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It had been ten years since the war’s end, and Circe knew Hermione had had her fill of ceremonies, galas, and fundraisers as each anniversary came and went. She had always hated being paraded around by the organisation that hadn’t lifted a finger to help when war had actually descended on the wizarding world, no; they just enjoyed the side benefits of knowing they could utilise the war heroes at a moment's notice, and for any of them to reject the ministry’s call would be to signal that they were somehow above the regular wizarding population. While the ministry was much lacking in the rather important areas of supporting its populace, it was still very much a
political
arena, one that was quite savvy when it wanted to be.
The only annual event she ever looked forward to had been the yearly Samhain Masquerade, held at Harry’s bequest, and only for Order members and those Order adjacent–safe people, in other words. It had started two years after the battle, once Hogwarts had been rebuilt and the dust from the pain and agony of the last six years since Voldemort’s return, and ultimate defeat, had settled.
Harry had lost everything on Halloween, and while many members of society still viewed the day in a celebratory light, the day Voldemort was vanquished by baby Harry, it was still a painful memory for most of those who had participated in the first war. Driven by his ultimate desire for family and community, he had confided to Hermione that he wanted to take the day back from being one of sadness and loss, to one of joy and rebirth.
Each year the masquerade was held in the newly-restored and updated Grimmauld Place. Gone were the dark wooded hallways and dreary, dusty upholstery. Now it was open and airy, with sheer window coverings over stained glass windows, refinished oak flooring, and it had been expanded greatly to accommodate the Potters’ growing family. A new interior ballroom with a wondrous crystal chandelier hung in the centre was the location of choice for the ball every year.
The first year, the ball had been a regular costume party, with people spending the evening in their preferred group of choice, scattered around the ballroom. Each pocket of guests sought the comfort of those they related to most in this new post-war era, neatly avoiding those who they struggled to connect with. There were still tensions amongst their ranks, as much of the grief borne from the war had changed important parts of themselves and those they used to know.
After a second year of awkward shuffling within the ballroom, George Weasley had put his foot down.
“Think of it like this,” he said to Harry one afternoon in September, before the third Samhain Masquerade was upon them, “everyone is afraid of stepping on someone else’s emotional toes. I barely had anyone able to look me in the eye, for fear every conversation even remotely related to Fred would send me into hysterics. I know you’d like for this event to bring healing and happiness Harry,” he said, looking up from his perch at the foot of the couch. “But honestly mate, we’re all getting in the way of a good time. Which is why I present you with my new and improved ‘Who-la-ween Habiliment’”
Harry stared at George blanky, and he gestured for him to continue when no immediate explanation was forthcoming. George always was one for the dramatics.
“Each person puts our patented lozenge under their tongue, and for the next six hours, whichever costume has been assigned to it will be what everyone else sees.” George finished with a flair of his hands, like he had performed some great feat of magic.
“Err, that’s great George, but I don’t see how that will encourage others to interact without feeling uncomfortable.” Harry said as he struggled to figure out if he had missed some crucial aspect in George’s statement.
“Ahhhh, yes. I should mention that this lozenge doesn’t just give you a costume. You
become
whatever costume you ingest. You see, I have given all of them specific directives for outfitting people, and no two are alike in a batch. If I were to eat one that is keyed to a pirate, for instance, my entire face, clothing, body, and any accessories on my person would match the programming in the lozenge. It was a tricky bit of magic that Fred and I had worked on for years—based on a combination of polyjuice and metamorphmagus gene sequences. I had shelved it when Fred….” he trailed off, but then shook his head to clear the thought away and continued, “but after last year’s showing, I knew I needed to get it ready for this year’s ball.” He finished with the smug air of someone who knew their way around mischief.
Harry looked thoughtful for a few moments before breaking out in a grin that spanned ear to ear. “I see what you mean. If people enter as someone or something else, they will not feel pressure to interact with one another. They won’t know who is who, and people can get to know each other more easily. George, you’re brilliant!”
