He hadn't even really told the other teachers his birthday--calling attention to himself over it would have quite frankly embarrassed him. He much preferred to pass the day as any other. It was a Wednesday, so it was fourth year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors in the morning to begin.
He glanced at his desk as he dressed--he knew as usual that Dumbledore would insist upon giving him something, since the Headmaster knew his birthday. As well he knew most of Snape's history. There were two packages there, though, which he noted with some surprise.
The first proved to be from Dumbledore, and he found it to be a new set of handmade crystal Potions flasks, treated with an Unbreakable Charm. He smiled briefly at that: the Headmaster knew him well enough to realize that he wasn't the sort to whom one gave frivolous gifts.
He glanced at the tag on the second and was surprised to see that it was from Hermione. How had she found out? Probably asked him, he thought, caught between cheer and trepidation. He still wasn't sure where to classify her at times. They had moved beyond the confines of partnership since she had left Hogwarts; that he knew. There was complete trust and respect, and a certain ease in being with her: he might even have gone so far as to call her a good friend. He spoke freely around her, and he was still amazed at times that he could make her laugh, but wouldn't deny that time with her gave him distinct pleasure. And there was so little of pleasure in his life that it was one of the most fiercely precious things he had.
He opened the package, and saw that the box was emblazoned with the Gladrags logo. Oh, dear God. Don't tell me she got me Gryffindor red robes as a joke.
Over the years he had been given robes of different colors, usually as a joke. The most obnoxious had been a buttercup-yellow set that Lockhart, that prat, had given him, hearing it was his birthday. He shuddered to remember that Lockhart had suggested that the robes would cheer him up by the power of their sunny color. Then again one might expect such weirdness and stupidity from a man who wore candy pink. He still wasn't sure how Lockhart had been exempted from the black robes rule governing all inhabitants of Hogwarts. He had refused to even Transfigure the things, though, to black in order to wear them, and had altered them to fit Persephone, as they were Hufflepuff yellow. She had been quite happy with them on her birthday, and had worn them for various formal occasions since.
But the robes that met his eyes were of a green so dark that it was nearly black. Is she teasing? Puzzled, he grabbed the box and grabbed a pinch of Floo powder. She was in her rooms when he arrived.
She saw the box in his hand and said without batting an eye, "Gladrags was all out of black, so I figured Slytherin green might do instead" She looked at his expression, or perhaps the stunned lack of it, and her face fell, a look of guilt coming across her features. "I--I can Transfigure them to black," she offered. "It's just that I figured you needed some because your old robes are so tatty from all your Potions work. Well, there was no black; damn, I should have changed them before I gave them to you." She realized she was babbling and quieted.
He took a deep breath, relieved she hadn't intended the gift in mockery. Perhaps she knew him better than he thought for her to give him a practical gift like this. "They're fine, Hermione," he reassured.
She smiled at him. "Happy birthday, Severus. Umm…feel free to turn them black if you like. I don't mind."
He wasn't quite sure what to say. It was one of the few times in his life he felt dumbfounded. He settled for a, "Thank you." He returned to his room, still feeling a bit confused, but strangely pleased that she had noticed such a thing. After all, almost nobody afforded him a second glance. He gathered his things for the lesson and headed for the dungeons after hanging the robes in his closet, not quite ready to wear them yet.
A month later, he shifted in his chair and rolled his eyes, wondering if it wasn't possible to create a simulacrum to attend staff meetings for him, particularly when the main topic of discussion was something so ludicrous as the winter dance in a few days. Bloody damn Yule Ball. Last thing these idiot teenagers need. Come February Poppy will have more than a few crying girls in the infirmary pregnant.
He had never been fond of the things since his fifth year, when Sirius Black had made it all too clear at the Yule Ball where his place was and that he had best not step out of it. "Clean up and dress in nice robes, but you're still a slimy Slytherin, Snape…" Potter pointedly guiding Lily away: not that he had loved her. He had asked her to the ball as much simply because she was kind to him, and he admitted, to spite Potter, as anything.
