His Draught of Delicate Poison by Subversa
Chapter Notes: Harry and Ginny visit the Burrow, a wizarding solicitor suffers a visit from a demanding client, Sirius is inspired, Percy perseveres, Fleur encounters a Snape family acquaintance, the ladies of Grimmauld Place and their escorts attend the theatre, and Lucius Malfoy is foiled.
For my betas, LariLee and Keladry Lupin, and my Brit-picker, MagicAlly, I wish all things bright and beautiful.
These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.
His Draught of Delicate Poison
Chapter 18
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
A pop, not unlike the sound a butterbeer cork makes as it exits the bottle, echoed through the little copse of trees just beyond the Burrow. Harry Potter Apparated amongst the trees with his fiancée in his arms. Ginny staggered as they appeared and Harry kept a firm grip on her.
“Are you okay, Gin?” he asked.
She nodded. “I just hate Side-Along, that’s all. I can’t wait to take my test so I can do this by myself!”
Harry slipped from beneath the Invisibility Cloak. “Are you sure you want to wait here?”
Ginny nodded again, then realised that he could no longer see her. “Yes, I’m sure. If they agree to it, come to the door and call for me “ then I’ll come in.”
Harry smiled and shook his head as he walked away from her, into the Weasleys’ back garden and up to the back door. Standing straight and tall, he briskly knocked on the door.
Molly Weasley pulled the door open almost immediately, unmindful of her dressing gown and the morning muss of her greying red hair.
“Harry dear!” she said in some surprise. “Good morning!” She stood on tip-toe and looked over his shoulder. “Is Ron “?”
“Ron isn’t with me, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry told her. “I’ve come about Ginny.”
Molly dropped the spatula she was holding and uttered a tiny scream. “What’s happened to Ginny? Is she at headquarters?”
Arthur Weasley appeared behind his wife, a tall, balding wizard with ginger hair going grey and a kind expression on his face. He placed his hands on Molly’s shoulders and squeezed gently.
“Let the boy in, my love,” he said, reaching past her to offer his hand to Harry. “Good morning, Harry.”
Harry shook the proffered hand and grinned at Ginny’s father. “Good morning, sir,” he said, slipping past Molly and entering the Weasley kitchen.
As he passed Molly she whirled and looked at the clock on the wall. Harry followed her line-of-sight and saw that Ginny showed as “travelling.” Apparently relieved to see that her only daughter was not registering on her clock as “in mortal peril,” Molly recollected herself.
“Please, Harry, sit down. Arthur and I were just finishing up breakfast. Are you hungry? Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, but I ate before I left Phoenix House. I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea, though.”
Arthur indicated a place at the table, then sat down across from Harry. “Did you enjoy the weekend in the country?”
Harry nodded. “Malfoy Manor is a really posh place, isn’t it?”
Arthur’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “I suppose it is; I’ve only ever been there to take up the floorboards and to look for contraband.”
Molly joined them with a fresh pot of tea and some biscuits on a plate. She poured the tea, then sat at the end of the table with Arthur on her left and Harry on her right.
“But what about Ginny?” she asked a little desperately.
Arthur placed a calming hand on Molly’s arm and gave Harry a rueful smile. “Yes, Harry “ tell us about Ginny.”
Harry pushed the chipped china teacup to one side and looked Arthur Weasley in the eye.
“Mr. Weasley, Ginny and I love one another. I am here to ask your permission to marry her.”
Molly uttered another small scream, then quieted at the firm pressure from Arthur’s hand.
“Isn’t this rather sudden, Harry? The last time we saw you and Ginny, she was dividing her attention between Seamus and Draco and you were courting Skye Snape.” Arthur’s tone was firm, though no less kind.
“No, sir, I don’t believe our loving one another is sudden “ I just think our realising it is.” Harry paused for a moment. “Ginny knew her mind before I did, Mr. Weasley; she’s been trying to let me know how she feels for years. When I was thick about it, she got mad at me “ and we’ve been going around each other in circles ever since.” Harry risked a glance at Molly, who was watching him with a mixture of understanding and dismay. “This law has a way of clearing up the unimportant issues in a hurry.”
Molly spoke quietly. “It’s true, Arthur. About Ginny, I mean. She’s loved him since she was a wee thing “ she explained it to me when I fussed at her for changing boyfriends so often. ‘I’m just killing time ’til Harry gets a clue, Mum,’ she told me.” Her voice faded and she pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her dressing gown, dabbing at her eyes.
Arthur slid his hand up Molly’s arm to her shoulder, where he began to rub comforting circles on her back. His eyes, however, never left Harry’s face.
