I would like to send a special thank you to my reader, sshg316, whose keen eye and acute memory helped to identify and shut down a plagiarist, and another special thank you to the unrivalled Bambu, who taught me how to deal with the issue – and, while we’re here, let me also send love and kisses to DeeMichelle/mashell and Minuet99/akathryna, who held my hand and soothed me when I was rattled.
Have I introduced y’all to my betas, Keladry Lupin and LariLee, and my Brit-picker, MagicAlly? They collectively hung the moon and cause the stars to shine in the night sky.
These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.
Chapter 28
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
Severus opened his eyes the next morning and realised there was a kink in his back. Shifting slightly, it dawned upon him that he was not in his bed. He sat up and rubbed his neck, grimacing at the discomfort. The night before, after leaving Hermione, he had come into the private library he had built for her and sat upon the love seat, permitting himself to daydream. He imagined being here with her, seeing the look on her face when he showed the room to her, sitting in the big armchair with her cradled in his lap whilst he read poetry to her, raising the hem on that flame-coloured negligee and tugging off her knickers and making love to her on the chaise lounge …
Enough of that! He was meeting with his father-in-law-to-be this evening, and there were things to be done besides remembering how she had tasted when he kissed her mouth, and how she whimpered when he caressed her – important things he had to do – and how sweetly she returned his caresses, twining her fingers in the hair castigated by others as greasy, wriggling her bum deliberately in his lap while nuzzling his ear and whispering to him how attractive he was to her, how she had dreamt of him ever since their night in the cabin, how she had wanted him to hold her and kiss her and claim her for his own …
He was never going to get anything done. All he was good for was lazing about like a love-sick moon-calf.
A love-sick moon-calf whose wife-to-be was waiting for him to come and see her this morning!
Moving with sudden speed, Severus strode into the bathroom to shower, shave, and prepare to meet his day – and his love.
Hermione awoke slowly, drifting from dreams into wakefulness with a self-satisfied purr and stretch, which would have done Crookshanks proud. The night before, Severus Snape had seized her and kissed her into utter senselessness and nothing had ever felt so divine. Whereas before she had been determined to win him as her husband and had bent all of her energy towards making that happen, now she was obsessed with him as a fire contorts into conflagration; he burned within her very blood as it coursed through her veins and she was utterly consumed by him.
Experimentally, she ran her hands over her form in its simple cotton nightdress, thinking of the ways he had stroked her and evoked such luscious sensations from her body, bringing about a dissolution of reason and igniting an inferno of the flesh that she had been unable to appease before falling into dreams as dominated by his presence as her mind was dominated by the thought of him.
Sitting up, she ran an experimental hand through her hair, mentally determining how much attention it would require this morning to attain some degree of acceptable appearance. He had said he would return for the sweets wrapper, but he had not said when he would do so. What if he was planning to join them for breakfast?
Darting a panicked look to the clock on her bedside table, Hermione climbed from the bed and hurried to the bathroom to prepare for her day.
Stormy was picking lackadaisically at her fried egg, missing the busy morning bustle to which she had grown accustomed at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Her sisters and Ginny Weasley were at Ginny’s home, visiting with the Weasley family; Alicia was in Ireland, visiting with Seamus’ family; Tonks had left early, with Professor Lupin, for a shopping expedition in Diagon Alley; Hermione was sleeping unusually late; Mummy had spent the night away, attending to business, whatever that meant; Sirius, who was always there for breakfast, had not shown up; Fletcher had disappeared again, though he always came back, even if Crookshanks had to find him and bring him back; Stormy was left to the company of Auntie Min, Professor Dumbledore, and her own boredom.
There was a motion in the corner of her eye and she turned to see her mummy, looking so pretty and smiling at her.
“Mummy!” Stormy cried, rising from her chair and hurling herself into her mother’s waiting arms.
Sophronia knelt to receive the child, stroking her fine corn silk hair with a tender touch. “Good morning, precious,” she whispered.
Dumbledore rose from his place at the head of the table and approached them. “I don’t believe we’ve met since you left school, Mrs. –” Minerva McGonagall cleared her throat in a meaningful manner and Dumbledore cast a thankful glance her way before finishing, “Mrs. Snape. I don’t need to ask how you are getting on; I can see you are in fine fettle.”
