Chapter 13
Thou are not lovelier than lilacs, -- no,
Nor honeysuckle; thou are not more fair
Than small white single poppies, -- I can bear
Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though
From left to right, not knowing where to go,
I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there
Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear
So has it been with mist, -- with moonlight so.
Like him who day by day unto his draught
Of delicate poison adds him one drop more
Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten
Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed
Each hour more deeply than the hour before,
I drink “ and live “ what has destroyed some men.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Draco made another circuit of the ballroom, politely declining the dance offers he received from girls he had known his entire life. Where was Luna? She had been right there, beside the dais, when he was announcing the lady’s choice. Perhaps it was conceited of him, but he had fully expected her to ask him to dance to Smooth Operator. She must have asked another bloke “ but who? All of the Phoenix House males were accounted for; Sirius with Sophronia, Remus with Tonks, Harry with Ginny, Ron with Shadow, Seamus with Marietta Edgecomb, Neville with Pans “ even Snape with Hermione.
But where was Luna?
As he and Ginny danced, Harry saw Draco making another lap around the ballroom. Why wasn’t he dancing? And where was Luna? He surveyed the ballroom, but didn’t see Luna. He had promised himself that he would look out for her, now that Malfoy had her in his sights, and he had gotten wrapped up in Ginny and forgotten all about Luna. Had some git lured her out into the rose garden?
As the song neared an end, Harry saw Draco exchange a few words with the Master of Ceremonies, who had accompanied the orchestra back onto the dais. Draco turned his head suddenly toward a curtained doorway, then all but ran toward it.
Before the last strains of the song had died away, Harry was leading Ginny off the floor.
“Sorry, Gin, I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”
Ron and Shadow followed them from the dance floor and Harry turned to Ron. “Come on,” he said. “Luna’s missing.”
The two best friends strode to the doorway, with Ginny and Shadow on their heels.
Draco burst through the curtained doorway and took in the entire situation in a glance.
“Expelliarmus!” he intoned, stepping forward to catch the wand Val Delacour had been holding at Luna’s throat. “Get off her, you scum.”
Val looked over his shoulder at Draco, who was advancing into the small room like the wrath of God.
“Be a sport, old boy,” Val enunciated is his best English. “I’ll let you have seconds with her.”
With a cry of fury, Luna shoved the body covering hers with all four of her extremities simultaneously. He was too heavy for her to move him very far, but Val was taken by surprise and he tumbled onto the floor.
“Thank you, Luna,” Draco said politely. He pointed his wand at the man on the floor as Luna scrambled to her feet and backed away from her attacker; there was a loud BANG and then Draco was pointing his wand at a pure white ferret, shivering on the rug, right where Val Delacour had been.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Draco said with deep satisfaction.
From the doorway, two voices spoke simultaneously.
“Brilliant!” Harry and Ron exulted.
Another two voices spoke simultaneously.
“Luna!” Ginny and Shadow cried.
The girls rushed to comfort their friend, as the boys advanced to admire Draco’s handiwork.
“Awesome transfiguration, mate,” Harry said.
“First rate!” Ron agreed.
Draco moved his wand up and down and the ferret began to bounce across the rug.
“Could you hold him for me?” Draco asked pleasantly, plunging his hand into his trousers pocket.
“Shall I wring his neck?” Harry inquired, holding the squealing ferret by its scruff.
“I would prefer if you did not, Mr. Potter.”
Every eye in the room flew to the figure of Severus Snape as he entered. Draco, undeterred, popped the cap off the permanent marker Dean had given him and he drew a big black bull’s eye on the ferret’s white head.
“He was attacking Luna, Severus!” Shadow said, indignantly.
Snape approached the three girls and looked Luna over carefully, though he did not touch her.
“Are you hurt, Miss Lovegood?” he inquired gently. Luna looked up into his eyes and shook her head; taking the opportunity she afforded him, he delved delicately into her memory. The vermin had touched her, but he had not raped her.
“No, Professor Snape “ just angry.”
The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Good girl,” he murmured, giving her a nod of approval. He turned his attention to Shadow. “Please fetch your mama to Miss Lovegood.”
“No!” Luna gasped.
Snape looked back to Luna and waited for her to speak. “Please, Professor, I don’t want everyone to know. Can’t I just sit in here with Ginny and Shadow for a while?”
