The weekend took an unexpected turn when Ron and Harry fell through the fireplace on Saturday afternoon. Hermione and Luna had been cleaning Grimmauld Place—their twice-annual decluttering effort—and the commotion brought both witches running. Hermione recognized them before she fired off a defensive spell, but Luna did zap Harry with a light shock.
"So sorry," she called as Ron grabbed her up in a hug. Harry just waved it off and grinned at his friends before glancing to Hermione.
"Autumn cleaning weekend?" he asked, eyeing her askance.
Hermione resisted the urge to glance down at her clothing. Of course she was dirty—Grimmauld Place seemed to manufacture dust and grime at an alarming rate. "Well spotted, Potter," she retorted, only realizing after she'd done so that she'd mimicked Snape. Just a bit.
Harry patted her shoulder. "Better clean up—Ginny and Neville and some of the others aren't too far behind us," he said happily, moving past her to look in the fridge. "I don't suppose this is very well stocked, is it?"
Hermione just shook her head. "How many are coming? And why, exactly?"
Harry had already stuffed some grapes into his mouth, so Ron untangled himself from Luna enough to answer. "You know how it goes, Hermione. We had a free evening and were going to grab some Butterbeers, then one thing led to another, and anyway, I think it's, um, probably about...twenty people?"
"Twenty—" Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Hermione looked to the ceiling while she fought for patience. Her brain switched into To-Do List mode and she sent her Patronus off on some errands before turning her face back to the boys. "Okay. Well. I'm going to pop back to my flat to change, and you two—" she gave them her sternest look, "—are going to help Luna clear out all the cleaning supplies and rubbish we've accumulated. At the very least get the kitchen presentable?"
Harry saluted her and Ron nodded. "Could you maybe—"
"Grab takeaway from that place you like near my flat?" Hermione finished for him. She squeezed Ron's shoulder as she passed him on her way to the floo. "I've already sent the order in."
Within an hour, Hermione was headed back to Grimmauld Place, this time on foot, both arms laden down with bags of food. She'd showered away all the grime and dressed in a simple velvet dress that skimmed just above her knees, with heeled boots that made her feel a bit fancy. The skies were already darkening, and the air was crisp in that particular way one only found in the fall. She took a deep breath and allowed herself a moment's respite before nudging open the door to Number Twelve. She knew from experience that "twenty close friends" was more likely to end up nearer to fifty, and the group would end up fairly raucous by the end of the night. Still, it was good to have everyone together; and, since her job didn't exactly require her to be in tiptop mental shape, she was free to indulge in as much food, alcohol, and sleeplessness as she wanted this weekend.
Heading down the stairs to the kitchen, she called out, "Food's here, you gits!" and entered the room to a loud cheer. Smiling, she set the bags on the table, shook out her hands, and then started unpacking and arranging everything to her liking. Plates, utensils, serving platters: everything swished and flew to its proper place in the gracefully choreographed way that Molly Weasley would appreciate. Scurrying out of the path between hungry young men and their dinners, Hermione summoned a goblet of wine and leaned back against the wall, prepared to relax.
"Impressive," a familiar voice said from nearby, and Hermione choked on her wine.
She spun to see Snape standing stiffly in the corner, his arms crossed and one eyebrow quirked. Coughing, she fought to make sense of things. Snape was here? At a house party with...her friends?
Quickly, she scanned the room and noted a few things she hadn't before. One, there were far more than even fifty witches and wizards here; and two, quite a few were not in her same peer group from school. It looked like nearly all of the Weasleys plus a good deal of Order members and current professors dotted the crowd, which she realized now had spilled out onto the back patio. Finally clearing her throat, she glanced back at Snape, her eyes still watering a bit.
She decided to brazen it out. "Can I offer you a drink?" she asked, summoning a tumbler of Firewhisky without waiting for his answer and holding it out to him with a smirk.
He glanced at her offering, then back to her face, shaking his head as he reached for the tumbler. "An educated guess," he said, then took a sip.
"Perhaps I've stalked you," she replied, grinning when he choked on his drink.
"Impertinent," he chastised. Then he actually smiled at her, and Hermione felt her stomach crash through the floor.
What was wrong with her? This was Snape, for Godric's sake; no facial expression of his should be able to make her feel anything quite so—so—fluttery. She cleared her throat and took a large gulp of her wine. Perhaps the booze was going to her head and she needed food.
"Hold this, please," she said, shoving her glass in Snape's direction and trusting that he would take it. She made her way to the table and filled two plates with an assortment of items, then jerked her head towards the patio. Snape nodded and wended his way towards the door, Hermione behind him.
Once outside, the noise level dropped considerably. They settled at one of the benches and Hermione traded him a plate for her goblet. Nervously she stuffed some cheese and a cracker into her mouth and chewed. What had she been thinking? Oh, right—she needed to offset the wine. Because Snape smiling at her made her knees weak.
No, no, that wasn't it. It couldn't be. No no no nononono...
"You're rather quiet," Snape's words broke into her inner monologue.
Swallowing, Hermione retorted, "I rather thought you'd appreciate the deviation from the norm."
He smirked as he selected some cheese from his own plate. "Oh, I do. I'm just concerned that if you bottle it up too much now, you'll be prone to explode later."
"Ha, ha," Hermione said. "You'd be sorry, you know. If I explode later then who will help you on broom registration days?"
He made a mock expression of horror. "You're right. I would have to burn the Ministry down rather than work alone."
Hermione burst out laughing, drawing several looks their way. "Very well. But you would miss me."
She nearly clapped a hand over her mouth. Goodness, was she flirting with him? What had happened to her brain tonight? Maybe it was simply because he was so out of context here. She hadn't expected to see him outside of work, and her logic was just struggling to process the change. Of course.
Snape had furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "I don't think so," he mused.
"Wanker," Hermione muttered, elbowing him.
"What I do in the privacy of my home is none of your business," he retorted, dusting his hands together and standing before her mind could process that he'd made a joke. She gaped up at him, dumbfounded. "Goodbye until Monday, this time," he said, starting back into the house.
"Wait!" Hermione leapt up and followed him. "You can't leave yet."
He looked at her over his shoulder, both brows raised.
"Um, you haven't, that is, it's only been a few minutes," she finished lamely.
Snape made an exaggerated show of looking all around them. "Yes, and I've ever so many people I must catch up with," he intoned, continuing on into the house. Hermione trailed after him.
"You haven't seen the library," Hermione pointed out.
Snape pressed through the crowds in the kitchen, nodding his head a time or two at those who greeted him. But he strode inexorably on, and Hermione dipped and dodged partygoers to keep up. As they climbed the stairs, she tried again. "Luna and I have made a lot of changes upstairs."
"Thank Salazar," he muttered, but he continued towards the door.
"Severus, wait," she exclaimed. He turned to face her, his expression questioning. She was panting slightly—Merlin, the man could move quickly when he wanted. "Why don't you want to stay?"
She cursed herself for how whiny that sounded. Snape noticed, too, if his eyeroll was any indication. "I had no intention of staying long," he told her. "I thought Minerva might have been here, but since she is not, I think I've done my duty." Then his expression softened just a tad. "Behave yourself tonight," he said, and Hermione's thighs clenched with desire.
Her surprise at her physical reaction was surely the only reason she blurted out—"Oh, I never do!"
"You have a rare gift of making your trouble seem like someone else's," he agreed, and then he slipped out the door, leaving Hermione in a state of complete and utter confusion.