If These Four Walls Could Talk

-8pm, Longbottom Estate, Helmsley, Yorkshire-

Hermione waited on Snape's arm in the gigantic, opulent entryway of Neville's estate. She had expected many things when he apparated them here, the most pressing that the trip would have spiked her anxiety into vomiting all over her gorgeous dress.

The unexpected occurred; her dress remained clean. Moreover, she was unexpectedly speechless over the sheer vastness of the home. Her only examples of Pureblood residences were the Burrow- certainly an exception to the rule- and the other extreme, Malfoy Manor.

Neville's fell somewhere in between the two. Although it was grand, much like the Malfoys', with its intricately carved wainscoting and ebony-inlaid staircase leading up to a first-floor hall double the width of her flat, the space retained the warmth of existence. Hermione didn't know how quite else to articulate it- there wasn't evidence of the space being lived in, and yet it was lived.

After an extraordinarily long wait in which she was able to soak in the details, Hermione watched a well-dressed man enter from two double doors on the far side of the entryway. As he got closer and more recognizable, she had to suppress her gasp of delight.

Neville stopped a meter or so in front of them, positively beaming at Hermione.

"Welcome," he said.

Beaming herself, Hermione moved to hug Neville but was cut off by Snape who stepped to partially block her path. He scowled down at his former student.

"It is unforgivably rude to leave the guests of honor waiting, Mr. Longbottom."

The blond stood his ground, quirking his head as if he were viewing Snape through a magnifying glass like he was a new species of magi-plant. A beat of tightly twined tension passed between the men and then, remarkably, Nevile smiled as openly as he greeted Hermione.

"My apologies," he replied without an ounce of remorse. "Follow me."

Neville turned on his heel, the tails of his traditional black suit swishing around to follow him. On Neville, it looked out-of-place, a picture ripped from a history book. Then Hermione peered closer; on Neville's proud, straight-shouldered frame, it looked impressive too.

Hermione took after him until she was halted by Severus' firm grip on her shoulder. She threw a look of irritation over her hand to his stony face- truly he was being a bit overbearing with Neville of all people- but then she saw the look of warning etched there.

It reminded her they were in the middle of a dangerous game, and she had a line to walk between civility and facade. Now wasn't the time for sentimental reunions, and so instantly, Hermione cleared her face.

Snape nodded once then tucked her hand into his elbow.

Neville, having already crossed the large room, called, "Are you two coming?"

They caught up and wound down the roomy yet barren halls. The walls lacked any sort of decor, even windows, and although the carpet under Hermione's heels felt plush enough, the drab gray reminded her of a Ministry office.

She picked her words carefully. "Neville I didn't realize you… inherited."

Snape's arm tightened infinitesimally on her fingers; she looked to him but found his eyes forward and as usual, unreadable, leaving her with no indication of what she did wrong. Neville, too, seemed to have mastered the enigmatic mask as he turned his head slightly towards her to answer.

"My gran bequeathed it to me when Lord Yaxley became Minister."

Hermione heard it then, the slightest stressing of the title 'Lord', and silently berated herself for not being more prepared for the challenges this night would bring.

Her two worlds were about to collide, and she needed to be ready to walk the delicate line between the two. Her collaboration with Snape depended on it.

His bracelet glinted in the low light of the hall and her eyes focused on it, its weight surprisingly solid against her bare wrist. An anchor to her expectations… and, perhaps, to security. She reveled at the feeling of smooth metal against bare skin when Snape next spoke.

"It seems that no house elves were bequeathed with the house if you've been lowered to escort guests, Longbottom."

Snape's assessment was poison-dipped and cuttingly slung, drawing Neville to a stop just shy of a new set of double doors. They were oak and looked very broad indeed, yet Hermione could hear the indistinct hum of socializing bodies behind it.

"Lord, if you please," Neville replied just as pointedly.

The two men stared one another down until Hermione's nerves had her clearing her throat. A set of brown, inquiring eyes and black, cryptic ones swung toward her. She nodded at the doors.

"I think it's time."

Neville gave her an encouraging smile. "It is."

Unsheathing his wand, he magicked the doors open, revealing a stunning and very full ballroom. Chandeliers as big as vehicles hung from the ceiling, dressed as opulently as some of the female guests with large strings of crystals draped from the metalwork. The rest of the room - although Hermione hesitated to call it that based on its size- was bathed in magical balls of light that threw off both a golden glow and warmth.

