Boxing Day Beetle

AN: As always, I would like to thank my wonderful betas, Jengeorge and shebringsmewater, for their tireless work on my behalf. This story would have been kicked off the website without their help. Also, lyn_f holds my hand and helps me see the error of my wayward commas. She gives this story the polish it needs to look respectable. Thanks ladies, you ROCK!

Chapter 35

Boxing Day Beetle

Hermione sat in front of her computer comparing names of ships' manifests with names from her wizarding world research. So many of the names matched up she was flabbergasted. The average age for each passenger was twenty, and none of these people had shown up at Hogwarts. John Black, Symon Moody, Jacob and George Avery, Robert Crouch, John Crabbe, among others. There was even a woman named Martha Potter. And, of course, Alveryn Selwyn. She couldn't help but wonder about two additional names, Thomas Flavell and James Revell. Both were the right age and had given names that matched up to missing people on her possible Squib list. And she knew that sometimes, immigrants had changed their names slightly, or their names had been written down incorrectly in the ship's log. Flavell could have been Flamel, and Revell could have been Peverell. Although those names were not relevant to her case, it was fun to speculate.

As she continued to follow these names through marriage and death notices, property purchases and merchant advertisements, she realized that they were a resourceful and close knit group. They had all immigrated to Jamestown, Virginia in the early to mid 1600's. All had settled in the same area and seemed to marry each other's offspring. But John Black died after fathering only one child, a girl. So he was definitely not the ancestor of Umbridge's mother. Alveryn Selwyn, however, sired three sons. They all remained in the southern Virginia area, and they each married and had several children. But from everything she could discern about the family tree, it never produced anyone who disappeared without a trace as Muggle-born wizards sometimes do. Perhaps they continued to marry into the original group in the hope of producing magical offspring. Unfortunately, it seemed to have had the opposite effect.

Hermione knew from her divorce law research that a fourth-generation Squib was considered a Muggle, so anyone born into the Selwyn family after that would simply be thought of as a Muggle. So, if these people were indeed Umbridge's ancestors, she could be considered Muggle-born, just like Hermione... unless Umbridge's mother really was from a pureblood family. Then again, it was impossible to discern from her research if any of these people had turned out to be magical or not. It was possible, especially back then, to live with Muggles and pass oneself off as Muggle, but most chose not to, fearing possible discovery.

Hermione decided to take a different approach. She started by researching what she could find on Umbridge herself, starting with her birth record. She had been born in Isle of Wight County in southeastern Virginia to Thomas Alveryn Selwyn and Eugenia Black Selwyn on November 7th, 1948. After that, there was no Muggle record of her. Even in her mother's Muggle obituary in 1982, her father and two surviving children were mentioned, both males. But Dolores Jean Selwyn's name was significantly absent. Hermione knew from her Ministry Archive research that Dolores had come to Great Britain in 1965, but under normal circumstances, she should have been mentioned in the obituary.

The Selwyn family tree was beginning to seem more like a mulberry bush!

There was only one way to solve this puzzle. Someone would need to make the trip to Possum Pouch School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Pungo, Virginia. The school records should clearly show the toad's true blood status.

She desperately wanted to call a meeting with Harry and Professor Snape, but she knew the Professor would never agree to see her. So she brought him up to speed via instant messaging and arranged a face to face meeting with Harry through the use of her credit card. He had finally finished up with the disruptions in Ireland and was back home when he felt his credit card burn.

The following evening found Harry and Hermione sitting in the Shrieking Shack, eating sandwiches from the Hogwarts kitchen (Hermione had swung by there on her way to see Harry), and sipping pumpkin juice.

"So... Possum Pouch in Pungo. I guess it's no worse than Hogwarts in Hogsmeade. Do you really think they'll be able to tell us if she's a pureblood?"

"I would think so. When Hogwarts has a new Muggle-born on its roll, a teacher is sent to extend the initial invitation and explain the wizarding world to skeptical parents. This Possum Pouch is bound to have a similar policy. Wouldn't they?"

