The Herald

7

She was going to explode. Utterly explode.

She had to attend the event alongside Snape.

Or so he claimed.

School had just barely started, she was just finding her footing as a teacher, and he pulls this on her.

What of the Missus, she had asked. The Missus would not be attending he replied. What of the media, she had pressed. He hadn't answered that.

Why his wife chose to be absent was not discussed. Not that she cared, really. She was perfectly fine with never again seeing Madam Snape if the opportunity should arise.

She had chosen a rather pretty burgundy gown for the evening, of course informing the Headmaster of her decision beforehand. She found it quite darling how he insisted on matching his cravat to her. And while she had always suspected he simply transfigured cravats he already owned, he assured her that he went out and bought a new one every time. One of the very few guilty pleasures he indulged in.

She laughed at the memory of that conversation, fixing her dress in the mirror of her bedroom. It was more form-fitting than she usually wore, her curves accentuated with the shape of the dress. Was it too much?

The plunging neckline certainly bordered on propriety, though the robes hanging from her shoulders covered her arms and trailed behind her, making up for the lack of fabric. She shrugged, putting in her earrings. So be it.

He would just have to deal with her cleavage. Something he surely wouldn't mind all that much.

She walked across her rooms to the shared kitchen, knocking on his door. He didn't answer at first, it took another five minutes before he opened the door, gazing down at her. A flicker of hunger flashed through his eyes, though only for a moment. She smirked. So he did approve of her outfit, after all. "Good evening, Professor," he purred, taking in the sight of her appreciatively.

She grinned wickedly. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that from you, sir,"

He seemed to weigh his words before speaking, and it was then that she noticed how tired he seemed. His face was gaunter than usual, more sallow. Despite her, she lay a hand on his cheek. "Are you quite well, Severus?"

He nodded curtly, taking her hand from his face, holding it in his own. "Quite, quite," he said offhandedly. He forced a rather uncomfortable smile, he seemed pained. "There has been a change in plans, Hermione. Eilonwy has decided to come, after all. She's waiting in the Hall,"

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. Gods, this woman and her dramatics. It seemed they both had a knack for them. She fixed his cravat, touching the silky softness of it. "No matter, Headmaster. She knew we would be attending together. She will have to deal with that,"

He winced. "The papers..."

Hermione cut him off, her hand returning to his face. "Will say what they want. I do not care for them," she declared, looping her arm with his. "And neither do you, should I recall correctly,"

He gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Indeed, Professor, indeed,"

She stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "Besides, that terribly cold wife of yours will have to wait," she breathed. "You have, after all, promised me your arm for the evening,"

Dear gods, she was going to be the death of him. Saucy little minx.

Entering the Hall and being bombarded by the press, he leaned down to speak to her. "I must say, Professor, that is quite the dress. I daresay I most definitely approve." His arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer. "I very much doubt any wizard here shall be capable of keeping his eyes off you,"