These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.
Chapter 5
Thou are not lovelier than lilacs, -- no,
Nor honeysuckle; thou are not more fair
Than small white single poppies, -- I can bear
Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though
From left to right, not knowing where to go,
I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there
Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear
So has it been with mist, -- with moonlight so.
Like him who day by day unto his draught
Of delicate poison adds him one drop more
Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten
Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed
Each hour more deeply than the hour before,
I drink – and live – what has destroyed some men.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
The next morning found Snape seeking entrance to the sitting room at the top of the house. Sophronia and McGonagall frequently retired there after breakfast, passing their mornings in easy companionship. His glowering presence in the doorway caused McGonagall to look up at him with a inquiring glance, while Sophronia smiled at him as if his scowl were the nicest surprise of her day.
"Come in, Severus," she invited him, patting the seat beside her on the sofa.
Snape stalked into the room, ignoring the invitation to seat himself, and stood glaring at the fireplace, his elbow propped on the mantelpiece.
McGonagall rolled her eyes at Sophronia and stood, shaking out her skirts. "I have letters to attend to in the study. I will see you at luncheon, Sophronia." Without a word to the pouting Professor by the hearth, she took herself out of the room.
Sophronia, inured to Snape irascibility by nearly twenty years of marriage to this man's father, picked up her embroidery and continued with her stitches, waiting for him to be ready to speak. Her patience was at last rewarded as he blurted out, "You are going to have to speak to the Granger girl, Sophronia! She is completely out of control."
Sophronia wisely kept her eyes on her needlework. "I understand she upset you yesterday," she commented, keeping the channel of communication open.
"She has no notion of how to conduct herself in polite company. I wish her parents would come back so that we might be rid of the responsibility of her." He moved away from the fireplace, now prowling the small room in a manner that would have set his students on high alert.
"I have found her to be a pleasant girl, Severus. Perhaps you and she simply don't mix well." She stole a quick look at him as he stood across from her, glaring at the framed lithograph over an ornamental flower stand. "What did she do to anger you?" she inquired softly, as if the answer were of no import.
She heard the audible grinding of his teeth, followed by several moments of silence. Once again, she busied herself with her sewing project, waiting him out. At last, he strode to the doorway.
"I have errands in Diagon Alley this morning. Is there anything I can do for you while I'm out?"
Sophronia graced him with another gentle smile. "Not a thing in the world, Severus. I hope you enjoy your outing."
Without another word, he left the room.
Sophronia had scarcely had time to register his absence before the author of Severus' bad mood entered the room.
"Good morning!" Hermione said brightly, seating herself in a chair across from Sophronia.
Sophronia looked up with a droll expression. "I suppose you passed Severus on the stairs?" she inquired.
Hermione nodded. "He looked like a thundercloud, so I didn't speak to him."
Sophronia put her embroidery away from her. "What in the world did you do to put him in such a huff, Hermione?"
Hermione gave her a conspiratorial grin. "I went into the library and took one of the books off the shelf after he expressly forbade me to do so," she said nonchalantly.
"Good heavens!" In spite of herself, Sophronia was impressed. "Was he horrid to you?"
Hermione gave a peal of laughter. "He was high-handed, obnoxious, and insufferable. He called into question my morals, my up bringing, and the likelihood of me ending my days a spinster if I'm not murdered out of hand."
Sophronia could not prevent the tiny smile on her lips. "You mustn't take him too seriously, my dear. He's not such a very bad person, he's just not accustomed to living in such close quarters with people -- well, not with people whom he can't force into obedience," she added, almost to herself. Then she reached out and placed a kind hand on Hermione's arm. "He wouldn't be so cross if Fleur didn't annoy him so constantly," she confided.
Hermione raised her eyebrows in carefully schooled astonishment. "I would have thought he would be more than a match for Fleur Delacour."
Sophronia shook her head. "He applies himself to being pleasant to the Delacours," she said. "I have tried so hard to like that girl and I simply cannot make myself do it."
"Like that tiresome girl? Who could like her?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" Sophronia said. "I think she wants to be a proper wife to Severus -- and she has certainly told me that she wants to 'help' me with the girls -- but I don't want her help! She does and says everything that is proper. And when I think that she'll be coming to live with us at the Estuary..."
"Good grief, ma'am! They're going to live on the Snape estate? You're not serious!"
Sophronia nodded miserably. "They'll have their own apartments, of course, and will spend the school year at Hogwarts, but ..." She broke off and sighed.
Hermione fell into a mood of abstraction and the subject was abandoned; Sophronia picked her sewing up and began to set stitches, while Hermione stared off into space, her mind whirling.