The words had stung to the core--they'd never think the leopard could change its spots, or that it may have not been spotted in the first place. Slytherin he'd always be to them, with all the connotations. He had stalked out, not wanting them to see the hurt of it, not wanting to see their happiness. Only too late he had learned that Aislinn had cared for him: she as quiet and lonesome as he had been. Enough dwelling on the past.
So the Yule Ball was proceeding as planned, in the effort to keep things as normal as possible at Hogwarts for the children. He offered no objection to the decorations being silver and white for winter, or to the hiring of Wolfmoon Howling for the music. That resolved; he was grateful to trudge off to the dungeons for the evening, grumbling that he was obliged, as a teacher, to help decorate the Great Hall for the damned thing. He knew it was no use pleading to Dumbledore for exemption; the Headmaster would insist with a friendly twinkle in his eye.
Still, the ball was tomorrow night. That done, he'd have another year before the thing came up again: three hundred sixty-four days of nothing of the sort. The thought was admittedly pleasant.
While the students were off doing their normal Saturday activities the next afternoon, the staff began transforming the Great Hall into a ballroom for the festivities. Athol carefully guided a carved ice sculpture of the animals representing the four houses, the thing easily three times his size, to its place with Wingardium Leviosa. Minerva was Transfiguring various objects into crystalline dishes.
He caught sight of Hermione at work with Mellisande Vector carefully covering the windows with delicate designs of frost, almost like stained glass windows. Aylmeri and Persephone were carefully hanging large ice prisms from the ceiling, leaving them to catch the light and cast dazzling rainbows on the walls.
Feeling as usual stupidly out of place in such cheer and merriment, he was almost grateful when Dumbledore handed him some confiscated Acid Sweets and had him Transfigure them into white linen tablecloths embroidered in silver thread. Dumbledore smiled a little and said almost nonchalantly, "You always were skilled in Transfiguration…"
By the time it was two hours before the ball, the Great Hall was complete in its metamorphosis, and the teachers headed for their quarters to dress for the occasion. After showering, he nonchalantly reached into his closet and pulled out his black dress robes. Nothing wrong with black. He caught sight of the green robes Hermione had given him a month before and hesitated.
Still, he wasn't about to change habit; he was altogether too much a creature of it. He shrugged and pulled on the clean black dress robes and closed the closet door, buttoning them up. Have fun, Sev, Tosca called as she headed out the window. I still say you should wear the green ones. She didn't give them to you to have them sit in the closet, she added sharply. Fine one for gratitude, you are.
"I don't need clothing advice from a falcon!" he returned, but the pang of guilt had struck home. He sat at his desk and began reading a Potions journal to pass the time. An hour and a half later, still cursing Tosca, he stuck his wand up his sleeve and headed out the door.
He took his seat at the staff table, noticing with amusement that Persephone was indeed wearing the yellow robes again. He took his seat and noticed Hermione come in. She was dressed in robes of old gold that brought out the warm tones in her hair and eyes, making her look almost aglow, and following the lines of full feminine curves all too well.
You're sounding positively disgusting, he chastised himself. There was a slight sparkle about her though--a touch of faerie dust, probably. Hair tamed, she looked elegant. And the older male students certainly noticed--he saw their eyes upon her. Even Draco Malfoy, who walked into the Great Hall in his dark blue robes, took a second glance, and then a third.
Well, considering she's the only female teacher not old enough to be their mother, small wonder. And she was a student with some of them. He shrugged to himself and turned to the fettuccini upon his plate as she sat beside him.
"Evening, Severus," she murmured.
"Good evening, Hermione." He turned to look at her. "You look well."
She smiled a little, chewing her bottom lip for a moment in a habit he noticed she had, and replied, "Thanks." He caught her investigating his robes to see if possibly he had worn the green ones.
"Hermione," he said quietly, making sure nobody else would overhear, "not that I don't appreciate them. It's just no use trying to change what I am."
