Chapter 2

Hermione glowered at the gates as they opened silently. They should have given an ominous creak, at the very least. The gravelled drive should have been shrouded in dark cypress, not beech hedges with spring flowers peeping out at their feet, and the house most certainly ought to be a gothic monstrosity. She really, really hated that Malfoy Manor was beautiful. Built of pale Cotswold limestone, it was a jewel of Tudor architecture around an even earlier central building.

She stamped up the steps, and her temper was not improved by being unable to hammer on the oak door because it opened as she raised her hand. An elf clad in a spotless pillowcase stood in the doorway.

"You isn't going to give Waspish clothes, is you?"

Hermione's anger deflated. "No, I promise not to give anyone clothes, unless they actually ask for them."

Waspish nodded.

"Master is feeding the puppies. Would Miss wish to wait inside, or would Miss like to see the Crups?"

"I'll see the Crups, please."

She was vaguely interested in seeing Lucius in his usual environment and considerably less interested in revisiting the scene of her torture at the end of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand.

The elf closed the door behind them and led the way around the right-hand wing of the house, through an archway and into the stable yard.

There was a view of a paddock in which two shining dapple grey horses grazed, their steel-grey wings folded upon their backs. An elf trotted across the yard, levitating a heap of straw through a stable door, and a huge brown tabby Kneazle dozed in the sun on top of a bale of hay.

Lucius Malfoy was wearing riding breeches, gleaming black leather boots and a green checked jacket over a white shirt. His hair was tied back with a black ribbon. Hermione had never seen him clad in anything but robes before. Too intent upon the four little Crups gambolling around his boots to notice her, he sank down on his heels.

"Armagnac," he remarked and pointed at a sandy-coloured Crup. It bounced on the spot, its forked tail a blur of motion, then sat. "Calvados. Schnapps. Palinka." As he spoke, each puppy sat down until all four faced him, their tiny faces expectant. He pointed his wand, and four bowls appeared on the ground, each containing small chunks of meat and vegetables in gravy. "Good Crups," he told them. "You may eat." The Crups did so with a great deal of enthusiasm. He rose smoothly to his feet, turned and met Hermione's gaze.

"Good morning, Miss Granger. How may I help you?" His tone was cool and polite.

"I'd like a word with you, Mr Malfoy."

He extended a hand, palm up. "Be my guest. May I offer you any refreshments? I was about to have tea."

Never would Hermione have expected to find herself leaning on a fence next to Lucius Malfoy, drinking Darjeeling out of a bone china mug.

"Are they Granians?" Hermione asked as the smaller of the two winged horses wandered over to investigate her pockets.

"Of course. They're retired champion racers; the mare is in foal, and the stallion stands at stud and is my favourite hack. I enjoy his speed and his spirit."

"Do you race, Mr Malfoy?"

He shook his head. "That's Draco's sport. I ride them for exercise."

Which accounted, she supposed, for his muscular thighs and taut posterior. She had a moment of horrified realisation that she had actually been ogling Lucius Malfoy's arse, and she turned to pat the horse's neck to hide her overheating face.

"They're beautiful."

The Crup pups were now investigating each other's dinner bowls to ensure that not a scrap had been missed, and she caught the moment when all four of them noticed her. They looked at each other, back to her, and then barrelled towards her, screeched to a stop and stood in front of her in a row, tongues hanging.

"I have taught them not to jump up," Malfoy said laconically. "They'll be going to their new homes next week. They probably think that you're here to choose one for yourself."

They were very endearing little creatures. Hermione had always preferred cats, but she could see the attraction. She bent down and held out a hand. "No, I'm not going to buy one of you, I'm sorry."

They immediately circled her, sniffing, wagging and nudging at her fingers. "Who are their parents?"

"They're out of Champion Wiltshire's Bright Aura by the import, Champion OwlTime Tennessee Whiskey. The American line brought in fresh blood and, hopefully, will improve hindquarters and bonding with their owners' magic."

"Did it work?"

"I'll have a better idea when I breed the next couple of generations. Draco and Astoria want another pet Crup, so they'll take Schnapps. We'll watch how he develops, and I'll show him and use him at stud if I still like him when he's an adult."