On his way to Diagon Alley, Snape made a detour into the best part of town, where he stopped off to pay a morning call on his betrothed. She welcomed him happily into her family's well-appointed house and settled him on a sofa in the elegant parlour on the first floor before joining him, being careful not to sit closely enough to make him uncomfortable. Fleur was a shrewd young woman; she realized that her fiancé did not relish casual physical contact, and she could appreciate his feelings on the subject. It was only in a crowd where she felt the need to establish her territory that she would disregard his preferences.
She invited him to tell her how he had been getting along, to which Snape replied with polite social talk. He really did not know why he sought her out; it seemed to him as if his life were so littered with women, young, old, and every description in between, that he might at least be able to spend some of his time with the woman who should logically be his chief encourager, as well as his prime source of comfort. He understood that marriage was supposed to work that way; it puzzled him that he felt no urge to confide in the beautiful creature who was to become his wife.
In the way of a wise woman, Fleur gently coaxed him until he unburdened himself of his most pressing wrongs. Somehow, in the telling of his confrontation with Miss Granger the day before, it seemed to him that what had happened was perhaps not so bad, after all. From being a wild young woman with no redeeming qualities, Hermione began to figure in his conversation as an unconventional, though intelligent girl, in a world peopled with dunderheads at every turn.
"Present company excepted, of course," he assured Fleur with the ghost of a smile.
Fleur was not at all happy with this turn of events. It was bad enough that so much of her fiancé's attention was taken up by his duties as chaperone and protector; it was completely unacceptable for him to be speaking of another girl as intelligent, when she knew -- much better than Snape realized it himself -- that intelligence was the nectar which drew him to a woman. To redirect his thoughts to a more fruitful area, she said, "It was really outrageous of her to invade your room and to take your things. It was disrespectful to you!"
Snape replied, "Very true, but I suppose it was in some sort my fault; I provoked her anger and challenged her acumen -- always a fatal error with Miss Know-It-All. There's no harm done; she's certainly steady enough not to be seduced by the Dark Arts -- and if she can whip through the material at that speed, her intellect is greater than I had suspected. All the same, as long as she remains at Grimmauld Place and under my direction, she will not be purchasing or studying books upon that subject."
With a cagey glance at his face, Fleur said, "Your patience with her does you great credit, darling."
He threw her a sardonic look. "I was not patient. If anything, my response was unrestrained in the extreme."
"I do not think it unreasonable for you to have been angry with her for taking your book without asking your leave. Why, I would never ask to read one of those dangerous books, and I am much closer to you than she is."
For just a moment, a flash of some kind of understanding seemed to cross Snape's features. He stood, preparatory to taking his leave, and said, "I am certain that you have much more reasonable interests; you certainly have no business mucking about with the Dark Arts."
If Fleur had not been mindful of the disastrous results of her losing her temper with Bill Weasley -- and those who followed him -- she might have had something to say in reply to this tactless remark. She was not an unintelligent woman! Had she not been selected as the champion for her school in the Triwizard Tournament? Had she not first attracted this elusive man with a display of cleverness that drew his attention to her?
As it was, she was obliged to bite her tongue as he escaped from the house with a mere kiss to her hand, his mind already obviously ranging ahead to his next stop at Flourish and Blotts, in Diagon Alley.
The next day, Snape declined to join the household at breakfast, preferring to spend the morning in the library with a large pot of extra-strong coffee and an esoteric volume dealing with the customs pertaining to marriage amongst wizards in the nineteenth century. He was strongly tempted to soundproof the room, so that the interminable ringing of the doorbell would not continuously intrude upon his consciousness; he forbore to do so, however, reflecting that he would be in a poor position to safeguard anyone if he could hear nothing that transpired in the house.
When lunchtime arrived, he felt that he had managed to compose himself with a few hours of quiet reflection in the library. With the expectation of being able to interact with the other inhabitants of the house with civility, if not actual affability, he took himself to the dining room.
The sight of Potter and Ronald Weasley seated across the table from one another, with his two eldest sisters by their sides, did not promise an auspicious beginning to lunch. The four of them were in animated conversation, ably helped along by Granger, who was sitting beside a tongue-tied Neville Longbottom. Draco Malfoy sat alone near one end of the long table, ill-humour apparent on his face. He was the first to spot Snape in the doorway; he nodded politely to his father’s friend before turning his bored gaze to contemplation of the still life painting hanging over the sideboard. Snape stared very hard at Draco for a moment before nodding shortly at the greetings that peppered him upon his entrance. The Gryffindor contingent was certainly in good spirits today.
