A Matter of Black and White

CHAPTER 32—OF MISTLETOE, VAMPIRES, AND CHRISTMAS QUEENS

Once the snow started coming, it didn’t seem to stop. Normally, Snape hated the first snowfalls of the season. Filch never kept up with the puddles of snowmelt that would accumulate in the hallways, and the students always stared distractedly out the windows, daydreaming about winter wonderlands. This year, however, when he grew tired of listening to the scratching of quills or the idiocy of dunderheads, Snape caught himself gazing out across the grounds and thinking about the strange way in which a blanket of snow could both cool and warm the body simultaneously. There had to be some undiscovered magical property to snow, something that he could uncover with a few tests in the Potions lab. What else could make a bit of frozen water seem so distractingly appealing?

Despite Snape’s newfound interest in winter weather, he still had no love for the quickly approaching holiday season. Christmas meant obnoxious singing, tacky presents, and the impending doom of Slughorn’s Christmas party. The season also meant navigating the throngs of silly schoolgirls who congregated under bunches of mistletoe.

“Anyone who fails to move out of my way,” Snape one day warned some pucker-lipped Ravenclaws who were herding Potter into a corner, “is going to find out how poisonous mistletoe can be when it is slipped into some pumpkin juice.”

“Still putting your potions skills to good use, I see,” a voice behind him said as the students scampered away.

Snape turned and saw Aurora grinning at him.

“You should be careful where you throw those threats around.” She cast her eyes upward.

Snape looked up. A sprig of mistletoe was hanging directly above him. He felt his face go hot. “I didn’t…I don’t….”

“You can’t blame them for wanting a kiss from the student body’s most eligible bachelor,” she laughed.

“I can’t see that there’s anything attractive about Potter,” Snape growled.

“Well,” she said, taking another step toward him, “sometimes attraction comes in unexpected places.”

She took his hand and the cuff of her sleeve brushed his wrist lightly like a snowflake. That strangely warm winter feeling washed over Snape again.

Just then, a robust voice echoed down the hall. “Happy Christmas!”

A new rush of heat spread over Snape’s face. Instantly, he and Aurora were two broomsticks’ lengths apart from each other.

“Slughorn.” Snape intoned with a full dose of malice.

“Don’t forget my Christmas party tomorrow,” the rotund Potions professor reminded them.

“I have a great deal of work to do before the holidays,” Snape protested.

“Nonsense, Severus. What would you ever be doing for the holidays?” Slughorn dismissed him. “No, I will take no excuses. I simply must have all the Heads of House at my party…and all lovely Holdahexe there too,” he added with a gleam toward Aurora. “Besides, Albus has already told me that you two should take full advantage of some holiday cheer.”

Easy for Dumbledore to say. The Headmaster was going on a mission the night of the party. He didn’t have to put up with all that Slugginess. He could sit back and torture his staff with instructions to attend.

“We wouldn’t miss it, Horace,” Aurora said graciously.

She could speak for herself.

“Excellent, excellent,” Slughorn said and then hurried down the hall to catch up with McGonagall, who was doing her best to slip into her classroom unnoticed by her colleague.

Aurora sighed resignedly. “Just think of it this way,” she murmured under her breath to Snape. “You’re finally going to get to see the inside of one of the Slug Club’s soirees. You might just have a happy Christmas yet.”

Snape scowled. The only way that his Christmas was going to be happy was if the date got wiped off the calendar entirely.

* * *

Despite his normally strict impulse toward punctuality, Snape arrived fifteen minutes late to Slughorn’s party. (At least fifteen was a nice, round number, he consoled himself.) The horror of appearing on time and actually having to mingle with the first wave guests far outweighed his usual distaste for tardiness. He would much prefer to arrive after the party had started and get lost in the crowd. Besides, his lateness was fifteen minutes less that he would have to spend at the party altogether.

Snape had hoped to appear at the same time as some of Slughorn’s favorites so that his old Head might not notice his entrance. Unfortunately, he arrived at the professor’s gaudily decorated chambers—Slughorn had magicked his study to look like a giant Bedouin tent tinted in crimson and gold (Gryffindor colors of all things)—during a lull in the party.

“Severus, old boy!” Slughorn called out to him in that insincere manner which signified that he wanted to talk to Snape no more than Snape wanted to talk to him. “How magnificent to see you here.”

Snape nodded curtly.

“You simply must try some of the cockatrice pâté. I just had it shipped in fresh from this marvelous little….”

“I’ve eaten already,” Snape replied.

“Oh, too bad. Well, there are other ways of enjoying yourself. There’s always dancing.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Hmm, well, in that case,” Slughorn said, clearly put out, “let me introduce you to someone.”

This was unexpected. Snape thought that Slughorn saved all of his special contacts for his Slug Club favorites.

Slughorn looked around the room. “Ah, yes, I know just the person. I’m sure you’ll get along famously. Sanguini!” he cried across the room.

A sallow-faced vampire joined them and Slughorn left them to discuss whatever it was he thought that Snape and a blood-sucking creature of the night might have in common.

“One of the brotherhood, I presume?” Sanguini asked him.

