in well-fitting, deep navy robes, was gallantly holding a chair for Pansy Parkinson. Pansy, in turn, was stunning, a true Slytherin ice queen in an emerald-green silk creation that perfectly
complemented her dark, sleek hair and sharp, intelligent features. Cormac McLaggen, preening slightly in undeniably ostentatious gold-trimmed robes that shouted ‘look at me’, was already attempting to charm a harried-looking, and clearly unimpressed, witch from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. And Draco, looking every inch the reformed, impeccably polished aristocratic heir in exquisitely tailored black robes that spoke of quiet, old-money elegance, was smiling warmly at Astoria Greengrass. Astoria, lovely and graceful in a gown of pale, ethereal lilac, her gentle demeanor a perfect, calming counterpoint to Draco’s usual sharpness, returned his smile with a soft affection that made Hermione’s heart ache just a little.
Hermione offered a polite, general smile to the group as she arrived, her gaze quickly, anxiously, scanning the remaining place settings, a familiar knot of dread tightening in her stomach. There were three empty seats remaining at their slightly curved table. One beside Draco, which seemed a safe, friendly option. One beside Neville, equally innocuous. And then… one directly in the middle of their table, a seat that offered a commanding view of the room, and, unfortunately, a prime position for unwanted attention. She mentally crossed her fingers, her toes, anything that could be crossed, hoping against all hope.
Her hope, however, was, as usual, remarkably short-lived. Just as she was about to suggest, perhaps a little too brightly, taking the seat next to Draco, a deep, familiar, silken voice drawled from directly behind her, a voice that still had the power to send an unwelcome shiver down her spine. "Miss Granger. You look… exceptionally radiant this evening."
Hermione’s tummy clenched. She turned, schooling her features into a mask of polite neutrality, to see Lucius Malfoy standing there, looking devastatingly handsome and utterly, infuriatingly composed in black dress robes that shimmered with a subtle, almost invisible silver thread, his platinum hair gleaming under the enchanted chandeliers. His silver eyes, however, held that familiar, unsettling intensity as they raked over her, a possessive heat in their depths that made her skin crawl. Before she could offer a polite, if decidedly cool, acknowledgment, another, even far more jarring voice, cut through the air from her other side.
"Granger."
Severus Snape. Looking imposing in his own severely tailored black dress robes that seemed to absorb the light around him. He stood regarding her, his expression completely unreadable, his dark eyes like chips of obsidian, cold and hard.
And then, the horrifying, inescapable reality of the seating arrangement, no doubt meticulously orchestrated by some well-meaning but utterly clueless Ministry functionary (or perhaps, a far less well-meaning and infinitely more manipulative Lucius Malfoy), became glaringly, painfully apparent. The only remaining seat for her at the DMF table, as indicated by the elegantly calligraphed place card bearing her name, was directly, horrifyingly, positioned squarely between none other than Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy.
Swallowing a silent groan, Hermione pasted on a brittle, overly bright smile and, with as much grace and composure as she could muster under the sudden, intense scrutiny, took her
assigned seat. The tension that immediately descended upon that particular section of the table was so thick, so palpable, it felt as if it could be cut with a freshly sharpened, goblin-forged knife. Everyone at the table, and likely several tables nearby, noticed it. Word, it seemed, had eventually gotten out about her rather spectacular breakup with Lucius Malfoy, even if the lurid details of why were known only to Draco and, of course, to Severus.
Ron actually choked on a sip of his pumpkin juice, sputtering slightly before Pansy discreetly thumped him on the back. Pansy’s own perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched in what could only be described as fascinated amusement. Even Luna seemed to momentarily lose her usual ethereal detachment, her wide, silvery eyes flicking between the three of them with a curious, almost pitying expression. Draco shot Hermione a look across the table that was a potent mixture of profound, heartfelt sympathy and barely suppressed, wicked mirth at her predicament.
Dinner was, to put it mildly, an exercise in excruciating, almost unbearable awkwardness for Hermione. To her right, Lucius Malfoy, after her initial cool reception, was the epitome of polished, if somewhat subdued, charm.
"Hermione, my dear," he began, his voice his usual smooth, Lucius-like drawl, but with an underlying softness, a hint of something vulnerable she hadn't expected. "How have you been?" He did seem, she noted with a flicker of surprise, genuinely, deeply concerned about her. It was, after all, the first time they had directly spoken to each other since that disastrous, soul-crushing night at his penthouse.
"I've been as well as one can be… considering," she said, her voice a bit terser than she intended, her gaze fixed on her untouched plate of salmon. She didn't elaborate further; she didn't have to. He knew exactly what she was referring to.