“Harry, you have to marry before the New Year, but Ginny has another full year before she has to be married. She has no need to rush into anything. When you marry, you’re going to be with the same person for the rest of your life. Both you and Ginny deserve to be happy “ it would just be tragic for you to rush into marriage and then find out you’re wrong.”
Harry’s carefully rehearsed speech deserted him as he earnestly pled for his and Ginny’s happiness; as he responded, he poured his heart into his words. “I think it would be tragic to marry someone other than Ginny and live a life of regret. Mr. Weasley, I understand why you’re worried, but I love her and I have the funds to take care of her “ I inherited gold from my parents. I promise I will honour and protect her for the rest of our lives.”
Arthur seemed to be wavering. “Ginny has a terrible temper, Harry. She isn’t easy to manage.”
Harry grinned. “I’ve handled some difficult characters before, sir.”
Molly’s eyes were riveted on Harry as he spoke of his love for her daughter. A woman with six sons develops a second sense for genuine emotion. She reached out and gave Harry a motherly pat upon the hand. When he looked into her face, she gave him an encouraging smile, full of affection.
“He killed You-Know-Who, Arthur. I imagine he can deal with Ginny,” she said mildly.
Arthur broke into a full smile. “We’ve loved you as one of our sons for a long time, Harry “ certainly since you saved Ginny from the Basilisk. There isn’t anyone I’d rather give her to, if I were sure that your feelings are true and not a whim.”
The points Harry had discussed with Sirius sprang into his mind. “We’d be happy to enter the binding engagement and wait until Ginny leaves school to be married, sir,” he said.
There was an exclamation from outside the door, which promptly burst open. At first there was no one there; then, Ginny pulled the Invisibility Cloak from her body and tossed it onto the table, where it came to rest over the teapot, with one corner dipping into Harry’s full teacup.
“I don’t want to wait a year to be married!” Ginny objected vociferously. “We can live in the married students’ dormitory. There’s no reason to wait!”
Harry hastily rescued the tip of his Invisibility Cloak from the teacup; Arthur and Molly stood and surged around the table to pull their daughter into a group hug.
“You need to take better care of that cloak, Ginny; they’re frightfully dear!” Molly sobbed as Arthur beamed at her with suspiciously bright eyes.
Harry smiled into Ginny’s bemused face from his place at the table, feeling a warmth suffuse him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. This place, which was where he had felt the safest and the most loved of any place in his world, was going to be his home, as well as Ginny’s. He was going to be a real member of this family.
“I told you, Gin,” he said hoarsely. “I told you it would all be okay.”
Ginny stepped away from Arthur and Molly and Harry rose from his chair to meet her. Her parents slipped their arms about one another as they watched Ginny burst into tears of relief upon the broad chest of her husband-to-be.
The elderly wizarding solicitor made a last note to himself, then looked at his client over his spectacles. “Those are all of the pending issues on the estate, sir. Was there anything else?”
The dour man across the desk crossed one slender leg over the other. “I have cause to be displeased with the inquiries made on my behalf in France.”
The solicitor pursed his lips and removed his eyeglasses. “Indeed, sir? In what way were you dissatisfied?”
“The son of the family has a history of being expelled from schools for molesting young women,” the younger wizard sneered.
“Oh, dear-dear-dear,” the solicitor said, pulling a file from the drawer of his desk. “Quite a reputable firm they are, sir. We’ve never had a speck of trouble before, using their services.”
The sneer became more pronounced. “There is a first time for everything, Butterman. I will require the name and direction of the firm in question.”
Butterman’s alarm was evident. “But, what do you mean to do, sir?”
The sneer was replaced by dramatically rolled eyes. “Not the mayhem you apparently expect, you old fool. I intend to follow up with them and to determine for myself if there is any further information missing from the ‘exhaustive’ report which I requested and failed to receive.”
Thus chastised, the solicitor passed a card across to his unpleasant “ but remunerative “ client. Long fingers accepted the business card, tucking it away into the folds of the layers of black-on-black clothing. The smaller man now cleared his throat nervously. “And, is there anything else, sir?”
The disagreeable fellow shifted in his chair, as if suddenly uncomfortable.
“Tell me, Butterman, what are the conditions under which the contract I have signed becomes void?”
The solicitor replaced his spectacles on his wrinkled face, feeling he was now back in his preferred element.
“Nothing will naturally void the contract, sir, save the death of yourself or the young lady.” Seeing the glare directed at him, Butterman hurried on. “Of course, either party could choose to void the contract under certain circumstances. For instance, if it were to be found that you, sir, had misrepresented your economic status, the young lady could choose to void the contract. If, however, she were willing to go forward with the agreement in spite of said misrepresentation, you would still be bound.” Butterman glanced at his client to make sure the scowling young man understood him.
