CHAPTER TWENTY—The Birthday Party
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Severus tugged his lapels straighter. "Why are you bothering to impress Hermione?" he asked his reflection. "Your best chance is a school girl infatuation—and she'll be cured of that quickly enough once she graduates."
For the longest time, Severus had no one to impress. So far, it had been exhausting.
"Let's get this over with," he grumbled. The professor stowed his wand safely in his jacket before leaving.
LINE
Hermione rearranged her curls, wondering if Severus would attend the party. She feared he had burned the invitation after she had left his office. Yet she preened in the mirror anyway. On the slim chance he did show up at the party, Hermione wanted to look good. Though it hardly mattered—he saw her everyday and knew what she looked like in normal circumstances.
"There's not much more I can do," she conceded.
"Ready, Hermione?" Luna called from the sitting room.
"Coming!" She packed her wand into her beaded purse.
Hermione, Luna and Minerva arrived at the Three Broomsticks early to decorate. Luna's green dress had an intricate leaf pattern that really didn't complement the radish earrings and necklace, but didn't clash either. Minerva wore a chocolate brown skirt and waist coat over a white shirt. Her tiny waist made Hermione want to hold her breath the whole night. The three hung streamers from the bar and over the windows and doorways, and had them crisscross the ceiling.
Madam Rosmerta and her staff were cooking up something scrumptious in the kitchen and polishing the elf wine glasses. The band arrived at quarter 'til and erected a stage. Madam Rosmerta had already moved all the tables against the walls to clear a space for dancing.
George had arranged for horse drawn carriages to pick up everyone else from Hogwarts invited to the party. The carriages held five adults comfortably, so Hagrid opted to walk. In one carriage, Professor Flitwick argued with Madam Hooch about the latest Nimbus broom model, while Neville and Professor Sprout peaceably agreed the Flutterby Bushes were blooming at a marvelous, steady pace.
In the following carriage, Poppy let Sybill teach her the "myshtic shyence of palm reading." Madam Pomfrey and Severus sat across from one another, Sybill kneeling on the floor, Aurora squeezed primly between Severus and Minerva.
Earlier, Aurora had confided in him—I remember everything, she had said. The war, the recovery. Do you?
He gave a reluctant yes.
She put a hand on his shoulder. "I still stand by those charts."
Hogsmeade was lit up with strings of burning candles and packed with Thestral- and horse-drawn carriages. Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood were the only press allowed inside the Three Broomsticks for the party. The others shouted questions as guests arrived and dangled Extendible Ears from the chimney. George Weasley, with Angelina Johnson on his arm, nudged some soot into the fleshy blobs.
The Hogwarts staff, and Ginny's other classmates arrived. Harry came in next with Kingsley.
"Look smart," Harry said as Hermione hugged him. "Kingsley is going to introduce you to a lot of people."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Great."
Ginny and her parents came in next.
"Happy birthday!" her friends cheered. Ginny laughed, a bit overwhelmed and red in the face.
The Three Broomsticks filled up with people, some of whom Hermione only recognized by seeing their faces in the Prophet on occasion. Hermione saw Professor Dumbledore talking with some of the staff, and strained to see Severus, who hid in the headmaster's shadow.
She suddenly wished she had spent more time in front of the mirror, despite Ginny tussling with her hair for an hour and a half to make it behave. The idea of dancing with Severus gave her butterflies—that then melted into nausea at the thought of him turning her down.
Not wanting to be caught staring, she examined the rest of the room. Kingsley was headed towards her, some men and women in expensive robes at his heels. Time to look smart, she thought as she extended her hand to the Minister of Magic, smiling at the others.
LINE
Minerva and Albus each chose an hors d'oeuvre, but Severus declined, his ingrained paranoia fully recovered.
"I have a problem," Albus mentioned after a sip of wine. Three chairs slid from underneath a nearby table and stopped behind Albus's and Minerva's legs. Severus remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders against the wall.
"I plan on leaving the school. Perhaps permanently."
Severus and Minerva each expressed their alarm, she with open-mouthed concern and he with narrowed eyes.
"And I do not know whom to offer the headmaster position—the next in line, or the one who has already experienced the job?"
"I do not want it." Severus sullenly turned his head the other direction. He had suffered through the indignity already and didn't fancy hearing the death threats and rumors the second time around.
"Albus, why?" Minerva pressed.
"A piece of Tom is still out there." He glanced up at Severus. "The last piece."
"You can think of no one better qualified?" Severus asked, still looking at the busy bar instead of his employer.
"A zookeeper, perhaps?" Dumbledore remarked, wine glass to his lips.
"Someone who gets paid to deal with the darker arts." Severus scowled down at him.
"No." Dumbledore rested his wine glass atop his knee. "I am old, and will not be missed."
"That's not true," Minerva said, hushed.
"We have a new generation of great wizards, more than enough to replace me." Albus indicated the room at large, the school children mingling with Wizengamot elite. "I don't know many people who could handle Tom Riddle on a good day—let alone in a snake's body."