Sophronia rose and accepted the proffered hand. “Good morning, Headmaster. Yes, I am very well, thank you. I hope your trip from the Continent was pleasant?”
Dumbledore answered her smilingly, offering a seat at the table.
“Actually, I have already eaten this morning,” Sophronia said. “I wish to speak with Stormy. Have you finished eating, love?”
Stormy agreed that she was finished and happily accompanied her mother out of the dining room and up the stairs, to the nursery.
“Where were you, Mummy?” Stormy asked, swinging her mother’s hand joyfully.
“I’m going to tell you all about it, sweetness,” Sophronia responded, standing back to allow Stormy to enter the nursery first.
“Sirius!” Stormy said, running up to give him a hug. “Where have you been?” After a moment, a frown marred the little face. “Were you and Mummy in the same place?”
Sirius smiled crookedly over her head at Sophronia. “Can’t keep a secret from this one,” he murmured.
Sophronia sat down upon the rug, so that Stormy was standing between them. “Stormy, you know how everyone has to get married?”
Stormy nodded. “Skye is marrying Bill and Shadow is marrying Ron and Severus is marrying icky old Fleur and …” Another frown. “Mummies don’t have to get married, do they? You’re already married to Papa.”
Sophronia reached out and stroked Stormy’s cheek. “Well, love, your papa is gone, and I, too, am required by the law to marry.”
Stormy’s lower lip protruded slightly. “Mr. Malfoy wanted to marry you, didn’t he?”
“He may have meant to ask me, sweetheart; I don’t know. But I did not love Mr. Malfoy, and I could not have married him.”
Stormy sat down and leant against Sophronia, whose arms immediately pulled her into a comforting hug. “Mummies love daddies,” Stormy said, working it out in her own mind. “But what happens when daddies die?”
Sophronia’s eyes filled with tears and she looked imploringly at Sirius, as she struggled not to cry. Coming to the rescue, Sirius said, “What do you think happens, Stormy?”
Stormy studied Sirius speculatively, her mind turning behind cornflower-blue eyes. Sirius was reminded rather disconcertingly of her older brother, and his finger went instinctively to loosen the collar of his robes. After a moment, Stormy said, “I think that sometimes, mummies love someone else after daddies die.” Unerringly, Stormy’s accusing glance travelled to Sirius’ left hand, where his new wedding ring was proudly displayed. “You married my mummy,” she said flatly.
Sirius met her eyes unflinchingly. “I did marry your mummy, Stormy. I love her so much. I hope you won’t be too angry with me.”
“You played with me and gave me pocket money and were nice to me just because you love Mummy,” she said, with Snape-like finality.
Now Stormy was on the receiving end of Sirius’ crooked smile. “No, you monkey,” he said with great sincerity, knowing that the future of his relationship with her depended on convincing her of the truth of his words. “I played with you and gave you pocket money and was nice to you because I like you very much and wanted to be your friend – even if your mum wouldn’t marry me.”
Stormy stared at him for what seemed an eternity to the adults who hung upon her judgement; neither Sophronia nor Sirius took a breath as they awaited her pronouncement. “Can I call you Dad?” Stormy asked, finally.
Sirius let out a great bark of laughter. “I think I would like that very much, Stormy,” he told her.
Stormy giggled. “Will you be Skye’s and Shadow’s and Severus’ dad, too?”
“Well,” he answered carefully, “I will be Skye’s and Shadow’s stepfather, but Severus isn’t your mum’s child, so I won’t be related to him.”
Stormy was becoming excited, now. “Where will we live? At Phoenix House?”
“We will have a house of our very own, Stormy,” Sophronia said, having recovered the use of her voice. “Sirius and I are working to get the house all ready for you to come and live there.”
“Can I have pink walls in my room?” she asked. “And a pink rug?”
Sirius leaned towards her confidentially. “And a pink canopy over your bed!” he promised.
Stormy jumped up and danced around the room. “I think Mummy and I are going to like being married to you, Sirius!” Sophronia and Sirius both laughed at her remark, and Stormy paused then, looking at Sirius shyly from beneath her lashes. “I mean – Dad,” she amended.
Sophronia suddenly groped for a handkerchief in her pocket, and Sirius watched the child with wonder, marvelling at her dead accurate replication of one of Sophronia’s signature coquettish looks.
