These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.
Chapter 24
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
Snape floated up from the depths, drawn by the irresistible scent of strawberries and the essence of almonds. He felt that the anvil resting between his eyebrows and nailing his skull to the surface behind his head was a bit of overkill, though. One of his usual migraines would have been enough to incapacitate him sufficiently, surely? What was this over-achieving agony currently being visited upon him? Involuntarily, he went to brush the offending iron block from his brow, only to be jarred by a wave of pain that radiated from his fingertips to his collarbone.
He fell back into the abyss.
Hermione felt the movement beneath her fingertips and she raised her head from the pillow of her arms. Healer Howser, seated across the bed from her, met her eyes with a smile.
“Did he move?” she asked.
“Almost woke up,” the Healer agreed.
Hermione looked at the face resting on the pillow, its pallor almost a match for the white of the pristine bed sheet, and dared to stroke the inky black hair back from his forehead. Being careful not to touch his left arm, which was encased in bandages to the tips of his long, elegant fingers, she smoothed the sheet with a tender hand.
“His arm will heal,” she stated, looking at this appendage with enough determination to frighten it into doing just that.
Healer Howser stood, reaching upwards with his arms and stretching the kinks from his back. “There is a good chance that he will recover full function of the arm, providing he does his exercises and follows the aftercare instructions.”
Walking across the sterile room, the Healer raised the shade covering the window and the pale sunlight filled the room with a golden glow.
Healer Howser turned from the window, momentarily taken aback by the image of the girl by the bed. She wore a tee-shirt which proclaimed her to be “Head Girl” and a pair of faded denims; on her feet were a ludicrous pair of slippers, shaped like fluffy pink bunnies. Yet it was her face which arrested him where he stood. In the spill of morning light, her skin appeared radiant; her dark eyes shone as they rested upon the face of the patient in the bed, and her tangle of dark curls was like a nimbus of glory about her head.
He was a lucky bloke, this unpleasant git of a Potions professor, the Healer reflected.
“I can see you love him a lot,” Howser said softly. “When is the happy day?”
The door to the room, which had been pushed open silently, was now thrust with full force so that it hit the wall with a loud bang which caused Hermione and the Healer to jump, and caused the patient in the bed to toss his head and groan.
“She is not his fiancée!” Fleur Delacour exclaimed, anger making her accent more pronounced. “She is not anyone of importance!” Fleur swept into the room in a rush of heavy French perfume, stopping just short of laying hands upon Hermione to shove her from the bedside. “I am his affianced wife. You will make your report to me, if you please.”
Sophronia Snape, her face pale and haggard, followed Fleur into the hospital room, with Sirius, Skye, and Shadow in her wake.
“Hermione saved Severus’ life, Fleur. She cast a protective spell so that the attackers could not further harm him, once he was down, and she was the one who stopped the bleeding before we moved him to St. Mungo’s. Without her quick thinking, Severus would have lost his arm “ or bled to death.” Sophronia walked across the room and enfolded Hermione into her arms as if she were one of her own daughters. “She sat up night after night with Stormy, nursing her back to health. I don’t know where this family would be, without Hermione.” Stepping to one side, so that Hermione stood within the circle of her arm, Sophronia looked into Fleur’s face and spoke in a tone of gentle reproof. “Hermione is not Severus’ fiancée, no, but she is a part of this family, and we will all treat her with the respect due to her.”
Flustered by the usually placid Sophronia’s defence of Hermione, Fleur hunched an unfriendly shoulder. “I am sure we are all thankful for Miss Granger’s assistance,” Fleur allowed. “However, I am here, now, and I will see to my fiancé.”
Hermione’s chin tilted dangerously as she held the pale blue eyes of the Veela. “Well, I suppose this is a non-infectious illness,” she murmured before brushing past Fleur and walking out of the room.
In the hallway, Ron stood with Harry, as if they had been waiting for her.
“C’mere,” Harry said, pulling Hermione into a long, fraternal hug. “We’re going to take you home, now.”
And without further ado, her two best friends Disapparated her to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
He surfaced again; her scent was not so strong this time, seeming to hover on the bedclothes pulled up to his chest rather than surrounding him as it had done before, but he could still feel the weight of her upper body resting on the mattress at his side. From a great distance, he had heard her speaking to him, much as she had spoken to Stormy in the depths of her illness. He remembered, now, the battle and his injury, which accounted for the torment on the left side of his body. A rush of grief swept over him; Lucius was dead.
But she was not dead.
His voice, unused for more than twenty-four hours, came out as a rasp.
“I hope you had the opportunity to change your footwear before you brought me here.”
To his horror, the wrong voice responded.
“Severus?”
The mattress shifted as she moved, and her cloying perfume washed over him in a nausea-inducing cloud.
“Basin!” he croaked, but she was too slow “ he promptly retched all over them both.
Hermione used the Floo in Professor McGonagall’s bedroom to go to the Estuary and retrieve her belongings. After a bath and a long nap, she felt up to the task of packing away her things. It seemed rather odd to say, “Professor Severus Snape’s bedroom,” as she tossed the Floo powder, but it was the only fireplace at the Estuary hooked up to the Floo Network “ and she knew he wasn’t going to be there, anyway.
Stepping down from the hearth, she could not prevent herself from standing on the rug and looking eagerly about the room. Many of the furnishings appeared to have been placed there by earlier residents; she could scarcely imagine the professor choosing those hunting prints to grace his walls, even if the participants were pursuing a Kneazle from the backs of their magically-enhanced thoroughbred horses. She was drawn by the framed certificates showing his N.E.W.T.s scores and his Diploma of Mastery in Potions.
