The sweltering heat caused the air to take on a heavy feeling. The sun shone on Harry’s black head as he stood by the tree and watched the other students enjoying themselves. The air was redolent with the scent of the flowers which had finally come out to play. Some fourth years, Ginny among them, were playing by the lake, seemingly oblivious of the broken shells which might cut them, the Giant Squid, and the impending threat of Voldemort. Harry wanted more than anything to join them but the sight of a strait-laced professor frolicking in the sun with his young pupils might look slightly odd. His black eyes glittered as he watched them. No, not his black eyes, Snape’s black eyes. He sighed, not for the first time.
There had been no hang-over. No head-ache. No loss of memory. Everything that had happened, everything he had said with McGonagall came back in swirling, glittering colour. And he was so tempted to call her Minerva, but something within him, his adolescent tendencies, wouldn’t allow him to. Harry had awoken in the morning, showered, changed and sighed. For a moment, but a moment only, he had hoped that everything that had happened for the past 48 hours had been a nightmare. He couldn’t delude himself for long.
The party was tonight. The one “he” had co-organised, and he wondered if it would be a horrific event, or a ball of fun. His pessimism had him leaning towards the former. However, McGonagall had been good company, it was easy to see why she was a Gryffindor. He wanted to celebrate her birthday. He had never thought that professors might have birthdays too. He had checked the list and had done everything that was asked. He then spent some time reading a book on Snape’s shelf, Selected Poems by Browning, stroking Fidens absentmindedly. One of the poems disturbed him a little, boyfriends killing their girlfriends out of “love” confused and baffled his teenage mind. Some of the other poems were all but comprehensible. After spending an hour or so on intellectual study he decided to enjoy some time in the sun. He wasn’t really enjoying himself, but it was nice to be out.
He went back inside after a time, slowly making his way back to his quarters in order to find something else to do. There, in the centre of the room, was a large silver package. Harry stared at it in awe. He walked up and saw some parchment floating in front of it. There was no ink on the page until he held it in his hands.
“Minerva’s present. Severus asked me to keep hold of it until the day. He said something about not wanting you to put your grubby paws all over it. I think he actually forgot the party was tonight. See you there, Harry. Don’t worry about anything, you’ll be fine.
Kindest regards, Albus Dumbledore”
Harry smirked at the easy and relaxed way Dumbledore had written, silently cursing him for what he had done to him. He was annoyed that he couldn’t see the present before he gave it to McGonagall. He was profoundly curious as to what it could be. The package wasn’t any defined shape of anything in particular.
Harry spent the next few hours reading and rereading the lesson plans for the next day. He was nervous as all hell. Just what would he do if a student had the impropriety to ask a question he didn’t have the answer to? He also looked up some charms. There was every possibility Snape was going to hate him for this one, but when he saw it he knew he had to use it.
Harry had another shower, doing his routine duck-in-and-out-with-eyes-closed-tight. He performed the charm he had read about.
He stared into the mirror and started to concentrate on the image in front of him. The long black hair instantly dried. He concentrated harder murmuring “coup les cheveux”, which the book said literally meant “cut the hair” in French. The strands of hair started to shorten. It was not like the hair was being cut, it was like the hair was receding back into his head. It was quite a shocking sight to behold, not because Harry was unused to such magical effects, but because Snape looked really different with shorter hair. When the style was to his liking, Harry smiled a small mischievous smile.
He grabbed hold of the package tenderly, it was surprisingly light, and walked down the corridor to the Staffroom. The room was bedecked in streamers and a “Happy 77th birthday, Minerva” banner was magically pinned to the wall. Quite a few people were already there, milling about holding glasses of what looked like butterbeer and wine. Harry decided firmly not to have anything alcoholic to drink.
He saw McGonagall standing talking to Flitwick and wandered over.
“Happy Birthday Minerva!” he said, holding the present out with a smile.
“Severus!” McGonagall said in delighted shock. “Thankyou! What have you done to your hair?”
“I know you said you wanted a change, Severus, but don’t you think this was a teensy bit drastic?” the warm tones of Dumbledore said.
Harry smiled artificially. He looked at Dumbledore, wondering if the Headmaster was angry, but he actually looked somewhat amused.
“After dipping a strand into the broth and spoiling yet another complex Potion I decided it would be easier if I just lopped it all off,” Harry said. Both McGonagall and Dumbledore chuckled.
