Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
Old, bitter memories surface, and new alliances are formed…
Chapter 10: The Halloween Ball
Severus Snape was in exceptionally good spirits. The Dark Lord had not contacted him in over two months; the Granger chit had been put firmly in her place, doing scut work for him on a weekly basis; and Lily Evans (no--Jones, I must learn to think of her that way automatically) was alive, in his House, and at the moment, having tea with him.
It had been the easiest thing in the world to inform her that she would be expected to attend scheduled counseling sessions to help her adapt to her new environment. True, too, of course. Even in the slow-moving wizarding world, things had changed; and these pleasant Sunday afternoon appointments were spent discussing her classes and bringing her up-to-date on current developments and recent history.
"Battenburg cakes," she approved, taking one. "My favourite."
"How is the situation with Pansy?"
"Better, I think. Just as you suggested, I've been respectful of her prefect status, and asked for her opinion and guidance whenever an opportunity presents itself. She still doesn't much care for the fuss the boys have made over me, but I laugh it off as the boys' eternal quest for novelty. And I keep my things warded."
"Good. She may have jilted Draco, but she doesn't like him showing interest in another girl. I've seen her watching the two of you."
"Dog in the manger."
"Just so." He sipped his Earl Grey, savouring such an agreeable teatime. "A number of my colleagues have been singing your praises."
"Oh, jolly good! Who?"
"That," he smirked, "would be telling."
"Severus, don't be a beast. Tell me all."
"Let's see. Vector is in awe of your arithmantic accomplishments. Ogham thinks you're a splendid addition to the Runes class. When pressed to agree about your talents, Flitwick smiles weakly, and Lupin quietly assents. Minerva merely sniffs, and says 'We'll see,' in that insupportable way she has."
"No surprise there."
"McGonagall is not actually being difficult in class, is she?"
"No, not really. She mostly pretends I'm not there. The same for Hermione, which I think distresses her."
"Idiot girl. What did she expect of a witch as rigidly principled as Minerva?"
"Please be fair, Severus." Snape sighed complacently with the pleasure of being addressed so. He could trust Lily to be discreet, after all. "Neither Hermione nor I quite pictured the horrified reaction our little experiment would cause. We're both Muggleborn, you know, and all of this 'You have broken the unwritten law' tosh was rather unexpected." She swallowed the last bite of her cake thoughtfully, and added, "It's all like going to Korea and being told one's eaten dog. We might be appalled, but the Koreans would think we were the odd ones."
"Have another cake. No, it's not the same, Lily. First of all, it's a very clearly written law, and I would have expected a know-it-all---yes, an irremediable know-it-all like Granger ---to be have been better informed."
"Well, no more was I. You don't realise how much of wizard lore is bred in the bone for you purebloods. You grow up with all the traditions, and students like Hermione and like me--- yes—don't deny it—are often pitifully ignorant of things you take for granted. Don't you remember how you sneered at me in Potions class that first year when I asked about human/animal shape-shifting formulae?"
Snape rolled his eyes. "The ethical issues are perfectly clear---"
"Ha!" she cried, thumping down her plate. "Perfectly clear to someone who has already heard the arguments from childhood. Who in fact probably asked the question when a small child, and had the issue clearly explained by amused adults. When Muggleborns ask a question you associate with three-year-olds, you purebloods are frightfully unsympathetic."
"One expects Hogwarts students to have suitable backgrounds."
"Why? It's all a big secret until the summer after we've turned eleven, and then our lives are turned upside down. We have to accept the existence of a world that's not only unknown to us, but one we've been told all our lives could not possibly exist. We go to Diagon Alley for our books utterly gobsmacked, and our parents are no help, for they're in shock. We have a few days to look the books over, and then we're confronted by powerful and terrifying wizards in black asking us how one brews the Draught of the Living Death!"
Snape made a face, and sipped his tea as if it disgusted him. "Potter's been whinging."
"Don't malign my child." Snape huffed an incredulous laugh. "Well," she insisted, "he is in a way, and I feel a little responsible for him. He's a very sweet boy—"
"Oh, please!"