Hermione frowned, recalling her original research into Crups. The Encyclopaedia Magica had a large article on the breeding and showing of the animals. "I thought that the British Crup fanciers didn't like American Crups?"

He shrugged. "They don't. They think that they're too big and rather exaggerated and probably have smooth fox terrier blood. Personally, I find them very biddable, highly attuned to their owners...and, if used with care, the smaller ones introduce substance and elegance to our breeding."

"Is that why you used Jack Russell terriers?"

He turned his head, and although his mouth barely moved, his eyes smiled at her: cool, clear and predatory. "What an accusation to make!"

"I notice that you don't deny it."

He looked down at the Crups. Two had got bored and were wrestling, making small growling noises as they tumbled. One was investigating the fence posts, and the last, Schnapps, was sitting on Malfoy's left foot.

"What would you do if I did?"

Hermione realised that she didn't have an answer to that question. Feeling unaccountably flustered, she went into attack mode. "Why did you send Severus Snape to spy on me?"

"My dear Miss Granger," he purred, "the entire Wizarding world believes Severus to be dead. Perhaps someone is playing a prank upon you? What makes you think he survived?"

"His body vanished after the battle of Hogwarts."

"Maybe an enemy destroyed it, or a friend banished it, before it could be interfered with?"

"His portrait in the headmaster's office has never woken."

"I doubt if Severus ever wanted to be there."

"Draco owns a very successful business called Marquess Potions, with a lot of brilliant patents, which has suddenly moved its head office from Diagon Alley to the Île de Sorcellerie."

"Really? He did mention the possibility last time he came for dinner. I don't see the connection."

"Of course you do!" Hermione snapped. "He moved because your spy told him that I'd be looking into the activities of all three of you!"

"All three of us? What has Astoria possibly been up to? She's far too busy rearing Scorpius and running the Nocturne Alley restoration project to be involved in anything nefarious."

Hermione refrained from stamping her foot, mainly because Palinka was now leaning against it. "Your wife, Mr Malfoy! Narcissa, the tall blonde woman?"

"Oh, my ex-wife. She lives in France. Draco moved the potions business over to Paris so that he could spend more time with his mother."

Hermione stared. "I didn't know you were divorced."

"Because the divorce went through in France." He Summoned a couple of carrots from the stables and held them out to the horses, watching as their velvety muzzles lipped his hands.

"But it was never mentioned in The Prophet!"

He shrugged. "We divorced the day that your dear friend married his red-headed sweetheart, so the reporters had their minds on other things. I was surprised that you didn't join the Weasley clan at the same time, I admit."

"That's none of your business," Hermione muttered. Malfoy merely raised a blond eyebrow, and she felt her face warming again. How had the bastard managed to wrest control of the entire conversation? "Look, I know Severus Snape is alive, I know that he's an unregistered Animagus, and I know you sent him to spy on me!"

"An Animagus, you say? What form does he take?"

"A cat."

"Really? Did you force him back to his human form?"

"No, Ron tried but couldn't do it, and he escaped before Harry could try."

"So, you had a cat, which you claim was Severus, whom you couldn't change back? This sounds a little far-fetched to me."

"Harry's an Auror; I run an investigative agency; and we know that cat is Snape."

"Do you have any proof of wrongdoing? If so, what are you accusing me of?"

"Being an evil Slytherin, no doubt."

Those six words, spoken behind her in a soft, silky voice, ran through Hermione like an electric shock. She was simultaneously standing in the spring sunshine and transported back to the dungeon classroom of the past. Snape's voice was unmistakeable, inspiring a frisson of apprehension as she turned to face the teacher whom she had respected, but whose respect she had never been able to earn in return.

"Professor Snape," she said, and her voice trembled audibly.

"Miss Granger."

He was still Snape. He wore black robes; he had oily black hair and a hooked nose and sharp, impenetrable black eyes; he could have been a statue in marble and jet. This was how she had known him, controlled and implacable, and yet on further examination she could see the changes wrought in him by ten years of peace. He was still lean but had lost that famished, stretched-thin appearance of a man living on the edge of his nerves. He was less sallow than she remembered, although his hair could still do with a trim.

"How did..." Hermione snapped her mouth shut and smiled at him. "I apologise, it's none of my business how you survived. All I can say is that I'm so glad that you did."