And so the third year came. Each guest had been swept into an antechamber connected to the ballroom, given a lozenge, and then sent through to the party. It had been a roaring success. People laughed together at some of the sillier outfits; poor Professor Flitwick had been turned into a genie, bottle and all, while Minerva had been turned into The Bearded Lady of circus fame. There were conversations flowing freely, as people were enchanted by the complex magic of the small candies. There were hugs and tears, people playing parlour games together, and lots of imbibing of alcoholic beverages. As the night had drawn to a close, and midnight approached, people started to quietly murmur to one another that no matter who they were underneath the costume, they still wished to continue the acquaintance. And as the clock struck twelve, all the disguises melted away and people who had previously had animosity or anxiety with one another found themselves embracing and patting each other’s back good naturedly. It was finally the joy-filled evening Harry had dreamed of.
~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione sat in front of her vanity letting her mind wander to the evening’s festivities. This would be the 8th year of their Samhain tradition, and she was looking forward to seeing everyone in their peculiar outfits. She had been everything from a harpy to the Red Queen of Alice in Wonderland fame. No matter how outlandish, or how different she appeared on the outside,
he
always managed to find her in the crowd.
Over the years it had become an unspoken game between them. She would do her best to evade him–-making herself as silly, vapid, or otherwise un-Hermione-like as possible in order to hide herself amongst the crowd. Some years she believed she had successfully evaded him, but as the first strike of the clock hit midnight, she would find him standing beside her, giving her a superior smirk. It was absolutely maddening.
In the fifth year, she had tried to be the predator and corner him before she could be found out, but he had eluded her all evening, finding her at the last moment and leering in his arrogant way. Ultimately she decided to leave him to his own devices each year after that.
This year, George had announced that his little party trick would have a new spin on it: he would be making them custom to each party attendee. His modified recipe would distill the essence all of them exuded at a fundamental level. Each of them had given him a hair sample to produce a costume that represented their inner auras. It was actually quite ingenious if Hermione was honest with herself.
She wondered what her specific recipe would produce. She could feel a slight bit of unease stirring inside of her. She knew what she was like; bossy, insufferable, a know-it-all. While she had obviously matured into a young woman with a good head on her shoulders, she also knew that some of her adolescent qualities had carried over into adulthood. There was some trepidation inside of her that worried her formula would create something embarrassing like an ancient librarian, or heaven forbid a banshee or a hag.
Sighing deeply while brushing her long, voluptuous curls out, she put the party favours out of her mind. It would be best to focus on getting the rest of her day organised and completed before fixating on things she couldn’t change. She wondered if he would be recognizable to her this time. She liked to think she would know his true essence, but each year’s failure hung heavily over her head.
~~~~~~~~~~
Stepping into the vestibule attached to the grand ballroom, Hermione hung her cloak and other items in the designated area next to the full length mirror situated for guests to view their costumes after ingesting the lozenge. On the table sat her individually wrapped candy with a hand-written name tag attached to it. George said he would be a good sport and leave a clue on each name tag, so that people could get a feel for their form ahead of their entrance. She looked at her symbol questioningly, not seeing the relevance of an Owl to her essence. She had a feeling that she was in over her head this year, but she shook her head swiftly side to side to dislodge the doubt she was having over a silly masquerade. So what if she was something truly embarrassing? Everyone milling about in the next room were her dear friends, they would never taunt and mock her in her true aspect, even if it was an ancient librarian.
She took a deep breath, unwrapped the paper from around the candy, and moved to stand in front of the mirror. She placed it under her tongue and waited for it to dissolve. She closed her eyes to prolong the time before she would have to face herself. She experienced a gentle warmth blooming from the centre of her chest, almost above her heart. As she underwent a shifting and morphing of her body, she felt herself shoot up a reasonable height, and her arms and legs became longer and firmer as well. Everything was vibrating within her almost like the wings of a hummingbird—too fast to notice the individual movements. It was as if the air around her was charged with magic and chaos, but it felt decadent and comforting.
The movement of her body and the warmth inside her dissipated almost as quickly as it started. She felt bereft for a moment as the frenetic energy from just moments before drained out of the space around her, although she could still sense a source of light beneath her eyelids. She took a deep breath and opened one eye slowly to ascertain her new look for the night.
What she saw made her breath catch in her throat.
Before her, reflected in the mirror, stood herself. Albeit a more refined and taller version of herself. Her skin was literally glowing like the moon during wintertime, reflecting rainbows around the walls of the small room. A supple firmness to the muscles of her arms and legs gave way to a soft glimmering when she moved them. Her hair, which had been down and brushed out, was now plaited in a crown around her head in an intricate pattern of braids, crystals, and small white feathers. Her eyes, which she had always considered a plain brown, were glowing like the rich amber of an expensive scotch swirling around in a tumbler.
