Warning to all rabid Heyer fans (that includes me)! The first portion of this chapter very closely follows a scene from the book The Grand Sophy, by Georgette Heyer, upon which this story is based.
These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.
Chapter 7
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
Hermione entered the house from the back garden and moved quietly through the solarium. She paused in the doorway before passing into the hall because she saw Professor McGonagall there, speaking to Professor Snape. Hermione wanted to approach Snape in neutral territory, but she did not really want to have McGonagall witness their meeting. Accordingly, she tarried in the solarium, having the leisure to study Snape unobserved for the first time in a while.
His colour was good, if somewhat pale, and he had gained weight since the end of the war, which gave him a healthier appearance. She had noted, since coming to stay at Grimmauld Place, that he no longer gave the impression of a man too involved with matters of consequence to be fussed with such unimportant issues as personal hygiene. She wondered if the change was due to an upswing in his own interest in such things, or if it had been forced upon him by Sophronia and the girls. She knew that Fleur Delacour could not be the responsible party; without the alteration in his appearance, Fleur would never have looked at him twice, war hero or not. Regardless of the reason, it was a vast improvement. His hair no longer appeared greasy, his teeth had become unremarkable by the conformity of both their colour and cleanliness, and he had some new clothes. The new clothes were admittedly identical to the old clothes, but at least were distinguished by a lack of shabbiness.
Other things about him had not changed at all. He was still tall and angular, with a lean grace, reminiscent of a great, predatory cat. His large, hooked nose and thin, cruel lips remained the dominant features of his face, which most frequently wore a sneer of unparalleled derision. His keen intelligence and rapier wit were also intact, and not to be underestimated – a fact of which Hermione was forcibly reminded when Professor McGonagall completed her conversation with him and proceeded up the staircase, and he whirled around and nailed her with his piercing black gaze.
"Did you want something, Miss Granger, or were you just staring at my backside for entertainment purposes?"
Hermione could not prevent the colour that stained her cheeks, but she raised her chin and refused to lower her eyes in the face of these intimidation tactics.
"I have something particular to say to you, Professor."
Snape's eyes dropped to the shopping bag from Borgin and Burkes that she still held in her hands, then raised to her face. "By all means, Miss Granger. Say that particular thing."
She approached him fearlessly. "I would prefer to speak with you privately; there is no need to share our conversation with the house-elves."
One eyebrow quirked. "I have no objections. You may choose the room – provided it is not the library."
Without dignifying this provocation with her notice, Hermione walked past him into the study, where she dumped her shopping bag into one chair while seating herself in another. Snape followed her in and closed the door, apparently preferring to prowl the room rather than sit with her.
By way of breaking the ice, she said, "Did you see Skye today? She looks so pretty with the new way she's styling her hair."
Snape stopped pacing to stand over her, drilling her with his rather hostile glare. "I did not see her, Miss Granger, and I have no interest in how she is styling –"
Hermione continued on, as if he had not spoken. "And isn't she dashing? First she walked with Seamus, then she had lemonade with Harry, then she sat with Val..."
Snape clenched his fists. "She is giving the entire town grist for the gossip mill! I will not have my sister spoken of as a 'fast' girl!"
Hermione, apparently unconcerned by having Snape towering over her with clenched fists, looked up into his face with a puzzled expression. "Now, who in the world would be spiteful enough to say that about Skye?" she wondered out loud.
She waited a moment for the answer and the implication to penetrate his anger, before moving smoothly into her next attack.
"You know, there's not a particle of harm in any of the Phoenix House boys, but if I were you, I would not encourage Skye to spend time alone with Val Delacour."
Snape's brows contracted to a frown. "I do not understand you."
Hermione's attention was fixed on the gold bracelet on her left wrist. "Let's just say that he's the type of wizard who would spike the punch with a lust potion and then use Obliviate the next morning."
Snape surprised her by sitting down in an unoccupied chair. “How do you know this?” he inquired in a changed tone.
