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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After	By : ElizabethStump Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 90306 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 46
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"And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After"

Chapter Forty-Seven: Part I

“Some Enchanted Evening: Part I”

Disclaimer: Oh, that I could make money from writing this fic, and make a living by borrowing Rowling's characters for profit. Alas! I cannot. These characters are hers alone, and I cannot lay claim to them, nor make any money from this fic that uses them. Woe is me! Maybe in my next life I'll hit the literary jackpot.

A/N: This chapter is so large, I need to post in two parts.

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“I'll be fine. Everything has been taken care of,” he assured her. “The only thing left to test today is the beaver tails and the banshee toenails.”

Hermione hesitated between going, which meant trusting Mr. Spawn to be left alone in the lab for the rest of the afternoon, or shooing him out and closing it up, preventing another possible catastrophe. “If you're really sure,” she said, hesitantly.

“Listen,” Mr. Spawn said in a contrite voice, “I know I've botched up things in the past, and I'm really sorry. I just thought...” Trevor humbly dropped his eyes to the ground. “Now that I lost my apprenticeship, my father has financially cut me off, and after my screwing up and almost burning down the Ministry, I don't think there is anyplace else that will hire me. I need this job. I really need to keep this job now.”

It was hard for Hermione to tell which emotion was stronger after Mr. Spawn's confession: pity, or satisfaction that his arrogance had resulted in him finally taking his job seriously.

The compassionate side of Hermione won out. Walking over to the young wizard, she patted him on the shoulder consolingly. “You've made some very good progress these past few weeks.”

Mr. Spawn gave a feeble smile of gratitude for her words. “You should go if you're going to get ready for your anniversary. Have fun tonight.”

Hermione's stomach sank as he said the last words. She felt doubtful that she and Ron would have anything but “fun” tonight, not after her harsh exchange with Ron over his insensitive comments about her owing him a good shag as payment for the two dresses she bought at Madam Maurelle Mandel's House of Haute Couture.

Returning an equally faltering smile to her co-worker, Hermione replied, “Thanks, I will.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Gathering her things before Apparating over to the Potters’, Hermione double-checked to make sure she had everything, ticking off items in her head as she would need them when she got prepared, starting with her ablutions.

'Shampoo, conditioner, soap, Sleekeazy's Sculpting Hair Philter Foam, deodorant, hair pins, combs, nail polish, make-up, perfume, knickers, stockings, shoes, dress, cloak... am I forgetting something?'

Hermione would brush her teeth before going over to have Ginny help her get ready for the evening.

She flopped onto the bed, arms over her head in surrender, and stared up at the ceiling for a moment to clear her head. Ginny had suggested that Hermione come over to her house so that the redhead could help her with her hair and make-up. Her sister-in-law also had mentioned something about Ron coming over to pick up Hermione, like it was a real date before they had gotten married, thus adding a bit of anticipation to the evening ahead. Hermione supposed that, if anything, not having Ron around while she got ready might make it easier when coming to deal with spending a whole evening alone with him. It would be harder for Ron to start a fight before the evening really began if Hermione wasn't around the flat.

“Jewelry!” Hermione said aloud, bolting upright on the bed.

Digging round in her bureau drawers, she removed her jewelry box, which she kept next to her escape box. Hermione took a moment and opened the box containing her secrets. Removing the two pieces of parchment, she drew her fingers lovingly over the letters. One wasn't even a proper letter, just a simple missive with one word.

“Lovely.”

She smiled to herself before putting the letters away and returning her escape box back in her drawer. Hermione had cast every spell she knew to reveal the letters' author, but the only name that appeared was “Sabotage Ends Laid.”

Opening her jewelry box, she pulled out the pair of sapphire and diamond earrings her parents had given her as a graduation present. The Grangers had been very disappointed to learn that Hogwarts did not have a formal graduation ceremony for the parents to attend, and they had given the earrings to her the night after she came home on the Hogwarts Express for the last time. There had been a small celebration dinner Hermione's parents had held for her, knowing their daughter would be gone the next morning to continue her work on a war they did not understand. Hermione never asked her mother if she knew that sapphires symbolized clear thinking, but figured that she bought them because they were Hermione's birthstone.

'I'll need to think clearly more than ever tonight,' she thought ruefully.

This was the night Hermione had been placing so much importance upon, and now that it was almost here, she dreaded to know how it would end.

“Oh, I wish I could see you before you go out, all dolled up, dressed to the nines!” the enchanted mirror said, finally speaking up for the first time in weeks.

Looking at a very animated and cheerful version of herself in the glass, Hermione felt as if she was peering in on some alternate reality of herself. There was no trepidation in the expression reflected back at her. Every single out-of-place hair was shown, but none of the emotions matched what she was feeling inside.

“Maybe you'll see me when I get back tonight,” Hermione said as consolation.

“Oh, I hope so!” the mirror said.

Gathering all her items together, Hermione finally Apparated over to the Potters’ to begin the usual ritualistic preparations for the hopefully fabulous evening ahead.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ginny was busy combing a long hank of hair, smoothing it and rolling it up into a magical heated curler that would transform the frizzy mess into sleek and well-coiffed curled tendrils. Hermione was applying a layer of Lovely Lavender's One-Coat, No-Smudge, No-Chip, Perfect-Every-Time Nail Polish. The nail polish color that matched Hermione's dress and accessories was given the name of “Take Me Now Red.”

Hermione thought of another much more vulgar verb that fitted the intonation of that phrase better.

Tugging at her dressing gown to make sure her breasts were covered, the brunette witch asked, “Are you sure Harry is not coming home?” Harry had seen her many times in her pyjamas while at Hogwarts, but she felt a bit self-conscious about it now that she was older and married.