Her eyes were drawn down to her attire after soaking in the changes to her face. She was in a soft gauzy fabric that looked as if it were made out of the stars themselves. The sheer layers gave an outline to her figure beneath it in the flickering candle-light, although it was still modest. Every time she moved, the fabric whispered softly like the sighs of two lovers embracing. Around her midsection, she saw olive branches cinching her waist in a delicate fall of olive leaves that further accentuated her figure. There was a gold medallion closure at her shoulder that was inscribed with an owl and a sceptre.
She noticed her feet were bare, but around both ankles were golden anklets that had small charms on them which chimed delicately whenever she moved. They sounded like the lost songs of the days of old, but they also sounded hauntingly familiar to her.
Hermione wasn’t sure how long she stood there, drinking in this version of herself, when the curtains to the ballroom ruffled and a small owl flew silently over to land gently on her shoulder.
“I suppose my costume is complete” Hermione breathed in wonderment. Giving one last look into the mirror she turned her back and made for the entrance that would lead her to the ballroom.
~~~~~~~
He stood quietly and covertly in the corner of the room, assessing each guest as they meandered by. So far, she had not appeared to him, but he could sense her in the vicinity. Her presence had always called out to him, and if he had heightened sensitivity to her magical signature during the days of power, well, that was his own secret to keep. He knew it infuriated her endlessly that she could never find him when he could always find her, even in such arbitrary disguises. The thought made him chuckle darkly to himself. He had touched all sorts of magic in his time on this earth, and his ability to feel different magical ranges from pure light to the darkest dark, helped him in his maddening endeavour each year. She was quite handsome when she was angry, thus, he would continue to stalk her every Samhain to his heart’s content.
A rustling of fabric across the hall, and the gasps of people nearby brought his attention to the figure stepping onto the marble floor through the ballroom’s antechamber. His heart leapt into his throat at the sight his eyes were greedily drinking in.
The creature before him was the most perfect, ethereal being he had ever seen in his short miserable life. He saw her step tentatively into the room at first, but straightened her spine and lifted her chin in defiance of the attention she was receiving. She glanced cooly around her, as if unreachable, above it all from her lofty height. She passed her eyes over the room once, twice, and then her head whipped around to the corner full of shadows he was standing in. She turned her body to face him directly and the sight of her full gaze upon him was almost his undoing.
She moved through the crowd like the goddess she was, lithe and regal. His dark eyes never moved from her face as she drew closer. He indeed knew he was the quarry this evening, and he was very much looking forward to being ensnared by her. He wasn’t sure what had drawn her to him so quickly, but he was thankful they wouldn’t have to extend their twisted foreplay until midnight.
“Erebus” she said with a deeper voice than normal. Her face expressionless and calm
“Athena” he replied with a purr.
His skin was almost white in its paleness, his dark robes seemed to be made of smoke and shadow as they flowed around his feet. His long black hair shone in the candlelight while swaying gently, as if caught by an unseen wind. His eyes were twin stars burning inside his narrow face, which was glowing with a dark energy that permeated his entire being. He stood a full head taller than her, and gazed down into her face with an intensity that made the temperature in the room drop by several degrees.
“Severus” she said in a gentler tone this time, letting warmth transform her features
“Madame Snape” he said, a wicked glint in his eyes, the corner of his lips taking shape into the quirk of a smile.
“Take me home.” she breathily asked him, leaning further into his personal space, searching for the familiarity of his scent beneath the glamour.
“As my Goddess demands.” he swept her bodily into his full embrace and with a
crack
that resounded throughout the massive ballroom, they were gone.
If the stories of that night were to be believed, many wizarding and muggle folk alike reported miracles of every variety–ranging from impossible recoveries to money raining down from the sky ; mass experiences of people dancing, hugging, and laughing in the streets were reported, and owls all over the country were found flying in large flocks carrying a haunting melody across the night skies.
And if the Snapes woke up the next day to feathers in the sheets, a subtle glow upon their skin, and a miraculous new life growing within Hermione, well, that was their secret to keep too.
~Fin~