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At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 80085 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 10
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
A/N: Thanks to Marriage1988 for the chapter title, DSxx
Discord_the_lunatic – ‘*evil anticipatory laugh*’ – hahaha, I thought I was the only evil one around here ;)
OO – ‘What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive. I foresee a calamitous ball in her future.’ – Indeed, in fact after this chapter I suspect you might foresee a couple of calamitous balls in her future ;). ‘Will Snape respond to her provocations, or will he see through her act and call her out on it?’ – Ooh, both excellent questions . . . I will let you be the judge xx
LissaDream – This chappie didn’t take too long in the end. Having said that, you might not be particularly satisfied with this one either. ‘I cannot wait to see what she has up her sleeve....or lack there of’ – Ooh, you are right on the money! x
JadedFate – ‘The chapter just gets good and I can't put down my tablet, and then it's over, and I wanna throw my tablet across the desk at work in frustration!’ – All I can say is . . . hold on tight to your tablet ;) xx
Cheichei87 – Yay! Here it is! x
Mumoftrips – ‘can't believe you've left it where you have’ – I’m afraid so . . . eek!

Chapter 10 – Master Stroke
The lilting cadence of Irish music and the steady gabble of voices—punctuated by an occasional whoop or shriek of laughter—met Hermione’s ears as she descended the staircase to the Great Hall. She was late. But this time it was deliberately so.
Entering the hall, she saw that it was already filled with people, some occupying the round tables at the periphery but many already up and dancing, arms cheerfully linked, skipping, stomping and gambolling about. The room had been cleverly enchanted to resemble the Forbidden Forest, the walls replaced by clusters of shadowy trunks, twisted limbs swaying overhead—and coupled with the openness of the night sky illusion above, the effect was surprisingly realistic. The leaping flames from dozens of magical torches gave everything and everyone a distinctly amber hue, adding to the mood of mystical merriment and abandon.
As Hermione scanned the room, her heart suddenly catapulted into her throat. He was there. Arms braced defensively across his front, Snape sipped from a goblet as he listened to a conversation between Professors Slughorn and Flitwick—the latter standing on a chair, in order to be seen and heard no doubt.
Hermione nervously cinched her robe around her throat. She needed to find Harry, just in case he—
Suddenly the music stopped.
“Can I have your attention please, everyone?” Professor McGonagall’s inimitable brogue cut through the din, causing the entire hall to instantly fall quiet.
“I see that our Head Girl has finally arrived.”
Hermione felt the collective gaze of the room immediately turn to her.
“So kind of you to join us, Miss Granger.” The disapproving pucker of older woman’s mouth was visible, even from the other side of the room.
Hermione raised her fingers slightly, an embarrassed smile touching her lips. She hadn’t yet had a proper conversation with the Professor and Head of Gryffindor House, who was clearly still unimpressed with her transgression. No doubt Snape had told her all about it in the most unflattering terms, reinforcing the notion of the older woman’s misplaced trust once again.
“As you all know, according to time-honoured tradition, our Head Girl has the responsibility of initiating the first official dance for the evening. I would therefore invite you and your partner, Miss Granger, to take the floor please.”
Fucking hell.
This wasn’t quite how she’d imagined it playing out. Fingers creeping up to her throat once again, she stepped forward. The reinforcement of her anxious grip was entirely unnecessary, however, as she had charmed her robe to completely conceal her body. The material practically hovered, making it impossible to tell what she was wearing underneath. As she proceeded, the crowd parted before her, allowing her to make her way into the empty heart of the room.
Scanning the crowd, she was relieved to locate Harry standing against the far wall with Ginny, Neville and Luna. As she made her way towards him, someone must have signalled for the Leprechaun band at the front to start playing again as the strains of a lively waltz suddenly burst forth. A small smile curled Harry’s lips as she approached. Ginny looked less impressed. He must have told her. Hermione realised then that it would have been better if she had asked Ginny herself . . . too late.
When she was almost to him, Harry stepped forward but she gave the briefest flick of her head, furrowing her brow in an apologetic ‘No’, before edging around him and proceeding to the corner where Snape had positioned himself, no doubt hoping to be invisible. Indeed, his tall, dark form was particularly well camouflaged against the shadowy columns of the trees.
Hermione wove her way through the crowd to get to him, his pale features hardening visibly with her approach. Then she stopped. And extended her hand.
