The next three days flew by in a blur. Hermione had only caught brief glimpses of Snape at mealtimes in the Great Hall, and each time, he had managed to avoid even looking her way—or if he had, he was skillful enough to make sure she didn't notice.
She wasn't even sure what she had expected from him. A "thank you"? Hardly. She knew him far too well for that.
He'd sooner brew himself a suicide potion than stoop to gratitude. Still… she had hoped for some sort of reaction. Even a negative one would have been better than nothing.
The one bright spot on those otherwise frustrating days was the thought of the school celebration that evening. And that was exactly what she and Ginny were getting ready for now.
---
The Great Hall was slowly filling, the air practically buzzing as Hogwarts came alive again. McGonagall, it seemed, had been right: everyone longed for a bit of lightness, for a signal to mark the start of a new chapter—one free of Voldemort.
With Snape pushed firmly to the back of her mind, Hermione felt in high spirits as she slid into her usual spot beside Ron at the Gryffindor table. Ginny was across from her, already flirting shamelessly with Harry. Within minutes, laughter and chatter rolled through the hall like warm waves. The energy in the room was contagious.
"McGonagall's even allowed spiked punch for the over-seventeens. This is going to be brilliant," Ron announced.
As if summoned by her name, McGonagall herself appeared beside them.
"Hermione, thank you for your help with the preparations. Enjoy the evening—you've all earned it." With that, she moved down the table, giving words of encouragement to others.
"Have you seen? Snape's guarding the punch bowl," Ginny said with a grin.
"That's all thanks to you, Hermione," Ron teased. "If you hadn't saved his skin, it would be a whole lot easier to get to that punch."
"So—who's brave enough to get the first round?" Ginny challenged.
"I'll do it," said Harry. "Ever since I found out about him and my mum… I feel like I can look him in the eye." He stood, determined, and strode off toward Snape.
---
The night unfolded in laughter and music. The punch, apparently stronger than expected, began loosening up the older students. Neville had to be physically pulled from the table by McGonagall when he started loudly recounting the time Snape had been his boggart—and going into great detail about the old-lady clothes he'd imagined to defeat it. The entire Gryffindor table was in hysterics, Hermione included.
"Hermione—you're up. The glasses are nearly empty again. The bat's waiting for you…" Harry said with a wicked smirk.
---
"Good evening, Professor Snape. Four glasses of punch, please."
Hermione stood tall before him, her only giveaway the faint glassiness in her eyes that hinted she was in higher spirits than usual.
"That makes the third round for you and your little redheaded committee. Don't you think you're overdoing it, Miss Granger?" he said sharply.
"We're all of age and perfectly capable of looking after ourselves, thank you," she shot back, every bit as cool as he was. After the past few days, the last thing she wanted was to spar with him again.
"Are we in a bad mood, Miss Granger?" His words were so pointed she could almost feel them pierce her skin.
"I wouldn't know if you are," she retorted, "but I'm in an excellent mood—and I'd appreciate it if you didn't ruin it."
"I might have something that could fix your… bad energy," he said with a cynical curl of his lip.
For a moment she froze—then blinked herself back into motion.
"You… opened it?" she asked, clearly startled.
"If Professor McGonagall's robes happen to end up with red and yellow stains tonight…" He raised his eyebrows, letting her fill in the rest.
Hermione's shock melted into a sly grin and a shake of her head.
"You surprise me, Professor."
"I wouldn't have guessed your taste ran to novelty shop rubbish," he countered smoothly.
"Well, if you think I have taste, then you also know only someone with taste can misplace it now and then. As for the gift—desperate times, desperate measures. You're a hopeless case, and as they say, all's fair in love and in birthday presents for grumpy professors."
Snape studied her intently while ladling punch into four cups without spilling a drop.
"Would you actually let me try it out with you?" Hermione asked, feigning innocence.
"I believe I said borrow," he reminded her.
"Next Friday, after dinner?" she pushed, ignoring his last remark entirely.
He hesitated, weighing her with another long look.
"Only if I'm in a bad mood."