Hermione shot him a glance from the corner of her eyes before resuming her examination of her bracelet. “If you’re asking me if he’s given me a tainted drink, the answer is no. But if you’re asking if he has behaved improperly with me, the answer is yes.” At this point, she looked him directly in the eye. “He can’t keep his hands to himself and his idea of conversation leaves a lot to be desired. I am a big girl, Professor. I went to a co-educational school, my two best friends are male, and I have fought in the field of battle against men, with men.” She paused for a moment here, letting him add the unspoken “including you” in his own mind. “But Skye does not have those advantages. She’s been schooled at home and is not as familiar with how to handle boys. I can manage Val just fine; I know you’ll be able to drop a hint to Skye so that she knows not to be alone with him."
Now Snape was the one to let his eyes drop, his discomfort evident in his strained voice. “I am most displeased to hear that you have been imposed upon in any way while under my care. I will discourage his visits to this house and do what I can to deter him from joining our party at social events.”
He seemed to be studying a ring, which he wore on the first finger of his right hand. Hermione did not recall ever having seen him wear a ring in the years when she had been his student. This one was a large, heavy signet; its plain white gold setting held a flat, square emerald, with a cunningly wrought silver “S” imposed on the stone. It occurred to her that he may have inherited it upon the passing of his father.
“You understand that this is an awkward situation for me,” Snape said, his annoyance, for once, not directed at her.
“I can see that, and of course it would be really bad form for you to be carrying tales about her brother to Fleur,” Hermione said in a sympathetic tone.
Snape’s expression was a wonder to behold as he worked out the significance of her words. Hermione was keeping a straight face while enjoying an inward gloat when he surged to his feet and strode across the room, going on the counterattack.
“Do not think for a moment, Miss Granger, that I am not aware that you are encouraging Skye to sneak off and meet Potter behind her mother’s back!'
“That is not true, Professor, and you know it.”
He whirled around to face her. “Why would I say something I know to be untrue?” he demanded dangerously.
“You say outrageous things when you’re angry,” Hermione said in an off-hand way, reaching for her shopping bag. “Oh, and Professor, do tell Stormy that you’re not going to make her go to that awful Muggle school in the village near the Estuary until she’s old enough to go to Hogwarts. She’s gotten it into her head that you don’t believe she’s been learning enough at home and that you’re going to make her be the only non-Muggle child in the school.”
This third shaft found its mark and Snape snarled, “Nonsense. Stormy will receive the same education her sisters have received. She and Shadow will even attend Hogwarts, now that the war is over. Where would she get such a ridiculous idea?”
Hermione stood and moved toward the door. “You must ask her; I’m sure I don’t know. She was just worrying last night about how she doesn’t speak a word of French and has no idea where French Guiana is.”
Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, Hermione took her parting shot. “Isn’t it odd how often daughters grow up to be just like their mothers?”
Snape stared at her from across the room, his lips pressed together in a firm line, and did not respond.
“Just think of how Skye will be the spitting image of Sophronia when she gets to be that age, and so gentle and sweet, just like her.”
She stayed only long enough to see the look of horror dawn on Snape’s face, as he considered the prospect of spending his twilight years with the clone of Mrs. Delacour, before she slipped out of the room and left him to consider all the new ideas she had planted in his mind.
Snape listened until Miss Granger's tread could no longer be heard on the staircase before he left the study for the haven of the library. The girl infuriated him! How did she dare sit there and make accusations against his fiancée?
He paused. Had she mentioned Fleur's name? Had she spoken one negative word about Fleur?
He flung himself into the chair behind the desk and searched his memory. She had said, 'Who was spiteful enough,' not 'Fleur is spiteful.' She had said, '...it would be bad form for you to carry tales to Fleur about her brother,' not 'It is bad form for Fleur to carry tales to you about Skye.'
As for Stormy attending the village school, that was ridiculous. But was it not Fleur who had mentioned to him that there were deficiencies in Stormy’s education that she felt should be corrected? Was Fleur actually quizzing his youngest sister about her knowledge?
And women did not invariably grow to be like their mothers!
Did they?
For a grim moment his mind dwelt on Hélène Delacour, a woman who could give lessons in shrewishness to harpies-in-training.
Bugger.
