For that reason, rather than stopping this story at the point where The Grand Sophy ended, I have elected to continue on with the story through the wedding night of our couple “ though please be aware that the rating will not materially change. I anticipate this to extend the length of the story by approximately three chapters.
That said, let me comment that there are parts of this chapter patterned very closely on the last three chapters of The Grand Sophy.
Kudos to my betas, Keladry Lupin and LariLee, and to my Brit-picker, MagicAlly, for their valiant efforts on my behalf.
These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.
Chapter 26
Sophronia hurriedly slipped her shoes on and paused for a quick glance in the mirror. Thankfully, the love bite on her shoulder was far enough to one side that it did not show at her collar. Really, Sirius was going to have to remember that they were not teenagers! She could not be wandering around like a foolish child, with stars in her eyes and love bites on her neck!
A singularly silly smile crossed her face as her mind wandered to the things he had said to her as he moved over her, making her feel things of which she had only ever read … had never, in her wildest dreams, expected to experience …
“Mum?”
Sophronia started guiltily, giving her hair one final pat before turning to smile at Skye.
“Are you all ready to go?” she inquired, going to give her eldest child a swift embrace.
Skye smiled nervously. “We’re ready.” The lovely girl, so like her mother, looked anxious. “Do you think that Bill’s mother will like me?”
Sophronia put an arm about Skye’s shoulder, walking slowly with her from the bedroom. “I met her at tea one day, and I liked her very much. She is a busy woman with a large family, love. Keep in mind that she might be quite occupied right now with all the weddings she has to plan. But I truly do not see how she can fail to love you “ you are a truly good person, and you love her son to distraction. I think that will count in your favour.” They had reached the first floor sitting room, which they entered, to find Bill, Ron, and Harry standing with Shadow, Ginny, Hermione and Stormy.
“Is everyone packed? You have everything you need?” Sophronia asked them all.
The group nodded and hugs were exchanged as the travellers were bid farewell.
“I’ll miss you,” Stormy whispered brokenly to Skye as the older girl knelt to receive her sister’s hug.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” she said, kissing the child upon the cheek.
Minerva McGonagall came into the room and placed loving hands on Stormy’s shoulders as they watched the three Weasley siblings and their betrotheds Floo to the Burrow.
“I hope you haven’t forgotten that you’ve promised to go with me for a picnic at Richmond, today,” McGonagall said to Stormy.
Stormy brightened visibly. “I haven’t forgotten, Auntie Min!”
“Run along to my room and I shall join you there, shortly,” the old woman said, watching with a small smile as the child skipped out of the sitting room.
“I’ll keep her occupied,” Minerva said softly to Sophronia, giving the younger witch a much more expansive, warm smile. “You go ahead, and don’t give it another thought.”
Hermione glanced curiously at Sophronia, who blushed. “Sirius and I have an errand to run in the city,” she said.
Hermione just smiled and nodded. Good, Sophronia would be out of the house, as well.
Nanny came into the newly renovated master suite at the Estuary, only to find her master observing himself in the mirror, turning his face from side to side, tilting his chin, as if trying to see himself from around his too-large nose.
“Is something wrong with Master’s face?”
Snape started, pausing to glare down at the house-elf. “Nothing more than usual, Nanny; thank you for asking.” He turned back again, resuming his examination; as he did so, he began to mutter, as if to himself. “She could have most any boy she wants “ why me? What could she “ what does she see in that?” He pointed to the scowling man in the mirror.
Nanny snorted. “The same thing Nanny sees, and Master would do well not to muck it up. Just be a man about it; accept it and remember to say, ‘Thank you.’” Reminding herself belatedly that this man was no longer her nurseling, Nanny adopted a more philosophical tone, adding, “We should not look a gift Hippogriff in the beak.”
There was a note of uncertainty in his voice as he said, “But she must be suffering under a delusion of some sort. What will I do when her eyes clear and she sees me as I really am?” His bleak gaze was fastened on his reflection, his brow darkening with self-loathing.
Nanny’s tone took on the soothing bustle of reassurance, all the while nudging him to move on. “She already has seen you as you really are, Master, and she is one of the very few to have ever done so.”
Snape turned slightly to his left, as if to find his “good” side. “Well, I do not see it, but I suppose if that is what she desires,” he pointed once again at his countenance, “then that is what I shall try to obtain for her.”
Nanny responded in a tone of wry amusement. “A wise decision, Master; your generosity knows no bounds.”
Still riveted by his own reflection, Snape snarled, “Sarcasm is unbecoming in a house-elf, Nanny. Get out of here before I give you clothes!”
Nanny rolled her eyes. “As Master wishes.”
Hearing the pop of her departure, Snape at last turned from the mirror, his voice lowered to a musing mutter. “But the advantage still seems to be all on my side.”
His smile would have done Salazar Slytherin proud.
Hermione squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, then pushed open the door into the library, which was Snape’s sanctuary at Grimmauld Place. The desk he used sat to her left; behind it was a bookcase, the two lowest shelves of which contained those Dark Arts books which Snape considered to be safe enough to keep on display. To her right, in the far corner against the wall, was a cupboard which had attracted her attention before. The cupboard was her objective.
Grabbing a straight chair, Hermione pulled it over to face the cupboard, and she sat down to consider her plan of attack.
If things had been going better, she would not be in here now, contemplating God-knows-what kind of havoc. The professor’s recent sneering challenge about her intentions towards Remus, and Remus’ towards her, was unsettling to her. If her proximity to and familiarity with Remus Lupin was no longer getting up Snape’s nose, it was time to take more decisive action. The idea she had in mind might move her ultimate plan along, and it certainly would resolve things for Remus.
On her part, it simply required pluck. She was not one to dwell upon problems which could not be remedied; there was almost always something to be done to bring about a favourable outcome. Occasionally the necessary actions would cause discomfort for herself or others for a short period of time, but the disquiet eventually passed and the end results were always worth the short-term distress.
Almost always.
Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated, going to a quiet place in her mind and feeling consciously for her magic, gathering it to her in a focussed beam of power.
