XXIX: Advent Events

Chapter XXIX: Advent Events

It was a bitterly cold Wednesday evening in early December when Argus Filch, the ugly sneering caretaker of Hogwarts, unexpectedly interrupted Snape working his way through marking a pile of essays on Hinkypunks and how to avoid them. Snape wasn't impressed by the disruption, but he knew that the craggy old caretaker wouldn't dare disturb him unless he had a very good reason.

'I know Professor Slughorn is the Potions master now, sir, but he won't look at these no matter how many times I've asked,' the caretaker complained, placing his latest haul of confiscated items onto Snape's desk: illicit potions from sources unknown.

'Thinks I'm being paranoid,' he went on. 'But I always know when students are up to no good! I'd bet my last Knut this lot comes from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but I can't prove it. My Secrecy Sensors can detect jinxes and concealment charms, but they won't tell me what's inside a bottle of potion.'

'I am quite aware how Secrecy Sensors work, thank you, Mr Filch,' Snape interrupted the caretaker's lament and suspiciously eyed the phials, small bottles and jars that were now standing on his desk. They were labelled as perfumes, cough potions and body lotions and looked innocuous enough. Surely, whoever had ordered them was now sulking in their dormitory for having their parcels intercepted. But Snape had to admire the caretaker's resolve. There were indeed rumours going around that love potions had made their way into the castle. Maybe Filch was on to something after all.

'I will have a look at the contents. Later tonight,' he added, as he noticed the older man's crestfallen expression. Obviously, Filch had expected to be given an answer in a blink of an eye. The poor Squib must have spent too much time around McGonagall and Flitwick. He truly believed that magic was all about foolish wand-waving. He had no idea about the subtle art of potion making.

'Knew I could count on you, Professor Snape, sir,' Filch muttered before he made his way back to the door and almost took a bow before he exited.

Snape sneered. It didn't surprise him that Slughorn had shown no interest in aiding Filch. Slughorn had always been the type of person to do the bare minimum to get by in any situation, and if he could get others to do it for him, even better. He was very skilled in the art of subtly manipulating people to his own end and surrounding himself with the most influential people, or at least, people who may be beneficial to him in some way.

The door opened once more, and Snape fully expected Filch to return with yet another armful of phials and jars, but to his surprise – and utter annoyance – the door frame was filled with the corpulent figure of Horace Slughorn himself. Talking of the devil!

'Oh, Severus, I'm so glad I found you,' the cheery old wizard smiled, his cheeks shining like polished apples. ‛Not busy, I hope?'

Snape raised an eyebrow. No, of course not. A desk cluttered with stacks of essays and potion phials most certainly meant that he was not busy.

'I see you can't tear yourself away from potions,' Slughorn continued in his booming voice, pointing at the phials. Then he frowned. 'So Filch came running to you. You must learn how to say no, dear lad. The caretaker is overreacting.' He picked up on of the phials and chuckled. 'I mean, it clearly says that this is a cough potion.'

'We will see about that,' Snape replied curtly and picked up his quill again. If Slughorn had come to make small talk, Snape would ignore him. He was, after all, busy.

'Put that quill down, Severus dear boy. I didn't come here to watch you work.'

'Then, pray tell, what you did come for?' Snape asked, marking the essay in front of him with a big T.

'I came to invite you to my Christmas party.'

Slughorn beamed in a way that suggested he'd just given Severus a big, fat bag of Galleons and was waiting for eternal thanks. Snape, however, merely put down his quill.

'I beg your pardon.'

'My Christmas party,' Slughorn repeated. 'You must remember them. I used to have them when you were a student here.'

Snape sneered. Oh, he remembered Slughorn's parties all too well. Not that he had ever been invited to one. Those gatherings had been Slughorn's way of filtering out the brightest and best, not to mention well-connected, students. Snape had been a gifted potioneer as a student, yet Slughorn had refused to give him the credit he'd deserved. He had been too busy fussing over Lily, who had been his favourite from the very first day. And when he had handed out invitations to the so-called "Slug Club" to his most gifted students, Slughorn had blatantly ignored Snape. Obviously, he had felt that Snape lacked the popularity or connections to warrant an invite.

'Friday the twentieth,' Slughorn carried on, oblivious to Snape's bitterness. 'Eight o'clock. Dress robes. I assume you own a set nowadays.'

With his arms crossed in front of his chest and a triumphant smile on his face, Snape leant back in his chair.

'I am afraid I will not be able to make it,' he informed Slughorn. 'I am otherwise engaged.'