Hermione tried to mask her awe as she stepped over the threshold, only to visibly startle when a gravelly voice proclaimed, "Lord Severus Snape and his fiancee Miss Hermione Granger." Off to the left, stood a house elf on a decorated platform. The creature itself was also dressed from head to foot in tasteful, elf-sized formal wear.

Warmed by the idea that Neville employed free elves, Hermione nearly gushed a 'thank you' but the creature was looking behind her, at Neville who just entered. Snape was looking in that direction as well with an expression that resembled someone who just ingested a boogie-flavored Bertie Bott.

It settled Hermione, that flash of feeling, an essential echo of Snape, and the night stretched ahead of her suddenly felt manageable. Dislodging her hand, Hermione floated her touch up his arm to garner his attention. Snape's muscles flexed. He turned his head down to catch the message in her eyes.

It's okay, they shined.

Let's concentrate, and the chocolate brown of her irises deepened the longer she looked.

After a telepathic moment, they turned to find every gaze in the room focused on them. It was evident their entire exchange had been observed, dissected, like some miscast spell that led to the victim's skin to be shaded puce.

No one quite knew what the bloody hell was going on.

Hermione liked it that way. She applied pressure to Snape's arm who, as if on command, started to guide them forward. Knowing the importance of hierarchy in this situation, she murmured, "the Minister?" He only wove them through the throngs of people to a lively group in the back near a bar station.

Yaxley stood flanked by some of the less prestigious members of the magical community, all of whom were taking turns at entertaining Yaxley in hopes of currying favor.

Based on the look of closed-lip amusement on the blond's face, Hermione doubted any were successful.

Then Snape parted the semi-circle of revelers with a quick snap of his hand, a dark Moses at the Red Sea, and genuine delight lit up Yaxley's eyes upon seeing them.

Well, at least someone was successful at garnering attention.

"Miss Granger," he greeted a touch too warmly as she rose from her curtsy. His eyes were tilted down, meandering along her curves, stopping a moment on the bracelet before darting up to her dancing eyes.

She curled her perfectly-rouged lips in a teasing arc then demurred, "What a crowd you draw, milord. I would have thought the party for you."

He chuckled and the surrounding group followed suit with the polite sort of amusement of those still unsure what the punch line was.

Hermione couldn't wait to provide one, some point in the future. For now, she turned her face to Snape's shoulder, breathing into the fabric there. The warmth of her breath released the pungent scent of herbs that seemed embedded past his clothing layers, deep into his skin. It filled her lungs, as bracing as oxygen.

Yaxley's and the others' laughter had dissipated, so Hermione turned her attention back outward; the Minister of Magic was currently bent at the waist with one hand outstretched, the one with his crest.

An offering. A public declaration of another sort.

Hermione swallowed back nerves as Yaxley rumbled from his deferential position. "Then let's show them who the party is really for, shall we?"

She felt the breath back up in Snape's lungs; she looked up at her fiance questioningly, worrying that she was going to cross some line of propriety but the man's black stare was made blacker as it seared the top of Yaxley's head. Interesting. Puzzling. Did this man know not how to be an enigma?

Nonetheless, the game had to be played, and Yaxley was essentially serving her a trump card. She placed her hand in the Minister's, the cool metal of her bracelet nudging up against the cream silk of the man's gloves. Moving backwards, back towards the more open floors at the center of the ballroom, Hermione tugged Yaxley along.

"You flatterer," she laughed into his shoulder as strains of a waltz drifted down from the ceiling. They started the 1-2-3-4 steps over the gleaming hardwood. They twirled, the eyes following them, and Hermione attempted to project every ounce of faux merriment that she could outward for all those openly curious gazes.

Yaxley, meanwhile, seemed much more interested in what was happening right within his arms. His hand, ever proper, remained hooked around Hermione's shoulders but his fingers stroked the lace back of her dress. The satin of his glove created a friction that she was desperate to pull away from, like nails on a chalkboard.

She turned her attention back to him and found his eyes agleam with plans and plots.

"You make quite the impression, as I knew you would."

His assessment didn't impress Hermione as she stared back at him, waiting. One caught more flies with honey.

