Eighteen for Surprises

Chapter 22: Eighteen for Surprises

Hermione squeezed the arms of her chair.

The stiff leather refused to yield, much like the man before her. Too many hours had passed since she and Snape had taken their seats across from Gregor Ustinov, the Minister for Magic. With each wasted minute, the ability to hold her tongue proved almost too difficult to manage until she was certain one more inane question would make her scream. She thought of her parents and watched her knuckles turn white.

"It was delivered to the Hogwarts Owlery and accepted by a house-elf," said Snape, answering the Minister's question about how they had obtained the scroll. Again. "A return was neither provided nor requested."

The Minister peered at the photographs, the tip of his tongue protruding from his abnormally large lips.

"And your tracing spells revealed nothing?" he asked.

"Only the approximate date and time the letter was written: Thursday, quite late in the evening," Snape replied. He did not relate the string of expletives he'd muttered when their many spells had failed to reveal proof of the author. "Perhaps your Aurors will have greater success."

The Minister grunted. "We shall see. You can hardly expect me to confront Mr Malfoy otherwise."

The last thread of her patience stretched so thin it could cut stone. "On the contrary, that is precisely what we expect," she said, no longer caring that she spoke to the titular head of the wizarding world. "We have explained exactly what he has planned and how he will accomplish it."

"Your claims have been noted, Miss Granger," Ustinov said. "But if the Ministry arrested citizens solely on accusations from former, disgruntled employees, I assure you, Azkaban would fill in a day. Perhaps less."

"I understand. But we're not asking you to arrest him solely on accusation." She was aware of Snape shifting beside her, ostensibly to catch her eye and issue a warning. She ignored him.

"I see," Ustinov said. "Then you are prepared to offer something more ... conclusive?"

"Miss Granger has already told you everything she knows," Snape said.

"Mr Malfoy must think she knows a great deal more," he replied, waving the photographs at Snape. "That is, if her story is to be believed."

"It is simply one more indication of how desperate he's become," Snape said. "I assure you, Miss Granger cannot offer the type of evidence you seek."

Although the room was almost stiflingly warm, her skin chilled as she listened to Snape spin more lies. The duplicity itself did not disturb her nearly as much as she had anticipated...after countless hours of bureaucratic babble from Ustinov, she could muster little remorse for the act. She just hadn't been prepared for how easily Snape could manipulate the truth. She searched for the tiniest of signals when he strayed from the facts: a subtle change in breathing, too fast or too slow. She watched his eyes, waiting for them to shift ever so slightly. Perhaps he would blink too much or too little. But despite her intimate familiarity with his expressions, she could find nothing to indicate when the truth ended and the lie began. It unnerved her.

She told herself she was being ridiculous: a spy wouldn't survive an hour without the ability to lie, let alone several years as the enemy's most trusted advisor. By all rights, Snape should be considered the most skilled liar alive. The realisation brought little comfort.

The Minister watched her expectantly, so she cleared her throat and agreed with Snape. "Any physical evidence I might have been able to provide was destroyed during the lab accident at Arglist, several years ago. Mr Malfoy believes my return would enable the recreation of the lost research, but he is mistaken."

Ustinov tapped the tip of his quill against his desk and narrowed his eyes. "I find the timing of this so-called accident rather intriguing. It coincides directly with your departure from Arglist Industries, does it not?"

"It does."

"Coincidences can indeed be intriguing to contemplate," Snape said, drawing the Minister's gaze. "But they hold no bearing on today's discussion."

"I'll decide what does and does not have bearing today, Severus." Ustinov shook his index finger at Snape, as if lecturing a toddler. "My predecessor might have been willing to ignore procedures and rules for you, but times have changed. Shacklebolt acted on instinct far too often. You'll find this office adheres to much stricter guidelines now."

Snape cocked his head to the side and spoke so slowly...so deliberately...each word stood as its own sentence. "Is. That. So."

After casting a quick glance at Hermione, the Minister glared at Snape.