“Well, you’ve been threatening to do it for years!” McGonagall said, handing Harry a glass of pumpkin juice as he nodded towards it. Harry was greatly surprised by this but tried not to let it show. He was dying to see what Snape had got McGonagall.
****************
McGonagall became preoccupied as other people came bearing gifts. Harry found himself pushed to the side slightly. He didn’t mind. He watched everything quietly, finding amusement in the differences wrought in professors who were away from student company.
Music started up somewhere and Harry saw a few of the professors pairing up. He sidled off to the food table. As he munched on some small canapé, Harry found himself enjoying his observations. Flitwick had performed some sort of levitating charm and was now dancing the birthday girl around the floor. She giggled like a schoolgirl as she placed her head over his raised shoulder.
Hours passed and Harry had conversations with various professors, but luckily no-one asked him to dance. He got the feeling McGonagall and Dumbledore were the only ones who had the courage to try and get Snape to do anything and they were both busy. Others talked to him in a quietly polite and friendly manner, but that was all. Snape was obviously feared amongst the staff as well as the student body. The only professor who wasn’t there seemed to be Trelawney, and there were others there besides. He spoke with an old friend of McGonagall’s who appeared to have met Snape at some other similar function. Apparently they had a love of the same poetry. Harry smiled and nodded as the other man spoke at great length about Tennyson.
“I’ve forgotten the name. What’s that long one about death?” Harry ventured, feeling he had to contribute to the conversation in some way. He figured there had to be at least one poem about death, it was all the poets ever seemed to be interested in.
“You mean In Memoriam?” the man asked in a bustling kind of way.
“Yes, of course. I love In Memoriam. It conveys a sense of real loss, doesn’t it?” Harry said hoping against hope it did.
“Oh yes, absolutely, you’re quite right, Severus, you’re quite right!”
Finally the time came for McGonagall to open her presents. Harry waited in suspense. She opened Sinistra’s first, a small box which ended up containing a small but very beautiful timepiece. McGonagall looked quite surprised to see such an expensive looking gift from another professor, so she wasn’t at all angered or offended when, upon pinning the watch to her robes, it blew a raspberry and shouted “You didn’t really think you’d get something like that from a co-worker did you? Here’s your real present!” and transformed into a paper weight that started to drag McGonagall’s cloak to the ground.
“Delightful, did you do the Transfiguration yourself?” McGonagall asked, looking amused and impressed. Sinistra nodded.
“Actually I brought it from the Weasley Twins,” she whispered to the Muggle Studies professor, whom Harry still didn’t really know the name of, but might have been called “Bob”.
McGonagall went towards the great silver package next, and Harry gasped in anticipation. She unwrapped it carefully. Inside was something which glistened and glittered. Harry still couldn’t tell what it was, but McGonagall sure seemed to know.
“An antique metamute!” she exclaimed in rapture.
“Well what does it do?” one of McGonagall’s friends asked.
“Oh, it’s far too old to do anything. Much like me,” the crowd giggled, “it’s a collector’s item. Thankyou so, so, much Severus,” she said.
“You’re welcome, Minerva,” Harry replied. He thought how considerate of Snape it was to buy McGonagall something that had sentimental value as well as real value. He couldn’t be fussed thinking about it too much, however, he was beginning to feel tired. He waited until McGonagall opened all of her other presents, said his farewells and left the room. He brushed his teeth and performed other ablutions before slipping into bed.
When he woke up in the morning he felt utter dread. He got ready, checked the clock and realised he had precious little time.
As he made it to the final corridor, Harry rubbed his hands against his sides for what seemed like the sixth time. He was late. It was his first lesson and he was bloody late. And it wasn’t just his first lesson, it was his first lesson with Snape as an audience. All the expletives in the world couldn’t describe the way he felt right now.
He entered the room, attempting to slow down the fast stride he had adopted getting to class. As he entered he heard a gasp emitted from all of the students. He walked to the middle of the class and looked at them. All of the students, his friends, everyone, was staring at him in awe and wonderment. Their faces were the picture of shock, horror, and all things connected with these emotions. Then he caught sight of Snape. Angry green eyes, furious gnashing of teeth, fists held tight, and a genuine look of threat. A tingle soared up his spine. If he looked like that when he was angry then he wasn’t surprised some people had occasionally viewed him in abject terror. He knew, right that second, that he had made the biggest mistake of his life.