Happy Birthday Hermione Quiz
Happy Birthday, Dear Hermione!
Some birthdays are better than others, but if Severus Snape is involved, the celebration is bound to be interesting. Whether Hermione's birthday is outrageous, quiet, joyous or sad, we fangirls always have the same question in mind. Is there Birthday Spanking involved?!
Attention SSHG Fangirls
This is a Special Occasion quiz. Because birthdays are gift-giving occasions, we have a present for the winner of this quiz. You will NOT get to pick next week's quiz, as that prize has already gone to last week's quiz winner. However, your Hermione's Birthday Quiz Surprise Gift should ease the pain of not getting to choose the quiz. So let the wrapping paper fly and be the first fangirl with all the right answers! There just may be a little box with your name on it by the cake.
Match the quote to the story title:
Birthday Plans the Slytherin Way by Mint Stick aka kribu *
A Special Gift by Andrian
Treats by dreamy_dragon73 (SS/HG/LM)
Wandless Magic by deeble
Louder Than Words by bluestocking79
A Sneaking Suspicion by vanityfair00
The Abduction Strategy by Kalina
Skinful Sensations and Luscious Ministrations by ladyinthecloak aka lady_karelia (SS/HG/LM)
Happy Birthday by shiv5468
In Your Dreams by duj
Snape, A History by kailin
The Birthday by lady_rhian
Amusement Park by Melenka
Inane Questions by xevenstare
* You might also want to check out the sequel to this one:
Measuring Up by Mint Stick aka kribu (SS/HG/LM)
1. The meatballs and sauce were almost ready. Severus had tested the sumptuous makings of a marvelous meal, and he smacked his lips hungrily. He’d started the pasta, and it was almost finished. He lifted the pasta from the stove, drained it, and poured it into a large ceramic bowl for two.
“Severus?” a voice sounded from the doorway.
He turned and smiled. “Nice nap?”
“Mm,” she murmured noncommittally. Her eyes widened.
“Are you making spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Yes.”
She squealed and threw her arms around him, catching him quite off guard. He twirled her around once before setting her down.
“That was my birthday meal when I was young,” she said, keeping an arm about his waist as he stirred the sauce once more.
“So your mum told me.”
“Oh, you didn’t.” She kissed his throat, letting her lips linger.
“Ah,” he said. “Meal’s almost ready.”
“Have you ever heard of a Stasis charm?”
“I’m famished,” he said, removing her questing hand from his lower extremity.
“I’m the birthday girl.” She winked at him playfully. Gryffindors. They never savored the tension, the build...
2. She hadn’t had a proper birthday celebration since she was eleven. She hadn’t had even a card or a greeting from her classmates in her first year, only the carefully-wrapped present her parents had packed into her trunk before she left home, the three-volume Youth Encyclopaedia of Science she’d asked for. Opening it at random to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, she’d known her interests were as out of place as herself in this new world and had spent the rest of the evening crying into her pillow.
No birthday since had been quite as miserable, but they had passed unmemorably, with, at most, boxes of Bertie Bott’s or Chocolate Frogs from the boys and, lately, a chain or a charm from Ginny. And always the wrapped present waiting in her trunk. Only this year, her parents hadn’t had a chance to pack it, in that mad rush before she left, and she couldn't help worrying, the old silly fear, that her friends might have forgotten her. Or perhaps, this year of her marriage, been too upset to remember. Ruthlessly, she suppressed the tickle in her nose and throat that wanted to work its way into a sob.
“I’m too old to get upset over little things like that,” she told herself. “I have to be grownup now.”
She sighed and sat up and there at the foot of her bed was the small pile of packages she'd half-known would be there. She grinned. Yes, here were Tooth-Flossing Mints, Chocolate Frogs and Beans from the boys, a set of green and yellow Fwooper quills from Ginny and oh! She hadn't expected any presents from her new colleagues, but there were biscuits from Minerva, a woolly scarf from Filius, a delicate silver filigree photo-frame from Draco and, underneath it all, a sober sap-green parcel that could only be from Severus. Her heart pounded. He’d remembered her birthday, or at any rate had cared enough to check when it fell.