Seamus Finnegan came into the room with Luna Lovegood, who looked startled to see the only open seats at the table were near young Malfoy. In a show of gallantry, Seamus took the seat to Draco’s left, while Luna was able to seat herself on Finnegan’s other side; undoubtedly, the air-headed Ravenclaw had run afoul of Draco’s unpleasant tongue at some time in her life.
Snape allowed himself half a sneer as he surveyed the table, before inquiring, “I take it the kitchen at Phoenix House burned down in the night?”
McGonagall came into the room and swept down the table to take her place at the end. “No, Severus, the young men were invited to lunch with us before we go together to the concert this afternoon. Sirius and Remus also asked to be excused from this concert.”
Snape preserved his silence at this revelation, giving silent thanks that Minerva was not requiring him to attend the afternoon’s musical entertainment; her co-chaperone for the event would be Sophronia, who sat on Snape’s right, speaking quietly with Stormy.
Tonks, who was sitting between Katie and Neville, grinned at Snape saucily. "Oi, Severus! Come to the Conservatory with us! I'm sure the music will be right up your alley." Tonks looked wistfully down at her Weird Sisters T-shirt and sighed.
At that moment, Ginevra Weasley came precipitately into the room, murmuring an apology. She looked the table over and saw the only empty chair was between McGonagall and Draco. Young Malfoy glanced up belatedly, seeking the reason for the lull in the conversation. When he perceived Miss Weasley’s dilemma, he stood, like the gentleman he had been raised, and held the empty chair, politely waiting for her to seat herself.
Ginny was aware of the eyes on her; she had no desire to sit beside Draco, but she also had no desire to make herself ridiculous. With a flush staining her cheeks, she took the seat Malfoy offered, then placed her napkin in her lap and addressed an unexceptional remark to her brother. Draco slipped back into his own seat, offering the dish of steak and kidney pie to Ginny before serving his own plate.
Snape was relieved to see Draco behave with such a degree of finesse in the awkward situation; not for the first time, he wondered what had possessed Draco to take up residence with the other young men of the Order of the Phoenix in the abode which the young people had taken to calling Phoenix House. Draco could have remained with his father at Malfoy Manor and Apparated to town for the various entertainments offered, but he had resolutely insisted on staying with the young men who had fought by his side at the end of the war. Snape was aware that Draco had spent less time at the Manor since the tragic death of his mother, but Draco’s penchant for the company of the young men of Gryffindor, comrades-in-arms or not, was puzzling to a man who had held himself aloof from all personal attachments for his entire life.
For some reason, Snape’s gaze travelled to Potter, who had been so deeply immersed in conversation with Skye when Snape entered the room; now, Potter was glaring at Malfoy in a most satisfying way. Filing away that little titbit of information, Snape began to consume the food on his plate.
As they sat over their coffee and pudding, Stormy turned to Snape with limpid blue eyes. “Severus, may I go to the concert?”
Snape looked up from his coffee cup, frowning. “Certainly not. You’re not old enough.”
A look quite in keeping with her name came over Stormy’s face. “But Shadow gets to go!”
A dangerously quirked eyebrow alerted the Snape women that trouble was brewing.
“Of course Shadow is not going,” Snape said, looking straight into Shadow’s stricken face. “She is not old enough, either.” Snape willed himself not to notice the displeasure clearly displayed by Ronald Weasley at this pronouncement.
Sophronia stepped quickly into the breach. “I see no harm in Stormy attending the concert, Severus. I will see to her.” She then turned parental attention to her youngest child. “If you are finished with your pudding, Stormy, you may go to your room, rather than sit here and tease your brother.”
Perceiving that the victory of going to the concert outweighed the defeat of having to leave the boring grown-ups to their after-meal conversation, Stormy obediently skipped out of the room.
Hermione accidentally overheard the low-voiced conversation between Professor Snape and his step-mother after they all left the table. She went upstairs to reapply her lipstick and to touch up her hair before leaving for the concert, and heard the two of them conversing on the next landing.
“Why is Shadow attending this function?” Snape demanded.
“She is the same age as Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood, Severus. She, too, will be seventeen before we know it. I see no harm in having her attend a few social events.”
“She will be a full year behind Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood when she begins school, Sophronia. Both of those young ladies will turn seventeen before the beginning of the next school term. If their parents wish for them to make their come-out and begin the tedious task of seeking out husbands, that is no bread and butter of mine. I see no point, however, in filling Shadow's head full of matrimony at this point in her life. It is too soon!”