She would not be a fly.

The pause left for gratitude grew long, leaving space for half a dozen emotions to play over Yaxley's face, the most identifiable to Hermione being the final one.

Admiration, just a hint of it, tucked in the crow's feet at his eyes. She imagined it wasn't an emotion he gave away willingly, and so she kept her face Snape-ishly blank, cocking it just so.

Is that all, milord? It said.

Yaxley leaned in, just a hair. It felt miles closer to Hermione.

Into her temple, he breathed, "I'm afraid not all have been impressed by you, though, my dear. I would hate to move forward any further without Council approval, hm?"

Unbelievable.

Hermione could feel the edges of her cool, calm, collected demeanor crumpling into ire over yet another loophole to jump through, like she was some circus performer.

Fool the Minister? Check.

Fool the entire Merlin-be-damned Council?

Not being able to say what she really wanted to, Hermione just bowed her head in concession as the song drew to a close. Yaxley remained on the clear space of the ballroom floor, as if the crowd would shift to him rather than he to it, while Hermione scanned the multitude of black suits for Snape.

Suddenly, the night felt an age longer.

oOo

Severus didn't think the evening was ever going to end. From his peripheral vision, he watched as Yaxley finally finished getting on far too familiarly with Miss Granger, a fact that she did not seem pleased by as she impatiently scanned the room.

Presumably looking for him.

Severus excused himself from the nattering of some mid-level Ministry prat, a conversation he had not been engaging in in the first place, and moved to cut his flustered fiancee off at the pass.

If he also used it as an excuse to brush up against her, well, none had to be the wiser.

The top half of his body whispered against hers and, clever witch, she didn't exhale in surprise or say 'excuse me'. Miss Granger leaned into the contact like it was a brick wall to rest a weary back on, like she was perfectly aware that in a room full of sods salivating after her, only Severus would be the one to touch her.

He wasn't sure whether to sink into or scream at her blind trust. So he chose to scold.

"Your frustration is showing."

The words fell from his mouth, a nit-picking nag. Miss Granger's fingers on both hands locked together in a grip that looked capable of strangling the vexation right out of him.

What the fuck did Yaxley say to her?

He wanted to be the type of person that would offer to get a drink or to soothe her ruffled feathers with a tender hand to her shoulders.

He wanted to knock Yaxley's fucking teeth out.

In the time that he was contemplating the actual reality of that plan, his fiancee seemed to transform. All that fiery frustration she had encapsulated in her grasp crystallized- an icy confidence took its place on her expression, in her pulled-back shoulders.

Their gazes clashed and she said, "I'd like to meet some Council members now." Miss Granger looked about, her eyes on some unknown trail/task? Before they landed behind Severus' right arm.

"Lord Lucius Malfoy, if you please."

A vision of Yaxley, toothless, still hovered at the forefront of Severus' mind but he was determined for Miss Granger not to do this evening on her own.

Equality on the decisions we bear

Her bedstraw crown around his wrist felt heavier than usual.

Proceeding in a wide circle around the outskirts of the room, Severus led Miss Granger to where he last saw Lucius holding court. Like any proper evil hierarchy- Severus paused a moment and thought back to Dumbledore- make that any type of hierarchy, every level of power had a leader. It was no surprise that Lucius was one of them.

His sleek blond hair was pulled back, standing in contrast to the simple black but very expensive suit. In one hand he held a crystal flute of champagne and in the other, the walking stick that he was so fond of.

A sneer about peacocks in evening wear built behind his teeth but Miss Granger was already proceeding into a deep curtsy.

"May I present Miss Hermione Granger?" Severus said, pressing the pleasantry past an aching jaw, tired from holding back insults all evening.

Lucius, turning his nose down at her respectfully bowed head, merely intoned, "We met."

He barely paused in the sipping of his beverage to deliver the cut.

Miss Granger seemed intent on interruption, regardless of Lucius' rudeness.

"Quite a few times actually, milord," she said in response as she straightened. "I especially recall the gathering in your dining room at Malfoy Manor most recently."

Miss Granger smiled then but the words weren't softened by it; no smile would be bright enough to outshine the dark intention behind the euphemism.

The elder Malfoy passed off his half-sipped drink onto the next floating tray and curled both sets of fingers around the head of his walking stick, contemplative.

