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MetroVampire & Rhosymedre

Part 23 - Sometimes You Can't Choose Your Friends Either

Hermione strode purposefully across the room, concentrating on enjoying the way that the student body parted before her, scrambling to get out of her way, avoiding anything that smacked of eye contact. She preferred to focus on this welcome phenomenon rather than on the more complex task of deconstructing Snape's last comment to her.

Please don't tell me you will refuse to wear clothes designed by a man - that would be a waste.

A waste? A waste of what? Surely, he hadn't been referring to her appearence.

No, he had to have been referring to the clothes. The alternative would have meant that she had just received a compliment from Professor Snape.

And if that was true... well, if that was true then the rest of the evening presumably held in store Hell freezing over, Sybill Trelawney making an accurate prediction and the Headmaster saying, "You know, I think I may have overdone the decorations a bit this year."

The whole thing was bemusing to say the least, given that her body was presently under the management of man with rudimentary ideas about personal grooming, vanishingly small social skills and a taste in apparel than ran the whole spectrum of voluminous black robes to... well... voluminous black robes. And some seriously sharp Muggle clothes, a treacherous voice in the back of her mind pointed out. She ordered it to shut up.

But this man... Snape... had somehow managed to visibly improve her appearence and to give her some apparent popularity with her peers through these cosmetics. And now he had started on her wardrobe.

She suppressed a very girlish desire to sigh. The outfit that he was wearing was unquestionably stunning. She supposed that he must have transfigured it; it hadn't been in her wardbrobe when she had last looked and her bank account certainly didn't run to this season's Armani. Or any season's Armani, come to that. A tiny smile of triumph played across her face. It looked like she had actually succeeded in teaching Professor Snape some useful skills. And, looking on the bright side, by the time she got her body back she might have a wardrobe of impeccably tasteful designer clothes to show for it.

She had only been half joking when she wished for his eye for clothes.

Every cloud truly does have a silver lining

Or should that be every silver lining had its cloud?

Hermione watched gloomily as Hyacinth Hooch hove into view, her blue and gold robes giving the impression of a naval launch intent on intercepting wrongdoers. The sight managed to completely dispel her burgeoning mood of self-satisfaction.

Surreptitiously, she looked around, hoping against hope that there were some students misbehaving to give her a legitimate reason for changing direction. Even students behaving blamelessly would furnish some sort of excuse. After all, Snape had always interpreted reasonable grounds to suspect misconduct very liberally when it came to identifying infractions. However, the area around her was a student-free zone; Snape's innate ability to cut a swathe through any gathering had chosen an inopportune moment to begin working against her.

Hooch was still coming for her; there was no avoiding it.

"Snape!" The hearty tones made her wince almost as much as the vigorous hand clapped on her shoulder.

"Hyacinth," she said, hoping that her extreme discomfort would show itself as appropriate reserve.

From the corner of her vision, she was aware that Dumbledore was making expansive gestures to a group of four or five wizards who appeared to be some sort of musicians. At least, they were carrying instruments so she assumed that they were musicians.

"Not so quick to be away this evening, eh Snape? Got the taste for dancing have you?"

She managed a bare smile, aware that none of the responses that immediately sprang to mind would be suitable, even allowing for her current identity.

To the front of the Great Hall, the group had managed to get themselves into some sort of order, and were beginning to tune up.

"I am here merely to keep control of the student body," she managed to get out with a struggle. "I have little or no interest in dancing. The evening cannot end soon enough for my taste."

There you are. That was graceless enough to satisfy Snape and truthful enough to satisfy Hermione.

"You say that now, but after a few glasses of punch, we'll get you loosened up." Hooch gave her a pointed wink.

Hermione couldn't think of anything she would like less.

She took a rather hasty step back.

"That would be more than unnecessary. Now I, at least, have a job to perform this evening."

She took another, firmer, step in the opposite direction, and then headed towards... actually it was more away from Hooch than towards anything in particular.

