Hermione's Dilemma

Chapter 4

By Ehann

Snape leaned closer, until his lips were nearly brushing hers. He hesitated a fraction away, then trailed his mouth along her soft cheek until his lips nipped at her ear. He whispered, “What makes you think I intend to at all?”

The stinging along his face was not unexpected, he thought ruefully. He only wished Miss Granger didn’t have such a strong swing. Fury looked glorious on her— a deep flush suffused her cheeks and her eyes flashed. Her chest rose and fell in quick succession with great heaving breaths. Snape felt a seconds regret. Probably should have just kissed her.

“You bastard,” she accused.

Snape forced a cutting laugh. “I never claimed otherwise, Miss Granger.” And regardless of my base desires, and how foolish they may be, I am not about to indulge…here. “And now, I believe, I shall return to the ball. Students will be getting into mischief.” He reached out and tugged a lock of her hair. Snape added softly, “Not to mention Professors who should know better.” He was referring to himself, but judging by Miss Granger’s reaction she obviously did not know that. Snape turned on his heel, but not before saw the glassy sheen fill her eyes.

“Why did you assume that particular glamour?” she called out, from behind him. “Why not just wear your regular face?”

He stopped where he stood, wondering if she really required an answer, or simply sought to twist the knife she’d unknowingly buried in his chest. He heard her move and jumped a little when her arms came from nowhere and wrapped around his midsection. He was trying so hard to walk away, but now…now that her body was pressed up against him…He closed his eyes. He just didn’t have the strength anymore. Fine. She wanted him? He would see. Fingering his wand, he murmured the charm to activate his usual glamour. Snape let his hands wander down to where her own were joined together, where his belt buckle would be, had he been wearing one. He pried her hands off of him, and holding them clutched together mercilessly in one hand, yanked her against him, in full Greasy Git mode. “This more to your liking, Miss Granger?”

Her eyes never wavered from his. “You’re hurting me,” she said simply.

For a number of seconds— five, perhaps ten— he glared at her, fighting down the urge to shake her until she regained her senses. Her wrists felt hot, burning almost, and he realized the intensity of the grip he had on her. He released her, suddenly feeling more ashamed of himself than he had since….Strange how this costume he was now wearing on his face made him feel so different on the inside…so hateful, full of spite…He wondered if he wasn’t going to choke on it. Oh, no, Severus, you can’t be satisfied with mere verbal darts, you have to assault her physically as well. “My apologies.”

He stepped back, about to—once more—attempt to return to the ball, but she advanced as he retreated. “Don’t walk away, now,” she said, eyes wide. “You never answered my question. Why not just wear your regular face?” She was rubbing her wrists, he saw, rubbing the angry red welts he’d inflicted.

Narrowing his eyes, he looked down his nose, saying, “Call it, an experiment gone terribly wrong.” Nothing but the truth, after all. It had been interesting to see her react to his given features. Fascinating in fact, discovering that she preferred the disguise of the Git, to the more classically attractive man.

She continued to give him a searching sort of regard, the kind of look that indicated her reluctance to simply let it go. Fine. He had better just say something, anything. “Allow me to understand the workings of your female mind, Miss Granger. Are you in fact saying that you prefer this look,” he gestured at his face, “to the other?”

Her lips thinned— in annoyance, no doubt. Then something odd happened. Her cheek twitched and her lips curved, first just a hint, then deepening into a true grin. She laughed out loud, holding one hand over her mouth as if she was trying to stuff the hearty guffaws back in. Holding her stomach in support, she doubled over, gasping for breath and—Merlin help him— snorting. At last, she wiped her eyes, and still giving him that grin, announced, “Do you know? I took such care with my preparation, hoping above anything to turn your head with …with this,” She pointed to her hair, her eyes. “I really thought it would make some sort of difference in the way you saw me. But it doesn’t matter a bit, does it? You still see me as some irritating, know it all, little Gryffindor; a thorn in your bloody side.” Her grin faded with these words, leaving her with a rather sad expression.