Skye started nervously when Severus spoke her name. She paused on the stairs, looking down at him as he stood before the sitting room doorway.
“I am on my way down to dinner, Severus. Can’t it wait?”
“I need only a moment.”
She sighed inwardly and preceded him into the empty sitting room. “What is it?” she asked.
“Has Val Delacour been a nuisance to you?”
Skye’s face flushed in embarrassment at the same instant that relief flooded her mind. She had been so sure he was about to rail at her about Harry! She pressed her hands to her cheeks, as if to force the colour away.
Severus was watching her closely. When she blushed, it was all the answer he needed. “I see,” he said quietly, in a perfectly reasonable tone. “Why did you not tell me? I would not have you aggravated by that dunderhead for any reason, Skye.”
“I was afraid it would make you really angry, Severus.”
“It does make me very angry, Skye, but not angry with you. I am your brother; it is my duty to protect you from sleazy little berks like Val Delacour.”
His tone bore a warmth she did not often hear from him; when she risked a look at his face, his lips were pressed together in an implacable crease, but his eyes were kind.
“I didn’t want to make trouble between you and Fleur, Severus. And, I thought he would stop once your engagement was announced, and he knew we were going to be family.” She risked placing her hand on his arm; he often flinched when one of his sisters touched him, but he did not pull away from her this time, which she found to be an encouraging sign. “Please don’t let it cause a fight with Fleur. I couldn’t bear to be the cause of that.”
Severus actually patted her hand once before taking it and placing it in the crook of his elbow as he began to lead her to the dining room for dinner. “You let me worry about that. I just want you to give me your word that you will tell me immediately if Val, or any other man, bothers you in any way.”
Skye smiled at him with affection. “I promise, Severus,” she said, praying that the stolen kiss Fleur had just missed in the Leaky Cauldron that day did not fall under her brother’s definition of “bother.”
Diagon Alley was dark beneath the clouds which scuttled across the half moon. Snape sat quietly in the green parlour at the Cave, sipping a glass of port and patiently waiting in ambush for his prey. He had not long to wait.
Below, he heard the bustle of an arrival, a voice lifted merrily bidding a greeting, followed by a promise to be along soon. The next moment the doorway into the room was darkened as Val Delacour entered.
"Good evening, Severus," he said as he began to cross the room.
"The door, Val." Snape spoke so quietly that Val barely understood his words.
"The door?" He stopped, looking more foolish than usual in his confusion.
"I believe I said I wished to speak with you alone," Snape explained, gently.
"Oh, of course," Val said, a tiny flicker of alarm in his eyes. He returned to the door and closed it before advancing again across the room towards the decanters on the sideboard. When he heard the locks engaging behind him he actually looked around to see who had done it before the obvious dawned on him. Nervously, he eyed Snape, who gave him a dangerous smile.
"I know you would not wish our private talk to be interrupted."
The younger wizard swallowed with some difficulty. "Of course not," he agreed, completely forgetting that he had meant to pour himself a drink. He stood, as if rooted to the spot, and tried to find somewhere to put his suddenly shaky hands.
"Sit."
Val started when Snape spoke. "I think I'll stand," he said, trying to retain some control over the situation.
Snape placed his glass of port on the table in a swift motion and sat straighter in his chair. "My recommendation would be for you to try for a small measure of sense, Val. Do you wish to try what is left of my patience?"
Val caved and took the indicated seat across from his sister's fiancé, reflecting that he had been a fool to fall for that, 'Let's have a drink at the Club,' from Snape earlier in the evening.
"I am meeting some friends below," Val said with some bravado.
"Good. I do not require much of your time."
Val shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "What is it, Severus?" he blurted.
"You are your father's only son, Val, is that not true?" Snape's eyes, like black tunnels, seemed to become larger and larger as Val sensed that he was about to fall into some dark abyss.
"You know it is," he croaked from a throat unaccountably dry. He looked longingly now at the wine across the room, but dared not stand.
"You intend to marry, to have sons, to perpetuate your family name?"
It was amazing to him how Snape's words became clearer as his volume decreased. "Yes, yes, I do," he agreed uneasily.