Hoping to diffuse the brewing quarrel, she quickly interjected. "We know his intentions for the research, Minister, and the lengths he will travel to implement his plan. These photos prove what he's capable of. He murdered Mikolaj ... Surely an investigation is warranted..."

"An investigation was already conducted into the death of Mr Brukowski," Ustinov replied. "It yielded nothing more than an inconvenience to Mr Malfoy and a waste of Ministry resources."

"Lack of evidence hardly proves he's innocent," she countered. "It simply means he's cleverer than your investigators."

"Hermione ..." said Snape in warning.

"Cleverness isn't the issue here, miss, given the severity of the charges you've made," said Ustinov. "The Ministry follows a strict protocol when dealing with allegations from former employees. We would need a great deal more than anonymous notes and wild speculation to pursue one of the most well-respected members of our community, who, I might add, happens to sponsor several Muggle charities."

"And has he sponsored your re-election campaign as well?" she asked.

Both men spoke at once.

"You are out of line, young lady..." said Ustinov, slapping his desk.

"That's enough, Hermione..." said Snape.

She raised her hands. "I'm sorry...truly, I am. That was uncalled for." Extending her palms towards the Minister, she beseeched him to understand. "But please, try to imagine you had received those pictures ... that you were looking at a photo of your own parents. Surely, you'd be just as concerned as I."

To her surprise, he returned his gaze to the photos and frowned at them for several moments.

"Perhaps the Ministry can spare some Aurors to protect the Grangers?" Snape suggested quietly.

Ustinov sighed but pushed his quill and some parchment across the desk. "Provide your parents' address, and I will arrange a Ministry guard for them."

"Thank you." She did as instructed. "How soon do you suppose they could begin?"

"No later than this evening." He gathered the papers and photos from his desk and shuffled them into a file. "I'm sure you are anxious to forewarn them."

She didn't care for the finality in his voice. "I appreciate your concern for my parents' safety," she said, "but until Mr Malfoy is stopped, they will remain in jeopardy, as will all future Muggle-born witches and wizards. Isn't there anything the Ministry can do?"

"Not without a good amount of evidence, all of which seems to have been destroyed when you last left Mr Malfoy's employ," Ustinov said. He leant back in his chair and regarded her with raised eyebrows. "Unless you'd like to accept his offer and return to Arglist?"

"That's out of the question," Snape said.

She frowned. "I ... I suppose it would enable me to prove what he's..."

"Don't be foolish," Snape interrupted.

"Now, Severus, let the lady speak," Ustinov said, his smile strangely cunning. "After all, she was Mr Malfoy's ... employee ... long before she was your ... colleague."

Snape's whisper held more warning than a shout. "Just what are you implying, Gregor?"

Hermione wondered at the tension filling the air, the obvious animosity between the men. The undercurrent felt large enough to swallow her whole.

After several uneasy moments, Ustinov's shrug dispelled the mounting friction. "Surely, Miss Granger's many years as an Arglist employee give her a unique advantage. Who better to find the proof needed for a conviction?"

"It's too dangerous," Snape said. "Send someone who is specialised in undercover field work, someone who has experience infiltrating an operation such as this. Not her."

"That would require a significant commitment of Ministry resources." He studied his fingernails. "Why should I bother?"

A muscle twitched in Snape's cheek.

"Because it's the right thing to do," Hermione said. Neither man acknowledged her...Snape continued to stare at the Minister, who in turn continued to stare at his fingernails.

Finally, Snape asked, "Do you have a Pensieve?"

"Of course," said Ustinov.

He turned to Hermione and said, "The memory of when you first saw Lucius at Arglist."

Her stomach tied itself into a knot. The time had come to pay the piper, but she couldn't help wonder how high the cost would be. Nothing about the Minister seemed particularly trustworthy. She stared into Snape's eyes, and beyond all reason, something in his dark gaze reassured her, convinced her. She lifted her wand to her temple and extracted the proof the Minister seemed so desperate for. The memory swirled in the stony depths of the Pensieve as she explained, "You'll recognise Mr Malfoy, of course. The other man is Henri Garnier, who was the Executive Director of Arglist."

