Chapter Twelve: Party Looks

"Hello, Miss Vialle, I hope I find you well?" A cheerful but still vaguely serious voice startled me out of my thoughts and I turned around to see Professor McGonagall – well, Minerva now that we were colleagues – standing there. She looked much as she ever did in her long, green-lined robes and ancient looking witch's hat, though I saw a few more lines on her face than she had when I was in school. I wondered vaguely why I hadn't noticed them before, but then realized that an old person's face was not really an area of particular interest to me. It felt odd to refer to Minerva as being old, but I supposed that she must be getting there by now, what with the wispy grey hairs that were beginning to form around her temples.

"Very well, thank you," I replied, reluctantly tearing myself away from the amazing pasta salad. "Do we get this pasta salad often? It's really fantastic."

"Yes, the house-elves are quite fond of their recipe, as I understand it," she said, looking fondly upon the food as though it were her child. "I am too, for that matter. Lovely stuff, wouldn't you agree, Severus?"

He turned around slowly to face her, looking mildly irked. "Of course, Headmistress." His tone was as cool and silky as ever, and it was suddenly clear to me that he was the perfect head of Slytherin house. He was as cold, slithery and hostile as his mascot. I wondered who would be the head of Slytherin after he left. I hadn't really thought about it much, but I had to wonder whether it was tied to the subject or whether it was given to the Professor most suited to the role. Perhaps I would even be head of Slytherin one day, if it were the former. If it were the latter, I doubt there's any way I would qualify. I was like the opposite of a snake – I didn't consider myself cold, slithery or hostile at all. I was more like some kind of small bird, or woodland creature. Perhaps a furred sea mammal? Or a caterpillar, maybe. Once I'd successfully retrieved myself from my odd mammalian tangent, Minerva had turned back to me.

"Can we expect you tonight, Miss Vialle?" she said, and I could see Severus turn stiff and uncomfortable again beside me. It was a most odd turn of events, seeing as I had no idea what Minerva was talking about, and no idea why Severus was acting that way.

"Sorry, but I've no idea what you're talking about," I said with what I hoped was a sincere smile. I wasn't entirely sure how to act, and she could probably see it, but she didn't call me on it.

"The staff party," she said, looking surprised. She turned her gaze onto Severus. "Really, Severus, I asked you to tell her about it yesterday. Or did it slip your mind?" He opened his mouth to respond but I butted in, excited.

"What party?"

"Traditionally, the teaching staff of Hogwarts have a small get-together on the Friday evening of the first weekend of the school year, to celebrate surviving the students for the first week," she said, still looking confused as to why Severus hadn't told me. I was confused too. "It will be held in the staff room this evening at eight p.m. Now, can we expect you tonight?"

"Of course, Headmistress," I said. "I'll definitely be there." I wasn't sure if I was supposed to call her Minerva or Headmistress, but since Severus had gone with the latter I had followed suit. At any rate, she nodded her approval at me and then walked back to her own seat to finish her lunch. I turned back to face Severus, who seemed to be deeply engrossed in his quiche.

"So, Severus," I said, putting my elbows on the table and lowering my head to look at him properly, since he was moderately hunched over, "why didn't you tell me about this staff party thing? And don't give me that 'slipped your mind' crap, because that's not going to work with me."

He raised his head to peer intently at me, making me feel decidedly uncomfortable. I knew what he was trying to do; he was trying to unnerve me. But I wasn't going to back down. Not even if he cast that weird iris-expanding spell again. I mean, sure, he'd denied it at the time, but who was I going to believe? Not him, that's for damn sure. I'd believe my own eyes, and if they told me that Severus had cast a spell, and they had, I'd believe them like a shot. My body parts don't lie to me, because they know that if they did, I'd cut them off. That's why I let my pinky go all black and frost-bitten. It lied to me. It said that I didn't need a coat to go to Russia. It told me that Russia had a very tropical climate, and that everything I'd ever heard about Russia being cold was just lies fed to me by the French propaganda units. Well, that was all a pack of lies, so I got rid of it. That should teach it a lesson. I got a brand-new finger that would never lie to me, unless of course I asked it to. It's very loyal to me. It's like a dog. A dog-finger.

"Raphaela," Severus said, cutting into my thoughts, "are you aware that every time I look at you, you've got a very peculiar glazed-over look about you?"

"That is such a lie," I said, staring directly back at him so that I'd reduce my glazed-over-ness. "I'm not glazed right now."

"Yes, but in about four seconds you'll drift off again," he said confidently, still peering. I would not. I don't drift off or get glazy. He had no idea what he was talking about. Who thought of the name tea tree? Perhaps someone planted a teabag in the exact same spot as a tea tree was about to grow anyway and they thought that the tree sprang from the bag. What an idiot that guy must have been. I sure do like tea. I'm not sure I've ever disliked tea, but there was a time when I forgot how great it was and I – "You're doing it."

"I am not!" I cried out, pounding the table with my fist. "You're a liar. Anyway, why didn't you tell me about the party?"

"I… wasn't sure how to tell you without it sounding like…" he stopped suddenly, breaking the eye contact and looking back at his lunch. "I wasn't sure how to tell you."

One thing was for sure, there was something he wasn't telling me. He might curse me if I pushed it though, so I decided to just let it be for now and concentrate on my awesome pasta salad. Unfortunately, it was just disappearing from the plates when I turned back around. Oh well, I figured I'd had enough anyway. If I'd had any more I probably would have felt sick, and the stench from the dungeons wouldn't have helped. It'd just get worse and I'd throw up pasta salad into some kid's cauldron and then their teeth-whitening potion would explode and bleach their face off. And worst of all, I doubted the salad would taste as good coming up as it did going down.