"Family is very important, as is family honour. One's family name is an asset to be highly prized – and as earnestly protected."
Val noted that the sardonic disdain he was accustomed to from this man was absent; for once, Snape seemed deadly serious.
Snape continued, "His conduct towards his family, for instance, is a standard by which a man may be judged – particularly the way a man treats the women in his life, women who have the right and the expectation of all of his respect and protection – wouldn't you agree?"
Snape paused a moment and arched an inquisitive eyebrow.
For all his stupidity, Val realized that it was a rhetorical question, and he made no effort to answer it.
"As our families are soon to be united, it is imperative for us to be aware that our actions will reflect each upon the other's family." Snape's unblinking stare made Val feel as if he were skewered to the chair, like a bug on a pin. Though it hardly seemed possible, Snape spoke more softly, still. "I would like to make it perfectly clear to you that I will not permit any stain to besmirch my family name. Therefore, I will be monitoring your activities with great interest. Do you understand me?"
"I...I think so..." Val stuttered.
Snape's tone cracked like a whip. "That is not sufficient, I'm afraid. You must be convinced as I am convinced – if you wish to leave this room."
Val felt his robes clinging to him, soaked through with the cold sweat that accompanied his visceral fear. Unsuccessfully, he tried to evade the unwavering regard of the fiend who sat across from him; in his terror, he felt sure that Snape had somehow discovered every furtive act, every secret thought he had ever sought to hide.
Grasping at straws, he blurted, "But my sister..."
"Yes. Precisely. We must – and will – preserve her good name."
Snape then picked up his glass of wine and settled back into his chair, at his ease, with the air of a man who has all the time in the world to expend to achieve his ends.
In the silence of the ensuing moments, the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece was the only audible sound, though Val was not convinced that the implacable being across the table could not hear the pounding of his heart in his throat. Dimly, it came to him that he was in the presence of one of Voldemort's Death Eaters. Never in his experience had he encountered such a formidable force in human form.
In that moment, though he would have lied to save himself, he was sincere in his capitulation to the indomitable will before him.
"I understand you perfectly – you have no need to worry about me – I quite agree –"
Snape interrupted the pathetic grovelling, his voice cutting across the excessive assurances with razor sharp precision. "Enough. I will take you at your word – and I will hold you to it. You may go."
Then he picked up a book from the table before him and began to read as if Val were not in the room.
Val waited a beat before rising and creeping toward his escape. When Snape spoke from behind him, he was thankful he had not been drinking, as his body showed every sign of wishing to evacuate all cavities.
"You may leave the door open."
Late the next morning, Snape gathered the attendees of the picnic at the Apparition point in the back garden, counting heads and cursing Minerva and her sciatica. A picnic, for the love of Merlin, in the middle of the blasted summer. If he had his way, he would set these children to partners by lottery, and be done with the entire damned mess.
They Apparated en masse, and upon arrival, the girls scattered to the four corners of the park. Snape sought out a quiet bench in the shade, and took his book from his pocket. The park was full of wizards and witches mingling with one another, tables groaning under the load of fabulous food, and house-elves quietly filling plates and serving drinks.
Hyde Park, still the most prestigious public park in all of London, was possessed of a feature the Muggles never suspected. Those two ancient yew trees, curving together to form the canopy of a perfect arch, were the gateway to the Wizard's Hyde Park. The anti-Muggle wards on the shadowy spot made it difficult for non-wizarding folk to notice the leafy dome; any magical being who passed beneath the leaning yew trees entered the venerable Park which had been the gathering place of London's wizarding folk for the best part of three centuries. One could safely Apparate into and out of the park, but those with small children, or those who were so inclined, could stroll between the yews and enter a safe haven.
At least it was a decent day for a picnic, Snape reflected, with a cloudless sky and warm temperatures. He noted the arrival of Lupin and his cadre of young wizards, who quickly dispersed in search of the young ladies. Some of the young people carried brooms; Snape saw that the Quidditch pitch was already hosting an impromptu Quidditch match. If they were going to eat, and drink, and spoon, and play Quidditch, it was going to be an interminable afternoon.