Through a darkened doorway she could see his private study, the room into which he had disappeared to avoid her for the last two weeks. Resisting the temptation to enter, she contented herself with picking up the leather-bound book from his bedside table to read the title: Sense and Sensibility. A lump rose in her throat as she realised that he had continued reading the book she had begun to read after Pride and Prejudice, even though he had stopped discussing their shared reading with her.
Forcing herself to replace the book on the table, Hermione padded over to the door, where her progress was arrested by the sight of his robes, hanging on a hook. Without compunction, she pulled the robes from the hook and slipped them on over her clothes, remembering when she had worn them to protect herself from the cold in the dark of the cabin. On that occasion, she had worn no other article of clothing, save for his coat. Gathering the fabric in both fists, she lifted them to her face, breathing deeply of his musky scent.
With a regretful sigh, she removed the robes again, hanging them back upon the hook before making her way out of Snape’s room, and traversing the corridors to come to the room which had been hers for over a fortnight.
She had no idea that her movements had been closely watched from the darkened study.
It did not take her long to pack her things, though she left behind the copy of Sense and Sensibility she had been reading; the book belonged to the Estuary library, along with its twin, currently residing in the professor’s bedroom. Crookshanks’ basket, however, was empty, and her calls to him went unanswered. At last, she called for Nanny.
“Nanny does not know where Miss Hermione’s cat is,” the house-elf told her truthfully.
“When he turns up, Nanny, will you Floo me, please, so that I may come and get him?”
The house-elf readily agreed and Hermione made her way back to the professor’s bedroom to Floo back to Grimmauld Place, sure that nothing save the presence of Nanny had prevented her from burying her face one last time in the black robes hanging innocuously by the door.
Fleur was back at the hospital the next morning, in spite of the distinct lack of encouragement she had received from one and all to be there. Snape had just finished clumsily feeding himself, with his unskilled right hand, the porridge he was permitted for breakfast. He was unshaved and unwashed, his arm was a constant torment, and he was not wishful to receive visitors.
However, she brought with her a powerful inducement “ she carried a copy of the Daily Prophet. The Healer had refused to let him see it when he had asked for it the day before, but Fleur had promised to bring him yesterday’s paper when she returned “ and she had actually done so.
She would be permitted to stay, then. As long as she kept her mouth shut.
By RITA SKEETER
The Estuary, Hampshire “ The peace of this bucolic retreat from the worries of the world was shattered yesterday as renegade Death Eaters attacked the home of war hero Professor Severus Snape. The attack was led by the notorious Poindexter Alverard, known as the Interrogator of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The apparent motive for the assault was revenge upon the professor.
“Well, Snape got up Alverard’s nose, didn’t he?” said Homer Thistlethwaite, who was arrested on the scene.
The intruders had come, expecting to find the professor’s stepmother and sisters alone due to the quarantine on the estate, only to find a number of members of the Order of the Phoenix, war heroes, all. The only fatality amongst the defenders was Mr. Lucius Malfoy, age forty-four, of Wiltshire. Of the known Death Eaters, the only fatality was Alverard, age forty-two, of Kent. Two other known Death Eaters arrested on the scene, Walden Macnair and Seth Mulciber, murdered Alverard by means of the Killing Curse before numerous witnesses, including members of the Auror office. Macnair and Mulciber are being held at the Ministry of Magic for trial by the Wizengamot.
The world was shocked to learn that Professor Snape’s youngest sister, Stormy Snape, is not deceased, as had been reported earlier in this newspaper. The incorrect information was given out by the Ministry of Magic, in conjunction with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as part of a complex plan to cause the Death Eaters to show themselves.
Grumbling to himself, Snape turned the paper over to read the articles on the bottom of the folded page.
By Staff Reporter
The Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry decided by unanimous vote today to delay the start of the new school year until 1st October, in deference to the number of weddings taking place.
“We will shorten the Christmas and Easter breaks by one week each and prolong the summer term for one week to make up the difference,” explained Madam Marchbanks, a long-time member of the Board. “We want to make things as easy as possible for our students.”
Snape snorted and struggled to unfold the paper with his one good hand, turning it to read stories on the back side.
Pansy Parkinson, Neville Longbottom Announce Engagement, Wedding Set for End of Month
And further down the page, under the obituaries:
Snape dropped the newspaper and turned his face to the wall, staring at the ugly yellow paint job with unseeing eyes.
Fleur looked up from her thick, glossy wedding magazine when Snape dropped the newspaper, but she wisely kept silent.
Hermione wandered the rooms of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, unsure of what to do with herself. After many days of frantic, time-consuming activity, she was unaccustomed to the leisure time. She was also out of the loop regarding Professor Snape’s condition and the goings-on at the Estuary; in a fundamental sense, she felt as if she had been separated from her own family. In short, she was bereft.
She had come so close to achieving her goal! She had been determined, since the night she spent held in Snape’s vise-like grip, to make him hers. The schoolgirl admiration for the dashing double-agent had morphed into a passion of the body against which she had no defence. Months of careful observation had added to her arsenal of reasons why she wanted him; he was a brilliant scholar, a stimulating conversationalist, a conscientious teacher “ and he was possessed of a physical presence so compelling that she woke night after night from dreams of such startling sensuality that she had begun to question her reason.
All of these things she had known before she left school, fully expecting to hear from him “ desperately waiting day after day for contact of some type to initiate the after-school acquaintance he had said they might share. She had scarcely been back in her parents’ home for a week before the announcement of Snape’s engagement had been published in the Daily Prophet.
What had followed was a weekend of black depression and copious quantities of chocolate fudge ice cream. At the end of the weekend, she had cajoled her mother into spending two days with her at a wizarding spa, where she paid to learn expensive charms to tame her hair and to enhance her facial features, as well as receiving pampering of her body that left her feeling as attractive as she possibly could.