"Mmm… I've got double Potions that afternoon. I think we can arrange that," she said confidently.
"Here's your order," he replied, handing her the cups—never once breaking eye contact.
Hermione held his gaze until she was forced to turn back toward her friends, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
---
"Thanks, 'Mione, you're the best. I dread the moment I've got to fetch more punch. Why did they have to put him on alcohol duty?" Ron groaned.
"I think McGonagall knew exactly what she was doing," Ginny laughed.
"Must be the punch, but I actually find him tolerable tonight," Hermione joked. "Maybe I should ask him to dance. Who thinks I'd dare?"
"You're mad!" Ginny squealed, the punch clearly going to her head too.
"Oh, you'd dare," Harry said, "but I'd bet my wand he wouldn't agree."
"Never—Snape dancing? Come on, Hermione, dance with me. Tonight's about leaving the past behind. The rest of our lives starts now," Ron said, looking straight into her eyes.
With every sip of punch, Hermione felt the weight of the last weeks melt away. She rarely drank, but tonight… tonight it felt right. She danced with Ron, sometimes trading him for Harry (who stepped on her feet only half as often). She didn't care. They were celebrating. They were free.
---
Later, after several dances and even more laughter, Hermione slipped away for the ladies' room. When she returned, Professor Sprout had replaced Snape at the punch bowl. Feeling light and reckless, she sought him out anyway.
"Calling it a night?" she asked, the alcohol warm in her veins.
"For me, yes. Your feet, however, look like they've been trampled by amateurs," he said dryly.
"Oh, so you've noticed. Sadly, there's a shortage of qualified candidates for the role of my dance partner. But if you know someone who can make me glide like a princess, do let me know. As it stands, Ron and Harry will have to do."
Both their gazes drifted toward Draco Malfoy, who was mid-argument with a young Slytherin about foot placement and timing. Hermione fought the urge to laugh—until she suddenly found herself swept sideways. She blinked—and realized Snape was leading her onto the dance floor.
He guided her with fluid, elegant precision, their feet never once colliding. She was too stunned to speak at first. And then… Merlin, it felt incredible. Their bodies fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle—and that thought both thrilled and terrified her.
They danced in silence for several rounds before she finally managed, breathless, "Why… are you so good at this?"
"Who would have thought you'd dare remind me of my birthday?" he replied.
Hermione laughed aloud.
"I don't know if it's the punch talking, Professor, but you're almost pleasant tonight."
"Stay away from Weasley. You'll only make yourself miserable," he said suddenly, snapping her out of her haze. Her mood shifted in an instant.
"What business is that of yours?" she shot back.
"None. But potion-making sharpens one's powers of observation. You're out of his league," he said coolly.
The song ended. Snape stepped back and walked away toward the staff table without another word.
---
Fuming, Hermione marched back to Ron. A slow song started, and this time, she was the one pulling him onto the floor. Ron meant to ask how she'd managed to get Snape to dance, but one look at her expression told him to drop it. Her arms slid around his neck, and moments later there was no space left between them. The happiness in his chest was almost overwhelming. He led her in a slow, swaying rhythm, holding her closer and closer.
Hermione felt safe. Secure. She'd never imagined the boy she'd once dismissed as an immature goof could make her feel this way. Snape could say what he liked—right now, she needed exactly what Ron was giving her. She wasn't giving that up for anything.
Ron's hand slid to her neck, and their lips met. First tentative, then deeper. They lost themselves in the kiss, and the world around Hermione melted away.
---
"Aren't they a lovely couple?" McGonagall murmured from the staff table.
"Love has finally returned to this place," Trelawney sighed, her enormous eyes shining behind her glasses. "Professor Snape, would you do me the honor of a dance?" she added, batting her lashes.
Snape's eyes narrowed to slits. Without a word, he stood and walked out of the hall.
"What's gotten into him?" Trelawney asked, baffled.
"I think," McGonagall said with the barest hint of a smile, "that Professor Snape is finding his way back to the land of the living."
.
END OF CHAPTER
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