Then she set about to bring down the wards Severus Snape had placed on the cupboard containing the Dark Arts books he had locked away there.
Snape Flooed from the Estuary to the Leaky Cauldron, stepping down into the coffee room and brushing his clothes to remove the ashes. Nanny had suggested to him that he procure something of a more personal nature to leave the receipt for Fleur to find.
“What could be more personal than jewellery?” he had demanded.
“Lingerie,” Nanny replied baldly.
Snape’s mouth dropped open. “You expect me to buy knickers for Miss Granger?”
“There are many items of lingerie besides knickers, Master,” Nanny pointed out.
Snape stared at her blankly.
“Nightdresses,” Nanny explained patiently. “Negligees. Petticoats. Camisoles.”
Nanny may have continued to speak for some time; Snape could not have said. He stopped listening when she said “negligees.” In spite of himself, his brain leapt upon the suggestion of a slinky peignoir for Hermione to wear and would not let go.
“Where does one acquire such items?” he wondered out loud, darting a glance at the house-elf.
“There are shops that specialise in only those things,” Nanny assured him. “Bewitching Wears is a popular wizarding lingerie store.”
Now he stood in the Leaky Cauldron, torn between which course to pursue. Ought he to stay with the familiar wizarding shops, where he would be more likely to be recognised by fellow shoppers or by shop clerks who had once been his students? Or should he venture into Muggle London, where he would not be recognised, but where he was much less comfortable?
He noted that a fair few of the customers in the Leaky Cauldron were wearing Muggle attire. With the ban on Apparition in place, Londoners were forced to use alternate methods of transportation. There were some wizarding taxicabs and limousines, but not nearly enough to keep up with the demand when the Ministry of Magic decided to put the whole wizarding world on high alert and to place an Anti-Disapparition Jinx over the entire city. As had become necessary near the end of the war, when the same injunction on Apparition was in place, wizarding folk were forced to use Muggle transport. Most of the wizards and witches who used Muggle trains, buses and taxis made an effort to blend in by wearing Muggle attire.
With grim decision, he Transfigured his clothing; his trousers and coat became a Muggle suit, complete with a black necktie, and his robes became a lightweight Muggle mackintosh. Pulling his wallet from his trouser pocket, he determined that he did indeed have Muggle currency.
Now all he had to do was find the Muggle speciality lingerie shop in the next street.
Hermione immersed herself in Snape’s wards, feeling the magic shimmering around her, holding her securely away from the cupboard. With a mental shift similar to a physical shimmy, she slipped through the top layer of the ward like a ghost through a wall. Methodically, she worked to reverse the next, middle layer, calling upon all of her skill. Hitting the wall of the last set of wards, she physically gritted her teeth as she strove to penetrate them. At the last moment, just as she felt as if she would fail and be turned away, she projected a reflection of the Shield Charm she had cast with Snape’s wand. The ward, recognising the authority of the magic, fell with a sensation like silk sliding down her body.
With a pleased laugh of triumph, Hermione tucked away her wand and approached the now unprotected cupboard. She reached her hands to open the double doors and stood looking avidly at the shelves of Dark Arts books, which Professor Snape had judged to be too dangerous to leave unguarded.
A wave of magical force emanated from the cupboard and promptly knocked her onto her bum.
Narrowing her eyes and gripping her lips in determination, Hermione quickly forgot her original purpose and decided she would read those books, whether they liked it or not!
The shop clerk watched the tall, elegant man as he entered the premises. The man stopped just inside the door and glanced around, his eyes widening just slightly at the sight of the many types of lingerie offered for sale. His movements as he advanced into the shop were hesitant. Taking pity on him, Sally approached him and spoke in her friendliest, most helpful manner. “Good day, sir; may I help you find something?”
The man frowned, a pronounced furrow appearing between his brows.
“A negligee,” he finally admitted.
“A classic ensemble or something sexy?” Sally inquired.
One eyebrow went up. “Both?” the customer suggested.
Sally dimpled at him. “Let’s see what we can find,” she suggested. The hawk-nosed man did not smile back at her, but he did willingly follow her towards the racks of flimsy fabric. “Do you have a style or a colour preference?”
Snape’s senses were assaulted from every direction by items which Hermione no doubt needed in every available colour. He began to wonder whether she ever needed to wear street clothes again.
“Sir?”
Forcing his attention back to the task at hand, he promised his inner hedonist that he would return here when he had more time to spend “ perhaps even when he had a blushing bride to bring and to embarrass with his generosity.
Walking past the unimaginative black, white, and beige offerings, his black eyes skimmed the myriad of colours of satiny nightwear. All at once, his attention was riveted.
“This one,” he announced decisively, removing one from the rack and watching the damn thing promptly slide off its hanger onto the floor.
“Oops!” Sally said cheerfully, bending to retrieve the short satin slip from the carpeted floor. “That happens all the time,” she assured him, deftly replacing the gown on the hanger. “I love this hot coral colour,” she said admiringly.
“The colour of flame,” he murmured, his mind’s eye already dressing Hermione in the lace-trimmed gown.
Sally smiled, recognising the signs of a man early in his relationship. “What size, sir?”
Snape gave the girl a disconcerted blink. “There are different sizes?” He was used to purchasing items that were magically charmed to fit the wearer.
“Yes, there are,” Sally assured him. “Do you know your lady’s size?”
Snape snorted. “Of course I do,” he stated imperiously.
“Oh!” Sally said, somewhat relieved. She played this guessing game with clueless men on a daily basis. “Which size is it?”
Mentally holding Hermione to him as she slept, he looked about him. First on the menu was the plump, pretty Sally. “Smaller than you,” he said, musing, “but larger than she is.” His hand flicked dismissively at the mannequin, with its Fleur-like slenderness.
Sally nodded attentively, taking no offence that he had used her body for comparison to make an explanation; she had been through this many times before.
