Chapter 185. The School Ball. Part 2. The Headmaster.
With each passing minute, more students filled the Great Hall, and though some had grumbled about the rehearsals earlier that month, they were now waiting impatiently for the celebration to begin. Even the long-standing rivalry and grievances between the houses had been set aside for the evening, though the Gryffindors and Slytherins simply pretended the other didn't exist.
Nearly all the teachers had gathered in the Hall as well: only the head of Slytherin and the Headmaster were absent, but there were still twenty minutes until the start, and no one was in any particular hurry.
Most students had spread out into small clusters near their house tables, which the professors had transfigured into round tables to clear space for the dance floor. In the corner to the right of the teachers' table, a small orchestra was already in place, led by Professor Flitwick, the half-goblin head of Ravenclaw.
Severus and his companions entered the Hall, though few noticed: he had cast a Misdirection Charm to avoid drawing too much attention. Enough time had passed since the London incident, but many people were still trying to strike up conversations with him, and today he simply wasn't in the mood for it.
He didn't think of himself as above others; he simply found it tedious. Every conversation would cover the same ground, and tonight he wanted to rest, relax, watch the festivities, and sample whatever the house-elves had prepared.
"Right, you two: I won't keep you. Enjoy yourselves. I'll be at our table if anything comes up." He winked at the pair, took Lucky back from the protesting Layla, and disappeared.
"I ask you, is he not insufferable?!" she said with lightly flushed cheeks, turning to Regulus with displeasure. He gave her a restrained smile and nodded.
"He is what he is. There's no changing him at this point: you simply learn to tolerate his antics. By the way, I heard your brother is finishing Hogwarts this year. Would you introduce me?" The moment she heard that, she froze for just an instant, and the treacherous flush in her cheeks deepened further.
"W-why?" she asked. A rather foolish question, and she knew it the moment it left her mouth.
"I'd like to discuss a potential joint project."
"A 'p-p-project'?"
"It concerns the bookshops my father has opened in several countries," he said with complete composure, adopting his father's measured tone as though the previous exchange had never happened.
"All right," Layla breathed out, something very close to relief in her voice. She simply was not ready for that kind of conversation yet. They had spent perhaps a couple of hours in each other's company in total, scattered across several days.
She wanted to know this particular Black considerably better first, though; had he brought it up just then, she knew perfectly well she would not have refused.
He was different from most aristocrats: more mature, confident without being arrogant, lacking the contempt for others that so many of his peers wore like a uniform.
He was, by any measure, a proper aristocrat, and an attractive one at that. But she wanted a little more time before reaching any conclusions.
At that same moment, Severus, watching them from across the room, wiped away a single, restrained, manly tear.
"Ah. How quickly they grow. And to think, not so long ago he was such a little thing: smug, haughty, prideful, arrogant..."
"Meow!"
"All right, fine: a boy." He stroked Lucky's back, then added with a nostalgic smile, "Time moves so fast. I feel like an old man."
"Mrrrr..."
"Well then." He stopped petting him and pointed toward a distant table in the front row, covered with a ginger-red cloth. "You can eat whatever you like from there, but don't let anyone see you. Understood?" He gave him a knowing look. Lucky understood perfectly, nodded with confidence, and vanished. Severus settled himself at the green-draped table.
This was not his first ball, nor his second. Back when he had lived as a mercenary, he had attended dozens of such events in every kind of role: server, waiter, aristocrat.
Most had been assignments: eliminating a specific individual, or keeping someone under observation. It had been the work that built his reputation, his connections, and his funds.
The first ball he ever attended was one he had only seen as a child: during his second year at the school of magic, watching through a window as his classmates celebrated inside. He didn't have clothes decent enough to walk through the door. This was what drove him into alchemy—brewing the simplest beauty potions, and other things that enhanced magical ability, promoted healing, and so on. They sold well, especially among first- and second-years.
Ihiros had rescued him then, but hadn't been particularly interested in teaching him magic himself, so he enrolled the boy in the school of magic instead. Severus spent the next three years there, graduating not at the very top but close to it, and after that, Ihiros began teaching him personally.
As he was absorbed in this nostalgia and working through a slice of roast beef, someone settled into the seat beside him, a presence that didn't particularly surprise him.