"—a very sweet boy," she repeated. "I don't know why you think him like James: he's not like him at all. He's quite friendly and unassuming, and he's had a rotten time. No, really, Severus, it's not whinging. No one should be treated the way Petunia's treated Harry. And I know her well enough to believe him."
Snape had had enough of discussing Mr Harry Potter. From his glimpses during the ill-fated Occlumency lessons last year, he had seen enough to concede that Potter's home life might not have been the pampered and indulged one he had previously assumed. The boy apparently had been locked in a cupboard when the Muggles were displeased with him, and they had verbally abused him on a regular basis. It had been unpleasant, certainly, but any number of children he knew had endured worse.
"Another thing. If you must continue your assignations with Potter and Granger, I remind you how essential it is that they remain secret."
"Yes, I must," she countered, with a naughty smile. "Friends are too precious to waste." He grunted in resignation. Sometimes he forgot that she was still only sixteen, and not his own age. Wizards were long-lived, and she would catch up to him in time, but he was occasionally disconcerted by evidence of her youth. She dimpled, and leaned over to pat his hand. "That's why I'm here for tea, Severus."
He relented—minutely. "Have another cake."
"No, thanks! I won't be able to fit my robes for the ball! Must keep in fighting trim for that." She eyed the platter regretfully, and poured herself another cup of tea.
Desperately attempting to sound casual, he asked, "Are you going with anyone?"
"Yes, Draco's asked me, and as Pansy's already planning to go with Montague, I thought she might be able to bear up."
Snape managed a polite, if somewhat mechanical, smile. Lily and the Halloween Ball brought back painful memories. Everything had been going so well between them that term. He had asked her, and she had accepted.
She doesn't remember it, he reminded himself. It all happened a few days after the portrait was painted.
-----
"I can't believe you're going to the ball with Draco Malfoy!" Hermione stared at Lily in horror. They were having one of their periodic "assignations," as Snape had called them. Over the past weeks, their reading room had changed dramatically. They now had transfigured chairs and a big library table to work at. It was still a private hideaway, but infinitely more comfortable and useful. They met on different days, and never at the same time, and so far it seemed that their secret was safe.
"Why ever not? He's gorgeous."
"No, he's not," Hermione contradicted primly. "He's evil."
"Evil? Oh, too bad." Lily smiled mischievously, curling up in the window seat and putting her feet on the window frame. "He's been quite nice to me, actually."
"He wouldn't be so nice if he knew who you really are."
"I daresay not. So, my dear, we must see to it that he never knows the awful truth. Where's Harry?"
"Quidditch. He's coming."
"And so is Christmas."
They laughed. Lily looked at her speculatively. "You've been keeping secrets yourself. Which mystery man is your escort to the ball?"
"I'm not sure I'm going."
"Not going! What do you mean?" She flashed her dimples. "I could set you up with one of my Slyth brethren…"
"One of your Slyth brethren, as you put it, is the reason I may not be there. The ball is Friday, and Professor Snape is standing by his rights."
"He expects you to come in and slave for him on Halloween? Now that is evil, if you like."