Snape noticed a woman flipping through items that looked like nothing so much as his own old grey sleep shirts; she caught him raking his eyes over her form and gave him an appraising stare in return. Her welcoming smile indicated that he had passed her inspection, but he had already turned back to Sally. “She’s about the same as that lady in this area,” he explained, indicating his own chest. Slipping now into a recollection of dancing with Hermione, his hand about her waist, he gave up ogling the customers and resorted to hand gestures. “She’s about this wide in the “” he indicated his own narrow hips, unable to make himself say the word to this obliging Muggle girl.
Sally smiled at him as if he were a student who had just completed a difficult assignment. “Excellent!” she said. “Your lady would wear a medium.” She replaced the gown he had pulled from the rack and chose a smaller one. “We have matching robes for these “ would you like to give her the complete set?”
After approving the matching robe, Snape was standing at the counter, handing the pound notes to the clerk, when he felt the assault on the cupboard wards. The initial sensation was like standing next to a Chinese gong when it was struck. He swayed slightly on his feet from the reverberating sensation, somewhat alarming Sally.
“Are you all right, sir?” she asked, concerned, as she handed him his change.
Before he could answer her, Snape felt the tremor as the attacker slid through the top layer of his defensive spells.
Seeing him follow the sway with a shiver, Sally spoke again. “Sir, are you ill?”
Snape waved a dismissive hand and the shop clerk slipped the flame-coloured ensemble into a bag. He was reaching to take it from her when he felt a fleeting sensation as if he had been disassembled from the inside out.
“Thank you!” he gasped to the girl, snatching the bag from her hand and jamming it carelessly into the large pocket of his mack. He turned and strode purposefully out of the store, his long legs carrying him quickly back towards Charing Cross Road.
He was just around the corner from the Leaky Cauldron when the slipping sensation of the last ward slid down his tall form, caressing his body from his throat to his ankles as it fell. For the veriest instant, he felt Hermione’s hand upon his flesh, just as he had done when she used his wand to cast the protective spell over him during the Estuary battle. It was her “ she was breaking into the Dark Arts cupboard! Devil take the girl!
He broke into a run and swiftly covered the rest of the distance to the wizarding pub and its Floo connexion to Grimmauld Place, sending up a plea to every deity to preserve Hermione from harm.
Hermione stood and reached within the cupboard, choosing a book at random and pulling it from the shelf. The book was ancient, its binding of odd-looking leather covering parchment-like pages that appeared ready to crumble at the merest touch. There was something repulsive in the feel of the book; as she carefully opened to the first page, which was written in a language she did not recognise, it dawned upon her that the “leather” of the cover was human skin. Uttering a small scream, she tossed the book from her, unmindful of where it fell upon the floor.
From within the cupboard, a growling sound now emanated, as if an animal were attempting to escape a much-hated kennel. It came to her that she would do well to close the cupboard door before whatever it was escaped into the room, but as she put her hands upon the cupboard doors, a shower of tiny, silvery arrows erupted from the dark reaches of the cupboard. Her first impression was that the arrows were pretty “ she was moved to touch them, to pick one up and examine it “ but every place upon her body that the arrows had touched was burning, as if scorched. The arrows disintegrated into nothing as they struck the floor.
Slapping at her arms and shoulders, ascertaining that she was not on fire, Hermione was unaware of the movement of the book upon the floor. Its cover flipped open and pages began to fly over, until the book was open to its exact centre, which was blotched with a dark, sticky-looking stain, reminiscent of recently dried blood. A dark cloud, as of tiny, swarming insects, began to rise from the open book. Indistinct at first, it soon began to take on form, vaguely shaped like a person.
Hermione became aware of it only as the teeming mass began to buzz. She whirled, unwisely turning her back to the cupboard, and gasped at the sight of the cloud.
Another wave of malevolence washed over her from the cupboard, momentarily dispersing the insect-like emanation. Hermione stumbled forward, as if shoved from behind, and caught herself on the edge of the desk. As she did so, the professor’s implements began to attack her. Quills that had been neatly lined up on the desktop flew at her like darts. Hermione instinctively threw her hands to her face, protecting her skin with her fingers rather than attempting to defend herself magically. Next, a heavy paperweight flew across the desk, smacking her in the arm with bruising force.
“Ow!” she yelled, moving her hands from her eyes to grab her arm, just in time to see the inkstand hurling at her head. She dropped to her knees to avoid the collision and heard the inkstand smash into the wall behind her. Refusing to continue to cower on the rug before the desk, Hermione angrily pulled her wand from its sheath, standing to face the cupboard again, casting a Shield Charm against the ferocious office apparatus.
As she turned, the buzzing sound grew so loud that she thought her head would split from the noise. Staggering slightly in her movement, she was horrified to see that the swarming black cloud had coalesced to form a daemon-like creature which seemed to grow as tall as the ceiling before a horrific face leered at her from within its shifting shape and a sinister voice spoke to her from within the cloud.
“Pandora?”
Snape Flooed into the first floor sitting room fireplace, scrambling across the room and thundering through the corridors, trying not to allow himself to be distracted by the ominous sounds coming from behind the closed door of the library. He tried the door by hand before using a non-verbal “Alohomora” which caused it to fly open, slamming into the wall and rebounding again, only to be stopped by Snape’s body.
He paused in the doorway, his heart stopping in his chest at the sight before his eyes. Hermione had a Shield Charm shimmering about her person as she faced the hulking form of the being threatening her. As she stood, feet apart, braced for battle, various items from the desktop and the shelves were hurling themselves indiscriminately at her, bouncing off the magical barrier she had erected. As he watched, the cloud figure reared over her menacingly and Snape surged forward, coming between Hermione and the buzzing swarm with a roar of rage.
Hermione was aware of him as soon as the door slammed into the wall and was heartily thankful he had been so prompt. The immediacy with which he came forward to champion her sent a thrill lilting down her spine even as relief flooded her synapses and she staggered back a step.
