These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.
Chapter 22
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
The Estuary, Hampshire -- Stormy Siobhan Snape, sister of war hero Professor Severus Snape, died Sunday night of an unidentified disease. Stormy was eight years old. In addition to her brother, Stormy is survived by her mother, Sophronia Prewett Snape, and two older sisters, Skye and Shadow Snape.
The cause of Stormy’s illness is unknown. The Ministry of Magic, in conjunction with the Office of Plague and Pestilence Control, has established a quarantine at the Snape country estate, called the Estuary, posting a one mile perimeter around the estate boundaries. No visitors are being allowed in, and none of the family or staff members are being permitted to leave the area under quarantine.
“This is an effort to safeguard the wizarding community until this disease can be isolated and classified,” said an unnamed Ministry official.
Professor Snape is away from home and his whereabouts are uncertain. He is thought to have travelled out of the country. Anyone with any information regarding Professor Snape’s current location is urged to contact the Ministry of Magic immediately, so that the professor can be apprised of his sister’s death.
The burial will be a private affair in the family plot on the grounds of the estate. There will be a memorial service held when the quarantine has been lifted. The family requests that no flowers be sent at this time.
Alverard’s face creased in a smile that was unpleasant to see when Mulciber thrust the Daily Prophet under his nose.
“That’s one down,” Alverard said, feasting his eyes on the photograph of Madam Snape and her three daughters which graced the front page of the newspaper. “They’ve put the place under quarantine – that will really get up Snape’s nose.”
Mulciber and Macnair exchanged uneasy glances over Alverard’s next words.
“I believe that we need reinforcements, Walden. It is time to call on the reserves.”
“I don’t want to stay in bed! I want to play!”
Skye sat on the side of the bed, gently restraining her youngest sister. “Stormy, love, you know what Healer Fairywinkle said! A few more days of bed rest and then you can get up for a little while each day.”
“I won’t! I’m tired of being in bed!”
“But we have all of these nice games you can play in bed, sweetheart.” Skye used her free hand to gesture to the small bookshelf near the bed, its shelves overflowing with picture books, puzzles, and packs of playing cards. “I’m sure Ron will come up and play Old Hag with you in a little while – and then Bill will read some more of the story about the Unicorn Princess. And Sirius promised he would draw some pictures for you to colour.”
A tempest of angry tears was Stormy’s only answer to her sister’s cajoling.
“I want Fletcher! He misses me! I want Fletcher! Let me go!”
Sophronia entered the room and swiftly crossed to the bed, seating herself and gathering the sobbing child into her arms. “Please ask Nanny to send Severus to me,” she said to Skye over the wailing child, gently smoothing Stormy’s silky blond hair. Skye stood to do her mama’s bidding and Sophronia addressed Stormy. “My love, if you do not stop crying, you are going to wake Hermione. You know she stays awake all night watching over you while you sleep and she is very tired in the mornings. Do you want to wake up Hermione?”
Stormy made an effort to stop her crying; she would not do anything to hurt Hermione – Hermione was Stormy’s best friend! But she was so bored, so tired of being in that bed in that room and never being allowed to walk and play and roam the house and go outdoors. It was not fair!
“Mummy, who’s taking care of Fletcher?”
“Dobby and Winky are taking care of Fletcher, precious.”
“But they don’t have time to play with him! He’s bored and he misses me and he wants to play. I want Fletcher!”
Sophronia murmured and petted and soothed, riding out yet another Stormy storm.
Snape sat in his private study, which could only be reached by traversing his bedroom. As it was not a room held in common by the family, he could be relatively sure that he would not be disturbed. His bedroom and private study were now the only Gryffindor-free zones in the house.
His house. Flooded with a pride of Gryffindors. It made him want to bang his head against the nearest hard surface. He eyed the highly burnished plane of his desk speculatively.
When he had first returned to England from France, Snape had gone straight to Minerva McGonagall to discuss not only Stormy’s condition, but to convey to McGonagall the information regarding the Death Eaters who were seeking him out. He had to hasten to Stormy, but he also had to provide for the safety of all of his family – including Miss Delacour. She was his affianced wife, and her well-being was as much his responsibility as was the security of his sisters and their mother. Minerva readily agreed to contact members of the Order for assistance in mounting a guard over Fleur Delacour while Severus was busy looking after his family during Stormy’s illness. At her suggestion, Tonks was summoned to the meeting, and Snape gave Tonks what information he possessed concerning the visit the Death Eaters had made to Lucius Malfoy. Tonks took notes and agreed to file a report with the Auror office, after gathering further information from Lucius. Consenting to be in touch at regular intervals, Snape left Grimmauld Place.