"I wasn't," she replied, "because Gladrags honestly was out of black. However, I'd gladly exchange them if you prefer? That is, if you haven't already Transfigured them?" Her lack of annoyance at it at once relieved him and made him feel even guiltier.
He was saved from awkward reply by Dumbledore standing for announcements. With that he made certain to keep his mouth more or less full for the rest of the meal, precluding conversation.
Wolfmoon Howling started to play as the tables were moved aside to clear a dance floor, and he noted most of the usual couples: Monk and Latterly, Lambourne and Eagleson, and the sort. He faintly heard Draco ask Hermione for a dance.
She accepted, he saw, and within a minute they too were on the dance floor, a blur of color amongst the others, carefree and young. He felt a pang of something deep inside that he hadn't felt in years. With that he got to his feet and went outside to break up any trysts that the idiot students had contrived.
Angrily blasting the foliage with his wand and flushing the lovebirds out, he was happily up to anywhere from ten to forty points off for the four houses when he was satisfied they had all been chased off.
With that he heard a call behind him, and turned abruptly to see Hermione standing there, shivering slightly in the light material of her robes. "Why did you go rushing off?"
"Business. Preventing," he allowed sarcasm to creep into his tone, "kisses stolen by moonlight, or worse."
"Was it because I danced with Draco?" She advanced on him. "For Heaven's sake," her voice quivering with laughter, "he's only twenty-one…he just wanted to dance with a woman his own age, no offense to Mellisande, Minerva, and the rest. Why, are you jealous?"
"No," he denied, but he remembered all too well the burning hot rush of the feeling from that Yule Ball long ago, Black's mocking implications that he'd never be good enough for any woman, and the sheer envy for those who were so unabashedly happy that night.
She put a hand on his shoulder, standing close to him and looking up into his eyes. "Would you care to dance?"
"What, and let the entire school be chatting about 'Beauty and the Beast' for the next few months? I'd rather spare you that disgrace, thank you." But he made no try to move, to eliminate that small contact--it was too precious.
"Severus, you're your own worst enemy," she said with a soft sigh. "I doubt anybody else sees you so darkly."
"You might be surprised."
"I'm not going to try and pull you out of your moping forever," her tone sharpening.
"Then do leave me to it," he said roughly. "It is generally an activity best not shared." But the words struck him: was she implying what he thought she might be? He had lost Aislinn years ago because he had refused to see what had been right there before him. So he mustered his courage, and asked as calmly as he could, "What are you saying, Hermione…you're fond of me?"
She looked at him, and looked ready to say something. He tensed, waiting. Any moment now would be the disbelieving laugh, the mocking reply. But she looked deadly serious--could it possibly be? "Severus," she began, meeting his gaze squarely. "I…"
Just then there was a shout behind them. "Professor Snape! Professor Granger! Professor Dumbledore says there's a staff meeting now in the conference room!"
Immediately they were alert, the moment shattered. "What happened?" He recognized Hester Latterly.
"Wi--William and I were talking, so I didn't see it all, but a Ministry owl came and gave the Headmaster a message," both she and Hermione walking quickly to keep up with Snape's stride. "He just turned pale and told the prefects to fetch all the teachers--only you two were gone by the time I left."
"Damn," he hissed faintly. It was a situation with a Ministry owl and Dumbledore alarmed? It could be nothing but terrible news. They reached the conference room, careful not to run and cause more alarm amongst the students, but it took all his self-restrain not to race there to see what on Earth could be this urgent.
Dumbledore looked up when the two of them stepped in, nobody even having the presence of mind to seemingly notice that they were indeed together and what it might have implied. "I have just received word from Logan Gwalch," the Vice-Minister of Magic, "that there has been an attack," he said gravely.
"On…on whom?" Athol's tiny body was tense.
Dumbledore's blue eyes searched them all before he said in a tone barely loud enough to hear, "The Weasleys."