Snape came between Hermione and her attacker with a burst of spontaneous defensive magic which blew the teeming cloud backwards in disarray. Without pausing, Snape trained his wand upon the open book on the floor and murmured to himself, a sing-song chant of words unfamiliar to Hermione’s ears. As he crooned the incantation, the black specks of matter were sucked back into the centre of the book in a swirling, protesting mass, until the air was clear of them and the book was slammed closed. Snape then snatched the book from the floor and thrust it back into the cupboard, slamming the doors with unnecessary force and casting a series of wards upon the cabinet that he would have defied a Gringotts curse-breaker to remove.
Hermione lurched into one of the chairs, mesmerised by his wand work. Giving Professor Snape fulsome compliments about his foolish wand waving had not been on Hermione’s agenda for the day, but she was unable to help herself. “You are truly a powerful wizard!” she exclaimed, watching the desk accoutrements resume their blameless positions upon the desktop.
Snape turned on her savagely. “I don’t need you to tell me so!” he spat. “You are truly an idiot! How dared you do this? If you had been killed you would have come by your just deserts!”
“Oh, codswallop,” Hermione responded, atoning for her previous error by stoking the flames of his wrath.
The resulting conflagration was all that she could have hoped for. Snape’s ensuing tirade gave vent to his every frustration of the last month. He ripped her character to shreds; condemned her behaviour, her ethics, and her upbringing; expressed his strong desire to have the schooling of her, and, in the same breath, pitied the man who would be fool enough to marry her; and fervently looked forward to the day when he should be forever relieved of her unwelcome presence in his life.
It was doubtful that Hermione could have calmed him even if she had wished to do so. As it was, she endured his diatribe with her eyes averted. She knew that his rage had been fanned to this incendiary pitch by finding her unhurt. She had never been more relieved to see the professor, and one look at his face had informed her that he had suffered a degree of anxiety beyond his concerns for the Dark Arts books. He could rant all he pleased, but she was not fooled.
Snape then turned on his heel and flung out of the room; moments later, the resounding slam of the front door informed her that he had left the house.
Trusting that he had gone to douse his temper in the Firewhisky at his club, Hermione set about her business.
First, she would need a taxicab.
Remus Lupin was sitting in the Lion, his London club, reading through a travel brochure, when he became aware of a tug upon his robes. Looking down, he was quite surprised to see Dobby, the house-elf, bowing before him.
“Dobby is begging your pardon, Professor Lupin, Sir, but Miss Hermione is sending you this note.”
Lupin read through the note quickly and stood, placing the parchment in his pocket. “Please tell Miss Hermione that I shall be there directly, Dobby,” he said, striding to the hearth and stepping up to Floo back to Phoenix House.
Hermione sat at the desk in her room in Grimmauld Place, finishing up the last of the letters she was writing. Her overnight bag was open on the floor beside her bed, her bunny slippers peeking out of the top. Beside the bag was Crookshanks’ travelling basket. She heard the bell chime below; realising that it was likely Remus, she gathered up her things, snapping the clasp on the overnight bag closed and tucking an unresisting Crookshanks into his basket before carrying her things downstairs.
“Hello, Remus,” she said with a smile, setting the carrier and bag down on the carpet in the sitting room. She turned to Winky, who had just shown Remus up to the first floor, and handed her two sealed letters. “One of those is for Miss Tonks, Winky, and the other is for Professor Snape. Please be sure that they receive the notes as soon as they arrive.”
Winky took charge of the notes with a curtsey and left the room.
“Hermione, why must you go to Islington?” Lupin inquired.
“My parents’ home is there, Remus. Will you escort me? I really don’t want to go alone.”
Lupin noticed that Hermione was quite subdued, unlike her usual ebullient self; he perceived that she was troubled, and he wanted nothing so much as to be of service to her.
“Of course I will. Shall we Floo?”
Hermione shook her head. “My parents aren’t on the Floo Network. I have requested a cab to meet us at the corner. Shall we go?”
Lupin readily picked up her bag and Crookshanks’ carrier and followed her down the stairs and out of the house.
Sophronia sat up on the side of the bed, stretching like a cat. Her new husband reached out a hand and toppled her back against his chest; her youthful laugh tugged powerfully at his heart.
Following their very basic ceremony at the Ministry of Magic, Sirius had clasped her hand and stepped up with her into the fireplace, saying, “The Black house, Hampshire.” They had stepped down into a nicely appointed parlour, all decorated in shades of blue and green.
“Where are we?” Sophronia had asked, looking about the room.
“Welcome home, Sophie,” Sirius said, his clear grey eyes entreating her to like it. “We can’t live at Snape’s house “ but I thought you would want to be near the Estuary, for the girls’ sakes “ so I bought this house for our family.”
Sophronia hugged him, happy tears glittering on her lashes. “We have a house of our own?”
He smiled and swept her into his arms. “Let me show you the bedroom, Mrs. Black.”
Several hours later, she had succeeded in viewing most of the house, though it seemed as if every road led back to their bedroom. Relaxing against her husband’s chest, she was facing the open bedroom window when a barn owl flew in, bearing a letter.
“It’s for you,” Sirius reported, removing the letter from the owl’s leg and passing it to Sophronia.
Sophronia broke the seal and spread the parchment, quickly reading through the contents.
“Hermione is in trouble and she needs for us to come to her at her parents’ home, in Islington,” Sophronia said, putting the letter down and swinging her legs out of the bed. “But how are we going to get there?”
Sirius stood, stepping into a pair of rumpled denims which lay discarded on the bedroom floor.
“We’ll get there,” he promised.
Remus kept a watchful eye upon Hermione as the taxicab wove its way through the city traffic. He did not want to question her while she was distressed, but he was quite curious about her plans. After a period of time, it seemed to him that her sombre mood lightened; soon the imps of mischief were dancing again in her eyes.
“Hermione, are we eloping together?”
He surprised a gurgle of laughter from her. “It’s not as bad as that, Remus.” He raised his eyebrows at her and waited for her explanation. “I’m just kidnapping you.”
Now he laughed. “Why?”
She lowered her voice, as if she were imparting a great secret. “So that it will look as if we have run away to be married, of course.”
“Good God, Hermione!”