The intense black eyes regarding him showed no sign of confusion. With a disdainful curl of his lip, the client inquired, “And what are the circumstances under which it would be my prerogative to invalidate the contract?”
The solicitor frowned. “Sir “ are you contemplating this? I was under the impression that this engagement was of your seeking?”
The voice in which the client spoke was at once silken and menacing. “I believe that the question was a simple one, Butterman.”
“Of course, sir.” Butterman busied himself with replacing the file he had earlier removed from his desk. “You would be justified at law in voiding the contract if the family misrepresented their financial resources or the settlement upon the young lady. If the young woman were discovered en flagrante delicto you could terminate the contract; however, there must be no fewer than two unrelated witnesses willing to testify to the fact, should the lady’s family challenge you.” Butterman looked back at his client’s face. “Any criminal behaviour by the young lady would entitle you to break the contract.” He paused for a moment, speaking the next words with great delicacy. “It is possible, sir, at any time before the actual binding takes place, for the two of you to mutually agree to cancel the contract. You could, perhaps, approach the young lady…”
The younger man gained his feet with such speed that Butterman was surprised into a gasp.
“Don’t be absurd, Butterman,” the client said, as he strode to the door. “A gentleman never withdraws from an engagement.”
Butterman sighed with relief as the heavy office door closed behind the son and heir of one of his oldest friends. He never would have believed he’d say it, but it was definitely true: Sandoval Snape had been a world-class bastard, but his son made him seem like a jolly old Father Christmas.
Inspiration hit Sirius as he sipped a cup of tea with Sophronia over the breakfast table at Grimmauld Place on Monday morning. Minerva had sniffed when she entered the dining room to find Sirius there before her.
“Are we to be graced with your presence at breakfast, lunch and supper now?” she demanded crossly as she took her seat at the foot of the table.
Sirius had jumped to his feet to pull her chair out for her; as she graciously accepted his assistance, he pushed her chair in, then dropped a kiss on her temple.
“And tea, Minerva. Don’t forget tea,” he teased her, resuming his seat next to Sophronia.
The old lady glared as she accepted the cup of tea poured for her by Sophronia. “None of your cheek to me, Sirius Black; I know precisely what you’re up to. Do not think you’ll get around me with your cozening ways.”
“Yes, Professor,” Sirius murmured wickedly.
Minerva gave him a forbidding glare, then turned her attention to Sophronia. “Where are our young ladies this morning?”
Sophronia ticked them off on her fingers. “Luna stayed the night last night with her father and she hasn’t come in yet. Ginny and Harry went to see the Weasleys this morning about their engagement. Stormy has eaten and is upstairs in the nursery. Tonks and Bill Weasley left early this morning for their jobs. I haven’t seen the others; they are sleeping in, I suppose.”
Minerva sighed. “I am dreading the party at Blue Hill tonight.”
Sophronia frowned. “Isn’t that Trenton Avery’s home in town? I am sure Mr. Snape took me there to visit, one time. Why do you dread it?”
Sirius looked at her serene countenance and felt emotion flood his chest. She spoke of that autocratic old man who had been her husband as if he had been a distant acquaintance, and she was completely unaware of how odd she sounded, doing so. He was moved to reach over and take her hand, which caused her to turn her attention to him. Sirius could not speak to her of his thoughts in front of Minerva; he settled for a tender look and a gentle squeeze of her hand.
Minerva watched their interplay with inward approbation. She was inordinately fond of them both and believed that they were perfectly suited to one another; furthermore, they both deserved some happiness in this life. Outwardly she snorted. “Sirius, kindly save your lovemaking for a time when you do not have an audience,” she said sourly.
Sirius ignored her and answered his Sophie’s question instead. “Minerva dreads going to Blue Hill because Trenton’s cousin and uncle were both known Death Eaters. Trenton and his wife, Miranda, were never implicated in any wrong-doing, but Dumbledore suspected them of being financial supporters of Voldemort. We expect there to be a number of people present at the party who were close associates of Death Eaters.”
Sophronia shuddered but did not object when Sirius spoke the Dark Lord’s name aloud. “I don’t understand. Why would we take the girls to such a place?”
Minerva had a pinched look about her face. “Albus feels it is important that we not appear to openly scorn these people. The war is over, the Death Eaters are defeated; we should be gracious in victory, while continuing to be vigilant.”
And Sirius had his inspiration. “Have you written to accept the invitation?”
Sophronia shook her head. “It is not usual to do so, though one generally writes to decline an invitation.”
Sirius stood and walked to the sideboard, opening one of the small drawers near the bottom and rummaging about. After a moment, he returned to his place at table, proudly bearing a piece of parchment and a quill in one hand and a bottle of ink in the other.
“Write to the Averys and decline on behalf of the young ladies; you have a previous engagement,” he said, removing the cap from the bottle of ink.