“Pardon?” Snape asked.

“I am assuming Slughorn asked us to meet because we are blood-brothers.”

Snape was about to explain that the old Slugball was just trying to get rid of him when he realized what Sanguini was saying: he thought Snape was a fellow vampire. “No,” he said emphatically.

Honestly.

Sanguini shrugged and excused himself to join the throng of girls who were inexplicably lusting after this dark and brooding monster.

Snape took the opportunity to escape to one of the tables where he could pour himself a drink and look completely enthralled by the way the wine sloshed against the side of his goblet. Occasionally he would look up to study the other party-goers. Hagrid was starting to flush from his double-fisted Firewhiskeys, and Trelawney had already come to the party two sheets to the wind thanks to the cooking sherry she was always smuggling out of the kitchens. Others on the staff didn’t need alcohol to make fools of themselves. Flitwick was trying his hand at the mandolin with the band (much to the distress of Snape’s ears), and Sprout had joined the gaggle of girls who were going gaga over Sanguini. The one person Snape didn’t see was Aurora.

Merlin, there would be hell to pay if she, of all people, managed to skive out of the party. Wasn’t she supposed to be the popular one? Didn’t she relish this sort of thing?

At half-past eight, Aurora finally appeared, dressed in a fine white gown with silver filament. Under the flickering of the fairy lights, she might have been a human manifestation of one of the delicate crystal snowflakes dancing outside. No surprise, Slughorn claimed her immediately and made sure to lead her by the arm to introduce her to every celebrity, politician, and vampire in the room. (Snape noticed that Sanguini seemed especially interested in the plunging neckline of Aurora’s dress.) In turn, Aurora greeted each person so graciously and conversed so freely that Snape was surprised when she finally excused herself from Slughorn’s elite little circle. Even more surprising was the fact that she then sat down next to him.

“Tiring of your celebrity so soon?” he drawled.

Aurora poured herself a glass of wine. “The people here are very interesting. I can’t deny it,” she explained, surveying the room full of guests with admiration. “But I couldn’t take another minute of Horace trotting me around like his pretty little pony.” She looked disdainfully at the arm by which he had led her. “I think I’m going to have to disinfect my arm now. I feel so dirty.”

Snape smirked. “I’ll get you a potion for that.”

“Is there a special brew for cooties?”

“Any old slug-o-cide ought to do.”

She laughed and looked around again. “You know, it’s not a half-bad party, Slughorn excluded.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Snape said dryly.

“Oh, come on. Look around,” she said, Perpetually Optimistic Aurora back in action. “That sculpted ice Christmas tree is lovely, and the fairy lamps aren’t a bad touch.”

“The Christmas tree is melting,” Snape observed, “and I would’ve expected you to be protesting the imprisonment of fairies in lamps.”

“Well, what about the food? The house-elves have outdone themselves.”

“It’s too rich. I haven’t tried it.”

“Then how do you know it’s too rich?”

Snape sent her a withering glare and then pretended to be interested in the band. A new group was setting up, and even he couldn’t believe who some of the members were.

A buzz was echoing around the room. Some members of the Weird Sisters were about to sing.

“Is that…?” Aurora asked in awe.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Slughorn pompously announced. “My good friends Myron Wagtail and Kirley McCormack Duke have been so kind as to agree to share their talents with us tonight. Please give a warm welcome to one-quarter of our favorite magical rock group, the Weird Sisters.

“I don’t believe it,” Aurora practically squealed as McCormack Duke started tuning his guitar and Wagtail checked the microphone. “Myron Wagtail was at the Zauberflöten concert. I caught his handkerchief. Do you suppose he remembers me?”

“I highly doubt it,” Snape drawled. What was so special about musicians that made an ordinarily sensible witch go all schoolgirl-giddy? What next? If Sanguini sang, would Aurora ask him to take a little nip at her neck?

“Come on, we have to dance,” she said excitedly.

“I-do-not-dance,” he said matter-of-factly.

“But how often does a famous rock band come here to Hogwarts to play?”

“It’s not a famous rock band; it’s two members of a famous rock band. And, as a matter of fact, they were here two years ago to play for the Yule Ball.”

She shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t here two years ago.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

Snape remained firmly planted in his seat. “Try to make me dance and I’ll tell your Zauberflöten pals you’ve been cheating on them.” What would Torsten Trommel and the rest of the musicians on the magical poster in her chambers say if they knew that their “Number One Fan” was going all giddy for someone else’s music?

Aurora sank back in her chair. “You’re evil.”

“So I’ve been told,” he answered easily.

The students filled the dance floor, and Aurora laughed to watch Flitwick try to do the Hippogriff. “Move around like a scary ghost,” Aurora sang, “Scaring himself with toast.”

“It’s ‘most,’” Snape corrected her automatically. “It’s ‘scaring himself the most.’”

An amazed grin spread over her face. “And how would you know that, Severus Snape?”

“I’ve had the misfortune of confiscating too much of this drivel from the students.”