“I’m going to like it, too, Stormy,” he admitted, his larynx unexpectedly tight with emotion. Swallowing past the lump there, he cleared his throat and added, “Now, there’s something I need to explain to you about Fletcher …”
Hermione put the final touches to her makeup with hands wont to tremble. She had already been downstairs to seek out any breakfast visitors, only to be told by McGonagall, “No, Hermione, we haven’t seen Severus this morning.” She had returned to her room to perfect her appearance, becoming more doubtful with each passing moment that he was going to return.
She was tempted to believe that it had all been a very life-like dream, but the very faint soreness in her wrists from his attempts to restrain her from flailing at him the night before told her that it had happened. It was still possible, however, that he had thought better of the madness of loving her – of all but making love to her – and had determined that he would not compound his error by appearing and encouraging her in her delusions.
The thought that he would not come, not ever again, hurt with a physical ache that brought her arms protectively around herself as she began to rock in her seat, willing herself not to cry and botch her makeup.
She answered the knock on her door without thinking, working out in her mind how she would flee England to spare herself the necessity of marrying someone she did not love. She could surely find a position in …
“Miss?”
Winky was peering up at her with some concern.
“Yes, Winky?” she replied absently.
“Miss Hermione, Professor Snape is downstairs saying Miss has his bookmark and the Professor is wanting it,” Winky blurted.
Hermione did not stay to ask further questions; she snatched the Honeydukes wrapper from her bedside table and flew down the staircase.
Severus was standing just inside the first floor sitting room, his own doubts jostling one another about in his mind, but it was all forgotten as the girl hurled herself at him. He caught her with a chuckle, allowing them both to fall upon the sofa behind him.
“Perhaps I should acquire protective gear,” he murmured, reflecting that it was a good thing no one else had been occupying the sitting room. The child needed instruction in how to behave, but he did not have the heart to impart it to her when she so desperately needed to be kissed.
Recovering from said kiss, Hermione buried her nose in his freshly shampooed hair, breathing in the conflicting herbal scent of the shampoo and the musky scent of his shaving lotion, and she pressed a kiss behind his ear before placing her lips there and whispering, “It wasn’t a dream.”
Severus tightened his grip upon her. “It happened, Hermione – but that does not mean it is not a dream, all the same.”
Her chuckle was a delightful sound, uttered as it was with her face buried in his neck. He pulled his head back from hers, reaching to tilt her chin and so that he could claim her lips again, but was interrupted by a voice from the doorway.
“Severus, what are you doing cuddling Hermione?”
The two lovers fell apart a bit guiltily and turned as one to confront Stormy, who stood in the doorway with the sweets wrapper in her hand.
“You are supposed to cuddle with Fleur, not with Hermione,” Stormy complained, frowning. “The wrong people can’t kiss and hug; it’s not right.”
Severus stood and approached Stormy, searching his mind for an appropriate explanation for an eight year old. “May I have the sweets wrapper, please?” he asked, stalling for time.
Stormy looked up at him, offering the wrapper. “Fleur will be angry, Severus, and you don’t want for Fleur to be angry with Hermione. She’s mean when she’s angry.”
Severus nodded gravely, placing the sweets wrapper in his wallet, which he then returned to his inner coat pocket. “Was Fleur unpleasant to you?” he asked.
Stormy’s head bobbed. “Sometimes,” she agreed.
Severus offered his hand to Stormy and she took it, allowing him to lead her to the sofa, where Hermione moved over so that Stormy could sit in the middle. Severus said, “Fleur was disagreeable to me, as well, Stormy. She and I decided that we did not wish to be married to one another.”
Stormy cocked her head to one side. “Fleur isn’t going to be my sister?” When Severus shook his head in the negative, Stormy threw her arms around him. “That makes everything perfect!” she crowed.
“Does it?” he inquired, somewhat confused.
Stormy bounced up, turning to include Hermione in the conversation. “Sirius is my new dad!” she announced.
“Is he?” Hermione asked, feigning surprise. “Do you like that?”
Stormy nodded enthusiastically. “Yes – but he’s not Severus’ dad, because Mummy isn’t Severus’ real mum.” Stormy turned back to her brother with a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Severus.”