She was becoming less and less surprised that Snape spent his life in a perpetual bad temper. There were aspects to his existence that would cause even Polyanna to be somewhat out of sorts. Even leaving the Voldemort factor out of the equation. She checked the time. It seemed to be passing with more than usual slowness.

--

It slowed to a complete stop rather later in the evening when the band were warmed up and well into their second set. Hermione had contrived to spend the greater part of her time prowling around outside, rejoicing in the fact that the adolescent tendency to indulge their hormones at every available opportunity - even if said opportunity involved an appreciable risk of hypothermia - kept her distanced from both the predatory looks emanating from Hyacinth Hooch and the distinctly ambiguous sight of Snape dancing with her friends.

The cause of this temporal stasis was predictable enough, she supposed. It had been far to much to hope for - Snape would say far too Gryffindor of her, she thought sourly - that she would be left to her own devices in peace.

The night was clear and crisp. She had acclimatised to the chill of the air and was, in fact, rather enjoying the view of the sky, idly revising Snape's last batch of Astronomy notes in her mind - minus the caustic asides about Professor Sinistra's teaching technique - and identifying the various stellar features. She lost herself in quiet contemplation, the focus serving to divert her thoughts from the troubling question of Snape and what he was currently doing to her life.

Turning towards the north, she located the Great Bear and then moved her gaze upwards to Ursa Minor and the Pole Star with the familiar M of Cassiopeia twinkling off to one side. Moving her attention, she mentally marked out the stars that made up Draco, strung out across the sky like shimmering icy jewels, cliché though that image might be. It was a shame that the boy that bore the name didn't display the same beauty, although he might well rival the constellation for coldness. She had to admit that the rivalry between himself and Harry had been less apparent since their little chat. Or less apparent to her, at least. She suspected that he had taken her advice on discretion to heart. And he had been biddable enough in class and in house since then. She had realised fairly early on in this little exercise in job sharing that whilst the Slytherins did not love their Head of House, on the whole they had considerable respect for him.

That thought led fairly naturally on to Alice and her infatuation. Hermione felt her serenity evaporate. She was going to have to deal with that. Let the girl know in no uncertain terms that Professor Snape was not sweet and kind and was a most inappropriate choice of love object. She suspected that there would be no painless way of achieving that. The simplest way of curing Miss Lacock, of course, would be a campaign of outright cruelty. She flinched away from the notion even as she accepted that it was an extremely Snape-ish solution. She closed her eyes. There had to be a way to sort this out which would be acceptably in character for him and not violate her own personal ethics too badly.

Who would have thought that she would be spending the Yule Ball standing in the grounds of Hogwarts, trying to come up with a humane solution to Professor's Snape's problems with girls.

As if on cue, her reverie was broken by a female voice.

"Snape! I thought I'd find you skulking out here. For Merlin's sake get yourself back inside and enjoy yourself for once."

Speaking of problems with girls.

Although not even her most devoted admirers would describe Hyacinth Hooch as a girl. And she had obviously consumed the threatened few glasses of punch.

"I thought I made it clear," she said, summoning up her best Go Away Right Now Snape voice, "that I had absolutely no desire to enjoy myself, as you put it, this evening."

"Nonsense," responded Hooch briskly, "you just need to let your hair down a bit for once."

She took two steps forward and grasped Hermione's upper arm determinedly.

Hermione had no desire whatsoever to be hauled bodily back into the Great Hall by a slightly tipsy Quidditch teacher.

"Kindly let go of me," she snapped. "I am perfectly capable of entering the building without assistance."

She did at least drop her hold on Hermione's arm, although her hearty, "That's the spirit, Snape," didn't promise that her enthusiasm had been dampened.

