Title: A most accommodating invitation
Author: empressizzy on livejournal, Fortyfive Stars on
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
A/N: I would like to give credit to the author duj, whose stories have provided me with
interesting new angles on HP. Especially the story "Everything I've ever done: reunion"
and the chapter "Dragging a family" influenced Hermione's arguments strongly in this chapter.
I suggest you go read it, it's very, very good.
Hermione was troubled, and she fell back on the routine she usually employed these days when such
a mood befell her. She drew a bath, she put on a pot of tea – and she flooed Ron.
True to his nature he turned up soon enough, grumbling good-naturedly about her taxing his lunch
break even further. She easily made up for it with a table set up for two, loaded with delicious dishes
and snacks.
Hermione was in many ways an unorthodox witch who preferred modern times but when it came to tea
she was very traditional indeed.
Tea –and its necessary components such as five different sorts of marmalade, additional jam and jelly
sorts, real muffins with a lot of butter the proper english way and caraway cake- was not a thing to be
taken lightly. A subtle swish of her wand set newly baked, steaming buttermilk scones on the table,
and her fruit tarts were enough to make anyone consider gastric pains a small price.
"Give Luna the recipe for the cornbread and the apricot fruit tart, won't you?" Ron commented, after
silence and sounds of munching had been the only conversation for a while. He helped her clear the
table the muggle way, and it was finally time to get down to business.
"Maybe you should just learn to make it yourself," she replied archly, but smiled.
"Maybe." he said, appearing entirely unconcerned and stretching out his long, gangly legs with the
obvious pleasure of one who has had good food, good company and looks forward to the prospect of
a good nap.
Hermione was vaguely aware that Ron had become quite good-looking over the years, in the quiet,
nice everyday sort of way. He didn't look much to the world – the cheerful, peaceful freckled type- but
she knew that when he bothered to dress up –in dress robes without frills and frippery these days- he
was surprisingly dashing. Broad shoulders, tall, a friendly, open face that didn't look as unformed or
out of proportion as it had during their school days. The rest of his body had finally caught up with him.
"So what's bothering you? I thought we'd already gone over the Snape incident?"
"Yes," she said slowly, uncertainly, "But there is something about it that I can't.. it's
so frustrating, it's something I know but whenever I try to pin it down it just… slips away."
He stared incredulously at her. "Are you trying to tell me… you're having a hunch? You?"
She flushed. "Don't know what else to call it. It's just a feeling, something odd. Like there's something
that shouldn't be there, something that jars, you know? Oh, I'm just talking nonsense here!" she burst
out, exasperated with herself. But Ron nodded slowly, and tapped the tip of his nose.
"Perhaps not… let's look at it again. Just listen to me and… shake your head if I'm wrong. So Malfoy
comes in, and you don't recognise him… until Snape enters, and clearly demonstrates they're in the
same company." He looked at her closely for any signs of an awakening memory.
"Right. Nothing so far. Then you… what? You talk about those odd shell-fish things you're so exited
about these days- ow, don't swat me, I'm doing us a favour here! … right, and then he insults you and
you fly at him. Malfoy holds you back, and— what?"
"That's it!" she breathed, astonishing Ron by slamming her palm flat on the table. "That's what's
wrong, but—" she frowned. "How did he know? How did he know?"
"Who? What? … huh?" Ron smiled wryly. "Clearly something important just transpired but honestly, it
went right over my head."
"Snape," Hermione burst out impatiently, " that's what's wrong. I don't know why I didn't remember it
before – I must have forgotten it in the heat of the moment. He… it wasn't that he insulted me that
made me react like that. He… knows about Ginny, Ron. Don't ask me how yet, I don't know, but I
know that he knows. If that makes sense."
Ron froze, and momentarily his face became a stony mask. Then he forced himself to relax.
"Well, well… are you sure?" she nodded and he closed his eyes briefly. He trusted Hermione fully and
if she said she was certain of it, then it was so.
"That… is not so good. At all."
