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George Weasley peers carefully between the curtains, looking down at the gala tables. He counts carefully three tables up, one table in. His stomach churns. The sixth seat clockwise is supposed to be occupied by the balding git. Instead, he finds himself looking down at riotous curls that can only belong to one woman.
A woman who is most certainly going to kill him when she learns what he’s done.
Why is she there anyways? They had triple-checked the seating arrangements. Hermione wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near him. The Aurors have taken their positions at the door. He cannot sneak in a second time. He could call out a warning, but then she’ll know. Their joke shop production will slow considerably if she gives them the silent treatment over this.
“Please, I beg you, return to your assigned seat, Granger, c’mon,” he mutters to himself, as if he can somehow will it to be so.
“Mr. Weasley, I do hope you have an excellent reason for ogling my fiancé.”
George gulps. He schools his features and turns around to face his former professor. The reassuring thought of ‘he’s not your professor anymore’ sours with the realization that the relationship they once shared had offered some modicum of protection. At least Hermione would kill him quickly. He puts on his best smile.
“Well, Severus, funny thing that. Are you by chance familiar with Harvey Gertenson?”
“The reporter whose review of Hermione’s latest publication was thinly-veiled pureblood elitist drivel?”
“Right in one, always knew you were brilliant,” George confirms heartily. “As I’m sure you know, Hermione was quite upset. And as you clearly don’t know, she’s practically like our older sister.”
Severus raises a brow. “She’s a year younger than you.”
“Girl’s mature more quickly than boys, mum’s always said it.” Fred Weasley answers, materializing out of nowhere. “Now, as Georgie was saying… This bloke hurt our sister’s feelings, so we came up with a plan of revenge.”
“I assume Hermione is unaware of this.”
“She would have never allowed it,” says George.
“Too forgiving, she is.”
“Makes her an admirable big sister, it does.”
“But unfortunately…”
“It’s now got her in the way of the prank,” Fred finishes. “Why isn’t she sitting with you?”
“She’s in our assigned seat.”
“I checked the sheet!”
Severus scoffs. “As soon as I learned the seating arrangements were easily obtained, I had our seats moved around. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Fred repeats while George mutters something that sounds like, “paranoid nutter.”
“Now what exactly have you done?”
“Well, she may or may not be sitting on a transfigured chair.”
“With a stasis charm that will revert it back to it’s original form in—” Geroge checks his watch “—five minutes.”
“Which is mud.”
Severus pinches the bridge of his nose. “Your brilliant revenge plot was to have him fall into a mud puddle?”
“It felt poetic,” they say defensively.
“And these are the creative minds behind a joke shop.” Severus smirks. “I simply need to re-instate the stasis charm then?”
“Yes.”
He rolls his eyes. “Easily remedied. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
oOo
“He hasn’t done anything to the chair.”
“He is a master at nonverbal and wandless magic.”
“We should have been able to see something,” George insists. “What’s he playing at?”
“We’ll find out in a minute. Literally.”
The twins wait anxiously in their perch. The minute creeps closer and then—
“Aargh!”
They whip their heads around to see their intended target lying in mud puddle and, it would appear, having his arse bitten by a copy of his own rolled up magazine. The display has captured everyone’s attention. George sneaks a look at Severus whose mouth is turned up in a half-smirk.
“It’s a nice touch,” he begrudgingly admits.
oOo
“You were brilliant tonight, love,” Hermione says as he escorts her to the apparition point.
Severus shrugs. “It’s really no different than lecturing students. I assume most of them are no better than a firstie.”
“That is terrible to say. It’s also not what I was referring to.”
“Oh?”
Hermione raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to deny it?”
“Deny what?”
“Gertenson.”
“What of him?”
She sighs. “Severus Snape, did you have anything to do with the mud pit.”
“I would never come up with something so childish.”
“That’s true…” She purses her lips in thought. “So, it was a stolen idea, noted.”
“Why do you insist I was involved?”
“Really?”
The painful thing about turning over a new leaf is that Severus knows he can weave webs of lies from which she could never untangle. He knows he could deflect and gaslight her across the map. But he knows he shouldn’t. And he promised he wouldn’t. So—
“It was a Weasley prank I improved upon after discovery.”
“They were really just going to have him land in mud.” Her nose wrinkles.
He smirks. “So, it would seem.”
“And you added to the cliché by having his own words bite him in the arse.”
“There was a theme to follow.”
Hermione snorts. “You’re impossible.”
Severus pulls her aside before they reach the apparition point. “In truth, are you upset with me?”
She considers it for a moment then shakes her head. “Really you were just letting someone else’s joke play out… with improvements. And he did deserve it. And—”
Her cheeks turn pink.
“And what,” Severus prompts.
“And it might be rather attractive how you can do such complex wandless nonverbal magic.”
He arches an eyebrow and takes a step closer. “Shall I accompany you home for a proper display?”
“Please do,” she murmurs, nestling into his chest for the side-along.