There was an audible gasp from those behind her, even above the enthusiastic strains of the instruments.
Snape glared at her hand. And then at her. She kept her face carefully neutral despite the wild thrashing of her heart. Then he did just as she knew he would do—after all, he had very little choice. Extending his arm, sleeve still prohibitively tight, his long pale fingers grasped hers. She smiled. He didn’t.
Turning, she led him back through the crowd of shocked faces to the centre of the room, the band carefully timing their introduction to coincide with the point at which they faced one another. She placed her hand on his rigid shoulder and his own alighted lightly on her waist—far more restrained than it had ever been before. Grasping his extended hand, she looked determinedly into his bitter black eyes. Then they began.
He led without hesitation, stepping expertly, turning and guiding her in a deft loop that had her instantly reassessing her plans. He was good—far more adept than she had expected. But, fortunately, she was better. She’d danced for years—practically her entire life. However, she would need to be at least one step ahead of him if she was going to successfully execute her plans.
Fortunately he’d also chosen to wear a thick dark dress robe, so when she released his hand and turned into him—instead of away as he clearly intended—she was able to surreptitiously slip her hand down to grasp his crotch, stroking it gently before unfurling from him without missing a beat.
When her eyes returned to his, she saw that they had widened in shock, the whites now visible. His lips were no longer pressed together in disapproval—they had fallen open to suck in a deep lungful of air . . . clearly she had shaken him. But before he could mount a defence, she took a half step toward him again, swivelling her hips beneath her voluminous robe and rubbing gratuitously against his groin before stepping back.
Snape gritted his teeth before flinging her away. It was fortunate for Hermione that he kept hold of her hand, otherwise she would have gone careening off into the crowd. As it was, she managed to keep her footing despite her high heels and, just as importantly, hang onto her smile, a skill she’d learned early on in her dance training—the key to any convincing performance.
As they continued to glide across the floor, she could feel him attempting to prop her as far away from his body as physically possible so, with a few stuttering steps, she managed to wrong-foot him. Then, lifting her arms, she spun around and crossed them over her chest so that her back was against his front, the top of her buttocks grinding against what she could swear was a hint of swelling bulge. He stepped smartly backwards, before twirling her back around and pushing her away, his eyes darting to the band, clearly desperate for a reprieve.
Despite his obvious urgency to be rid of her, he was actually doing quite well. In fact, he was starting to quite effectively thwart her attempts to fondle him. She managed to get in a few more brief strokes but he seemed to be able to anticipate her moves more effectively now, his deft reflexes cutting off her attack routes under the guise of some fancy grips and turns, even as they both continued to glide relatively smoothly across the floor.
Whilst it was undeniably frustrating, she couldn’t help but be impressed—he was certainly a fast learner. Still, she wasn’t finished with him yet. The dim, flickering light from the torches provided a useful amount of cover. So, as the band wound up, she decided to take one final shot.
Thrusting their joined hands aloft, she slipped her hand from his shoulder and grabbed him by the hip before starting to turn. He had no choice but to go with her and, as he rotated, she delved down, grasping him by what was now, without a doubt, a considerable and surprisingly robust erection.
His hand slipped off her waist, locked around her wrist and flung her away one last time. And on this occasion he didn’t hold on. With a muted shriek she twirled and stumbled across the floor into a set of strong but mercifully gentle arms. Looking up, she sighed with relief.
“Thank you, Hagrid.”
“Er . . . You alrigh’ Hermione?”
“I think so.” She nodded, looking back at Snape.
The dark wizard held his robe protectively across his chest, glaring at her between stray locks of raven hair as though ready to curse her off the face of the planet.
But then the music came to an abrupt end and it was time for them to select their next partners.
Delivering a small, grateful smile to Hagrid, Hermione straightened herself and undid the clasp on her robe before shrugging it off her bare shoulders and draping it casually over her arm as she traversed the floor. Acutely aware of many more mouths dropping open as the transfigured dress was revealed in all its glory, she managed to maintain a relatively relaxed gait on her way over to Harry.
This time he chose not to step forward, so she was forced to walk right up to him and take his hand, made all the more awkward by the fact that Ginny was hovering close by. Wincing a little internally as she tossed her robe aside, Hermione avoided looking at the redhead directly . . . that apology would have to wait.