“I’m head-over-heels in love with someone who has become engaged to another woman,” she explained to her mum. “I have to decide what I’m going to do.”
Her decision had been to place herself in the best possible position and to observe. It quickly became obvious to her that Fleur Delacour was a heartless woman who could not make Snape happy “ but, more importantly, she would make Sophronia and the girls miserable, as well, and that just could not be permitted to happen.
That night at the Malfoy ball, when the professor had held her and danced with her, she had felt again that visceral connexion she had noticed with him, before. Their subsequent easy camaraderie in the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning had been echoed by the untroubled days at the Estuary, when she had suspected that his feelings mirrored her own. Here she was, now, scant weeks from his wedding day, and she was running out of stratagems. He was beyond her reach, now, once again under the thumb of his fiancée, and she did not know how to reinsert herself into his life or how to remove the Veela.
She had clearly given the task her very best effort, had come quite close to success. She could not argue with his sense of honour, could she? Was it not one of those traits of his that she most admired? He had offered marriage to the Frenchwoman and he would stand by his promise to the end. Perhaps it was time to cease meddling in the affairs of an engaged couple and to bend her mind to the task of finding a man to whom she could bear to be married.
Otherwise, it would be the Office of Last Resort.
The staff of St. Mungo’s was quite happy to see the back of the most unpleasant patient in the hospital. Once the immediate danger was past, Healer Howser was compelled to permit Professor Snape to be removed to his own home, with the assurances that his potions would be administered on time and that his exercises would be performed on schedule. The Healer would pop in to change the dressings on the arm for a few days, but the bone regrowth had been accomplished, the tissue was regenerating; the muscle and tendon injury would be addressed by the assiduous practice of the prescribed exercises.
The professor was judged to be too weak to Floo home, though it was felt that he could be moved by Side-Along Apparition. The difficulty was that he obstinately refused the offers of all-comers to Disapparate him to the Estuary. He was still in considerable pain, his temper was frayed, his dignity was outraged, and he was damned if he would trust a woman to Apparate with him safely “ much less one of the dunderheaded men who regularly invaded his hospital room uninvited.
Sophronia, Skye and Fleur were facing him in varying degrees of distress, flanked by Black and both of the Weasleys who had lately plagued him so. He was glaring at them all, lips pressed in an uncompromising line, arms folded stubbornly over his chest, when the obvious solution came to him. “Fetch Lucius. He can take me home.”
Almost before the words were out of his mouth, he realised his error; for a fleeting moment, he even saw his own grief reflected on Sophronia’s face. But to suffer the mortification of humiliating himself in this way before a gaggle of women and a pride of Gryffindors was almost more than he could bear. What kind of idiot could forget he had witnessed the death of his best friend with his own eyes?
It was with a sense of intense relief that he heard the next voice to speak.
“Master Severus does not want all these people around him when he’s feeling poorly,” Nanny said, stepping from the middle of the group huddling at the foot of the bed, whence she had been brought by Ronald Weasley, who had recognised the futility of continuing to argue with Snape. “Nanny will take him home. Nanny does not need any help to take care of Master Severus.”
The tiny, but determined house-elf turned to the humans and shooed them with her hands. “Please go home, Mistress. We will be along directly.”
“That’s quite a nurse you have there, Professor,” Healer Howser said from the doorway after the others trooped out. “You’ll excuse us while I fill her in on your home care?”
And thus it was that Nanny successfully moved her eldest charge safely to his own bedroom, armed with the supplies and instructions to bring him back to full health “ which she meant to enforce to the letter.
Every time he opened his eyes, she was there. Fleur was not being too noisy, nor was she fussing over him “ she just would not go away. He had suggested, as kindly as he could, that she go home, but she had confounded him by informing him that she had come for an extended stay at the Estuary.
“For though we have delayed the wedding for a month, due to your injury, we still have much planning to do,” she explained.
“How kind of Sophronia,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, no, it was Nanny who suggested that I stay,” Fleur answered him. “She moved my things into the room in which Miss Granger had been staying. Nanny is quite helpful.”
“I will have to remember to thank her,” Snape responded sourly.
Hermione came down the steps into the sitting room and walked directly into Remus’ welcoming arms.
“How have you been?” he asked in his hoarse voice, leading her to sit on the settee before the hearth.
“I’m well, Remus “ how are things with Tonks?”
Lupin stared down at his hands and shrugged. “She’s been busy with the investigation of what happened with the Death Eaters “ and she’s been seeing a lot of Viktor Krum.”
Hermione reached out and grasped Remus’ hand. “She doesn’t care for Viktor, Remus.”
His topaz eyes, when he raised them to her face, were full of desolation. “Then why has he offered for her?”
Sophronia sat quietly in the blue salon, an untouched magazine open on her lap, and lovingly stroked Stormy’s hair. Stormy sat right beside her, seeming to derive comfort from the mere presence of her mama. The child had scarcely spoken of the battle, which she had witnessed, but she had been prone to nightmares and had become clingy in the manner of a much younger child. Sophronia did not attempt to delve into Stormy’s feelings or to say anything to the child to indicate that her near-constant presence was not completely welcome. Sophronia, indeed, drew much comfort from the presence of her child.
Sirius had removed to Grimmauld Place, taking on the duties Snape had carried out there before the onset of Stormy’s illness. Though Sophronia missed him, she was also slightly relieved to have time to herself. She knew that it pained Sirius to see her grieving Lucius Malfoy, but she could not help herself. She had nearly married the man, after all; had Sirius not shown up to sweep her off her feet at the Malfoy ball, Sophronia might now be mourning the loss of another husband, rather than the death of a friend.