----
It was not the first time that Lily had used her talent for Charms and Transfiguration to manage being well dressed in the wizarding world. Her parents, though supportive of her studies, were not wealthy, and had not seen any reason to indulge the eccentricities of Lily's strange school. In Lily's fifth year, her mother had, really and truly, sewn her a long dress and had given it to her with all the love in her heart. It was pretty, and nicely made, and absolutely impossible as an item of formal wear at Hogwarts. The Slytherins would have sneered viciously, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs would have looked pitying and disapproving, and the Gryffindor girls would have angrily pulled her into the privacy of the dormitory and given her an earful about "letting down the side." Flora McDougal had taken a picture of Lily in it, at Lily's request. Then Lily had gotten to work, and transfigured the nice pale lilac dress into a set of dazzlingly rich purple silk robes, embroidered with golden flowers. The laces from a worn pair of trainers were transfigured into gold ribbons to weave into her intricately braided hair. She had looked beautiful. Even better, she had looked like a powerful young witch who belonged at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
She had already considered what to wear this year. (No, the other this year, the one in which I will be at a ball with Severus and James, and Sirius and Remus; with Honoria and Flora and Heather—I've promised to help Flora with her hair—did I?) She took a deep breath. Occasionally the past was superimposed on the present in a disconcerting way. She had been planning to wear silver this year, and the Headmaster, for reasons of his own (did he remember?) had provided her with some lovely silver tissue dress robes. This year, as in the past, they were to have a costume ball at Halloween, and she and Draco had decided to attend as Oberon and Titania. Like most purebloods, he knew his Shakespeare: who, after all, had written prior to the Great Breach of 1648. Though the Bard's descriptions of fairies and witches were sometimes wide of the mark, Shakespeare's reasoning behind it was well understood and accepted as necessary for the time. And after all, no matter how many witches complained about Macbeth, the fact was there really were quite a few witches in those days—and a few even today—who were not so far from the cackling hags he presented.
Would Severus be angry? That was the question. It was he who had had the idea for Oberon and Titania so long ago (no—three weeks ago). They were going together—as friends—she had insisted, and had spent hours deciding on just the right personae. Dark Oberon and Bright Titania stuck them both as full of possibilities. Severus could wear his preferred black—he could even wear robes; and Lily would wear moon-like robes of silver, and unleash her fancy upon them.
It was so odd. She was not, after all, going to attend the ball with Severus, but with Draco Malfoy. She felt curiously guilty. Well, obviously the Potions Master can't take a student to the ball. Draco would be a handsome Oberon—though inappropriately blond.
She had some ideas of her own. A nice silver necklace was slowly and painstakingly transfigured into an amazing silver headdress: tendrils of silver bending around her head, curling exquisitely past her ears, and then topped with a sparkling crescent moon. The robes she charmed at hem and sleeves' edges into clouds of tiny silver stars, which drifted in her train as she moved. In some ways the effect was better with her new black hair than it had been with auburn. I do miss my green eyes, though.
She looked away from her mirror, and was startled to see her Slytherin dorm mates staring at her. It was unfortunate that she had been thinking of Shakespeare, for the three witches popped into her head and nearly made her laugh, which would have been tactless. Pansy was dressed as a fairy herself, in an impossible shade of pink. (Dare I suggest a different colour? That harsh pink is awful on her!) The wings were nice, though, and Lily fixed on them immediately.
"The wings move? That's smashing!" She decided to give Pansy some full-on flattery—she seemed to get little enough of it, and the girl, though suspicious, began to bloom like the Rose Fairy she had intended to be.
Pansy blurted out, "I'm not sure about the colour. What do you think?"
"Well, it's certainly exactly like a rose, but if you're not sure, we could go through some others. I've learned a pretty good colour charm."
The other girls looked on with interest, waiting for the show; and Lily thought of the finest roses her father had even grown.
"Tingeo!" Pansy's robes changed into the soft lavender of a Moonshadow.
"It's pretty." Millicent seemed impressed. It was better, and set off Pansy's hair nicely, but was not exactly what Lily wanted.
She thought again. "Tingeo!" The robes resembled a Double Delight, creamy white shading suddenly to crimson at hem and bodice.
"I like that one better," Daphne said thoughtfully.
Pansy cocked her head. "It's a little more magical," she agreed.
"No! I know!" Excited, Lily remembered her favourite rose of all. "Tingeo!"
Pansy’s dress and wings changed again, to a delicate pale yellow, shot with the loveliest of pinks. The girls all sighed with approval. It was just right for Pansy. A Peace rose. It may not suit her nature, but it suits her, Lily thought. She had pleased Pansy, really pleased her: it was obvious. That should quiet things down for awhile.
"Wait," she said. "I have another idea. She raised her wand once more. "Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white," The full skirt of Pansy's robes split open like a flower, with long, petal-like flounces draping gracefully over a pink underdress. It was a nice effect, and Lily briefly regretted not using it on her own robes. Still, she thought, any sacrifice for the cause of peace in my dormitory.