In the week since Stormy had awakened from her coma, Snape had spent part of each day in consultation and planning with Minerva and various other Order members. Thus far, no new reports had come in as to the location or the movements of Alverard and his confederates. Snape, though somewhat distracted by the events of the last week at the Estuary, had continued to mull over in his mind the way in which he would rid the world, once and for all, of the menace of the Dark Lord’s Interrogator. Sophronia, when questioned, had asked only that he make every other possible effort before taking the drastic action he had suggested to her to draw out the Death Eaters.
The fury of protests, which had broken over his head when he informed his sisters of the plan, had brought on a migraine of the sort he had not suffered since he was in France. The idyllic week of reading and talking with Hermione had given him a respite from his usual tension-filled days in ways which he was as yet unable to consider. Since the night he had walked out of Stormy’s room, having suffered one of the most painful epiphanies of his misbegotten life, he had returned to his rigid avoidance of Hermione Granger in every way, at every opportunity. Thus far, he had succeeded marvellously; not only had he managed not to be alone in a room with her since that night, but he had also avoided so much as laying eyes upon her, except from down a hallway or across a roomful of other people.
Unfortunately, his newfound understanding gave him an unnerving sympathy for his sisters – and even his stepmother – in their desire to spend time with their swains. In a moment of utter insanity, he had given his permission for the Gryffindors to be invited to stay as guests at the Estuary during the “quarantine.” If his days were now made hideous by not only the duty of avoiding the companionship of the one person he wished to see, but additionally by the sight of his sisters and their mother consorting with Gryffindors, he had no one but himself to blame.
On the bright side, he had perfected the castigation of self-blame to an art form.
The matter was not as simple as the poets and philosophers would have one believe. In fact, for Severus Snape, “falling in love” was not an event to be celebrated; rather, it was a catastrophe of cataclysmic proportions. In effect, it was not dissimilar to an earthquake – the actual foundation upon which his life had been based had come undone. His once stable and explicable life had degenerated into a scene of constant emotional upheaval and unruly impulses to take actions which were at best, irresponsible, and at worst, demented.
Control of himself and his environment had been his overriding objective since he was sixteen years old; now events were spiralling out of his control and he was coping in the only fashion he knew: He held himself with a sternness which alarmed virtually his entire household and avoided the cause of his discomfort like the plague.
In the privacy of his study, he could examine this disintegration of the fabric of his existence at self-torturing length. He spent hours chastising himself for being as vulnerable and needy as he had been in his youth, when he had pathetically longed for the kindness, for the smile – and in his more daring moments – for the touch of a female. Just about any female would do. His heart had yearned for the recognition and tenderness which had come to him, thus far, only from his nurse, the house-elf, Nanny. In those sad days, the only safe place to be a Slytherin had been in their dungeon common room, where he had soaked up the friendly affection of girls such as Varen Vector the way a plant absorbs sunlight. His secret yearning for Lily Evans had never been pursued or assuaged in any way. He had never found fulfilment of those adolescent fantasies then – why should he permit himself to indulge such nonsense again? Was it premature senility, to revert in this wretched way before he even reached his fortieth birthday?
He was thinking what satisfaction might be found by soundly smacking his aching forehead into the surface of his desk when Nanny popped into the room.
“I did not call for you,” he snapped dismissively.
“There is no need for you to be so rude, Master Severus,” Nanny reproved, unflustered by his manner.
“Need I remind you that it is I who am now master at the Estuary?” he inquired dangerously.
“Nanny knows who is who at the Estuary, Master Severus. When you start acting like the master, Nanny will be happy to call you the master.” Ignoring his glower, Nanny added, “Mistress is asking for you, in Miss Stormy’s room.”
Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tantrum?”
“Crying herself into another collapse, Master Severus. Don’t keep Mistress waiting!” And with that admonition, Nanny snapped her fingers and was gone.
Checking the clock over the mantel to make sure it was still Miss Granger’s sleeping time, Snape swept out of his rooms.
Minerva McGonagall started like a hare when the green flames burst upwards in the fireplace in her bedroom at Grimmauld Place; in another moment, Severus Snape stepped down into the room.