She fingered the smooth dark paper. It was obviously a book, quite a large one; she hoped it was one she didn’t already have. She pulled off tape and paper and her hand flew to her mouth to cover a burst of giggling. Oh! He’d given her Moste Potente Potions!
She opened it to find a handwritten dedication on the flyleaf:
For Hermione, with hope that you use it more wisely than last time, now that you are of an age to use it at all,
Severus
Underneath was a stick-figure drawing of a girl with quantities of long, loopy curls, which had been charmed to turn into a stick-figure girl with cat-ears and a tail. As she watched, the cat-girl changed back to the curl-girl, scooped another cupful out of the bubbling cauldron beside her, drank and grew ears and tail all over again.
She laughed again. How like him to give her a present that was at once acknowledgement, warning, reminder and reproof, message of forgiveness and declaration of trust.
3. How could he? She thought again. After all the times she had defended him and now he had finally proven her wrong. Hermione hated being wrong. She sat there for hours trying to compose herself and the letter to board of governors with her concerns regarding Snape.
A knock came at the door. She coughed out a response and wiped her eyes quickly, just in time to see the object of her thoughts enter.
“Professor Snape! Severus…I-“
“Granger, I’m here to-Hermione,” he corrected himself. It was the first time he had called her by her first name, but she was too distraught to enjoy the moment. His earlier anger seemed to be forgotten as well. “I wanted to say Happy Birthday. You mentioned liking rare and beautiful flowers once, so I thought…” He looked about awkwardly as though trying to decide something, and then with a flick of his hand produced a bouquet of flowers.
“Oh!” Hermione was at a loss for words, no mean feat if you were to ask her friends or family. She took the proffered flowers. They were the same ones she had seen Snape talking to in the greenhouse. But he was giving them to her. Did that mean? “I-“
“Like I told you in the greenhouse, they’re Iocanus flowers. Very rare and right buggers to grow, but between Pomona and myself, we were able to produce a few.”
“They’re used in several Dark potions,” Hermione said.
“Yes,” Snape said, looking at her with a suspicious eye. He took a step closer, so close that Hermione found she could hardly breathe. “You would know that - just the leaves actually. But did you also know that they’re useless in any potion while flowering?”
“Th-they are?” Hermione stuttered. How did she miss that vital piece of information? If that was true then everything else…he had been growing flowers…to give to her…for her birthday. “Thank you.”
Snape nodded. “You are welcome. Are you writing something?” he asked, stepping around her to glance at the parchment on her desk. Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“No!”
4. The Plaid Pony was not as crowded as on the previous occasion. Hermione again watched the leather jacket as Snape removed it this time, tossing it onto the empty chair beside him.
“Well?” he asked, settling back into his chair. “What do you want?”
Yes, this was a really bad idea. “Nothing. Just - nothing.”
“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” Snape raised an eyebrow.
Hermione struggled briefly with herself, then blurted, “Fine. I’ll tell you so that you can have your little fun with me and be done with it. It’s my birthday, and I don’t want to be alone.”
Incredulous, Severus sat up straighter in his seat. “You don’t want to be alone on your birthday? Sweet Merlin, Granger, what sort of insanity is this?”
“You heard me,” she muttered. “It’s my birthday. I really thought I’d be all right with this, but it’s my first birthday alone - without Ron, that is - and if I spent the evening with anybody else I know, they would be feeling rather sorry for me.”
“You must be feeling very sorry for yourself indeed if you were driven to seek out my company,” Snape quipped dryly.
Hermione turned bright red. “I wanted to spend the evening with you because I knew you wouldn’t feed me false platitudes in order to make me feel better. And also because I enjoyed our dinner here the last time.”
The stare that Severus fixed upon her was unnerving, but Hermione refused to shrink under its intensity. Finally, he blinked. Snape shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling up into a grudging hint of a smile.
“Granger, you are an infuriating woman, do you know that?”
“I’ve been told that upon occasion,” she admitted, smiling in faint response.
“Then may I have a beer while I’m not feeling sorry for you?”