Sophronia accepted the quill with a puckered brow. “But we don’t, Sirius. The Avery party is the only entertainment on the Ministry calendar for tonight.”
Sirius grinned humorously. “Yes, you do have a previous engagement. You are attending my private theatre party this evening, followed by an elegant supper at Claridge’s.”
Minerva dropped the fork with which she had been eating a fried egg; it hit her plate with a clatter. “Claridge’s? Sirius, have you lost your senses?”
Sophronia was looking at him with undisguised admiration. “What a clever idea! There can be no objection to our missing the Avery party if we have a private engagement of our own.” She bent her head and dipped the quill in the inkstand, beginning to write a note to send to Blue Hill.
“But, Sirius! The expense!” Minerva objected weakly. “There will be nearly twenty of us!”
“Don’t fret, Minerva. The expense is no bother. Bertie Merrythought has a Squib cousin who works in catering at Claridge’s; he’ll be able to help me arrange things at the last minute.” Sirius stood and paced behind Sophronia for a moment. “Sophie, we’ll need to send an owl to Pansy Parkinson’s parents, asking permission for her to accompany us “ in fact, why don’t you see if they’ll permit her to come for a stay?”
Sophronia smiled and kept on writing. “That will make Neville happy.”
He stroked a finger down her cheek and her eyes drifted closed; she leaned her head into his hand, the quill resting in her fingers.
Sirius spoke very softly. “Please say that Shadow can come, too.”
An indefinable look of sadness passed over Sophronia’s face as her eyes opened and she began to write again. “I can see no objection to Shadow accompanying her mama to the theatre in a private party,” she said quietly.
Sirius gently pressed her shoulder. “Thank you,” he murmured.
Voices were heard in the corridor, then Hermione, Alicia, Skye, and Shadow tumbled into the room, all talking at once. Sirius returned their cheerful greetings and passed through them, pausing in the doorway to speak to the room at large.
“Ladies, please be prepared to leave at six this evening. Dress will be Muggle smart, so get busy Transfiguring. I must away “ I have a few details to which I must attend.” With one final, devastatingly handsome smile for his Sophie, Sirius was gone.
Percy Weasley cheerfully mounted the steps to the first floor sitting room at Grimmauld Place. The house-elf had gone to notify Hermione that he had arrived. Restlessly, he paced the floor of the sitting room, occasionally stopping to admire his reflection in the mirror over the mantle. When he heard her steps behind him, he turned to Hermione with a confident smile.
Hermione smiled back. “Good morning, Percy.”
He walked over to her. “Are you ready to go?”
Hermione looked puzzled. “Go? Go where?”
Percy gestured toward one of the windows that looked out on the derelict square. “You agreed to walk with me in the park this morning “ had you forgotten?”
Hermione vaguely remembered agreeing to walk in the park, hoping to stave off other, less welcome offers from him. “Of course! Let me just run up to change.”
They Apparated to the wizarding section of Hyde Park and began to stroll about the Promenade, nodding to acquaintances they passed. Percy was expounding at length on his situation in America, where he worked as a junior British attaché to the Salem Witches’ Institute. He was explaining how much more modern American wizards were than here, at home. Hermione made appropriate murmurs, letting her mind dwell on more pressing problems. She was startled out of her musings when she heard the words “honour” and “marry.” Struggling to keep her annoyance hidden, she rounded on Percy and declined his offer as politely as she could.
Percy stared at her for a moment, a look of puzzled astonishment on his freckled face. Hermione stood her ground and returned his stare, look for look, until he dumbfounded her by breaking into a broad Weasley smile.
“I see what it is,” he said knowingly. “My ardour has caused me to hurry into declaring myself. Please accept my apologies, Hermione; you are absolutely right to insist upon proper observance of etiquette. You are far too modest a girl to receive my addresses without the permission of your parents.” Percy nodded, pleased with himself for discerning the reason for her refusal, completely oblivious to her expression of indignation. “When your father returns from abroad, I shall seek his approval before I speak with you about our marriage. I beg your pardon, Hermione. Please know that the strong passions under which I labour urged me to speak too soon.”
Hermione was searching for words scathing enough to express her feelings when she spied Stormy flying about on a beginner’s broom while Sirius called to her encouragingly from the ground below; Shadow and Skye were seated upon a nearby bench chatting and enjoying the lovely sunny day. Hermione seized her chance.
“Percy, thank you for escorting me to the Park; I see Skye and Shadow are here to meet me. Please excuse me, won’t you? I will go to them now.” With a dazzling smile and a tiny curtsy, just for good measure, Hermione walked away from her disappointed swain, thankful for her opportune, if inadvertent, rescue.