He inclined his head, graciously accepting her words as his due. "Lucius and Draco have kept my existence a secret," he told her, "until your interference forced my hand. I cannot allow you to harass my friend simply because he did me a favour."

"Of course," Hermione said. "Marquess Potions gave me a clue. Did you do all the development work yourself? I was really impressed by the way that the treatment for Spattergroit blended Muggle anti-virals and potions..."

"Please," Malfoy murmured, "my dear witch, is this really the time or the place?" He clapped his hands. "Portly, put the pups back into their kennel to rest. Severus, Miss Granger, would you care to join me for lunch? Splendid! Waspish, lunch for three in fifteen minutes in the parlour. Severus, do accompany Miss Granger into the house while I free myself from the faint but distinctive aroma of horse."

He gave a slight bow and Apparated out of the yard. Hermione blinked. The Granian stallion whinnied and pranced around in a circle, standing with his neck arched as the mare grazed on, unconcerned.

"Poser," she said, and Snape gave a tiny huff. Startled, she looked at him and saw the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"He does exude an air of arrogant masculinity, does he not? Come, Miss Granger, let us obey our host's command and avail ourselves of his hospitality. Follow me."

Hermione obeyed, with the impression that she was being manipulated, but with no idea why.

---

They had just sat down at the table in a light, airy parlour overlooking the terrace when a house-elf appeared at Malfoy's elbow. The elf's ears were drooping, and it was wringing its hands. "Master, there is an Auror in the Floo. He is wishing to speak with Miss Granger."

"Oh, that'll be Harry wondering where I am. May I speak to him?"

Malfoy waved a hand magnanimously in her direction, and Hermione followed the elf out of the room.

"Severus, are you sniggering?"

"You really have bitten off more than you can chew."

"My dear chap, she has no idea how to play the game, none at all."

"Because she isn't playing. She got the information that she came for."

"Of course she did; I had to use a tasty bait to reel her in."

"Lucius, what will you do when you land her and find that you have caught a great white shark? She's a Gryffindor!"

"Exactly. She couldn't spy to save her life. A detective agency, honestly!"

"She never claimed to be a spy. She gets her elves to collect the information, then she sifts it, analyses it, researches and draws conclusions. That is her strength, plus the fact that she has Potter and Weasley at her beck and call."

"Two very young and inexperienced Aurors who got into the service on their names alone."

Snape shook his head. "Potter is the most influential wizard in the country, and Weasley has his family connections. Harm Granger and you'll wish you'd never been born." He grimaced. "They used to make me wish I'd never been born when they were mere schoolchildren."

"You'd better hang around and ensure that I behave myself, hadn't you? Here is the estimable Miss Granger returning to us. I hope that everything is all right, my dear?"

Hermione took her place at the table and shook out her napkin.

"Yes, Harry was just checking up on me. He knew that I was coming here today."

"I see." Malfoy's tone was cool. "Surely he didn't expect any harm to befall you?"

"Experience led him to assume nothing, Mr Malfoy."

Malfoy sucked in a breath, and then inclined his head in reluctant acknowledgement.

"But surely he trusts me?" Snape asked smoothly.

"He doesn't know about you; he merely suspects that you survived."

"You haven't told him that I am here?"

"You didn't say that I could."

"Most... scrupulous of you, Miss Granger."

"We treated you abominably, Professor Snape, but I hope that as an adult I can earn your trust and, perhaps, your respect. I'd like to prove that I'm more than just an insufferable know-it-all."

"That still rankles, does it?"

An elf appeared, silently ladled clear soup into bowls, and floated them to the table.

"It did at the time," Hermione admitted, "but I know you had to keep up the pretence of hating us."

"What makes you believe it all pretence?" Snape helped himself to a bread roll from the basket in the middle of the table and cocked an eyebrow in her direction.

"You hated teaching, and you didn't seem to like children..."

"I hated Potter because he broke all the rules and got away with it, because he was idolised without earning any of the worship, and because he respected no-one."

Hermione took a sip of her soup and then said lightly, "That still rankles, does it?"

Snape glared at her. Lucius Malfoy chortled. "Severus, admit it, you can hold a grudge for England. At least the boy did what he was intended to do."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, "he was always intended to die."