Snape buried himself in his book and passed a happy half hour, until he saw Skye strolling toward the Quidditch pitch on the arm of Harry Potter. Stuffing his book back into his pocket, he stood to follow them, and was waylaid by his fiancée.
“Severus!” Fleur cried, advancing on him with her hands outstretched. "You waited for me! How sweet!”
Snape obediently clasped her hands and gave them a squeeze, while appearing not to notice her face lifted for a kiss. “Was I supposed to meet you here this afternoon?” he asked.
Fleur latched onto his arm. “I owled Sophronia this morning to let her know I would be here,” she told him with a slightly affronted look.
“Then I am sorry I didn’t receive your message.” He attempted to nip the looming temper tantrum in the bud. “Shall we walk? I thought I would go look at the Quidditch pitch.”
Fleur laughed disdainfully. “Men cannot help themselves when it comes to Quidditch. Val was going to play, but he decided not to come to the picnic after all.”
Hearing this report with grim satisfaction, Severus gave his betrothed a tight smile before escorting her to the pitch.
Sophronia strolled beneath the yew trees with Shadow and Stormy by her side, and with Winky respectfully following in their wake. A frivolous parasol shaded Sophronia's porcelain complexion from the injurious sunlight. She wore a floating, gauzy dress in a delicate blue just one shade darker than her eyes. Her progress was well noted by every man past the age of puberty who happened to glance up as she passed by.
Winky spread their rug beneath the shade of the tree Sophronia chose, and Sophronia settled herself there with perfect contentment. Before she had drawn two breaths, Ronald Weasley appeared, almost as if by prearrangement, and asked permission to walk with Shadow to watch the Quidditch games. Once he had solemnly promised to return Shadow to her mama in no more than two hours, she waved them away. Next, she allowed Stormy to prance off, with Winky in tow, to join the other children romping under the watchful eyes of house-elves.
The young widow Snape and her fair-haired, blue-eyed daughters made an enchanting picture for one watcher, who had lain in wait for her arrival. Pleased to see the girls so quickly dispatched, Lucius Malfoy took one more moment to admire the pretty picture made by Sophronia before he seized a glass of champagne and approached her from behind. He was down on one knee by her side with a perfectly chilled flute of sparkling wine held tantalizingly on level with her lovely mouth before she realized that he had lifted her left hand to his lips.
“Mr. Malfoy!” she said in surprise, drawing her hand gently away, while politely accepting the wine glass.
Lucius, who was handsome in cold repose, was well nigh irresistible when he truly laughed, which he did now, seating himself by her side with graceful ease. “Sophronia!” he said wickedly, eliciting a small gurgle of laughter from her, “How can you? Must I call you Madam Snape? I don’t think I can!”
Sophronia dimpled briefly in response to his playfulness, before recalling herself and looking prim. “It is my name, sir, as you must know.”
Lucius extended one finger, which passed over the back of the hand holding the champagne flute with barely a whisper of contact. “It wasn’t your name when you broke my poor, poor heart,” he said in a wistful tone, darting a roguish look at her from beneath his eyelashes.
Sophronia’s hand quivered at the near-contact and a trickle of wine splashed onto the rug. “It would serve you right if I spilt champagne all in your hair,” she scolded, accepting his readily produced handkerchief to mop up the cold wine. “And don’t you dare speak to me of broken hearts, Lucius Malfoy. As soon as Narcissa Black deigned to notice you, I was quite forgotten.”
At the mention of Narcissa’s name, Sophronia’s eyes flew to his, and she reached out a compassionate hand to touch his sleeve. “I was so sorry to hear, Lucius – so sorry,” she said quietly.
Lucius looked into those kind eyes, and at the beautiful, peaceful face, and his carefully laid plans shifted.
Stands for the informal Quidditch games surrounded the pitch; it was there that Snape expected to find Skye. He was not disappointed. She sat – with Granger, no less – and the two of them were surrounded by wizards. He was pleased to see that Potter was nowhere to be found, until he saw Skye's attention riveted on the airborne battle.