"Sounds logical. But how do we get in touch with them and let them know we're coming? We can't just show up and start asking questions."

"Perhaps Minerva can help us with that. She might even know the school's headmaster."

"Maybe they are connected via the Floo Network." Harry thought for a minute. "Should I go alone?"

"I would feel better if you took someone with you."

"Ron would probably be up for a quick trip to America."

"Ron has the subtlety of a Hungarian Horntail. I think you should take Professor Snape. He can see things from a different point of view."

"Yeah, the deviant's point of view."

Hermione scowled at him. "A teacher's point of view," she corrected. "He has dealt with students and teachers who try to cover up the truth for one reason or another. And he knows how to spot a lie better than you, I dare say."

Harry rolled his eyes at her. "From years of practice lying and covering it up, I dare say," he shot back with more than just a little sarcasm.

"I needn't remind you that it was all for the greater good."

"Not all of it, Hermione."

She knitted her eyebrows together, lowered her head and glared at him. "Let's not argue about this now. It all happened so long ago. Besides," she added as she lifted her chin, "I thought you liked him now."

"I wouldn't go that far, but," Harry admitted as he calmed back down, "he is easier to tolerate than he was back at school. How did he react when you told him you let Ron in on the case?"

"He seemed angry at first, but when I told him what Ron said about Umbridge being set up, he changed his tune. He conceded that perhaps Ron has more insight that he originally gave him credit for."

They both walked up to the castle after their meeting to ask Headmistress McGonagall if she could get in contact with the head of Possum Pouch. Luckily, Minerva was happy to help, saying she would Floo the school to set a meeting between Christmas and the start of next term. That way, the Possum Pouch staff would have ample time to answer any questions and go over any records that the Auror team might need access to.

*****

And so the case was left hanging until everyone could get through Christmas, a holiday that, this year at least, Hermione just couldn't get excited about. Although she would be included in the traditional Weasley Christmas Eve festivities, the thought of sitting at home alone on Christmas night made her feel downright depressed.

She forced herself to go through the motions of gift buying in a feeble attempt to cheer herself up but to no avail. Finally, with only two days to spare, she had purchased something for everyone on her list save one very special, very hard to buy for, former Potions professor. She had racked her brain for something out of the ordinary, something he could use and yet still cherish, something that would make him think of her every time he looked at it.

After much deliberation, she finally settled on a gold-lined cauldron with a rose quartz crystal stirring rod attached to an ebony handle that wouldn't get hot as it sat in boiling liquid. Metallic gold and rose quartz weren't quite Gryffindor colors, but she figured he would get the general idea. She wished it could have been solid gold, but the six mil lining on this one cost her a full month's salary as it was. Now all she needed to do was figure out a way to personally deliver it. She had an idea, but she wasn't sure it would work.

*****

Christmas Eve had been spent at the Burrow as tradition dictated. What Hermione had feared would be an awkward evening had passed with ease and enjoyment as Molly and the rest of the Weasleys welcomed both her and Gabrielle with open arms. They retreated to Ron's house after the kids began to drag and whine from fatigue, and Hermione shared Rosie's big bed, made even larger by the engorgement charm she cast on it.

Hermione felt as if her head had barely hit the pillow when Hugo had rushed in and jumped on both her and his sister, anxious to open presents on Christmas morning. After the kids' gifts were opened and the wrappings gathered up, another obscene amount of food had been served and consumed at Harry and Ginny's home. All in all, and against all odds, she had truly enjoyed herself with Ron, Gabrielle and her children. So as she gathered her things and readied her exit, it was no surprise to hear Ron's hearty objections.

"Hermione, this is ridiculous. You know you don't have to go." He crossed his arms and scowled at her, refusing to help her on with her winter cloak. "What's waiting for you at your parents' house? I'll tell you what – nothing! Are you that anxious to play the martyr just to make me out to be the villain?"