Sophronia looked up as the door opened and Lorry entered, carrying the tea tray. The house-elf was in the process of setting the tea things upon the low table before the divan when a most bizarre sight intruded upon Sophronia’s notice. The door, which had been left slightly ajar, was nudged open, and Hermione’s cat, Crookshanks, entered the room, his tail held high. Hanging from the cat’s mouth, looking like a shapeless pink kitten, was Fletcher the Pygmy Puff.
Sophronia placed a hand on Stormy’s arm and nodded to Crookshanks, who had now come to a stop before the little girl, looking up at her with the squirming Pygmy Puff dangling from his mouth.
“Oh, Fletcher!” Stormy cried, sliding to her knees on the carpet, and reaching out to take the humming ball of fur from Crookshanks’ mouth. “Crooks, where did you find him?”
Stormy nuzzled Fletcher, rubbing her cheek against his fur, and reached out a hand to Crookshanks, who butted his head against her hand and commenced to purr loudly. Stormy was quite conscious that it was when she was chasing Fletcher across the drive that Severus had been hurt; she wasn’t entirely sure that it wasn’t her fault, too, that Mr. Malfoy had died. Under the weight of such sad, dark thoughts, she had not had the courage to tell any of the grown-ups that Fletcher was still missing.
Sophronia was smiling tenderly down at her daughter and the two magical creatures when Nanny came into the room.
“Mistress, Nanny is needing your help with Master Severus.”
Sophronia, oddly enough, was the only one who did not try to change his mind.
“Lucius was my best friend for more than twenty years,” Snape said stubbornly. “I will attend his funeral.”
Though he was still very weak, and having to take a number of potions on a strict schedule, Sophronia gave him her support.
“I will ask Draco to help me take him to the Manor for the service,” she said quietly to Nanny. “We will get along without difficulty “ please do not worry about it.”
And that Saturday morning in August found a large number of people assembled for the funeral of Lucius Malfoy. Rows of folding chairs began in the formal gardens and continued down to the family crypt. Draco, who appeared at the Estuary and moved Snape to the Manor by Side-Along Apparition, was very thankful for the presence of his father’s closest friend. Snape sat with Draco and Luna as the service took place, while Sophronia sat with Sirius and the other members of the Order of the Phoenix, who had turned out in force to honour this fallen member of their group. Lucius Malfoy had not been trusted by all of the Order members, but no one could gainsay the fact that he had passed information which had helped to win the war. That he had lost his life in defence of the home of an Order member, fighting Death Eaters in the company of other Order members, had raised his credit amongst even his harshest critics.
Hermione sat between Harry and Ron, unable to keep her mind on the loss of a comrade as she gazed at Professor Snape, who sat at Draco’s right looking ill, but resolute. Her hand ached to smooth the twist of sorrow from his lip, but he was unaware of her presence. She gripped her hands in her lap and turned her attention back to the speaker.
Snape shifted uncomfortably in his bed and scowled at the potions sitting on the bedside table; one was red and one was green. He knew he had to keep on taking the blood replenishing potion for the next two days, but he was sick to death of it. There was nothing he hated more than being out of control of what was happening in his life, and he was just about at the worst place he had ever been in that regard, now.
With an exaggerated sigh, he picked up the red potion with his good right hand and poured the disgusting mess down his throat. In mid-gulp, there was a firm knock at his bedroom door. Before he could tell them to "Go away!" the door was opened and Ronald Weasley had the temerity to enter his room.
"Are you lost, Mr. Weasley?" he inquired nastily.
"No, sir. Madam Snape asked me to come up and play chess with you."
Ron took the hospital tray which had been Transfigured from an end table and arranged it so that the table lay across Snape's lap, then fetched the chessboard from the table near the window and placed it before the scowling Potions master. Mindful of Sophronia's instructions, Ron behaved as if Snape was cooperating with him, setting out the chess pieces and pulling up a chair.
"Black or white, sir?"
Snape looked pointedly in the other direction.
"Right. I'll take the white, then," Ron said cheerfully, and promptly moved a pawn. "Your move, sir."
Bringing the full force of his disdainful sneer to bear upon Weasley's face, Snape inquired silkily, "What makes you think I would bother to play chess with you?"
"Because your best mate is gone, Professor, and he won't be along to play chess with you anymore. I've heard that even he didn't give you a very good game." Ron looked him in the face, his expression neutral. "Well, not many people give me a good game, either."
Snape's mouth tightened at the mention of Lucius; the ripple of suppressed grief attempted to rise again, and he spoke harshly in an effort to push it away from him.
"When you play with idiots like Potter, what do you expect?"
Ron crossed one long leg over the other and settled back like a man prepared to stay for a while. "I've also played with Professor Dumbledore," he commented mildly.
"You?" Snape ejaculated.
Ron nodded.
"I don't believe you."
Ron shrugged indifferently. "You might want to give me a try and see if I'm worth your time at the game, sir. It's not as if you have many pressing engagements right now."
Snape ground his teeth, glaring at the irritating Weasley.
Ron cocked his head to one side. "You're not afraid to play chess with a Gryffindor, are you, Professor?"
Snape jerked himself forward so quickly that he bumped his left arm on the tray, setting off a wave of agony. Ron surged to his feet and grabbed the water glass from the table as well as the greenish potion, and held both out to the gasping wizard in the bed.
"I recognize this green one; it's for pain," Ron said conversationally, offering it to Snape.
The professor snatched the phial from Weasley's hand and upended it over his mouth, then handed the phial to Weasley and accepted the water glass, gulping down the remaining liquid.
"Insolent whelp," he snapped, the breathless quality of his voice robbing the words of their usual sting.
"That's right," Ron said encouragingly. "Show me what a dolt I am.” Resuming his seat by the chess board, he regarded the professor with polite interest. “It's your move."
Snape’s recovery seemed to speed up from that point forward. The Weasley jackanapes had defeated him at chess all too handily; so it was clearly incumbent upon him to properly reorder his senses again.