Another trill of laughter escaped her. “Oh, it won’t happen, Remus. And I’ve sent a note to have Sophronia meet us at my parents’ house, just in case we have to spend the night.”
“For what purpose?” he demanded.
“Don’t you see? I have left a note behind for Tonks, letting her know that since she has no use for you, I will induce you to marry me. If I know Tonks, she’ll move heaven and earth to get to Islington to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Lupin buried his face in his hands. “I have a good mind to tell the driver to let me out now,” he threatened. “I feel like a fool.”
“Tonks won’t think of that, Remus. She’ll just be determined to save you from me “ and if you can’t help yourself in those circumstances …”
He looked up at that, a faint gleam of hope in his eyes, and she smiled. “You’ll see,” she said softly.
“But, Hermione, I heard you tell the house-elf to deliver notes to Tonks and to Snape “ you had better tell me the rest of it.”
Hermione looked prim. “I have quarrelled so terribly with Professor Snape that I can no longer live under the same roof with him; so, I have gone to my parents’ home.”
“Is that what your note said?”
She nodded.
“He’s going to kill me,” Lupin murmured.
“Remember, Remus, he’s still recovering from the battle “ his wand arm is not strong enough for duelling!”
“Good God, Hermione, do you think Severus is going to think of that when he rushes to your parents’ home to save you from a ‘fate worse than death?’”
“Well, really, Remus “ with any luck at all, you and Tonks will already be gone before he arrives.”
He glared at her. “Why am I not relieved?”
Hermione squeezed his arm. “Trust me just one more time, Remus.”
Though Lupin made no reply, he also did not bid the taxi driver to stop the vehicle; they continued on to Islington, Lupin looking like a man heading for his own disembowelment.
Tonks Flooed into the first floor sitting room at Grimmauld Place, thankful to have her workday behind her. She planned to bathe and dress very carefully before going to look for Remus. As she stood on the hearth, dusting the ash from her clothing, Winky approached her with Hermione’s note in hand.
“For me?” Tonks said, taking the note and seating herself on the sofa to read it.
Moments later, Fleur Delacour Flooed into the sitting room, stepping distastefully from the hearth and brushing ash from her robes. “I will be so glad when the Apparition ban is lifted!” she said, with a sniff. “I hate to travel by Floo! Such a thing would never be permitted in Paris!” She stopped talking when she saw the expression on Tonks’ face. “What is it, Tonks?”
Tonks was not attending to her, but had thrown Floo powder into the fireplace, calling out, “Wizards’ Taxi Service!”
A clerk from the taxi service answered the call as Fleur picked up the discarded note and began to read it, excitement mounting in her with every word. Granger had run off with Lupin? Excellent! She would be ruined if word got out about this little exploit “ and Fleur was just the woman to make sure that the story would reach the press …
“Nine o’clock!” Tonks screeched. “I don’t need a taxi at nine o’clock! I need one right now!” Her voice lowered forebodingly as she twitched the collar of her Auror’s robes. “Do you know who I work for?”
“Yes, Auror, and we’re sorry, but we will not have a car available until then.”
From below stairs, the doorbell chimed; Tonks strode out of the room, muttering angrily. Fleur hurried to the writing desk in the corner of the room and grabbed up a quill, dashing off a note to Severus. She would make sure he found out about the behaviour of his paramour!
Fleur exited the sitting room, standing on the landing to glance up and down, looking for Tonks.
“Fleur!” Percy Weasley came up the stairs, a smile upon his face. “I did not expect the pleasure of seeing you here,” he said to her.
“Why are you here, Percy?” Fleur asked, somewhat distracted.
“I was to escort Hermione to the new art exhibit at the National Wizarding Museum this afternoon,” he explained.
Fleur’s mouth twisted. “That will not be possible, I am afraid.”
“The house-elf was just telling me that Hermione isn’t here,” Percy admitted.
Tonks came bounding down the steps, having changed out of her Auror robes into jeans and a tee-shirt. Pausing on the landing beside Fleur and Percy, she demanded, “Whose cab is that outside?”
Percy nodded to her gravely. “Good afternoon, Nymphadora. The taxi is mine; I am here to escort Hermione to the museum.”
Tonks snorted. “Hermione isn’t available for the museum, Percy, so you may as well give the taxi to me; I need it urgently.”
Without waiting for an answer, Tonks pelted down the stairs, with Percy in hot pursuit. “See here, Nymphadora “ you can’t just take my taxi!”
Fleur followed the two of them down at a more sedate pace, pausing to speak to Winky before she walked out of the house. “Please see to is that Professor Snape receives this note as soon as he arrives,” she instructed.
Out on the pavement, the taxi driver, an obvious wizard, was standing in the street, his arms folded on the roof of the vehicle, watching Tonks and Percy argue about the ownership of the cab. Fleur joined them at last, stepping between the combatants and speaking to Percy. “Do you want to go to Miss Granger?”
Percy stopped in mid-argument and looked at her. “Well, yes,” he said. “Tonks says she has eloped with Remus Lupin “ I will call him to book!”
“Then get in and we will take you to her,” Fleur said calmly.
Tonks elbowed Percy out of the way, staring at Fleur. “What do you mean, we? I don’t want either of you!”
Fleur displayed the crumpled note from Hermione, which Tonks grabbed from her. “You stupid French cow! Why can’t you mind your own business?”
Fleur smirked. “Anything that concerns Severus is my business. If you want the use of this taxi, I advise you to get in. It’s beginning to rain.”
Tonks slammed into the front seat next to the driver, leaving Percy to tenderly seat Fleur in the back before joining her there.
Hermione went around the Grangers’ house, turning on lights. Remus strolled from room to room, examining the always-exotic belongings of Muggle households. Crookshanks, freed from his carrier, determined that his litter box was in its customary place, then began to investigate the house minutely, searching for raiders who might have invaded in the absence of the cat-of-the-house.
Hermione was in the kitchen, morosely considering the contents of the fridge, when there was the sound of a motor on the street.
“I don’t believe it!” Remus exclaimed, throwing the front door open. Hermione rushed to join him, quickly spotting the cause of his amazement.