"Ron, stop it. That's just silly. I'm thinking of you and Gabrielle, that's all. She needs some quiet time to get to know the kids without twenty or so people around. If you two are serious, and I see all the signs that you are," she added with a sly grin, "she needs time to bond with Hugo and Rose."

"But they want you around, too, especially on Christmas Day. At least stay for dinner. That would really make them happy." His face grew hopeful. "It would make me happy, too."

"Oh, Ron." She shook her head and chuckled as she walked past him toward the back door.

He cast a warming charm on both of them as they made their way outside and to the edge of the anti-Apparition shield. "I can't stand the thought of you going home all alone to an empty house on Christmas Day. I still love you, ya know."

Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand. She was so grateful they had rekindled their close friendship. "I love you, too Ron. But I have to go. I have one more present to deliver."

A puzzled look crossed Ron's face for a fleeting moment, then recognition dawned. "Snape." It was more of an accusation than a question.

Hermione shrugged. "You didn't hear it from me."

His face darkened. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Me, too."

"You could lose your job over this."

Hermione fidgeted with her magical purse.

"Does he really mean that much to you?"

"More," she whispered sadly.

"Well... If all else fails, you can move back in here. You can sleep in Rosie's room and you two can share when she's home from school."

Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed. "That'll go over big with Gabrielle, I'm sure."

"I'm sure I can talk Gabrielle into it," he insisted with confidence. "Whatever else we are, you and I are still friends, and friends help each other."

With that, Hermione wrapped her arms around her ex-husband and sighed. "Thanks, Ron. That means more to me than you can ever know."

And with that happy thought, she took a giant leap of faith that even Professor Snape could not be cold hearted enough to turn her away on Christmas Day, and she spun.

*

A few minutes later, Hermione found herself knocking gently on Professor Snape's door, hoping and praying to Merlin, Jesus, Buddha, Krishna, Mohammed, and anyone else whose name she didn't know, couldn't pronounce, or just couldn't remember, that he would just open the door. She felt certain that, once he saw her – on Christmas Day, he would let her in. But he had to open the door first to give her a fighting chance... Open the door... What could be keeping him? He's bound to be home, where else would he be? Open the door. Please, please, please... Oh, bugger it all – OPEN THE DAMN D..."

"Miss Granger?! What on earth are you doing here? Have you lost your mind?"

"It's Christmas!"

"I don't give a bloody damn what day it is. What if you were followed?"

"I wasn't. I was very careful. After Apparating, I cast Homenum revelio and found no one. Then I waited several minutes, still under my Disillusionment Charm and cast it again. Still nothing. I also took a meandering path to get here, and I took several other precautions that..."

His stern, icy glare was not melting in the least. If anything, it was solidifying.

Once again she found herself standing in his doorway desperate for entry. The truth was as good an excuse as any. "I bought you a Christmas present, and I very much wanted to deliver it in person. So, here I am."

His anger melted into worry as he glared at her in silence, apparently trying to make up his mind whether or not to grant her entry. Then he glanced up and down the street. Seeing no one of consequence, he grabbed her arm with a strong grip and jerked her through the front door, closing it quickly behind her. Then he turned in place twice and set some new wards that Hermione was not familiar with. She could feel her skin tingling as she leaned up against the front door.

"Best to step away from there if you value your flesh. The spell is designed to burn anyone who comes too close and stays near the building for more than a few seconds. It is specifically designed to deter peeping toms and the like."

"Oh, my! You'll have to teach me that one," she said as she moved away from the door and rubbed her arms. "Doesn't take long, does it?"

Snape's lip curled into a smile, but the expression was fleeting. "I'm ashamed to admit that I have no gift for you, but it's not for lack of trying."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure you didn't expect to see me and therefore you..."

"I have spent the last week attempting to reproduce the Secret Recipe fragrance that you are so fond of, but I was unfortunately unsuccessful. In fact, I continued to work well into last night and finally gave up and fell asleep on the couch in the sitting room. I was still there when you came knocking just now." With this he gestured toward his wrinkled shirt and trousers. "So please forgive my somewhat disheveled appearance." He walked back over to said couch and motioned for her to follow.