5. The first ray of the sun tickling her nose woke her up. Hermione looked at the clock beside her bed and sighed. It would be just an ordinary day, and nobody would bother to remember her birthday. Ron had yet to forgive her for not returning his love. Harry was still sulking over the loss of the prospect of his best friends living together happily ever after. Ginny was busy being pregnant, and neither Severus nor Lucius even knew what day her birthday was-she’d only been friendly with the unlikely couple for a few months.
She’d had enough sense to take a day’s leave to do whatever she felt like, even if it meant lounging in bed all day simply because she could. Hermione turned over and returned to the land of Nod after noticing the days of wearing pyjamas were about to arrive. The early mornings were firmly in the grasp of autumn’s chill now.
*
A drop of some thick liquid gently tickling the skin between her breasts woke her up. What the...? She opened her eyes, but the room was pitch-dark. As another drop tickled her just above her navel, her eyes widened involuntarily, not improving her eyesight in the least. She tried to move, but found she was not able to. “What the hell?”
Soothing sounds answered her. “Shshsh. Honey is very good for your skin, you know?” She knew that voice. Fingers lightly spread the drops to cover more of her front.
“And what’s better than to combine it with a relaxing massage...” another voice-deeper, this one-added. She knew that voice, too.
6. Hermione hadn’t been looking forward to her birthday.
She had seriously considered cancelling it; they were the same every year. She knew what she’d be getting: her parents would send her a card and ‘a couple of quid to spend on something she fancied’; the boys would get her a book token - didn’t they think she did anything other than read?; and Ginny would get her Lavender bath salts, which made her feel as if she were ancient.
She felt about as appreciated as a dose of the clap in a knocking shop.
She hadn’t even managed the long lie in she’d promised herself; she woken at eight, as usual, and couldn’t get back to sleep. Bored with staring at the ceiling, she stumbled out of bed, put on her long silk wrap - and who had she been kidding about that - and stumbled into the kitchen to make breakfast.
She’d promised herself a treat, and a treat she would get. If no one else was going to pamper her, she would make damn sure she would: croissant, stuffed with herby scrambled eggs, exotic fresh fruit, and hot chocolate made from scratch.
She was feeling a little happier by the time breakfast was over. She decided that if a lie in was impossible, she would at least laze on the sofa in a state of undress, until the boys decided to turn up.
She was indulging her inner child and reading one of her favourite children’s books when a tapping at the window disturbed her. An owl; but from whom?
Intrigued, and a little excited, she opened the window to take a small box and a larger card from the animal’s leg. “You poor thing,” she said, offering it an Owl treat, “that must have been a heavy load.” The Owl looked pitiful, and was rewarded with another treat for its trouble, before heading off into the distance.
She opened the card. It was truly appalling: wreathed in roses, with a verse of vapid sentiment and signed From A Secret Admirer.
She sat down on the sofa. She had a secret admirer. That was…odd.
And a bit worrying.
7. 'Happy birthday, dear.'
'Mhmm.' Feeling warm lips on her cheek, Hermione sleepily blinked her eyes open to find her smiling husband sitting on the bed, wearing nothing but his dressing gown. A few kisses later, she was awake enough to notice the tray floating next to their bed. A vase containing a single, dark red rose sat on it, together with a piece of chocolate cake on a plate and a mug of steaming café au lait, which, since their honeymoon in France, had become her favourite morning beverage. Despite the enticing smell that wafted from the mug, she decided that breakfast could wait and put her arms around her husband's neck. 'So are you going to surprise me?' she asked suggestively.
'Didn't you mention something about wanting to see the Peter Doig at the Tate?'
'You'd spend your day watching, how did you call it - pointless heaps of colour because painters ran out of ideas once the Muggle world discovered photography?' Hermione teased, slowly stroking her thumb over the nape of his neck.
Severus cast her a long-suffering look. 'This one at least paints something you can recognise, and since it makes you happy.'
Hermione had known for a while that he was neither as uninterested nor as ignorant of contemporary Muggle art as he pretended to be, but knew better than to tell him that. Instead she smiled. 'The things you do for me. Any more plans?'