While the Minister viewed the memory, she tried to suppress her own recollection of that night. Lucius's voice rang through her mind, dark and twisted, and she relived his cold delight over a Muggle-born discovering the means to eliminate her kind. She jumped when Snape squeezed her shoulder, but before she could summon a grateful smile, the Minister spoke.

"Such a pity the Wizengamot has declared memories inadmissible as evidence," he said, his lips pursed. His tone seemed to indicate that given the opportunity, he'd prosecute her right alongside Lucius. "I assume the mysterious lab accident occurred shortly after this incident?"

"That's correct," she said. "I provided a full report to Kingsley after the ... accident. Did the Ministry never investigate Arglist?"

"That information is classified," he said. He reopened the file on his desk and sifted through several papers. "You accepted employment at Hogwarts after leaving Arglist?"

"Yes."

"Once there, you began working with the younger Mr Malfoy?"

"Yes," she said with a frown. "But Draco doesn't have anything..."

"Has the father never attempted to contact you through the son?" Ustinov asked.

"No, of course not."

"Other than an occasional invitation to dine at Malfoy Manor," Snape clarified.

She turned to him and shook her head. "But ... Draco wouldn't have known ..." she began, her words failing as she remembered how keen he'd been for her attendance at the Christmas Eve ball. She clenched her fists when a scene from her recent nightmare surfaced. What had Lucius said when she had told him he had no business at Hogwarts? Nonsense. My son is here. She shook her head again to clear the dark smoke of doubt. "Draco has no involvement with Arglist," she stated clearly.

"Just another coincidence, then?" asked Ustinov.

"That's right."

He turned to Snape.

"It seems likely," Snape offered. "He was hired several years before Miss Granger, and there are indications the relationship between father and son is somewhat strained."

The Minister drummed his fingers on his desk.

"The most damning evidence will only be procured from a well-placed spy inside Arglist," said Snape.

Although the thought filled her with dread, Hermione had to admit she was the perfect candidate. "That could take months, Severus ... years, even," she said. "We don't have that kind of time. If I went back to Arglist..."

"No."

"Lucius is losing patience," she said.

"Then we shall find a way to placate him until the Ministry can act."

"But how?" she asked, searching for some method to stall the progress at Arglist. "Perhaps I could ... recreate ... certain notes and offer them in exchange for my parents' safety," she said. "If I changed some of the data, it would take months to discover the discrepancies."

"Too easy," said Snape, shaking his head. "Lucius is not a fool...he is certain to suspect you would never provide him with anything truly useful."

The Minister cleared his throat. "Miss Granger, your memories appear to be remarkably vivid. Why not offer some of those instead?"

The thought sent her mind reeling. "Never! I'd Obliviate myself first!" She turned to Snape for support but found his gaze distant, almost calculating. "No, Severus," she said. "It's not an option."

"No doubt Lucius has already considered how valuable your memories are," he said, making her shiver. "Fortunately, there exists a high risk of damage when one attempts to forcibly extract something so delicate. I imagine that is the only reason Lucius has not already wrested them from your mind."

"In that case," said Ustinov, "he'd almost certainly be willing to deal for them."

"No," she said again. "We cannot risk the information ever seeing the light of day."

"Not as they stand now, perhaps," said Snape. "But if the memories were altered, the risk would be negligible."

"You just said he isn't foolish, Severus," she reminded him. "Altered memories are terribly obvious."

"That is true ... in almost all known cases."

The Minister laughed. "So you've heard of Remy, have you?"

"Remy who?" asked Hermione when Snape did not comment.

"An old French wizard...Remy Nissante," explained Ustinov. "The very reason memories are not, in fact, admissible as evidence."

Snape elaborated. "He could alter memories so that the change was transparent, making it impossible to discern fact from fiction. The Department of Mysteries spent years trying to learn his methods, to no avail. It was a natural-born talent, impossible to replicate."

"What happened to him?" she asked.

"He was exiled when the Ministry deemed his skills too dangerous."