Severus attempted to look sorrowful. “It’s all right, Stormy. I’m all grown up, now. I don’t need a father as much as you do.”
Stormy perked up at his logic. “No, you don’t!” she agreed. Another frown crossed her face. “But you do have to get married, Severus, Mummy told me you do. And you quarrelled with Fleur – now what are you going to do?” Stormy turned to Hermione, her sure ally in all problem solving. “We have to find someone for Severus to marry, Hermione.”
Hermione smiled at her. “I’ll bet he can find someone all by himself,” she said.
Stormy looked doubtful. “Severus is shy,” she announced with great authority.
“I am not,” her ungrateful brother snorted behind her.
Stormy turned back to him, her hands fisted and resting on her non-existent hips. “If Nanny says you’re shy, then you’re shy,” she insisted.
Severus opened his mouth to argue, but he caught Hermione’s minatory expression and changed his mind. “Stormy, how would it be if I married Hermione instead?” he asked.
Stormy’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t do that!” she objected. “Severus, you’re really old! And Hermione is just a teenager!”
Hermione recognized the tempestuous signs on her beloved’s face and she took over the explanation. “Stormy, sometimes people marry someone who is not their same age,” she said soothingly. “I know it is odd of me, but I really like your brother.”
“Thank you very much,” Severus muttered forebodingly, but no one was listening to him.
Hermione saw the indecision in Stormy’s face. “At least he’s not an icky old boy,” she pointed out. “And, I would really, really like to be your sister, Stormy,” she added.
Stormy reached out and took Hermione’s hand. “But do you want to hug and kiss him?” she asked, confused.
Hermione nodded. “Yes, I do.”
Stormy capitulated. “Okay, but I don’t understand.”
Hermione laughed and hugged the little girl. “It’ll be good; you’ll see,” she promised.
Stormy returned the hug with true affection, then another thought occurred to her. “Guess what?” she asked, turning to include her forgotten brother in the conversation. “Fletcher is a girl, and she had babies!”
A scowl crossed Severus’ face. “That reminds me,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket and withdrawing a humming purple Puffling.
“Pretty!” Stormy exclaimed, holding out her hands for it. “Where did you get him?”
Severus ignored the question, saying, “His name is Mortimer,” and relinquishing the Puffling into Stormy’s hands. “I believe he would enjoy the company of Fletcher’s babies.”
Stormy received the Puffling with pleasure. “Mummy and Sirius said I can see all the Pufflings this weekend when I go to live at my new house,” she said. “They’re there now, getting my room ready for me. Will you come see my new room when I move there, Hermione?”
Hermione nodded, smiling lovingly at the child. “I’ll come,” she promised.
Mike and Carol Granger had been pounced upon by their daughter when they walked in the door that afternoon. Hermione had informed them of the guest they would receive that evening, as well as her expectations of their behaviour towards the visitor, then she had permitted them to have a bit of a lie-down.
Mike was not terribly pleased that Carol would not permit the lie-down to consist of actually sleeping. No, she wanted to discuss Hermione’s bombshell.
Exhaustively.
“She told us she was going to have to marry months ago, Mike – it’s not as if that was news.”
“I’m not disputing that,” he grumbled, hitting his pillow with a fist and thinking that those lucky sods with bedrooms separate from their wives could sleep when it took their fancy.
“And she told me back in June that she was in love with a man who had become engaged to another woman. It was when she and I went to the spa, you remember?”
He sighed. “Yes…”
“She went to all the trouble to learn how to tame her hair and to apply makeup, just like a general planning a war – I was proud of her for being so adult about it and I encouraged her to fight for what she wanted.”
Mike sat up suddenly. “You encouraged her to run after a bloke twenty years older than she is?”
Carol had the grace to look sheepish. “I told her to go after her man – it didn’t occur to me that her man might also be her teacher.” She stared at the ceiling light fixture for a moment, plucking at the duvet with her fingers. “But he is the man who rescued her last autumn when she was taken by those terrorists, Mike. He risked his own life. And I’ve seen the articles in their newspaper; the man is considered to be a hero of that war, just as Hermione is.”
“It sounds to me like some filthy-minded pervert who has no business teaching children wants to get his hands on my baby girl, Caro.”