“He sent an owl home this afternoon that he has to work late tonight, so we'll have the house to ourselves. Dobby is over at Bill and Fleur's for the night, so it's just us until Ron shows up,” Ginny explained, gritting her teeth as she held a short row of hairpins in her mouth.

“Oh.” It was a relief to Hermione that no one else would witness her growing apprehension, which she didn't bother to hide from Ginny. 'If Ginny has been talking to Severus, she must already be aware of how I feel about tonight... unless Severus hasn't been talking about us.'

Hermione's mind was already spinning, trying to sort out what Ginny knew and didn't know about her and Severus, and decided to avoid a headache by pretending that Ginny didn't know a thing.

With a little time and a lot of work, Hermione was finally ready.

Ginny whistled long and low. “Wow. You look unbelievably fantastic. If Ron isn't bowled over, he must be a poofter,” she joked.

Hermione laughed. The likelihood of Ron being attracted to men that way was as likely as Voldemort coming back from the dead as an Evangelical preacher.

Just as Hermione put her earrings on, Ron called from the living room downstairs.

“Oh! He's here!” Ginny squealed with excitement. “Wait a moment before making your grand entrance; I want to turn down the lights a little for the mood.”

The redheaded witch bolted for the bedroom door, and Hermione could hear her thump down the stairs like a rambunctious child beating a path to the Christmas tree on Christmas morning.

Standing up, Hermione smoothed down the front of her dress and looked at herself one last time in the mirror. She barely recognized the witch staring back at her. Every hair was in place, the circles under her eyes were gone, and her skin glowed. What surprised Hermione the most was that a few scraps of fabric sewn just the right way could make her look like she had this sensuous figure with curves in places she didn't know she had them.

“It's just a red dress,” she said to herself.

It was a red sleeveless floor-length dress that happened to have a low V-neck line that showed off her cleavage, clung to her torso in such away to compliment her slender frame, and flared out from the hip into an A-line to allow movement for dancing. It was so simple, yet stunning. And the color brought out her natural coloring in such a way that Hermione actually considered buying a ruby-red cloak for everyday wear for the winter.

Hearing Ginny calling her from below, Hermione straightened her posture, checked to make sure all the sticking charms for her dress and the bra-less charm for her breasts were in place, and exited the bedroom to descend the stairs. As she began walking down the carpeted steps, Hermione finally caught sight of Ron in his new dress robes.

'Oh, my.'

Ron was in a well-cut set of smart-looking robes the color of dark caramel, and it looked like he had gotten his hair cut as well. With his hair off his forehead and out of his eyes, he no longer had that boyish look about him, but finally looked like a man.

Hermione started getting nervous as she reached the bottom of the stairs, as Ron had said nothing, but continued to stand there with a stunned look on his face and his mouth hanging open. She hoped he liked the dress, because she certainly did not think he could find any fault with it – she prayed.

Walking up to her husband, she stretched up the last inch that her feet could extend, as she was already wearing three-inch heels, and placed a little kiss on Ron's cheek.

“You look very dashing, Ron.” Maybe if she started the night out on a compliment, that might set the tone for a good evening. She could detect the scent of cologne on Ron; he smelled of grass, summer rain and lemons. It was a bright and sporty scent.

Ron finally closed his gaping gob and gasped, “You look bloody amazing.” His eyes roved over Hermione as if he had never seen her before in his life.

Ginny cleared her throat, and suddenly Hermione became aware of the witch standing next to her husband.

“Ron.” Ginny nudged him. “Don't you have something you want to give Hermione?”

“Oh! Right!” Ron said hastily, and pulled a small glass box from inside his cloak.

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione said with awe. “It's lovely!”

Presented on a little satin pillow was a spray of small red rosebuds attached to one of her combs that went with her dress. Hermione wondered when Ginny had managed to sneak the comb out to get the flowers attached and get it to Ron in time, but then decided she just wanted to enjoy the moment instead of analyzing how and when events had taken place.

“Really?” Ron smiled. “I thought, you know, how you are about flowers...” he trailed off.

Ginny, sensing the awkwardness between them, stepped in and said, “Let me help you put that in your hair, Hermione.”

Hermione bent down while Ginny affixed the comb, then artfully placed a curl to intertwine with the arrangement of tiny roses.

Ron gave Hermione a quirky smile when she stood back up for Ron to survey the addition of the floral comb in her hair. There was almost a glazed-over look in his eyes, and Hermione found it disconcerting.

Ginny gave her brother another nudge to prompt him along.

“Right!” Ron announced brightly. He stuck out his arm jauntily and smiled broadly. “Lady, your chariot awaits.”

After Ron helped her with her cloak, they made their way towards the back garden. Hermione thought Ron was joking with the chariot remark, but not by much. Just beyond the back door was a carriage drawn by two matching gryphons, both bearing a brindled coat of gold, bronze, and darker bronze feathers.

There was almost no room for the gryphons to move and the coach looked like it barely squeezed into the back garden, ready to spill over into the Muggle neighbor's yard, but it fit just the same.

There was no coachman. As Hermione approached the carriage, holding onto Ron's arms so she would not fall while traipsing over the weathered bricks in her new heels, the door opened and a set of brass steps cast in an ornate filigree design unfolded before her. Careful as to not get her heel stuck into the open metal work, Hermione made her way into the carriage, followed by Ron.

Once the door shut, Hermione barely had a chance to wave goodbye to Ginny before the two gryphons crouched and then leapt into the air, causing the carriage to rock about with a great lurch. The carriage and gryphons, along with the passengers inside, became invisible as they ascended above the London rooftops and flew into the evening's blue sky.

Hermione let out a small shriek of surprise and checked for her wand strapped to the side of her thigh, snuggled into the wandholder loops on the side of her silk stockings, as she was thrown against the back of the carriage seat while Ron sat there as if nothing was too amiss.