Granger was paying no attention to the game. She was in conversation with no fewer than seven different young men, all of whom seemed to be vying for her attention. As Snape and Fleur drew near to the group, he heard a general round of laughter in response to some Granger witticism – then they spied him.
Hermione saw the change in expression on the faces of the blokes on the row behind her; when Seamus, Neville, and Lee Jordan all quit laughing and instinctively rose to their feet, she knew that Professor Snape could not be far away.
Snape escorted Fleur to the seats deserted by the Gryffindors, who hastily joined the Weasley twins several rows away.
Ron and Shadow reached the Quidditch pitch to find the informal match already in progress.
“Oh, Ron, you wanted to play!” Shadow exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! I just couldn’t get Mum to hurry!”
Ron smiled down at her. “I would much rather spend time with you,” he told her simply.
Shadow was in such a glow after that, she could barely pay any mind to the introductions. She remembered that the two noisy older redheaded men were Ron’s twin brothers, and the identical women with them were named Patil; she wondered briefly how the four of them managed to sort out who was whose date, but there were so many more people to meet. Sitting next to Nymphadora Tonks there was a pretty older lady, introduced as Professor Vector; she was apparently the chaperone for the girls from Ravenclaw. Sitting near her were Marietta Edgecomb, who seemed particularly cold to Ron, and Morag McDougal. Then Shadow saw the other Gryffindor boys coming toward them, and she quickly hid herself in the middle of the Ravenclaw group, as her dreaded older brother descended upon poor Skye.
Luna Lovegood sat alone in a section of the stands, watching the Quidditch game. Harry Potter was flying aggressively against the other Seeker, who was giving as good as he got. The white blond hair of Harry's competitor identified him as Draco Malfoy. Ginny Weasley suddenly darted between the two Seekers, just in time to catch the Quaffle, and she was off toward the goal hoop, laughing in utter joy as she flew close enough to hurl the Quaffle and score a goal. Luna clapped in appreciation of the fine play and watched as Harry shared a high-five with the point-scoring redhead. Then the opposing Seeker buzzed Harry before sheering off at an impossible upward angle, and Harry flattened himself on his Firebolt and followed. The two raced higher and higher, until the blond reversed himself and began spiralling down with Harry on his tail, now two blurs hurtling toward the ground, one black-haired, the other white.
"Damn, I'm good," said a drawling voice in Luna's ear.
With a start, she glanced to her left and saw Draco Malfoy, lounging back with his elbows on the bench behind him. His grey eyes were slanted down at her face, and a self-deprecating sneer was on his lips.
Luna jerked her head back in time to see Harry Potter plough into the ground just as the other Seeker seized the Snitch and rose back up into the air to the applause of the watchers.
"You are good," she said, watching the victorious Seeker doing a victory lap around the pitch.
Draco snickered. "I wish my mum could've seen me," he said musingly.
Luna looked back to him. "Your mum died too, didn't she?"
Draco nodded, his eyes on the crowd gathering around where Harry sprawled on the ground.
"My mum died when I was nine," Luna said, her prominent blue eyes fixed on Draco’s face.
Draco turned his head until grey eyes met blue. "I know."
Luna studied his face with frank curiosity. "I still miss her," she said.
Draco nodded. "I miss mine, too."
A shout of laughter from the group on the ground attracted their attention to Harry, who was standing, with an obviously bloody nose, and laughing with Ronald and Ginny Weasley.
The other Draco was flying toward the group on the ground. "How did you do it?" Luna inquired. "That's advanced magic."
Draco snorted. "No it isn't. It's just a glamour – that's Viktor Krum. He wanted to play a joke on Potter, make him think he was flying against me. Looks like Potter thinks it's pretty funny."
Luna watched as Krum landed. With a flourish of his wand, he removed the glamour before going over to receive a clap on the back and a hearty handshake from Harry. More of their friends were pouring onto the pitch now, with a number of the girls giggling as they swarmed towards Viktor. Tonks, however, reached him first, her heart-shaped face alight with laughter. In a burst of spontaneity, Viktor caught Tonks up in a hug; when she impulsively threw her arms about his neck, Viktor twined his fingers in her spiky pink hair and kissed her mouth.