“Good afternoon, Hermione!” Sirius called to her. As she neared him, he said more quietly, “Escaped from him, did you?”
“Yes, but not before he offered,” she said exasperatedly. “I didn’t know Stormy had already begun flying.”
Sirius shrugged. “She was interested and the kiddy broom was just sitting in the broom shed.”
Hermione observed his handsome face through narrowed eyes. “Sirius, you don’t fool me. I know very well that you bought that broom for Stormy.”
Gleaming grey eyes smiled at her. “Yes, but don’t tell Sophie, will you? She strictly forbade me to buy a broom just to teach Stormy.”
Hermione chuckled. “I can see how this marriage is going to work; Sophronia is going to tell you not to spoil the girls and you’re going to do it anyway.”
Sirius kept a watchful eye on Stormy, but his face told its own story. “Isn’t she an angel, Hermione? I’ve loved her since we were kids, not much older than you and Harry were when I met you.”
Touched, Hermione smiled and leaned her shoulder against Sirius’ upper arm. “Now, aren’t you glad I kept on turning you down?” she said softly.
Sirius was startled into looking down at her. “I hadn’t even thought of that, Hermione! What a berk I am! I haven’t proposed to her yet …”
Hermione laughed happily. “Don’t be daft, Sirius! You and Sophronia were made for each other. I have no intention of marrying you.”
Sirius tried not to let his relief show too evidently and went back to watching Stormy as she zoomed about the area, just as treetop level, as high as the broom would go. He spoke again without looking at her. “All right, Hermione “ whom do you intend to marry?”
“Never you mind. I have a plan.”
Sirius barked a laugh. “That is precisely what’s worrying me!” he said. “The field is becoming narrower every day, you know. I don’t believe for a second that you’re serious about Moony.”
Sirius gestured to Stormy for her to come back down to the ground, then glanced at Hermione, who looked pensive. “Hermione “ who is it? I’ve wracked my brain and I cannot come up with a single candidate for you. Oh, there are plenty of blokes who would love to have a chance with you, but you don’t seem to be interested in any of them. I had thought maybe Bill Weasley “” Sirius glanced over at Skye and Shadow, who were walking in their direction, “but I think his interests lie elsewhere.”
Hermione knelt to greet a very excited Stormy, who ran straight into her arms. “I flew! I flew as high as the trees! Did you see me?”
“I certainly did see you!” Hermione answered her, standing and taking her small hand. “Let’s go back to Grimmauld Place so you can tell your mama all about it over our lunch.”
Sirius stowed the broom over his left shoulder and allowed Stormy to take his right hand, smiling at the older Snape girls as they walked up.
“Did you tell Hermione, Sirius?” Shadow asked excitedly. “He’s got the tickets for the play, Hermione!” she rushed on without waiting for Sirius to answer. “And Mum is going to let me go! Will you help me dress?”
Hermione nodded. “We had best hurry back to the house; we have a good bit of Transfiguring to do today!”
The young ladies from Grimmauld Place moved with their chaperone toward the exit of the park, unaware of the figure watching them from the shadow of the trees.
The Interrogator held the glass bottle to the light, verifying that the human hair was indeed within. Nodding to himself, he withdrew a potion phial from an inner pocket; the solution within was a lovely, clear shade of azure. A smile settled on his lips; the sight was sufficiently disturbing to cause his companions to exchange glances.
Alverard spoke. “You have the Polyjuice?”
Macnair answered. “Yes.”
“You know what the woman looks like?”
“Long silvery hair, might be worn up at a party, blue eyes, tasty figure “ a real looker, but cold and unfriendly.”
Without speaking, Alverard pushed a newspaper clipping of the Delacour/Snape engagement across to Macnair. The clipping was studied, then returned. “I’ll know her when I see her.”
Alverard extended the azure blue potion to his accomplice. “Pour the lot into her drink.”
Macnair accepted the phial and stowed it carefully in an inner pocket as an even broader smile spread over the Interrogator’s face.
“She’ll sicken and will grow weaker and weaker,” Alverard said with deep satisfaction. “Every remedy they try will make her a little more ill, until she is completely wasted “ and then she will die.”
Mulciber shot Alverard a glare from under his brows. “And how will that provide us with gold from Snape?” he demanded. It seemed, at times, as if Alverard was entirely focussed on tormenting Snape and not nearly focussed enough on extorting Galleons from the damned double-crossing spy.
Alverard chuckled. “When we have picked off his women, one-by-one, he will do whatever we ask to spare the remaining ones.”