As the carriage leveled out, Hermione was able to see the English countryside whizzing by far below like a verdant quilt, much like the time she rode on an airplane with her parents to France when she was younger. This time, however, the cabin was not pressurized; and it was magic keeping the velvet and tassel-trimmed box aloft, rather than the laws of physics and the experience of a professional licensed pilot.

Shortly after the carriage leveled out, Hermione could tell they were beginning to descend towards their final destination. Fortunately, the gryphons’ angle of descent was much more gradual than during the takeoff, and soon the wheels of the carriage made gentle contact with the roadway, only jostling Hermione slightly in the process.

Glancing out the window, Hermione recognized the village they were approaching; it was the same one that Ginny and Hermione went to for lunch recently in Wiltshire. Looking out the window on the other side of the carriage, Hermione spied a stately mansion that she had not noticed before atop a hill overlooking the village below. In the light of the sun that was nearing the horizon, she could see the ivy creeping up the walls and overtaking the exterior facade. The great yew hedges that circled the perimeter of the property looked like they had not been trimmed in at least a few years. No lights glowed from the mansion’s many windows, and it appeared to be abandoned.

Their carriage came to a halt and then inched along in a queue of carriages, letting patrons disembark at the front doors of the Grand Royal Supper Club. There was a wizard dressed in midnight blue robes with a reservations book floating next to him. An opalescent blue-and-silver quill, most likely a feather from a Peryton as Hermione noted from far away, jotted down notes as the wizard in the dark blue robes greeted each approaching couple warmly. It was when Hermione finally saw the flash of the photographer's bulb go off that she saw the familiar face standing to the side.

“Rita Skeeter,” Hermione growled under her breath with disdain.

“What?” Ron asked.

“Rita Skeeter,” Hermione pronounced much more clearly. “She's back to trolling for celebrity trash to make up, I'm sure.”

“Brilliant,” Ron murmured in agreement with his wife's assessment.

“Let's just ignore her. Maybe she won't recognize us,” Hermione suggested hopefully.

Finally it was their turn to get out of their carriage. Ron stepped out and thankfully helped Hermione down, but then started walking off without waiting for Hermione. Frozen to the spot, Hermione debated whether to just ignore his faux pas and catch up with him, but Ron stopped and went back, fetching Hermione to escort her before the situation became embarrassing.

“Ah! Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!” the maître d' exclaimed with a saccharine sincerity that made Hermione's skin crawl.

Rita Skeeter caught the name and quickly rushed along the length of velvet rope that kept her aside while the patrons entered the establishment unhindered. “Hermione? Is that you?” the witch in violent orange robes called out.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried not to physically cringe at the sound of Skeeter's voice.

“Hermione, dear! I would recognize that darling figure anywhere! You certainly are looking well. Is Ron’s and your presence here tonight a sign that your husband has finally made it?” Rita asked, not bothering to wait for Hermione or Ron to answer before assaulting them with a barrage of questions, each more offensive than the last. “Will you be leaving your career in the Department of Standards & Regulations to finally start that family you've put off for so long? Or is Ron sterile? Will you be adopting any of the orphans left over from the war, in sympathy for your friend Harry Potter, who never had a real wizarding family of his own to raise him and had to live with those Muggles who mistreated him for so long?”

Ron and Hermione openly gaped, unable to comprehend what would possess Skeeter to come up that line of questions. Thankfully, they were spared from answering her inquiry when the carriage behind the one the Weasleys rode in opened up, revealing the next guest to the supper club.

“Lady Battenberg!” Rita called out and charged off towards a stunningly beautiful witch with strawberry blond hair who held an air of grace about her that Hermione envied.

The maître d' ushered the Weasleys through the door, and Hermione stood in the lobby, awestruck at the opulence set before her. There were panels of amber, used like sheets of colored glass, set into a pair of gold gilt doors to separate the lobby from the main dining room. The amber and gold doors were flanked by columns of lapis lazuli, which were topped with apple-colored jade capitals carved with the faces of famous witches and wizards. A swag made of olive and laurel interwoven with golden apples and silver berries hung above a transom set with large faceted golden topaz, aquamarines, spinels, and cabochon opals depicting the constellations of the night sky. She could hear the muffled sounds of the orchestra through the doors.

Glancing to her right, Hermione saw a purple carpeted staircase with a heavily carved, gold-gilt banister leading up to what looked like a private door. Before she could wonder where the stairs led to, the doors opened and Hermione and Ron walked into the main dining room of the Grand Royal Supper Club.

There were about fifty tables of various sizes, accommodating between two and eight people, arranged around a large dance floor, and a second tier raised above the main floor featuring another couple dozen tables. There was a stage, decorated with the same grandeur as the rest of the supper club, where the orchestra sat. On the dance floor, couples moved around the floor with a synchronization that made the mass of their heads appear to be a swirling whirlpool from Hermione's perspective on the upper landing.

Ron did not rush ahead, but thankfully offered Hermione his arm to help her down the staircase. She wished she scuffed the bottom of her shoes up or at least put a No-Slip Charm on them, as she could feel her feet fighting to stay on the plush carpet that kept changing colors slowly from red, to dark purple, to royal blue, to forest green before fading back to a deep red.

'At least the carpet didn't have moving patterns of paisley or plaid, or I would have gotten motion-sick and lost my balance,' Hermione thought, remembering the large area rug George had recently put in his living room. While crossing it the first time she almost fell over, her inner ear thrown off by the optical illusion of the floor moving beneath her feet.

At the foot of the stairs, another wizard in dark teal robes welcomed them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!” their host greeted them in the same manner that Hermione found to be simpering and equally as oily as the wizard with the reservations book. “I am so pleased you have decided to come here to celebrate your anniversary with us. Let me show you to your table.” The wizard with salt-and-pepper slicked-back hair bowed graciously, and then led Hermione and Ron through the maze of tables.

