Happy Birthday, Severus
Title: Happy Birthday, Severus
Team Name: The Order of the Phoenix
Rating: all ages
Characters: Severus, Hermione, others mentioned
Word Count: 8 x 100
Challenge: Severus’ Birthday
He’d been at the Ministry all afternoon, dealing with the bureaucracy Minerva didn’t wish to handle herself. She told him it was her old bones, not wanting to face the cold or the Floo, but a glance at the calendar told him it was just an excuse.
When he came back, he’d no doubt be diverted to the staff room or the Headmistress’ office. There, he’d be forced to endure his co-workers’ horrid singing and pathetic attempts at being friendly to him, and he’d have to pretend to be grateful for whatever odds and ends they foisted off on him.
***
All he wanted was to go straight to his rooms: a roaring fire, a finger or three of Firewhisky to warm his belly, and the time and solitude to get lost in the newest issue of Ars Alchemica.
Big, brown eyes and a warm smile flitted to the forefront of his mind, but he viciously shoved the image to the side. No, he really wanted to be alone this evening. He’d spent hours with the Board of Governors, his mind working furiously to stay two steps ahead as he reconciled Minerva’s ideas with what the Board members wanted to hear.
***
He sighed, stepping off the road and into the courtyard. He was tired, and the date reminded him that he wasn’t getting any younger. He hadn’t reached the dignified age of ninety-eight, as Minerva had, but sixty-one was not exactly young, either. His pride had kept him from asking for a carriage to take him to the gates, and the Floo made him wheeze, but he grumpily concluded that today would be the last time he walked the long road between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade ... at least in winter. Edging around a patch of ice, he started up the stone steps.
***
Who would Minerva send to divert him, he wondered. Mum? No, that wouldn’t work; she had breakfasted with him. No need for her to wish him a happy birthday twice. Minerva herself wouldn’t bother, being content to be the architect of his humiliation.
Granger, perhaps? Minerva, damn her, had caught him staring at the girl twice in the past month.
He stepped into the castle. Merlin’s beard, he was cold! He wondered what would happen if he told the pretty Arithmancy mistress that his lips were frozen, but then he dismissed the absurd idea as quickly as he’d thought it.
***
No one. The entrance hall was deserted.
So much the better, he told himself. He ducked behind a tapestry and started downstairs. The thought occurred to him that they could be waiting in his rooms, drinking his Ogden’s and pawing his books. He scowled at the idea and made his way down the corridor. Bracing himself, he disabled the wards and turned the latch.
Darkness.
A non-verbal spell set the lamps and hearth aglow.
Utter stillness. Not the crowded, ersatz silence of a dozen people hiding behind furniture and doorways.
He blinked. Had Minerva actually listened to him this year?
***
‘Happy birthday, Severus!’
He started, whipping his wand out as he spun. Smiling, Granger emerged from his lavatory, a vase of chrysanthemums in her hands.
His scowl returned. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Hagrid wanted to throw you a party when you got back, but you finally convinced Minerva that it wouldn’t be welcome. After sacrificing your afternoon off to deal with the Board on her behalf, she dissuaded the rest of us from celebrating anyway. But I didn’t want to let your birthday go by wholly ignored.’ She tugged at the tablecloth under the flowers, smoothing out an nonexistent wrinkle.
***
‘You’re expected at dinner, of course, and you’ll probably have to suffer through felicitations then, but I wanted to give you your present now. It’s cold outside, after all, and I thought it might warm you up ... make you more comfortable.’
Apparently, she had not completely ditched her habit of rambling when she was ill at ease. He raised a sarcastic eyebrow, and she cleared her throat, cheeks colouring slightly.
Gesturing to a basket on his desk, she repeated, ‘Happy birthday.’
He was taken aback by her warm lips on his cheek. She was gone before he remembered to breathe.
***
Better see what she’s up to. Brows still knitted together, he pulled his gloves off and approached his desk. Inside the basket were several jars, containing various oils, salts, and unguents. Nestled among them was a small booklet titled Aromatherapy ... whatever that was.
He gently opened and sniffed at each container, his sensitive nose identifying the contents. Ridiculous woman, he thought as he looked at the label on the eucalyptus-scented stuff: ‘Bath Salts.’ Undressing one-handed, he made his way to the lavatory.
While resting in the too-warm, pleasantly-scented water, he decided that Hermione Granger was not entirely without good sense.
***SSHG***
Inspired by a moment from, of all places, Star Trek: the Next Generation.