"It's an old witch's tale, Miss Granger," said Ustinov. "Nothing more."

"I'm loath to contradict you, Gregor," said Snape in a tone that belied his sentiment, "but I've seen his work firsthand."

With a frown, Ustinov asked, "How is that possible? No one has been able to find him for at least three decades. He can't still be alive?"

Snape shrugged. "He was fifteen years ago," he said. "Dumbledore maintained contact with him throughout the war."

Hermione wondered what uses Dumbledore might have had for altered memories during the war and found the possibilities endless, if a bit alarming. The ethical debate fled her mind when she found both men watching her, waiting.

She couldn't guess how a memory was altered, but the process undoubtedly involved its removal from her mind, the very thought of which left her cold. Her gaze sought the open file on the Minister's desk. She watched the photograph of her parents, the casual way her mother tilted her head to laugh at her father. The knot in her stomach tightened. What choice did she have?

"If ... if the memories are thoroughly altered," she said, "then I suppose I could offer them as a premium for my parents' safety. At least it would allow us to control the flow of data at Arglist while the Ministry builds a case against him."

"Then it's settled," said Ustinov, closing the file once more. They stood to leave, but he said, "I need to speak with you alone, Severus. You may wait outside, Miss Granger: this will only take a moment."

She found the Minister's secretary waiting in the outer office and smiled when the plump witch offered tea. "Thank you, er ..." she said, searching for a nameplate.

"The name's Mildred, dear. Mildred Gibbons, but everyone calls me Millie."

"Thank you, Millie. I'm Hermione."

"Oh, of course I know who you are," she said with a wink. "It's not every day we get a visit from a war hero. Two at once is indeed a rare occasion!"

Hermione accepted a paper cup full of strong tea and complimented the intricate tatting on the tea towel.

"When you get to be my age, you enjoy making things like that," Millie said. There appeared a distinct twinkle in her eyes when her gaze slid towards the Minister's closed door. "Of course, you probably have much more ... interesting ... things to occupy your time."

She was far too mature to be blushing like a schoolgirl, so she ignored Millie's implication...as well as the heat on her cheeks...and changed the subject. "We appreciate how quickly you were able to arrange the meeting today."

"It was a pleasure, my dear. More so for me than the Minister, I'd wager," she added in a whisper as she pushed a plate of biscuits towards Hermione.

Despite her reluctance to encourage gossip, Hermione couldn't stop herself edging closer to the desk when Millie leant forward. She nibbled on a biscuit and asked, "What makes you say that?"

With a nod towards the Minister's door, Millie said, "There are plenty around here who'd rather see Severus in that office."

Hermione blinked. "Severus? As Minister for Magic?"

Millie nodded. "And don't think the Minister doesn't know it."

From inside the Minister's office came the sound of voices raised in argument.

"... not a professional ..."

"... have a job to do ..."

She tried to decide which voice belonged to Snape while she strained to hear more.

Millie offered a knowing smile. "You see?"

She frowned. They were rather insulated at Hogwarts, but still ... Snape as the Minister for Magic seemed a bit far-fetched. "Do you truly believe he could run for Minister, if he desired the job?"

"Run ... and win," she answered. "I'd be surprised if he hasn't already been approached."

She remembered the way he'd been treated like a celebrity at the Malfoys' Christmas Eve ball. Maybe Millie was right. He hadn't seemed very keen with the attention, though, and she had always assumed a quiet life held more appeal for him. But perhaps she was simply projecting her own preferences.

The door to the Minister's office opened. Snape looked furious, but he quickly turned his back and shut the door, his head down. When he approached Millie's desk, his features were placid once more.

"Millie, my love, you have my endless gratitude for organising this meeting so expeditiously," he said.

Hermione found it difficult to decide what shocked her more: Millie's flustered giggle or Snape's agreeable temperament.

"Anytime, Severus," Millie said. "Anytime. And here are the details of that other thing you asked me to arrange." She handed him an envelope while cocking her head in Hermione's direction with a notable lack of subtlety.

