Sometimes, I wondered whether Lucius Malfoy had not made the better choice. Especially on evenings like tonight's.

Sure, the Isle of Drear –the new wizarding prison- was cold, inhospitable and only populated by wizard criminals and murderous Quintaped guards.

But neither of those were likely to dance, laugh or –worse yet- try to include me in said activities. Which could, unfortunately, not be said about the other guests of the Ministry's Halloween Masquerade.

So here I was, having retreated into the most shadowy corner of an overheated, overly lit, and most of all overpopulated ball room, wishing desperately to change places with him and to enjoy the solitude of a nice little godforsaken island, and resolving to get very, very drunk tonight – in fact I was well on my way towards that goal.

When the invitation had arrived, I would have chucked it there and then, only I had been in the Great Hall and Albus and Minerva had received theirs at the same time, so they knew what it was – and Albus had been adamant about my having to attend. Representing Hogwarts as one of the officially recognised Heroes of the War – another of Minister Weasley's hare-brained ideas, that one. War hero my arse. If the Ministry 'rewarded' the heroes by forcing them to attend such public torture and 'punished' the villains by blessed serenity, maybe I should have switched sides again four years ago and fought on Voldemort's side in the last battle.

No, of course not. But I was already somewhat drunk, and my mood pretty rotten.

I watched the dancers whirl around on the parquet floor of Whitefield Castle's huge hall. Albus and Minerva were probably among them, but I could not see them and I had forgotten which 'costume' they were wearing, anyway. For in imitation of some insipid Muggle custom everybody was expected to cast some glamour on themselves and play the role of whoever they were impersonating, until midnight when a Finite Incantatem would unmask the guests. The latter part –plus Albus, who seemed to read my mind, remarking that Mad-Eye Moody would check the identity of everybody entering the castle- had quickly squashed my hopes that since everybody was disguised anyway, I might simply pass on my invitation to someone else more keen on attending the ball and spend a peaceful evening.

So I had been forced to attend after all, but of course I had not stooped so low as to don a costume – I had had the vague hope of being refused entry on grounds of that, but Moody had just chuckled and waved me on, seemingly amused by my scowl. So here I was, glaring at everyone who dared approach me and waiting for the hours to pass.

Another woman came my way. I glared at her as well, willing her to turn back, but that did not seem to discourage her in the slightest – quite to the contrary, it brought a smile to her lips. Just what I needed.

She was tall, almost as tall as I, a dusky beauty with a mane of brown-tinged black curls that fell down almost to her slender waist. A garnet-coloured silk robe clung to her slender figure, slit at the sides to reveal long, shapely legs. Stop it, you dunderhead, I admonished myself when I noticed that my gaze was gliding over her shape appreciatively – that was a sodding glamour, she might be Arabella Figg for all I knew. Maybe getting another glass had not been the best of ideas after all.

The woman had reached me, and eyed me with unveiled interest. I scowled at her darkly, which should have sent most sane people scampering. But she just laughed and said, in a voice as smooth as silk, "Congratulations, your glamour is impeccable. You really look like Professor Snape. I was in his Potions class at Hogwarts, you see, and you caught his likeness perfectly, down to that scowl." She smiled at me warmly.

A former student of mine ? Then she should have better sense than that. I snarled back, "This does not really come as a surprise, considering that I am Severus Snape."

She smiled again, "Oh dear, I am afraid I am too excited and the wine is going to my head, I completely forgot the proper Masquerade protocol. Of course you are Professor Snape. I am sorry – I just came home to Britain last week and I've never been to ... dear me, here I go again." She bit her lower lip, then, her alluring smile returning, continued, "Well, I am Malia Gedde, New Orleans' mamaloa, or Voodoo priestess, pleased to meet you." She held out her hand.

I made a point of ignoring it, which seemed to amuse her even further. "Dead on in character," she remarked. I was just about to correct her again, then realised this would probably require more conversation than I felt like making, and just shrugged. So what if she believed I was costumed ?

The error of my judgement incurred to me when she spoke up again. "You could not, perchance, slip out of character a bit for just one dance ?"

I groaned inwardly. She still had not retracted her hand and her demeanour was determined. Irritated, I asked, "Any chance of you leaving unless I concur ?" She shook her head, clearly enjoying herself.

"Let's get this over with, then." Sighing, I took her proffered hand and led her on the dance floor. I really must have had too much to drink to even consider it, let alone do it, I reflected.

Right on cue, the band started a slow tune – just my usual luck. My only consolation was that no one in here knew that it was, indeed, I making a fool of myself. I led her in a slow waltz, trying to keep as much distance between us as possible. To my surprise, she did not try to sneak closer. Her confident demeanour had vanished once we had reached the dance-floor, replaced by something that could almost be called shyness, as if she could not believe in her own daring. Why did you not think of this before, girl, you could have saved us both some trouble, I thought unkindly.

It seemed ages until the dance was finally over. Sighing with relief inwardly, I led her from the dance-floor again. As we stepped away from the other couples, now whirling to a lively jive, her eyes were searching mine. They were of the most astonishing chocolate brown, almost like ... I very quickly clamped down on that train of thought. We stopped, and she said, her tone sweet and earnest and not at all fitting that smooth voice her glamour gave her, "Thank you, Sir. I so much wanted to ask him for a dance at the Leaving Feast and I never dared, now I can pretend I did ..." she quickly looked away.