“Honestly, Severus!” she exclaimed, her hand pressed to her chest. “You gave me such a fright!”
“Unused to having men step into your bedroom, Minerva?” he returned snidely. “It’s not as if you did not know I was coming.”
Wisely deciding to ignore the taunt, Minerva moved on; Severus looked to be in a truly foul mood, and her experience with his nastiness at such times did not encourage her to engage him in verbal sparring.
“Keep your voice down! You’re supposed to be under quarantine!”
“Is there someone in the house other than Order members and house-elves?”
“No – but you should be careful, nonetheless.”
Snape scowled and brushed ash from his robes. “Where is that cursed Pygmy Puff?”
Minerva shook her head regretfully. “I don’t know, Severus. I’ve had the house-elves searching for it all over the house; I’ve looked through the nursery and the surrounding rooms. What are you going to do if it’s disappeared?”
“You’ll have to go to Diagon Alley to buy another one; we’re having the very devil of a time keeping the child in her bed. She’ll never know the difference – all pink Pygmy Puffs look alike, do they not?”
Minerva looked sincerely distressed. “Poor lamb! Children do hate to be bedridden. Is she truly unwell enough still to have to stay abed?”
“Her strength is returning slowly; if she would stop fighting so hard and conserve her energy, she would undoubtedly be able to get up sooner.” Snape glanced at the clock on Minerva’s mantel; it was nearing noon and he wished to complete his errand before Granger was up and moving about at the Estuary. “I will look for the damned animal myself, I suppose.”
Minerva nodded and walked him to her bedroom door, opening it to allow him to pass into the hallway.
An hour later Snape was looking beneath the sofa in the ladies’ sitting room at the top of the house when Dobby Apparated in, causing him to jump and smack his head on the sofa frame.
“What?” he demanded irritably.
“Dobby found Miss Stormy’s Pygmy Puff, Professor Snape, sir,” Dobby said nervously.
Snape stood, jerking his shoulders to readjust the hang of his robes. “Well, where is it?”
“If Sir will come with Dobby?”
Snape followed the house-elf down the staircase to a hallway lined with bedrooms. Dobby approached one of the doorways and had his hand on the door handle when Snape spoke. “Isn’t this the floor on which the young ladies’ rooms are located?”
Dobby nodded. “Yes, but this young lady is not here now, Professor, sir.” The elf pushed the door open and indicated the other side of the room. “Fletcher is on the floor, on the other side of the bed.”
“Very well,” Snape said, entering the room. It was quite tidy and had a slight air of disuse. The reason for this became clear as he rounded the end of the bed and came upon the Pygmy Puff.
Fletcher, his shock of pink fur blending almost exactly with the surface upon which he crouched, was cosily snuggled up with Miss Granger’s fluffy bunny slippers.
Merlin’s beard! He was in Granger’s bedroom. Snape looked nervously about until he realised that he was quite alone and that Miss Granger would not be dropping in on him; she was quarantined at the Estuary, wasn’t she? He had all the leisure he needed to investigate her room – erm, to recover the blasted Pygmy Puff.
Despising himself for the weakness, Snape allowed his eyes to travel over every surface of the bedroom, seeking out her belongings, her tastes, and her interests. Here was a shelf of the Muggle paperback novels she read to put herself to sleep at night; here on the dressing table were cosmetics, bottles of fragrance, and paper tissues; after only a brief struggle, he dared to open the clothes cupboard and felt his stomach clench when a wave of her scent washed over him. There, before him, was the flame-coloured faerie silk gown; against his will, he reached his hand out to caress the fabric of the dress she had worn the night he glimpsed his heart’s desire. He did not know how much time he lost, standing in silence with his fingers tracing the texture of the material; when he came back to himself, he shoved the gown from him and flung the cupboard door closed with the air of a man barely escaping from a treacherous trap.
Backing quickly away from the cupboard, he felt his hip collide with a solid surface, and heard a thump as something heavy hit the carpet. With a muffled curse, he turned to find a large, heavy book on the floor, spread open as if someone had placed it face-down to save her place amongst the pages. He had bent to retrieve the book before he properly registered the title, Pravus Veneficus – it was the Dark Arts text he had seen Miss Granger carry out of Borgin and Burkes, that day he had seen her in the dubious company of Mr. Krum. He turned the book, thinking that the feel was wrong, for a Dark spellbook. Curious, he began to thumb through the pages.