For some reason her little speech did not sit at all well with him. How dare she imply he treated her like a child when in fact—He could hardly bear to admit it—after that episode in the staff room, he certainly considered her an adult. More than he should, most likely. “What I think, Miss Granger, is that you would do much better to stick with your natural born attributes, because you look a great deal better wearing your own appearance.”

She said three words. Three words guaranteed to induce irritation, no, make that genuine anger. “Pot. Kettle. Black.” She whirled, flaring out her gown, then swept into the Great Hall without looking back.

~~~~~~~~~

She made it her business to seek out and find Remus. She needed not to be alone right now, and she thought that she might burst into tears if anyone asked her what was wrong. Remus was kind, and particularly discrete, thank the gods. Hermione pushed through the crowd of students, waving briefly at the Headmaster, who was speaking to group of students that included, the Headless Horseman, Death—complete with grinning skullface and scythe— and A Young Aphrodite-clad respectably in white and gold robes. Hermione heard them all laughing merrily as she slipped through the throng.

After thirty minutes of nothing, she admitted defeat. Pulling her reduced wand from her bodice she murmured a locating charm. A tiny silver sparkly materialized in front of her and she followed it, winding her way through a maze like path. Finally, the sparkly died out, leaving her directly in front of a teenaged boy. He had threads of silver running through his hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in seventh year Hogwarts robes, the Gryffindor crest plainly visible at the right breast.

Hermione smiled, recognizing him immediately. “Hello, Remus. I’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

“Hermione? You look so different.” He smiled in something like amazement.

She wished for fleeting moment that she had garnered a similar reaction from Snape. Would have made it all worth it. Ruthlessly shoving it aside, she shrugged and said, “Some people saw no difference to speak of. Anyway, as parties go…I’m afraid I’m having a rather bad time. How much longer must I stay before I can escape without undue notice?”

Remus produced a pocket watch. “Hmm. I’d say…” He grinned, and with his youthful face looked surprisingly carefree and healthy. “Any time now. I can cover for you in case someone asks.”

Don’t worry, Remus, no one will ask. “Thank you, I’d appreciate that.” She glanced down at her clasped hands, then, thinking about what high hopes she’d had after finishing her preparations. Just goes to show you…Hope for the best but expect the worst. Her mother had been fond of that saying.

She offered him a tight smile, hoped her face didn’t crack with the strain. She hadn’t gotten more than three strides away when she abruptly found herself facing Lupin again. “I’m sorry,” he said smoothly, “It seems this is our dance.” The music had changed again, shifting seamlessly into a waltz, familiar and poignant. The Blue Danube. It reminded her of dancing lessons with her dad, of whirling dreamily about her bedroom for hours on end after she’d received her acceptance letter to Hogwarts. It reminded of her spinning until she was hopelessly dizzy, and stumbling around, reminded her of that crazy feeling when the world slips of its axis…

And so it was that he led her gracefully across the dance floor. He danced beautifully, if less inspired than Severus had done. Hermione’s fingers flexed on Remus’s shoulder as he whirled her, but her stomach remained stubbornly in its place. Her heart never leaped, and her knees were as firm as they had ever been.

Her gaze fell upon his lips for a second before she blushed and looked away. The thought of kissing him felt strangely…distasteful for no reason that she could figure. She liked Remus, always had, even as a student. She had always felt comfortable around him, always enjoyed his gentle wit and intelligence. She had passed many lunches in his office and walked about the grounds in his company as quite the common occurrence

But her heart never leaped. Her breath quickened from exertion, nothing more. She glanced away from his all too perceptive eyes. Her gaze fell on a dark haired man and her entire body stiffened. She gasped involuntarily and felt a distinct shock, as if she’d touched an electrical outlet after licking her finger. Her insides wrenched and twisted. Snape found her looking at him then, and smirked.

Bastard.

It would have to be Snape, wouldn’t it? Just her luck. Although…she sighed. She had already known. She was Gryffindor after all; emotions generally were not a big secret with her House. Hadn’t it been her wayward emotions directing her to such unusual behaviours, lately? Seeking out conversation at the High Table…massaging his hands, losing herself in those beautiful dark eyes…