'Oh. You are?' Slughorn asked incredulously. Curiosity was etched into every line of his face, but Snape had no intention of telling the Potions professor about his plans. It was none of Slughorn's business that he had been invited to Malfoy Manor the very same evening, where Narcissa would be holding an intimate dinner for "close friends who have stuck by me in these troubled times". Snape felt obliged to go, even if he wasn't especially looking forward to it. Fancy dinners at Malfoy manor far too often left behind a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. But the disappointed look on Slughorn's face was priceless and would most certainly make up for anything that could happen at the manor.

'Well, ahem, if you change your mind, the invitation stands,' Slughorn declared in what was, for him, a very uncharacteristic low tone. He was labouring under the impression that an invitation to the Slug Club was a supreme honour and it was clear the old man was not used to people saying no. That Snape had turned him down was a hard blow to Slughorn's ego. For Snape, it was small vengeance, but it made him feel good, nonetheless, and when Slughorn had bid him goodnight, Snape decided to celebrate his victory with a nice glass of Ogden's. The essays could wait, and so could Flich's so-called love potions. Most probably, neither of them were really worth the while.

Glass in hand, Snape meandered around his office, every now and then picking up a book or journal to casually leaf through it. But nothing seemed to catch his interest, not even the latest issue of Potions Monthly or the article in the Prophet about the latest Death Eater activities. In the end, he left everything where it was, essays and love potions on his desk and books and journals wherever they were lying, and retired to his quarters, where he made a beeline for the little silver mirror that was propped up on the mantel piece. It had been far too long since he had heard anything from his girls. All he knew was that Charis was busy deciphering the prophecy. As for Morgana, he knew even less. He didn't even know if she was still frequenting Malfoy manor.

Snape felt a stab of guilt. The day his girls had left Hogwarts, he had promised himself that he would keep an eye on them. But with the Dark Lord demanding his presence ever more frequently, Dumbledore yanking his chain and Draco Malfoy sneaking around the castle at night, Snape simply had not had the time. Tonight, however, he would take the time, and should anyone dare come knocking at his door, they would find themselves in the hospital wing for the rest of the year after he'd slipped some laxative into their morning pumpkin juice. He was, after all, a gifted potioneer. Madam Pomfrey would never find as much as a trace.

Settling back in his favourite armchair with his refilled glass on the table beside him, Snape put up his feet and took the mirror in his hands. To his disappointment, however, he caught sight of nothing more than his own reflection: sallow skin, greasy black hair that hung in curtains around his face and black, bottomless eyes that defied the theory that a person's eyes were a window to their soul. Because no one would ever be able to read anything in those eyes, neither joy nor sorrow. There was, however, the tiniest spark of excitement in them when Snape's reflection became foggy and the image in the mirror split in two, revealing two young witches, one blonde, one red-haired. They were both wearing their nightgowns, Charis a light blue one and Morgana one of the darkest green. They were both holding a steaming mug, most probably containing hot chocolate. It almost seemed as if they were having a virtual sleepover.

'Sorry we had to change our plans,' Morgana apologised to her friend. 'Merlin knows why Moody insists on a training session at four thirty in the morning. How getting up ridiculously early helps build one's character is beyond me. But hey, this is nice, too. And I can go to work without waking you.'

Charis nodded. 'Those mirrors are ingenious! What would we do without them?'

'Sulk and drink this fabulous hot chocolate for comfort?' Morgana suggested.

Charis giggled. 'Any excuse to drink hot chocolate, eh?' She took a sip and made the most unladylike noise. 'Merlin's balls, this is fabulous! Do you think Remus will give us the recipe for this blend?'

'No way. He'll take that to his grave,' Morgana replied, and Snape took a healthy gulp of Ogden's.

As if there would ever be a grave wide enough to bury Lupin's fat arse, he thought viciously. He very much disliked the fact that his girls had taken such a liking to the werewolf.

Charis put down her mug and contemplated her friend for a few moments. 'You look tired, sweetie,' she said finally. 'Moody seems to be working you hard. You must be exhausted.'

Morgana shrugged. 'At least, he has stopped throwing hexes at us,' she said, which caused Snape to huff. The burn on the girl's left hand had healed nicely, but Snape had still not forgiven Moody for putting one of his trainees into danger. Not only once, but twice.

'How are things in your part of the Ministry?' Morgana asked.

'Not great, if I'm honest,' Charis replied, her shoulders slumping. 'Work is... just work. But Grindling and I are just having no luck deciphering the prophecy at all. I can tell he's getting frustrated by it. I mean, he's the one who made the prophecy in the first place, and now he can't figure out what it means. Feels like everywhere we turn, it's a dead end.'