Severus and Minerva glanced to Potter, who had his hand twined with Miss Weasley's near the large fireplace.
"I have asked too much of him," Albus said. "I do, in fact, believe I am qualified to handle the situation, Severus."
You go and poison yourself, and now you've a second chance, Severus thought, scowling in Rolanda's direction as she challenged the Seeker for the Chudley Cannons to an arm wrestling match. Toss it away, if you want. Severus cricked his neck at his hypocrisy.
If Severus had not de-aged along with Dumbledore, he would have volunteered to hunt that snake down, equally pleased if he had turned out victorious or dead. But now he had no scar, no venom lingering in his tendons. He was healthy, and assumed he wasn't in such a horrid temper because of it.
He would not acknowledge that his new disposition was Hermione's doing, but his eyes scanned the room for her. When he located her, she was laughing politely at something Shacklebolt had said. Did she really want to deal with the politicians around her, every day?
Another group of blue bloods intercepted the group, drawing everyone's attention from 'Mione. She said something to the minister and headed the opposite direction. The conversation between he, Minnie and Albus had puttered out, so he pushed off the wall and headed towards a tray of Butterbeers.
LINE
Hermione shook her hair from her face as she found one of the few relatively people-free spots in the tavern. She stood next to a large, laden-down coat rack. An hour of pleasantries and answering questions had left her throat dry. As she idly twirled a strand of hair around her finger, the band's background music turned into a jazzy dance tune. A few people wandered to the dance floor, then a few more, until roughly half of the party had found someone to dance with.
The Weasleys were in a cluster at the center, Arthur and Molly near Harry and Ginny, Bill spinning Fleur so quickly her skirt fanned out. George led Angelina Johnson by the hand, then gave her an exaggerated bow. She responded with a curtsy before they lined up in a stiff-backed waltz despite the upbeat tempo. It was nice to see George happy. Hermione scanned the crowd for the rest of the Weasleys—Charlie was talking with Hagrid, both of them making wide motions with their arms, causing the waitresses to duck underneath the half-giant's gestures. Lavender was tugging Ron away from his brother so they could dance as well.
Hermione gripped her dress, no doubt wrinkling the satin down by her thighs. She looked elsewhere but could only find couples; Luna was chatting with the Scamanders that had just arrived, the youngest man of the bunch quite attentive to everything Luna said. Professor Wrinkle and Professor Vector were dancing off to the less busy side of the floor, no doubt hoping no one would comment on the vast age difference between them, now. Neville was dancing with Professor Sprout, Rolanda pulling faces at Pomona every time she caught her eye.
Wow. Hermione slumped onto the windowsill, a coat rack giving her a smidge of privacy from everyone else. I am so alone. She had no idea Ginny's birthday party would give her a feeling of inevitable spinsterhood.
What was she doing with her life? Twenty years old and she had only kissed two boys in that entire time? Did she come off so frigid? Was she only good for school projects, or ministry positions? She was in the prime of her life with interesting things just ahead, but instead of enjoying herself she was sitting in a windowsill that had a bit of a draft, feeling sorry.
She didn't begrudge everyone else their happiness—but dammit if she didn't want it too. They seemed to have it so easy, though.
From her seat, she could glimpse the edge of Fleur's pale blue dress, or a flash of Ginny's long hair swinging. You're pathetic, she told herself. She huffed as she plopped her chin onto her fist, her elbow on her knee. Everyone else had boyfriends or girlfriends their own age while she crushed on her bloody professor like a dolt.
Whoever had reversed Professor Dumbledore's age had really cocked up Hermione's life. She had narrowed down her list of suspects, and leaned around the coat rack to scout them out. But she couldn't, for the life of her, figure out why Bill or George—even at the behest of Mr Weasley—would want to make Dumbledore younger. They were the only two in the Order with the basic knowledge of Muggles and the mental aptitude to finagle such a powerful powder. And, while Dumbledore may be a great man, he did not seem the sort to have such as large an ego as to want to live forever, so he did not devise it on his own. (Madam Pomfrey confirmed that the headmaster had not been brewing anything in the time he was under her care, right before he had absconded in the night all those months ago.)
Ron and Lavender shuffled at Bill's side. Hermione looked at Lavender's perfect ringlets before picking up a strand of her own dull brown waves. Ginny had spent a good while charming Hermione's hair into long curls, but they were underwhelming compared to Lavender. To Ginny. To Fleur, Minerva, Aurora.
She put her head back in her hands and pouted. "Cursed with pretty friends," she grumbled. "Good thing you have your brains."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone in dark clothes approaching just before he arrived. "I brought these." Hermione recognized Sev's voice before her eyes slanted up to meet his. "But if you're already talking to yourself, you may not need another drink."
He offered her a tankard of Butterbeer.
She accepted it, looked at the honeyed liquid, then downed a gulp. Severus had one eyebrow raised, never having seen her imbibe alcohol before, nor like a seasoned drinker.
She pulled the cup from her lips and scooted over on the windowsill. He sat as she drank down more Butterbeer. The professor took a cautious drink, still watching her.
"Might I ask why you're hiding back here?"