To her left, Severus Snape was a silent, brooding, almost vibrating monolith of disapproval. He ate his food with a grim, focused precision, his posture rigid. His gaze fixed resolutely on his own plate, or on some distant, unseeable point across the glittering ballroom. He offered no conversation, no acknowledgment whatsoever of her presence beside him. Yet, Hermione was acutely, uncomfortably, almost painfully aware of him, of the palpable tension radiating from him in icy waves, of the way his jaw would clench almost imperceptibly whenever Lucius leaned in to murmur something in her ear.
"Hermione," Lucius’s voice was a low, intimate whisper now, his head bent close to hers, "please, may we talk? In private, perhaps, later this evening?"
She turned and looked at him, her heart giving an unwelcome lurch of disbelief. His face was precariously close to hers still, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath sweeping across her skin, see the tiny flecks of silver in his grey eyes. His warm, formerly beloved lips were ever so close to hers, causing her own breath to hitch at their dangerous nearness. Gods, why is he still so bloody charming, even now? she thought angrily, despairingly, to herself.
"I… I don't know, Lucius," she said softly, her voice barely audible, hoping desperately that no one else, particularly the man on her other side, could overhear their whispered conversation.
Severus, however, possessed unnaturally sharp hearing. He could hear every infuriating, silken word of it. He was utterly, profoundly disgusted with Lucius. The man had royally, unforgivably, fucked up, had hurt her deeply, and yet, here he was, still attempting to wheedle his way back into her good graces, with no apparent shame, no real understanding of the damage he had wrought.
Lucius, oblivious to Snape's silent fury, leaned back down to her ear, his lips now brushing against the sensitive skin of her earlobe ever so lightly, sending an unwanted shiver through her. "Please, my dear," he murmured. "Let me at least apologize properly. In person. For everything."
Hermione let out a small, almost inaudible sigh of resignation. She was tired of fighting, tired of the tension. "Fine, Lucius," she said softly, finally caving in, though a part of her screamed in protest. "Later. Perhaps."
She picked at her food, her appetite completely gone. This, she thought with a sinking, leaden heart, was going to be an exceptionally long and uncomfortable evening.
Severus, sensing her sad, resigned demeanor, and his own cold anger still ranging at Lucius’s audacity, did something very unexpected. Something that made Hermione’s breath catch in her throat. He reached over, his hand moving with surprising stealth beneath the heavy velvet tablecloth, and found her hand where it lay clenched in her lap. He gently, firmly, grabbed it, giving it a warm, reassuring squeeze. He then leaned over, his own lips now brushing against her other ear, his breath sending a sudden, dizzying rush of heat coursing through her.
"Hermione," he whispered, his voice a low, intimate rumble meant only for her, "will you honor me with the first dance of the evening?"
He pulled back all too quickly for her liking, his dark eyes searching hers, a single eyebrow raised in that familiar, quizzical look.
Her cheeks, which had been pale with stress, now flushed a becoming, delicate pink. She looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw not the brooding Head of Department, but simply… Severus. His dark eyes held a warmth, a sincerity, that made her heart ache in a completely different, far more hopeful, way. She smiled at him then, a genuine, beaming, utterly radiant smile, and squeezed his hand back, her fingers lacing through his.
"Yes, Severus," she whispered back, her voice filled with a breathless delight. "Yes, that would be lovely."
"Splendid," he murmured, a ghost of a smile, a rare and precious thing, touching his own lips. "I shall be looking forward to it."
He gave her hand one last, firm squeeze before releasing it, and then, with deliberate intent, he gave Lucius Malfoy, who had been watching their whispered exchange with a tightening jaw, a pointed, almost challenging look. Lucius looked on, his silver eyes narrowed, a flicker of something that looked remarkably like jealousy – a sensation he had rarely, if ever, possessed –
tightening his chest. He couldn't hear what Snape had whispered to her, but he could clearly see the effect it had. He saw the way her cheeks had flushed so prettily, the way her eyes had lit up, how Snape had actually, brazenly, held Hermione's hand right there at the table.
Lucius met Snape’s gaze with narrowed, icy slits. Challenge accepted, old friend, he thought to himself, a cold, competitive fire igniting within him. He gave the other man a curt, almost imperceptible nod, which Severus returned with an equally challenging, almost predatory, nod of his own.
Hermione, caught between them, could practically feel the air crackle with the unspoken, sudden tension, the shift in the dynamics between the two powerful, complicated men on either side of her. Merlin, she thought, her own heart now a confused, fluttering mess of dread and a strange, unexpected excitement. What on earth was that all about? This was, indeed, going to be a very, very interesting night.