Daphne and Millicent were ready for the ball as well. Daphne looked exceptionally nice in silvery green. Her brown hair and wistful eyes furthered the resemblance to one of Waterhouse's water nymphs. Without the bare breasts, of course. Though perhaps Theodore might have preferred that.
Millicent had secretly asked Lily's advice when considering her costume, and had shown great good sense in following it. Dressed as a thirteenth century Italian witch, the heavy, imposing robes of antique brocade gave her dignity to match her size. Millicent's thin, frizzy hair was covered by a gold and pearl headdress. Goyle ought to be grateful and impressed.
----
He was being used, he realised, just as he always had been.
Snape studied the Granger girl, as she patiently crushed mandrake seeds into a fine powder. She was proving quite useful, and had ceased bothering him with any conversation at all. It was restful, in a curious way, to have another person in the laboratory, working quietly. She was in every way as satisfactory an assistant as the Slytherin graduate he had trained ten years before; and vastly superior to that disappointing Ravenclaw who had walked away from her apprenticeship after only two years in order to marry and pop out (when last he heard) four sprogs in as many years.
Curious too, how abruptly her other teachers had thrown her off. She had been tossed to him, he knew, as a punishment. No one would protect her now. Potter might put other students lives in danger on a whim, his father and his friends had nearly murdered Snape himself out of spite, but they had all found instant pardon. Granger, however, in restoring to the living world a gifted young witch, had incurred permanent censure. For her, evidently, there was to be no forgiveness. Oh, Flitwick was too tender-hearted to treat her badly in class, and Lupin apparently felt some compassion; but McGonagall's lips thinned to a hard line at the mention of her name in staff meetings, and Sprout reddened and stammered. Dumbledore was difficult to read. On the surface, he seemed bland and benevolent. Snape knew, though, that the girl was tolerated only because of her closeness to Potter, and for her usefulness as a tool in the Headmaster's epic struggle against the Dark Lord.
Much as I am, he reflected bitterly. And so she, too, is relegated to the dungeons as serviceable enough to keep, but not precious enough to cherish.
Snape particularly resented what her treatment implied about himself. They think me so predictable. 'Of course he'll make her life miserable. That what he's for.’ Thinking ahead, he guessed that Granger now had few options, if she wished to remain in the wizarding world. Who would write her letters of recommendation? Who would trumpet her talents to others in their fields when she was looking for apprenticeships or positions? Either her teachers would refuse to write them, or they would send such lukewarm epistles that she would be summarily rejected. Her chances for a position with the Ministry, never good anyway as a Muggleborn, were also compromised.
Perhaps Dumbledore has decided that she deserves ultimately to be banished. If she finds all doors closed to her, maybe she'll just go away. After she has served her purpose, of course: tutoring Potter for the next two years. After Potter has either succeeded, and she is superfluous; or he has failed, and we're all dead anyway.
The rest of the students were at the ball, he recollected. He had begged off this year, as usual; but unlike every other year, his request had been granted. Instead of punishing me by forcing me to supervise the dunderheads, Dumbledore thinks it more important that I be here to punish Granger by causing her to miss the ball. On the whole, he found that decidedly mean-spirited.
Lily was at the ball, with Malfoy. He felt faintly ill at the thought, but the fault was his. He had done his utmost to keep her from Potter, and in so doing had thrown her in Malfoy's way. This evening was the fruition of his meddling.
It was yet another unfair thing in an existence compounded of unfair things. The Halloween Ball his sixth year had been the most anticipated event of his youth. He and Lily were to go together, Oberon and Titania, and he had rushed out of the Slytherin common room to collect her that night. He had not seen the spelled slick at the top of the staircase, but he remembered falling, painfully slamming his head on countless steps, lying in a defenseless heap at the bottom, the faint sound of mocking laughter fading as he slipped into unconsciousness.