"I'm not hiding." She shook her head.
"You certainly aren't visible."
"You're looking right at me," she challenged. The music around them slowed down and the lights dimmed to purple. Hermione threw back some more Butterbeer, wishing for the first time in her life she had something stronger.
"Is it Weasley?" Severus asked.
She set her drink on her lap. "No," she sighed. "It's…I'm feeling sorry for myself amidst all the happy," she crinkled her nose and indicated the dancers.
"Why aren't you happy?"
She shrugged, feeling immensely stupid for saying it out loud: "They're all paired off and I'm not."
"And that, being 'paired off,' would make you happy?" She saw a twist and tilt of his eyebrows, probably meant to be mocking.
Hermione looked up at the ceiling, realizing that she was not like this a year ago, or even a few months ago. A year ago she was concerned about Snatchers. In August, she was concerned about her parents, and then she worried about her N.E.W.T.s a bit. Perhaps this was the natural progression of things, now that she was in the safe environs of Hogwarts instead of a musty tent. But she rather thought it was the powder's fault that she was feeling particularly lonely, knowing the one wizard she liked thought of her as a silly chit, or hell, maybe even a big sister after his stint as a child.
Hermione lifted the tankard. She looked down to find that Severus had his hand atop it. Expecting he wanted an answer, she faced him and said, "I don't know—"
She was cut off by his lips on hers. The two were still, their lips pressed together, the window's draft blowing on their shoulders. Severus pulled away and the two were still, eyes locked, both taken aback.
At once they leaned forward to kiss again, Severus's hand still clutching the rim of her tankard. Hermione curled her other hand around his arm and gripped his sleeve. His long nose dug into her cheek, but she didn't care—she wanted to be as close to him as possible. She opened her mouth to breathe and felt Severus's tongue barely touch her bottom lip. She thrust forward for one last, long kiss before they separated.
If his pale cheeks were flushed, Hermione's surely must have been. He raised his hand from her Butterbeer, as if he had just stumbled into a den of snakes on accident and was trying to back away.
"I shouldn't have," he murmured.
Hermione was dazed. "No, I suppose not."
The two jumped at Minerva's triumphant shout. She was walking around the coat rack, hands on her hips.
"You two are hiding back here like a pair of pygmy puffs and I simply won't stand for it." The Transfiguration professor pulled Severus's tankard from his hand and yanked on his arm until he stood. "You two are going to dance and that's final." She took Hermione's drink as well, setting them both on the window sill. When she turned back to find both Hermione and Severus still staring at each other she shoved them to the dance floor.
"I picked a waltz for you, Severus, so don't balk." Minerva fluttered her hands at them, only stopping when Hermione put her hand in Severus's, and he put his hand at her waist. Minerva hopped out of the way so the other couples wouldn't bowl her over; Severus and Hermione had to do the same.
As Severus led, the two stared at each other, each with wide-eyed trepidation.
Hermione swallowed. "You could kiss me again, if you wanted."
"I'm your teacher," he responded with an even lower voice than hers.
"I'm your friend," she retorted with a bit of a reprimand in her eyes.
"And how much longer is that going to last?" he demanded, coming to a stop.
George said, "Oy!" when he knocked into Severus's shoulder.
The two resumed their waltz, scowling at each other. "Will returning to your normal age really make that much of a difference?"
He glanced away for a moment. When he met her eyes again, they were hardened, and angry.
"You are exactly the same in here, right?" she tapped one of her temples.
"Clearly I'm not if I just kissed a student," he hissed between his teeth.
"I'm not going to be a student much longer," she hissed back.
"And I'm not going to be your age much longer," he snapped.
Hermione ripped her hands away a second before the waltz ended. "I don't care," she declared, firmly.
"I do." His hands were clenched at his sides.
People had noticed the negative vibes around the two. A faster song began and the two resumed a waltz stance, continued to glare as well.
"Why?" Hermione asked as he swung them through the crowd of taffeta dresses. "Because I'm some twenty-year-old idiot?"
He dragged her close, tightly gripping her hand. "Because you're a twenty-year-old with a whole life to live without some damned Death Eater hanging about."
"If I want to hang out with a damned Death Eater I will." She packed her voice with as much vitriol she could muster. "And if I want to hang out with a stubborn ex-Death Eater I will."
"Don't be a martyr."
"You don't be a martyr," she hissed as she gave his chest a small shove. He had stopped them by the front door. "You're allowed to be happy. And frankly, maybe that's what this second chance was for."
"This 'second chance' was an accident." His jaw was set like a predator, his eyes snapping a synonym for raised hackles.
"That doesn't mean you shouldn't take it." Her voice was equally serious. Severus turned and pushed the door open. Cold February air swept in, buffeted Hermione's hair and dress. She rubbed her glamoured mudblood scar until she clutched her forearm, glaring at the closed door.
When she returned her gaze to the dance floor, she noticed Minerva looking at her in confusion. Luna peered at Hermione over the Scamander boy's shoulder. Hermione stalked over to Hagrid and didn't leave his side for the rest of the night.