"Mr. Severus, on such a festive occasion, it seems a shame to sit alone. Why not go and spend some time with your classmates?"
"Headmaster, if I showed myself, I'd be torn to pieces," he said with an awkward smile, finally turning his full attention to the man beside him. Dumbledore was watching the children laugh and chatter, a warm smile on his face, though the warmth in his eyes was tired. After a moment, the smile became something else, strained and unnatural, entirely unlike the man who was, at heart, a child in an old man's body.
"You should have settled that question sooner. You can't keep running from it forever."
"I'll finish Hogwarts in six months. I can afford to run for a little while longer." He put another piece of meat in his mouth and nodded approvingly. "Good, actually. Speaking of which, where is the Board of Governors? I expected them not to miss something like this."
"They had pressing matters to attend to." Severus knew perfectly well what those matters were, so he did not ask. The question had been rhetorical. "Has your teacher said anything to you about what happened recently?"
"He told me to stay out of it. Let them deal with their own problems."
"A pity." Dumbledore exhaled with quiet disappointment. His strength would have helped them greatly at this point.
"But he did ask me to pass something on to you, and for you to pass it on to the Minister of Magic."
"And what is that?"
"Something like, 'They are much closer than you think,'" Severus said thoughtfully, then added with a slight smirk, "He also called them blind donkeys who can't see past their own noses when they should, and act like idiots when they actually need to think. He said if they had been his students, he would have flogged them every day until they learned to use their heads. After that, I stopped listening and simply left."
"He said all of that?" Dumbledore studied the young man beside him with a very serious expression.
"He did. I had planned to speak with you about it tomorrow, but since you sat down with me, it saves me the climb to the eighth floor and means I can go home earlier," Dumbledore said.
Thank you for passing on your teacher's message." Dumbledore rose quickly, glanced toward the teachers' table, and met McGonagall's eye, giving a silent nod to the surprised woman. Then he looked back at Severus, apparently about to say something when Severus spoke first.
"Be careful, Headmaster. Your teacher's words aside, you may not be the most admirable of men, but you'll still be useful in the future."
"Did your teacher ask you to pass that along as well?" Dumbledore asked with mild curiosity. The tone had sounded rather more like the young man's own words than anyone else's.
"He anticipated you would go straight to the Ministry of Magic," Severus replied calmly, as though oblivious to the old man's scrutiny.
"Then please pass on my gratitude." With those words, Dumbledore Apparated out of Hogwarts, and Severus continued eating in quiet anticipation of the evening ahead.
Ten minutes later, classical waltz music rose through the Great Hall, drawing every student's attention at once. Conversations faded.
Minerva rose from the teachers' table and adjusted her hat slightly.
"In the absence of our Headmaster, who was to have delivered this address this evening but has been called away on a matter of considerable urgency, I will read it in his place." A small roll of parchment appeared in her hand. She unrolled it and began: "Dear students and staff, first and foremost I would like to wish you all a very Merry Christmas. This past year has brought us no shortage of joyful and memorable occasions..."
While Minerva continued reading the Headmaster's address, Severus was struggling to keep a straight face at the sight of Lucky sprawled across the table in front of him, belly up, deeply satisfied.
"Mrrryaow."
"You came back quickly. I thought I wouldn't see you until the end of the evening," Lucky replied, waving his tail absently and licking his front paws. "Shall I send you back to the room?"
"Meow!" He shook his head quickly.
"Don't tell me you want more." Severus looked at the kitten's visibly rounded belly with raised eyebrows.
In response, Lucky gave a silent, solemn nod without taking his eyes off the chicken lying beside him.
"Where do you even put it all?" Severus rested his chin in his palm and raised his eyes to the teachers' table, where Minerva had finally folded the parchment and was reaching the end of her speech.
"...the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore." As the last words fell, the music swelled slowly and many students moved toward the open floor with their partners.
At that moment, a group of Gryffindors who had little interest in dancing and were more than ready to eat settled at a fully set table. One of them, a blond boy, reached for a chicken leg with his fork: it went straight through, and he stared in stunned silence. So did his friends.
"Where's the... where's the meat?" The moment his fork had made contact, every last piece of meat on the table simply vanished. What remained were salads and fruit.
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