“I fail to see how attending a concert in company with her mother and her sisters will fill her head full of anything but music, Severus. Excuse me, please; the girls will be waiting for me.”
Hermione hurriedly stepped back into her room and waited until she heard the footsteps pass her door before descending the stairs and joining the others.
The young people of the Order of the Phoenix, accompanied by the Snape sisters and their chaperones, strolled into the Conservatory concert hall as a group. Almost immediately they began to scatter, to speak to friends and to find seats.
Hermione watched with interest as her companions paired up. She took note of Shadow, who was looking up at Ron with eager interest as he told her some fanciful story about a Quidditch game in which he figured as a conquering hero, then she let her gaze drift over to Harry and Skye, both of whom seemed to float a bit over the ground that the others trod upon with their feet. There was a cautious Draco, luring Ginny into conversation as if he were attempting to charm a bird out of the trees, while Seamus chatted to Luna. Bringing her attention back to Neville, who continued to cling to her in some social situations as if he were still in Potions class, Hermione linked her arm through his and headed for a group of Hufflepuffs from their year. “Look, Neville! I see Susan and Hannah. Let’s go talk to them.”
With her brain buzzing with some new possibilities, Hermione steered Neville towards his destiny for the afternoon.
Harry and Skye had managed to find seats together before the concert began, and sat side by side, trying to act as if they were absorbed in listening to the music, when they were each actually absorbed in the nearness of the other. With her mama’s watchful eye upon her, Skye dared not steal looks at Harry, though she could feel him looking at her.
Sophronia was not concerned with Skye’s behaviour; in the middle of this group of people, she scarcely saw what trouble her eldest child could fall into. She was more concerned with the look of hero-worship on Shadow’s face as she stole looks at the tall redhead by her side. Skye had been about in society for over a year now, and though she had attended far fewer parties before the Law was passed, she was not unfamiliar with the admiration of young wizards. Shadow, on the other hand, was experiencing the heady feeling of appreciation for the first time in her life; she would bear careful watching.
Fleur Delacour, seated next to her brother across the aisle and two rows back from Harry Potter and Severus’ eldest sister, had plenty of time to observe the air of tension between them. With the intimate knowledge allowed a fiancée -- things that a mere friend would not be permitted to know -- she was well aware of how Severus would feel about a connexion between Skye and Harry Potter. She had not been unaware of her betrothed’s efforts to distract the two from one another that night at the dance. She clearly saw her duty, and understood how, with her brother’s assistance, she could be of service to her fiancé.
When the musicians withdrew for the interval, Harry stood and offered to escort Skye to the refreshment tables. Skye was in the act of smiling fully into Harry’s enchanted eyes when Fleur stepped between them.
“Harry!” Fleur exclaimed, reaching up to place a kiss on his face. “How marvellous to see you again!”
Harry stuttered out a greeting to Fleur as she took her brother by the arm and pulled him into the conversation. “Harry, I do not believe you have met my brother, Val.”
Harry reached out to shake the hand of the handsome Frenchman, who closely resembled his sister. Val Delacour shook hands with Harry and then bowed over Skye’s hand. Skye seemed to snatch her hand back quickly, which caused Harry to cast a sidelong look at Val; he was startled to see something of a leer marring the other wizard’s face.
Fleur tucked her hand in Harry’s elbow. “Let us go to the refreshment table! I have hardly seen you since you have been in town, Harry. You must come to see Gabrielle one day; she speaks of you often.” As she propelled Harry in the direction of the refreshments, she threw a smile over her shoulder. “Val, please bring Skye.”
Hermione stood near the wine bar in the concert hall foyer, chatting with Roger Davies and Michael Corner. Roger was missing Cho, who was spending the day at home with her mother. Hermione thought, privately, that Roger and Cho would have made a match of it without the urging of the Ministry and the stupid Law, but, like many other couples of their generation, the enforced choice-making was infusing their interactions with self-consciousness.
She was momentarily distracted from the thought of who might be the perfect partner for Michael when she saw Fleur hanging onto Harry and talking his ear off, while Skye was looking decidedly uncomfortable in the company of a man who appeared to be fondling her arm. Before Hermione could go investigate, Professor McGonagall appeared, rounding up her charges and herding them back into the concert hall.
Skye walked away from her soon-to-be sister-in-law and the disgusting Val, her cheeks flushed with mortification. She had no doubt that Fleur was acting on behalf of Severus, which made her quite angry as well as slightly embarrassed. Without demur, she accepted the place indicated for her by Professor McGonagall, and spent the remainder of the concert seated between Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood. Resolutely, she did not let her eyes wander to where Harry was seated, beside Ginny Weasley.