"We have to stay calm, Ron. We don't know anything yet besides that, remember. Let's… think this
through, carefully. Right. So, the most important questions… how does he know?"
He nodded. The years since Hogwarts had matured not only his body but his mind as well, making
Ron a moderately insightful person and a more than adept chessplayer, dangerous because of his
dazzling strategics and ability to analyse the situations on the board in depth.
"Who told him, but maybe that's the same thing. Maybe. Why hasn't he told anyone? Anti-government
groups would pay him very well to get their hands on stuff like this…"
She frowned. "You're right, this doesn't make sense. Why would he sit tight on information like that?"
"And," she forged on, "you know what I have always wondered? What possessed Neville that day?
Why did he let Snape go free? Why wouldn't he let us sit in on the trial?"
Ron shrugged. "Resentment. Think he's forgiven us yet for what we did to him? I don't think so."
"It was necessary!""It was bloody stupid, and you know it."
A pause. "Yes. I know. Poor Neville…" she flashed a smile of hurt and fond remembrance. "I do feel
sorry for him, a bit. I know he didn't want to be Minister, and to be forced into it only after Harry, you
and I had passed up on it… how is he these days? He still won't talk to me. I've stopped trying to get
in touch with him."
"Luna tells me he's pretty good. They… talk, I guess, every now and then. But that's neither here nor
there – let's get back to Snape."
Ron considered for a moment, hands steepled together, and Hermione patiently waited.
"The way I see it," he said at last in a slow, lingering sort of way, "we can either sit here guessing… or we
can ask the man himself. No, no, wait – don't call me a twit just yet. I was thinking of a, a party or
something; maybe we could have a large Victory dinner? It has been—3 years, after all. Damn.
Should've been an even number." He waved his hands vaguely. "But something like that."
Hermione tapped her chin. "Ye-e-s… the idea has merit, I admit. In a crowd, and if we set someone
else up as host, then no one would really notice if we holed up with him for a while, would they?
They'd just think we were somewhere else."
"Yeah… it sounds as if we could do it. I think he'd accept the invitation, too – you know that the former
death eaters have had a hard time trying to get back into society, and since Snape was kicked out of
old Hoggy," ("I really wish you wouldn't call it that," Hermione muttered and he winked.) "I hear he's
mostly been doing short-term jobs for one company or another. Yes, I think we can safely say he'll
come."
"No doubt. The most important is actually what poor sod we'll foist the role as host on. I mean, we can
host it at the Monstrous Mansion. In fact, I rather think we should. A bitremote, large, many nooks and
crannies… sounds like just what we need."
Ron snorted. The Monstrous Mansion was Hermione's loving name for the country estate she had
been given after the war ended. It was part of her 'reward for brave deeds' – the single act of standing
by Harry's side had enabled both Ron and Hermione to retire before they even turned twenty, had
they wanted to. They even had titles, and land somewhere.
Of course mansion was a bit misleading. Palace more justified the description of the house, and the
quite enormous grounds belonging to it.
They looked at each other, then at once Hermione said "Molly," and Ron exclaimed, "Mom!"
"Oh goody, then that's settled. Work your magic on old mum won't you, although I have a feeling she
won't be too negatively dispositioned to it." Hermione said sarcastically.
"I rather think you're right," Ron admitted with a long-suffering sigh. The falling silence was punctuated
by his fingers drumming a blithe melody on the table.
"Speaking of which… sort of, anyway… have you noticed how lately Neville's begun to…"
"Think for himself and not asking Harry's permission everytime he has to visit the bathrom?" she
finished dryly. Ron nodded, grinning.
"Yes, I have noticed, and I think it's about time. He's the Minister, for Merlin's sake, and then he should
damn well act like it."
"I think Neville's always felt it's Harry's rightful post, though."
"Haven't we all?" Hermione replied sardonically. "Maybe even Harry himself… you know, I've often
wondered why he never accepted it, because frankly he's already running the show what with the way
Neville's constantly asking for advice on how to do this or handle that crisis. At first I thought he was
doing it to be nice but that doesn't account for why Neville's suddenly and unexpectedly revived
independency is making Harry throw temper tantrums… he is, don't deny it. Maybe… because he
wants to be like Dumbledore."
