To Make Much of Time

When Snape and Dumbledore had composed themselves once more, Snape bade him farewell and made his way across Minerva's office, ignoring Phineas Nigellus and tolerating a fond embrace from Dilys Derwent, who was delighted to see him well, squeaky voice notwithstanding. He summarized his adventures in the library for an appreciative Fortescue, and finally made his way to Everard's portrait.

"Excuse me, Everard?"

The older wizard regarded him with a steely gaze. "How may I be of service?"

"I wish to enter the Ministry of Magic. Would you give me directions?"

"Well, that depends. Having been Minister of Magic, I don't take kindly to blackmail or any such activity. I'm afraid I can't let you through if you intend mischief."

"I am not attempting to inflict anything unpleasant on the Minister of Magic. In fact, I am highly suspicious that his Senior Undersecretary may be involved in nefarious activity, or at the very least, is advising him very poorly."

"Oh, you're after the old toad!" exclaimed Everard. "By all means, my boy, by all means! I've hated that woman for years, ever since seeing her sully the Headmistress's chair. Walk straight back into the portrait. When the light disappears, bear right. My portrait hangs outside the Minister's office, and the Senior Undersecretary's office is just down the hall. Go with my blessing!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Everard's portrait hung in a corridor lined with paintings of all the other Ministers of Magic. The few Ministers not visiting other locations appeared to be asleep. It was silent but for the portraits' snoring. A door, presumably Umbridge's, was open a crack, and light fell across the floor. Good, she was still at work.

Taking great care not to make any noise, Snape stepped into the portrait of Clara Banderouge, who had been Everard's immediate predecessor. She was fast asleep, and Snape held his breath as he sidled past her. The next frame was empty. Apparently Oscar Duffie had other places to be.

His heart leaped into his throat as a door to the left opened and Minister Weasley came out into the hallway. Snape immediately froze and put his head forward to conceal his face with his hair and give the impression that he was asleep. The Minister never even looked at the wall and made a beeline for Umbridge's office. To Snape's dismay, he closed the door after him.

Snape quickly made his way through the other portraits until he was at the one next to Umbridge's door. He had leapt across frames into portraits that hung next to one another, but could he go through walls? And would there be anywhere to hide in whatever portraits graced that awful woman's walls?

Hermione's entreaty repeated itself in his head. He took a deep breath and walked straight back into the darkness of the portrait.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He was suddenly thrust into a light so artificial and piercing that he couldn't see. Blinded, he stumbled and his toe caught on something hard. He went sprawling to the ground, which was somewhat soft and covered in thick grass. As eyes adjusted to the stark light, he began to realize that he was in no danger of being seen. He had tripped on a cobblestone in a garden path, and had fallen behind a great wall of flowers. Behind him was some romantic's imagining of a cottage- it was lightly blurred, as was the smoke that trickled up into the sky, blinding with what the painter obviously supposed was morning light.

Fortunately, the artist had not painted any singing birds, so Snape could hear the Minister and Senior Undersecretary speaking in low voices. Eyes still watering from the sudden assault, Snape crept along the wall of flowers until he reached a blossom-crusted arbor, and peering around it, he could see them clearly as they bent over a copy of the Daily Prophet. He also saw about a dozen kittens frolicking on the grass in front of the arch.

Snape rolled his eyes and began to eavesdrop, or rather, arbordrop, in earnest.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"-and that's why, I'm afraid, I haven't received a definite answer from Hogwarts yet," finished Umbridge in regretful tones.

"It doesn't matter, Dolores, because I've solved our problem," said the Minister, mouth drawn into a self-satisfied smile.

"You mean someone in your department has successfully managed to be with a girl?" asked the Senior Undersecretary in tones of incredulity.

"Even better. I have finally found a way to make this disaster appear to be a success."

"How?" asked the Undersecretary, with undisguised scorn. "The girls have evaded our best efforts to protect them, and now the papers are printing rumors of a resistance leader called the Falcon. How can anything you say convince the populace that the Department is a success?"

"You may have forgotten the raison d'etre for the Department of Deflorestation, but I haven't," said the Minister. "Since the founding of the Department of Deflorestation, there have been no rogue Death Eater attacks. If I point this out, then nobody can possibly argue that the Department is useless. At the very least, it's a strong deterrent to these monsters. That, my dear Dolores, is how I will turn this to our advantage."

The Undersecretary stared at the Minister as if she'd never seen him before. "I hadn't considered that," she said simply.

