Hermione straightened her dress in front of the mirror, wondering if perhaps she should give up on her plan. After all, she didn't simply risk embarrassment to herself, but to her children. The stakes were high, but the opportunity was unlikely to be repeated, and the rewards... Well, the rewards could be considerable.

Twenty-four years was a long time since her last Yule Ball, but Hermione liked to think that she carried them reasonably well. She had added three or four dress sizes, but though her stomach was no longer flat, she still went in at the waist rather than out, and Ron had certainly thought that the curves had added to her appeal. Her dress robes swathed her bust in malachite green with a sash of silver silk and then fell in sheer layers of green over silver from the empire waist to reach her ankles. Twelve years ago she might have worn something with a little more slink, but twelve years ago her daughter wouldn't have been here and her son wouldn't have had to live with any gossip that might result.

Rose was beautiful tonight. Well, she was always beautiful, but especially tonight, and Hermione hoped she would cherish her memories of the blond haired Ravenclaw just as much as Hermione treasured her own of Durmstrang's current headmaster. Ron wouldn't have approved, but Ron would never have thought anyone could be good enough for his Rose. Ron wouldn't have approved of what she was about to do, either.

She checked that the combs which held her hair back at the sides were secure, and turned away from the mirror, casting a last glance over her shoulder at her Sleekeezied tresses before exiting the ladies room. She scanned the crowd, nodding to Viktor as he danced with Minerva McGonagall, but as she had expected and even hoped, her prey had already absented himself from the proceedings. She slipped out into the grounds unnoticed.

Fairies decorated the conjured rose bushes in clouds, but every few yards the fae lights illuminated severed blooms that decorated the gravel walk. Hermione set out to follow their trail. There were petals everywhere in whites, pinks, yellows and reds, blasted apart by bitter spells. However, just at the edge of the ersatz grove, Hermione found a single perfect bloom that had been severed cleanly a few inches below its full head. She lifted it closer to the fairy lights to better see its colour, smiling when she saw that it was a coral pink and breaking off a single thorn before she tucked it into the shallow v of her dress's cleavage.

The trail petered out, but Hermione thought she knew where to go, letting the slope of the ground guide her to the lakeshore away from the gaiety of the castle and into the darker grounds. She followed the familiar curves of the lake's edge, ignoring the few flakes of snow that melted on her hair, grateful for the Impervious Charm that protected the satin of her shoes from the stains of grass and mud.

The beech tree had grown, its branches bare now in Winter's darkest days. Nevertheless, its trunk was not sufficiently wide for its silhouette to hide the darker shadow that pressed against it.

"Severus?" she whispered.

The shadow shifted slightly. "Madam Weasley." His tone was cool, verging on cold.

"Severus, have I offended you in some way? I thought we had progressed to first name terms after the first task."

"I assure you, madam, that it is not within your power to offend me. I simply do not care to be overly familiar with someone I have no intention of seeing again after the tournament is over," the dark figure explained, finally stepping forward enough to allow her to see him slightly more clearly.

"Yet, you called me Hermione last month," she reminded him, slowly closing the gap between them. She took the flower from between her breasts and tucked it into the breast pocket of his dress robes. "And until Harry stepped down as a judge when Dominique was chosen as a Champion, you called him by his given name."

"He was persistent," Severus muttered.

"So am I," Hermione retaliated.

"And he was not blatantly carrying on an affair with a married man!"

"I should hope not!" Hermione replied, trying hard but not quite managing to stifle a giggle.

She could see him stiffen, caught a glimpse of the wand now in his hand and she grasped the front of his robes with both hands. "Severus..." she sighed, half in exasperation, half in response to being so close to the warmth of a male body after so many years. She shook her head softly. "One dance, the first dance for old times' sake. That's all."

"He has keys to your house. He visits you every weekend," Severus accused. "Sometimes for the whole weekend."

"No, Severus, he doesn't. Viktor meets his wife at my house every other weekend, while I'm visiting my parents. I told him it was silly for him to keep paying for a hotel when he would have more privacy at my place. The weekends in between, we meet up in time to have a drink before Sunday lunch at the Burrow. If you think that Molly Weasley would allow the mother of her grandchildren to take a married man to visit in any capacity other than as a friend, you don't know her very well."

"You're not..."

"Having an affair with Viktor? No, Severus, I'm not. There hasn't been anyone since my husband died." She reached up with one hand to push back the hair at one side of his head, tucking the fine, slightly greying strands behind his ear. "Until now."

Just at that moment the clouds parted, almost as they had that long ago night when Severus had found her in the Shrieking Shack, and moonlight cast his features into harsh relief; the beaky nose, the thin lips, the deep creases between his brows that made her yearn to smooth them away, and the impossibly dark eyes that were no longer cold but seemed to be searching her face as if he was greedily storing every curve to memory.

Hermione shivered, and an instant later she found she had been pulled into both his arms and the warm, Severus-scented folds of his cloak.

"You were foolish to come out here in nothing but that thin excuse for a dress," Severus muttered.

"Not as foolish as it would have been to let you stay out here alone," Hermione replied, "but if you wish to escort me back inside, I believe you promised me a dance."

He lips twitched into a familiar smirk. "As you wish, Hermione. Hold on tight." He caught her behind her back and behind her knees, and the next instant they were climbing upward, upward, ever upward until he alighted on the stonework surrounding an unfamiliar balcony and then dropped as gently as a bird onto the balcony itself before setting her down. Rock music echoed up from the hall below, but Severus opened a door into a large round room and crossed to a gramophone. He shed his cloak over an armchair as he returned to the balcony and extended a hand to her, taking her fingers in the lightest of grips and guiding her to the clear area beside the room's hearth.

With another flick of his wand the first notes of Pachelbel's Canon began to play, and Hermione rested her head on his shoulder as they tried for a few seconds to find a beat to dance to and failed. She tilted her head back, a smile on her lips, and his mouth alighted on hers, tentatively at first, but with growing assurance as she pressed her body to his and twined her fingers in his hair.

Hours later, Severus rose from his bed and in the wedge of moonlight that penetrated his rooms he regarded the dryad who still slept there. Her hair spilled in waves to the dip just above her bum. Her pink-tipped breasts were squashed together by her upper arms as she rested her cheek on her hand like a little child. Severus brushed a wayward curl back from her face and she stirred slightly, the movement causing a shooting pain in his chest as he imagined how empty the room would seem after her inevitable departure.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and she squinted up at him. "What's up?" she asked sleepily.

"Loo," he answered softly, nodding towards his bathroom door, "but I should really go down and help get rid of the stragglers."

"Oh." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "Do you want me to go?"

"Never," Severus surprised himself by admitting.

He knew when he saw her smile that for once he had managed to say the right thing. "Never's a long time," she teased, "but if you bring back some clean clothes from my guest room, you can have until I'm due at the Burrow in the morning. After that, we might need to negotiate."

"You could invite me to go with you," Severus suggested. "I think the castle would survive."

"You'd put up with Molly demanding to know what your intentions are?"

"I shall simply tell her the truth," Severus answered, leaning over the bed and tilting her chin up towards him, so that he could claim a chaste kiss. "I intend to discover if we can make each other happy."