He had lain there some time. Professor Flitwick had found him and levitated him to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey had healed his bruises and scrapes, and kindly even repaired his ruined robes as far as possible. She had allowed him to leave to go to his own dormitory, he had told her; but she must have known he would try to go to the ball, in the end. He had reached the door and stood there, looking for Lily. He had seen her, bright as a silver moon, dancing happily with James Potter, surrounded by admirers, amongst them the laughing Black and the nasty little Pettigrew. Snape had slunk away; and when she rounded on him the next day, asking why he had never come, he had been too proud and too ashamed to own the truth. That angry encounter had marked the beginning of the slow death of their friendship, just as it had seen the beginning of her romance with Potter. To this day, he had no idea if Potter had been party to Black and Pettigrew's prank.
His jaw tightened. No one had ever been punished, of course. He had been deemed unworthy of protection from the day he had entered Hogwarts. Now Granger had been dismissed in the same way. Dumbledore was once again manipulating his pawns.
Snape had had enough. He stood up, and strode over to Granger. Her head bowed over her work, she did not bother to acknowledge him.
"Miss Granger, you may finish this some other time."
She looked up, surprised. "I'm really almost done, sir. Another half-hour should take care of the lot."
Desirous that she not misconstrue his lenience as kindness, he said brusquely, "You must be eager to get off to the ball and join your friends."
She stared. "No, sir. I had no plans to attend. You said I would be working here tonight, so there was no point in accepting an invitation or finding a costume. I might as well just finish my work and then go to bed." She started to go back to grinding, but Snape, now put out by her rebuff of his generous offer, took the mortar away and set it on a shelf. He pulled his wand and turned toward her.
Oh, my God. She wondered, Is he going to curse me? I should have told him I was going to the bloody ball and scarpered!
His black regard was fixed on her unnervingly. He raised his wand.
"When I ask a question, you must answer, 'Oui.'"
With a swish, he pointed the wand directly at her. "Tu voudrais bien aller au bal, n'est-ce pas?"
Hermione stared at him. He glowered, and she immediately yelped, "Oui!"
"Seras-tu bonne fille, je t'y ferai aller."
It felt strange, like suddenly being swathed in fabric and pricked with pins. After the spots before her eyes faded, she looked down at her robes, and saw that they had changed. Still black, but shimmering velvet: full-skirted, with a low square neckline and exquisite puffed and slashed sleeves showing pure white silk beneath. Her prefect's badge was a silver filigree necklace. She could feel that she was wearing some sort of velvet snood gathering up her hair in the back. Something of a sixteenth-century look. She longed for a mirror.
"Well, Miss Granger, are you coming or not?" He strode past her, and held open the door. He's holding the door for me, she thought, dazed.
They were moving at full speed to the Great Hall. She could already hear music. "Professor, what did you do?"
"A Cinderella charm. It will last until midnight, which should be quite enough time for you to swan about."
"It's so surprising…" She stopped, embarrassed.
"You are astonished that I would know such a charm? May I remind you that I am a Head of House here, and have been for years. I cannot tell you the number of times young Slytherin girls have come to me in tears, victims of malicious pranks." He gave her a sideways look of amusement. "However, the results depend largely on the caster's concept of what is beautiful. You must submit to being not so much a fairy-tale princess, as a Sorcerer's Apprentice. Tell your friends you are Sidonia von Bork."
"It's wonderful, sir: I can't thank you enough." She muttered to herself, trying to commit the charm to memory. "Tu voudrais bien aller…"
"Later, Miss Granger," he said impatiently. They were at the threshold of the Great Hall; they were going in. The Hall, with its starry ceiling and sumptuous golden light, was the enchanted castle of everyone's dreams. All but one of the tables had been removed, and the last remaining was pushed to the far wall and sagged under the weight of the refreshments. The dancers, freed from their everyday black robes, were splashes of unfamiliar colour. Some of the students were disguised by amazing masks: animals, magical and mundane, the Green Man, Herne the Hunter, the Corn Woman, and a shocking Medusa, complete with live snakes. They hissed at Hermione, and she flinched.