There was silence for a moment, then Snape brushed a breadcrumb from his cuff and gave a tight little smirk. "You have it, Miss Granger."

"What, Professor Snape?"

"If not yet my respect, then certainly my appreciation. You have learned to wield your Gryffindor forthrightness like a rapier."

Hermione grinned. "I don't remember ever getting a compliment from you before. Thank you, I think."

"Slytherins do know how to charm," Malfoy said, earning a scowl from his friend.

"You have raised the talent to an art form, certainly."

"Now Miss Granger will look for the hidden meanings, and wicked intentions, behind everything we say. If, for example," Lucius turned to Hermione, "I was to remark that the colour of your robe brings out the golden highlights in your hair, you'll wonder at my motives. If Severus tells you that your ability to research is admirable, he stands the risk of getting his face slapped."

"I wouldn't slap Professor Snape!" Hermione protested.

"Suggesting that you would, in fact, slap me?"

"I wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, really?" Malfoy's eyes glinted. "Why not? Am I such an ogre that you tremble before me in fear?"

"Witches tend to tremble before Lucius in a very different state than abject fear," Snape said dryly.

Hermione grinned again. "Do you always do this?"

"Do what? Would you care for a glass of this rather good Sauvignon Blanc from the Loire Valley? Draco recommended it."

"Yes, thank you. You seem to be deliberately undermining each other's attempts to flirt."

Malfoy gave an exaggerated flinch and clapped his hand to his chest. "Attempts?" he gasped, just as Snape exclaimed, "Flirt?" in a slightly horrified voice.

"Oh, Merlin, Gryffindors," Malfoy said, waving a hand at the elf, who immediately banished the empty soup bowls and replaced them with dinner plates. Dishes appeared, laden with salads, smoked salmon, cheeses and baked ham. "Truce, Miss Granger, I beg you. No more barbed truths until we have finished lunch, at least."

"If you stop trying to twist everything I say."

"We wouldn't be Slytherins if we didn't, my dear. Do try the Blue Vinney, if you enjoy strong cheese."

For a while, there was no sound but the gentle clink of cutlery and the screams from a couple of peacocks competing for the attentions of a hen. Hermione could see one of the cocks on the low wall around the terrace fanning his spectacular tail and quivering with frustration. The peahen pecked at the lawn with supreme indifference.

"Miss Granger," Snape said, leaning back in his chair and sipping at his wine, "indulge my curiosity. Why did you not join your two friends in the Ministry?"

"I didn't see the appeal in running around in uniform Stunning people."

"But surely the Department of Mysteries must have tempted you?" Malfoy enquired.

Hermione shrugged. "They didn't want me." Both wizards stared at her in surprise, and she smiled. "They think I'm a loose cannon. They're right. I talked to a couple of Unspeakables and decided it wasn't for me; I'd have had to do as the Ministry told me, even if I disagreed on a matter of principle. Much as I admire Kingsley, we've all had enough experience of corruption not to trust the Ministry or the Wizengamot. Harry and Ron wanted to make changes from within; I didn't have as much faith. It only needs Kingsley to be voted out and replaced with another like Fudge, and we'd have our hands tied. I preferred to remain on the outside."

"And the detective agency?"

"I took in elves that had nowhere to go, and they needed work."

"It never occurred to you to find new owners for them?"

Although Hermione's eyes flashed, she answered quite calmly. "Sell them, you mean? Like inanimate objects?"

Although she was fired with indignation, she caught the narrowing of Snape's black eyes as he signalled a message to his friend.

Malfoy's lips curved in a self-satisfied smile. "After the war, I took in three elves from Death Eaters killed in battle. Portly now tends my Crups, while Rackly and Bevvy live in France at Narcissa's chateau and are learning the secrets of viniculture. All three appear satisfied with their lot. What would you have had me do with them?"

"Oh," Hermione said, somewhat contrite. "It's just from the way you treated Dobby..."

Although Malfoy's handsome face remained smooth and impassive, his eyes might have been made from arctic ice.