Mornings he spent doing the hellacious, repetitive movements with his arm and hand, which caused the tendons and muscles to knit properly, restoring function to him. In the afternoons, he rested and, in the evenings, he received visitors, such as the Chess Demon, Ronald Weasley.
Unfortunately, Fleur did not feel herself to be affected by the schedule to which Snape so fiercely adhered. She felt free to enter and exit his rooms at will, her light, loving manner reminiscent of her actions when she had first convinced him she would make a good wife for him.
He was perspicacious enough to realise that her behaviour was due, in part, to the absence of Miss Granger. A non-threatened Fleur was a far more appealing woman. The other component of her happier conduct was their impending nuptials. Fleur was moving about the Estuary with the eye of a woman about to take possession of something which she has long coveted. Her attitude clearly won her no admirers amongst the denizens of the estate.
“No, I do not wish for you to uproot the roses and to plant the beds with irises!” he snapped querulously to the gardener one afternoon, as he was interrupted dozing over Sense and Sensibility. “What gave you that ridiculous idea?”
The gardener twisted his cap nervously. “It was your lady, Professor Snape. She was down the gardens this morning with a notepad and a pen, talking about renovations.”
“No changes will be made at this time, Chance,” he said with finality.
Next, it was the housekeeper.
“Of course I do not wish to replace all the linens!” he said impatiently when the housekeeper sought him out in the midst of his exercises one morning. “See Madam Snape about those things, Mrs. Booker. She is the mistress of the house.”
“It was Miss Delacour who suggested it to me, sir, and I know that she will soon be the mistress of the house …”
“We will make no purchases at this time, thank you. I will speak to Miss Delacour.”
The next time he saw Fleur, she was standing in the window embrasure in his bedroom, rubbing the fabric of the heavy green velvet curtains between her fingers.
“May I help you?” he inquired icily.
Fleur turned to him with a loving smile. “Hello, darling! How are you feeling today?” She came towards him and leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Only a month more, Severus “ can you believe it? And we’ll be husband and wife …” She rubbed her cheek against his coat, wrapping her arms about his waist.
Snape stood rigidly. “Why were you inspecting the draperies?”
Fleur released him and stepped back, a more calculating look in her eye at his lack of response. “I am trying to decide what colour I want for this room.”
“I do not wish to change the colours of my room,” he returned adamantly.
“But, darling,” she responded, her voice growing sharper, “it will soon my my room as well, and I do not care for green.”
“Of course this will not be your room,” he answered impatiently, turning from her and striding through the adjacent doorway, to his desk, with something approaching his old grace. “This is a very large house, Fleur. You will have a room of your own, which you may decorate in any way you see fit. Speak to Sophronia about it; she will find a room appropriate for you.”
“Will Sophronia live with us after she marries Mr. Black?” Fleur inquired, following him into his private study.
Snape looked up, frowning. “Sophronia is not engaged to be married to anyone.”
Fleur’s laugh sounded a bit forced. “Surely you cannot fail to see that she is in love with Sirius Black? Do get your head out of the ground, Severus. All I am asking is whether they will make their home at the Estuary after they are married.”
“I have no wish to discuss this now, Fleur. Please leave me in peace so that I may look over these accounts.” He opened the estate ledger and fixed his gaze on the columns of figures until she flounced out of the room.
Nanny was going out of her way to look after Master Severus’ fiancée in a way that only the maven of the Estuary nursery could do.
Fleur was sitting in her room at her writing desk, penning a note to her mother one day when Nanny popped in with a snack of tea and cakes for her. Declining the cakes, Fleur sipped at her tea, avidly eyeing the old baby things which Nanny produced from her capacious pockets.
“This is the cap that has been worn by the heirs of the Estuary for generations,” Nanny said, smiling grimly when the Frenchwoman reached out one finger to stroke the soft fabric. “Snape babies are always big “ it’s the large brain cages, you know, for all the Snape children are highly intelligent.” Fleur’s eyes narrowed slightly as she raised her head to look at Nanny’s face. Blandly, the house-elf continued, “It’s a hard birth, pushing out a big-headed baby, but the mistresses of the Estuary are always happy to make that sacrifice. What is the importance of a trim figure when compared to a healthy heir for the estate?”
“Sophronia is trim!” Fleur objected worriedly.
“Oh, not compared to her figure before the babies came,” Nanny said with mock sympathy. “But after the first baby, it’s easier, for your body is all stretched out and is never the same again,” the nurse added helpfully.
“Well, times have changed, Nanny. Women have babies and get their figures back all the time, now.”
“Maybe after just one baby, you might,” Nanny allowed. “But Snapes have large families. It’s in the terms of the family trust, you know; more income every year for each additional child born to the master of the Estuary.”
Fleur’s eyes grew round as Nanny tucked the cap back in her pocket and began to back away. “Don’t fret, Miss; you’re so very pretty, I’m sure that Master Severus will love you no matter if you lose your shape.”
And on those horrific words, the house-elf popped out of the room.
As Snape regained strength, his mind turned one again to his duties. Although he could not and would not consider the job of finding a husband for Hermione Granger, he was still troubled by his failure to see Nymphadora Tonks safely into an engagement. Of all the Order’s young women, Tonks alone was the one whose father had charged Snape with her wellbeing as he bled to death at the Potion master’s feet.
It was, therefore, a happy day when he received word from Minerva that Tonks had received an offer of marriage from Viktor Krum.
“When will the announcement be made?” he asked McGonagall.
“Nymphadora hasn’t decided yet,” Minerva replied hesitantly.
“Merlin’s beard!” Snape said testily. “Is this not precisely the way she behaved when Lupin offered for her?”