The Minister patted her on top of her beribboned head. "That is why I'm Minister of Magic," he said. "I'll leave you to prepare the press release for tomorrow. I need some sleep. Good night, Dolores."

"Good night, Minister."

When the door had closed behind him, she locked it with a wave of her hand and cast a strong Silencing Charm to prevent listening at her door. She removed the porcelain kitten from her pocket and tapped it with her wand.

When MacNair appeared in the flames, she stood.

"There's been a change in plan." Her voice was devoid of its usual flutter.

MacNair leered. "Excellent. We haven't deflowered so much as a dead chrysanthemum, and I've waited long enough."

"The fool has actually come up with a fair idea, and he has no clue that it's going to be the noose that hangs him. Any time after the Minister's press release tomorrow, do your job. I don't care when, but make sure it's one of these." She sent a piece of parchment flying toward the fireplace.

As he read the list, MacNair's licked his lips. "They're all young."

"That's part of the challenge," said Umbridge, unsmiling. "They're all at Hogwarts. However, the holidays are coming up, and that old crone can't protect them once they leave. Choose your opportunity carefully, and you will be rewarded for aiming high."

"How high?"

"If you can get Granger, I'll not only keep you out of Azkaban, I'll be sure that your Disposal Squad gets a ten percent increase in its annual budget for 'administrative costs.'"

A bead of spittle rolled out of the corner of MacNair's mouth. "I've wanted to get my hands on that one for years," he said, "but she's always too well protected."

"Well, if she's out of your league, then attend to the list."

"Consider it done," said MacNair. "I'll inform the boys."

"Enjoy yourselves," said Umbridge, "especially if it's that scrubby Mudblood."

When MacNair's head had disappeared from her fire, Umbridge sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile. She dipped her quill in her inkwell and wrote "Minister of Magic, Dolores Jane Umbridge," several times in flowery script.

With a giggle, she Vanished the parchment, pulled the pre-prepared press release from her drawer and left, setting powerful wards behind her.

On the wall behind her, Severus Snape was shaking with fury.

Suddenly, MacNair's head appear in the flames once again. "Undersecretary?" he called.

Snape seized his chance, inwardly thanking Balfour Blaine for his new voice. "Hem, Hem!" he called out. "What is it MacNair?"

"Where are you?" he asked suspiciously, glancing around the room.

"I'm under the desk," said Snape. "I've dropped a biscuit and don't want it to go to waste. What do you want?"

"I was just wondering if you'd be willing to make the same offer for any of Granger's friends?"

He didn't have to feign the calumny in his voice. "If you think you can take Harry bloody Potter, by all means. That boy has been a thorn in my side since he was eleven years old!"

MacNair grimaced. "I don't do buggery," he growled.

Snape played a strong hunch. "Then it's good that Lucius is in your little group."

MacNair's eyes opened wide. "How did you know?"

"It is my business to know," he said smugly. "When you've done for me, oh dear, how many jobs is it now?"

"Six," said MacNair proudly, "counting that one where we got two sisters."

"Yes, of course, how silly of me," he said with a laugh that sounded like nails on a chalkboard, even to his own ears. "As I was saying, we've worked together for so long. We really should have no secrets from one another. Now, if your question has been answered, please leave and do not show up here unasked for again. I might have had company."

"Yes, Undersecretary. I look forward to giving you some spectacular headlines."

MacNair dissolved into embers once again, until the only other sound was the playful mewling of the kittens in the cottage painting. Snape turned on his heel and strode back to the cottage. He had to find Minerva.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next day at breakfast, all of the students were surprised when the Headmistress stood and raised her hands for silence.

"Good morning, everybody," she said, voice grim.

Hermione noticed dark circles under the Headmistress's eyes and was curious what it meant. A quick glance down the faculty table informed her that Professor Snape and the other Heads of House were in the same condition.

"I know that all of you have been under a great deal of pressure from the new laws by the Ministry and dealing with your families' wishes," she said. "Thus, it is with great pleasure that I announce an opportunity for everyone to," she pursed her lips, "let their hair down. It is my distinct pleasure to announce that we will be holding Hogwarts' first ever public Yule Ball in three day's time."

The Great Hall exploded with excited whispers. Hermione groaned.

"Attention!" called the Headmistress sternly, clapping her hands. "There is a more important reason for this event, and one that I hope the older of you will take advantage of. The Ministry has yet to repeal its surveillance programs, and a number of you have had appointments with the Department of Deflorestation that were missed, it being the middle of the school year. The night of the Ball, I hope, will be a night of mingling not just with the other houses but also with members of the public. If you do not wish to take advantage of the Ministry program, I highly encourage all of you to get to know one another a bit better. That is all."

