A/N – Would like to note that I fixed a few details from chapter 3. It said Hermione was 18/19 years old, but that's been changed to 17/18, if you remember her birthday is the 19th and it is only the first week of school. Also, in two places it mentioned Occlumency. I totally spaced on that one, it's Legilimency.

Disclaimer – I own nothing but my plot.

Italics used to show dreams, flashbacks, thoughts, etc.

Birthday Surprises

Finally, things had gone back to normal (excluding the too-frequent Death Eater nightmares and occasional weird, yet erotic, fantasies about the Potions professor).

The past three weeks leading up to Hermione's eighteenth, no nineteenth, birthday had flown by and had thankfully lacked any more embarrassing displays. Unless you counted every second she had to spend under the watchful eye of Severus Snape. The memories of that disastrous Potions class and the morning after still haunted her every day. She couldn't make it through a single class without imagining his silky voice in her ear. The thoughts she had of him were enough to make anyone squirm, even Draco Malfoy. It was nearly impossible to keep her raging hormones under control during Potions, while Snape loomed over her shoulder, his warm breath tickling the hairs on her neck. Renewed images of the "incident" in his guest room only heightened her arousal (however unwelcome it was).

Lately, it seemed like he had been paying more attention to her than his precious Slytherins. It almost appeared like he was purposely trying to tease her. This new realisation made Hermione feel decidedly ill, and all current fantasies of her professor were shoved aside and forcibly replaced with the more G-rated memory of her encounter with Harry. The feeling of that warm kiss was enough to erase all ideas that she could actually be attracted to Severus Snape. No. Certainly not. It's a definite no. Definitely.

So here she was on her birthday, lying on her bed in her new private Head Girl's room. The keyword there being private. Finally free from the clutches of Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown. Free to stay up studying as long as she wanted without anyone complaining. Free to wear whatever she wanted without worry of being critiqued. Free to not care about fixing her impossible hair. Free from the incessant giggling and lethal amounts of nail polish. Free…okay, enough. Basically, it could be described in one word. Heaven.

She had nothing to do, so she began wondering what she'd get from Harry and Ron. Well, it didn't take long for her to decide on something. Books. They got her books every year, and so did everyone else now that she thought about it, her parents included. Professor McGonagall had even given her a book one year. Just as she was thinking of what she'd prefer over a book, there was a knock on the door. She walked over and flung it open, revealing a smiling Harry and Ron.

"Hurry, put your jacket on! We're going to Hagrid's."

Hagrid's, of course. She held in a sigh. They always went to Hagrid's. She knew she should've expected this. Hagrid and books went hand-in-hand on her birthday. It was the inevitable. Although Hagrid was one of the nicest adults she knew, she couldn't help but be wary of visiting him. She didn't quite relish the idea of breaking her front teeth in one of his cement-like cakes on her nineteenth birthday.

She came back a moment later wearing a light blue jacket and made a lunge for the package in Harry's hand.

"Ah ah. Not until we get to Hagrid's," he said with a teasing grin.

"Fine," she replied, faking a pout. Okay, so she already knew it was a book, but it couldn't hurt to pretend.

They made their way to Hagrid's hut, the gentle breeze blowing across their faces. The sun shone in the unbelievably clear sky. The squid lazily stretched its tentacles above the water. Hermione smiled. At least it was a nice day.

Hagrid beckoned them inside soon after they knocked, and they all sat down at his huge table, where he had already laid out the cakes. Hermione inwardly grimaced when she saw them. They were all different colours and looked very…misshapen.

After wishing her a happy eighteenth birthday (Hermione smirked at this) they set about eating the "cakes". Hermione nibbled carefully on hers, waiting until Hagrid was looking elsewhere to slip it discreetly to Fang. Next came the opening of presents. She feigned excitement as she ripped hurriedly at the wrapping paper. A book, a book, and…a book. A Portrait of Unicorns, Quidditch: All You Could Possibly Want To Know, and a school planner now sat unwrapped on the table. She thought she must have shown some disappointment, because in the next second all three were babbling at once.

"thought you'd like it, 'ermione. You were sayin' how you thought unicorns was beautiful an' all."

"Hermione, you told me one time to stop talking about Quidditch around you, because you didn't know enough about it anyway. So I thought you'd like to read about it."

"I know you've already got a planner, but this one's charmed so you just talk and it writes the homework down for you. I figured you already had enough to write so…"

"Would you three stop it already? Of course I like your presents!" She forced a smile onto her face.

"Thanks for having us, Hagrid. We've gotta head back now for dinner though."

"It's been great ter see ya. You three stay outta trouble. An' happy birthday again, 'ermione!"