Hermione gloomily returned to the ball in the wake of Hyacinth, feeling psychologically towed, if not physically. Hooch herself still looked vaguely nautical, but more in the sense of a hazard to shipping as she made her way around the clusters of students, weaving a little more than was strictly necessary. Hermione couldn't work out whether it was the effects of the punch, or some attempt at harnessing her inner rhythm.

Hooch, meanwhile, had stopped and turned to Hermione with an arch look on her face.

"So, what's it to be first, Snape? Punch or dance?"

Hermione was just about to opt for punch on the basis that it would give her more time to plot an escape and, if the worst came to the worst, it would go some way to deadening the many pains of dancing with Hooch. A quick glance across the room changed her mind. Standing uncomfortably close to the table where McGonagall was guarding the teacher's punch, was an all too famililar expensive outfit, flanked by two equally familiar males. Not only that, but in the next group of students stood a third-year Slytherin girl, gazing soulfully at her with woebegone eyes.

Harry, Ron, Snape and Alice Lacock all within a six foot radius. Oh joy unloooked for.

Hooch, meanwhile, was waiting for an answer.

Hermione fixed her with her best glare.

"Let's get it over with," she said curtly.

Hooch grinned broadly and shot a badly concealed glance in the direction of McGonagall.

You would almost think that she had money riding on this, thought Hermione sourly. As they moved into position on the dance floor she placed her hands on Hooch in the manner demonstrated by Snape the previous evening. Maintaining as much physical distance as she could, whilst still being able to dance, Hermione began to stiffly guide Hooch around the floor. As they turned, she could see that Snape and the boys seemed to have moved, but she got another glimpse of Alice. The expression on the girl's face was more tragic than ever as she fixedly watched the couple on the dance floor.

Heavens, was the girl jealous?

If only she knew that she had nothing to be jealous of.... She gave a grunt in response to a question from Hooch, as an idea suddenly occurred to her.

"I'm sorry, Hyancinth," she said smoothly, turning her attention to her partner, "I didn't catch that last remark."

The sudden shift to polite interest was sufficiently unexpected to make Hooch pause.

"I was saying how lovely Miss Granger looks this evening," she said cautiously.

"Hmm, yes."

"We were all a little worried about her at the beginning of the term, but she's doing as well as she ever was and she's really blossomed into a charming young woman. It's such a shame about her flying skills, though."

"Yes, well, not everyone's a natural on a broomstick." She couldn't resist putting that in.

"Nonsense. You do well enough, and you hardly ever see daylight, let alone the open air."

"What a delightful way you have with words, Hyacinth," murmured Hermione blandly.

"Oh."The other woman seemed oblivious to the undercurrent of irony. "Do you really think so?"

Hermione sighed inwardly, registering that Snape would have heard what she meant.

They finished their dance in curiously formal civility. Hooch was obviously nonplussed that Hermione had been paying any attention to her at all; a fact that had clearly put her off her regular game of Snape-baiting. The music came to an end and Hermione managed a firm but courteous farewell, visibly confusing the flying teacher even more.

As she made her departure from the dance floor she was aware of Alice Lacock rushing out of the Hall. From the expression on her face, she was about to start crying any minute. Hermione was slightly relieved to see that another third year Slytherin was hastily following her out. She was hovering on the periphery of the room, when another voice sounded behind her.

"Would you care to dance, Professor?" It sounded a little more like a command than a request.

Snape. It was inevitable that he would turn up sooner or later.

"I would be charmed, Miss Granger." There. That sounded about as sincere as his invitation.

They silently took their places on the dance floor. An obliging space cleared about them. The Snape Effect at work again, she thought wryly.

She took hold of him, much as she had for Hooch, but felt his fingers on her shoulder pulling her close enough so that he could murmur:

"I assume that that little display had some purpose."

Of course. He had followed her dance with Hooch and the departure of Alice.

She nodded.

"I was wondering how to discourage Alice without simply being horrid to her." She ignored the quirk of his eyebrow at her choice of words. "I noticed that she was watching me dance with Hyacinth... I mean Madam Hooch," he gave a bare shrug at her use of Hooch's given name, "and I thought she was jealous, so I... erm... thought I'd encourage it a bit."