"Eight or nine?" asked Snape.

"Eight," Millie replied.

"Perfect." His smile was so charming Hermione felt a rare...and completely inappropriate...stab of jealousy when he added, "I'd be lost without you, Millie."

She could only imagine how ridiculous her expression must be.

He smirked and offered his arm. "Shall we?" he asked.

"Of course." With a wave to Millie, she joined him at the door and frowned at the envelope in his hand. He merely quirked his lips when he caught her staring at it.

The Ministry had been empty when they'd arrived, but now a moderate crowd of witches and wizards dotted the corridors. Many stopped to speak to Snape or shake his hand. By the time they arrived back at the Atrium, she couldn't help but wonder why he'd returned to a diminished, job-sharing role at Hogwarts when he likely could have had any job he desired at the Ministry.

Despite the distraction, her thoughts soon turned to the upcoming conversation she'd be forced to have with her parents. She fidgeted with the clasp on her cloak and tried to imagine their reaction to hosting a pair of Ministry guards for the foreseeable future. But at least they would be safe.

She stopped at the Apparation area and placed her hand on Snape's shoulder. "Thank you, Severus."

"For?"

"For everything ... for ensuring the Minister sent Aurors to my parents, for convincing him of what Lucius intends, for helping to clean up this mess I've made." She sighed and added, "For lying on my behalf."

He scowled. "I've lied for far less worthy causes," he said. "And you must stop blaming yourself for the situation at Arglist."

Before she could look down, he caught her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. "I am quite serious, Hermione," he said, his voice stern. "Had you not made this discovery, someone else would have. And I doubt they'd care half as much about setting it to rights."

She nodded, grateful for his viewpoint as well as his support. "Thank you," she whispered. She wondered if she would ever be able to express how relieved she was to have him on her side.

"Do not thank me yet...there is still much to be done."

Drawing a deep breath, she prepared herself for the next hurdle. "I'll see you tonight, back at Hogwarts. I need to ring my parents and figure some way to explain why wizards will soon be watching over them."

He frowned at her, his lips drawn into a tight line. Without even drawing a breath, he blurted, "Ishouldcomewithyou."

It took her a moment to realise what he had said. Comprehension left her speechless, staring at him with her mouth agape.

"Aurors are competent, but at the end of the day, they are nothing more than employees of the Ministry," he said, lifting his chin. "There are several spells that should be performed, as well as some very intricate enchantments to be placed upon your parents' home and property."

"Okay," she said and refrained from mentioning the many protective charms she had cast during the Horcrux search. She had every confidence in her abilities to protect her parents' home, but his concern for their welfare overruled any compunction she might have felt to prove her skills.

The idea of taking Snape home to meet her parents caused a ball of nerves to bound through her body, making her voice sound a bit strangled when she suggested they use the Ministry Floo to reach Diagon Alley.

Once inside the Leaky Cauldron, Snape commandeered a table in a hidden corner while Hermione entered Muggle London in search of a telephone kiosk. She returned a few moments later, having arranged to meet her parents in an hour's time.

"They were home," she said. "I told them we'd be there at three o'clock. It's not far. Of course, nowhere is very far when you can Apparate, right? They live in Marsh Gibbon. It's outside Bicester. In Oxfordshire. There's a small park not too far from their house. We can Apparate into the park and walk the remaining distance. It's a lovely area. They really seem to like it. So ... yes ... three o'clock." She cleared her throat and clasped her hands.

He pushed his glass towards her. The small sip of whiskey burned a trail down her throat. She hoped it would prove just as caustic against her nerves.

"We should have plenty of time to perform the necessary enchantments before the Aurors arrive," he said. "When we return to Hogwarts, I shall speak to Albus and see whether or not he can direct us to Remy."

She nodded and stared across the room. Anxiety filled her when she thought of the task she'd agreed to, the dangerous memories she would need to produce.

"Tell me about your parents," he said.

It was obviously meant to distract her, and she welcomed the change in topic. "They're dentists," she said, as if the simple statement could offer everything he needed to know about them.