'A light lunch, and in the afternoon, I've made arrangements for you to see M. Beaupied's newest shoe collection.'
Hermione was certain that the "arrangements" were courtesy of Lucius Malfoy and decided to reward Severus's careful planning with a kiss, while greedy hands untied the cord of his dressing gown.
'And then of course there is your birthday dinner tonight.'
The hands stopped. 'Hm, I hope you haven't invited loads of people.'
Severus smiled. 'I've complied exactly with your wishes. It's going to be a rather … intimate affair.'
8. 'A present? For me? Are you sure you're feeling well?'
Hermione looked at her husband of five years. She couldn't help but feel a little suspicious. True, Severus did have the habit of bringing her little things every now and then - a bar of the loveliest chocolate hidden in the pocket of her favourite coat (it was a lovely gesture and she had appreciated it, even if getting the stains out of the coat had been a real hassle; but he hadn't known the chocolate would melt), wild flowers masquerading as potion ingredients, because Severus was not the sort of man who would just come and bring his wife flowers - but not once during their time together had he specifically remembered her birthday.
Perhaps he didn't want a reminder of how much older he was. The poor sod. It made her sigh and pout, but she did understand. And forgive. Really. Every time. Especially after a bout or two of his favourite way of not-apologising.
So what had changed this time? Was he tired of not-apologising? Hermione almost felt like sniffling.
'Aren't you going to open it?' Severus asked, his voice just a tiny bit petulant.
Hermione gave him what she hoped was a grateful, encouraging smile, and unwrapped the gift. Carefully, because the wrapping paper looked … grand. Majestic. Certainly expensive.
9. Severus never actually said the words.
He was no more inclined to wish her Happy Birthday than he was to say I love you, or I was worried, or worst of all, I’m sorry. The Gryffindors in Hermione’s life were inclined to cite this as proof positive of his cold, unfeeling nature, but Hermione knew better.
She was fluent in Snape.
When he meant I was worried, he frowned and picked and acted like a git until he’d started a proper fight. On the rare occasion when Severus deigned to apologise for something, he did so by being very sulky and unusually conciliatory and eventually reaching out to fold Hermione into a silent embrace.
I love you was demonstrated in a thousand ways every day. It was in every passionate glance and touch of the hand, found equally in searing kisses and breathtaking sex. It was also in the way he saved all the little notes she’d written him in the nightstand drawer and the way his long fingers danced through her curls.
When Severus wanted to wish Hermione Happy Birthday, he brought her a flute of excellent champagne, so light and effervescent it practically evaporated on the tongue, paired with red, ripe strawberries bursting with juice, and a pot of melted chocolate, bittersweet and satiny.
10. It began promisingly. Fred had managed a decent pesto pasta, Hermione’s favorite meal, and a chocolate cake with a charming iced message: “From Bookworm to Butterfly … a Swotty, Book-Reading Butterfly.” Essex had somehow tacked a happy-birthday banner to the high kitchen ceiling. George insisted they all share embarrassing stories about her, and it ended up being funny instead of horrible. Mr. Lovegood suggested quietly that they tell her what her help meant to them, which was so touching that she had to blink rapidly to keep the tears on the proper side of her eyelids. Mundungus said he’d just been offered a permanent position with the rubbish collectors, which momentarily shocked her speechless. And they spent several hours in a hilariously ill-fated attempt to play Muggle board games, which made her laugh so hard that the tears came out after all.
“Presents!” Mr. Weasley declared finally at half-past midnight.
The three Weasley men had banded together to get her a used-but-nearly-good-as-new Encyclopedia Britannica set - “so you can swot to your heart’s content,” George teased. Essex bought her a soft sweater in crimson and gold. Theo offered up a grin and a T-shirt that read: “Gone Crazy, Back Later.”
She was an island in a sea of wrapping paper by the time Snape placed a green envelope in her hands. She opened it curiously - had he gotten her a Hallmark card? - and stared, stunned, at the sheet of paper enclosed.
“This is an apprenticeship contract,” she said numbly.
“Indeed.”
“But you told me you’d sooner drink one of Neville's potions than train me.”
“I’ve reconsidered.”