Roaring up the street, for all the world as if they were sixteen years old again, came Sirius and Sophronia, helmeted and be-goggled, seated on the back of a 1970’s-era Kawasaki motorbike.
Pulling into the drive with a flourish, Sirius put down the kickstand and helped Sophronia to alight.
“Padfoot, are you insane?” Lupin demanded, striding out of the house to admire the beautifully restored motorcycle.
Sirius pulled Sophronia to him with a possessive arm, gesturing to his best friend. “The man who spends one night a month literally howling at the moon has the nerve to ask me if I’m insane?”
Sophronia spotted Hermione in the doorway and moved away from the men, her hands outstretched to the younger woman. “We came as quickly as we could, my dear. What happened? Why have you left Grimmauld Place?”
Hermione led Sophronia into the house as large raindrops began to splat on the drive.
Snape entered the foyer at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and was promptly pounced upon by Winky. Taking the two notes that were thrust into his hands, Snape tore first into the one in Hermione’s writing, then read his fiancée’s note, his expression becoming more grim with each word.
“Where is Professor McGonagall?” he demanded of the cringing Winky, then climbed swiftly to the first floor sitting room to find her. “Minerva, what the devil do you mean by …”
He stopped in mid-sentence, staring at Minerva’s companion.
“Ah, Severus, my boy!” Professor Dumbledore said, rising to cross to him. “It is good to see you looking so well!”
“Headmaster!” Snape said, with awful irony. “What an excellent time for you to return!”
“Come in and have a cup of tea, Severus,” McGonagall said, ignoring his sarcastic attitude. “Or a glass of wine, if you prefer.”
Having clapped the younger wizard upon the shoulder, Dumbledore resumed his position on the sofa next to Professor McGonagall.
“I do not want wine,” Snape snarled. “Do you know where Hermione is, Minerva?”
McGonagall frowned. “Winky tells me that Hermione has gone to spend the night at her parents’ home, to prepare for their homecoming. Did you need her for something, Severus?”
“She has eloped with Lupin, Minerva! Did Winky fail to mention that Lupin went with her?”
Dumbledore leant forward to pour a bit more wine into his glass. “Now, why would Hermione do that? There’s no need for her to run off with Remus “ they can be married in the normal way, can’t they?” He watched Snape attentively.
“She has done it to infuriate me!” Snape spat. “And as for her marrying Lupin, she will do no such thing!”
“Oh, won’t she?” Dumbledore said, deliberately poking the bear. “Who says so?”
“I say so!” Snape snapped. “Are you going to sit there drinking wine, or are you going to come with me to Islington to fetch Hermione?”
McGonagall and Dumbledore each gave him looks of mingled amusement and “ was that pity?
“What are you going to do when you get to the Grangers’ house, Severus?” Dumbledore inquired gently.
“Strangle her!” Snape said, turning and storming out of the room.
“Well, he doesn’t need our help for that,” Dumbledore murmured, sharing a smile with McGonagall.
Snape precipitated himself from the house, striding angrily to the corner where he had arranged to meet the wizarding limousine driver. The owner of the limousine company had not intended to go out into the rain on this night, but the outrageous bribe Snape offered had convinced Mr. Swift of the Swift Limousine Service to venture out in spite of his misgivings.
Snape had struggled with himself all afternoon, tempted to return to Grimmauld Place and to tell the impossible girl that he had not meant a word of the things he said to her; only the knowledge that such a show of openness on his part could easily lead to the loss of control in other areas kept him in his chair in the Cave. He was not free to say “ or to do “ the things he wished. He had to stay away.
Climbing into the door courteously held for him by Mr. Swift, Snape spoke aloud the address of the Grangers’ home and settled back for the trip to Islington.
Sophronia gently pushed Hermione from the kitchen. “I will look over the larder and see what I can whip up for supper, Hermione. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance to cook a meal.”
Hermione looked penitent. “If I had any inkling that your ‘errand in the city’ this morning was to get married I never would have sent for you,” she said miserably.
Sophronia gave her a hug. “Well, if no one shows up, you certainly do not need to be stuck alone here with Remus; it is unseemly. Sirius and I don’t mind helping, my dear, not after all you have done for Stormy. You go out to Remus, and send Sirius to me “ he can help with supper.”
Hermione sent a very willing Sirius to assist his bride in the kitchen and she sat down before the hearth with Remus. The rainy night had turned cool, and Remus and Sirius had coaxed quite a respectable fire to burn in the sitting room.
“Why so glum, Remus?” she asked, watching the firelight playing upon his prematurely aged face.
“It’s late, Hermione. Tonks isn’t coming. She doesn’t care.”
Hermione was reaching an encouraging hand to Remus’ arm when Sirius stuck his head back into the sitting room. “Hermione, are you aware that you have a nest of Pygmy Puffs under the dresser in the kitchen?”
“What?” Hermione jumped up. “We don’t have Pygmy Puffs, Sirius, this is a Muggle home!”
“Well, you might want to come and explain that to the Pygmy Puffs, because you have to move them out of the kitchen “ Sophie can’t cook with them scampering all over the floor.”
Hermione was gone only a few moments, before returning with a box in her arms. “Fletcher is a girl,” she announced.
Lupin looked up, and seeing her burdened with a wooden box, stood to take it from her.
“Isn’t Fletcher Stormy’s pet Pygmy Puff?” Lupin inquired, peering into the box at the mass of humming balls of pink and purple fluff.
“Yes, he’s the large pink one, with the indelible ink stains on his fur. Only, he must be a she. Look at all these Pufflings!”
Crookshanks began to mew insistently and Hermione abandoned Lupin with the box to go to her familiar. He was in the hallway beside her overnight bag, his head and front paws buried in its depths.
“Crooks, get out of there!” She pulled him out, only to find him with a tiny Pygmy Puff dangling from his mouth. Carefully pulling the Puffling from Crookshanks’ teeth, she inspected the inside of her bag. “Well, that explains how Fletcher got here,” she said, scooping a second Puffling out of her bunny slipper. “He stowed away with my slippers.”