When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, – and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Snape snorted and flipped to the front of the book, finding on the title page, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.
The shameless wench! She had hoodwinked him, charming the cover of this massive book with the name of a notorious Dark Arts text. Why would she do it? What did she mean by it?
Brow furrowed in thought, he set the book carefully back on the desk from which he had displaced it, then bent to scoop up the Pygmy Puff. The impossible humming fur ball refused to let go of the slippers. Snape shook it, threatened it, and attempted to find its paws to pry them from the fuzzy fabric, all to no avail. With a final curse on all Pygmy Puffs, he picked up the slippers and bore the creature out of Miss Granger’s room as if it were a royal pet being borne upon a silken pillow.
Minerva McGonagall, perceiving the forbidding look upon Snape’s face when he re-entered her bedroom to make use of the fireplace, prudently forbore to make a comment.
Hermione slipped into Stormy’s room just as Bill finished reading aloud the last chapter of The Unicorn Princess. Stormy’s heavy eyes had closed and she was dropping into a light slumber as Hermione crossed the room.
“I’ve just finished lunch,” she whispered to Bill and Skye as they met her at the foot of the bed. “You should go eat now; it’s shepherd’s pie, and you know it’s best when it’s fresh.”
Whispering their thanks, Bill and Skye headed out of the room and Hermione seated herself by the window and looked out over the garden. She had scarcely settled in the chair when the door opened and Professor Snape entered, carrying Fletcher, the Pygmy Puff and – could it be? – her house slippers. She felt the colour rush to her cheeks at the notion of him handling her bunny slippers, and her eyes flew to his face.
Snape felt his hopes crash when he entered the room to find himself confronted by Hermione. It wasn’t yet time for her to be up! He should have had another clear hour before he was in danger of encountering her in the house. Bugger! Could nothing go right on this thrice-damned day?
Good God, she had noticed the slippers.
He was standing now at the side of the bed, facing her, the Pygmy Puff held out from his body on the bunny slippers like some sort of bizarre offering.
“I have retrieved the Pygmy Puff,” he said stiffly, keeping his eyes from her face.
“I see,” Hermione murmured, stepping up to the other side of the bed, facing him across the bedclothes.
“I could not get the creature to release its hold on the bedroom slippers,” he added, rather unnecessarily.
Stormy stirred and her eyes opened; immediately her face was wreathed in smiles. “Fletcher! Severus! You brought Fletcher!”
At the sound of her piping voice, the previously inert Pygmy Puff propelled itself out of Snape’s hands onto the duvet and scampered into Stormy’s welcoming arms.
Snape found himself momentarily captivated by the sight of the happy little girl in the bed, reunited with her chief comforter and confidante. He was unaware of Hermione moving around to his side of the bed until she spoke to him.
“Professor?”
He turned his head to look down his nose at her, forcing a frown onto his face while his hands unaccountably began to tremble.
“Yes, Miss Granger?”
“You’re still holding my bunny slippers.”
Snape thrust the slippers quickly into her hands.
“Thank you, sir,” she murmured.
“Wear them in good health,” Snape said inanely.
Hermione raised her face to his, her eyes crinkled with the irresistible smile she wore when she teased him about their differing opinions on the motivations of Jane Austen’s characters. “Did you have any particular occasion in mind for me to wear them, sir?”
Snape felt a wave of compulsion rising within him, to seize her and punish her impertinence with the kisses she so plainly demanded. His eyes drank in her face and he knew she was reading his intent as clearly as if he had spoken the words aloud. With a monumental effort, he turned on his heel and escaped by the skin of his teeth.
Several days later, Snape received a visit from Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius had been amused when Snape had Flooed and requested his presence. “I have no objection, but how on earth am I to get there, dear boy? The place is under quarantine, after all.”
“You can Apparate, of course,” Snape said dismissively.
“Severus, the Ministry of Magic has placed wards to prevent Apparition – they are under the impression that the child died of some plague or other.”
“Nonsense. I placed the wards, and I am telling you that you can Apparate in. Dammit, Lucius, I am surrounded by Gryffindors! You know they are prone to random acts of pointless heroics. If I don’t get some decent conversation I am going to commit mayhem. Get yourself over here.”
Lucius had been bowed into the blue salon by a house-elf, only to find Sophronia sitting blessedly alone. Visiting Snape became the last thing on his mind as he went forward with a genuine smile and pressed a kiss to her hand, which she swiftly withdrew.