Snape deliberated for a moment, then acquiesced. “Very well, Miss Lovegood. You will feel free to call upon Mrs. Snape or Professor McGonagall as needed?”
Luna nodded thankfully. “Yes, sir.”
Snape bowed to her respectfully and strolled over to join the three young men and the squirming ferret.
Draco looked Snape squarely in the face. “Let us handle it, sir. It would be awkward for you.”
Harry stepped up and stood shoulder to shoulder with Draco. “Luna is family to us, sir.” It was difficult, but he spoke the honorific without a trace of sarcasm. “It would be appropriate for us to deal with Delacour.”
Snape allowed his gaze to slip to Weasley, who nodded grimly in agreement with Potter, then looked back to Potter and Draco. He was very much in sympathy with them. Miss Lovegood was a part of the inner circle of Dumbledore’s Army; she had fought with the other children and distinguished herself in battle. Additionally, her safety and security were his responsibility, and he had permitted his own convoluted affairs to place her in danger.
Snape closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gentlemen, I am fully in accord with you,” he said, opening his eyes again and looking each of them in the eye, one after the other, as he spoke. “As a courtesy to me, I would ask that you permit me to handle this. I pledge my word that you will never again see Val Delacour on the shores of Britain. If you should do so, I will have no objection to any course of action you choose to take.”
Potter and Weasley looked mutinous, but Draco narrowed his eyes and considered Snape for a long moment.
“I trust you, sir,” Draco said, and handed the black-targeted ferret into Snape’s hands.
Snape efficiently emptied a decorative wicker basket full of roses and transfigured a carrier, then petrified the ferret and transferred it into the basket.
“May I rely upon you to inform Miss Delacour that I have been called unexpectedly to London, and that I will return late tonight? I will speak with her in the morning.”
Draco nodded and Snape strode out of the room, the handle of the transfigured animal carrier in his hand.
Ginny came up to the three young men and quietly addressed Draco. “Be very gentle with her, Draco,” she said. “After an assault like that, girls can be nervous of men for a while.”
Draco looked over to the sofa, where Shadow Snape was speaking to Luna in a calm voice and re-pinning her hair. “Would she like to go up to bed? We could have McGonagall or Sophronia go with her.”
Ginny shook her head. “She says she doesn’t want everyone to know what happened; she just wants to go back to the party.” Ginny touched Draco on the arm. “She needs to know you don’t think less of her for what happened, and the sooner the better.”
Draco immediately walked over to the girls on the couch; Harry looked at Ginny with a small smile. “You never stop amazing me, Gin. How do you know all that stuff?”
Ginny smiled up into the beloved green eyes. “Crisis counselling, after the war, at St. Mungo’s. There were so many girls and women who had been assaulted as a part of Voldemort’s campaign to make everyone just want to give up. I volunteered to help.”
Harry put a hand to Ginny’s face and she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. Ron gave a snort of disgust and went over to the couch.
Shadow finished repairing the little rip on the dress, where the sheath had been torn away, and sat back. “There you go, Luna, good as new.”
Luna stood and shook out her skirt. “Is it too rumpled?”
“You look as pretty as you did when the evening began,” Draco told her.
Ron sat down beside Shadow and began a whispered conversation with her as Draco stepped closer to Luna.
“Are you all right, love?” he asked tenderly. Luna turned her face up and Draco saw tears in her eyes. “Don’t cry, Luna,” he whispered. “I won’t ever let him come near you again.”
Luna gave a watery laugh. “I’m not crying about that, silly,” she said, her eyes like stars. “You called me ‘love.’”
McGonagall descended upon the three couples ten minutes later, scolding and shooing them back into the ballroom.
Hermione stood in the entrance hall with Lupin and Sirius as they made plans for a trip to the zoo later in the week. Tonks was loitering about, watching them surreptitiously. Hermione stepped up to Lupin and hissed, “Kiss my hand “ passionately.”
Sirius looked on in amusement as Lupin obeyed Hermione’s command.
“Good night, Hermione,” he said huskily, raising her hand to his lips. At the last moment, he turned her hand and pressed the kiss intimately to her inner wrist.
“Nice work, Moony,” Sirius muttered, watching Tonks growl and flounce up the grand staircase.
Lupin watched her go, longingly.
“Is this working, Hermione?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, Remus. Very soon, now,” she promised. “Good night!”
Snape Apparated to the Delacours’ home in London, with the caged ferret in tow. His late arrival brought both François and Hélène Delacour to the parlour. Snape politely, but adamantly, insisted upon speaking to François alone.