"Thank you, Hagrid." Hermione tried giving him a hug, finding that she couldn't even reach around half of him.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Once in the Great Hall, Hermione could do nothing but stare at her food. She loved Harry and Ron, but she wondered when the day would come that they would see her as a girl and not just the know-it-all bookworm who helped them write essays. Yes, she would admit that reading was one of her passions, but getting books for seven years straight from her two best friends was quite depressing. She had witnessed them buying presents for some other Gryffindor girls in the past. Those girls had gotten chocolates, flowers, pretty sweaters, and perfumes. Why did she never get those things? Was she really that different from other girls that people forgot she WAS one? No matter how she looked at it, Hermione just couldn't see how a Quidditch book was the most sentimental thing to give to a girl you'd known for the better part of your life.

"Hermione?" She was abruptly brought out of her reverie by the sound of Neville Longbottom's voice.

"What?" she snapped just a bit too harshly, causing him to tremble slightly.

"Sorry, Neville. I think I'm a little tired. What is it you wanted?"

"I have a present for you," he claimed, producing a flowerpot from where it had been hidden behind his back.

"Oh, Neville! You didn't have to." She took the pot carefully from his still-shaking hands and examined the flower it held. It was red and gold and obviously meant to resemble a cupcake.

"Smell it."

Hermione obeyed, bending her head down to sniff the flower. Chocolate! A chocolate-scented flower. She beamed up at him.

"I knew you liked chocolate. And, if you just tap it three times, it'll sing Happy Birthday!" Neville grinned proudly at her.

"I love it, Neville!"

"Well," he said, looking down and shuffling his feet, "I didn't do it by myself. I had a lot of help. Professor Sprout planted it during summer vacation so I could take care of it as soon as school started. And Professor Flitwick helped me with the chocolate and singing charm."

"Don't be silly. They say it's the thought that counts, and this is the most thoughtful thing anyone's ever done for me, Neville. It's wonderful. So much better than, oh say…books!" At this, she threw a quick glance at Harry and Ron, noticing their deepening scowls.

"They gave you books again?" Neville looked at her in amazement.

"Of course they did," she huffed. "Including Quidditch: All You Could Possibly Want To Know."

"Quidditch? But you hate Quidditch."

"Funny, I thought I hated it too, Neville, but our dear Ron seems to think differently."

"Hey! That's not fair!" Ron protested.

Hermione turned to glare at him, noticing the violent red shade of his ears. Heh, looks like I've hit a nerve.

"What's so unfair about it, Ron? I don't seem to recall ever buying YOU a present that I knew you would dislike. In fact, I always did my best to find the right gift."

Ron simply stared back at her, apparently not knowing how to respond. "Women. Always so damn complicated. You think you know what they want, and then they go nuts over a bloody singing flower."

"Go to hell, Ronald Weasley! At least Neville cares enough to make me something nice. We could use more people like him around here."

Hermione rushed furiously from the Great Hall, only stopping when she reached her room.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Not more than ten minutes later, she sat in a comfortable armchair near a window in the library. Upon entering her room, she had caught sight of a brightly coloured magazine on her bed. A little note stuck to the front had read "Happy Birthday from P. and L." and had enough hearts drawn on it to inflict at least minor eye damage. The magazine was Cosmopolitan. Hermione had never heard of it before, but at that moment she hadn't particularly cared. So the magazine had been shoved in amongst the books in her bag and she had escaped to her personal sanctuary. She was attempting to work on a Transfigurations essay that wasn't due for another two weeks, but her mind simply wasn't up to the task. It kept wandering off to the more annoying matters at hand, such as why people seemed to forget she was indeed female. Her hair was aggravatingly bushy, her face was plain, and she was a bit on the skinny side, but did this qualify her as ugly?

With a sigh, she stuffed her parchment and Transfigurations book back in her bag and pulled out the magazine, curiosity now overruling homework. Large letters near the right corner caught her eye: Stylish Dos For ANY Type of Hair. Intrigued by the possibility that there might actually be hope for her hair, Hermione flipped to the indicated page after consulting the Table of Contents.

She had just begun reading the section for Curly/Frizzy hair when she heard a loud swishing of robes. Looking up slowly from her magazine, she noticed Snape striding toward her from the entrance of the library. She had to try her hardest not to scream at the mere sight of him. There he was: the man who had interrupted her thoughts ever since that fateful morning. And now here she was, quite obviously reading something inappropriate, and he was heading straight for her. Hermione despised the subject of Divination, but she was able to predict that if she didn't somehow hide the magazine, this would turn into yet another humiliating encounter. A detention would no doubt be included, and maybe a temporary ban from the library. The thought of being banned from the library was enough to make her cry.

With no plan of action and Snape stalking ever closer, Hermione did the first thing that came to mind. Shutting the magazine, she hurled it over her left shoulder where it fell on the top of the nearest bookcase. Gah, you idiot!