“What brings you our way, Lucius?” Sophronia asked in her soft voice. “With the quarantine, we are not really receiving guests.”
Lucius spoke to the house-elf. “Would you show your mistress the things I brought for Miss Stormy?”
The elf fetched the basket, which had been left in the entrance hall, overflowing with succulent, tempting fresh fruits. Sophronia exclaimed happily, “She adores fruit, Lucius! How good of you! We have had such a time trying to get her to eat.”
“I remembered, from the weekend you spent at the Manor, that she was partial to strawberries and grapes. Those are from the Manor greenhouses. She will be welcome to the best we are able to produce until she is completely well again.”
“That is very good of you, Malfoy.”
Sirius Black entered the salon, approaching Lucius with the offer of a handshake. Lucius, conscious of Sophronia’s eye upon him, could do nothing else but allow Black the briefest of handshakes.
“It is the least I can do for Stormy,” he murmured.
Sophronia’s radiant smile of thanks was worth the indignity of being forced to shake the dog’s paw. He smiled back at her, holding her gaze, then bowed formally.
“I hope you will excuse me? I have come to see Severus.”
“Of course,” Sophronia said. “Nanny will show you up to his study.”
Lucius followed the elf out of the salon, but not before he saw Black place a possessive hand upon Sophronia’s shoulder.
Lucius sipped at the port in his glass and studied the chess board. “I don’t know why I persist in playing this game with you,” he complained, looking for a way out of Severus’ smugly proclaimed “check mate.”
“You are a closet masochist,” Snape said snidely, reaching for the bottle of port. “You know, this isn’t half bad.”
Lucius nodded absently. “Your father had a good nose for wine.”
Snape fingered his proboscis appreciatively. “My father had a good nose, full stop.”
Lucius looked up at him. “You’re drunk.”
“Right in one,” Snape agreed with him, taking another drink from his glass of port. “I am bored out of my mind and surrounded by a gaggle of women and a pride of Gryffindors – you would be drunk, too.”
“Is there any sign that Alverard has taken the bait?”
Snape shrugged. “None. But the Aurors have not been able to find them; we’re thinking that their hidey hole might be under the Fidelius Charm. They poisoned Stormy intending to kill her; now they think they’ve accomplished their aim. Eventually they will strike again or try to contact me. All I can do is wait and keep my family under constant surveillance.”
“What about Mademoiselle? Why have you not brought her here for safekeeping?”
Snape shifted with apparent discomfort at the question. “Fleur is being watched by a team of Order members and Aurors – has Draco not mentioned it to you? He is the head of her protection detail.”
Lucius made a moue of disgust. “Draco has still not forgiven me for objecting to his choice of wife; he does not keep me informed of his movements.”
Snape narrowed his eyes. “He loves her, Lucius. No matter how big a fool you may think him, he loves her. You must respect that.”
Lucius took the bottle of port and put it out of Snape’s reach. “You really have had enough,” he said.
It was Gala Night at the Ministry, and the wizarding folk were out in droves. The ladies from Grimmauld Place arrived early on, escorted by the young men of Phoenix House. Minerva McGonagall had invited Fleur to accompany their party, but the Frenchwoman had steadfastly refused.
“It would be unseemly for me to attend parties with my fiancé’s family in mourning for little Stormy,” she insisted. Her point had been inarguable, and it had been necessary for the protective detail to abandon their plans to follow her to the Gala. Draco, whose previous engagement was unbreakable, had prevailed upon Kingsley Shacklebolt to cover for him that night.
“You already have a girl,” Kingsley had objected jokingly. “Some of us are still working on that little problem – aren’t we, Remus?”
Lupin had looked up in a pained sort of way and agreed with Kingsley.
“I owe it to a mate – I have to be there,” Draco had explained.
“I’m just taking the mickey, mate – I’ll cover Snape’s fiancée for you.”
Now Draco looked around the room, seeking out his marks. He and Pans had worked it out, without explaining it to Neville. Luna had listened to one of their planning sessions and said, “Neville will do what you want him to do just naturally – but if you tell him ahead of time, he won’t be able to bring it off.”
Draco had beamed at Luna, drawing her into his lap right in front of Pansy. “That’s why I love you, Luna – you have the heart of a child and the wiles of a Slytherin.”