“That Pygmy Puff moves around more than any of his kind I’ve ever seen,” Lupin muttered, placing the box upon the floor near the fire.
Hermione paused in the doorway, raising a finger to silence Lupin. After a moment, they could both hear an idling motor.
“Tonks!” Hermione exclaimed. “Wait here, Remus “ and good luck!”
Hermione snatched the door open before the bell could be rung, and Tonks fairly fell into her arms.
“Hermione! How could you? You know how I feel about Remus!” Tonks gripped her arms and gave her a tiny shake. “I could just hex your nose off!”
“Tonks! Be careful! Watch out for the Pufflings!” Hermione shifted both Pufflings into one hand, giving Tonks a gentle nudge and saying, “Go on in, Tonks.”
The Auror entered the sitting room and halted, her large dark eyes drinking in the sight of Remus Lupin, poised before the hearth and watching her intently.
“Oh, Remus!” Tonks cried, standing with her fists clenched, the very picture of a woman used to fighting her own battles. “What’s the matter with you? How could you run away with Hermione? Don’t you know I love you?”
Looking at her steadily, Remus answered, “How could I possibly know that, Tonks?”
“Because I do!” Tonks told him, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I always have “”
“Does Krum know that?” Lupin interrupted roughly, jealousy wringing the words from him. “Because I will never, ever share you, Tonks. I love you far too much, for that.”
“Oh, Remus,” Tonks said, launching herself at him, “I’ve been so stupid! Please say you’ll forgive me!”
With great presence of mind, Lupin caught the darling girl to his heart with a terrific grip, his lips descending to capture hers after he growled, “Only if you promise to be my wife.”
Hermione watched this touching scene with an air of great satisfaction, an affectionate smile curving her lips. Creeping past the lovers, who were wrapped in a fierce embrace, she deposited the Pufflings in their box and moved to the kitchen door. Entering, only to find Sirius and Sophronia in a similar clench, Hermione ducked down the hallway, leaving each pair to their own happy devices. Quietly retrieving her overnight bag from the hallway, she was on the way upstairs to put her things away when the doorbell chimed.
Insensibly, her heart leapt into her throat. Was he here?
Swallowing, she squared her shoulders and went to answer the front door.
“Miss Delacour! Percy!” Hermione gaped at the unexpected people on her doorstep.
“Would you let us in, please?” Fleur demanded icily. “It’s raining out here.”
“Why did you come?” Hermione countered, stepping back to let them in.
Still wrapped in Lupin’s arms, Tonks glanced back over her shoulder at Hermione. “Please don’t be angry with me, Hermione. I tried to keep them away, but they insisted upon coming with me.”
“But where have you been?” Hermione asked Fleur. “Tonks got here ten minutes ago!”
There was a loud sneeze and all attention turned to Percy; Hermione now noted that he was drenched to the skin. His red hair, dark with rain, was plastered to his skull, and his clothes were wringing wet and dripping upon the tile of the entranceway. His eyes were not visible behind the fogged lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses.
“I don’t know what to do!” he said querulously, sounding as miserable as he looked. “I was going to teach Lupin a lesson, but I think I’ve caught a cold.” In proof of this statement, Percy sneezed again.
Lupin glared at Percy from his place by the fire, cradling his heart’s desire in his arms. “If you think you’re going to teach me a lesson, you wet whelp, you had best think again. And don’t step on the Pufflings!”
Hermione darted down and scooped up an escaped Puffling.
Ignoring this interchange, Fleur broke in angrily. “We’re late because I had to take the taxi back to pick up Percy! Tonks quarrelled with him on the way here and she forced him out of the taxi at wand-point!”
“He’s such a prat,” Tonks complained to Lupin, sotto voce.
Lupin bit his lip and nodded, rubbing comforting circles on Tonks’ back and trying not to laugh.
Fleur turned on Hermione. “Your behaviour today has caused inconvenience to everyone who knows you! At the very least, you could show some common decency to Percy! He must get out of these wet clothes!”
Turning back to the soaked Weasley, Fleur helped him off with his coat, draping it on the coat tree in the hallway and leading him to a seat by the fire. Hermione, watching them with a calculating look, had a brainstorm.
“Remus!” she whispered from the hallway.
Lupin walked to her, bringing Tonks with him, as if he were reluctant to release her.
“The taxi is still out front,” Hermione told him, nodding her head toward the street. “Go now; I‘ll help Fleur get Percy settled.”
Lupin placed his free hand upon Hermione’s back. “Come with us,” he urged her. “You don’t want to be stuck here with them.”
Hermione shook her head. “No, I’m not ready to go back, yet.” She twinkled at him. “I’m going to encourage Fleur to nurse Percy, and very likely they will make a match of it!”
Tonks gaped at her. “What are you talking about? Fleur is engaged to Severus,” she hissed.
Lupin leaned to kiss Hermione on the cheek. “You are a dangerous woman,” he told her, opening the door and urging Tonks out onto the porch. “I am forever in your debt. I hope you get what you want, Hermione “ and that you won’t regret it, once you’ve got it.”
Hermione stood for a moment in the doorway, watching Lupin bundle Tonks into the back of the taxi, then she briskly entered the sitting room.
“I wish you had stayed in London, Percy,” she said in an uncaring voice. “Now you’ll no doubt expect us to squeeze fresh orange juice for you and heat water for a hot foot bath!”
Percy looked up eagerly, his lips blue from the cold of his wet clothing. “A hot foot bath would be just the thing!”
Hermione snorted. “I was only joking, Percy. You can’t be serious!”
Fleur bristled. “It would be too much to ask to expect for you to show the smallest concern for someone else’s discomfort,” the Frenchwoman said scathingly, conveniently forgetting who had nursed Stormy. “If you had a speck of decency you would find a change of clothes for him!”
In short order, Hermione had ensconced Percy in her parents’ spare bedroom, provided him with a pair of her father’s pyjamas and a warm dressing gown, and taken clean towels into the attached bathroom in case Percy should want a warm bath.
