1st of October 2018

9. 1st of October 2018

He had been stupid not to take into account that childhood habits die hard, and in these circumstances, they died very rarely, if at all. Being a portrait seemed to have made him lose the edge of his deductive reasoning powers. The woman had always sought comfort with or among books. It should have been obvious that this was where he would find her eventually, so why he hadn't placed himself in the library and waited for the inevitable to happen, was beyond him. Thank Merlin for Madam Pince.

Hermione looked as if she had been to Hades and back again; she was sitting slumped in her chair, just staring in front of her; her hair pulled back in an messy pony tail, skin blotchy from crying and with dark rings underneath her eyes, blue veins showing through the skin.

"Headmistress McGonagall sent me," he said, deciding to hide behind Minerva's name.

"Why would she send you?" She didn't change position or look up at him, and her voice didn't even carry any animosity.

Shock most likely.

"You're just here to gloat."

"You would have preferred to listen to the platitudes of Albus', then? Or why not have Minerva trying to put on her version of the stiff upper lip as the means not to cry all over you? Between Molly and the rest of the Weasleys, I would have imagined that you had had enough of both the crying and the upper lips. Isn't that why you're sitting here?"

"At least they liked Ron ... us." He watched as a tear started its way down her cheek, but it got lost in the moistness of its predecessors and disappeared into nothingness halfway down.

Maybe Minerva and Albus had been right. Maybe he should leave this particular mess alone.

Then he remembered how Albus had behaved and what he had said as he told Severus that Lily had died. The mere thought made his stomach do a painful lurch again. He also remembered how he'd wished himself miles away from it all, and how easily led and manipulated he had been.

She needed someone to snap her out of the sadness.

"What was it now that Albus said when he broke the news of Lily's death to me ... ah! Now I remember. Something about if I had really loved her, my way forward was clear, and of course, as his coup de foudre, chose to point out that it was my duty to not let her death be in vain. Is that what you want to hear? That you must bravely move ahead because that would have been what your dead beloved would have wanted, and indeed, wished for?"

She looked up at the painting he inhabited, eyes black.

"I've been fed that nonsense ever since it happened," she said. Her voice quavered with anger, or maybe sadness, he wasn't sure. He gave her a slow nod in acknowledgement, hoping she would continue.

"Molly is crying all over me when I'm there, sobbing her heart out. Arthur just seems lost and keeps tinkering with that ridiculous collection of plugs he has. And both of them rave on about how we need to find comfort and move on together." She flew to her feet and flailed her hands as if she wanted to get rid of a nasty potion stuck to them. "What 'together' are they talking about? I'm alone. I can't confide in anyone because they have all fallen apart! All because Ron was stupid enough to drive that car without learning to drive it properly." The next second she covered her mouth with both hands, eyes wide.

"Very thoughtless of him," Severus said, but this time he made sure none of his acid came through. If she was already angry enough to let a comment like that slip, he didn't need to fuel that particular fire.

She made a despondent shrug. "I don't even know if I'm going to be able to keep our house—"

"If it turns out you can't, Hogwarts will house you and your children. The school always does in cases like these."

Her mouth was still open as if she were going to continue speaking, and her chest was heaving. But then she snapped her mouth shut and sank down on the chair again.

Good. One of her worries gone then.

"What about Potter?" he asked.

She rubbed her face with both hands and ended the movement by pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. She let them stay there.

"He's being Harry."

He scoffed.

"That would be quiet, brooding—emulating the strong silent type, yes?"

She laughed then. A shrieking, angry laugh.

"Harry doesn't emulate anything or anyone. He is the definition of the strong silent type, you snide bastard. He has enough to deal with, trying to take care of Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys. He doesn't need to add me to the crowd weighing him down. He's as badly off as I am."

A couple of sixth-year Slytherins had entered the library and were now being forced to leave by Madame Pince. When the boys were outside, she turned and looked at Severus with a curt nod.

The dragon would keep the students away from them. They would have continued privacy.

"How are your children taking it?"

Hermione seemed to shrink where she sat.

"Badly." The word was almost a whisper.

In the corner of his eyes, he could see the same sixth years trying to enter the library again. They were whispering and throwing Hermione surreptitious looks. They knew what had happened, the morbid little twits, and wanted to have a good look at the misery of their professor. He made eye contact with one of them and bared his teeth. The boy took one step back on seeing him, thus backing into Madame Pince, who had sneaked up behind them. The collision made the boy almost jump out of his robes. With a firm grip over the back of the culprits' necks, she guided them out of the library.

He turned his attention back to Hermione again.

"Get them back to school again."

She looked horrified at his comment.

"No, they need to be—"

"Where everyone is mourning? Where Molly cries all over them? Where everyone is tip-toeing around them, and where there is no one that can manage taking care of them and their grieving? If you'll excuse me for saying this, I do think Filius and Longbottom are far better equipped than you and Molly are to take care of them."

She flew at the painting, and in an instant, she was standing almost with her nose pressed against the canvas.

"Don't you dare assume that you know what is best for my children!" She was almost spitting the words at him, with a hard, hoarse voice he had never expected from her. "How could you know? A teacher like you, who hated the children you taught."

He took her on, meeting her eyes, trying to bore his way into them with his own.

"Because after my mother died, I was relieved when I was finally sent back here. Because here things were normal. I could do things I liked and enjoyed without feeling guilty or being shouted at."

That slayed her, he could see that. She backed away from the wall where he hung and hugged herself.

"I'll think about it." He almost didn't hear the words. But if she thought about it, she would realise he was right.

"Do so, and please sit down. Madame Pince will let you stay as long as you wish. I will discuss your future lodgings with the Headmistress."

"You don't have to—"

"There are a lot of things I never had to do. Yet I did them anyway. This task is easy enough for me to achieve."