As they settled in before the dwindling fire, Hermione smiled and reached out to touch his sleeve. "You went to all that trouble just for me?"

"Who else would I do it for, Winky?"

"I don't know. Does Winky wear perfume?"

"Not that I've ever noticed. The manufacturers must put something in it that I don't have access to. I tried everything I could think of, but it always came up lacking. I just couldn't figure out what."

"Well, I know the secret ingredient, but knowing it still won't do you any good. It's a highly controlled substance that's not even available on the black market."

He raised one eyebrow and huffed. "You don't know my sources."

Hermione grinned and narrowed her eyes.

"Well... I've sweated and slaved over a hot cauldron for a whole week for this. Give over!"

Hermione hesitated.

Snape scowled.

"Veela tears."

"Veela tears?" he asked, astonished. "Are you sure?"

"Fleur's great-great-great-grandmother supposedly invented the fragrance. The amount is only a fraction of what was once in the formula because, as you probably know, in large doses they are very addictive."

"Not to the wearer, of course, but to those close enough to inhale the scent."

"Exactly."

Is that why I couldn't stop thinking of you, even after thirteen years? "I suppose I'll have to ask Winky to purchase another bottle from Madam Malkin's."

"You don't have to buy me anything, Professor. Just spend some time with me this afternoon. That will be the most precious gift you could give." She inched just a little bit closer to him and looked longingly into the depths of his coal black eyes. "I've missed you." The words came out as barely a whisper.

He pulled his sleeve out of her grasp and scooted away from her as his eyebrows came together with concern. "You shouldn't be here," he said in a hoarse whisper of his own.

"I know, but it's Christmas."

"You keep saying that as if it's supposed to make a difference."

"Doesn't it? Just a little?"

Snape let out a heavy sigh and stood up to stoke the fire. "Not if someone finds out you were here."

"I swear to you I was not followed. Now will you please just relax?" She rummaged around in her bottomless bag for the shrunken cauldron in its velvet-lined box. When she still hadn't found it by the time he re-joined her on the couch, she finally gave up and pulled out her wand. "Accio gift." She handed it to him, took a deep breath, and held it.

"Por moi?"

Hermione nodded rapidly with wide eyes and an impish grin.

Snape pursed his lips and opened the package, taking great care not to rip the beautiful silver and green marble paper. As he opened the lid on the box, his eyes grew wide as saucers. This was truly unexpected. But he quickly schooled his features. He wasn't sure how he should feel about this exceedingly extravagant gift. Whenever anyone had gone to such trouble for him in the past, there had always been a rather large favor expected in return. But those gift-givers were usually Slytherins with agendas. Hermione was, of course, a Gryffindor to the core. His eyes didn't meet hers, but he continued to examine the gift. "You must have used a weightless charm. This should feel very heavy."

"I am a Charms professor," she informed him with a tilt of her head. "The weight might have given it away, and I so very much wanted to surprise you. Do you already have one?"

He shook his head as he unwrapped the crystal stirring rod that was nestled inside. Then he continued to shake his head. "This is too much. I can't accept this."

"Oh, please, don't insult me. I know that there are certain potions that simply don't turn out right without a gold-lined cauldron. I also know that with what you've been through the last twenty years, you could never afford one. I also know that you have helped me with Hugo, with my failing marriage, and with finding a better job, not to mention the case."

"Speaking of the case..." Snape desperately tried to change the subject. He hated hearing her go on about him as if he were a saint.

"Can we please not talk about the case tonight? I'm sick to death of the case."

Snape raised his eyebrows at this. "Sick of the case?"

Hermione frowned and pursed her lips. "Let's talk about something else...anything else!"

"Alright." Snape lifted his hands in surrender as he tried not to smirk at her. "How are Rose and Hugo? Tell me about your Christmas."