Ron dropped his arm and lightly grasped Hermione's hand, leading the way behind the host. Hermione felt like she was being pulled along, and had to skitter along once or twice to keep with her husband's long strides. It would have been more gentlemanly for Ron to let Hermione follow the host first, but the fact that he still was holding her hand was something.

“Here you go, a romantic table for two,” the smarmy wizard announced with a sweep of his arm.

Hermione was surprised. The table was close to the dance floor, (without being right next to it) close to the center, and not shuttled off to the side.

Ron made to sit down without waiting for Hermione, then caught himself and stood up. Walking over to Hermione, he helped her with her cloak and then into her seat before going back to his own seat to sit down. She gave him a trembling smile of appreciation, and it looked as awkward as she felt.

“Here is tonight's menu,” their host announced, accepting Hermione's cloak. With his wand, he conjured two menus, which he presented to them, like he was handing over some sacred artifact. “And our wine list,” the older wizard added, as he handed over to Ron a leather-bound tome as thick as Hogwarts: A History, and just as heavy.

Looking daunted by a wine list that was longer than any book he had ever completely read, Ron accepted it and set it aside; the compendium listing all the wines in the restaurant's extensive cellar made the table list slightly.

There was a moment when Hermione and Ron looked at each other with the exact same thought etched plainly on their faces.

'Okay, now what?'

They smiled nervously at each other before diverting their eyes to take in their surroundings, in order to avoid the silence that demanded that someone speak. It was by no means quiet in the restaurant, as the band played a lively tune that made Hermione tap her foot unconsciously in time to the music.

Hermione's eyes wandered over the walls hung with huge mirrors that reflected the diners and dancing couples; there were huge baroque gold candelabra sconces set between the mirrors. Above her was a rotunda that added to the acoustics of the environment, amplifying the sound so that it reached all corners of the restaurant equally. The rotunda was made out of glass, showing the approach of sunset and twilight in the night sky. Gradually her eyes took in the fine linen tablecloth, and the delicate white china with a gold gilt edge. Hermione noticed the repetition of gold in the décor theme, and found it all to be a bit much for someone raised with Muggle tastes, and whose parents had an affinity for Danish modern. Even the flatware was gold-plated.

Not yet ready to try and engage Ron in conversation, Hermione turned her attention to the band, which then transitioned to a slower-paced song. A chanteuse in a gold silk gown, that matched the robes of the band members, began serenading the dancers with lyrics about forbidden love and lamentations on the foolish choices of her heart. Hermione remembered hearing that song the first night she started lessons with Severus.

Of course, at the time she knew him as Calleo, but now she knew who he really was. Memories of the many dance lessons she enjoyed while being twirled about and dipped in his arms came back. A secret smile spread across Hermione's lips as she recalled the first time Severus taught her how to dip, and how they had fallen over in a jumble of limbs and tangled bodies.

Hermione was jarred from her thoughts when Ron asked suddenly, “Do you want something to drink?”

“Huh? Oh, yes. That sounds good.” She hoped she looked like she was having a good time.

Two glasses of water appeared on the table while Ron began flipping through the wine list.

Over the sound of the band and singer, Hermione could hear her husband mutter, “Why can't these things ever be simple: red wine or white. Why is it broken down into bloody regions, and what the hell is a Cabernet Sauvignon Blanc? I thought that was a red wine...”

Hermione was tempted to suggest a nice simple white wine to start out the evening, as a white wine would not affect the palate as much as a red wine, especially since she didn't know what they would be eating later on, but Ron seemed intent on making a good impression.

“Ah, there we are. Champagnes!” Ron said, running his finger down the long list of sparking wines. His brow furrowed. “Merlin! There are bottles of champagne on this list that cost over twenty-five Galleons.”

Hermione winced, hoping no one overheard. This was the sort of place where if you had to think twice about the price, then maybe you couldn't afford to eat here.

Leaning over the table and speaking in hushed tones, Hermione suggested, “You don't have to break the vault; I'm not a connoisseur. Pick something, just not the cheapest one on the list,” she added, feeling a little self-conscious, and not wanting to appear too price-conscious.

It was odd; Hermione usually never really cared what others thought, but in this environment, she wanted to present a respectable facade that would not attract attention to herself by demonstrating that she and Ron were not sophisticated enough to be there.

'If Severus were here, he would know exactly what to order.'

She stopped herself. This night was supposed to be about her and Ron celebrating their anniversary. Not some mental comparison about how Severus would have done things differently from her husband.

Ron spoke his request for a bottle of moderately-priced champagne, and the bottle appeared on the table. As if guided by invisible hands, the cork came out with a sharp “pop,” and then settled into the champagne bucket stand that materialized next to their table. The wine list disappeared and was replaced by two champagne flutes.

Hermione worried for a brief moment when Ron pulled out his wand and charmed the bottle to levitate out of the ice-chilled bucket and pour into the flutes. She had watched Severus pour champagne by hand for her before, tilting the flute so that the bubbly wine slid along the side of the glass instead of hitting the bottom directly and frothing over the sides, which was exactly what was happening when Ron guided the bottle to pour.

“Bugger!” he hissed, and leaned forward to sip at the frothy head trickling down the side of the glass.

It was one thing to do that in the privacy of one's home, like picking your knickers out of the crack of your arse, but to do that in a fancy restaurant was just a bit uncouth. It would have been better if he had just blotted at the spilled champagne with his napkin.

There was a brief moment where she wanted to say, “Just let me do it,” but Ron would likely use that as a jumping-off point to start another argument, citing her supposed superiority complex.

With the champagne poured and glass in hand, Ron asked, “So what shall we toast to?'

'To surviving the night?' “Erm...” 'Think, Hermione. You're supposed to be the eloquent one. To love? Yeah, right.' “To us?”

“To us.”