“He should have something warm to drink “ and some hot soup!” Fleur said, glaring at Hermione.
Hermione shrugged indifferently. “The kitchen is at the end of the hallway at the foot of the stairs,” she said, walking out of the room and managing to go inside her bedroom along the corridor before giving in to her giggles.
Her moment of hilarity passed, Hermione paused for the first time in hours and took stock of her situation. She glanced about her childhood bedroom, seeing the books which had been her solace in a time when she had felt so excluded from her primary school classmates, and which had continued as her solace in her life at Hogwarts. It was true that she had made friends there, but her intelligence and her ambition had always isolated her from her peers.
Moving past the bookcase, she knelt beside her toy shelf, where she reached a gentle hand to her dolls. She had not been such an unusual child, really. She had played mummy with her baby dolls, and dreamed of her own home, with a husband and children. She had not realised, until this moment, after an evening spend in company with Sirius and Sophronia and Remus and Tonks, just how desperately she still clung to that dream.
Standing, she crossed to the windows, looking out on the rain-drenched street below, mistily illuminated by streetlights. This was it, for her. Tonight was her window of opportunity. She had risked everything on this throw of the dice, instigating the row with Snape in the hopes that this plan could be set into motion. If he did not come, she would have to accept, once and for all, that he was meant to be with Fleur. It would be the Office of Last Resort for her; she could not begin to imagine the man to whom she would choose to give herself if she could not have the one she desired with all her being.
Turning from the window, she looked about to find something with which to occupy herself while she waited. Knowing that she would not be able to concentrate well enough to read, she picked up her Rubik’s Cube from the top of her toy shelf and descended the staircase, seating herself in a chair turned to face the front door.
She heard Fleur go to the kitchen, exchanging somewhat sharp words with Sirius, and then go back upstairs. She heard the murmuring voices of Sirius and Sophronia coming from the kitchen; occasionally, she scooped up a Puffling and returned it to its box.
When he came, he did so in his own inimitable way.
Hermione was concentrating as best she could on the Rubik’s Cube, her lower lip caught between her teeth, twisting a row of red blocks two turns to the right. The front door opened and a man-sized shape stood silhouetted in the doorway for a moment before he stepped into the hallway and closed the door with a decisive snap.
“Good evening, Hermione,” Snape said conversationally, shrugging out of his mack, his expression sardonic. “Had you given up on me?" He placed the coat over the back of a chair, continuing, "I beg your pardon. You may have noticed that it’s raining and traffic through the city was rather heavy.”
Hermione looked up from the Rubik’s Cube. “Good evening, Professor. Have you come to prevent me from marrying Remus?”
Snape’s attention was distracted. “Is that mine?” he demanded, indicating the cube-shaped puzzle.
Hermione gave him a sideways glance. “That depends “ what are you referring to?”
Snape had advanced into the room, ready to snatch his property from her hand, but he stopped at her words, his glittering eyes looking down into her face.
Hermione returned his gaze, wondering what he would do next.
“What in blazes?” Snape looked away from her, his eyes riveted on a lavender ball of fluff crawling over the toe of his boot.
“Oh, be careful!” Hermione said, bending to retrieve the Puffling. “Fletcher is a mother,” she told him inconsequentially.
“You don’t mean to say that there are more of these infernal creatures?” Without thinking, he accepted the Puffling Hermione placed in his hand, and allowed himself to be led by the arm over to see the wooden box by the fire. “Damnation “ Stormy will want to keep all of them,” he muttered.
“Well, I can hardly see what your objection will be to that, Snape; they will be in my house, not yours, you know.”
Sirius Black lounged against the wall by the doorway into the kitchen. Snape glared at him, unconsciously stroking with one long finger the humming purple Puffling held in the palm of his hand. “What are you on about, Black?”
Sophronia appeared then in the kitchen doorway, an apron tied over her casual Muggle attire and an attractive flush in her cheeks. “Sirius and I were married today, Severus,” she said softly, walking past her husband to place a hand on her stepson’s arm.
Snape quirked an eyebrow at her. “I knew you were up to something,” he said softly.
Sophronia smiled, reaching out to take the Puffling from him and to return it to its box. “Yes, but what are you up to?” she countered.
Snape jerked his head around. “Where is Fleur?” he demanded.
Hermione chuckled again. “How did you know she was here?”
“She was so obliging as to leave me a note, informing me of her intention to come here,” he answered through clenched teeth.
“Oh, that explains why you have come,” Hermione said with exaggerated sadness, turning her back to him.
“It explains nothing of the sort, and you know it!” Snape snarled, turning her back to face him with an ungentle hand upon her shoulder.
“I think we are de trop,” Sirius murmured, tugging his wife back into the kitchen with him.
“Well, she is assisting Percy,” Hermione told Snape with an air of innocence.
“Percy? Weasley? What the hell is he doing here?”
“Fleur brought him from London, but Tonks put him out of the taxi, so he got drenched in the rain and caught a cold,” Hermione explained helpfully, doing nothing to make the matter more clear to Snape.
Snape glared at her through narrowed eyes. “If I find that you’ve been making up all of this twaddle just to confuse me, you will be very sorry,” he promised her, beginning to stride from the room. “Now, where is Fleur?”
“I believe you will find her with Percy in the spare bedroom,” she replied.
“What?”
“She’s probably just helping him change out of his wet things and into his pyjamas,” she added. “The bedroom at the top of the stairs, Professor!”
Snape paused in the doorway, nailing her with a minatory scowl. “Do not move from this room, Hermione. I will deal with you, next.”
Snape stalked out of the room with the grace of a panther on the hunt, and Hermione collapsed into the nearest chair, thankful that he had not seen how her knees were shaking. Sick with anxiety, she awaited what would be the outcome of the confrontation about to take place in the spare bedroom.
A/N: No jewellery in this chapter, but you may see the flame-coloured negligee here:
www.victoriassecret.com/commerce/application?namespace=moreInfo&prnbr=XC-188358&moreInfoInd=largeView
Click on “Related Product” to the left of photograph to see the entire ensemble.