Team Name: The Order of the Phoenix
Rating: all ages
Characters: Severus, Hermione, others mentioned
Word Count: 8 x 100
Challenge: Severus’ Birthday
He’d been at the Ministry all afternoon, dealing with the bureaucracy Minerva didn’t wish to handle herself. She told him it was her old bones, not wanting to face the cold or the Floo, but a glance at the calendar told him it was just an excuse.
When he came back, he’d no doubt be diverted to the staff room or the Headmistress’ office. There, he’d be forced to endure his co-workers’ horrid singing and pathetic attempts at being friendly to him, and he’d have to pretend to be grateful for whatever odds and ends they foisted off on him.
***
All he wanted was to go straight to his rooms: a roaring fire, a finger or three of Firewhisky to warm his belly, and the time and solitude to get lost in the newest issue of Ars Alchemica.
Big, brown eyes and a warm smile flitted to the forefront of his mind, but he viciously shoved the image to the side. No, he really wanted to be alone this evening. He’d spent hours with the Board of Governors, his mind working furiously to stay two steps ahead as he reconciled Minerva’s ideas with what the Board members wanted to hear.
***
He sighed, stepping off the road and into the courtyard. He was tired, and the date reminded him that he wasn’t getting any younger. He hadn’t reached the dignified age of ninety-eight, as Minerva had, but sixty-one was not exactly young, either. His pride had kept him from asking for a carriage to take him to the gates, and the Floo made him wheeze, but he grumpily concluded that today would be the last time he walked the long road between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade ... at least in winter. Edging around a patch of ice, he started up the stone steps.
***
Who would Minerva send to divert him, he wondered. Mum? No, that wouldn’t work; she had breakfasted with him. No need for her to wish him a happy birthday twice. Minerva herself wouldn’t bother, being content to be the architect of his humiliation.
Granger, perhaps? Minerva, damn her, had caught him staring at the girl twice in the past month.
He stepped into the castle. Merlin’s beard, he was cold! He wondered what would happen if he told the pretty Arithmancy mistress that his lips were frozen, but then he dismissed the absurd idea as quickly as he’d thought it.
***
No one. The entrance hall was deserted.
So much the better, he told himself. He ducked behind a tapestry and started downstairs. The thought occurred to him that they could be waiting in his rooms, drinking his Ogden’s and pawing his books. He scowled at the idea and made his way down the corridor. Bracing himself, he disabled the wards and turned the latch.
Darkness.
A non-verbal spell set the lamps and hearth aglow.
Utter stillness. Not the crowded, ersatz silence of a dozen people hiding behind furniture and doorways.
He blinked. Had Minerva actually listened to him this year?
***
‘Happy birthday, Severus!’
He started, whipping his wand out as he spun. Smiling, Granger emerged from his lavatory, a vase of chrysanthemums in her hands.
His scowl returned. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Hagrid wanted to throw you a party when you got back, but you finally convinced Minerva that it wouldn’t be welcome. After sacrificing your afternoon off to deal with the Board on her behalf, she dissuaded the rest of us from celebrating anyway. But I didn’t want to let your birthday go by wholly ignored.’ She tugged at the tablecloth under the flowers, smoothing out an nonexistent wrinkle.
***
‘You’re expected at dinner, of course, and you’ll probably have to suffer through felicitations then, but I wanted to give you your present now. It’s cold outside, after all, and I thought it might warm you up ... make you more comfortable.’
Apparently, she had not completely ditched her habit of rambling when she was ill at ease. He raised a sarcastic eyebrow, and she cleared her throat, cheeks colouring slightly.
Gesturing to a basket on his desk, she repeated, ‘Happy birthday.’
He was taken aback by her warm lips on his cheek. She was gone before he remembered to breathe.
***
Better see what she’s up to. Brows still knitted together, he pulled his gloves off and approached his desk. Inside the basket were several jars, containing various oils, salts, and unguents. Nestled among them was a small booklet titled Aromatherapy ... whatever that was.
He gently opened and sniffed at each container, his sensitive nose identifying the contents. Ridiculous woman, he thought as he looked at the label on the eucalyptus-scented stuff: ‘Bath Salts.’ Undressing one-handed, he made his way to the lavatory.
While resting in the too-warm, pleasantly-scented water, he decided that Hermione Granger was not entirely without good sense.
***SSHG***
Inspired by a moment from, of all places, Star Trek: the Next Generation.