They clinked glasses together and drank, not looking at each other as they sipped. Actually, Hermione sipped while Ron chugged half of his in a couple of quick swallows, looking like he needed the alcohol to brace his nerves.

'Now what?' Hermione wondered.

“Do you want to order dinner now, or do you want to dance a little first before we eat?” Hermione suggested.

Ron replied with his own question: “You want to dance?”

“Do you?”

It was apparent to both Hermione and Ron that being thrust into a romantic situation was not going to automatically make the tension between them just instantly disappear, especially after Ron's angry retreat last night.

'Maybe a little dancing will get us both in the mood for a good time, then we can finally relax,' she mused.

“Yes, I would love to dance,” Hermione said, and gave Ron a reassuring smile, hoping her attitude would help him to relax. He looked more nervous than she felt.

Ron stood and waited a few moments for his wife to stand, before he finally caught himself and went around the table to help Hermione from her seat. They walked to the dance floor, her hand in his clammy one.

'Just relax, Hermione,' she told herself, braced for an evening of squashed toes. 'Rogina says he's not that bad of a dancer, and he has been taking lessons too.'

As they stepped onto the dance floor, she waited for Ron to begin leading, signaling which direction he would guide her. To her relief, they started moving together smoothly.

Dancing with Ron, she could begin to compare the differences between the way he moved to the way that Severus felt while she was in his arms. It was a little awkward, getting used to a new partner, when Hermione was accustomed to Severus' height, body and his particular grace. Ron was not quite as confident and his movements were not quite as fluid, but it was a vast improvement from the last time they had danced together.

The song ended, and all the couples on the floor politely clapped briefly. The singer on the stage gave a small curtsy before announcing, “This is one of my favorites; I hope you like it too.”

The enchanted globes that hung over the dance floor dimmed, casting a warm golden light. The orchestra struck up a slow tune, as the chanteuse began singing her torch song.

“I saw you use the Floo to see that witch,

You know who.

The witch with the long blond hair and the sparkling blue eyes.

Don't say you didn't, don't tell me no lies.

Have a little truth serum with your morning tea,

If you please.

Two-timin' wizard without a clue that I'm on to you.

You can't stay true.

If I can't divorce you,

At least I can still leave you.

You took my respect, so I'll take your gold,

Cause you've left my heart out in the cold.”

They moved slowly across the floor, bumping into other couples twice during the song. Soft apologies came from Ron and the other wizards.

Ron was certainly taller than Severus by a few good inches, as Hermione stared straight ahead into the middle of Ron's chest. In the dim light, she inspected the weave of his dress robes and the fine threads of russet interspersed through the fabric. By this point, Hermione would have naturally rested her head against Ron's chest, but didn't. Ron's voice rang in her head about how she was just a “lousy lay.”

Pushing those memories aside, she glanced up and saw Ron's face. He was staring straight ahead too, his face inscrutable. His Adam's apple bobbed once as he swallowed, and she wondered if he was nervous.

There seemed to be some great expectation from both of them about this night, as if this one night would make or break the future of their marriage. It would for Hermione, as she had made her decision to become more intimate with Severus based on how well or poorly tonight played out. So far, it was not looking good where her promise to “forsake all others” was concerned.

By the time the song ended and the lights brightened as the band started playing another bouncy swing tune, Hermione was ready to leave the floor. Ron looked down to his wife and tilted his head back towards their table, and Hermione gave a tight smile in agreement.

As they started walking back, weaving between couples who were dancing, Ron said, “Blimey! ‘Mione, come with me.”

Ron changed direction, and they headed toward an area off to the side where a group of wizards and a few witches stood chatting, some holding glasses of wine in their well-manicured hands.

Smiling, Ron slowed down his pace and tucked Hermione's arm in his to gallantly escort her the rest of the way.

They approached an older wizard who was probably in his late-fifties. He was very handsome in a way that most women hoped their husbands would age, with a flash of gray at each temple, and sharp hazel eyes.

“Hello, Ron,” the older wizard greeted him with genuine sincerity. “And who is this stunning creature, if I may have the pleasure of being introduced?” The older wizard grasped Hermione's hand and held it while waiting for her name.

“Bascom, this is my wife, Hermione,” Ron announced proudly, puffing out his chest slightly.

“Hermione. What a lovely and unique name,” Bascom purred and bent over to kiss her hand.

Feeling a little flustered, Hermione could not help but blush a little at the older wizard's attentions.

“Hermione,” Ron said with a beaming smile, “This is Bascom Nettleton, president of the Mercury Broom Company.”

“Oh! So you're Mr. Nettleton!” Hermione smiled back at the wizard, who still had a very firm grasp of her hand.

“Please,” he mockingly pleaded, “call me Bascom.”

“Bascom.” It was then that Hermione noticed that he still had not let go of her hand, and looked up to find his eyes glued to her cleavage.

Hermione politely and kindly removed her hand from his grasp. Initially charmed by his gracious manners, she suddenly felt like he was a little too friendly for her comfort. She quickly sidled back to Ron's side, and grasped at her husband's arm like a life preserver.

Ron seemed blissfully unaware of Mr. Nettleton's friendly warmth towards his wife. “So are you here alone, or is Mrs. Nettleton with you tonight?” Ron asked.

“Oh, Dagmar couldn't make it. She's taken up the card game Crossroads & Crusades some months back, and now plays it at least twice a week. No, I brought a guest with me tonight, but she has been whisked away to the dance floor by another wizard for the moment.” Bascom turned his attention to Hermione. “Ron, you wouldn't mind if I took your lovely wife for a spin around the floor now, would you?” His eyes never looked to Ron, instead keeping them fixed on Hermione.

“I don't mind if Hermione doesn't,” Ron answered.