She had wanted to ask me for a dance ? Surprise stunning my brain and the better part of my vocal chords, I just managed, "Indeed ?"

She nodded, then suddenly smiled impulsively and looked at me again. "I guess I can tell you, you have no idea who I am, after all. I had such a crush on him in my seventh year, and he never even looked my way twice, except to deduct points and to sneer. Ah, but you must know him well since you imitate him so perfectly, so you probably know what I am talking about." She tried to laugh, but it did not sound very convincing.

Only the iron control I had learned in my years as a spy allowed me to keep my face neutral and just give a slight nod. For the life of me I could not have said anything in response.

She seemed thoughtful for a moment and then nodded, saying, "You are right, this is probably not the best place to talk about something like that, glamour or no. You would not, perchance, stay out of character a bit longer and accompany me on a walk through the grounds ?"

I tried to tell myself that my reason to accept was that I was really very drunk, as I guided her towards the double door leading outside. I did not like to admit that, now that the initial shock had passed, I was intensely curious. A student of mine having had a crush on me ? And from what she said about my deducting points, she couldn't even have been a Slytherin. Peculiar indeed. I would have passed the whole thing off as someone's idea of a cruel joke, but a glamour changes neither posture nor facial expression, and I could read those well enough to tell she was not lying.

We were out on the grounds now and slowly walked towards the park, the stars sparkling in the clear autumn night sky, the air around us sweet, fragrant and unnaturally warm for Halloween ... clearly some Ministry wizards had tampered with the grounds, to make them more agreeable for strolling. For once, I found I did not mind.

She was watching me out of the corner of her eyes. I waited her out, unwilling to disturb her thoughts and not knowing what to say, anyway. Finally she sighed, and said, "You do not know how strolling alongside you feels, both so disturbing and ... and so good. It sure stirs up a lot of memories."

We had reached the park, and tall, ancient trees spread their shadowy canopy of leaves high above us, while we walked together in silence between their massive trunks, she lost in memories, it seemed, and I still trying to figure out who she might be. I went through all the graduates of the last few years in my head –for she seemed young to me, of course it was hard to tell with the glamour- but didn't I remember anybody having given me any starry-eyed looks. I shook my head, inwardly cursing my inebriated state.

She looked at me again, and said, "I don't know why you are so kind to listen to me boring you with my school memories, but I thank you for it. I must confess I thought at first this masquerade was a pretty stupid idea, but now I think there is something to be said for it. You know I never admitted my feelings before, not to anyone ? But now, hidden by the glamour, I can, and I feel so much better. Thank you." And before I could react, she leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek.

I must have looked pretty stunned, for she giggled when she saw my face. "So that's how Snape would have looked if I had ever mustered the courage to kiss him." Suddenly, her eyes were glinting mischievously. She murmured, "I wonder how ..." and suddenly she was there in front of me, kissing me for real this time.

'She really had too much to drink,' was my first thought as I felt her lips on mine. The second was, 'And so had I,' when I realised I was kissing her back with equal passion. But damn it, she was there snuggled against my chest, her lips on mine, her hands caressing my back, warm, female, her perfume filled my head and, for the first time in my life, my mind was pushed back ruthlessly as my baser emotions took hold of me. Without intending it, I drew her closer as our lips parted and our tongues met. She had to be an excellent charms caster, I vaguely realised, her glamour felt perfectly real and to judge from the way I felt her heartbeat quicken when our tongues played she felt through it too – I was pretty sure she could not be that tall for real, I would have remembered such a female student, so it was a rather advanced charm that pulled that trick off so well. That meant she was probably a Ravenclaw, one of Flitwick's prize students.

That was about the last coherent thought I had for quite a while. Our tongues were dancing, our hands wandering, exploring the other's body, caressing, stroking. My mind was spinning and my blood burning when we finally drew apart to catch our breaths. Her dark cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkling, and she whispered, "You know, I really should have done that at the Leaving Feast." Half of me wanted to disagree and the other half agreed fiercely. And that despite the fact that I still didn't know who she was, other than most likely a Ravenclaw. I resolutely ignored the part of me whispering that I had wished she'd be a Gryffindor, so I could pretend ... shut up, I told myself. It was an absurd notion anyway.

She leaned back against the trunk of the ancient beech we were standing under and smiled at me. "I bet that was the last thing you expected when you chose to appear like this tonight, to be snogging in a park with an unfamiliar woman, wasn't it ?" I could honestly nod to that one. Her smile turned mischievous again. "Well, neither did I plan anything of the kind, to be honest – I've never done something like this before. But it feels so good to forget decent, sensible behaviour for once in my life and behave indecently with you - and you sure don't seem to mind either." Well, given my behaviour, honesty demanded I agree with that one as well.

"Well then, what are we doing talking ?" she demanded with a wry smile, and her lips met mine once more.