She fixed him with a smile of pure joy.
Some birthdays are better than others, but if Severus Snape is involved, the celebration is bound to be interesting. Whether Hermione's birthday is outrageous, quiet, joyous or sad, we fangirls always have the same question in mind. Is there Birthday Spanking involved?!
Attention SSHG Fangirls
This is a Special Occasion quiz. Because birthdays are gift-giving occasions, we have a present for the winner of this quiz. You will NOT get to pick next week's quiz, as that prize has already gone to last week's quiz winner. However, your Hermione's Birthday Quiz Surprise Gift should ease the pain of not getting to choose the quiz. So let the wrapping paper fly and be the first fangirl with all the right answers! There just may be a little box with your name on it by the cake.
Match the quote to the story title:
Birthday Plans the Slytherin Way by Mint Stick aka kribu *
A Special Gift by Andrian
Treats by dreamy_dragon73 (SS/HG/LM)
Wandless Magic by deeble
Louder Than Words by bluestocking79
A Sneaking Suspicion by vanityfair00
The Abduction Strategy by Kalina
Skinful Sensations and Luscious Ministrations by ladyinthecloak aka lady_karelia (SS/HG/LM)
Happy Birthday by shiv5468
In Your Dreams by duj
Snape, A History by kailin
The Birthday by lady_rhian
Amusement Park by Melenka
Inane Questions by xevenstare
* You might also want to check out the sequel to this one:
Measuring Up by Mint Stick aka kribu (SS/HG/LM)
1. The meatballs and sauce were almost ready. Severus had tested the sumptuous makings of a marvelous meal, and he smacked his lips hungrily. He’d started the pasta, and it was almost finished. He lifted the pasta from the stove, drained it, and poured it into a large ceramic bowl for two.
“Severus?” a voice sounded from the doorway.
He turned and smiled. “Nice nap?”
“Mm,” she murmured noncommittally. Her eyes widened.
“Are you making spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Yes.”
She squealed and threw her arms around him, catching him quite off guard. He twirled her around once before setting her down.
“That was my birthday meal when I was young,” she said, keeping an arm about his waist as he stirred the sauce once more.
“So your mum told me.”
“Oh, you didn’t.” She kissed his throat, letting her lips linger.
“Ah,” he said. “Meal’s almost ready.”
“Have you ever heard of a Stasis charm?”
“I’m famished,” he said, removing her questing hand from his lower extremity.
“I’m the birthday girl.” She winked at him playfully. Gryffindors. They never savored the tension, the build...
2. She hadn’t had a proper birthday celebration since she was eleven. She hadn’t had even a card or a greeting from her classmates in her first year, only the carefully-wrapped present her parents had packed into her trunk before she left home, the three-volume Youth Encyclopaedia of Science she’d asked for. Opening it at random to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, she’d known her interests were as out of place as herself in this new world and had spent the rest of the evening crying into her pillow.
No birthday since had been quite as miserable, but they had passed unmemorably, with, at most, boxes of Bertie Bott’s or Chocolate Frogs from the boys and, lately, a chain or a charm from Ginny. And always the wrapped present waiting in her trunk. Only this year, her parents hadn’t had a chance to pack it, in that mad rush before she left, and she couldn't help worrying, the old silly fear, that her friends might have forgotten her. Or perhaps, this year of her marriage, been too upset to remember. Ruthlessly, she suppressed the tickle in her nose and throat that wanted to work its way into a sob.
“I’m too old to get upset over little things like that,” she told herself. “I have to be grownup now.”
She sighed and sat up and there at the foot of her bed was the small pile of packages she'd half-known would be there. She grinned. Yes, here were Tooth-Flossing Mints, Chocolate Frogs and Beans from the boys, a set of green and yellow Fwooper quills from Ginny and oh! She hadn't expected any presents from her new colleagues, but there were biscuits from Minerva, a woolly scarf from Filius, a delicate silver filigree photo-frame from Draco and, underneath it all, a sober sap-green parcel that could only be from Severus. Her heart pounded. He’d remembered her birthday, or at any rate had cared enough to check when it fell.