Fleur entered the grand entrance hall at Blue Hill in the company of her mama, dropping a curtsy to her hostess before surrendering her wrap to the house-elf. She paused for a moment before the gilt mirror on the wall, ascertaining that her hair was smooth and her make-up was in order. The simple, yet elegant dress robes had drawn Severus’ approval when she had worn them to the Unity Party dance in June; she tilted her head back slightly so that the Snape emeralds in her ears glinted in the light. Straightening her engagement ring, she squared her shoulders and accompanied Mère into the drawing room, which was full of people who had been Severus’ friends all his life.
Moving through the crowd in her mama’s wake, Fleur nodded, smiled, and when unavoidable, shook hands. Her eyes restlessly swept the crowd, seeking out her future mother- and sisters-in-law.
After nearly an hour of tedium, she was convinced that no one from Grimmauld Place or Phoenix House was present at this gathering. Her mama was happily ensconced in the card room, playing bridge. Bored and frustrated, Fleur seated herself at a marble-topped table in a small alcove and surreptitiously removed one satin sandal to rub her toes.
Where were Sophronia and girls tonight? Was someone ill? Or had they attended a different party? Surely not. If there had been an alternate gathering, Sophronia would have owled her, she was certain of it. In a month, she would be Mrs. Severus Snape, lady of the Estuary. Sophronia would not neglect to include her in a family party! It was unthinkable.
Her thoughts were interrupted as a pleasant-faced, matronly witch entered the alcove. The woman’s features seemed vaguely familiar. Hurriedly feeling for her sandal beneath the table, Fleur attempted to slip her foot back into the shoe while maintaining a social smile for the grey-haired newcomer.
“Good evening,” the woman said amiably. “Isn’t it a nice party?”
Fleur inclined her head politely. “Good evening, madame. It is, indeed, a nice party.”
The older witch indicated a chair at the marble-topped table. “May I join you?”
“Please do,” Fleur answered, searching in her mind for an excuse to leave the table. She had no desire to chat with a stranger.
“You are Severus Snape’s fiancée, are you not?” the woman said after she settled in her chair.
Fleur shot her a searching look. “I am, yes. Have we met before?”
“Oh, my dear, yes; at your engagement party. I am Elisabeth Flint. Our estate marches with the Estuary to the west.”
Recognition caused Fleur to relax. “Yes, how do you do? I remember you.”
Elisabeth Flint patted Fleur’s hand. “You met so many of Sophronia’s friends and neighbours that night; it would be no surprise if you did not remember all of us.” She exchanged smiles with Fleur, then said, “Where is your young man tonight? I don’t believe I have seen Snape or his step-mother.”
Fleur frowned slightly. How strangely this Elisabeth Flint behaved. First she spoke of the Snapes as dear friends, then called them “Snape and his step-mother” as if she did not know them at all. With a Gallic shrug, she answered, “He is out of town on estate business. We hope to see him again on Wednesday or Thursday.”
Elisabeth Flint looked oddly satisfied. “Out of town? How uncomfortable for you, my dear. I am sure you miss him exceedingly.”
Fleur glanced at her engagement ring and sighed dramatically. “More than you can know, Mrs. Flint.”
Elisabeth Flint smiled distractedly. “Is he getting on well with his half-sisters, now? Sophronia was concerned about that before Severus came back home, after the war.”
Fleur relaxed into the conversation. After such a boring evening, it was a relief to find someone to speak with who knew the Snapes.
“He is a prime favourite with them, I assure you. Little Stormy is beside herself, wanting him to be back on Wednesday in time to accompany her to the zoo.”
Elisabeth Flint paused for a moment, in the act of moving things about in her handbag. “An outing to the zoo on Wednesday, you say? Oh, my, I am sure the littlest one would not want her brother to miss that treat.”
A house-elf moved into the alcove to offer wine from a serving tray. Fleur was in the act of refusing when Elisabeth Flint took two goblets from the tray and smiled at her. “You will have a glass of wine with me, will you not, my dear?”
Sure that to refuse would be rude in a way of which Severus would not approve, Fleur graciously accepted the glass of wine. Elisabeth Flint lifted her goblet in a celebratory manner.
“To your marriage to Severus Snape,” she said.
Fleur automatically raised her goblet to acknowledge the toast, suppressing the nagging thought that Mrs. Flint seemed to have an odd expression in her eyes “ somehow triumphant? They drank from their glasses and replaced them upon the table.
“Do you like it?” Mrs. Flint inquired solicitously.
“Very well, thank you,” Fleur replied.
“Well, it is becoming late,” the older lady said. She reached for her handbag, but her hand hit the purse and it toppled onto the floor, its contents spilling out upon the fine old Axminster rug. “How clumsy of me!”
“Allow me to help you, madame,” Fleur said, courteously bending to collect the cosmetics, coins and tissues which had scattered about. As she rose, it seemed as if the old lady sat back into her chair rather quickly. Fleur placed the handbag on the surface of the table.