Remus coughed delicately and she guiltily dragged herself back to the present. “Something wrong, Hermione?”

She forced a smile. “Not at all.” The music ended and he released his grip on her, guiding her to the huge doors with a hand at the small of her back. She turned to him. “Thank you for the dance,” she said sincerely. “It was lovely.”

“Are you sure you want to go right now?” Remus asked. “Might want to wait a few minutes.”

But Hermione had had enough. She’d made a mountain out of a molehill, and so would suffer the necessary humiliation in the privacy of her rooms. When she was alone, then…then she could weep out her frustrations, and leave them behind. But for now she would walk out of here with her back straight and her eyes dry.

Never should have let myself hope, she thought bitterly. I knew going in that this was for the students…Made myself look the fool, mooning over Snape…

“Goodnight,” she said finally, issuing another tight smile. She pushed past him and vanished into the crowd.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Great Doors slammed shut behind her. Hermione glanced about and seeing no one, took off at a run, holding her gown up to her knees in order not to trip. She raced up stairwells, holding onto the rails for dear life at one point as it shifted while she was in the middle. When it docked in the new position she stepped onto the landing.

Somewhere below chimes rang through the castle. One…two… She counted them idly as she pulled her shoes off. Her feet were positively killing her. She leaned down, rubbing them.

Four…five…

She released her foot and stood up. Then shrieked, seeing the black cloaked figure in front of her.

Seven…eight…

“Miss Granger,” Snape said silkily. “Fancy meeting you here. I thought for certain you were leaving with Lupin.” His mouth twisted, deepening the lines that ran from his lips to his nose.

Eleven.

“You are an idiot,” she informed him clearly.

Twelve.

“Unmask!” The cries from below echoed through the ancient castle, vibrating through the stone and carrying through the very floor. The air around her shimmered and she felt the glamour she had been wearing dissolve into nothing.

Snape just looked like Snape, same as he usually did. Dark. Brooding. Mysterious. Wait…gorgeous?

“Um?” Her eyes widened.

“Later,” He said, waving his hand. He reached out slowly, drawing one of her long curls through his fingers. Hermione stood like a statue, afraid to move lest he return to the snide man who had made her burn with embarrassment, as well as desire. He shifted closer to her, so close that she could see that his black eyes, could see the fine hairs just outside of the line of his eyebrows, could see the whiskers growing in his face…

He leaned down…Gods, he was so tall…Then thought was lost as his mouth slanted over hers. Her hands clutched his shoulders even as his arms wrapped around her back drawing her closer, pressing her against him. He felt wonderful, all lean muscle, and steely strength. His taste was on her lips, his scent all around her…The world tipped crazily and she hung on with all her might, refusing to let go, wanting to hang on to this insanity for as long as it lasted…

Snape pulled back with the little remaining coherence that he possessed. Hermione came with him, matching his movements. Her eyes never left his face and her hands fluttered over his features— a series of gossamer touches that started at his brow and slipped down either side of his nose. From there she caressed his cheeks, fingering the hollows that dipped below the bone. She stopped at his jawline, holding his face gently in her palms.

“What changed?” She asked softly.

“What do you mean?” If in doubt, always answer a question with a question.

“I mean this, I mean you!” She retorted, gesturing at his face. “This is really what you look like isn’t it?”

“Do you like it better?” He asked emotionlessly. “I would imagine so. It doesn’t matter, I suppose.” Now his eyes dropped to the floor, apparently finding something of great interest there.

“Severus, honestly, what is wrong with you? It’s like you’re two different people depending on what face you’re wearing at any given moment. For God’s sake, just pick one and stick with it!”

“That,” he said coldly, “Was my intention, Miss Granger. Or did you forget the charm of the Masquerade Ball? All masks off at midnight? Even my own.” His voice had softened considerably by the time he finished speaking. Careful to keep his hands from touching her, the way he wanted to, he shoved them deep inside his pockets. “And what of yourself? How was it being the belle of the ball?”

Hermione looked away and snorted softly. “I’d hardly use those words.”

“Has it truly take you this long to discover that—”

She waited a beat then prodded, “What?”

But his words would not be coerced. He stubbornly refused to part his lips, and merely looked down in silence.

“I see,” she said sadly. “Goodnight, Professor.”