She fingered the smooth dark paper. It was obviously a book, quite a large one; she hoped it was one she didn’t already have. She pulled off tape and paper and her hand flew to her mouth to cover a burst of giggling. Oh! He’d given her Moste Potente Potions!
She opened it to find a handwritten dedication on the flyleaf:
For Hermione, with hope that you use it more wisely than last time, now that you are of an age to use it at all,
Severus
Underneath was a stick-figure drawing of a girl with quantities of long, loopy curls, which had been charmed to turn into a stick-figure girl with cat-ears and a tail. As she watched, the cat-girl changed back to the curl-girl, scooped another cupful out of the bubbling cauldron beside her, drank and grew ears and tail all over again.
She laughed again. How like him to give her a present that was at once acknowledgement, warning, reminder and reproof, message of forgiveness and declaration of trust.
3. How could he? She thought again. After all the times she had defended him and now he had finally proven her wrong. Hermione hated being wrong. She sat there for hours trying to compose herself and the letter to board of governors with her concerns regarding Snape.
A knock came at the door. She coughed out a response and wiped her eyes quickly, just in time to see the object of her thoughts enter.
“Professor Snape! Severus…I-“
“Granger, I’m here to-Hermione,” he corrected himself. It was the first time he had called her by her first name, but she was too distraught to enjoy the moment. His earlier anger seemed to be forgotten as well. “I wanted to say Happy Birthday. You mentioned liking rare and beautiful flowers once, so I thought…” He looked about awkwardly as though trying to decide something, and then with a flick of his hand produced a bouquet of flowers.
“Oh!” Hermione was at a loss for words, no mean feat if you were to ask her friends or family. She took the proffered flowers. They were the same ones she had seen Snape talking to in the greenhouse. But he was giving them to her. Did that mean? “I-“
“Like I told you in the greenhouse, they’re Iocanus flowers. Very rare and right buggers to grow, but between Pomona and myself, we were able to produce a few.”
“They’re used in several Dark potions,” Hermione said.
“Yes,” Snape said, looking at her with a suspicious eye. He took a step closer, so close that Hermione found she could hardly breathe. “You would know that - just the leaves actually. But did you also know that they’re useless in any potion while flowering?”
“Th-they are?” Hermione stuttered. How did she miss that vital piece of information? If that was true then everything else…he had been growing flowers…to give to her…for her birthday. “Thank you.”
Snape nodded. “You are welcome. Are you writing something?” he asked, stepping around her to glance at the parchment on her desk. Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“No!”
4. The Plaid Pony was not as crowded as on the previous occasion. Hermione again watched the leather jacket as Snape removed it this time, tossing it onto the empty chair beside him.
“Well?” he asked, settling back into his chair. “What do you want?”
Yes, this was a really bad idea. “Nothing. Just - nothing.”
“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” Snape raised an eyebrow.
Hermione struggled briefly with herself, then blurted, “Fine. I’ll tell you so that you can have your little fun with me and be done with it. It’s my birthday, and I don’t want to be alone.”
Incredulous, Severus sat up straighter in his seat. “You don’t want to be alone on your birthday? Sweet Merlin, Granger, what sort of insanity is this?”
“You heard me,” she muttered. “It’s my birthday. I really thought I’d be all right with this, but it’s my first birthday alone - without Ron, that is - and if I spent the evening with anybody else I know, they would be feeling rather sorry for me.”
“You must be feeling very sorry for yourself indeed if you were driven to seek out my company,” Snape quipped dryly.
Hermione turned bright red. “I wanted to spend the evening with you because I knew you wouldn’t feed me false platitudes in order to make me feel better. And also because I enjoyed our dinner here the last time.”
The stare that Severus fixed upon her was unnerving, but Hermione refused to shrink under its intensity. Finally, he blinked. Snape shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling up into a grudging hint of a smile.
“Granger, you are an infuriating woman, do you know that?”
“I’ve been told that upon occasion,” she admitted, smiling in faint response.
“Then may I have a beer while I’m not feeling sorry for you?”