She stared right back. Silent challenge emanated off her like an aura. It was heady and pervasive but Lucius, master conversationalist in all aspects, didn't bend to it.

Grey eyes flicked to Severus, dismissing Miss Granger entirely.

"Congratulations on your pairing. I sense an adventure ahead of you."

Severus nodded because he couldn't really refute that, nor did he wish to expound on it.

Miss Granger, however, found it a perfect opportunity to reenter the conversation. "He so loves an adventure, don't you Lord Snape?" She plowed ahead, not expecting a response from him.

"What about you, Lord Malfoy? Do you consider yourself an adventurer?"

A beat of silence, in which Lucius blinked slowly at Miss Granger as if he would better absorb her that way. Then, he conceded curtly, "Merely a traditionalist."

You can't sway me is what Severus heard.

"Ah, a shame," she tsked and settled her hand in the crook of Severus' elbow. He could feel the steel under her touch, incontrovertible, unsway-able in its own right. "It can be so invigorating, trying something new."

Her touch, mixed with the provoking purr in her tone had Severus agreeing.

Had him aroused.

He didn't recognize this iteration of Miss Granger, silkiness atop steel, the mystery of its tempting, unknowing depths.

He wanted to explore that, immediately, learn all the corners and map the valleys. So he turned to Malfoy and without an ounce of irony said, "It's true. I'd recommend it."

Then, Severus bowed his head in dismissal and pulled Miss Granger toward the nearest exit.

oOo

Hermione was annoyed. All that verbal ping-pong, the near simpering, in hopes of coaxing some real concessions out of Malfoy and Snape just cut it short.

He supported her, a pleasant surprise, but then tore her away as if the floor turned to fire. Hermione wasn't even satisfied with her assessment of Snape's actions and she huffed her exasperation behind him as he made his way toward the exit. Snape wouldn't panic at a fiery floor. His stygian gaze alone would probably turn it back to stone.

Regardless, something spurred him and she was the collateral baggage. They were about three meters from the door when the path became blocked, by none other than Ron.

Hermione didn't even realize he had been invited to the engagement ball, that he would attend. That he would make a complete arse of himself staring daggers at Snape.

The man drew up short as a long-suffering sigh escaped past his lips. Hermione bumped into her fiance from behind, coincidentally using the physical contact to jab Snape in the kidney with her elbow for his lack of manners.

After all, it shouldn't be only she who was responsible for keeping an emotionless facade.

He grunted then asked shortly, "Can we help you, Weasley?"

Jaw jutting out at a rather unattractive angle, Ron looked to Hermione and said belligerently, "Hermione can." His face melted into the familiarity of speaking her name, blue eyes turning into pools of nostalgia. Hermione figured he was thinking back to the only other ball they were at together, the only other time he could have asked her.

"Would you dance with me?"

"No." The quickly spoken word didn't come from Hermione, soft in its roundness and apologetic, but from Snape, whose gravelly voice sharpened it into pointed rejection. Snape turned, creating a little bubble of intimacy to simultaneously address Hermione and dismiss Ron.

"You wanted to make rounds with Council members. This Weasley is not one. If you need to interact with a ginger, then do so with that one."

He nodded stiffly over her shoulder; Hermione, already hot with increasing irritation, was slow to turn but when she did, it was to find said ginger approaching. Percy Weasley was looking droll but spectacular in his own set of suited tails, smile wide on his face as he dipped his head to Snape, then Hermione.

"Miss Granger," he practically hummed. The jovial energy seemed to be infectious as he offered his hand. Hermione took it with a stifled chuckle, a little surprised by Percy's affect on her.

They hadn't seen each other since that first covert meeting and reflecting back when she was in her flat afterwards, Hermione wondered if perhaps she imagined all the drastic changes to his person. But now as he twirled her expertly onto the dance floor, weaving in and out of the couples that were moving far too slowly for him, Hermione knew there was nothing to imagine.

He was a hurricane of energy and she got caught in his tailwind whenever she was near. It made the lonely job as a rebel much more agreeable.

He broke her train of thought with, "Happy birthday, Hermione. And congratulations, of course."

She almost rolled her eyes at his cheek, then remembered where she was. "Thank you," she responded. "What has you so cheerful?"

