It was lunch break now, and most of the young interns had filed into the side break room — a slightly cramped but magically expanded space, where enchanted kettle cups never cooled and the old wooden table bore a thousand knife marks, initials, and scorch spells carved from years of student boredom.
Severus sat at the far end of the table, his arms crossed and his gaze distracted as the others ate and chatted. His cup of tea had gone lukewarm in his hands. He wasn't particularly hungry. Not after the morning's rush of curse-blast injuries.
"So," Anthony drawled from two seats down, a sandwich in one hand and a mischievous grin on his face, "how was the ball, Severus?"
Zeba giggled beside him. Penelope was buttering toast across the table. Even she looked up with raised brows, clearly curious.
Severus didn't look up. "It was a dance," he said curtly.
Anthony snorted. "Yeah, and I'm Merlin's reincarnation. Come on, mate. You showed up with Fleur Delacour. People are still talking about it. The papers — bloody hell, did you read Skeeter? She made it sound like you two eloped in the middle of the dance."
Penelope smiled behind her cup of tea. "That article was absurd. But... I mean, you did dance with half the room after that. Not just Fleur."
Severus shrugged with the air of someone mildly irritated but resigned. "She asked me to accompany her when she was recovering at St Mungo's. It was her idea."
Anthony raised an eyebrow. "So she just asked you out of the blue? After waking up from near-death?"
"She asked because she trusted me," Severus replied dryly. Then, with a faint smirk, he added, "...and because I could resist her allure far better than most."
Zeba let out a laugh and nudged Penelope. "I mean, he's not wrong. Veela magic's no joke."
"Mm," Penelope said thoughtfully. "Still takes a lot of mental discipline. You must have a really strong will."
Severus's eyes flicked toward her. "Something like that."
He didn't need to tell them the truth — that his passive resistance to allure wasn't just skill, but an accident of birth. That every instinct he had screamed louder when near women like Fleur, even while his mind maintained the illusion of calm. It was... taxing. Still, his magic held firm. Most of the time. Thankfully, once he spent the night with Fleur. The incubus blood seemed to have calmed down. It was bloody frustrating now to deal with his incubus heritage.
His eyes passed over the small group around him. Zeba was bright and witty, a Slytherin from a long line of purebloods, with a tactful edge to her humour. Anthony was brash but decent, a half-blood who meant well despite being occasionally thick-headed. And Penelope...
Penelope Clearwater had curves that her mediwitch robes didn't hide well. There was something sharp in her eyes, something mature and something appealing. He had noticed it before, of course. He noticed everything. But now, as his thoughts drifted toward the upcoming Ministry Yule Ball, he caught himself considering her in a new light.
Would she make a good date?
Intelligent. Graceful. Confident enough to handle the public eye.
And easy enough on the eyes. She was beautiful, and she was interested in him too. He had seen her looks sometimes on her. The appreciation in those eyes didn't go unnoticed.
The thought flickered and vanished just as quickly. He was not ruled by base urges. He had control — tight, deliberate control. Still, it didn't hurt to keep options open.
"Anyway," he said, setting his cup down, "I'd rather not talk about balls."
Anthony blinked. "Why not? Planning to swear off dancing now that you've become the mystery heartbreaker of Britain?"
Severus gave him a look.
"I've been invited to the Ministry Yule Ball," he said simply. "Fudge's personal seal. They plan to announce an official partnership for production and research involving the Wolfsbane variant."
The table quieted slightly.
Zeba's eyes widened. "You're the honoured guest?"
"It would appear so."
"Merlin's beard," Anthony said in awe. "That's big. That's... like, huge. You'll be up there with the Department Heads and foreign delegates."
Penelope leaned forward slightly, her expression unreadable. "So they're making it official? The potion... it's going into production?"
"Trials begin next month," Severus replied. "Assuming the final paperwork is signed. The Ministry wants to make a grand statement about the future of lycanthropy control and magical creature integration."
Zeba whistled low. "My family will be there, but we'll be sitting nowhere near you. My mother was already complaining about her seat last year."
He looked at her before turning back to his teacup.
"Besides," he added dryly, "who says I want to attend another ball?"
"Oh please," Zeba said, laughing. "You love the attention."
"I like control," he corrected. "And walking into a room where half the crowd is whispering about your parentage and the other half is wondering if you're sleeping with a Veela is not my idea of an enjoyable evening."
Penelope studied him quietly. "Then why go?"
Severus looked at her again slower, this time.
"Because power is built in quiet moments," he said, voice low and sure. "Not just through spells or potions. But by understanding people. Letting them underestimate you. Or overestimate you. And choosing when to remind them who you are."
Anthony blinked. "That's... actually kind of terrifying."
"Good," Severus replied, rising to his feet. "Then you're starting to understand."
Lunch was almost over. He could feel the time shift in the energy of the hospital, the way the corridors buzzed louder when duty called again.
"I've got ward seven today," he said, brushing a hand over his robes. "Wartime curse exposure."
Zeba groaned. "Ugh. I had that last week. Hope you like green boils and disembodied screaming."
Severus gave her a dry look. "Charming."
He suddenly looked at Penelope who seemed to be getting ready for her work. "Penelope, a moment if you will."
She was surprised but nodded nonetheless. Now he just needed to ask her out without sounding foolish. That was simple and difficult at the same time..