“You know it is, Severus,” McGonagall replied tartly.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “We will be back in Grimmauld Place by the end of the week, but I do not wish to let this languish that long. Would you ask Tonks to come to the Estuary to see me, please?”
“And shall I have her bring you a pot of chicken soup, as well?” Minerva inquired sweetly.
“Don’t test me, Minerva. I am perfectly well enough to hex you.”
“Not on your best day,” McGonagall replied before ending the Floo conversation.
Hermione glared at Alicia, Ginny, and Luna, who stood in her bedroom, their arms crossed mulishly across their chests.
“I don’t want to go to any parties!” Hermione explained again. “Be reasonable!”
Ginny flung herself over to the clothes cupboard and opened the doors. “Do you want to wear a dress or robes?” she inquired.
“I want to be left alone!” Hermione answered.
Luna put an arm about Hermione’s shoulders and rubbed her back in soothing circles. “Draco and I are staying in, tonight,” she said. “Hermione could stay with us.”
Alicia removed Hermione from Luna’s embrace and seated her before the dressing table.
“No, Luna, Hermione still hasn’t found the man she wants to marry, and that’s what these parties are for.”
Hermione batted Alicia’s hands away as the older girl began to arrange the unruly curls.
“This gold dress is one of your favourites,” Ginny said, removing it from the cupboard before bending down to pick up the matching shoes. She crossed to stand to one side of Alicia and to look into Hermione’s face as it was reflected in the mirror. “It’s natural for you to feel a bit down after spending so much time caring for sick people and going through traumatic things, Hermione. Frankly, you’re acting as if you’ve spent too much time with Professor Snape and he is rubbing off on you. Going out tonight will give your thoughts a new direction. And, who knows? You might just meet Mr. Right!”
Giving in to the inevitable, Hermione allowed her friends to dress her for the party.
Ginny had been right about one thing “ it was something of a relief to lose herself in dancing and bantering with her partners, Hermione decided. Remus claimed her for the first two dances and she felt safe and comfortable in his arms.
“Come with me to the refreshment table,” she invited him after the second dance, her eyes fixed on Tonks and Viktor, who were picking up glasses of punch.
Remus followed her gaze. “Oh, what’s the point in pretending any more, Hermione? Tonks is obviously happy with Krum.”
Hermione took his hand and began to walk toward the other couple. “Don’t be a quitter, Remus. Tonks hasn’t even said ‘yes,’ yet. It’s not over until it’s over.”
Hearing the words she was speaking to her friend made Hermione smile to herself. That’s just exactly what I need to hear, she thought. He hasn’t married her yet “ and they’re coming back to Grimmauld Place this weekend “ it’s not over ‘til it’s over.
Percy Weasley watched jealously as Hermione walked off the dance floor hand-in-hand with Lupin. She had been back at Grimmauld Place for several days but he, Percy, had not yet secured a visit with her. His persistent calls at Order headquarters had been met each time with the news that Hermione was out, or was indisposed, yet here she was, looking healthy and quite pretty. Squaring his shoulders and pushing his glasses more firmly up his face, Percy strode over to Hermione.
Tonks was, unfortunately, the first one to see him approaching. “Hello, Percy. What brings you here, tonight?”
Krum, Lupin, and Hermione turned to look at him, then. “I’m here for the party, Nymphadora, as no doubt you are, as well.” Turning his shoulder rather pointedly to Tonks, Percy held out his hand to Hermione. “You’re looking lovely tonight, Hermione. I am so glad to see you safely back from the Estuary. May I call upon you tomorrow?”
Taking his hand politely, Hermione anxiously wracked her brain for an excuse. “Oh, Remus and I are going to see how the professor is getting along tomorrow “ aren’t we, Remus?”
Answering her frantic glance, Remus replied in the affirmative.
“Then may I have this dance?” Percy continued.
Hermione excused herself to the others and followed Percy into the waltz.
“I asked after you every day, while you were gone,” Percy told her, looking down into her face.
“You did?” Hermione said, not sounding at all gratified by Percy’s confession.
Percy pressed his lips together in displeasure and carefully considered the girl in his arms. She was not as tall as Miss Delacour, though her height was perfectly adequate, of course. She was not as thin as Miss Delacour; her breasts were fuller, and her hips and bottom more rounded “ but those were attractive attributes in a woman. Hermione seldom spoke to him with the same level of respect shown by Miss Delacour “ but Hermione had always been outspoken, and Percy had admired her for that.
“When will your parents be home?” he blurted.
Hermione looked at him, then, alarmed by the unwelcome tone of urgency in his voice. “I don’t expect them back until September, actually.”
Percy pulled her body closer to him, bending his head so that his breath stirred the hair at her temple. “I am very anxious to speak with your father, you know, Hermione. Very anxious.”
Hermione pulled back from him, putting distance between their bodies without breaking out of his embrace; she did not wish to make a scene in the middle of the dance floor. “Percy, I wish you will stop deluding yourself that my answer to your offer will magically change because my parents come home from Ibiza. Sometimes ‘no’ really does mean NO.”
Thankfully, the dance came to an end and Hermione turned away from him, walking swiftly back towards the refreshment table, with Percy following closely behind her, apologising for his impropriety.
“I know this is neither the time nor the place,” he said to her, somehow obtaining possession of her hand and holding it between his own. “Forgive me for the violence of my emotion, which drives me to behave this way.”
Hermione bit her lip, determined not to laugh at his dispassionate declaration of emotional violence, and removed her hand from his. “It’s all right, Percy, just stop thinking that I am going to change my mind. I am not.”
A familiar, friendly voice spoke from behind her. “Good evening. Will I be lucky enough to get a dance with you this evening, Miss Granger?”
Hermione had the fleeting impression of fury crossing Percy’s face before she turned away from him to see Healer Howser smiling down at her.