The wide circles of the dance carried them across the floor and away from too-close couples and eavesdropping ears.

"Fine wine. Political banter," he relayed once they were alone. He leaned in and breathed, "the atmosphere is ripe for a revolution."

Hermione smiled for real from the first time since she had been greeted by Neville.

"Is it now?"

Percy matched her delight, dimples Hermione didn't realize he had indented the too-angular cheeks. "Oh yes," he replied and moseyed them back toward the crowd, "do me the favor of looking at the guests' clothing. I think you'll be surprised to find a commonality more interesting than black coat tails."

At that, as if the room was listening and knew Percy's conversation had concluded, the music faded into the ether. He bowed over her lifted hand and the warm lights caught a glint of gold tucked into the top of his Oxford.

A tie pin. Small, unobtrusive, its shape like an epee.

Percy then walked away but before Hermione could seek out her irascible companion, she was assaulted from behind by a pair of pale arms. They carried the friendly hug of familiarity; yet, Hermione was still startled when she heard the dry scold of Draco Malfoy.

"Not proper form, Lovegood," he droned. Released from the hug, Hermione turned excitedly to find Luna Lovegood smiling at her.

Malfoy, whom Hermione then just remembered was Luna's arranged pair, stood by her side with a gloved hand that hovered surprisingly close to Luna's waist.

She brought her eyes back up to take in Luna's open face.

"It's been too long." The admission came out wistfully and probably a touch too truthfully for the audience. Luna, as always, breezed over the sentimentality.

"Oh, what is time but a notion contrived by humans?"

Malfoy was a tuning fork of exasperation, his whole body in its ferrety glory nearly vibrating from the words coming out of Luna's mouth. Hermione stepped closer to him, intent on confronting Malfoy for his insolence but Luna stopped her.

With a hand on Hermione's forearm, she turned her around and meandered towards the drink section as Malfoy followed behind.

"Don't worry about him, Hermione. He's quite taken with my loony-ness."

Hermione threw a startled, skeptical look over her shoulder at their skulking, blond shadow and was surprised to find a faint blush on his scowling face.

Feeling more comforted by Luna's situation, she allowed her to flounce them to a drinks station where they sipped flutes of champagne and chatted around all the lies and diversions that their current lives were built on.

That left them with few words and a long protracted silence filled by the unexpected arrival of Ginny and her pairing, Blaise Zabini. He looked well put together, which was understandable, since as Hermione heard tell, he had remained neutral during the last war. From the black of his closely shaven hair down to the dragonhide dress shoes, he looked like an apparition of night, save for a splinter of gold tucked into his satin tie.

A tie pin, identical to Percy's.

Hermione's gaze dragged curiously up his imposing frame to his eyes, as she greeted Ginny in the proper form of a kiss to the air by her cheek, catching the man's enigmatic stare.

It was both warmth and warning, cordiality wrapped up in a cautious gaze. When she stepped away from her friend, Zabini moved to enclose GInny at his side, performing a little bow of recognition at the same time.

I see you was etched into the tight tendons of his neck.

I'm with you, satin the perfect posture of his shoulders.

Hermione felt like she had probably too much to drink because the night had turned out to be ripe for revolution, as Percy said, but it was even more rife with surprise.

Hermione opened her mouth, eager now to engage in a conversation where she could be less masked, when the faces of Zabini and Ginny fell.

Luna, the dear, looked over her shoulder and exclaimed, "Professor Snape! Good evening."

Malfoy was on her left and dropped his head as he muttered, "For the love of Merin, Lovegood."

Hermione looked up to Snape who came even with her. His face was a thundercloud, dark brows slashed low over eyes dripping their disdain at Hermione's company; as usual, his grumpiness only stirred the rebellion in her and so, dropping her voice conspiratorially she addressed Malfoy.

"It's quite all right my Lord. Lord Snape can forgive the moniker so familiar to a former student." The words were husky honey, bringing the blond's head up with a surprised snap.

Everyone except Luna looked at Snape with a knowing anticipation, but the man was nothing if not enigmatic as the smallest sigh of concession pressed through the crack of his frown.

"Indeed." He said, softer than snow. "Miss Granger, I have need of you."

Then she was towed away for the second time that evening, to the immensely satisfying vision of her peers open-mouthed with shock.

oOo

Severus could kill her or he could kiss her.