My mind took a leave again, hampered by the feeling of warm female skin so close to mine, her hands gliding over my body, and the fact that most of my blood seemed to have found urgent business further down. It briefly resurfaced, however, when I realised her right hand was busy unbuttoning my trousers. For a moment I struggled, but then I decided that she had been right - it felt incredibly good to forget proper behaviour for once. So what if I still didn't know who she was ? This way, I could even pretend it might be her ...

I helped her out of her panties while she was freeing my cock of any hampering fabric, part of me still unable to believe what I was doing but the greater part frankly uncaring. As she lifted her right leg to encircle my hips, I held it with my left hand while my right reached for the wet folds between her thighs. I started stroking them just as her right grabbed my shaft and began to massage it firmly. I almost lost my control there and then. Gods, it had been so long ... gritting my teeth together, I pushed my rising excitement back. No matter who she was, I would not spoil her fun so quickly. But I had better stop her from being so deft in what she was doing. I ran my finger through her folds till I found her clitoris. Massaging it with my thumb while my index finger tentatively entered her eager, pulsing vagina did the trick. She moaned and writhed under my touch and seemed to have trouble concentrating on the movements of her hand.

Suddenly she let go of my cock and took hold of my shoulders. I took the hint and, encircling her hips with my arms, put my hands under her buttocks, lifting her. I faintly realised that I was probably right about her being smaller than her glamour – her weight seemed too light for a woman so tall- as she wrapped her legs around my hips. I carefully rested her back against the broad trunk as she positioned herself over me, allowing me to glide into her.

The feeling of her hot, soft, pulsing insides enfolding me was so intoxicating it almost made my knees buckle. Damn it, there was no way I could keep it up much longer when she felt so intensely exciting to me. Sweating, I fought for control as I thrust again and again. Fortunately she seemed pretty close to release herself; she was moaning incoherently, her head laid back against the bark, her breathing quick and ragged.

When she climaxed, her vagina convulsively contracting on my cock, I finally let go of my control, which I could not have held a second longer anyway, and crying out I spilled myself into her.

Only when I felt her suddenly go all rigid, I realised what I had cried.

Hermione. Oh dear.

My dazed brain was desperately trying to formulate some apology for that horrible lack of tact, but she interrupted me, hissing, "How the fuck do you know who I am ?"

I stared at her in shock, repeating, "Who you are ?"

She stared back. "But you called me by my name ! How could you know, you cannot be Moody, he was at the gates !"

"Hermione ?" I murmured, in disbelief. "Hermione Granger ?"

Her face slowly lost its anger and showed confusion. "You did not know ? But then why did you call me that ? Who are you ?"

The toll of the big bell up in the watchtower saved me from answering. The woman I was still carrying –heck, I realised I was still inside her- slowly began to shrink and lose her dark colour, changing into a smaller, pale, brown haired young woman. Only her eyes stayed almost the same.

Her eyes widened as she realised her glamour was wearing off – and I was not changing. Disbelieving, she whispered, "Professor Snape ?" Her facial complexion went stark white and then quickly started to become vividly red.

I nodded. "That was what I was trying to tell you when you approached me." It sounded rather lame even to my own ears.

She bit her lower lip. "And I misunderstood it, which you saw not fit to correct." Then she straightened herself, and locked eyes with me – her current position meant that she was still almost level with my face. She said, "But be that as may, you still have not answered me why you called out my name if you did not know who I was."

I guessed I owed her an honest answer to that. I steeled myself for a moment, then answered, "I did not know who you were. But I was pretending you were, even if I believed that was against all odds." I finally pulled myself gently back, out of her, and lowered her to the ground.

She regained her footing, but still did not let go of my shoulders. "But why ?" she asked incredulously.

I fought hard not to scowl at her. I had got us into that situation as much as she had, after all. I tried to keep my voice calm as I answered, "Must I spell it out for you, Hermione ? Because I was as smitten with you when you graduated as you apparently were with me. Because at that damnable Leaving Feast I fought the entire evening not to stare at you in that blue dress robe you were wearing. Because I could have cheerfully murdered Weasley for being able to dance with you when I could not. Because I would have liked nothing better than just to push him out of the way, carry you to some deserted corridor, and, er," my voice faltered for a moment, "well, do pretty much what we did tonight."

She had followed my narration with her earnest, attentive expression I had come to know so well. But now she actually chuckled. "We are a pair of utter fools, don't you agree, Professor ?"

She had a point there, I admitted. Nodding, I said, "Indeed. But given tonight’s events, I suggest you might as well call me Severus."

That brought another chuckle to her lips. I wished I could adapt to the situation with as much good grace as she apparently did, really. Steadying herself on my shoulders, she rose to the tip of her toes, and, saying, "Alright then, Severus," she kissed me again.

I froze for a moment, but then tentatively kissed her back. Her natural lips felt even sweeter and softer than the glamour's had.

She sank down again after a moment, and laid her head against my chest, her ear over my heart. I stroked her hair with my left hand as my right softly pressed her close. I heard her murmur, "Do you think you can stand to miss a bit more of the ball and stay here with me for a little longer ?" I looked down and encountered a wry smile.

Kissing her on top of her head, I said, smiling myself, "I think I just might ..."