A Room With a View

Not Tonight Dear, I Have a Headache

October 07, 2005

There were times when Severus hated being right. As predicted, the Howlers started arriving the very next morning and didn't abate for nearly two weeks. Half of the letters chastised them for daring to bring a lover's tiff to Hogwarts' august halls (as though that had never happened before); the other half took great delight in castigating either Severus or Hermione - sometimes both - for sullying the name of a war hero. A few accused Severus of cradle robbing, though most seemed more interested in attacking Hermione for being a gold-grubbing whore. As though her Order of Merlin hadn't contained the same monetary award that his had.

Skeeter's accusations were, of course, scurrilous. They also sold untold papers, which is why the thrice-damned newspaper kept her in ink and Quick Quotes Quills. Normally Severus would have ignored the issue, but his classes were becoming more unruly by the day. Being made a laughing stock was one thing; having his lover's character steadily assassinated was quite another. His students thought him gullible, taken in by the harpy fame-seeker, and failed to see the irony in their own easy belief of Skeeter's lies. He would have rolled his eyes if he weren't so busy trying to keep his students from inadvertently hexing themselves into permanent stupidity. Sadly, Severus found himself relying more and more on the scare tactics of the decade before to subdue the dunderheads in his classroom. Clearly something would have to be done, and soon. He just couldn't think of what, or more importantly, how to get to Rita blasted Skeeter and her merry band of spies. (Oh, the woman had informants somewhere. He was still spy enough to recognize a megalomaniac mastermind when he saw one.)

An opportunity arrived in the form of an invitation, nestled between three bright red and smoking envelopes when Severus arrived in his rooms after teaching one evening. (He'd taken to having the mail delivered to his apartment's hearth, so that they might burst into flame without singeing his belongings.) Lucius Malfoy was hosting a charity ball for Guy Fawkes Day. Interesting. An attached note within read, simply:

S--

Simply respond in the affirmative and spare me your whinging. Bring your "handsy, hellion harlot," to quote one R. Skeeter. We're embracing all things Muggle this year; there will be a bonfire and fireworks of many kinds. Dress is formal; for Narcissa's sake, don't wear black.

--L

PS: What in the name of Merlin happened to your Patronus? A raven seems trite, particularly for you.

Interesting. Lucius was clearly still attempting to repair the Malfoy reputation by opening his home to all and sundry and spending ungodly amounts of money on food, drink, and political favors. It was comforting to know how little some things changed.

A knock on his door drew Severus' attention and he opened it to find Hermione there. She greeted him with a quick peck on the cheek before flinging herself into her usual chair by the fire.

"I had a dreadful day. What about you?" she said, toeing off her shoes.

"Merely awful. I suspect your students just think you easily taken in. Mine think I've suddenly become a glory-hound. As if I ever wanted the spotlight to begin with. That was more Ron's thing."

"I believe we may have just been offered some assistance." Severus handed Hermione the embossed invitation and accompanying note, smiling at the snort that escaped her as she read 'handsy, hellion harlot'.

"What's Lucius playing at?" she asked him, looking up.

"I'm not entirely sure, but it's clear he has something planned for Skeeter - and that our attendance will be required to pull it off. I'm in a mood to satisfy Lucius' whim. What say you? Would you like to attend the ball with me, Harlot dearest?" he smirked.