The noise level had dropped alarmingly: people were turning around. Hermione noted with surprise that they were staring at her and at Snape. They were staring at her and Snape---no—they were staring at her with Snape. Parvati and Lavender, dressed as Sita and Pomona, were openmouthed with stupefaction, and then giggled madly.
A little group of teachers had turned and looked her over in surprise. Lupin gave her a small, kind smile. The Headmaster, alone, was inscrutable. After a moment, he resumed his conversation with the staff members, and they turned their attention from her.
Several people were still staring at her. She nearly laughed aloud at Draco Malfoy's face. He had looked at her with surprise and admiration: the first pleasant expression he had ever directed at her. It was immediately replaced by recognition and confusion, and he looked away hurriedly. Lily caught her eye, however, and raised her eyebrows approvingly. She was obviously dying to find out the sequence of events that led to Hermione arriving at the ball with Severus Snape and dressed in Snape black.
Snape smirked coldly at the stir their arrival had made. He had seen Dumbledore look their way, and met his eyes briefly. There was a certain satisfaction in proving people wrong, now and then. Then, with irritation, he saw Potter, grinning like the idiot he was, making his way toward Granger, holding the Weasley girl by the hand; and he withdrew to the fringes of the Hall.
Harry and Ginny were flushed with dancing and sparkling pumpkin juice.
"Hermione, you look wonderful!" Harry admired.
Ginny agreed. "You look so mysterious. I like your make-up, too. It goes with the costume."
I'm wearing make-up? What do I look like?
"You said you weren't coming," Lavender had joined them, dragging Ron in her wake, who was goggling at Hermione. Parvati and Seamus were not far behind, and the girls could hardly fire off their questions fast enough.
"You're a slyboots!" "Where did you hide your costume?" "Where did you get dressed?" "Who did your makeup?"
I'm wearing makeup! I've got to find a mirror.
Hermione gave them all a polite smile. "Do any of you have a mirror? I'm not sure what I look like in this light."
Lavender and Parvati pulled mirrors from their costumes in unison and with lightning speed. Lavender was closer, and Hermione took a quick look.
That is some charm! Along with the black and white clothing, the charm had given her face an equally vivid and dramatic look. It looked strange to Hermione, who was not used to so much—well, drama. Interesting. So this is what Snape thinks looks good. Maybe he has good taste. Pity he doesn't direct his good taste at himself more often.
Ron and the rest of the boys were still gaping. "Crikey, Hermione, you look good!"
Ginny elbowed her brother. "Don't sound so surprised, Ron! You've seen her looking good before!" She nudged Harry. "Go on. You dance with her first. I'm so glad Snape decided to let you come! How did you manage it?"
"I didn't. It was his idea. He was pretty nice about it, actually." This statement was met with flat disbelief from all her housemates, and Hermione decided not to belabour the issue. Instead, she smiled happily at Harry, as he whirled her away to the music.
"Lily looks wonderful, too," he said, "I think I'll ask her to dance."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione cautioned him. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. She's still getting established with the Slytherins, and that could make them suspicious."
"I suppose you're right," he sighed. He caught Lily's eye across the room and smiled at her. She seemed distracted by something, but she saw him, and smiled back. Harry's heart contracted for a second, and he wished for impossible things. Mum. She could have been such a good friend, if she didn't have to make up to her wretched housemates. He prayed that whatever she was trying to achieve with the Slytherins would be worth the danger she was in now.
Lily saw Harry, dressed handsomely as a knight, dancing with Hermione. She hoped he wouldn't try to approach her tonight and start a row. They were building a kind of clandestine friendship, but it was fragile, and any kind of unpleasantness might spoil it.
She had also witnessed Hermione's dramatic entrance with Severus and felt a twinge of guilt, and then a little jealousy. It should have been me. She had accepted that Severus could not attend the ball with a student, and then he arrived with a beautifully costumed Hermione. Dressed as her friend was, they made a strangely impressive couple. Couple! That's absurd. He doesn't even like her!