For once Hermione hoped that Ron's jealous streak would rear its ugly head and say no. But it looked like it wasn't going to happen. Ron was being an adult and gentleman, much to Hermione's dismay. She wanted a reason to say no to Bascom Nettleton without having to say it herself, and since this was the man who was setting up Ron's first big endorsement deal, Hermione felt she had to be gracious and accept his request to a dance.

“Not at all,” Hermione lied with her best believable smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Bascom slid next to Hermione and guided her to the dance floor, touching her in a way that she had only allowed Severus or Ron to touch her. His hand on the small of her back was dipping a little too low for her comfort, so she took half a step back and slipped her arm in his to keep his hand out in front where she could watch it for the time being. It would be harder for her to tame such an errant appendage when on the dance floor, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

A moderate tempo song was playing, and Bascom quickly stepped in front of Hermione and began leading her about the dance floor in a foxtrot.

“Ron failed to mention what a beautiful a wife he has,” Bascom said with a suggestive smile playing about his lips.

Hermione didn't feel like demurely smiling and twittering at his cloying platitudes, like some empty-headed witch easily swayed by some flattering words. She felt like parrying his words.

"He never mentions my looks, usually he mentions my brains," she said, laughing. "He considers that my looks and all that goes with them are for him alone to enjoy."

"Yes, but it is my experience that no one wizard could ever fully satisfy most witches, but I've been known to try," Mr. Nettleton countered. Lowering his hand from her waist to her hip, he added, "And I usually succeed."

"Well, it looks like I'm going to have to break your winning streak, Mr. Nettleton—"

"Bascom."

"Mr. Nettleton.” Hermione removed his hand from her hip and pushed it back up to her waist. “I don't think it would be prudent to put the moves on a Quidditch player's wife, especially with him not ten feet away. You don't know my husband's temper and jealous streak; I do."

If this wizard didn't have the power to revoke Ron's endorsement contract, Hermione would have been more blunt, informing him that she didn't like his tone or leering at her breasts, but she held her tongue. It wasn't Ron's fault that this guy was a slimy git, but she would certainly tell Ron what he was up to after tonight. She never wanted to be stranded alone with Mr. Nettleton ever again if she could help it. Hermione just hoped that Ron would not do something rash and ruin his endorsement deal.

The song ended, and Hermione quickly thanked Mr. Nettleton for the dance before he had a chance to insist on another one. They made their way back towards Ron. To Hermione's shock, she found Ron and Viktor Krum shaking hands, and smiling at one another like they were old friends. Next to Viktor was a lovely young witch with a fresh face and bedroom eyes.

“Claudia, my dear,” Bascom said, returning Hermione back to Ron's side. “I hope you don't mind that I took Mrs. Weasley out for a dance while you were with Viktor.”

“Not at all, Bascom. Viktor and I were just talking a bit with Ron here,” the young witch with blond hair and slate blue eyes replied. She left Viktor's side and went back to Mr. Nettleton's, fluttering her eyes up at him and delicately grasping at his arm with a certain amount of possessiveness.

Hermione looked Claudia up and down. She barely looked to be twenty. By the way that the elder wizard was smiling down at the blond witch, it was clear that this man was partaking of all of the young witch's charms. This wizard was old enough to be her grandfather, or much older uncle, and Claudia didn't seem to have a problem with that. Suddenly the twenty-year difference between Hermione and Severus seemed insignificant.

“It is good to see you, Her-my-nee,” Viktor said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear.

Turning to look at Viktor properly, she smiled. “It's good to see you too, Viktor.” She prayed Ron would not misinterpret their exchange for anything other than two old friends catching up.

“I was just telling Viktor about my upcoming contract,” Ron chimed in. “He's recommended me a good agent to use, when negotiations begin.”

“Really? Thank you, that's very helpful,” Hermione added.

Viktor waved a dismissive hand. “It is no'sink. Vhat are friends are for?”

Hermione wondered if Viktor included Ron in that last comment, or only recommended his agent because of Hermione alone.

Regarding Viktor, Hermione noted that he was not the same lanky, sallow-skinned boy with sloping shoulders that she once knew. He had grown into a man with a tanned face from many hours spent on a broom, and had filled out with a few years on him. Of course she knew that he had filled out a while ago, as she had bought a Mercury Broom Company Quidditch calendar the year that Viktor was the poster boy, but she secretly kept that calendar at work in a bottom drawer. But it was another thing to see him in person for the first time in years, and see him at his physical peak.

“Since Bascom has taken Her-my-nee out for a spin, vood you mind if I had the pleasure too, Ron?” Viktor asked. “A dance with an old friend?”

Hermione's eyes flickered, allowing her to watch Ron's reaction, wondering if the old jealous Ron she had experienced before would return.

Ron merely smiled with a twinkle in his eye and said, “I'm sure Hermione would love to. You probably have some catching up to do, so you can steal her for a couple songs.”

There was a moment where Hermione wondered if her mouth was gaping open in shock. 'Is this the same wizard who had a snit that I was still writing to Viktor in my fifth year?' Realizing that Viktor now was standing next to her with his arm out to escort her to the floor, Hermione quickly composed herself and gave Ron a smile of gratitude for being gracious.

They reached the floor just as the song ended, so they waited for the next song to begin. The orchestra struck up a tango, and Hermione hoped that Ron would not have a sudden surge of jealousy. Viktor began to lead Hermione about the floor, keeping the distance between them respectable, considering that the dance required full body contact.

“Your English has improved, Viktor,” she complimented him to get the conversation going.

“Thank you. I haff been vorking on it over the years.” There was a pause before he said, “I heard about vhen you got married to Ronald.”

“Really? I would think that with your Quidditch career, you'd be too busy to keep up on me.”

“How could I forget you, Her-my-nee? You haff been one of the few vitches I've met who sees me for who I am, and not a Quidditch star to adore from afar,” he said, spinning Hermione around before pulling her back into an embrace.