He rolled his eyes. "You were an only child?"

"Yes," she said, thinking it was something else they had in common. "They were nearly forty when they had me...I believe they had tried for many years to have a child and had given up hope when I came along."

"What was their reaction when they learnt you were a witch?"

She smiled. "Well, they're both quite practical, so I think they were more relieved than surprised. As far-fetched as it had to have sounded, at least it explained the bizarre activities in our home."

"What sort of bizarre activities?"

"Oh, the usual things, I suppose. The random levitation of toys, the spinach changing into spaghetti, the clocks stopping whenever bedtime approached." She ticked the incidents on her fingers as she spoke. "And then there was the mystery of the disappearing bathwater. They'd spent a small fortune on plumbers by the time I had turned ten."

His laughter floated in the air and wrapped around her like a blanket, spreading warmth through her body.

"It's quite mind-boggling for Muggle families, really," she said with a smile. "I daresay they should be warned from infancy. Actually, I'm surprised this hasn't been addressed before now."

"Ah, I believe we have stumbled upon the source of your next crusade," he said.

She stuck out her tongue. "I just think there needs to be a better way to alert them."

"No doubt," he agreed.

"My parents were very accepting ... very supportive. I know everyone isn't so lucky."

"Indeed," he said. "Some Muggles take a great deal of convincing before they will allow their children to learn magic. Others have outright refused."

She tried to imagine her life without magic. They might as well have told her she wasn't permitted to breathe. "Those Muggles give the whole lot a bad name," she said. "Like those dreadful people Harry lived with."

He paused, his drink raised halfway to his lips.

She was too lost in the memories of decades past to wonder why he had grown so pale. "Harry always hated going back to Surrey each summer, and rightly so. His uncle was mean-spirited, and his aunt was horrid." She shook her head and remembered how cold the woman had been. "I cannot understand how someone could treat their own relation so poorly."

"Petunia always had a penchant for cruelty," he said quietly.

She frowned over the long-forgotten name. How had he remembered...

One look at his face, and it felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped upon her head. How could she have forgotten his connection to Harry's aunt? She had only meant to make a point about certain Muggle families. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean ... I forgot ..."

His curt nod only made her feel more wretched. He had spent his morning confronting the Minister...fighting on her behalf...and had insisted on personally ensuring the safety of her parents. In return, she had reminded him of the disastrous consequences his choices had carried. She cursed her wayward tongue and blamed his many years at St Mungo's for her memory lapse. Given the time he'd spent in stasis, it was difficult to imagine him as a contemporary of the Dursleys.

He swallowed a large gulp of whiskey. "It is true I never cared for the boy," he said. "Still, it brings me no pleasure to learn he had a miserable childhood."

"Of course not," she said. "I never meant to imply ... I wasn't trying to blame you." She frowned again, certain they both knew he was hardly blameless but unable to fathom a way out of the moral quicksand she had wandered into.

"I am fully cognisant of the role I played in orphaning the boy."

She thought about mistakes and blame and regret, and out of nowhere, Dumbledore's odd Christmas cake analogy popped into her mind. In very short time, Snape had forgiven her crimes against him: the stolen memories and the lies she'd told to avoid their discovery. Yet he had spent decades denying himself a similar absolution. "Everyone makes mistakes," she said. "You once told me atonement was far more important than fault. Look at everything you've sacrificed in the name of redemption, Severus. Don't you think you've paid for your sins by now?"

The fury that crossed his face should have frightened her, should have had her knees trembling beneath the table. Instead, it only elicited an unfamiliar ache deep inside her chest.

He rose and swiped his empty glass from the table. In a deadly whisper, he said, "You have no idea what you are talking about," before walking to the bar.

She crossed her arms and fought the sting of his words. It was not the first time someone had snapped at her for offering unwelcome advice. And it was unlikely to be the last, considering her inability to stop providing it. With a scowl, she wondered what had disturbed him more...having his own words used against him or being told he was worthy of the redemption he had earned. Perhaps he had lived so long with remorse that the alternative was simply too daunting to contemplate.