“Healer Howser!” Hermione said, smiling in greeting. “What are you doing here?”
“Hopefully, I am dancing with you,” he replied, offering his arm to her.
“Of course,” Hermione agreed, allowing him to escort her onto the dance floor, away from a glowering Percy Weasley.
“Even Healers have to marry, you know,” he told her as he took her into his arms and they began to dance.
Hermione laughed. “Well, I suppose they do.”
The Healer smiled broadly. “Oh, I’ll have to think of something funny to say.”
“Why?”
“Because you are enchanting when you laugh,” Healer Howser told her, sincerely.
“You are silly,” Hermione told him, charmed in spite of herself.
Earlier that day, Tonks had spent a very uncomfortable hour with Severus Snape.
“What do you want me to say, Severus?” she demanded, pacing the rug before his desk, while Snape watched her with partially lidded eyes.
“There is no magic phrase I wish to hear you utter, Tonks,” he replied. “I simply want to know when you are going to stop acting like a child and get down to the business of finding a husband.”
“I’m doing my best,” she snapped.
“You’ll pardon me if I fail to agree with you,” he said with mock courtesy.
“There’s no need for you to get nasty with me!” she flared at him.
“This is not nasty, Tonks. This is concerned. Nasty is not nearly so pleasant.”
“Very funny,” she muttered under her breath.
Recognising that the Gryffindor witch was not responding to the direct approach, Snape subtly changed tactics. “You’ve had two offers of marriage made to you and you have never given a definitive answer to either petition. Why is that?” Snape asked in his most reasonable tone.
“I was going to accept Remus, Severus, truly I was,” Tonks confessed, dropping into the chair across from him. “But he became ill and went away for a month and asked Sirius to entertain me “ and he never said another word to me about it, until the day he withdrew his offer.”
Snape made a sound to indicate that he was listening to her, letting the silence encourage her to continue to speak, which she did.
“I know I should accept Viktor, but I’m afraid that we don’t love each other.”
After several beats of silence, Snape spoke. “You do understand that love is not a requirement for a functional marriage,” he said, quoting the conventional wisdom with which he had been raised.
Tonks snorted incredulously. “What Time Turner took you into the Dark Ages, Severus? I don’t know anyone who wants a ‘functional marriage,’ do you?”
Though he could not bring himself to voice the words aloud, Snape knew that Tonks spoke the truth. No doubt, even Fleur believed that he would fall victim to her charms and come to love her, after they were married.
Keeping his voice casual, Snape said, “Is there anyone you do love, Tonks?”
A sound between a sob and a laugh escaped her lips. “He’s already interested in someone else,” she managed to say.
“But not engaged?”
“Not yet “ but he doesn’t care for me; he cares for another girl.”
“Are you sure?” Snape probed. “Isn’t it worth finding out for certain?”
Though Tonks scarcely seemed to be attending to him, Snape heard his own words with an inner grimace. Hark who’s talking, he thought. Who better than I to give advice about how not to enter a loveless marriage.
Tonks was gazing at him but not seeing him; it was obvious to him that her thoughts were elsewhere. With scarcely a twinge of conscience, he looked into her eyes and delved delicately into her mind. Almost immediately, he was thrust unceremoniously out.
“Severus!” Tonks cried, outraged.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “Force of habit.”
Tonks stood. “I’m leaving. You should be ashamed of yourself!”
Staring at the door so recently slammed behind the retreating Metamorphmagus, Snape said aloud, “I should be many things, Nymphadora “ but being ashamed is at the top of my to-do list, I assure you.”
Nanny packed Snape’s trunk in silence, occasionally casting shrewd glances at him as he sat before the hearth, reading the leather-bound book he had picked up from his bedside table. At last, she spoke.
“Miss Stormy is so happy to be returning to Grimmauld Place; she has been missing Miss Hermione something fierce.”
Snape grunted, but did not look up from his book; Fleur had finally returned to her mother’s home the day before and, at last, he had a bit of quiet to do some reading.
“Nanny misses Miss Hermione, too, Master Severus. She was always interested in everything that was going on in the house, without being nosy or bossy about it. She always had a kind word for everyone she saw, even house-elves. Miss Hermione took care of Miss Stormy and of you as if she were a Snape herself.”
Nanny wisely kept her head down, continuing to fold and pack garments in the trunk which would go with Snape to Grimmauld Place, and from there, back to Hogwarts.
At length, Snape spoke. “I know what you’re trying to do, Nanny “ but please do not.” There was the tiniest hint of vulnerability in his voice.
Nanny advanced on him now, the predator smelling blood in the water. “We all miss her, Master Severus “ do you?”
Snape threw the book down on the ottoman at his feet and glared at her. “Well, you seem to know everything “ do I?”
Placing her hands on her little elf hips, Nanny stared him down. “Give over, Master Severus, you know you do “ and you will miss her forever if you don’t get your head out of your cauldron!”
Snape lunged to his feet. “She would not miss me!” he proclaimed violently, voicing both his strongest belief and his worst fear.
Nanny maintained her stance, only the angle at which she held her head to see his face changed by his altered position.
“She is always missing you,” Nanny said softly, her voice entreating him to hear her words. “Nanny found her in your room with her face buried in your robes when Miss Fleur sent her away from the hospital room.”
Snape stared at her, hope warring with despair in his chest, until he felt he could not catch a breath.
“Out!” he bellowed at her, advancing threateningly. “Get out and do not return unless you are called!”
Nanny had a great deal of leeway in her duties at the Estuary, but she could not disobey a direct order from an adult family member. Leaving him with a look of deep reproach, Nanny snapped her fingers, and was gone.
Snape was startled out of his brooding the next day by a knock on the bedroom door.