Professor Snape now stood in front of her, his eyebrow quirked in shock or amusement; it was hard to decide.

"Do tell me, Miss Granger, why you just threw that book? I doubt Madam Pince would be too pleased if she knew the Head Girl was damaging library books."

"Um…well…you see…I was just doing some research on the older wars, for History of Magic…and there were some…gruesome pictures. I found I simply couldn't handle it," she trailed off, fidgeting under his dark gaze.

"Enough. It's obvious to me now why you aren't a Slytherin."

"Pardon?"

"Miss Granger, you couldn't fool an inebriated house-elf with that pathetic excuse of a lie."

She would've liked to glare at him, but all she could do was gape like a fish and turn the same red as Ron's ears. She couldn't even think of a response. Damn him! He always makes me feel like a five-year-old.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for possibly damaging school property. Now, would you care to tell me why you are doing excess research on your birthday? Shouldn't you be out celebrating in Hogsmeade with Potter and Weasley?"

Hermione was shocked. How did he know it was her birthday? And how did he know she'd been given permission to go into Hogsmeade for a few hours with Harry and Ron?

"Professor, how do you know about my birthday?"

"Minerva McGonagall, how else? I couldn't stay in the staff room longer than two minutes at a time. The overwhelmingly sweet smell of far too much baking chocolate was enough to drive even Dumbledore mad."

Hermione fought back a giggle at the disgusted sneer on his face. It was apparent he wasn't a fan of chocolate.

"Not to mention being bombarded with your life trials and tribulations every time I got within a foot of that woman. If one didn't know, one would only assume you were her daughter. And before you ask, yes, that's how I know you can go to Hogsmeade."

"Well…I think I'll just…be going."

Hermione had flown into the corridor before you could say Quidditch, leaving Snape staring at an empty chair. Wondering about the so-called "gruesome pictures", he walked over to the bookcase and snatched the book off the top. No, it was a magazine, Cosmopolitan to be exact. His eyes nearly fell from their sockets when he read the words: How To Heat Up YOUR Sex Life.

Well, Head Girl Hermione Granger clearly had her own secrets to hide. Scowling, Severus Snape left the library, new issue of Cosmopolitan in tow.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

A nightmare. That's how you could describe her nineteenth birthday in two simple words. And now she had nothing to do but go back to her room. Harry and Ron would be in no mind to see her in Gryffindor tower. Going back to the library was out of the question. It was hard to tell when Snape could be lurking. She resigned herself to the idea of spending the evening of her birthday in her lonely room, with the company of a moody ball of fur and a singing flower.

Suddenly, she felt a soft tap on her shoulder. She spun around to face Draco Malfoy. It was awkward facing him, to say the least. Since the strange happenings in Potions the first day of school, they hadn't spoken to each other. That is to say, Draco hadn't called her "Mudblood", so she hadn't had the pleasure of responding. Snape had refrained from pairing them in later labs. People still questioned what went on when Draco and Hermione argued, but no one could come up with any ideas.

"Malfoy?"

"Granger."

"What do you want?" She tried to hide her obvious fear.

"Don't look so scared, I'm not my father," he bit back. Hermione stared. She had always had the impression that Draco was just a Lucius Malfoy clone. She thought Draco looked forward to following in his father's footsteps and claiming a close spot next to Voldemort. However, this last statement of his seemed enough to prove her wrong.

"Okay…what is it? Do you have a question about some homework?"

He gestured impatiently with his hand. "No, no." He suddenly looked very nervous. "I just…wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday. Here." He thrust a small velvety box into her hand.

"Malfoy…what…"

"It was my mother's favourite necklace. I wanted you to have it," he stated in an off-hand way.

"But…I've said horrible things about your mother! Why on earth would you want me to have it?"

"Look, Granger, you've got to be the most stubborn person I've ever known. When someone gives you something, you don't stand there and ask 'why'. They've obviously got a reason for giving it to you."

"Really? So what's yours, Malfoy?"

"Did I say they had to give their reason?" He arched an eyebrow and smirked at her. She had her arms crossed impatiently over her chest. "Fine. If you must know…there's something about you that reminds me of her. Or maybe…if she had wanted a daughter, she would've wanted her to be like you. I can't explain it, Granger. I just think she'd be honoured for you to have it, and that's what I'm trying to do: honour her. Now, if you so desire any more explanation than that, that's just too bad, because there's nothing more that I'll tell you. So, I suppose I'll be having my necklace back now." He held out his palm to her.

Hermione reached out a tentative hand to his, gently closing the fingers against his open palm. She smiled.

"Thank you, Malfoy," she barely whispered in the dark corridor.