“Come, let us drink up before I must go,” Elisabeth Flint urged. She took her goblet in hand and waited for Fleur to do the same. Politely, Fleur followed suit.
“Miss Delacour!”
Fleur paused before drinking the wine and turned to see who had called her.
“Mr. Weasley!” she said, seeing Percy as he hurried toward her. He bowed briefly over her hand, then inclined his head to the older witch.
“Mrs. Flint, this is Percy Weasley.”
Mrs. Flint acknowledged the introduction with a curt nod.
Percy leant close to murmur, “May I speak with you, Fleur?”
Fleur smiled at Elisabeth Flint. “Will you excuse us, please, Madame? Mr. Weasley bears a message for me.”
The older witch seemed to struggle with herself, then she stood. “Please, Mr. Weasley, have my seat. I was just about to take my leave.” She rose from her seat and paused by Fleur’s chair to lay a hand upon her arm. “Do not fail to drink your wine, my dear. You are missing your young man too much and you are pale. Wine will put those roses back in your cheeks.”
With an indulgent smile for Fleur and without a backward glance for Percy, the older witch left the alcove and was soon swallowed by the milling party guests.
Fleur watched her go with a frown between her perfectly arched eyebrows, but Percy swiftly claimed her attention. “Do you know where my brothers and sister are this evening, Fleur?”
Fleur shook her head and leaned forward. “Tell me!”
“They went to the theatre, all of them, and I was neither informed nor invited.” He looked at her, resentment and hurt warring in his heart. “But why did you choose not to go?”
Fleur’s lips settled into a thin, angry line. “I was also not invited,” she snapped. “How did you find out where they had gone?”
“I went to Grimmauld Place to accompany them here, only to be told by the house-elf that they were all gone to the theatre.” He studied her face thoughtfully for a moment before saying, “I suppose I can appreciate why I would not be asked to join them; I am not an inhabitant of Phoenix House, nor do I yet have a connexion with one of the young ladies. But you, my dear Fleur, are all but a member of the Snape family. The affront to you is inexcusable.”
Fleur reached out impulsively and clasped Percy’s hand as it lay upon the table. “Thank you for saying that. I am afraid that I am not terribly popular with the inhabitants of that house.”
A cold, sneering voice spoke from above them. “How touching! I am sure my friend will be happy to hear that you found a way to amuse yourself whilst he is away, mademoiselle.”
Fleur dropped Percy’s hand as if she had been burnt and Percy leapt to his feet to face Lucius Malfoy.
“It was a perfectly innocent gesture, I assure you, Malfoy!” Percy said hotly.
Fleur stood with all the dignity at her command. “You will, of course, do as you think best, monsieur. I believe that my fiancé knows me well enough that he will easily be able to interpret my actions.”
Lucius eyed her disdainfully; when he spoke, his aristocratic tones dripped with malice. “No doubt.”
Percy opened his mouth to object to Malfoy’s attitude, but Lucius turned his back on the troublesome Weasley and addressed himself to Fleur.
“I have discovered that your family is dining at Claridge’s after the play this evening. I would be happy to escort you there if you would care to join them.”
Fleur narrowed her eyes. “What is in it for you, Mr. Malfoy?”
Lucius gave her a thin smile. “Has Severus ever told you what a fine Slytherin you would have made? No?” He observed her icy beauty for a moment, then lowered his voice. “What is in it for me, Miss Delacour, is a valid excuse for intruding upon a private party. Will you come?”
“Certainly not,” Fleur responded. “I will not go where I am not invited.”
“Then I will go alone,” Malfoy said, executing an infinitesimal bow in her direction. “Good evening, mademoiselle. May I suggest that conduct your dalliances in a less public place? My friend has a lamentable temper.”
Fleur, rendered speechless by indignation, watched the refined figure move through the other party guests, his platinum hair shining in the candlelight from the many chandeliers.
Percy touched her elbow. “Shall I take you to your mama? It is a bit warm in here, and you are terribly flushed.”
Fleur nodded her acquiescence and placed her fingers upon Percy’s arm as he led her toward the card room. Behind them, conscientious house-elves descended upon the marble-topped table and Vanished the abandoned goblets of wine to the kitchen for cleaning.
From the place where she lurked behind a potted plant, “Elisabeth Flint” watched the untouched glass of wine disappear and cursed like a Death Eater.
It was a merry party that sat down to dine in the private room at Claridge’s Hotel.
The elder Snape sisters, who had been reared in the quiet of the Estuary, the Snape country estate, were delighted by the trip to The National Theatre in the wizarding limousine. The interior of the vehicle was magically expanded to hold all of them in comfort as they travelled to the South Bank. Sirius exited the vehicle first and cast a Disillusionment Charm so that the others could leave the automobile without causing a stir.