Now Carol sat up. “I don’t think it’s fair to say that. He refused to see her socially until she left school; it sounds to me as if he was determined not to be inappropriate with a student, Mike.”
Mike snorted in exasperation. “I can’t see a way out of it, Caro. Hermione has to be married because of the so-called Ministry for Magic, she’s determined to stay in that world, and at least this fellow sounds like he might be rich – an estate with servants in Hampshire, no less. She seems dead set on having him. What can we do?”
Carol slanted a glance at her husband of twenty-five years. “What could our parents do when we decided to be married?”
“Not a bloody thing,” her spouse responded, reaching for her. “If you’re not going to let me sleep, I am afraid I will have to take inappropriate liberties.”
“I thought you would never take the hint,” his unrepentant spouse replied, pulling him down into the sheets.
Severus sat in the backseat of the limousine, periodically assuring himself that he was not nervous. Mr. Swift had been happy, if somewhat surprised, to have received word from him again so soon –
“The same house, sir?”
“Yes, where we went last night.”
“And will the young lady be going with us, sir?”
“The young lady lives there, Mr. Swift.”
“Of course she does, sir. And will we be driving all about town tonight?”
“Just say what you want to say, Swift.”
“I’m a father myself, sir. What are your intentions towards the young lady?”
“I’m going there tonight to ask her father’s permission to marry her, Swift – does that meet with your approval?”
“It does indeed, sir!”
“Excellent. And are there any other questions I can answer for you? Would you, perhaps, like to have an accounting of my circumstances and how I intend to support her?”
The grinning Mr. Swift had swiftly disclaimed the desire for any such information, and had been the picture of professional discretion when he arrived around the corner from Grimmauld Place to pick up the Potions master and to convey him to Islington that evening.
Severus had left Hermione soon after the conclusion of their discussion with Stormy, promising to meet her at her parents’ home that evening at seven. They had agreed not to attempt to share a meal at this first meeting, so Severus had only to explain to these Muggles why he wanted to marry their teenage daughter and how he meant to provide for her. How differently than wizards could the Muggles possibly conduct such negotiations? Hermione had explained that modern Muggle manners did not require the asking of the parents’ permission, nor the disclosure of financial information – she had even suggested that they should simply be married as Sirius and Sophronia had done, dropping in at the Ministry for Magic, and that they inform her parents of it after the fact.
Such a notion affronted Severus’ sense of dignity, and did not at all suit his idea of what was due to Hermione’s consequence, as the woman of his choice. He made many allowances in his mind for the fact that she was Muggle-born, and that she was also very young; it would be all but impossible for her to understand the insult to herself that such a wedding would imply, coming so quickly on the heels of the announcement of the break-up with Fleur. He could at least be thankful that Hermione was willing to accept his judgment in this matter without fighting him about it. He intended to marry his Muggle-born witch with all the pomp and circumstance at his disposal. He could not prevent the gossips from suggesting that Hermione had been the cause of the broken engagement with Fleur, but he would not have her appearing to be the second-best candidate for his hand in marriage. He must, therefore, make sure that his wedding to Hermione, in spite of the short time he had in which to plan it, would outshine the planned nuptials with Fleur in every particular.
Arriving at the Granger home, Severus allowed Mr. Swift to open the door for him and stood for a moment in the street, making sure that the Muggle suit which Hermione had suggested that he wear to this meeting was hanging properly and that the necktie was in place. She had said he would seem less alien and intimidating to her parents if he dressed as a Muggle; he could only hope she was right.
Hermione impatiently paced the hallway, feeling more nervous than Crookshanks on his worst day. She had done all she could to prepare her parents for meeting with Severus, explaining her beloved’s scruples to them and begging their patience for however odd his ideas might seem to them. This was, surely, the last hurdle she would have to pass to become engaged to Severus, was it not?
When she heard the limousine in front of the house, she threw open the door and went onto the porch, closing the door behind her. Severus walked up the path to her, his straight-backed bearing and piercing black gaze striking her to weak-kneed confusion from several feet away; how could she hide her obvious befuddlement in his presence from her parents?
Though he did not smile, the softening of the firm line of his lips and the warmth in his eyes were enough to undo her resolutions of sane behaviour; she wrapped her arms about him as he joined her on the porch, pressing herself to him.
“You look so good,” she said, rubbing her cheek on the lapel of the suit coat.