As she led Harry into the middle of floor she noticed that Snape hadn’t moved, he was staring at the two of them. A group of terrified fourth year girls stood behind him. It was quite clear that none of them wanted to be next. Suddenly, one of them released a strangled yelp as she was bumped forward by the others. Snatching her hand without looking, Snape swept onto the floor.
The music started and Hermione turned to Harry who looked suitably impressed and possibly a little embarrassed by her figure-hugging dress—its plunging neckline certainly revealed enough breast and the strategic slits enough stocking-clad thigh for it to be considered inappropriate for a younger audience.
Still, she slung her forearm over his shoulder and he grasped her waist low enough to be considered her buttock. It was certainly not the type of intimacy she would want to force upon her best friend; nor did she want it for herself. But if he was kind enough to pretend for her, the least she could do was hold up her end of the bargain. She returned his smile and they set about, not so much dancing, as swaying and stepping. Harry wasn’t a great dancer but it didn’t matter—he mainly just clung to her and moved when she did, giving them the appearance of a slightly drunken couple sharing the last dance of the evening.
Hermione kept Snape in the periphery of her vision throughout, although it was hardly required—she could actually feel his seething gaze boring into her, into both of them. Despite her shivery apprehension, everything was taking place exactly as she had planned. As she’d anticipated, it required the forced closeness, and lack of escape routes, of a public liaison like this to discover what she couldn’t in private. Snape wasn’t impotent. Far from it.
Of course, there had been no guarantee that it would happen, and if it hadn’t she would never have followed through with the second part of her plan—petty revenge with Potter. But the result was that she was now in a state of what could only be described as trepidatious relief. She was genuinely grateful that he didn’t suffer from such an affliction—for his sake—but clearly he didn’t share the satisfaction of her findings, and was demonstrably incensed by what she had done . . . as she knew he would be.
Indeed, whilst she may have planned and hoped for certain outcomes from her actions, there was clearly one enormously unpredictable element in all of this—Snape himself. And it was his level of ire that would dictate much of what happened next. In fact, she had decided that no level of planning was going to mitigate against the fallout, and so had resigned herself to simply taking him . . . as he came.
Her face hovered so close to Harry’s that she could have easily kissed him. She would never do it of course—for so many reasons, but she was surprised by how repellent the thought was. Whereas the idea of kissing Snape again was enough to have her insides roiling with anticipation. Would it happen? Would he let her? Or was that now off the table . . . forever?
The duration of the song was necessarily shorter than the first, in order to enable further dancers to join in, and when it stopped Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand in gratitude, noticing with some embarrassment how foggy his glasses had become. She really hoped it wouldn’t cause problems with Ginny, as he had only done as she’d asked of him, and if Ginny should be angry with anyone, it was her.
But when she released his hand, she immediately made a lunge for Luna’s, having had quite enough tumultuous testosterone for a while, and deciding that yet another rumour was the least of her concerns.
Harry returned to the floor with Ginny, and Snape with a shocked Sprout in tow.
“I’m looking forward to hearing the story behind this,” Luna murmured in her ear as she placed her hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “If you manage to make it out of here alive, that is.”
Hermione lowered her head in acknowledgement, her eyes darting to Snape from under her eyelashes. “It’s complicated.”
“Relationships often are.”
Hermione looked at her sharply but Luna’s ethereal smile revealed nothing.
Relationship? It was hardly that. Not even close. It was more of an . . . understanding . . . or an arrangement . . . or something.
However, Luna’s words continued to play over and over in her mind as she moved through partner after partner. The floor rapidly filled with bodies and she eventually lost sight of Snape altogether. On a few occasions she was forced to relocate a wayward hand from someone who had clearly gotten the wrong idea about her . . . although she was quite prepared to take responsibility for the confusion. In fact, she was willing to own just about anything at that point.
When the floor was completely full, she looked up and caught sight of Snape standing on the far side of the room. He seemed to have divested himself of dance partners.
“I’m sorry but I have to go,” she murmured to the ruddy-cheeked boy enthusiastically clutching her.
His face fell with disappointment.
Hermione squeezed past further cavorting couples on her way to the door. But when she looked back she saw that Snape was already on the move.
Heart surging, she stumbled out of the doorway, frantically pulling off her heels.
She made the mistake of throwing a final desperate glance over her shoulder. All she saw were his eyes . . . and the murderous fury within them.
With a terrified gasp she turned. And ran.
- 9
- 10
- 11
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At the Headmaster’s Discretion *Complete*

At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete