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To Kill A Canary	By : NomdePlume2 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 2332 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and I make no monetary gain in the playing of it.

Chapter List
- 1-To Kill A Canary
- 2-Chapter Two
- 1
- 2
The world of the fictionalised spy is ridiculous.
So-called spy novelists and filmmakers, and their characters, have so twisted the world of actual espionage that it's completely unrecognizable. The very idea that people, James Bond, if you will, flit about the surface of the world, fighting this bad guy, and playing in machines created by that lunatic scientist (who is always gifted in every discipline), is baffling. Here's a fact. If anyone tries to do what a fictional spy does, there would be such international outrage and backlash... one would be so far buried under bureaucracy that they would never see the sun again. Assuming they didn't land in jail first for, oh, say, blowing up an entire hotel. Or driving a public transit vehicle into a large body of water. It's lunacy, and it drives Severus crazy.
The difference between what is read on the page, or seen on the screen versus what is done in real life is enormous. And he knows this because he's seen and read them both.
To be quite honest, he thinks it's all preposterous. It's so far-fetched and fantastical as to be absurd.
Then, there are the villains.
Trumped up mad scientists hell-bent on world domination, or psychopaths obsessed with turning brains into goop that runs out of people's ears... it's all a load of tripe. If people want actual villains, they should turn to history, he thinks.
Similarly, real spies aren't heroes walking around impeccably dressed simply because it's a Tuesday, they don't have an endless supply of witticisms at the ready, and a scantily clad blonde isn't hanging on their arm each and every night. They aren't the sons and daughters of former spies, or government dignitaries who are given special licenses to kill in the name of patriotism.
Real espionage, quiet championing, is done by ordinary people who work and train extraordinarily hard.
And, who sometimes already have years of experience walking on thin, precariously suspended wires.
They're not all Russian, either.
He takes a sip of champagne, and scans the crowd before him from his darkened corner.
While the life of a real spy isn't all explosions and daring rescue attempts, it still definitely has its perks.
There should be more stories about real spies.
Not that he ever wanted to return to that game. And yet, he arches an ironic brow, here he is again.
However.
It has long been said that if one wants a thing done right, one must do it oneself.
A tall man dressed in impressive, expensive robes, surrounded by a crowd of tittering sycophants, including the Minister's newest Undersecretary, floats by, and Snape follows them with dark eyes.
He hears whispers.
He notices shadows.
He's been trained to, after all, and old habits die hard. That's not to say that Severus has been indulging any sort of habit.
This man he follows, whom he'd specifically come out this evening to see, has been bothering Severus for several months now.
Snape knows his type. Worse, he knows the types who listen to him, too.
It is particularly this latter issue that makes him so ill at ease.
Tyrants are an interesting, only mildly varied, breed.
Alone, tyrannical sorts that are just starting out, budding psychopaths, will typically go one of two ways. For the less determined, if they do not possess what they need to achieve the goals they want quickly enough, may end up quitting out of frustration, thus never really becoming an issue. The more ambitious sorts, however, go after the ears of those who do have the means, and, well, then all sorts of issues arise.
It is Severus' intent and charge to keep any such thing from happening again. Issues grow into 'bigger problems,' and he's just so very weary of 'bigger problems.' To be perfectly frank, 'bigger problems' can go straight to hell. Along with the colour yellow, but he's getting off topic.
The crowd moves toward the farthest wall from the entrance of the grand hall hosting this little soirée; a cavernous space on the ground floor of a private Magical History museum near Trafalgar Square, with a large staircase leading to the upper levels, and a small side hall opposite the entrance. Marble floors, talking portraits, and a few moving statues aside, it is otherwise nondescript. Average.
They pass, but Severus remains where he is. He notes how people around him watch the man at the centre of the crowd as they move. He notes how they pretend to not pay attention, too. There is tension, but more than that, there is suspension of belief. No one dares to voice grim suppositions after such hard won peace.
Perhaps he truly is the cynical bastard everyone claims, but for the life of him, Severus cannot understand how so many can simply overlook the obvious. Especially when their lives have just now begun to return to normal after the last incident. That decades long plague upon the earth that even locusts would probably appreciate.
He grimaces at the thought.
The man he focuses on, a worrisome profligate with dyed, yellow-blond hair and a too-bright smile, the bastard, who goes by the name of Melanthus Orran, is jostled into the center of his admirers, and Severus briefly loses contact.
The once-lauded Potions master, retired, smoothly swerves past a chatting group of people, whom he vaguely recognizes, and he squints through the crowd to locate his target.
Specifically, his target's eyes.
For a brief moment, Orran's face is turned just so that the gaze of his sparkling eyes (never trust sparkling eyes) is in line with his, and Severus mentally intones 'Legilim—'
He shudders when a shrill voice calls Severus' name, breaking his concentration. He sighs the sigh of the truly apathetic, and turns to acknowledge whatever cretin has interrupted him. It is a woman he only vaguely recalls from a conference last Fall. Lovely.
She gets in two words before he dismisses her with practised ease and an indifferent redirection of his attention. Mercifully, she takes the hint and leaves him be. It's never been said that he's a social creature, and tonight is no exception.
Facing the far wall again, he finds that Orran has disappeared, and Severus finishes his second flute of champagne. It is no matter; he can't have gotten too far, and fortunately the man is in the company of a very recognizable companion. A swift scan of the room, and a flash of red hair catches his eye, directing him to where he should be looking. The woman Orran has been sporting with lately is, to be fair, stunning, and her fiery locks are easy to pick out in a crowd.
Like most tyrants, the man certainly knows how to pick an entourage.
Gaze redirected, he focuses again, and fiddles with the chain connected to his pocket watch. A quick check and his brow furrows. He is already behind schedule.
The yellow-blond man comes back into view between the wide shoulders of two men whose existence Severus could care less about, and he immediately intones, 'Legilimen—'
Orran tosses his head back to roar with laughter at some unheard quip.
"Fuck," Severus mutters.
His foot taps in annoyance. Perhaps he simply needs to move?
New directive established, he edges closer. In the interim, Severus casts a look about him for the only other person he's agreed to meet with this night. An unlikely partner of sorts, with whom, he'd rather not have engaged. Nothing personal, just, again, best to do a thing oneself and keep those involved to a minimum. More people means more issues.
His left eye twitches at the thought. Fucking issues.
Shifting through the masses, dodging women's heels, and the tipsy swervings of young men over-indulging in free alcohol, he finally reaches the outer limits of Orran's group. Quietly, he arranges himself behind a wide witch with some kind of ridiculous feathered frippery in her hair, and takes a breath to compose himself.
Orran's profile peeks out from beside the ever-present Undersecretary, and Severus' eyes focus, waiting for the barest glimpse of sparkle. His muscles tense. His breath evens. His entire being shrinks and centres to a spot somewhere near the bridge of his impressive nose (he likes to visualise that his mentally incanted spells gather there) and nary an unwanted nerve fires without permission.
Three seconds tick by. Five. There! Sparkle is definitely detectable and the gathered thoughts near his nose erupt into a single word, 'LEGI—'
The gorgeous redhead pulls Orran forward for a heated kiss, and Severus nearly falls backward with the force of this mental blue-balling of epic proportions.
"Goddamnitfuckbollocks and curse every creature under heaven!"
Beside him, a very scandalised pair of witches gasp at his outburst, and step a little further away.
For what may be the 394th time he curses his fate, runs a frustrated hand through disheveled hair, and turns on his heel.
He needs another drink.
It's free after all.
He spots a young wizard in tails, with a tray, and Severus snaps his fingers. The younger man stops with raised brows and turns towards the admittedly rude gesture.
"Would you like a glass of –"
"Yes," he interrupts. What else does he think he wants? A chat?
He snatches a flute and takes a large, much needed swig, taking comfort in the acidic burn that creeps down his throat. He gives the glass a wary glance; booze seems to be the only thing that soothes his tattered nerves these past couple of months. For an alarming moment Severus wonders if he's becoming an alcoholic. Not even two days ago, his associate had even remarked on his excessive spirits consumption... In the hand, cheerful champagne bubbles slide harmlessly up the glass and fizz to the surface. He shakes away the thought and takes another large gulp.
A polite cough sounds beside him, and he arches a brow towards the sound. The waiter, for some stupid reason, has continued to hang around, and Severus eyes him nastily.
"Are you enjoying yourself, sir?"
Severus slowly swallows the fizzing liquid pooled atop his tongue and considers this. No doubt before the guests had arrived, the help had been given a rousing inspirational speech by their superiors, instilling in them a willingness to make sure every guest has a grand time this evening. At this all-important, reputation changing, formal charity event.
Snape runs a finger along the rim of the glass, not bothering to look up into the man's eyes. "Bugger off."
The young man stutters and Severus turns away. His gaze instead falls upon a rowdy group of what looks to be Aurors showing off their badges in an attempt to impress women.
He rolls his eyes.
Orran, future terror of the world, is plotting, quite possibly, their demise not ten yards away and they – he cocks his head in disbelief, appear to be literally comparing dick sizes.
He shakes his head, wondering at the dim-wittedness of Aurors, when a riotous tangle of curls snags his attention. Not just any riotous mane however; a familiar-ish one. One that appears to be up and smoothed rather than frizzing higglety-pigglety over shoulders that are uncharacteristically bare.
A glance back to Orran shows his back now facing him, and with a muffled oath he abandons his fourth attempt at Legilimency for the moment. Smoothly, he shoulders past a man in a top hat to better see the owner of the familiar tresses, and resists the urge to check his pocket watch. He knows he's behind schedule; no use agitating himself further with the particulars.
The face below the intriguing pile of curls emerges fully into view, and he smirks. His guess had been correct for he knows that profile just as certainly as he recognises the false laughter floating on the air from her voice.
He sighs.
As if on cue, she turns and, as is his luck, unmistakably catches his eye. She appears to startle at his presence, and tilts her head in surprise. He bites his tongue to keep from rolling his own eyes at her theatrics.
With resignation, he acknowledges that a connection has been made and there is probably no avoiding it now. Not that he would, really, but he'll be damned if he's going to be the one to make the first move. He watches Hermione Granger, and for a brief moment Severus contemplates her appearance.
A flash of pale skin peeks out from a slit in her gown and he blinks. Drastically different from the rumpled jeans and t-shirt he's been accustomed to lately seeing.
Unintentionally, his gaze sweeps up from bare ankles and curving hip to quickly scan the length of her. He reluctantly admits that time does slightly improve some things, and despite what his opinion of her was as a child, he finally supposes she's not as irritating as she once was.
Then again.
He swallows an irritated groan as she contradicts him by convincing the elderly man with whom she's conversing to join her in greeting him.
Severus unconsciously smoothes his robes.
"Professor Snape, my goodness, what a surprise to see you here," she chirps breathlessly.
His expression remains even.
"Miss Granger, charming and tactful as usual I see."
He admits to a certain delight in watching the irritated flush steal across her cheeks.
Alright, she is still a tad annoying, but rarely does he ever take such pleasure in humiliating a person as much as he does with her.
Her eyes rake over him. "Speaking of tact," she quietly clips, and pointedly looks at the glass in his hand. "Champagne, I see. Is this your fifth glass yet?"
That earlier worry about alcoholism pokes him in the eye and he lowers the flute.
Miss Granger directs her attention back to the gentleman at her side.
"Mr Ludden, may I introduce my former Potions professor from Hogwarts, Severus Snape."
Severus manages a barely whispered, "Order of Merlin, First Class," before manfully extending his hand to shake this anonymous old man's.
Ludden mumbles something intended to be flattering, but quite frankly Severus couldn't care less and he flicks his gaze once to check on the target, who is still near the wall.
"Mr Ludden is on the board of a wonderful new youth mentoring programme in London, and we were just discussing the merits of a decent education being available to all young witches and wizards in the wake of the destruction of so many institutions."
"Mm." Snape hums disinterestedly. Orran, he notes, has been edging towards a dimly lit corner for the past five minutes where a group of men are gathered. A group of men Severus knows to include former Death Eater sympathisers no matter what they'd pleaded in court. Unconsciously, he lets his hair fall forward to shield his eyes.
At length, Miss Granger finally ceases rattling on, and gives up on his being polite in any capacity. When he hears her bid the old man goodnight, Severus slides back into their rough conversation.
"Must you always be so rude?"
"Nonsense. I'm acting as I always do. You, on the other hand." He shakes his head. "Don't you think you're overplaying it a bit? Let's bring it down a few notches, shall we?"
"Are you implying that I'm doing something not up to your impossible standards?" she sniffs and looks away.
He notices the way she fidgets with her too-tight dress and absently worries her plunging neckline. It strikes him that she emits the air of a young girl wearing her mother's ill-fitting evening gown, and he smirks.
"Have you had your fill of playing dress up, Miss Granger? Perhaps you should go home."
Her eyes flash, and she rounds on him.
"You should watch yourself, Professor. I've been boning up on my Transfiguration skills of late, and I'd hate to have to turn you into the bat you were always meant to be."
Severus' pride takes a further blow at the sound of sniggering from an eavesdropper at his back. He turns to tell whatever fool had been rudely listening in to bugger off, when the smug face of a very... handsome... woman with dirty blonde hair and an inappropriately revealing dress greets him.
He pauses for a moment, nearly horrified, before muttering, "Madame?"
At his side, Granger hisses a sharp, "I told you to blend in, Ron!" and suddenly everything becomes clear.
A deep, long-suffering sigh issues from between his lips, and he feels the first stirrings of a tension headache twinge in his forehead.
"Miss Granger." he grinds out.
"I'm going, I'm going," the awkward woman who is actually Ronald Weasley smirks. She... he... twirls away and sways his hips a little too widely, bumping into a pair of men who had been lately admiring his arse.
To her credit, Granger is equally horrified.
"I told him not to wear that dress," she frantically whispers, fingers knotting themselves in her own emerald gown, and Severus clucks his tongue.
He directs a pointed look to her nervous habit, and Miss Granger immediately stills. She takes a breath and is again the perfect picture of calm.
Good.
"Why is he here?"
She groans and shakes her head. "He refuses to let me do this without, as he says, 'Some kind of protection.'"
"If he gets in the way, I will personally hex him."
"He's under strict instructions to observe only."
"Do I want to know who he's imitating?"
She rolls her eyes. "His ex-girlfriend. He insisted on going," she pauses to whisper, "'under cover'."
"Did you brew his—"
"Yes, and he has plenty."
Snape swallows a dozen venomous responses, and instead reminds himself of their impending task. "Quantity over quality, Granger?"
"Harry sends his blessing," she mutters with significance, unperturbed by his barb.
It shouldn't matter, but he can't help but feel somewhat appeased to hear these words. It means Potter is paying attention, and he, or rather they, have been given the official go ahead to proceed. It further meant that he'd not gotten dressed up and faffed about all evening for naught.
Though, to be honest, he would have continued whether Potter had said yes or no. Less red tape now.
"As he should."
"Have you any luck this evening?" she asks with affected charm.
Ignoring his sense of frustration at having not successfully invaded Orran's mind, he takes a sip and shakes his head once.
She titters and frowns at his glass.
"I'm sorry, did you want one as well?" he asks, indicating his flute.
She glares at him.
He gestures to the man who has gotten ever closer to the darkened corner. "I have been unsuccessful." He adds sardonically, "In many avenues of my life."
She sighs, and he decides it is about time to be getting on with it. Delicately, he dips one long finger into the bubbling liquid of his drink, and dabs a few drops on his pristine collar.
He considers Miss Granger, and then hastily does the same to the curve of her neck before he can convince himself otherwise. Turnabout will be fair play and he might as well enjoy himself after all. Her lips part in shock and he gives her an arched brow to ensure her silence.
"Scent," he murmurs, and Granger cottons on.
Now that the pair of them smell as if they'd had one too many for the night, the champagne is finished in a trice and the glass banished.
"I did try," he continues. "There are too many people pulling him in too many directions for enough focus."
Though, no doubt the man is utterly basking in the glow of his clambering public. Prick.
She nods. "Plan B then."
Discreetly, Severus reaches into his pocket and pulls out a warmed phial. He takes a step towards her, and casually reaches his hand down, sliding it into her palm. Her fingers are warm and damp, and his eyes stray to where her teeth are worrying her lower lip.
If he's told her once, he's told her a hundred times to be aware of her tells.
"Miss Granger," he warns.
She looks up at him with wide, concerned eyes, and he swallows another agitated sigh. She's obviously been counting on his being successful with Legilimency. For a moment, he feels the barest stirring of sympathy for her nerves. It isn't as if she does this sort of thing routinely after all. Just, desperate times and whatnot.
The first sweetly chirping notes of "The Blue Danube" softly trill around them, and he figures now is as good a time as any, but before they start, it would behoove the both of them for her to be calm.
He leans forward, lightly inhaling near her shoulder before stepping back.
"Forgive me, you do look lovely this evening."
She blinks, utterly taken aback. He allows one corner of his lips to lightly lift in amusement.
"Gryffindor," he says with purpose, and turns away to push through the throng before him.
She stares after, and he turns to see her stubborn bravery reassert itself at his none too subtle reminder. Good.
With a final glance at Orran's location, he extends a hand as the waltz swirls around them.
"Shall we?"
Resolutely, her chin lifts with determination, and she places her hand in his. Thus, they begin.
They enter the dance with numerous other whirling couples and, while he dislikes dancing personally, he concedes she is at least an acceptable partner. Not that he's any grand example of form himself, but they are at least able to briefly hold their own on the floor.
She is warm and stiff beneath his hands and easily guidable. Her eyes lock on his at every moment.
He dips his mouth towards her ear and murmurs, "Ms Red is still your target."
She nods and her eyes flick towards the wall to locate the woman. "So I noticed."
He can feel the phial hidden in her hand against his shoulder, which reminds him. "Remember, one strand will do, just in case."
Her brows furrow on a twirl. "Yes, I know," she snaps.
Her quick temper amuses him and he cannot help himself a further barb. "Please make sure it's human," he jests, recalling the unfortunate incident her second year involving a cat.
"Yes, thank you."
His lips thin to suppress a grin.
One – two – three, one – two – three.
Gracefully, he spins her as they draw nearer to the far wall. She begins to chew on her lip again and he pinches her waist, reclaiming her attention.
"Just as we practised," he says in as soothing a tone he can manage.
She swallows, and glances once more to the outer edges of Orran's entourage where the voluptuous redhead is watching the dancers with interest.
There will be only one shot at this, and if all goes well no one should be any the wiser.
One – two – three, one – two – three.
He counts his steps, keeping time, and soon they are ten feet away, eight feet, four feet. Severus' chest tightens and there is a whisper – Miss Granger stumbles and launches herself clumsily into the woman with ginger curls, and surrounding men lunge forward to offer assistance.
The woman exclaims in surprise, and Severus steps out of the dance, immediately striding forward, ready with apologies.
"Oh, my heavens, are you all right?" His voice is tight with disgustingly practised worry, and brows appropriately furrowed.
"I'm so sorry!" Hermione gasps, reaching for her ankle where the strap of her right heel has snapped. One hand braces against the woman, earning a sneer of discontent.
"What on earth?" Red shrieks, attempting to push the younger woman off, who is still struggling with her broken shoe. The woman hisses as Granger's hand next becomes entangled in her hair, and gets caught on the bracelet around her wrist.
Severus dances anxiously at their side, occasionally reaching forward to assist, but careful to allow Granger to do whatever it is she needs to do.
"Two left feet, I always say she's got two left feet," he comments to the nearest man beside him.
"I don't know what happened, oh – this is so embarrassing," Granger continues, cheeks pink with mortification.
Severus leans to the side and elbows the man he's been complaining to. "Mightn't it have something to do with your four glasses of bubbly, dear?" He winks to the man, who is now visibly put-off by Snape's overfamiliarity.
Hermione finally frees herself and waves his obnoxious comments away. Her hair has partially escaped its once-lovely coiffure, and she attempts a half-hearted righting of it, while wobbling on a broken strap. The effect is admittedly comical and serves its purpose in distracting the gathered onlookers.
A man with wide-set eyes gently helps Miss Granger to her feet, while Severus continues profusely offering his apologies to Red. Orran is nowhere yet to be seen, or is simply not interested enough in what has become of his date to bother with the situation. Regardless, it's all the better for them.
Under the pretence of checking her for injury, Severus quickly manoeuvres Red so that she is directly beside him, while Hermione continues rattling off distracting nonsense and generally making a fuss. He quickly reaches between the folds of his robes to his other pocket, and pulls out a small straight pin that has been dipped in a sedative he'd brewed that afternoon. Spells may be noticed, and the Imperius Curse is obviously not an option. Sedatives, while primitive, never fail to do the trick and are excellent resources for encouraging mild suggestibility.
He looks to Hermione, who is regaining her balance. "Really, are you all right, my dear?"
Red frowns in affront, and looks to Hermione, and Severus quickly sticks her hip with the tainted pin amidst the confusion.
"I cannot tell again you how sorry I am, really," Hermione simpers, and thanks the wide eyed man who continues offering his arm for support. "These silly shoes!"
Beside Severus, the woman blinks and lightly sways. That's his cue.
"Please, allow me to get you a drink. It's the least I can do."
She opens her painted lips to respond, but appears confused, and struggles to find words. Snape easily steers her away before anyone can stop them, and Miss Granger follows in a flurry of skirts and waving hands.
His arm wraps around Red's waist, push-pulling her through the oblivious crowd while she is still able to walk. They have very little time before someone objects to her disappearance, and behind him he can hear Hermione apologising for every person he impatiently shoves out of the way.
"What," Red begins to protest, but Severus pokes her jaw shut with a finger.
"Tut-tut now, no need for words," he reassures. If only that would work every time without drugs, he muses.
Red mumbles something incoherent, and when her feet stop shuffling of their own accord, he resorts to momentarily dragging the thoroughly woozy woman. His eyes bulge when her dead weight takes him by surprise, and he briefly stumbles, and flashes a surprised look at the body in his arms. Honestly, for someone who's as thin as a stick, she's deceptively dense.
A silently whispered Hover Charm later and Red is righted back to a standing position. Sort of. She's leaning against him and her face presses against his shoulder, unconscious, and he's certain there will be lipstick stains. He also takes advantage of slipping her arm around his waist.
"Someone shouldn't drink so much so quickly, should they?" He falsely chastises the young thing at his side and continues unfazed. "You see, alcohol affects one's system due to a variety of factors, but typically, the equation is something along the lines of so many ounces consumed verses grams in the consumer, and you are probably hiding your grams with a well-placed cosmetic charm if my sore back in the morning will have anything to say about it."
He feels a sharp flick against the nape of his neck, and twists around with a scowl.
"I feel it's worth point out the irony of a borderline alcoholic lecturing anyone else on the effects of alcohol on the body," Granger taunts.
Snape tosses her a glare and adjusts the passed out woman at his side. "Will you stop with that?" He is not an alcoholic, damnit.
They duck around the nearest corner and he presses the lightly floating Red against the wall, and Severus takes a moment to gather his breath. Miss Granger is there a heartbeat later, plucking a hair from Red's head, and downs the phial's contents swiftly, wasting no time.
"Into the closet," he says, opening a door near the woman's shoulder and roughly thrusting her inside, heedless of how she may land in the dark. "Be quick about it," he snaps as Hermione follows and closes it behind them with a click.
One task down, he turns and scans the room to make sure they haven't yet been followed. Thus far, they seem to be in the clear, and he takes a moment to collect his thoughts and straighten his stained collar. All told, their stunt has gone off relatively easily. Their previous days' worth of planning has paid off.
His self-congratulation is cut short, however, when a commotion stirs ahead. Three men push through the sea of people, searching for whom he supposes is the missing escort. Snape quickly raps on the door at his back.
It opens two seconds later, and Hermione, now sporting the other woman's aspect emerges with nary a gorgeous red hair out of place. Her wide eyes stare up at him and he shakes his head at her expression.
"Try to look less human," he clips. She sneers.
"Better. They're looking for her. As we agreed, you have one hour."
She departs without comment, and damn if he can't help but admire the stunning figure she cuts in that dress. In that borrowed body.
Pity.
Three seconds go by before he allows himself a peek around the corner. The three men appear visibly relaxed as Miss Granger approaches and allows them to escort her back. The group is then swallowed up by the glittering horde, and all that is left of the evening's plan is for Granger to glean any amount of damning evidence from Orran, and for him to handle the unconscious woman in the closet.
Speaking of... He quirks a brow and slowly turns to face the closed door behind him.
What to do with a drugged knock-out hidden from the public? His lifts his jaw. He is, of course, a man of honour. And, even though a lot of male fantasies may begin along a similar vein, he... would never. Couldn't. No matter how long it's been....
"I can keep an eye on her."
Severus spins at the irritating sound of Ron Weasley's voice, and narrows his eyes. His trashy silver dress is slightly twisted, nearly revealing the left nipple, his lipstick is vaguely smeared and he's sporting a wolfish grin looking for all the world as if the cat caught the canary.
"D' you know how much easier it is to snog drunk women as a drunk woman?" he preens.
Snape shakes his head. "Pride of the Ministry, you are."
He flicks his wand to the door and the outline briefly glows orange.
Weasley eyes the internal ward and sulks.
"Do not let anyone in there, yourself especially, Weasley, do I make myself clear?"
His tone brooks no argument, and the sloppy mess of a female Ron nods and folds his arms.
"Good. I should be back within the hour." He points to the door. "She shouldn't be able to escape, but just in case I'm not back in time, handle it."
Ron nods, and Severus starts to turn away, but then pauses in disgust and gestures to the indecent amount of exposed cleavage. "And for god's sake, fix... that. You're at a formal ball, not a brothel."
He strides out of the side hall, and picks his way through several witches and wizards to stake out a vantage point from which to monitor Granger's progress. Honestly, he has little doubt that she can ferret out enough information to bring Potter and his noble ilk raining down from the heavens to pre-empt Orran's worrisome and meteoric ascent. But, should anything happen to her, precious few would know where, or at whom, to look.
In the background, a stately polonaise begins, possibly Chopin, and Severus situates himself behind a large fern near the east staircase. His eyes train on Granger and the man around whose arm she has looped hers. A vague smirk plays about her crimson lips while Orran rattles on to his nearest associates, and Severus quietly approves. She's effectively insinuated herself at his side, and he has likewise been successful in escaping his previous group of admirers. Orran is now engaged in animated conversation with the questionable group of men in the darkened corner, and is hopefully speaking of damning things.
Everything seems to be running smoothly. Miss Granger stands attentively and does not speak, men lean forward to whisper, and Orran nods and gestures theatrically. He clearly loves the attention. Then, something happens that causes Snape's eyes to narrow to slits. It really is nothing, and were she actually Red, it would even be a normal exchange. Orran, whose hand had been casually resting at her hip, slides up, and he leans to the side to whisper something in her ear. He runs a suggestive finger up the inner crease of her elbow, and she demurs, appearing to enjoy the attention, but then playfully nips at his ear! Severus' eyebrows fly to his hairline. He is suddenly unreasonably incensed. There is acting and fitting in, but then... then there's that! He grinds his teeth. He'd instructed her to play along but he hadn't expected her to enjoy herself, for goodness sake. He plucks another flute of champagne from a passing tray and swallows half in one go.
With hooded eyes, he watches as the mood shifts from Orran's playful flirting to something... perhaps more worrisome. The other man's hand slides from her arm, past her hip and lingers just below her waist, but he continues conversing with his fellows as if this public display of affection isn't inappropriate at all. Miss Granger's eyes widen at the action, and she instinctively bats his groping fingers aside. Severus' grip nearly shatters his glass. Orran, not missing a beat, suddenly grips her wrist, chastising her modesty. He turns to address her, and she looks to the floor, wincing in pain. Orran releases her wrist, and turns back to his discussion.
When Hermione discreetly rubs at the mark left by his hand, Severus is livid. If so much weren't at stake on their finding something conclusive to pin on Orran, he would have hexed the bastard five ways from Sunday for that little stunt.
Both Snape and Hermione take a calming breath, and she carefully reassumes her vaguely disinterested mask. Severus pockets his wand again and reassures himself that if Granger is calm, he should be as well.
The next several minutes are much less eventful, and he watches from the shadows, glass still intact, and in hand. Though, eventually he does grow steadily more and more irritated with the pair he watches. Granger, because of her continued, needlessly flirtatious advances with Orran; and Orran because of his alternating pretentious orations and public ravishings of the flighty woman beside him. The quick beneath his nail beds are white from the strain of his hold on the flute stem at this point, and he certainly hopes she's putting her ears to as much use as her lips and fingers.
More time passes, the bouncy polonaise turns into a meandering minuet, and he begins to grow anxious. Miss Granger, when not whispering sweet nothings, uselessly hangs on his arm like a trained macaque, and even twirls at his command to show off... he won't even think about it. She hasn't yet given the signal that she's gotten anything useful yet and she's been there for at least forty minutes by now. They had agreed on a single dose of Polyjuice to doubly ensure Granger gets in and out quickly. The logic being that the longer she lingers, and the more often she has to ingest the potion, the likelihood of her being discovered increases. It isn't as if Polyjuice in a crystal glass would just go unnoticed, of course.
Checking his pocket watch again, he grits his teeth; they have ten minutes left before Cinderella turns back into a kitchen maid. His fingers drum absently along his thighs, and he contemplates attempting Legilimency on Granger on the off chance that she'd actually signaled him earlier, when the group suddenly huddles together more tightly, and Orran leans forward. The hairs on the back of Snape's neck rise, and he focuses on Miss Granger's eyes. Her previously calm expression of haughty superiority slips, and is replaced by a momentary look of horror before she regains her composure. He exhales sharply through his nose at her error, and watches as she checks to make sure she's not been seen. No one else is focused on any other person than Orran though, and she relaxes.
Snape lets a puff of air escape between his lips, and he sets the empty flute aside on the fern's stand before him. They have three minutes left.
Orran's face is now hidden behind two men with their backs to Snape, and he can't get a reading on his expression. Granger fidgets beside him, and in the next moment, the gathered men pull back and look at each other, nodding. To his relief, Miss Granger excuses herself with a delicate blush. Orran kisses her cheek before she departs, and Severus dashes from his spot to meet her back at the closet.
Winding through the masses, he loses sight of her in the crowd. The side hall is ahead, and dear Fates, he grouses, did she have to cut it so bloody close? Red is no doubt awake at this point, as well. Bugger.
Ahead, Weasley is still manning the door, well, loosely, and Severus starts to ask if he's seen Granger, but halts at his stricken countenance.
"What?" he snaps, nerves on edge. All he needs is one excuse to throttle a Weasley. And at that, not even a very good one. Any will do, really.
"I'm sorry. I panicked!"
Severus blinks, feeling apprehension creep up his spine. "What have you done?"
Heels clicking on the polished marble sound behind him, signaling Miss Granger's return, and he mentally checks off another Issue.
Weasley continues with his oddly sounding man's voice emanating from a woman's mouth. "She woke up and started screaming, so, I stunned her."
"Oh, Ron," Hermione sighs. "Now she'll have to be Obliviated."
Deciding that to be the least of their worries, Severus turns to look at her, and searches her eyes for further concerns. He takes in the red mark at her wrist. She ignores him and reaches for the doorknob, only to quickly pull it away with a hiss.
"Did you ward it from outside?" he snaps at the fool of an Auror, and releases the spell.
Miss Granger opens it just as her hair colour begins to fade back to its customary brown. She is immediately pounced upon by an enraged natural redhead who has apparently come to, post-stunning.
Hermione cries out, and Severus casts a hasty Muffliato and illuminates the space before them. Weasley calmly closes the door behind and continues to keep watch.
Inside, the scene is almost comically dramatic. Snape looks down, surprised to find Red's dress bunched up around her hips as she straddles a thrashing Hermione on the floor, and is desperately trying to claw at her face, hair, and anything else she can get her hands on. Feeling like he might as well join the party at this point, Severus stuns the woman a second time, and down she goes.
Panting heavily, Miss Granger looks up at him in shock as the weight of the woman atop her impedes her oxygen intake.
"A little help, please?" she gasps, and honestly? The out and out male in him has to take a moment to admire the surreal, if not wholly intriguing, sight before him.
"Professor!" Granger screeches after he hasn't made a move to assist.
He shakes himself and bends down to pull the unconscious woman off of Miss Granger. He tries his very hardest not to grin at the situation, and when his hands slide under Red's arms he pauses, remembering how heavy she'd been the last time.
"Won't fall for that again," he mumbles, and casts another Hover Charm to aid him in his support. He lets the unconscious woman float placidly behind him and turns his attentions back to the recumbent Miss Granger.
"Are you all right?" he manages, and offers her a hand to pull her to her feet.
She takes it a little too roughly, and is hefted up. As she struggles to her feet, a slight tearing sound is heard, followed by a quiet squeak. Miss Granger freezes.
Snape cocks his head. "Now what?"
Miss Granger looks down to her figure, which he's just noticed is really very much filling out that dress now, and her hands fly to her chest where breasts are nearly popping free.
Awkwardly, she huddles in on herself and backs her derriere against the nearest wall.
"Are you—"
"Nothing! Turn around!" she shrieks.
He coughs to cover the unexpected snicker at her predicament, but does as bid. In the closet, with a floating woman hovering near his shoulders, Severus listens to the sounds of quiet grunting, softly whispered curses, fabric sliding across skin, and the soft clicking of heels as a former student re-dresses herself in the dark. He's experienced many surreal events in his life, and this is ranking up there with the best of them.
Red softly bumps into him where she is suspended in the air, and he nudges her away to lightly thud against the door.
"Bloody waif of a stick," she mutters angrily and exhales. "You can turn back around now."
Ever the gentlemen, he decides to keep his comments to himself and wonders if it is poor form to mention that her hair has come undone on one side. He decides it is.
Together, they look down to the poor bedraggled creature hovering near the exit. Miss Granger glares at her, back in her proper fitting gown.
"No," he says at the vengeful gleam brightening in her eye in the wand light.
She sniffs and looks away.
He opens the door and checks to make sure the coast is clear before pulling their unconscious victim out into the hall. A hand slides back into his pocket, and he reaches for a third potion he's brought with him, and he spins Red so that she's somewhat on her back. Ron, who should be keeping a lookout, has poked his head in and is taking a little too much delight on their goings on. Snape kicks his ankle, gesturing to the hall. Abashed, Weasley turns back around.
Severus carefully parts Red's lips and pours the contents down her throat, mindful not to let her choke. From the doorway, Miss Granger draws her wand, eagerly.
Despite his previous treatment of her, Severus gently eases her onto the floor, and releases the spell with a flick. Crouching, he sits the woman up against his knees as the potion sets to work, and lightly shakes her awake as she begins to stir.
"This will make her seem drunk, and once we've—"
"Obliviate."
He sighs and she stows her wand once more. "Yes, once we've done that, our cover should remain intact." One could then simply blame her wandering away on too many champagne spritzers.
Red mumbles something with a slur, and blearily blinks up at him.
"Madame, are you well?" he asks in an innocent tone.
Miss Granger exits fully now, and Snape pockets his wand. He props Red up against a wall in the side hall and stands to leave.
"Wha's happened," she breathes, confused.
"We'll see if we can find some assistance for you," he mutters having no real intention to do any such thing, and turns to withdraw. Granger follows.
From behind, they hear, "What, you're just gonna leave her there?" from a bewildered lady Ron asks, who is scandalised.
"Ron." Miss Granger snarls, and, properly heeled, he follows after them.
The three wind their way back through the guests, and do not stop to speak to anyone until they reach the edge of the foyer and are out in the warm night breeze.
"Well, did you get anything?" Ron asks, taking another sip from a flask of what Severus deduces must be his own store of Polyjuice. Though why he would take more now that they've finished, he hasn't the faintest.
Miss Granger nods and stares solemnly at Severus. He waits for her to go on.
"Orran is exactly as problematic as we had supposed."
He nods. "Details."
Her anxious eyes flick to Ron since he's, technically, the official with whom they are working. Heaven help them all.
"He's got an event planned for tomorrow evening."
Severus' eyes widen the slightest. So soon.
"It's," she pauses, brows furrowed. "He's asked his supporters to join him tomorrow at a concert at Barbican Centre. They're to meet during the programme's interval, though for what, I'm not entirely sure."
She chews her lower lip, and Severus just stops himself from reaching out and smacking her arm.
"I think he's going to do something to the people gathered there tomorrow." Her eyes darken. "There were a lot of jokes about torturing Muggle audience members as the post-show entertainment."
"Something?" he presses.
She looks up at him. "He said it was 'time to put his theory into practise.'"
"Well, that could be anything," Ron so helpfully adds.
Snape ignores him.
"What's on the programme tomorrow evening?" He somehow knows that she knows. She seems like a season ticket type of person.
"The Leonore Overture, Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in G , and Mozart's Requiem."
He blinks, slightly impressed and amused at the same time. "Oh. Popular works. I shouldn't be surprised if the concert is sold out."
She nods and watches him.
"We should be there, of course."
She nods again.
"Weasley."
Ron stands up straighter in his high heels.
"Can you get Potter ready for—"
"A surprise raid? Yes."
Severus stares at him. Astonished.
"A bit more subtle than that, Ron."
"Well yeah," he says sheepishly. "Course, Harry might need something more in order call in backup. 'Theory's not exactly damning, is it?"
Severus looks back to Miss Granger. "He said nothing else during that whole time we can use against him?"
She smirks and Severus relaxes.
"Well, someone did ask how his escort service was making out this summer." She shook her head and groaned. "That would explain the random, disgusting twirl Orran made me do in front of everyone earlier."
Ah. Red is not only a companion, she's a 'business' model, then.
Ron tuts and shakes his head with false sympathy. "Pervert."
Severus looks to Weasley and stares in wonderment. "Please tell me you haven't bred yet."
"What?"
"Nothing," Granger snaps. To Severus she says, "They are meeting tomorrow evening at eight o'clock."
He tears his confounded gaze from Weasley. "We'll meet before."
Ron frowns and looks down at his tacky dress. "I've got to dress up again don't I? I don't know that I've got any formal tails."
Hermione smiles and slowly turns to face him. "I've got one for you, Ron."
"You do?"
Severus thinks under the right circumstances, he could grow to enjoy that devilish gleam in Miss Granger's eye, and wonders what sort of Slytherin she would have made.
Granger fishes around in the bag at her wrist and hands Weasley a phial. "Here. This will reverse the Polyjuice."
Instead of taking it gratefully, Weasley steps back, palms up and smiles politely. "Oh, that's alright, Hermione. I don't much like the taste of it. I'll just uh, go home and let it wear off. Naturally."
Severus feels a tang of vomit rise in his throat at the sudden image Weasley's not very covert wink brings up, and he takes a steadying breath.
"Gross, Ron."
He shrugs. "To each her own, eh? See you lot tomorrow." And with that, Auror Weasley Disapparates. Not a moment too soon.
"Tell me again why Weasley was chosen for this?"
She sighs and rubs her temples. "Because, it's Ron."
"That means nothing to me."
"Never mind then, are you finished? Because I have to go."
Severus eyes her suspiciously. "Where?"
"Home," she says with a faraway, vaguely disturbed look in her eye. "I have to shower," she finishes with a shudder.
He clucks his tongue and folds his arms. "I'd say so. Do you make it a habit of seducing and indulging everyone you want information from?"
She jerks back to attention and sets her jaw. "Absolutely not. I was behaving like a prostitute because I was disguised as one. Would you rather have me not be in character around Orran?"
He almost retorts when a voice somewhere in the back of mind informs him that he's acting as if her doing so means something to him, which it quite obviously doesn't, therefore he decides to take the higher ground and not rise to her bait.
"Regardless, try to comport yourself more appropriately next time."
She makes a groan of disgust. "There won't be a next time."
"Let us hope."
An awkward silence befalls the pair and they each stare uncomfortably at the pavement.
"Tomorrow then," she says suddenly.
"Seven."
She nods.
"Precisely," he adds.
"Obviously."
He purses his lips.
In a quieter voice, she adds, "Thank you."
He regards her thoughtfully, and dips his chin. For some reason it feels as if his skin is prickling.
"Goodnight," she says, and Disapparates with a quiet pop.
Severus stares after the spot she lately stood and clears his throat. Perhaps it's the champagne or his falling adrenaline but... was there something...
He shakes himself with a roll of his eyes. Of course not. He tugs at his collar, feeling momentarily foolish. Perhaps he does have a drinking problem after all.
"Goodnight," he says to the air before him and leaves for his own home.
Tomorrow will be interesting.

~*~
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