The interview was not a happy one. With some urging, Snape’s future father-in-law finally admitted that Val had been put out of two universities for his inability to control himself with young witches. François pled, but Snape was unyielding. Val was to be sent out of the country, into whatever accommodations Monsieur Delacour could arrange for his only son.
“Please do not take this lightly, monsieur,” Snape said implacably. “If I see your son again, he will go to Azkaban. He is never to be brought into the presence of myself, or my family, again. He will not attend my wedding. Is that perfectly clear to you? I do not wish for there to be any misunderstanding.” Snape leaned forward and his eyes bore into those of Fleur’s father. “There were three young men tonight who would have torn your son from limb to limb and scattered his bits to the four winds if I had not intervened on your behalf. I will never do so again.”
Monsieur Delacour finally agreed to Snape’s terms, and the wicker carrier was thrust into his waiting hands.
“But what about this great black circle on his head?”
Snape paused in the doorway and looked back at the older wizard with a vicious sneer. “If some astute hunter does not do the world a favour by putting a crossbow bolt through his brain, it will eventually wear off.”
Snape Apparated back to Malfoy Manor in the company of his own sombre thoughts. The house was dark as he arrived, but there was another person at the Apparition point. Snape had his wand in his hand immediately.
“Identify yourself,” he snarled.
“Severus, no!” a laughing voice implored him.
“Varen?”
She stepped into the light of his wand tip, her hair in disarray and her cloak clutched about her.
“Leaving the Ravenclaw girls all alone tonight?” he asked.
“Sinistra is with them,” she answered easily. “A girl needs some fun, Severus.”
He snorted. “You realize he has every intention of marrying Sophronia?”
Varen shrugged philosophically. “But does she have every intention of marrying him? She was hanging on Sirius Black tonight as if she didn't know any better.” She gave him a shrewd look. “Been out tomcatting yourself, tonight?”
Snape glared. “Go home, Varen.”
An infectious chuckle floated to him just before she turned on the spot, and was gone.
Snape allowed himself a sigh of relief as he settled back on the pillows with his book in his hand. The headache, which had begun as he bargained with Draco and Company for Val Delacour’s worthless life, was pounding in earnest now. The table before the windows held a bottle of Lucius’ good brandy; a judicious measure of brandy might enable him to sleep for a few hours, but it was no guarantee.
If he could just find some solitude for a short period of time, he could compose himself and would be able to meet the new day with equanimity.
He started as his bedroom door was pushed open and a vision in white appeared. His wand was in his hand, poised for use, but he did not strike; at first, he believed he was seeing a ghost.
In the next moment, Fleur stepped into the circle of light cast by the lamp on his bedside table. She wore a negligee in diaphanous white; the robe of the ensemble was thrown open, displaying the plunging neckline of the gown. The material was of such filmy stuff that though the garment covered her body, it concealed nothing. Plainly visible to his eye was the shape of her pert breasts, the darker definition of her nipples, and the carefully trimmed patch of silvery curls below her navel.
If there was a flaw to detract from the classical perfection of her unveiled form, it was hidden from Snape’s eye.
She stood for a moment at the foot of his bed, then she seemed to float toward him.
“Darling,” she purred, seating herself on the edge of the bed beside him, “where did you go? I missed you.”
Snape sat, dumbstruck, clutching his book tightly with both hands. His mouth was dry, the migraine had progressed from pounding pain to flashing lights in the periphery of his vision, he was uncomfortably hard, and his brain was shouting, “Yes! Do it! Yes! Do it!”
When he did not immediately answer her, Fleur leaned toward him, stroking the black curtain of hair back from his face on the near side and looking at him intently.
“Are you ill, Severus?” she whispered, moving closer still and acting as if she were going to feel his forehead for fever. “You don’t look well.” When he did not jerk away from her, she pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his cheek, then his mouth. Her tongue lightly caressed the crease between his lips; as she did, Snape reflexively parted his lips and she dipped her tongue into his mouth, teasing.
Snape let the book drop from his hands onto the duvet; he was in the act of reaching for her, this woman who was to be his wife, who was offering herself to him, freely, for the taking “ her perfume washed over him, a heavy, sickly-sweet, flowery cologne “ and his hands pushed her from him as he exited the bed on the other side and threw his dressing gown over the pyjama pants he wore.