"And would that be so bad?" Ron retorted mildly, and she scowled.
"We were just children, Ron! He had no right to ask that kind of sacrifice of us, no right at all. Always
covert, always acting on his own whims and manipulating people. Why didn't he offer us real guidance
instead of 'Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak'?"
"He was a great man." Ron said quietly and stared into the dregs of tea leaves left at the bottom of his
cup as if they could tell him the answer to the riddle of the universe. (Professor Trelawney would have
said they could.)
"Yes, but who said greatness is the same as goodness? He meant well, Ron, I genuinely believe that,
but he went about it the wrong way. He made mistakes. We were too young to see it then, but don't
you see now? He shouldn't have estranged the public or the Ministry, he should have joined forces
with the government for our safety."
"The Ministry was corrupt. They were against us."
"Oh, that's just excuses! He could have fixed it! Dumbledore could have had them eating out of his
hand, so why didn't he use his influence to sway them towards us? He could have fixed the Ministry,
he could have been the Ministry. But no, he preferred working outside of the law. When a great threat
such as Voldemort" (Ron winced) "arises then there shouldn't be a rebel army –that's what the order
was, after all- - where was I? Right, then there shouldn't be a rebel army working against government
forces. That's undermining your own defence, and you know it!"
"And yet you followed him like the rest od us."
"No. Everything I did, I did for Harry. Besides, what choice did I have? It wasn't possible to be neutral,
after all. And I never said I thought like I do now back then. In a way, I sort of envy you, because you
still think Dumbledore was, was… omnipotent, and all-knowing and wise. And I, well… I don't."
Ron sighed. "Harry won't agree with you."
"Don't I know it." Hermione said in a voice bitter and black like ash. "But then Harry and I don't agree
on many things at all these days." She cleared her throat determinedly. "Enough about that. I'll invite
the Clarks and the Turrowtons… oh, stop it. We must be seen as open-minded, it's essential. Besides,
they're very diverting people."
"And I'll invite miss Marple, too, and ask her to bring her nephew. They're both very nice."
He placed gentle hands on her shoulders and drew her into his embrace.
"Oh, Hermione. You do know I love you, don't you?"
A thrill of elation went through her body and she laughed. "I know. I'm just so loveable."
Ron ruffled her hair.
"Girls," he huffed. "Not a shred of humility or decency in you."
She grinned.
"No," Hermione replied cheerfully, stepping back to smooth down her hair insofar as it was possible.
"Not possible for someone who's so clever as me. I'm proud of you, Ron."
They shared a smile, content to just sit quietly and share a moment of friendship. Then Hermione
glanced at the clock and appeared to shrug off the suddenly sentimental atmosphere.
"Goodness, look at the time – you must be off, really. Give Luna my love – oh, and tell her she had
better not decide to go into labour before Christmas. Now please go – my bath is waiting for me."
- -
Scarcely two days later a festively decorated envelope arrived in the owl post, an ornate, flourishing
style declaring it was adressed to Mr. Severus Snape, Nr. 13 Winthrop Square, second floor on the
left.
The ink was red and glittered tantalizingly in the sunlight streaming in through the moderately clean
windows of his small, somewhat dingy apartment. When he brought it closer he felt a subtle but slowly
overpowering smell of perfume, and he wrinkled his nose.
Glitter. Perfume. As if the writer on purpose had launched on some sort of holy crusade to offend his
senses.
But when Severus pulled out a gilt-edged invitation written on thick, cream white paper everything was
forgiven – or at least for the moment forgotten.
He read the invitation twice, bending down over it so close that his nose almost touched the paper to
make sure not a word passed him by. Then he straightened up and a small smile danced over the thin
lips. Briefly the sharp-edged face looked softer, kinder. He slowly pushed the envelope around on the
table and sent the dishes to the sink with a distracted tap of his wand. "A most accommodating
invitation, indeed."