Draco stood and held out a friendly hand to Luna. "Let's go get something to eat."
Luna took the proffered hand and walked away with the best-looking boy in the park, wondering why he wanted to be with her.
Skye sat beside Hermione, pointedly ignoring Severus and Fleur, watching Harry play Quidditch with a certain degree of pride. He wasn't her boyfriend, exactly, but she did fancy him in a way that disturbed her peace more than any other boy had ever done. It wasn't just that he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, but he had the most beautiful green eyes she had ever seen, as well as the sweetest smile she could imagine. And he thought she was everything that was perfect in a girl – who could resist that kind of adoration?
When she watched the mad race for the Snitch, she found herself shouting, "Go, Harry, go!" along with Hermione. When he slammed into the ground, she started up in alarm. "Oh no!"
Hermione stood up too. "Don't worry, Skye, I've seen him fall off from 50 feet and walk away; let's go see if he needs to be mopped up."
Without a word to Snape or Fleur, they walked down the stands and approached the crowd around Harry. When Viktor landed and removed the glamour, Skye stopped in her tracks.
"Viktor Krum!" she breathed in a tone approaching reverence.
Hermione looked at her with mild amusement. "Do you know Viktor?"
Skye shook her head. "No, but everyone knows who he is, don't they?"
Hermione linked arms with her. "Come on, I'll introduce you."
"Do you know him?" Skye asked, impressed.
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "You could say that. Come on." She led Skye right past Harry, who gazed after them with a slight look of hurt in his eyes.
Then Tonks rushed past them, into Viktor's arms. Hermione chuckled, but Skye looked a bit regretful.
"Maybe I'll introduce you in a minute," Hermione said, turning her attention back to Harry.
Remus Lupin slipped onto the bench behind Severus and Fleur just before Harry wiped out on the ground.
"That's not Draco," he said, watching the other Seeker fly away with the Snitch.
Snape snorted. "Of course it isn't. Draco is sitting with Miss Lovegood." He inclined his head where, several rows ahead and to the left, the two blond heads were bent together in conversation.
Lupin watched the Draco-look-alike fly. "Who is he?"
Snape slanted a sneer Lupin's way. "Would you like to wager against him being that Bulgarian Quidditch player that Miss Granger delights in displaying all over town?"
Lupin smiled. "Hermione has not been displaying anyone all over town, Severus. But Krum is dark – that man is fair-haired."
At that moment, the man in question gained the ground and removed the glamour. Lupin chuckled. "Looks like you're right, Severus."
Fleur cast Lupin a scornful glance. "He usually is, Professor Lupin."
Lupin made her no reply, for at that moment, he saw the woman for whom he had offered marriage fling herself in to another man's arms and accept a shameless kiss with upwards of fifty witnesses.
Snape looked as if Christmas had come early.
"How are those details coming along, Lupin?" he asked in his silkiest voice.
Lupin stood abruptly.
"Please make sure the boys get home, Severus," he said, then Apparated away.
A/N: It's been quite a long time, so allow me to remind you that in Chapter 2, this passage took place:
Snape’s evil genius prompted him to say, "As we were discussing earlier today, Minerva, I understood that Nymphadora Tonks was on her way to betrothed over a month ago."
If Lupin was aware of Snape’s look of disgust, he gave no sign of it, jotting notes on the parchment before him. "I offered for her," he said without looking up. "The details haven’t been decided on."
So, Severus was being *quite* tacky. Don't you just love him?
Thank you, to MagicAlly, who continues to receive my middle-of-the-night frantic e-mails about such things as Places To Picnic in London with unruffled calm.
Love to my Slytherin of a husband, who explained to me that Severus would not threaten to put Val's testicles in a jar on his desk; rather, he would make his point in an insidious and frightening manner. (What he actually said was, "When you think of what Severus would do, remember The Godfather – Severus is like the Don or Michael, not like Sonny.")
We won't even go into why men can reference almost any situation to The Godfather.
Hugs to all my readers. You will be happy to know that I have given up begging for reviews until the next time I beg for reviews.