Professor Flitwick stood, beatific smile on his tired face. "To make things a bit more interesting," he squeaked, "all attendants will be required to disguise their identities. I will be happy to assist any and all with their costumes."

Several girls squealed with excitement.

"For those of you with -er- significant others who are not Hogwarts students," added Professor Sprout, "public tickets will be on sale this evening for ten galleons apiece. Proceeds will benefit St. Mungo's. In order to allow you ample time to prepare for the Ball, there will be no classes on Friday."

A great cheer went up from the students. Professor McGonagall raised her hand for silence and was universally ignored. "Attendance at the Ball is mandatory," she said. "That is all."

Classes that day were a joke. Professor Snape had not recovered from his altercation with Balfour Blane, so the Headmistress was still teaching Potions. Harry and Ron both destroyed their cauldrons, mostly because Ron was prattling about the kind of food that would probably be served at the Ball.

By Friday morning, Hermione was utterly sick of the Ball. The Gryffindor Common Room was filled with girls sticking sequins on things, adding last-minute touches to their costumes and chatting about hair and makeup. Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley stores were completely sold out of glass slippers, body glitter, tiaras, hair potions, feathered masks, and fairy wings.

Even sensible Ginny had succumbed to a pair of precipitously high heels and shiny lip balm that she swore would stay in place no matter how much kissing she did. But, of course, that wasn't surprising. Ginny had someone to go with, as did Ron, who couldn't wait to appear in the Great Hall with Melinda Bobbin on his arm. His spirits weren't even dampened when Hermione pointed out that nobody would be able to recognize either of them.

Utterly disgusted with her friends and bored by their elaborate preparations, Hermione went to the base of the Astronomy Tower to chat with her painting friends. She particularly missed the handsome minstrel Alan a Dale, who made her laugh and always seemed to know when she was haunting his hallway.

"It's absurd," she complained to him. "We have so many more important things to do. I don't understand why we're suddenly focusing on frivolities like this Ball. The Headmistress must have gone mad."

"Well, lass, from what you've described of her, she's a bit of a tigress," said Alan a Dale, tuning his ever-present lyre. "I'll bet she has an ulterior motive of some sort."

Hermione thought hard. "If she has, it's for no reason I can fathom. It seemed clear to me that the Ball is meant to get all the virgins to loosen up, which is almost as bad as what the Ministry's doing. As if students needed an excuse," she said disapprovingly.

"Not unlike those that you brought to our camp," commented Alan. "Seems to me as if the beast with two backs stalks all of you budding adults, encouraged or not."

"I suppose," said Hermione, making a face. "It just seems so silly."

"Oh lass," said Alan kindly, "have you never been in love before?"

"I'm glad I haven't," said Hermione vehemently, "if it makes people act like fools."

"Some lucky man'll change your mind, mark my words," said Alan with a wink, and a strum at his lute. "And if he's really in love with you, he'll sing you something like this."

Alan began singing a song about a girl named Rosalind, and Hermione's thoughts drifted. She came back to herself when she realized that Alan's rhymes were not only bad, but deliberately so. Alan noticed her attention and began

'Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind."

Hermione began to giggle.

"He that sweetest rose will find
Must find love's prick, and Rosalind."

Hermione's laugh echoed down the empty corridor.

"I hoped you'd cease your moping long enough to listen to old Alan," he said.

"I'm not moping," said Hermione. "I'm just not anxious to put on a ridiculous costume, be subjected to my housemates' attempts at hair and makeup, and then sit by myself all evening because my friends are all dating and there's no one else worth dancing with."

"Is there no one who's caught your eye?"

"Nobody."

"How about somebody who makes you feel things keenly?"

She laughed. "Well, there's Professor Snape, but mostly, he just makes me want to throw things."

"And by 'things,' I presume you don't mean 'your arms around his neck.'"

"Unless strangling is involved, no." She sighed. "I wish I could bring you, Alan. It'd be much nicer that way."

"I'd take you if it were possible."

"It's not impossible. Smaug's lent me things that I've taken between Hogwarts and the portrait world."

"Perhaps, but unless you're willing to go to the gallery where ole' Blaney is now, there's nothing for it. Alas, there's no place that you can have everything you want."

Hermione began to chuckle, but stopped abruptly. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'There's no place where you can get everything you want.'"

Hermione grinned at him. "If you'll excuse me for a few minutes, Alan, I think I may have found a solution."