“Congratulations on your anniversary. Marriage agrees vith you; you are looking more lovely than ever,” Viktor said with a whisper into her ear.

Hermione felt her cheeks colour and was thankful the dance floor was not too well lit. “Looks can be deceiving, Viktor.”

Viktor's brows furrowed, showing his concern, gazing into Hermione's eyes to gauge her response. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Paradise is not exactly what I would call it.” Hermione looked away, unable to meet his eye.

“Has Ron mistreated you?” There was a brewing storm behind Viktor's eyes.

“No. We just have different expectations, I think. It's been difficult at times, but we are trying to sort out our differences.” Hermione was flattered by Viktor's concern, even though they had fallen out of communication with one another. She would not go into any detail to let Viktor know the true depth of her unhappiness from being married to Ron Weasley.

“Marriage takes a lot of vork, vich is vhy I haff not bothered to settle down,” Viktor volunteered. “I vas not ready for it.”

The song drew to a close, and the orchestra began playing a slow foxtrot.

“Tell me, vhy did vee ever stop writing to each other?” the dark-haired wizard asked.

“I don't know,” Hermione laughed lightly. “You were traveling quite a bit, and busy with your career. The war came, and between studying for my N.E.W.T.s and staying alive, I guess I got a little busy myself.”

“Yes, but vhat about after the var?” Viktor looked at Hermione with searching eyes.

“There was a lot of the reconstruction; I was getting married, looking for an apprenticeship, a job, and then by the time everything settled down...” Hermione wondered if Viktor was feeling cast aside, judging by the way he was looking like her. “I'm sorry I stopped writing. But by the time my life normalized, I wasn't sure you wanted to hear from me. You were even more famous, and I didn't want to come off as an old acquaintance who was sending letters so I could brag to my friends that I knew the famous Quidditch star, Viktor Krum.”

“Did you stop writing to me because of Ron? You told me vhat a jealous streak he had in the past.” Viktor cast his eye over to where Ron, Claudia, and Bascom were still standing and talking. Hermione glanced in the same direction. “He certainly seems to haff overcome his jealous streak.”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed distractedly. “He certainly seems to have, all right.” Suddenly remembering what Viktor asked, she replied, “No, I would have continued writing to you no matter what Ron thought. I just really got caught up in everything that was going on at the time. I'm surprised you remembered me when you saw me tonight.”

“I saw you dancing with Ron on the floor and I instantly recognized you. You vere the most beautiful vitch at the Yule Ball, and you are the most beautiful vitch here tonight.” Viktor spun Hermione under his arm.

Hermione wondered where her old boyfriend was going with his comments. She was about to say that she was married now, but decided to hold her tongue instead of jumping to conclusions, and making a fool of herself by thinking that Viktor wanted more than a rekindling of an old friendship. It was that her heart belonged to another already. Maybe if Viktor had come along instead of Severus, she might be interested, but Hermione's path was one where Viktor no longer prominently figured into it.

“I missed your letters. I found them alvays delightful to read. I do hope vee can become friends once more, especially if I move to England.”

Hermione gave the tall, dark wizard a warm smile. If anything, it was a smile of relief. She did not have to contemplate the idea of two wizards, apart from her husband, asking her to share their bed. After tonight, she only had to give her answer to one.

“I would like that very much, Viktor.”

“So tell me: vhat apprenticeship did you study?”

A frown flitted across Hermione's face before she put on a braver one. “It seems by the time the war ended, most of the apprenticeships had been snatched up,” she half-lied. “I'm working for the Department of Standards & Regulations.”

“Sounds important. Vhat do you do?” he asked.

“I test all the Potion ingredients coming into the country, making sure they meet specification, weeding out the imitation and substandard ones, and such,” Hermione informed him, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice that she wasn't closer to her long-term career goals that she had set for herself years ago.

“Tell me, what are you doing in England?” she asked, hoping to take the spotlight off of her own disappointing career.

“Actually, I'm here under secret negotiations.” Viktor looked about, then whispered, “I saw that kuchka, Skeeter, around. Can you keep a secret?”

Hermione smirked. “Is there a bug in my hair?”

“Huh? No.”

“Nothing. Bad joke. Sure,” Hermione replied offhandedly.

“I'm here to negotiate becoming the new coach for Puddlemere United,” Viktor whispered quietly into Hermione's ear.

“Really? That's wonderful!”

Viktor put a finger up to his lips. “Shhh! Secret.”

Hermione gave a conspiratorial nod and sly smile.

The song ended. Viktor and Hermione walked back to the side of the dance floor where Ron was talking animatedly with Bascom. Hermione caught how Claudia was giving Viktor a sultry look while Bascom was engaged in conversation with Ron.

Viktor gave a curt bow to Claudia and Hermione. “It vas lovely dancing vith both of you ladies, but if you vill excuse me, I really must return to my table.” Extending out his hand, he said, “Bascom, I'll be in touch. Ron, it vas good seeing you again. Catch you at another game soon.”

Ron shook hands with Viktor. The Weasleys watched the Bulgarian walk away to a discreet staircase that led to a series of secluded dining rooms with balconies that Hermione had not noticed before.

“What did Viktor mean by 'catch you at another game soon'?” Hermione asked casually.

“He's been to a couple of my games when we've played abroad. Nothing much other than a quick handshake at the end of the game to congratulate us.” Ron turned to look at Hermione with a flicker of apprehension in his eye. “I didn't think it was worth mentioning. Never really spoke during those few times.”

Hermione was a little disappointed that her husband had made no mention that he had run across Viktor recently, but she was so thankful that he didn't behave childishly when Viktor asked for her hand to dance. She was willing to let the issue slide unchallenged.

“Shall we go eat now?” Ron asked.

“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

Once back at their table, Hermione read the menu, noting that each dish sounded better than the next.