"If I recall, one of the Weasleys sided with the Minister against his own family and was only forgiven when he returned to the fold. Why should an elf be any different? That elf was never loyal to his fellows or his masters. My elves are afraid of you because they fear that you will give them clothes, and they will lose their home, their families, children and partners. Many of them can trace their ancestry back to the elves who accompanied my forebears to Britain with William the Bastard. Their love for this manor is no less than my own. Dobby's open rebellion was a cause of great distress to the other elves and of great annoyance to me. Potter may regard him as a hero, but I do not. Would you revere someone who betrayed you? Pettigrew, for example? "

"No," Hermione said quietly, "I apologise."

Malfoy inclined his head.

"Although Dobby told Harry that you threatened him with death, and forced him to iron his hands and shut them in the oven."

"She never gives up," Snape remarked.

"An estimable trait in a private investigator," Malfoy agreed amiably. "Miss Granger, I wish to employ you...and your elves." He leaned back in his chair and smirked at her.

Hermione mentally counted to ten, so that when she responded she sounded confident rather than insulted. "I'm not for sale, Mr Malfoy."

"If you were, I'd go elsewhere. I can give you a list of influential breeders of Crups in Britain, and I'd like you to find out how many of them have crossed their lines with Muggle terriers. I suspect that the practice is extensive. At this stage, I don't want them to know that they're being investigated. I'll put a resolution before the committee of the Crup Association, of which I'm currently treasurer, that the rules be changed to allow judicious crossing with suitable Muggle breeds. If they refuse to put the resolution to vote, as I'm sure they will, I will present your evidence to show that I'm not the only person carrying out crossbreeding, merely the first with the courage to admit to it."

"What if I find that you are the only one?"

He shrugged. "No doubt I'll weather the ensuing scandal." He flicked his wand and the wine bottle floated around the table, refilling their glasses. "I've survived worse."

Hermione happened to be watching the wine on its circuit, and she caught a flicker of concern on Snape's face. Hermione had little sympathy for the Malfoys. She considered that they had brought their misfortunes upon themselves, but Snape had never appeared to have many friends and she was prepared to give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt for his sake.

"Very well," Hermione said. "I'll send an elf to collect the list of breeders, and to deliver our terms and conditions."

"Excellent! Let us drink to success in our endeavours." He raised his glass. "To us."

Warily, Hermione sipped her wine, wondering what she had committed herself to.

---

The Crup wagged its tail as it stared up at the wizard who knelt on the hearthrug. He slowly reached out and touched the creature's head.

"Oh yes, little brother. Yes, this will do nicely. We're going to make them pay." He stared into space, obviously not seeing the peeling wallpaper or filthy furniture of the Muggle hovel. "We're going to make them all sorry that they ever forgot about us. Aren't we?"

The Crup growled and nudged his hand.

"I'm going to call you 'Vengeance.'"

On the rickety table, a woman stared out of a dingy painting and bared her teeth.

---

Winky, alias Miss Marple, pattered into the office, came to a stop in front of Hermione's desk and cleared her throat. Hermione looked up from her paperwork and blinked. The elf was wearing a knitted lilac cardigan, a matching skirt and a string of what appeared to be genuine pearls.

"There's a new customer to see Miss," she squeaked.

"Thanks Wink– sorry, Miss Marple. Do you know who it is?"

"The wizard gentleman says he's Master Grey."

Hermione was used to the elvish mindset by now. "But you don't think he's really Mr Grey at all?"

"I is not seeing through his glamours," Miss Marple admitted.

"Thank you. Please ask him to come up."

She loosened her wand in her sleeve and activated the tea-kettle as swift footsteps approached along the landing.

Miss Marple opened the door to admit a slim, plain-featured man with brown hair and dark grey robes.

Hermione got to her feet. "Good morning. Welcome to The Number Twelve House-Elf Detective Agency. Do have a seat. How may I help you?"

He waited until the elf had shut the door before sitting down. He chose the chair with the view of both door and window: the one that her Auror friends always took.

Hermione nodded, gave the teapot a flick of her wand, and stated, "Black with one sugar, am I correct, Professor?"

"Show-off," he remarked.

"Process of elimination."

He cocked his head and allowed his glamour to fall. His nose curved into a hook; his robes, his brown eyes and his hair all darkened to black; and he smirked at her. "Really? Do tell."

"Apart from you, the only people who are powerful enough to hold a glamour against an elf are all friends of mine, and if they didn't want to be seen coming here they'd Floo or Apparate through my wards rather than go to the trouble of using a glamour."