“Enter,” he said, continuing to manipulate the many-coloured cube he had found in his bag when he was finishing his packing for the removal the next day to Grimmauld Place. He had brought it from France for Stormy, but she had yet to receive her gift from him.
“Severus?” a voice called from his bedroom.
Good God, it was Lupin.
“In the study, Lupin,” he said shortly.
“I’m here too, Professor.”
The desk surface looked remarkably inviting; he wondered if a sound smack with his head would render him unconscious and unavailable for chatting with the two people he least wished to see.
Snape stood courteously as Lupin and Miss Granger entered his study.
“To what do I owe this honour?” he inquired sardonically.
“We came to see how you’re getting along,” Lupin replied in a cheerful way.
“Well, Lupin, you might have waited another day and you could have seen me in Grimmauld Place.”
There was a thudding noise from the next room as his bedroom door was thrown open.
“Hermione!” Stormy’s voice preceded her into the room, where she promptly threw herself into Hermione’s arms. “I haven’t seen you in forever!” Stormy proclaimed. “Come on! Come see my new dresses!”
With an apologetic smile for Lupin and a murmured, “Good bye, Professor,” Hermione allowed herself to be dragged out of the study.
Snape watched Lupin’s expression as Hermione clambered over him to reach the doorway; an imp of jealousy goaded him to purr, “When will I be receiving your offer for her, Lupin?”
Lupin looked back at Snape guiltily. “I beg your pardon, Severus, I wasn’t listening “ when will I do what?”
Snape leaned his elbows on the desktop. “When will you offer for Miss Granger?”
Lupin’s mouth dropped open. “What possible business could that be of yours, Severus?”
Snape’s eyebrows rose dramatically. “Perhaps you have forgotten that Dumbledore left me in loco parentis for the young witches of the Order? I am fully within my rights to ask what your intentions are in regard to Miss Granger.”
Lupin regarded him soberly for a moment. “I will see you in hell first, Severus. I am not discussing my intentions, whether good, bad, or indifferent, with you.”
Snape sneered at him openly. “You’re toying with her, aren’t you? Using her for werewolf bait, perhaps?”
Lupin crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Now, why would you care, Severus? The young men under my care have been all about the young women in your charge all summer long, and I have never yet heard of you asking anyone’s intentions “ not even those of the men pursuing your own sisters.”
Snape glared at him, lips pressed tight in a thin white line. Lupin held his gaze steadily, the alpha male refusing to look down; incensed, Snape invoked a non-verbal Legilimens and was momentarily staggered by what he saw.
Tonks?
Lupin was pining for Tonks? He had his hands all over Hermione every time Snape saw them together, and he preferred Nymphadora Tonks?
The werewolf was clearly deranged.
“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Lupin,” he said, nonchalantly. “I just want you to know that if you break her heart, you’ll likely have Potter and Ronald Weasley to deal with.”
Lupin laughed. “Hermione’s heart is not in danger,” he said easily, before changing to a safer subject.
After hearing the bedroom door closing behind the departing Lupin, Snape leant back in his chair, his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. What if Tonks’ secret tendre was for Lupin? But how could that be possible? If she had a passion for Lupin, she could have said ‘yes’ to the marriage proposal and would likely have been brewing a litter of were-pups by now. It just did not make sense.
What made even less sense, however, was Hermione’s behaviour. For the last two months, he had assumed that everything she had done to drive him insane was done precisely for that purpose: to make him wild. But why would she do that? She had been a well-behaved student, when she was not following Potter on his ill-judged exploits. She had never, until he had met her at Grimmauld Place after the announcement of his engagement, acted towards him in a manner that he could have described as mocking or taunting. In that case, why had he chosen to perceive every act of hers since they had come to live under the same roof at headquarters as a personal affront?
On the other hand, did she have cause to be miffed with him? Well, perhaps she did. He had told her that they could see one another after she left school, but instead of doing that, he had become engaged to another woman. But not before he had seen her kissing Krum! Or “ at the very least “ he had seen Krum kissing her. But had he not also seen Krum kiss Tonks, in exactly the same fashion, and for the same reason? Perhaps it was simply Krum’s Bulgarian reaction to winning a Quidditch match: Kiss the nearest pretty girl.
Rising from his chair with a growl, Snape began to pace the small space in the study, his brain struggling to sort out fact from assumption.
If one were to remove from the equation the possibility that she was deliberately provoking him to anger, what could one interpret her recent actions to mean?
Dear God.
What a cursed fool he had been.
He felt the rising of hope within himself like a tide that would carry him surely out to sea, but for once he made no effort to stem the emotion “ he did not care if he was moved to have a silly smirk upon his face.
Oh, there was much planning to do, there were many instructions to be given “ there was no more time to waste.
“Nanny!” he bellowed, and was gratified to see the house-elf pop obediently into his room, though she had avoided him since he had ordered her away the night before.
“Yes, Master Severus?” Nanny said in frosty tones.
“You remember our discussion of last evening?” he asked her.
Nanny nodded, observing him through cannily narrowed eyes.
“You were quite correct. That being true, there is much to be done to bring matters right. I have a project for which I require your assistance. May I depend upon you?”
For several beats, Nanny simply looked at him, her wise old eyes searching his face. Snape stood before her, making no effort to hide his thoughts or feelings from her. After what seemed an impossibly long time, Nanny executed a bow which brought her forehead quite close to the rug beneath her feet.
“Of course, Master. In what way may Nanny be of service to her Master?”
A/N: Many thanks to my reader Becca, the delightful Inna_Chy, for the phrase, "pull his head out of the cauldron," which I paraphrased for Nanny. Nanny is a strong presence in the Snape household; her influence with Snape is both powerful and positive. The packing that she does for him near the end of this chapter could probably have been done with magic, rather by hand “ Nanny chose to do it the slow way to give her more time to work on him.