5. The first ray of the sun tickling her nose woke her up. Hermione looked at the clock beside her bed and sighed. It would be just an ordinary day, and nobody would bother to remember her birthday. Ron had yet to forgive her for not returning his love. Harry was still sulking over the loss of the prospect of his best friends living together happily ever after. Ginny was busy being pregnant, and neither Severus nor Lucius even knew what day her birthday was-she’d only been friendly with the unlikely couple for a few months.
She’d had enough sense to take a day’s leave to do whatever she felt like, even if it meant lounging in bed all day simply because she could. Hermione turned over and returned to the land of Nod after noticing the days of wearing pyjamas were about to arrive. The early mornings were firmly in the grasp of autumn’s chill now.
*
A drop of some thick liquid gently tickling the skin between her breasts woke her up. What the...? She opened her eyes, but the room was pitch-dark. As another drop tickled her just above her navel, her eyes widened involuntarily, not improving her eyesight in the least. She tried to move, but found she was not able to. “What the hell?”
Soothing sounds answered her. “Shshsh. Honey is very good for your skin, you know?” She knew that voice. Fingers lightly spread the drops to cover more of her front.
“And what’s better than to combine it with a relaxing massage...” another voice-deeper, this one-added. She knew that voice, too.
6. Hermione hadn’t been looking forward to her birthday.
She had seriously considered cancelling it; they were the same every year. She knew what she’d be getting: her parents would send her a card and ‘a couple of quid to spend on something she fancied’; the boys would get her a book token - didn’t they think she did anything other than read?; and Ginny would get her Lavender bath salts, which made her feel as if she were ancient.
She felt about as appreciated as a dose of the clap in a knocking shop.
She hadn’t even managed the long lie in she’d promised herself; she woken at eight, as usual, and couldn’t get back to sleep. Bored with staring at the ceiling, she stumbled out of bed, put on her long silk wrap - and who had she been kidding about that - and stumbled into the kitchen to make breakfast.
She’d promised herself a treat, and a treat she would get. If no one else was going to pamper her, she would make damn sure she would: croissant, stuffed with herby scrambled eggs, exotic fresh fruit, and hot chocolate made from scratch.
She was feeling a little happier by the time breakfast was over. She decided that if a lie in was impossible, she would at least laze on the sofa in a state of undress, until the boys decided to turn up.
She was indulging her inner child and reading one of her favourite children’s books when a tapping at the window disturbed her. An owl; but from whom?
Intrigued, and a little excited, she opened the window to take a small box and a larger card from the animal’s leg. “You poor thing,” she said, offering it an Owl treat, “that must have been a heavy load.” The Owl looked pitiful, and was rewarded with another treat for its trouble, before heading off into the distance.
She opened the card. It was truly appalling: wreathed in roses, with a verse of vapid sentiment and signed From A Secret Admirer.
She sat down on the sofa. She had a secret admirer. That was…odd.
And a bit worrying.
7. 'Happy birthday, dear.'
'Mhmm.' Feeling warm lips on her cheek, Hermione sleepily blinked her eyes open to find her smiling husband sitting on the bed, wearing nothing but his dressing gown. A few kisses later, she was awake enough to notice the tray floating next to their bed. A vase containing a single, dark red rose sat on it, together with a piece of chocolate cake on a plate and a mug of steaming café au lait, which, since their honeymoon in France, had become her favourite morning beverage. Despite the enticing smell that wafted from the mug, she decided that breakfast could wait and put her arms around her husband's neck. 'So are you going to surprise me?' she asked suggestively.
'Didn't you mention something about wanting to see the Peter Doig at the Tate?'
'You'd spend your day watching, how did you call it - pointless heaps of colour because painters ran out of ideas once the Muggle world discovered photography?' Hermione teased, slowly stroking her thumb over the nape of his neck.
Severus cast her a long-suffering look. 'This one at least paints something you can recognise, and since it makes you happy.'
Hermione had known for a while that he was neither as uninterested nor as ignorant of contemporary Muggle art as he pretended to be, but knew better than to tell him that. Instead she smiled. 'The things you do for me. Any more plans?'
'A light lunch, and in the afternoon, I've made arrangements for you to see M. Beaupied's newest shoe collection.'