Hermione proceeded to bring him up to speed on all that was happening with the children, their new Christmas gifts, the excitement shared throughout the Weasley and Potter households over the last couple of days, and Ron's new love interest. The conversation carried them through the lavish dinner that Winky had prepared for Professor Snape before she had left to join Tolkey, who was still in France with the Malfoys.

Later, as they enjoyed a snifter of fine cognac in front of the fire in Professor Snape's study, they found that words were unnecessary. Each chose a book from his many shelves and settled into the love seat side by side. Every time Hermione would lean over to take a sip of her drink, she would settle back in a little closer to her beloved professor. She had hoped that the evening would end like this. She wished with all her heart that she could expect many more evenings just like it in the near future. But the reality of their situation didn't show much promise in that direction, so she decided to enjoy it while it lasted.

Snape noticed Miss Granger inching closer with each sip of cognac, but he didn't mind. He figured that it was Christmas after all, and he might never get another chance to be this close to her. She really was his perfect mate. He knew of no other witch who enjoyed curling up with a good book in front of the fire, in peace and quiet for hours. She was his intellectual equal, so when they did talk, the moments were filled with meaningful conversations instead of the inane nattering that most women spouted (and most men, for that matter). She was kind and perceptive, able to see through his protective steel exterior to the sensitive man beneath. And she was willing to forgive his thoughtless cruelty when he slipped up and said or did something he immediately regretted. She was such a jewel. He knew he didn't deserve her. But his Slytherin side just couldn't help itself. For this one evening, he would indulge himself in the luxury of her presence.

Slowly, as the time passed and the sumptuous meal combined with the fine cognac, Miss Granger's eyelids grew heavy. Being a more frequent drinker than his companion, Snape was not as susceptible to such things, but he did still feel its effects. As she began to doze, her head fell onto his shoulder, and she subconsciously snuggled up against his side. He didn't have the heart to wake her, so, with a flick of his wand and a silent spell, he transfigured the love seat into a double recliner. He then leaned them both back with gentle precision so as not to disturb his beloved Miss Granger and Summoned a blanket from upstairs. He draped it over them both, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and closed his eyes. His lips ghosted over the top of her head and he whispered, "Merry Christmas, Miss Granger."

... The lake's tranquil waters stretched out before Severus as he sat on a granite bench next to Hermione. Her cushioning charm did wonders to make the immutable stone bearable for his 110-year-old derriere. They held hands, fingers interlaced. His curly willow walking stick leaned against his right leg at the juncture where it met the bench. He glanced over at Hermione as the breeze played with the wisps of silver hair that had escaped her tight bun. His wife let out a contented sigh as they watched their grandsons play at the water's edge.

Not to be outdone, Vespasian sidled up to his grandfather in the hopes that all would be forgiven. Severus eyed him through narrowed lids, then his hand darted out and captured the startled boy's arm, drawing him in for a hug as well...

And Snape pulled Miss Granger a little closer, drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*****

The next morning, Snape awoke to the blissful aroma of strong, fresh coffee mixed with a hint of Secret Recipe and a nose full of frizzy hair...wait...frizzy hair? Oh, yes. Miss Granger... MISS GRANGER?

Snape sat bolt upright, waking Miss Granger in the process. "We've got to get you out of here," he said without preamble. "It's already daylight outside. I knew this was a mistake." He stood and started to pace the room. "You and your bloody ideas."

Just then Winky walked into the room with another cup of coffee which she set down in front of Miss Granger, along with milk and sugar. "Good morning, Master Severus. Good Morning, Miss Granger. Will Miss be joining us for breakfast this Boxing Day morning?"

"That would be lovely, Winky," Hermione replied as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, "but I'm afraid..."

"She most certainly will NOT be joining us, Winky. We've got to get her out of here. Merlin, what I wouldn't give to have that bloody cloak of Potter's about now."