"So," he said softly and carefully, "now the school will believe that I am involved with Hyacinth Hooch."

"No," she said quickly, "I don't think so. I don't think that Hya... Madam Hooch is really interested in you. She only behaves like that because she knows that you react to it. When I was quite polite to her, she didn't know what to say." She paused, caught up in her own thoughts. "You really ought to try being nice occasionally, you know."

"Miss Granger, I thought that we had established that I was not a nice person."

"Oh no," she said without thinking, "I don't mean that you should actually be nice, just that you should act nice from time to time. At random. For no particular reason. It confuses people. Anyway, if anyone asks...," she didn't want to think about the exact identity of anyone right at the moment, "you can always say that you ony did it to discourage Alice. Which you did. Or at least I did.

She noticed that his mouth was twitching, as if he was trying not to laugh. A turn allowed her to see Harry and Ron at the edge of the dance floor, watching intently. She sighed.

"Don't tell me that you have money riding on dancing with me as well."

He blinked.

"Money?"

"From the look that Hyacinth gave Minerv... I mean Professor McGonagall, I thought they had a bet going."

There was a suppressed snort.

"Very possibly. To answer your question, no, there's no money on this." He paused. "It was a simple dare."

Hermione jerked her head up suddenly, losing the beat and nearly stumbling.

"They actually did that?" That was so typical of them. "Just wait until the next potions class...."

"Concentrate on your dancing, Miss Granger. My feet are too exposed in these sandals to risk a miscalculation."

She dutifully concentrated.

Dancing with Snape was not at all like dancing with Hooch, she decided. For one thing, the feel of him - well, her - under her hands was quite different. Hooch was solid, muscular, square. Snape - she - was soft and tangibly curved. He followed her very well, responding to the pressure of her fingers on his shoulder blade, indicating the moves she wanted him to take. He inclined very slightly towards her, body moving in time and rhythm. She doubted that anyone else would notice - she hoped not; it would have been too out of character for both of them to be dancing that closely.

And yet... there was some part of her that wanted to relax into him, to close the short distance between them even more, to guide with (or should that be be guided by?) more than just hands and fingers; to use her whole body to direct him. This feeling of gentle control was heady, intoxicating, just as was the sensation of his warmth, tickling at the edge of her senses, the floral perfumes wafting almost imperceptibly over her, tantalising and seductive. She wondered what it would be like to rest her head on his shoulder, to let her body take over and simply respond to the music and the warmth and the scents; to feel his breath brushing her hair, his lips.... and felt a now uncomfortably familiar tightening sensation in her balls.

Reality reasserted itself with vigour.

This was not a suitable thing to be thinking about a teacher - or was it about herself? Another paradox to be filed in the To Be Dealt With Later part of her mind. Apart from anything else, she reminded herself sternly, their current height difference would make resting anything on his shoulder problematic at best.

She physically withdrew as much as she could and dropped the remaining contact as soon as the music ended. She thanked him shortly, looking at a place somewhere over his shoulder, not trusting herself to meet his eyes. His own response was equally brusque, taking his leave claiming that Harry and Ron would be waiting for him.

That had to be the first time in his life that he had ever expressed any positive desire for the boys' company, she thought. Her mouth twisted. You had to see the irony in the whole situation really. Snape using Harry and Ron as an escape route. And she; she who had been concerned that Snape was an inappropriate choice of love object for Miss Lacock, was now fantasising about that self same object.

If they hadn't been in public she would have groaned aloud. What a hell of a mess.

She ventured a glance at his face, wondering if he was finding this whole thing as difficult, not to mention confusing, as she was. The normally expressive eyes were dark and unreadable. She was willing to bet that meant that he wasn't.

Well, it was about time he did, she thought savagely.