Viktor Krum had been invited to join them and was occupying Tonks with his playful flirtation. Hermione stayed close to Lupin; she found it more difficult to playact when a certain professor was absent, but she knew Remus needed her support when he was confronted with the prospect of an evening spent watching Tonks play the coquette to Viktor.
As they settled into their seats, Hermione whispered to Lupin, “Tell me again how Sirius managed to acquire this many seats for a sold-out play?”
Remus gave her a quizzical look. “Have you ever tried to withstand Sirius when he’s determined to get something? Charm and gold go a long way in this world, Hermione.” The smile faded from his face as he watched Tonks and Krum at the other end of the row.
Hermione followed his gaze, then squeezed his arm. “Love goes farther than anything, Remus. You’ll see.”
Antony and Cleopatra held them spellbound from beginning to end. As the actors took their final bows, Hermione sat with her mouth just a bit agape. Harry leaned over to her and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Are you sure that man isn’t a wizard?” she said, indicating the actor who had played Mark Antony. “There’s something about him that’s so familiar … I think his voice is enchanted.”
Harry laughed aloud. “Look around you, Hermione. All the ladies seem to think so.”
The ride in the wizarding limousine to the hotel was a noisy one, as they all chatted about the play. The whole group was stricken to silence, however, as they entered the lobby of Claridge’s Hotel. The opulence and grandeur was breathtaking.
Once they were settled in the private dining room, their exuberance reasserted itself. Sirius sat at the head of the table, with Sophronia on his right, and entertained himself by watching her watch the young people. Ginny and Luna displayed their engagement rings to their friends; Harry had bought an impressive sapphire for Ginny, whilst Draco had given Luna his mother’s yellow diamonds. Viktor engaged the Phoenix House young men in conversation about the World Cup, which was scheduled to take place in August. Sirius had insisted upon Remus sitting at the foot of the table, as his deputy host; he had also caused Tonks to be given the seat to Lupin’s left. As Krum ignored his partner to chat about sport, Lupin gently engaged Tonks in conversation.
The waiters were clearing the table for the dessert course when Alfie Merrythought, the Squib who had assisted Sirius with organising the dinner party on short notice, entered the room and nodded to Sirius.
“I’ll be right back, love,” Sirius said to Sophronia before stepping out into the corridor with Alfie.
“You asked me to alert you if a blond-haired wizard came in asking for you,” the Squib said quietly.
“Where is he now?”
“He’s seated in the lobby drinking cognac now, sir, but he was stalking about for quite a bit, trying to find out where you were.”
Sirius smiled nastily. “Who did he ask for?”
Alfie consulted a bit of paper. “He asked for Black, Lupin, Snape, Potter, Weasley, Padfoot, and Moony.”
“It never occurred to him to ask for the Malfoy party,” Sirius chuckled, as he pressed the Muggle bills into Alfie’s hand. “We will be using the back exit after all; be sure to have the driver pop round there to pick us up. Good job, Alfie.”
Sirius returned to the dining room and rejoined his beautiful Sophie, taking her left hand and pressing a tender kiss to the spot where she had lately worn Sandoval Snape’s wedding ring. She pulled her hand from him with a gentle reproof, but he only smiled at her and said, “Soon.”
The Interrogator systematically picked up and smashed each of the ornaments on the mantelpiece in the fireplace, ranting as he did so.
“I should have made you swallow the Polyjuice with a house-elf’s hair in it! Then you might have completed the job properly instead of pouring an entire dose of the poison down the kitchen drain! Do you think I have an unlimited supply of it? I do not!”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Alverard,” Macnair said as he watched the infuriated Interrogator annihilate his mother’s collection of china pug dogs. “The whole lot of them are going to the zoo on Wednesday. We can slip it to one of them then. You can’t go to the zoo without having a lemonade or a candy floss.”
Alverard smashed the last obnoxious pug dog and glared at Macnair, then at Mulciber. “I want both of you Polyjuiced and at the bloody zoo on Wednesday. Take extra doses with you and be prepared to stay the day, if necessary. Before nightfall on Wednesday, one of Snape’s women will be dying or one of you will be dead.”
A/N: I took the liberty of moving the dates for Antony and Cleopatra from the autumn to the late summer of 1998; I hope the Rickman purists will forgive me.
I know how difficult it is to have chapters with so little of Severus in them; please be assured that he will soon return in full force.
I apologise for taking so long to complete and post this chapter; the good news is that I intend to really throw myself into writing the last several chapters. I have given myself the goal of posting the last chapter of this story before its first anniversary, on August 26. Wish me luck.
My Slytherin and I wish to thank you all, from the bottom of our hearts, for the many e-mails and LJ notes after his heart attack. It meant the world to us both. God bless you all.