Severus permitted himself to stroke her hair once before compelling her to release him with one firm hand upon her shoulder. “If you are a good girl, there may be time for hugging after we have met with your parents, Hermione. I refuse, however, to meet them in a state of disorder.”
She sighed deeply, looking up into his eyes. “There had better be time for it,” she grumped, and was gratified with the glimmer of a smile.
“Once more into the breach, my friends,” he murmured, urging her forward.
The Grangers stood to meet the visitor when Hermione led him into the back sitting room. The stranger was a tall fellow, with a gaunt, austere face; shoulder-length black hair; an over-large, hawkish nose; well-formed, thin lips; and glittering black eyes. He bore himself like an aristocrat and he executed a rather formal bow to Carol before offering his hand to Mike.
Carol wasted no time once they were seated. “Professor, we can never thank you enough for saving Hermione when she was taken by those Death Dealers!”
“Death Eaters, Mum,” Hermione hissed.
Severus was surprised to have such an easy beginning to the conversation. “It was my privilege to do so,” he assured Mrs. Granger sincerely.
Mike watched him closely for a moment before blurting out, “If you and Hermione have been interested in one another since the kidnapping, then why did you become engaged to another woman, Professor?”
Severus looked Hermione’s father squarely in the face. “I think that’s a fair question, Mr. Granger, and I respect you for asking it.” Severus transferred his gaze to Hermione’s face. “As much as I wanted to be with Hermione, I did not believe that I could ever deserve her. I also did not believe it was possible that she would choose me over a man closer to her age.”
Hermione reached a hand to touch his face. “I never wanted anyone else, Severus,” she murmured. “I never will.”
Mike spoke again. “Well, Professor, our girl has told us why she wants you – but why would you choose her? She’s a wilful puss, you know. I wouldn’t think she would suit a man of your stamp.”
Severus raised one eyebrow at Mr. Granger’s inference, but had to admit to himself that it was another reasonable question. “She is spirited, Mr. Granger, and utterly engaging. I find Hermione to be highly intelligent and fascinating; with Hermione in my life, there will never be a dull moment.” He slanted a glance at Hermione, who had the grace to blush, though she reached to him, almost involuntarily, and he took her hand in his own. “She is courageous, loyal, and fearless,” he continued, his gaze now on Hermione’s face, rather than her father’s. “When my eight year old sister was taken ill, Hermione nursed her until she was well again. With my own eyes, I have seen Hermione stand over the body of a fallen comrade, guarding him, heedless of her own safety, in the midst of a fierce battle. I don’t know of a woman who is her equal.”
Carol glanced at Mike in a pitying way; apparently, she was sold. “Why did you come here?” Mike asked, annoyed. “Hermione’s of full legal age, Snape. You could have married her any time you wanted and dropped us a postcard about it.”
A rare smile graced Severus’ lips. “So Hermione keeps telling me,” he admitted. “Mr. Granger, in the wizarding world, honour demands that a man make his suit to the family of the woman he hopes to take as his wife. It gives him the opportunity to divulge his means and to discuss with her parents the practical aspects of the ways in which he intends to care for his wife after they are married.”
Carol rose from her seat with a suddenness which startled her daughter and husband. “I think it’s time for some tea. Mike will help me in the kitchen. Hermione, why don’t you show Severus about the garden?”
In the kitchen, she began to set things on the tea tray with annoyed snaps of the wrist.
“What?” Mike demanded.
“What is your problem?”
“Do you want grandchildren who look like that? What does she see in him?”
She gaped at him. Then she laughed softly. “You men are so blind,” she murmured. “That man is sex on legs, Mike. He’s gainfully employed, he is a property owner, he is a decorated war hero -- and, on top of that, he worships her. We would be fools to interfere.”
Over the tea tray, Carol engaged Hermione in a discussion of wizarding wedding customs, while Mike brought out a bottle of brandy and suggested that he “warm” Severus’ tea. The two men perused the financial statement which Severus had produced from an inner coat pocket, and Mike asked astute questions, which showed his keen business sense. When they parted, it was on terms of amity.
“You two have our blessing,” Mike stated as he and Carol stood at the door, seeing Severus and Hermione out of the house.
Continue on immediately to Chapter 28/Part B