She had to admit it was somewhat hypocritical to insist he forgive himself when she still clung to regret like a lifeline. Being a perfectionist was yet another trait they seemed to share. The personality made it nearly impossible to tolerate failure and accept forgiveness. They were their own worst critics.

Snape returned with two full glasses and a surprising absence of anger. He pushed one of the glasses across the table and watched her with his brows drawn. "There are some sins that can never be forgiven," he said, resuming their conversation as if he'd never left.

"Quite so," she agreed, then, daring the return of his ire, she added, "but this isn't one of them."

His nostrils flared, but before he could speak, she said, "Perhaps some things happen for a reason."

"That is an insult to empirical thinking," he said. "It sounds suspiciously similar to something Dumbledore would say."

"Thank you," she said, deliberately misinterpreting the barb. "Although, the headmaster has been far too busy lecturing me about love to mention destiny."

His eyes widened, and he quickly looked down. With a furrowed brow, he stared at his whiskey glass and rubbed at an errant water spot. "Can you truly believe we are destined for the choices we make?" he asked after several moments. "Was I nothing more than a pawn to the whims of Fate?"

"Of course not," she said. "But you were integral to the defeat of Voldemort, and you would not have been in that position but for one poor choice."

"Only one?" he asked, abandoning the smudge and rolling the glass between his hands. "I assure you the figure is much higher."

"One hundred?" she asked. "One thousand?" When he frowned and shook his head, she merely shrugged. "I don't see anyone blaming you for the past; do you? We've all had fifteen years to arrive at quite the opposite conclusion, in fact. You are the only one denying yourself now. Everyone else has forgiven you."

His jaw clenched. "The dead cannot forgive."

"No, but the living can," she said. "And among the living, Harry would have the most reason to resent you, yet he's forgiven you, as well."

He raised his glass to his lips.

"He's even named his youngest son after you: Albus Severus."

Her timing could not have been worse. A fine mist of whiskey sprayed her face, her clothes, and the table as he choked on his drink. Without a word, she withdrew her wand from her cloak and performed a silent cleansing spell.

"You ... um ... hadn't heard that before?" she asked.

"No."

She hadn't meant to smile, but his panicked expression forced her lips to twitch. "Ginny was surprised by the choice, too," she told him. "But she said Harry was adamant. He told her you were one of the bravest men he'd ever known."

His scowl was immediate. He withdrew slightly, just enough to hide his face in the shadows.

She wondered how it must feel to suddenly learn one's familiar, mutual dislike for another was no longer so mutual. There was little time to consider it, though, as a glance at her watch showed it was time to leave.

The inn had grown busy, and they jostled their fellow patrons to reach a quiet spot from which to Side-Along Apparate. Snape's hand on her back steered her towards a secluded corner. Her anxiety over the upcoming visit to her parents fled at his touch. She smiled, and for the second time in as many days, she thought of how far their relationship had progressed. Considering how badly their recent conversation could have ended, the exchange of opinions only confirmed her assessment. She felt closer to him than ever before.

Something told her she was not alone in her feelings when, rather than take her elbow for Side-Along, he drew her into his arms and kissed the tip of her nose. She slid her hands along his chest and returned the favour to his lips. His arms tightened around her.

After their lips parted, he arched one dark eyebrow and asked, "Has anyone else named their children after me?"

"Oh, yes ... hundreds have," she said, fighting to keep the smile from her face. "For several years after the war, Severus topped the list of most popular wizard baby names."

"You cannot be serious."

The smile won at last. "You're right...I made that last bit up," she confessed, squealing when he pinched her bottom in revenge. "But I should probably warn you about Harry's other son."

"Don't tell me..."

"James Sirius Potter."

He winced.

"I believe he'll be starting Hogwarts in a few years," she said.

"Not another one," he said, disdain mingling with resignation.

Rather than comment, she patted his shoulder and then spun, Disapparating them both with a gentle pop.

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Many thanks to little_beloved and Karelia for their beta of this chapter!