Hermione glared at him as he continued to pace the room. "I told you, I wasn't followed. Don't you think we'd know by now if I was?" Professor Snape's return glare could have made a Hippogriff quake in its boots if it could wear any. Hermione finally succumbed to the inevitable. "Alright, alright, I'll go. Please, let's just not fight about this. Last night was amazing. I don't want anything to mar the memory."

"Perhaps Winky could take Miss home?" Winky offered.

Professor Snape pondered the idea, but Hermione broke in. "Thank you, Winky, but that really isn't necessary." She turned to face him. "I. Was. Not. Followed."

His glare faded to a worried look that contained a touch of affection. "If you insist. Now I don't mean to be rude, but may I show you the door?"

"By all means," Hermione said with a half smile. She would have loved to stay for breakfast, but she shared his concern. The fact that he hadn't run her off last night was a bit of a miracle. She didn't want to push her luck.

He draped her winter cloak over her shoulders, and she followed him to the door. He held it open for her, then he joined her outside on his front steps. But as he contemplated escorting her to the river, he noticed a beetle crawling across the back of her cloak. "That's odd," he said as he reached over to capture the colorful creature.

"What's odd?" asked Hermione as she twirled around to see what had caught his attention.

"Be still!" Her movement had put the beetle out of his reach. He grabbed her shoulder and spun her back around just as the insect took flight. "Bugger!"

"What in the world is your problem?" Hermione huffed as she straightened her clothing.

"There was a beetle on your cloak. The middle of winter... who'd have thought? Oh, look! It's landed on the shrubbery."

They both leaned in for a closer look, and Hermione gasped as she realized who it was. She and Professor Snape both lunged for it at the same time, each thwarting the other's attempt, as the beetle took off once again. "Damn!" Hermione searched the air, but the gloomy winter sky cast little light to help her with her search.

"Too bad. Fresh insects are especially difficult to acquire this time of year. I could have used that beetle."

"Nooo!" Hermione became frantic as she drew her wand and began to flick it in the general direction of the beetle's retreat. "Accio beetle! Accio beetle!"

Snape's eyes grew wide as he reached over and pulled her hand down. "Have you lost your mind, woman?"

She continued to aim haphazardly from under his arm. "Accio BEETLE!"

"There are Muggles about!" he hissed as he held her arms tightly against her sides.

"You don't understand!" Hermione cried, "I've got to stop her. We can't let her get away!"

Snape was truly concerned for her sanity now as he dragged her back inside and shut the door before the neighbors realized that something very strange was going on. He held her tightly by the upper arms and looked into Miss Granger's eyes, now brimming with tears. "What are you on about? It was a BUG for Merlin's sake."

Her bottom lip trembled as a lone tear fell down her cheek. "That was no bug. That was Rita Skeeter."

AN: Evil cliffy, I know. Don't hate me.

At the beginning of this chapter, I reference several names from actual ships' manifests that I researched online. They were all real people who came to Jamestown from England in the early to mid 1600s, with the exception of Alveryn Selwyn. There was someone with the given name of Alveryn and someone else with the surname of Selwyn. I just put the two together. Also, thanks to the insight of my wonderful mod, lyn_f, I realized that I needed to tweak the names of Crabbe and Avery to match canon spelling. The actual spellings on the real ship's manifest were Crabb and Averie.

The rule that a 4th generation Squib is classified a Muggle is solely my idea. I don't remember anything in canon about that one way or the other. I figured with the shorter life spans of non-magical folk, the old traditions and desires to create magical offspring would have died off after four generations, so it was a logical assumption. I also feel that too much in-breeding is not healthy for any species, so the assumption that marrying within the group would be more likely to produce magical offspring was false.

One more thing, for those of you who haven't figured it out, in the dream sequence the grandchildren are cousins, and their fathers are brothers, named after the only brotherly team of Roman Emperors who ruled peacefully at the same time. So Lucius, the son of Severus, was not named after his friend so much as for a Roman Emperor who willingly shared the throne with his brother. And I tried to pick names for the grandsons of more benevolent rulers who did not meet a violent end.