She gave herself a little mental shake. I'm glad Hermione got to come. Yes, I'm glad. Of course I'm glad.
Draco had gone to get them both drinks, and she found herself standing next to Blaise.
"Well met by moonlight, proud Titania."
Lily admired Blaise. He looked rather Shakespearean himself—velvet doublet, with particoloured tights and codpiece that emphasized his attributes. Lily blushed. I can hardly look him in the face. He saw her embarrassment and flashed an amused smile.
She cleared her throat. "Mercutio? Orlando?" She strove to look anywhere but at the bulging green and silver codpiece.
"Not Shakespeare. Leonardo da Vinci, actually." He struck an elegantly casual pose. "We're related, believe it or not—though not directly, of course."
"Of course." Is this a code? Is he telling me he's gay?
"Draco was too fast for me this time, but it's early days yet."
Wait. Possibly not.
"Dance with me?"
"I'm her escort, Zabini." Draco had returned with their drinks, and quickly gave Lily hers, leaving him with a free arm to drape possessively around her. Lily gave Blaise an ironic smile.
"Later, perhaps. I'd like to." Draco looked at her sourly. She cheerfully defied him. "What? I think all the sixth year Slytherins should dance with one another. It promotes solidarity."
Blaise's smile broadened. Lily said loftily. "Don't look at me like that. You know what I mean. All the boys and girls should dance with one another."
"What a relief," Draco sniped at Blaise. "I thought she was going to have me dancing with you."
"You wish."
"Come on, Lily," Draco said, taking her arm. "Finish your drink and we'll shake off this low fellow." He handed Blaise his empty glass. "With my compliments."
Lily gave Blaise a resigned wave as Draco steered her away, his hand on her elbow. The Hall seemed suffocatingly crowded.
"Can't we get out of this mob?"
Draco nodded, pleased. "Splendid idea, my lady Titania."
The décor extended to the gardens, lit with thousands of tiny fairy lights. They seemed to be alone, but muffled moans from the shrubbery indicated that it was not so. Draco smirked at her, and she shook her head in mock reproof.
"No shrubbery for you, my lad."
"Pity. Some say I'm at my best in the shrubbery."
He had moved closer, the warmth from his body palpable between them. He's really charming, when he's not trying to prove himself superior to all the world, Lily admitted to herself. He seemed happy, and simply himself.
Don't be stupid, Lily. He's got you in his sights. Mustn't let your guard down.
"You look even more beautiful out here, you know. When it's just the two of us."
"Just the two of us and the anonymous snoggers."
He laughed, and then put his hands gently on her shoulders, stroking down her arms. "They don't matter. You do."
Bit by bit, he drew her against him. One hand reached up to stroke back a tendril of hair from her face. Lily's stomach did a startling flop. He's going to kiss me. Well, all right. It's not like I've never been kissed. I've been kissed lots of times----oh!
His mouth was wonderfully warm and soft, as he brushed first against her lower lip, then her upper. She quivered a little, as if shocked, but he held her firmly and then pressed his mouth slowly and oh, so sweetly to hers. It was quite unlike any kiss she had known before: not the sloppy, tooth-chipping fumblings of past boyfriends, nor the rough, dry kiss James Potter had surprised her with when they had left for home last June, nor yet the shy peck on the cheek that Severus had once worked up his courage for. This was a new thing.
Draco pulled her completely into his arms, and she could feel his blood pounding, as if it were her blood, her heart. She leaned into the kiss, and was on verge of losing her head completely, when a loud wail issued from the nearest yew.
"Don't stop!"
Draco and Lily jumped apart, and Lily muffled a nervous laugh. "Who is that, do you suppose?" she whispered.
Draco had not laughed, and was looking at her intently. "Just that useless Hufflepuff Abbott. Not worth thinking about." He tried to pull her close again, but Lily backed away cautiously.
"I think it's time we got back to the Hall. I still owe Blaise a dance."
He did not move immediately. "I'm not sorry, you know. You're quite wonderful."