_________
The sumptuous dinner service eventually concluded, and after a brief, appreciative speech from the Head Healer of St. Mungo’s, Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt officially declared the silent auction open and the dance floor ready for its first occupants. A lively, yet elegant, melody struck up from the enchanted orchestra nestled in a far corner of the grand ballroom. The silent auction, with its glittering array of donated magical artifacts, rare potions, and exclusive experiences, would run throughout the evening, he announced, until an hour before the end of the event. Until then, the floor was open for dancing.
Hermione braced herself. Lucius, seated to her right, was already turning towards her, a possessive, anticipatory gleam in his silver eyes, his lips parting as if to speak. But before he could utter a single syllable, Severus Snape, with a surprising, almost predatory swiftness, stood from his seat to her left. He offered his hand to her, his dark eyes locking with hers, a flicker of something unreadable – determination? Defiance? – within their depths.
"If I recall correctly, Miss Granger," Severus drawled, his voice carrying clearly in a momentary lull, cutting through Lucius’s unspoken intention, "you promised me the first dance of the evening."
A palpable shockwave rippled around their section of the table. Neville looked utterly bewildered, while Luna simply beamed with serene, knowing approval. Draco, however, looked on with an expression of spectacular, almost gleeful amusement, his eyes dancing. And Lucius Malfoy… Lucius was glaring pure, unadulterated daggers at Severus, his aristocratic composure momentarily fracturing into an expression of cold, incredulous fury.
Hermione, caught completely off guard by Snape’s bold, public claim felt a dizzying rush of warmth, of triumph, of sheer, giddy surprise. She looked up at him, at the almost imperceptible challenge in his eyes, and a genuine, beaming smile spread across her face. She placed her hand in his. "Indeed."
Oh bloody hell, Draco thought to himself, trying to suppress a laugh as he watched Snape lead a radiant Hermione towards the dance floor. This evening is going to be something truly spectacular.
Hermione allowed Severus to lead her onto the polished expanse of the dance floor. He pulled her close, one hand settling firmly, possessively, on her waist, the other enveloping hers. The orchestra had, as if on cue, transitioned into a slow, graceful waltz. He led her with a surprising, almost unnerving elegance, his movements fluid and precise, a stark contrast to the stiff formality she might have expected.
"Thank you for that," she said after a few moments, her voice a little breathless as she smiled up at him bashfully, the memory of Lucius’s thwarted expression bringing a fresh wave of satisfaction.
He raised a single, dark eyebrow, his expression one of feigned innocence. "I have no earthly idea what you are referring to, Miss Granger."
She gave him a look that clearly said, I know you're lying, and you know I know. "You know exactly what for," she murmured, a playful accusation in her tone. "For saving me from a rather… immediate and unwanted confrontation with Lucius."
"Hmmmm, perhaps," he conceded, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as he executed a perfect, graceful twirl, pulling her back even closer to him, their bodies brushing with an intimacy that sent a shiver down her spine. "Are you… upset that I intervened?"
"No," she admitted, her voice soft. "I'm grateful, actually. Very. I want to put off that particular conversation for as long as humanly possible." She paused, then added, a little reluctantly, "He can be remarkably charming when he wants to be, you know. Persuasive."
Snape scoffed, a low, dismissive sound, and then did something so uncharacteristic it made her giggle aloud: he actually rolled his eyes. "I am well aware of Lucius Malfoy and his so-called, and frequently deployed, ‘charms’."
She studied him for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I always thought you and Lucius were rather close, Severus. You are Draco’s godfather, are you not?"
His expression sobered slightly. "Yes," he confirmed, his gaze distant for a moment. "Lucius and I have been… acquainted… for almost thirty years. We’ve always… had to be rather close, as you put it, given our intertwined pasts." He paused, guiding her expertly through another turn. "He was, believe it or not, my only real friend during our Hogwarts days. He always had my back then, in his own way. Especially when I needed it most, during the… darker times." His voice dropped, a shadow crossing his features. "And yes, I was able to convince him of the profound errors of his ways near the end of the final battle. He surprisingly, for once, did the right thing and took my advice, protecting Draco and Narcissa."
Hermione was shocked, not just by the revelation of their deep, complicated history, but by the uncharacteristic openness with which Snape was sharing it with her. That he and Lucius Malfoy, two men she viewed as polar opposites in so many ways, shared such a long, complex bond… it was startling.
"I hope you don't mind me asking, Severus," she ventured, emboldened by his candor, "but if you are such long-term friends… why have you seemed so… rather openly hostile towards him lately? Especially," she added, her cheeks warming slightly, "when he’s been around me?"
He looked down at her then, his dark eyes serious, intense, holding hers captive. "How could I not be, Hermione," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "after he hurt you so badly?" He didn't mention the other, more personal reason, the fact that he was incredibly, fiercely upset that Lucius had gotten his manipulative hands on the woman he now realized he had deep, consuming feelings for.