'I see.'

There was a slight tremble in Morgana's voice, but Snape doubted that Charis had picked up on it. He didn't think that she had seen the minuscule twitch of a muscle right under the Slytherin's left eye, either. But he had noticed, and it annoyed him that the mention of Grindling Gibbons would have such an effect on Morgana.

'Has Gri... Have you talked to any another Seers?' she asked.

Charis shook her head. 'It's a matter of pride for Grindling... and for me too, I admit. We Ravenclaws like to try every avenue on our own before we ask others. But if we have no answers by Christmas, I was going to suggest we ask one of his old friends in Greece for advice.'

'Do you know anything about his friends?' Morgana wondered.

'No, not really,' Charis admitted. 'I know he has some relatives in Greece and some friends in France, Italy and Luxembourg. But he doesn't talk about them much.'

Once more, Morgana nodded. 'He seems very private.'

She didn't know much about Grindling either, even though they had spent a few very private moments together. The biggest secret of his that she knew about was his love for Narcissa. And that was the only secret Charis mustn't know about.

'Yes, he is very private,' Charis confirmed. And I'm glad we've been able to move forward after what happened...'

She trailed off, and Morgana chewed on her lower lip.

'Move forward?' she started hesitantly. 'Are you... you and Grindling... What are you? Colleagues, friends?'

'Just friends,' Charis replied. 'It would not be fair on either of us to pursue anything more than that. Let's just say, Grindling is a complex man who has things from his past he needs to work through.'

You have no idea just how much he has to work through, Morgana thought, desperately wishing that she weren't a part of Grindling's dilemma. He was a good man, there was no doubt about that, and he deserved a sweet and loving woman like Charis. And Charis deserved a man who had the means to bed her on roses. They would be good for each other, Morgana was quite certain of that. Hopefully, when the whole mess with Narcissa was over, Grindling would be brave enough to ask Charis for a second chance. And hopefully, she would find it in her heart to grant him his wish. Where it would leave her, Morgana didn't care about.

'How about you, sweetie? Isn't there a beau in your life?' Charis wondered. She had seen her friend change over the last few months. Her hairstyle had changed and so had her clothes. She finally seemed to have dropped the tomboy attitude she had adopted during their last year at Hogwarts.

Morgana blinked and looked at her friend in confusion. 'Sorry, what?'

Charis giggled. 'Your new look. Your hair, those lovely red curls. I was wondering if there was a wizard hiding in the shadows you haven't been telling me about.'

Morgana snorted. 'Most certainly not,' she exclaimed.

Charis groaned. 'What is it with wizards? Are they all blind or something? Hello? Two gorgeous, single witches here! Ready to be taken!'

'Speak for yourself,' Morgana replied. 'I don't want to have a man, wizard, Muggle or troll. They're trouble. I'm glad if they keep their distance.'

There we go again, Snape thought with a sigh. He had overheard a conversation like this before. That time, Morgana had declared that she was planning on becoming a lesbian. Heaven forbid! What a waste it would be. But Charis was right, in his opinion. What was it with wizards? Why weren't they lining up in front of those girls' doors, offering their very souls to be allowed to take them out? And why did the girls insist on falling for men who only broke their hearts? Snape sighed for a second time. Maybe Morgana had a point. Maybe men weren't worth the heartache after all.

'Hey, I don't suppose you had a letter from Hogwarts this week, did you?' Charis suddenly asked.

Morgana shook her head. 'Did they offer you a job?' she asked jokingly. 'Divination? Astronomy?'

Charis giggled. 'Not exactly! It's a bit strange, really. They have a new Potions master this year. Horace Slughorn. Apparently, he was Potions master at Hogwarts years ago and has returned, and Snape is now teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

'Snape teaches DADA?' Morgana interrupted her friend. 'And we got Umbridge for our last year? Now, that's not fair!'

'Tell me about it!' Charis agreed. 'It would have been so nice to see Snape casting spells instead of stirring potions.'

Morgana grinned. 'You'd watch Snape clean up owl droppings and enjoy it. Merlin, so would I!'

Both girls laughed, and Snape allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. They hadn't forgotten him then, his girls.

'Anyway,' Charis continued. 'As I was saying, this Horace Slughorn apparently used to have little gatherings for selected pupils when he was a teacher. Now he has decided to resurrect the tradition and has invited me!'

'Guess he wants to use you as a good example,' Morgana concluded. 'With your grades!'