She chuckled under her breath and his grip on her bare arm tightened, before remembering that it would be a shame to find a replacement pairing this late into the secret revolt. Kissing would have to suffice.

His body hummed in agreement, that it would more than suffice.

Luck was not on his side though as a spotlight from above fell like a halo around the couple. They froze in place. Severus slid his hand down Miss Granger's arm under the pretense of a caress, his thumb catching on the goosebumps it left in its wake, and suddenly he felt like the spotlight was a Legilimens that everyone could see.

Exposed, his hand fell away unbearably hot from the ire of being caught, observed.

Probably even judged.

Then a voice, magnified by a 'Sonorous' spell, punctured the air.

"Welcome, everyone, to my home." A second spotlight filtered down and landed on Longbottom, who stood nonchalantly up on a chair. "At this point, I'd like to publicly congratulate the guests whom we honor tonight with this engagement ball."

Everyone's stare swung back to them. Severus was too occupied with looking over the many heads and keeping his face placid to notice how a glass of champagne materialized in front of him.

He clasped it, waiting. He looked to Miss Granger, aching.

"To Lord Snape and Miss Granger!"

The crowd applauded, the claps sedate between fingers wrapped around crystal flute stems. It didn't even have a chance to dissipate before another voice rang out, a voice Severus had hoped to avoid the remainder of evening.

Yaxley walked out of a shadowy corner, a ball of light bouncing behind him and simultaneously casting him in ominous relief.

"Friends!" he greeted. "I think it's time we see our favored couple step out together for a dance."

The crowd applauded again with a touch more fervor behind it, giving Severus no choice but to swing Miss Granger onto the floor. She fell into the steps of the waltz gracefully, like they were as natural as breathing.

Like any pureblood who'd been taught from childhood. He tucked away that vision for later dissection, then afforded himself one brief look down the length of his nose.

Miss Granger's expression was one of open pleasure, a joy stripped to the bone and yet just as fundamental. It filled Severus with a strange, borderline unpleasant gnawing in his gut.

He pursed his lips tight, wishing the song would just end. The evening kept cycling into another layer of Hell, adding more and more struggle to the task of binding himself to Miss Granger.

The worst of it was, Severus couldn't quite muster the resentment that would come more naturally for any other sacrifice.

As the song faded into a few soulful notes, Severus drew together his resolve, knitting it back into his Occlumency walls as he offered a short bow to his fiancee.

Whatever inconvenient feelings he may be having for Miss Granger, there was no place for them in their marriage or their mission.

oOo

12:30AM, Longbottom Estate

The evening's festivities were winding down and as her birthday turned into the day-after, Hermione couldn't help but feel a bit grateful.

Her birth may not have been acknowledged at all, but she felt noticed nevertheless.

Many of the guests had left, including quite a few Cabinet members that Hermione felt confident were now more approving of her.

That could, of course, be just the champagne talking. She'd had quite a bit of it and although the bubbles had long dissipated from her tongue, she currently felt like she was levitating over the floor.

Then she bumped into her soon-to-be husband and came staggering hands flew out, keeping her shoulders from pitching too far forward but nothing could stop her stomach from dipping dangerously. Belatedly, Hermione noticed that he removed his gloves.

Snape's warm fingers contracted on her bare skin, a wordless scolding, before setting her to rights.

"I think it's time to return to your home," he said a bit sourly. His eyes were pitch black but heated as they traveled over her form and Hermione's stomach rolled for the second time in as many minutes.

Entirely different reason. Entirely different sensation. Delicious possibility spiraled out from it, igniting both her blood and boldness.

"Don't get your coat tails in a tangle, milord," she quipped, scanning the room. "I'll say my farewell to our hosts and then you can be relieved of your duty of me."

Snape's lips drew together tightly at that, which only deepened Hermione's pleasure. She really had to stop saving all of her charm for the Cabinet members, as Snape's displeasure proved more satisfying than their shock.

On increasingly unstable heels, Hermione clicked away, finding Yaxley cozied up in a study off the main ball0room. He was bent over a ream of parchment as his shrewd eyes devoured the neat little lines of script that covered it.

He was so engrossed that he didn't even notice Hermione's presence until she placed her hands on the broad desk.