Hermione was certain that the "arrangements" were courtesy of Lucius Malfoy and decided to reward Severus's careful planning with a kiss, while greedy hands untied the cord of his dressing gown.
'And then of course there is your birthday dinner tonight.'
The hands stopped. 'Hm, I hope you haven't invited loads of people.'
Severus smiled. 'I've complied exactly with your wishes. It's going to be a rather … intimate affair.'
8. 'A present? For me? Are you sure you're feeling well?'
Hermione looked at her husband of five years. She couldn't help but feel a little suspicious. True, Severus did have the habit of bringing her little things every now and then - a bar of the loveliest chocolate hidden in the pocket of her favourite coat (it was a lovely gesture and she had appreciated it, even if getting the stains out of the coat had been a real hassle; but he hadn't known the chocolate would melt), wild flowers masquerading as potion ingredients, because Severus was not the sort of man who would just come and bring his wife flowers - but not once during their time together had he specifically remembered her birthday.
Perhaps he didn't want a reminder of how much older he was. The poor sod. It made her sigh and pout, but she did understand. And forgive. Really. Every time. Especially after a bout or two of his favourite way of not-apologising.
So what had changed this time? Was he tired of not-apologising? Hermione almost felt like sniffling.
'Aren't you going to open it?' Severus asked, his voice just a tiny bit petulant.
Hermione gave him what she hoped was a grateful, encouraging smile, and unwrapped the gift. Carefully, because the wrapping paper looked … grand. Majestic. Certainly expensive.
9. Severus never actually said the words.
He was no more inclined to wish her Happy Birthday than he was to say I love you, or I was worried, or worst of all, I’m sorry. The Gryffindors in Hermione’s life were inclined to cite this as proof positive of his cold, unfeeling nature, but Hermione knew better.
She was fluent in Snape.
When he meant I was worried, he frowned and picked and acted like a git until he’d started a proper fight. On the rare occasion when Severus deigned to apologise for something, he did so by being very sulky and unusually conciliatory and eventually reaching out to fold Hermione into a silent embrace.
I love you was demonstrated in a thousand ways every day. It was in every passionate glance and touch of the hand, found equally in searing kisses and breathtaking sex. It was also in the way he saved all the little notes she’d written him in the nightstand drawer and the way his long fingers danced through her curls.
When Severus wanted to wish Hermione Happy Birthday, he brought her a flute of excellent champagne, so light and effervescent it practically evaporated on the tongue, paired with red, ripe strawberries bursting with juice, and a pot of melted chocolate, bittersweet and satiny.
10. It began promisingly. Fred had managed a decent pesto pasta, Hermione’s favorite meal, and a chocolate cake with a charming iced message: “From Bookworm to Butterfly … a Swotty, Book-Reading Butterfly.” Essex had somehow tacked a happy-birthday banner to the high kitchen ceiling. George insisted they all share embarrassing stories about her, and it ended up being funny instead of horrible. Mr. Lovegood suggested quietly that they tell her what her help meant to them, which was so touching that she had to blink rapidly to keep the tears on the proper side of her eyelids. Mundungus said he’d just been offered a permanent position with the rubbish collectors, which momentarily shocked her speechless. And they spent several hours in a hilariously ill-fated attempt to play Muggle board games, which made her laugh so hard that the tears came out after all.
“Presents!” Mr. Weasley declared finally at half-past midnight.
The three Weasley men had banded together to get her a used-but-nearly-good-as-new Encyclopedia Britannica set - “so you can swot to your heart’s content,” George teased. Essex bought her a soft sweater in crimson and gold. Theo offered up a grin and a T-shirt that read: “Gone Crazy, Back Later.”
She was an island in a sea of wrapping paper by the time Snape placed a green envelope in her hands. She opened it curiously - had he gotten her a Hallmark card? - and stared, stunned, at the sheet of paper enclosed.
“This is an apprenticeship contract,” she said numbly.
“Indeed.”
“But you told me you’d sooner drink one of Neville's potions than train me.”
“I’ve reconsidered.”
She fixed him with a smile of pure joy.