Charis blushed slightly. 'Well, he mentioned something about "mingling with the brightest and best at Hogwarts and advising on your career path and making some new connections for the future". I have no idea what to expect, really, and I think it's a bit weird that he has invited me, seeing as I have never even met Professor Slughorn, but I guess it's rude to say no. I'm allowed to bring a plus one. Would you like to come with me?'

'And serve as a bad example?' Morgana asked sardonically but then grinned. 'Sure! When is it?'

'Twentieth of December,' Charis informed her, and Morgana's face fell.

'Oh, I'm sorry. I don't think I can make it. I, um, I think I'll be working.'

Again, there was that tiny muscle twitching under her left eye, and Snape had a bad premonition about the twentieth of December. He would have to check with Narcissa just who had been invited to her little gathering.

'What a shame,' Charis said, sounding truly disappointed. 'Grindling can't come either. He was invited, but he had something else planned already.'

'So I am your second choice?' Morgana asked in a mock-offended tone. 'So much for friendship.'

'Oh, don't be silly!' Charis said. 'Grindling and I both got our invitations at work. Naturally, I asked if he was going.'

Naturally. Snape downed his Ogden's with a sour expression on his face, suddenly putting two and two together. Suddenly, it seemed superfluous to talk to Narcissa. He could figure out the guest list and the purpose of her little party by himself. Surely, she wanted to show off the little match she had made: Grindling Gibbons, old friend of the family, and Morgana Belakane, the last member of an ancient Wizarding family. Snape sneered. After all, it had been he himself who had given Narcissa the idea of making a lady out of Morgana and introducing her to pureblood society. He had, however, not imagined that she would go so far as to set the girl up with another pureblood, least of all Grindling Gibbons. Snape screwed up his face. He'd witnessed matchmaking at Malfoy manor before. He had no desire to go through that once more. He might just have to make his excuses to Narcissa. Slughorn's little gathering, however, seemed most appealing all of a sudden.

'Never mind,' Charis continued, obviously unaware of her former teacher's musings. 'Guess I'll have to brave it on my own then. It's going to be seriously weird going back to Hogwarts. Seeing all those people again...'

'Just don't go down to the dungeons,' Morgana gave a word of warning. 'You never know who you'll bump into. Draco and his cronies are still around. Then again, I bet that little ferret has been invited to the party as well.'

'Or maybe not,' said Charis. 'Remember what Professor Slughorn said in his letter? The party is about "mingling with the brightest and best at Hogwarts". Surely, that definition excludes Draco Malfoy.'

They laughed, and then Charis addressed another, somewhat more trivial dilemma. 'What do I wear, though? It'd be wrong to wear something Muggle, wouldn't it?'

'As long as it isn't your "Muggle-born and proud of it" T-shirt, I guess you'll be fine,' Morgana pointed out. 'Seriously, though, Muggles do make nice clothes, no?

'Of course,' Charis confirmed, proud as always to be able to show her friend something nice from the Muggle world. 'I do have my LBD.'

'Your what?' Morgana asked.

'Little black dress,' Charis explained. 'I could always wear it with a cloak. Shall I put it on, and you can tell me what you think?'

'Sure, go ahead,' Morgana said rather unenthusiastically. She'd never been one to enjoy fashion. Snape, however, grew interested. He hadn't eaten much that day, and the two glasses of Ogden's he had downed had somewhat shifted his sense of decency. He would very much enjoy seeing Charis in the aforementioned little black dress.

Charis riffled through her wardrobe, sending clothes flying to the left and right, wriggled out of her pyjamas and finally squeezed into the dress.

'How do I look?' she asked, giving a little twirl in front of the mirror.

'Sssmoking!' Morgana commented, making a purring noise which almost made Snape drop his glass. He had to get a grip on himself. Those two girls in combination with Firewhisky had an effect on him which he barely dared admit to himself.

As the girls continued to chat and laugh, Snape mulled over his options regarding the twentieth of December. He was obliged to see Narcissa, but more than that, as her friend he wanted the evening to be a success and wanted to look out for her. The fact that Morgana seemed to be a guest of honour meant he definitely had to be there. He needed to look out for the red-haired witch, too.

But hearing that Charis was going to the Slug Club on the very same night made him feel torn. He wanted to go there, too. He wanted to see Charis in her little black dress and make sure that Draco Malfoy couldn't somehow gatecrash the party and start slinging hexes at her.

He supposed it wouldn't be impossible to show his face at one event for a time and then go to the other later. That way, Slughorn would be placated, and he, Snape, would have fulfilled his promise to look out for both his girls at the same time.

By the time the girls settled down to sleep, the decision had been made. December the twentieth looked like it would be a very interesting night indeed.