"I could have been Malfoy."

Hermione tilted her head at the mirror on the wall. "Disguised Foe-Glass."

"And it still works?"

"Of course it does," Hermione said smugly. She handed him a cup of tea and stirred milk into her own. "Minerva McGonagall transfigured it for me, as a Christmas present."

He crossed one leg over the other, his robes falling into folds around his ankles. They sipped tea in silence, Hermione content to simply watch him.

She felt as if she had a mythical beast come to roost in her office. Such a thing could happen, but usually only when Hagrid visited. Snape's angles had softened...not because he had gained more than a few pounds in weight, but because the tension had eased in his back and shoulders. He had probably been very tired for a very long time, but after ten years of freedom and recovery he appeared alert and competent and mildly amused, if the subtle glitter in his black eyes was anything to go by.

"I wish to employ you, Miss Granger," he said after a while.

"Please don't tell me you want me to investigate Lucius Malfoy?"

He scowled. "Why the hell should I want to do that?"

Hermione refused to be intimidated. "To make my brain explode from the logistics of it."

"So who else is interested in Lucius?"

"Client confidentiality," Hermione said, selecting a custard cream. "Biscuit?"

He shook his head irritably. "You don't take this seriously, do you?"

"I take it very seriously, Professor. This is my living, and I do it well."

"Not well enough to keep your elves out of sight when they're working."

Hermione frowned and then shrugged.

"Oh, Lucius is still that paranoid, is he? Well, I didn't tell them to go under cover, just asked them to look into his Crup breeding kennel. That's all public record, anyway. If he has something to hide..."

"He isn't paranoid; he knows that Slytherins are always under suspicion and can never redeem themselves, however hard they might try."

Long-held resentment still edged his smooth voice with anger.

"That isn't true, Professor."

"Really?" Here was the arrogant tone of old. "How many Slytherins do you work with, Miss Holier-than-thou?"

"I've had professional dealings with the Zabinis, and with Astoria Malfoy, Pansy and Viola Parkinson and Wulric Mulciber in the last month, so don't get on your high horse with me!"

His lips curled in a sneer. "But you wouldn't meet with them socially, would you?"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake! I had lunch with you and Lucius, didn't I? Now, did you come here to insult me, or did you actually want me to investigate something?"

He put his cup and saucer down on the desk with rather more force than necessary. "If you can control your Gryffindor temper enough to pay attention, Miss Granger, I wish you to discover the whereabouts of a rather special wand."

Hermione controlled a shudder, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Déjà vu," she muttered. "Go on, whose wand are we talking about?"

"Mine," he said, settling back into his seat. "It was left behind in the Shack when the Malfoy elf rushed me to a Healer to save my life. Once I had recovered sufficiently to enquire about it, it was no longer to be found."

"Surely you have a wand that works for you?"

He drew a pale wand from his robe and held it up between thumb and forefinger.

"My current wand was obtained from Zweig of Heidelberg, maple with a core of thestral tail hair."

"A real potion-maker's wand," Hermione commented. "Maple for balance, promise and practicality. Was your original wand from Ollivander?"

"It had a heart of occamy feather, with a shaft of dark cherry wood and an ash handle," he said. "It was a unique wand; Ollivander was reluctant to let me have it, but it was immediately clear that the wand had chosen me."

"Doesn't ash symbolise sacrifice? And cherry wood is for death."

"Cherry stands for rebirth and new awakenings, and ash is for sensitivity and higher awareness," Snape said, "which is why I would like my old wand back. My maple wand is, as you say, a fine potion-maker's wand, but it is far too inflexible for defence and too... sweet-natured for effective hexing."

He swished the wand through the air, creating an arc of golden sparks, before stowing it away in his robe.

Hermione eyed him thoughtfully. "So you need your old wand because you're considering coming back, then?"

"Indeed."

She was dying to ask why, but the curl of his lip and combative glitter in his eyes suggested that he had no intention of offering further information.

"I'll do my best for you."

"Do not announce my presence to your Gryffindor associates until I am fully armed, if you would be so kind. Client confidentiality, Miss Granger." He stood, turned and waved a hand, causing the door to creak open. He left the office in a swirl of robes that made her smile.