“Sev-er-us!” Fleur enunciated, shocked.
Snape cinched the belt of his robe and spoke for the first time since she entered the room.
“What do you mean by coming to my room dressed like that?”
Fleur pouted at him. “I would think my reason would be obvious, Severus.”
His lip curled. “If I were interested in this type of behaviour, madam, I could purchase it in Knockturn Alley.”
Fleur surged to her feet irately. “How dare you compare me, your affianced wife, to some paid prostitute?”
Snape replied evenly, “How dare you, my affianced wife, appear in public last night in that whore’s get-up you called an evening gown?”
“I was beautiful last night! The men could not keep their eyes off of me!”
“You looked like a fancy-piece. The men were wondering what your hourly rates are.”
She flew at him, then, coming around the end of the bed; he met her halfway, catching her wrists as she attempted to claw at him.
“Calm yourself,” he said to her in tones so fatigued that she was startled into silence.
Anger, she expected; passion, she hoped for “ but weary resignation was not part of her plan. She stood, quiescent, until he released her.
Snape walked to the door and opened it. “Tonight is not the time to discuss anything of importance,” he told her. “We can speak, if you wish, tomorrow. For now, I must sleep.”
Fleur left the room without answering him.
Hermione admired the lovely old cherry wood table in the Malfoy kitchen. An alarmed house-elf had begged to serve her, but she had kindly sent him back to bed and warmed her own milk for cocoa. It was coming on four o’clock in the morning, but she had been unable to sleep. Her mind was in turmoil. Perhaps a warm drink would calm her thoughts enough for slumber.
“I hope you warmed enough for two.”
It can be laid at the door of her femininity that Hermione’s first thoughts went to her hair and her clothes. The pins had been removed from her hair, but she had made no effort to wrestle it into a plait, or to tidy it. She had not expected to meet anyone she might wish to impress, so she had simply pulled on her favourite oversized tee-shirt over her camisole and pyjama bottoms; on her feet were her warm bunny slippers.
So much for faerie silk elegance.
She turned from the stove and saw Professor Snape lounging in the doorway as if the doorjamb were holding him erect. His feet were bare; he wore a black satin dressing gown and green pyjama bottoms. The vee at the top of the dressing gown showed more of his flesh than she had ever seen before. Forcing her eyes up to his, she found him with one wicked eyebrow raised, one side of his mouth quirked, and amusement in his eyes.
Hermione smiled at him.
“Yes, I did warm enough for two cups,” she said, reaching for another ceramic mug from the shelf. “Have a seat.”
Snape slipped into the chair and watched as she efficiently stirred up two cups of cocoa. Just as he had hoped, when she bent to place his mug before him, he was flooded with her scent, and the memory of Fleur’s heavy perfume was washed from his mind.
After giving him his cocoa, her courage failed, and she stayed on her feet. “I’ll just take this cup back up to my room,” she murmured, beginning to back out of the kitchen.
Acting as if she had not spoken, Snape said, “Do you read philosophy, Miss Granger?”
Hermione cocked her head to one side. “I have read some philosophers, sir. Which ones did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking of Kierkegaard and Hegel,” he admitted, watching her from behind the curtain of his hair.
“Kierkegaard loathed Hegel!” Hermione exclaimed, placing her mug on the table and seating herself.
Snape gave her a smug smile and sipped his cocoa. “Now, what makes you say that?”
Fleur allowed the quarter hour to chime four forty-five before she interrupted them. She would not have ventured out of her room again if she had not heard Severus pass by. He was talking to Granger about nothing more important than the immensely boring subject of Hegelianism, whatever that was. She did not see how such a conversation could bring them romantically close, but she was determined to exercise some control in this situation.
If she could not bind him to her in fact, she could do so in Granger’s mind, and that would do, for now.
Snape and Hermione were deep in conversation, he lounging back, with a half-smile playing on his lips, while she leant toward him earnestly, gesticulating as she spoke. There was the creaking of a board in the hall, then Fleur glided into the kitchen, wearing her transparent negligee, and went straight to Snape, bending over and kissing his lips.
“I woke up and you were gone,” she said to him, just loudly enough for Granger to hear her.
Hermione shot to her feet, upsetting her mug, which was already empty. “I must get to bed “ it’s so late.” She stared for a moment at the spectacle of her ideal with a nearly-naked veela draped around his neck, then fled the room without another word.
Despairing, Snape watched her go.