'Fillet mignon of venison presented with a three-rice pilaf, duck liver mousse with apricot essence froth, and ratatouille. Roasted squab perched atop couscous and accompanied with wild highland heather honey and orange glazed carrots. Rabbit braised with sage and pumpkin smoked bacon offered with an assemblage of salt roasted fingerling potatoes, and summer haricot verts à la Provençale.' They could have ordered an appetizer or some other first course item, but Hermione did not feel like eating so much that she would be left with a stitch in her side when she would dance later on that evening.

As she continued reading, Mrs. Weasley wondered how many different ways they could use synonyms for the word “served” on the menu. Finally, at the bottom, her eyes lit upon what captured her interest the most.

Ron said, “Buffalo prime rib.” A large plate appeared in front of him with a substantial slab of rare meat, a jacket potato and sautéed baby courgettes.

“Cassoulet,” Hermione announced clearly. An oval-shaped fluted ramekin appeared in front of Hermione filled with the hot, bubbling dish. She noticed the breadcrumbs on top.

Hermione smiled to herself as she remembered Severus' remarks that breadcrumbs were unnecessary if a cassoulet was made properly. She wondered what he would say if he knew that an establishment such as the Grand Royal Supper Club used them. An image came to mind of Severus snorting, then remarking that the prestige and price of an establishment was no guarantee to properly made food. She almost laughed aloud at the conjured thought, but stifled it.

The Weasleys ate in silence, neither feeling inclined towards conversation. That wasn't exactly true. Hermione wanted to talk about Mr. Spawn's penitent behavior earlier that day, but in the past, Ron had defended the younger wizard, noting that Hermione could be rather harsh and demanding of others and suggesting she give Trevor a break for once. To mention Trevor tonight might spark another intense conversation where voices would rise above a civil level in such a setting. There was the recent topic of Viktor, but Hermione was especially reluctant to venture there. Ron had behaved very maturely when interacting with Viktor, and she did not want to cause Ron to become suspicious or jealous by bringing up the topic of Viktor once more. Besides, the subject of Viktor would inevitably lead to the topic of Quidditch. At the moment, only one subject seemed safe enough not to bore Hermione to tears or cause Ron to publicly argue with her.

“So, how is your personal training for the upcoming calendar shoot coming along?” Hermione asked, very much interested in Ron's progress. She silently hoped Mr. Spawn would not disturb the bain-marie she left to simmer overnight in order to induce the ingredients of Ron's supplement to separate, thus enabling her to identify the components of the solution.

After swallowing a large bite of meat, Ron said, “Bascom and I were just discussing that while you were dancing with Viktor. It seems I'm right on track. The goal of it is to build up muscle, then sculpt away the body fat just before the shoot. The trainer seems to think that if I do more work with weights now, and then cardio later, we'll reach my target goal in time for the November shoot.”

“Ron?” Hermione said with curiosity. “Just who is this trainer you're using? Is this the Cannons’ trainer?” She had met Merton, the Chudley Cannons' team trainer, a few times before, and thought that maybe she could speak with him about this supplement that Ron was taking.

“No, this is the trainer that works for the Mercury Broom Company. Bascom hires him to get his calendar stars into shape. Really knows his stuff, he does,” Ron remarked with admiration before taking another bite of his dinner.

Hermione did not feel like going into another session of Ron going on about his physical workout, so she let the topic die. She could have segued into talk of family, but there was nothing new from her Muggle side. The only matter of interest on Ron's side was Percy's birthday that weekend, but neither of them felt a strong bond with that particular Weasley. She could have brought up the fact that next week was going to be very busy for her, as students returning to Hogwarts would be in Diagon Alley purchasing supplies for their Potions kits, but that was a bit dry and boring even for Hermione. There was nothing of interest to her that she could bring up without making Ron feel intellectually inadequate, so Hermione kept quiet.

If it wasn't for the fact that there was music in the background to fill the silence between them, as well as beautiful décor to admire, and interesting people strolling by or dancing about the floor to catch their visual interest, it would have been just another painfully dull and uncomfortable dinner between Hermione and Ron. As it was, the time sped by a bit faster, but Hermione still noticed the lack of anything much to say on this festive night.

Since there was no conversation to distract Hermione and Ron from eating, they finished their dinners quickly.

Staring at her empty plate just before it literally disappeared from the table, Hermione sighed. The cassoulet had been very good, but it didn't seem quite as good as Severus'. Maybe it was the breadcrumbs.

'Maybe it's because Severus surprised you that night, and made you feel so very special.'

She lightly shook her head, trying not to recall more memories of that particular tall, dark, raven-haired wizard.

Hermione looked up to find Ron regarding her with an uneasy look, probably wondering what the hell they should do now that they had eaten and it was too soon to dance after such a big meal, just like she was wondering at that moment.

Ron's eyes roved about the room for a moment before spying inspiration.

“Care to go for a little walk?” the redheaded wizard suggested.

It wouldn't be very elegant to shrug, as that's how uninspired Hermione felt at the moment, but she decided she should be gracious and accept her husband's invitation. Mrs. Weasley smiled and nodded, waiting for Ron to lead the way.

============

A/N: Go to Part II of Chapter 47 for the second half.

A Peryton is a winged deer which casts the shadow of a man.

Crossroads & Crusades is card game that I imagine is a cross between bridge and the board game Risk, using a pre-modern variation of Tarot cards and game pieces requiring skill in Divination (bullshitting) and strategy. Both bridge and Risk can be highly addictive, as I know a few people who play both games, so a game combining both might be as well.

If you haven't made the connection yet as to who Bascom Nettleton is married too, take a guess. Still lost? Go to chapter twenty-two to refresh your memory.

Kuchka means “cunt” in Bulgarian. Thank you to karmen_91 for giving me the right swear word for this context.
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After