Of Punch and Hippogriffs

The Potions master’s mood darkened as he noted the curious glances the students were giving him. He had to get away from this ridiculous spectacle. His responsibilities for the evening were more than fulfilled.

“Severus, my boy,” Albus greeted him, just as he had turned to leave the Great Hall, placing one hand on his upper arm. “As I see, already on your way back to the dungeons.”

Stating the obvious once again, old man.

“I don’t think that I can allow that, son. We haven’t even toasted your newfound freedom yet.”

So much for freedom.

Severus rolled his eyes while the headmaster escorted him kindly but decisively back to the punch bar. “Albus, you know that I don’t even like this silly concoction for youths.”

“My dear boy, that’s nothing that cannot be changed. Remember, I didn’t even like sherbet lemons at first.”

Severus gave the aged wizard a dramatically pained look, which earned him a slight chuckle.

I am doomed.

When they arrived at the punch bar, they were welcomed by the assembled staff members. “Has your little attempt to escape our company been discovered, Severus?” Rolanda Hooch asked him, leering, as she handed him a glass of punch.

"I would have expected as well a little bit more sneakiness from our master spy, don’t you think, Rolanda?” Minerva added, chuckling. Yes, he was really doomed.

The evening was slowly proceeding as Severus nursed his second glass of punch, carefully avoiding participating in the animated chatter of his colleagues, considering the advantages of getting drunk and trying to forget his ridiculous display of sentimentalism in front of the student body. Precisely as he decided that getting drunk was his best choice, he spotted Hermione Granger in the crowd. Hogwarts’ Head Girl was standing in a corner of the Great Hall, apparently in a kind of row with Weasley.

Nothing of my concern, he thought, taking another sip of his punch and unconsciously squeezing and relaxing his left hand, the hand that had held onto hers. But the Potions master failed miserably at his attempt to take his eyes off the scene that played out before him.

The Weasley boy must have said something to upset the witch, because only moments later Granger slapped him in the face and ran from the Hall. Weasley followed her shortly afterwards, although the Boy-Who-Lived and his girlfriend tried to stop him.

Interesting.

Maybe now was the time to clink glasses with his godson, who was also carefully observing the nearby drama. Catching Draco’s eye across the room, he approached the young man with a few fast steps, handing him a glass of punch.

“Hello, Uncle,” Draco greeted him, taking the punch his Head of House offered him.

“To your graduation.” The Potions master raised his glass to the young Slytherin.

“To our shared freedom.” They toasted each other, their respect for one another plainly visible.

“I think it should interest you that this little quarrel between Weasel and Hermione concerns you, Uncle,” Draco informed him quietly while he took his first sip of the punch, his Slytherin traits not disappointing his Head of House.

“Me?” Severus raised his left eyebrow. “Care to elaborate, godson?”

“Weasel didn’t take seeing you both dancing together so well. Lavender Brown told me earlier that it was rumoured that he had planned to finally confess his feelings for Hermione to her tonight, that cretin,” Draco said, disgusted.

The former spy kept an unimpressed expression, likewise sipping some of his punch and rubbing his chest unconsciously with his left hand.

"He was jealous, and when he called you a greasy git, she told him to take it back, which Weasel surely did not.”

“And that’s why she slapped him?” his Head of House inquired sceptically, taking another sip of punch.

“No.” The young Slytherin smirked knowingly. “That happened when Weasel announced that traitors like you should rot in Azkaban.”

Severus closed his eyes momentary at the malicious words. Weasley was not the first person to have that wish. He had barely escaped Scrimgeour's claws after the final battle.

“But be assured, Uncle, I think her words have slapped him more than her hand did,” Draco continued nonchalantly while toasting smugly to Longbottom on the other side room. The Gryffindor had finally managed to kiss the Lovegood girl and had been doing so for the last ten minutes.

"Hermione was furious. She informed him rather bluntly that she had never met a more honourable and brave man than you are. Furthermore, should she ever have to decide between the two of you as to who should be the father of her children, it would...“ Draco paused dramatically and gave his godfather a rather self-satisfied grin, “…it would be you, Uncle.“

The Potions master’s glass of punch slipped through his gifted fingers, hitting the floor with a small crack.

***

Casting a silent Evanesco, Draco was quite pleased with himself.

For the first time in his life, his godfather looked as if he had been overrun by a Hippogriff.

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