Luna had leaned in greedily for the kiss which followed, and Pansy had flounced away, saying, “Oh, get a room!”– but with an indulgent smile on her face. She didn’t begrudge Draco his happiness, even if it was with that distinctly dotty Lovegood girl. Draco had pushed her into Neville’s arms, and that was the best thing that had ever happened to Pansy.
Now Draco spotted their prey, standing with acquaintances and sipping at champagne cocktails. He nodded once to Pansy and grasped Neville’s arm, pulling him along whilst Luna hovered in the background, ready with her wand if things should get out of hand.
“…gave me up for that?”
Pansy’s shriek brought her parents to abrupt attention, the two of them moving forward immediately as they saw their daughter standing toe-to-toe with Draco Malfoy.
“…and you’re as dull as dishwater,” Draco was saying coldly as the Parkinsons arrived on the scene.
“Oh, I say, Draco,” Mr. Parkinson said, reaching out to touch Draco on the shoulder.
“You always have dirt under your fingernails and you can’t talk about anything but shrubbery – who would want to marry you?” Draco taunted a red-faced Pansy.
Neville had stood by, listening to Draco and Pansy carp at one another; they had been friends for a long time, and Neville had grown accustomed to their sniping. This, however, was over the line. No one spoke to his Pansy that way.
Draco went down heavily when Neville clumsily, but doggedly, punched him in the jaw. “I want to marry her, you great prat!” Neville shouted. “And don’t you ever talk that way to her again, Malfoy. I don’t care if you are my mate!”
Luna moved in promptly with her wand, ready with her healing spell and the pot of bruise remover supplied by the Weasley twins; Harry and Seamus shooed the on-lookers back onto the dance floor, lessening the audience around the Parkinsons and their daughter’s swains.
Pansy launched herself at Neville, and he dutifully caught her, crushing her to him protectively as he glared at the fallen – but smirking – Draco. Pansy then grabbed his hand, and turned to face her parents.
“Mummy, Daddy, I want for you to meet Neville.”
Alverard looked around the room at the milling group of mercenaries he had been able to scrape together, thinking they were a sad lot. He glanced at Mulciber and Macnair, who were standing at the back of the room; they shrugged. Alverard nodded; he knew the gold they were offering as inducement was not nearly enough to tempt better soldiers. These were the best they could do, for now.
He passed out the wizarding photo of Snape and Fleur which had embellished the newspaper announcement of their engagement. “This is Snape’s betrothed. We don’t know where he is, but the rest of his family are under quarantine in Hampshire. We think that if he is around, nothing will pull him out of hiding faster than an attack on his woman.” He indicated the five men nearest to him. “You six will make a move on the woman tomorrow. There is a possibility that she is being watched by Snape’s Order friends, so be prepared for fighting. Any questions?”
There were no questions. No one in their right mind ever questioned Alverard.
He looked to the remainder of the group. “You lot report back here first thing in the morning for further instructions.”
The mercenaries filed out and Mulciber closed the door behind them, while Macnair stepped up to Alverard. “What are you planning?” he demanded, recognizing the tightly wound quality of the Interrogator’s posture.
“Get a good night’s sleep, Death Eaters. While the lackeys make a move on the fiancée, the rest of us will hit the Estuary. Three women alone with a bunch of house-elves? We’ll kill one of the sisters and kidnap the mother and the other sister; Snape will be more inclined to negotiate if we have hostages.”
Mulciber shoved Macnair aside. “But what if Snape is there, Alverard? What then? He’s outfoxed us before.”
Alverard smiled. “Then we will have to kill them all.”
A/N: The bit of Shakespeare which Snape read in Hermione’s book is Sonnet XXIX. No, it’s not the one Alan Rickman recorded for When Love Speaks, but it is my favourite, and seemed more appropriate to Severus and Hermione.
Fletcher, whom Severus referred to as a Prince Among Pygmy Puffs, was introduced in Chapter 4. The bunny slippers were introduced in the kitchen scene in Chapter 13. Their introduction to one another is properly private and just between them. For Neville’s dilemma regarding Pansy’s parents, see the zoo, in chapter 19.
Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for the amazing show of support for me and for this story which was demonstrated by your votes in the Multifaceted Awards, where we won in both the Endurance and Rapture categories. I could not have done it, not any of it, without you lot. God bless you.
Beta note from LariLee: [Really, if you're so damn thankful, write faster, dammit!]