Finally, the day of the grand banquet had come. It was the night.
The grandest building in all of London hosted the finest of the fine. To the naked eye of the onlooker, the Buckingham Palace was the most prestigious building in the whole city and home to the Minister and his family. To the eye of someone like Pansy Parkinson, it was a liberation. To Hermione Granger- a trial. To Severus Snape- a destination. To Draco Malfoy, a getaway. To Harry Potter - a battleground. And to Gilderoy Lockheart– a stage. But all the world was to him.
He struts towards his adoring fans only to be met by the unmasking eye of Hermione Granger.
"A signature, my sorceress?" His pen floats beside him, signing off his name on a fresh copy of Singing in Salem.
She grabs it, a precious souvenir that gently reminds her of her childish crush on the wizard. His eyes gleaming in a more subtle and subdued away- the boyish charm replaced by fear. She is no longer a young witch- a full-blown Auror.
As she clutches the bound pages, her gaze kept betraying her to every dark-haired stranger whisking someone off on the dancefloor. Their modern regalia seemed to float with them as they danced in tulle layers in the skies. She followed them higher and higher- the couples disappearing up into the rooftop and chatting with the cupids depicted on the ceiling.
The Muggle Prime Minister is on the floor above, hosting his guests on the grounds while the incantations of the floating violas and pianos play underground.
"Hermione-" Pansy drapes her hands over her neck and hugs her in a familiar way.
"Pansy."
"I've been meaning to talk to you all evening. You look so…different."
Hermione felt a wave of passivity from her tone. Her own dress was from her school days- the blue gown with cascading ruffles and a fitted bodice. She had charmed it into a more current fashion- lengthening the tulle and loosening around the hips into a more mature silhouette. The neckline now adorning her shoulders and fitting into sleeves. She wanted to be ready to fight at any given opportunity. Her own wand tucked into a pocket charmed into the leaves bunch of tulle.
"Have you seen your husband- Blaise?"
"Gods- if only I knew. If only I cared." She stops the waiter guiding a floating tray of champagne, taking one flute in one manicured hand and the entire tray into the other.
Hermione passes the green scales to find Harry and Draco.
"I didn't think Ginny should come, considering the way the evening could play out."
"Good call. If Astoria. Well, I would have done the same thing." Draco pauses, the image of his dead wife fresh in his mind.
They give each other a knowing glance. Harry pats him on the shoulder.
"Herms, where's your daily pick?" Draco asks. "Gods don't say you've come alone?"
"I have."
Snape was nowhere to be seen and by the looks of it- it would stay this way. She stayed close to the wizards as they exchanged anecdotes from their life. Harry scans the room, uninterested in half of what Draco is saying. Draco sways his shoulders back and keeps trying to catch Hermione's gaze at his punchlines.
She is also disinterested. Hundreds of faces flow before her, in each she searched for him. Not knowing what she would say if he appeared before her or what she expected. Not admitting it to herself, she had grown rather attached to him. His listless expressions and dry sarcasm. His willingness to follow her around. Him listening to her. If he were here now, she imagined he'd scoff about the number of people in the room and clutch a glass of some pungent drink.
Then they would discuss the number of times it would take the waiters to notice Pansy's constant theft of champagne flutes or laugh at the way Lockheart was flourishing over his fans.
As she thinks of it, her heart glowing warmly. Snape wouldn't come back- not after she had told him to leave. He was too polite, too English to interfere with her wishes. Unlike some swashbuckling and hotheaded quidditch player, he would think twice before talking to her again.
"Witches and gentle wizards. Your attention please-"
The lights dim and the couples descend and gather around the large stage.
"Welcome to the annual Hippogriff Society Charity Ball. It has been a pleasure to host an upstanding tradition through the centuries in this monumental palace."
Applause ensues.
"This year, our hosts are as always the Zabinis. Pansy and Blake Zabini are both graduates of the esteemed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and are veterans of the Wizarding War. Both have contributed colossal efforts and funds to the reestablishment of the wizarding society. We remind you that all proceeds of the ball will be generously donated to this year's charity of choice "the Protection Society of Enchanting Flora and Fauna."
Poppycock beatniks. The words sound in his sardonic tone in her head. She smiles.
"Now we would like to welcome you to the grand event of the evening. The event you've been waiting for. The exhibit of the Osaria roses straight from the Shaman Institute of Madagascar. Though there have been some mishaps," the Minister began, clearing his throat. "I am pleased to say that the rare collection of busts from Gilderoy Lockheart will be very proudly displayed alongside."