She was floored by his admission, by the raw, protective anger in his voice on her behalf. "Severus," she began, a knot forming in her throat, "he's your friend. Your oldest friend, it sounds like. You can't let something that he did to me , over our… brief involvement… come between you two. I don't want to be the reason for a falling out of that magnitude."
"Hermione, trust me," Snape said, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. "Lucius and I will be… okay. This is hardly the first time we've had significant grievances with each other over the decades. Our… 'friendship'… has weathered far worse storms than his current transgressions against you."
The waltz began to draw to a close, the final, lingering chords of the music filling the air. Hermione, still processing his words, his unexpected revelations, nibbled anxiously on her bottom lip, a worried frown creasing her brow. He reached up, his thumb gently, possessively, grabbing her chin, tilting her face up to his. "Please refrain from that, Miss Granger," he murmured, his voice a low, husky caress. "It would be such a terrible shame to chew that lovely lip off."
She giggled, a light, airy sound, a blush instantly staining her cheeks at his unexpectedly flirtatious, almost tender, warning. "Thank you for the dance, Severus," she said, her voice a little breathless. "You are, I must admit, quite the good dance partner."
"I aim to please, Hermione," his deep baritone voice rumbled through her, causing an involuntary shiver of delight to trace its way down her spine.
As the music faded completely, he took her hand in his, brought it to his warm lips, and bestowed a soft, lingering kiss upon her knuckles, his dark eyes never leaving hers. It sent a fresh wave of dizzying heat through her, a sensation so potent, so intoxicating, that all thoughts of Lucius Malfoy, of her earlier anxieties, momentarily vanished, eclipsed by the overwhelming presence of the man before her.
With that, Severus was about to escort her from the dance floor when Draco, looking remarkably suave, approached them with a slight, charming bow. "May I have the honor of the next dance, Granger?" he asked, his eyes twinkling. "Astoria, regrettably, had to excuse herself to freshen up for a moment."
Hermione smiled warmly at him. "Of course, Draco. I’d be delighted."
Severus gave them both a curt, almost dismissive nod, though Hermione thought she saw a flicker of something – satisfaction? – in his eyes as he looked at Draco. "Excuse me," he said, his voice returning to its usual formal cadence. "I believe I shall view the items available in the silent auction." He then turned and made his way towards the glittering tables laden with enchanted objects.
The next song, a slightly more upbeat but still elegant melody, began, and Draco expertly led Hermione into the dance.
"So, Granger," he began, after a few moments, an amused smirk playing on his lips, "it seems you're rather popular this evening. Turning heads, causing quite the stir."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy," she replied, though a pleased flush warmed her cheeks.
"Oh, come off it, Hermione, you know very well what I'm talking about," he chuckled. "Our esteemed Head of Department, for one. I haven't seen Snape that… cordial … with anyone in living memory. Other than, of course, when he was deeply undercover as a spy and had to be charming to save his own skin."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "He's just being a friend, Draco. A good colleague. I think," she added, her voice dropping slightly, "he was mostly just trying to shield me from your father if I'm being perfectly honest."
"Oh yes, most definitely that too," Draco agreed, then his voice dropped conspiratorially. "But did you see the looks he and Father were shooting each other at dinner? And just now, when Snape claimed your first dance? They are bloody jealous of each other, Granger! Utterly, incandescently jealous!" He let out a delighted laugh.
Hermione gasped, genuinely shocked. She had, of course, noticed the palpable tension between them at dinner, the unspoken challenge when Snape had asked her to dance. But she hadn't, for a moment, thought it was due to jealousy . Especially not… not over her . Her mind began reeling, rapidly putting the pieces together – Lucius's possessive attention, Snape's uncharacteristic interventions, the almost territorial way both men had acted… She gasped again, a little louder this time. "Oh, bugger," she moaned out, a horrified understanding dawning. "I… I didn't realize."
Her mortification, of course, only made Draco laugh even harder. "Oh, Hermione, sometimes you Gryffindors are so wonderfully, hilariously oblivious!"
"Watch out this evening, Granger," he added, his expression becoming a little more serious, though his eyes still danced with amusement. "Slytherin men, especially ones like Snape and my father, are very… well… territorial , putting it very nicely indeed."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, a new sense of unease, mixed with a strange, unwelcome thrill, beginning to stir within her.
"Oh, I'm quite sure," Draco said, a knowing, almost wicked smirk spreading across his face as he expertly twirled her, "you're going to find out very, very soon."
Before she could press him further, before she could demand an explanation for his cryptic, unsettling words, the song came to an end. He gave her another charming bow. "If you'll excuse me, Granger. My lovely Astoria awaits." And with that, he was gone, leaving Hermione standing alone in the middle of the dance floor, her mind a whirlwind of confusion, dawning realization, and a growing, undeniable sense of impending… something.