"No rest for the wicked it seems," she only half-teased. Yaxley's attention snapped up, taking a leisurely stroll up her lithe form that leaned over the desk. Each time his gaze took that prolonged journey, Hermione's nerves sizzled.

His smile bared even, white teeth.

"What would you know about wicked, Miss Granger?"

"Plenty." She pushed off the desk and wrapped her arms behind her back. The combined strain of putting on a show for the past 6 hours with a stomach filled only with champagne had Hermione at the edge of exhaustion. She backed toward the door, attempting a playful sway of the hips at the same time.

"He's actually waiting to take me home so-" she winked as if it was all an intimate joke then curtseyed. Yaxley's eyes bore into her as she eased the door open.

"Fare thee well, Minister," and Hermione slipped out before the fiend could trap her in her own web.

Hands shaking, she set off to find Neville who thankfully would be a much easier, more authentic parting. To her surprise, he was waiting just outside the entrance to the ballroom, looking noticeably more tired.

When Hermione raised a brow in question, Neville cracked a smile and admitted, "I followed you out." He paused and the smile slid from his face like too-warm icing. "Are you okay? I know the Minister is back there working."

Hermione brought her hands together and interlocked her fingers. The trembling just barely ceased.

She wanted to answer Neville, to ease whatever concerns he may have, but there wasn't a single drop of concession left in her. There was also little energy for truth especially in so public a hallway. She managed to turn the corners of her lips up in a tired, wobbly grin.

"Thank you for hosting such a lovely event." As she breezed past him, her hand clasped his elbow in a brief moment of solidarity.

Then she gratefully moved to Snape who waited on the other side of the ballroom door.

oOo

1AM, Outside Hermione's flat

They landed with a soft thud outside Hermione's door. The aftermath of the disapparition turned her stomach unpleasantly. Without a thought, she leaned forward into Snape's grip until he had to shift his stern hold from her upper arms to the expanse of her shoulders.

Her breathy exhale was part giggle, part sigh as the warmth of his hands penetrated layer after layer of clothing. It felt addictive. It felt ephemeral and her fluttery, alcohol-laden hands reached out to try and preserve it.

Snape grunted at the contact as if her grasping fingers caused him pain, then muttered, "Let's just get you inside." Reaching behind Hermione, he turned the doorknob and eased the wood open but the movement was enough to throw the witch off balance. She stumbled backwards, her back smacking into the narrow wedge of door, jolting a laugh out of Hermione as she strove to anchor herself along the slice of wood.

Head tipped upward, she gazed at Snape through hooded eyes. Her response to his sour muttering rolled unconsciously from her mouth, a tumbling toffee, too sweet not to be shared.

"Not unless you join me."

His nostrils flared out at her bold offer; his eyes dipped in an elongated blink, the movement stretched infinitely long before snapping back like an elastic. Snape's eyes opened, his hand cupped her chin roughly, and his lips fell on Hermione's like a rainstorm.

Hard, unrelenting, they pressed against her slightly parted lips until they molded to the shocked 'oh' of her drank in his warm, angry exhale and it sparked her lethargic body to action.

Finally, her hands came up, one curling into the length of his loosely strewn hair, and tugged.

He growled. His fingers pressed into her pulse points only causing it to race faster. The kiss shifted position, a charting of territory, the pace remaining bruising as if the moment couldn't span across one hundred more, as if the slightest release of pressure would rocket them in opposite directions.

Severus was all around her, a cloak on her skin and a thrum in her blood and she felt it deeper to some untouched part she couldn't even name.

She named it now, as his lips commanded her open so his tongue could score the inside of her cheeks with sin.

Severus. Severus. Severus.

It grew in her mind until it no longer could be contained and her lips broke away from the play of his tongue and lips.

"Severus," she gasped on a heady inhale.

He blinked back to the present, quick as a heartbeat. He backtracked with a lunge, disapparating with an overloud crack.

A/N: I know right? Did I ever think I would become this fanfic author? I'll blame the pandemic. I hope everyone is staying safe and if you're still out there, bored at home, then at least I finally got something to you! I hope you enjoyed and be sure to circle back to Interlude 4... I'm sure it will make more sense now. :)

Scribbles for Interlude 5 are being worked on but no promises my dear readers. Best efforts, though.