Aurora shook her head, a dawning light of recognition passing over her face. “Oh no. You don’t get off that easily. You haven’t just confiscated the music. You’ve listened to it…enough to know the lyrics.” She gave him a reassessing look. “Severus Snape, you’re a closet rock-n-roll fan, aren’t you?” When he refused to answer, she laughed. “Come on, we have to dance now.”

“Just because I can tolerate this noise does not mean that I am going to make a fool of myself by shaking my body like I am having convulsions.”

“Just you wait, Severus,” she said knowingly. “You’re going to dance with me before the night is through. The music is going to move you.”

“Highly unlikely.”

Wagtail and McCormack Duke played two more songs before letting the regular band take over again. After they were through, Aurora applauded louder than anyone else.

“That was brilliant,” she said. “I can’t wait to write Marion about this. I should Floo Fleur and Tonks too.”

“Excuse me,” a voice said to them. Aurora and Snape turned in their chairs to find themselves face-to-face with Myron Wagtail. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” he asked Aurora.

She blushed. “I was at the Zauberflöten concert.”

A look of recognition crossed Wagtail’s face. “The handkerchief, yes. I’m so glad you got it and not that old hag. Would you like to dance?”

Aurora’s eyes grew wide. “Y-yes, of course.” She threw a Can-you-believe-this-is-happening? glance at Snape and joined Wagtail on the dance floor.

Traitor.

Weren’t they supposed to be miserable at this party together? What was so great about Myron-Bloody-Wagtail? If she liked his music, fine, but the man was done singing. What was so appealing about some stringy-haired singer? Snape doubted that Wagtail could read a rune to save his life. No doubt he had a witch for every city, and with the way he was dancing with Aurora, Snape thought he knew who the singer wanted from Hogwarts.

Snape scowled and went to pour himself some more wine but found that the decanter was empty. Nearly kicking back his chair, he got up to find a house-elf who could get him a new bottle. Along the way, he overheard Slughorn admiring Aurora’s dancing skills.

“Quite the belle of the ball, isn’t she?” Slughorn told a group of eagerly agreeing wizards. “A regular Christmas Queen.”

Snape nearly kicked an under-foot house-elf before recalling that he needed the creature to deliver him some wine. The house-elf paid no heed to the fact that she had nearly been flattened under Snape’s boot and eagerly agreed to bring a new bottle to his table. Before he could return to his seat and glower at Wagtail, however, Slughorn snagged him.

“Stop skulking and come and join us, Severus!” he hiccupped. Obviously Snape wasn’t the only one who had been imbibing. What else would suddenly make the old Slugball desire his presence? “I was just talking about Harry’s exceptional potion-making! Some credit must go to you, of course, you taught him for five years!”

A compliment? Now Snape knew Slughorn really must be drunk. Moreover, what else but excessive drinking could make anyone think that Potter could even tell which side of a cauldron was up?

“Funny,” Snape sneered, “I never had the impression I managed to teach Potter anything at all.”

“Well, then, it’s natural ability!” cried Slughorn. “You should have seen what he gave me, first lesson, Draught of Living Death—never had a student produce finer on a first attempt….”

Snape scowled. Apparently his old Potions teacher had forgotten that the Draught of Living Death was his specialty. (He had written a book about the potion after all.) He couldn’t imagine how the imbecilic Potter could outshine him with that brew. He gave the Boy Wonder a penetrating stare, and the boy squirmed nervously.

Potter and Slughorn proceeded to have an inane conversation about Potter’s ludicrous hopes of becoming Auror (as if the boy would ever achieve all the necessary N.E.W.T.S.). However, they were interrupted by Filch dragging Draco Malfoy with him by the ear.

Snape realized the evening had suddenly gone from bad to worse.

“I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor,” Filch cried gleefully to Slughorn. “He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?”

Though Slughorn had certainly not invited anyone whose father had been disgracefully sent to Azkaban, his present tipsiness put him in a more charitable mood. To Filch’s dismay, Slughorn forgave the boy for his understandable desire to be a part of one of the famous Slug Club parties and allowed him to stay.

Snape, however, continued to peer hard at the young Slytherin. If Malfoy had wanted an invitation to the party, he would have used his flatteringly forked tongue to have gained Slughorn’s favor or would have talked one of the girls into bringing him as a date. No, no matter how society-conscious the Malfoys were, Draco had not been interested in this party. He had obviously been lurking for another purpose—perhaps something set to him by the Dark Lord.

Idiot boy. He was going to get them both killed if he proceeded to bumble his way through his orders. The brat didn’t even have the wisdom to come to Snape for advice like his Mummy had told him to do.

“I’d like a word with you, Draco,” Snape declared. Enough was enough.

Despite Slughorn’s protests, Snape dragged Malfoy away from the party, pausing only long enough to send a scowl toward the dance floor, where Myron Wagtail was dipping a laughing Aurora in his arms. Snape was going to have Malfoy’s hide, and when he was through, all the demons in Hades weren’t going to drag him back to this bloody party.

* * *

AN: The conversations between Slughorn and Snape about Potter’s brewing skills and about Draco’s party-crashing are taken almost directly from Chapter 15 of HBP. Don’t sue me, please!

Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing. It makes me happy. :) It’s good to see some new readers…and the tried and true ones too!