The doors of the palace gardens open and the sight nearly takes away the breath of a mortal. Long rows of scarlet blooms line the vast expanses of the gardens. The fountains spray streams that formed into tiny water dancers, waltzing round and round. The busts of the Salem witches, in their youthful purity, stand and take deep bows before the guests.
Harry grasps Hermione's hand in solidarity. She holds back tears and straightened.
"Mistress gardens?"
She nods, sniffling. The two join the crowd, walking side by side among the red. The roses, although she thinks they were red, actually glowed from within with every passing minute. Their colours changing over and over with the dancing of the water fae in the fountain.
"Gin read in Homemaker Witch that the roses had the power to glow in the hand of one who loves."
He bends down and cups one of the blooms in his hand and it glows a share of burgundy and then aquamarine. Hermione could no longer bear her emotions and let the tears fall straight from her eyes. The dark mascara now likely dripping from her lashes. She was too tired to feel embarrassed. Harry's arms embrace her and he gives an affectionate squeeze.
"I feel like a complete mess, Harry ."
"You call that a mess? Listen Mione, I know it hasn't been the same for Ron and I am you since the incident, but I miss him and the way we were every single day."
"Me too" she agrees. She wishes she'd cherished those moments when they had been there.
"Harry, can I ask?"
"Miss Know-it-all asking?"
"I'm serious. Do you feel like you're doing what you're meant to be doing at work? I mean do you ever feel like you should have gone a different path?"
"Sometimes. Truth is, I've felt like a complete imposter when I started. I mean I was never the brightest wizard of my age. But then you realize there's more to life than being an Auror."
"Like what?"
"Like Ginny, and the kids and the summers at the Burrow."
"And if you'd never become an Auror?"
"Well I...Macgonogall basically bargained her whole reputation on me. I'd rather have died than not become one."
"I remember that." Her school days bring a gentle turn to her lips.
"Listen Harry, would you believe me if I told you something completely illogical?"
"What have you done with Granger? Right, of course."
"Snape is a demon."
Harry is confused and shocked.
"I think something terrible must have happened to him. Like he'd made a deal for his Soul."
'Hermione."
"Look Harry you've been suspicious of me for years since the accident and I don't fucking know what is wrong with me. But this isn't some bogus theory of mine. Not like a hallucination. I miss my daughter every day, but I would never imagine someone dead coming back to life as a Demon."
Harry does support her, he really tries but Hermione has not been herself and everyone in the office knows it. It was hard to believe the validity of her statements. Between her strange visions and statements along with that fiery attitude, Harry does not know to think her a genius or just mad with grief.
"Mione, you're my best friend but I can't really believe you at face evidence."
"But try for once!"
She pushes herself away and lets go of his hand. She heads into the garden of roses leaving everyone behind. Had she known a month ago that everything in her life would turn out the way it did, she would have not believed it.
Among the beds of roses, her boss Robards Jr. stood among the flowers. He looks towards a large empty spot of sand right in the center. What had he been staring at?
Now the crowd was gathering before the spot rising from the very middle of the gardens. It weaves its way into sight, the roses creeping along with the greek columns on the side and the Minister gently Apparating on the steps of a most magnificent gazebo.
"Sir, you'll want to know we-"
Robards Jr. glances at her and turns his attention back to the speaker who is now adjusting his rather well-fitted velvet suit jacket at his silky shirt. The little bees sprinkled on the fabric buzz around and around. Hermione finds herself just as entranced by watching their little dances. A quality charm like such was easy to come by for a man in his position.
"Witches and Gentlewizards, it is my honour to present the main attraction of our event, the infamous bust of the Salem witch brought over by our special guest this evening- Mr. Lockheart."
He beams as the equally charming and well-aged man joins him on the stage, appearing out of the flick of the Minister's handkerchief wave. Snape would have had much to say about his infamous duel with bugger during her second year. However, Snape was not here and she was reminded that she would not retort his quips any longer. And it makes the little bees' dance seem a little slower.
And had she been looking, she would have noticed Robards Jr.'s jaw growing tighter as Lockheart pats the Minister on the shoulder and reveals his own wand to strike through the violet ribbon tied to the doors of the gazebo.
One. Two. Three.
He waves his hand in a comical demonstration. When the ribbon had only tightened, he gave a nervous laugh and struck again with more intention. The ribbon is undone, the doors open. And in that midset, Snape.