You're a fool, my girl. Making an ass of yourself over a boy who wouldn't think you fit to wipe his boots, if he knew the truth. Bloody hormones. With a tight smile, she turned to leave the garden. Draco offered his arm with a certain ceremony, and after a little hesitation, she took it.
Snape, covertly watching the handsome young couple from the shadows, desperately wondered why he forced himself see things that could only cause him pain. Draco and Lily left the garden; and the Potions Master, sick at heart, stood silently until the last of the silver stars trailing after Lily's gown winked out.
-----
Notes:
From Charles Perrault's Cendrillon: "You wish to go to the ball, do you not? If you are a good girl, I shall contrive to send you there."
Sidonia von Bork is the heroine of an 1849 gothic romance by William Mienhold, Sidonia the Sorceress. Snape is thinking of the wizard painter, Edward Burne-Jones, and his watercolour entitled Sidonia von Bork, 1560. Sidonia has Hermione-hair in it. Snape added the black velvet snood to contain said hair.
JKR mentions an Act of Wizarding Seclusion of 1692, but analysing the situation historically, that must have been the official acknowledgement of the de facto situation at the tail end of a century-long process of divorce from the Muggle world. I recommend to those interested Hugh Trevor-Roper's, The European Witch Craze of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries and other Essays. Despite all the cliches of medieval witch burnings, it was not until the Reformation and the Counter Reformation that the real fury against witches was unleashed. Then you read the true horror stories of princes in Germany executing every woman and girl in certain towns. JKR makes a lighthearted reference to it being impossible to burn a real witch, but in England, most witches were executed by hanging or drowning. I suspect that the stories in PS/SS are the tidied-up versions taught to first years. The Witch Finder General, Matthew Hopkins, died in 1647, but he was a real factor in forcing the wizarding population of England into hiding. As I conceive it, he was a Squib who knew plenty about wizards and witches: mainly that if you got the witch's wand away from her, it was an easy matter to torture and execute her, and he found great satisfaction in it. (Perhaps he also knew about that burning might not hurt them.) Imagine a Filch granted unlimited powers by the government to kill any witch or wizard he could catch. There is a legend that Hopkins enraged the populace of one small town, who subjected him to the same water ordeal he had used on accused witches. When he floated, just as the witches had (and as a Squib would), they killed him.
The Great Breach of 1648 occurred when a number of wizards in the court of the Elector of Saxony got wind of the secret clauses in the Treaty of Westphalia, which marked the end of the ghastly Thirty Year's War in Germany. (The masculinity of wizards initially made their power more socially acceptable, and they were a fixture at many Renaissance courts—John Dee was Elizabeth I's wizard). The Protestants and Catholics had at last made peace with one another, but agreed in the secret provisions to turn their energies toward wiping out their common enemy: wizards and witches. By that time, there were enough people in the wizarding world to make their own little communities viable and to have something resembling self-government. The very idea of a "wizarding world" would have been a revolutionary concept to witches and wizards, because as bad as things had gotten, many couldn't imagine ceasing to be part of the world they had always known. 1692 is the year of the Salem Witch Trials, but they were nearly the last gasp of the witch craze—no longer in fashion in Europe, and appearing finally in New England. The Great Breach was the point at which the European wizarding world at last comprehended that its long history of integration with non-magicals had to end if witches and wizards were to survive at all. There really was a wizarding Holocaust: tens of thousands out of an already small population were executed (not to mention the thousands of innocent Muggles). The purebloods are long-lived and have long memories, and no doubt have many passed down many cautionary tales to the young. JKR doesn't seem to fully recognise that there are real reasons for the wizarding world to hate and fear Muggles. Prejudice isn't always blind or stupid. When I read the actual accounts of what was done to trick and torture witches into confessions, and the slow and agonising deaths even young children suffered, I'm pretty afraid of Muggles myself.
Next chapter: The Hogsmeade Saturday—In the aftermath of the ball, Lily lunches with a new acquaintance. A school club attracts new members.