Shadow Snape passed the second half of the concert chafing under the restraint of her own place, seated between Mama and Stormy. Jealously, her eyes watched Ronald Weasley, seated between his sister and Alicia Spinnet. Sophronia caught Shadow's eyes and reprimanded her without a word, directing her attention to the musicians. With a sigh of disgust, Shadow slumped in her seat and stared mutely at the stage, ignoring both her mother and her sister in a rather unconvincing display of her supposed maturity.
As the musicians left the stage accompanied by polite applause, the spectators stood and moved once again toward the foyer for the reception to honour the Conservatory graduates -- as well as serve as yet another occasion for the young witches and wizards to mingle.
Hermione worked her way through the crowd, looking for Tonks. She couldn't remember having seen Tonks sitting anywhere near her through the concert and she didn't remember seeing Tonks during the interval. She was feeling a bit concerned, until she saw Tonks seated with a group of like-minded individuals, who had plainly avoided the concert in favour of lurking in the cloakroom and sipping from glasses of wine. She surmised that Tonks was undoubtedly in fine spirits by now -- there had been well over two hours for her to be sitting there drinking wine, after all.
Before Hermione reached her goal, she was waylaid by Fleur. "Hermione!" Fleur said, halting Hermione's progress and somehow blocking her path. "It is so good to see you! You have not yet met my brother, Val, have you?"
Hermione surveyed the arm-fondler with polite civility. "How do you do?" she said, neglecting to offer her hand.
"Was the concert not grand?" Fleur said, determinedly holding the book-thieving Granger in conversation.
"I know who you are," Val said, edging closer to Hermione. "I heard all about your part in the war."
Hermione grew tired of this boring exchange with people whom she disliked and deftly sidestepped the encroaching Frenchman. "You mustn't believe everything you hear," she said, giving Val an incredulous look before walking away from them. Finally, she reached Tonks' hiding place in the cloakroom.
Tonks greeted her as if they had not seen one another in a month, garrulously introducing Hermione to her companions, four young wizards whose names Tonks could not recall. Hermione nodded to the young men as she took Tonks by the elbow and headed for the doorway out onto the terrace.
"You need some fresh air," she told Tonks as they slipped through the sheer curtains out into the late afternoon sunshine.
Tonks made a face. "I hate classical music," she muttered, having the grace to look slightly embarrassed.
"You could have stayed home," Hermione reminded her.
"And listened to Severus' everlasting reproaches? Thank you, but no," Tonks said with an indignant snort.
"Is Professor Snape pressuring you?" Hermione asked curiously.
"Not pressuring -- I'm sure he would think he is encouraging me. Oh, and telling me not to marry Sirius Black." Tonks sighed. "All of these boys bore me senseless, Hermione. And most of the blokes my age are already married. I'm just a round peg trying to fit into a square hole again."
"Oh, Tonks," Hermione said, her ready sympathy leaping to the fore. "There's someone for you. Someone really special." With a deep breath, she took the plunge. "What about Remus?"
"No." Tonks hunched a shoulder and turned away from Hermione. "He doesn't want me."
"Tonks!" Hermione said in exasperation. "He offered for you."
"He never made the least push to take me back from Sirius when he returned from the hospital, Hermione. Not so much as a word."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Tonks was walking away from her, back into the reception. "Come on, let's get something to eat. I'm starving."
Tonks led Hermione to a buffet table spread with hors d'oeuvres and picked up a plate. Hermione noticed Harry, sitting miserably next to Fleur, while Val hovered over Skye; she also saw Ron and Shadow sitting together unobtrusively at a small table, the red head bent close to the flaxen one, as they tried to avoid Sophronia and McGonagall.
"Now that's what I'm talking about," Tonks murmured, looking over Hermione's shoulder with rapt appreciation.
Before Hermione could question her, hands came from behind her to cover her eyes. "Guess who?" the deeply accented voice inquired.
Whirling in his arms, Hermione shrieked, "Viktor!" as she delightedly embraced him before the interested eyes of all English wizarding society.
Viktor was the only one who heard her murmur, "You're just the man I need."
All readers who leave a review will receive an autographed copy of Magical Squee, the autobiography of a fan fiction author who received numerous reviews.
No, wait -- I think I'm channelling Gilderoy Lockhart again.
I guess y'all will just get what you usually get -- I will SQUEEEE! like a girl when I get your reviews.
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