Teatime

Disclaimers: These characters and their magical world belong to J.K.R.

Author's note:

Thanks to my betas for ideas, for help plotting, for grammar, and for Brit-picking. Without you I am a mess.

(Edited November 4, 2008)

The Potter Place Anything Goes Challenge is over, and I can now thank my amazing beta team, Sempra and Chivalric, and special guest beta, Beaweasley2.

Chapter 3

Teatime

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Teatime that day found Justin Finch-Fletchley standing nervously in the parlor of 12 Grimmauld Place, waiting for the house-elf to bring Hermione to him. The tiny wizened creature was nothing like the imposing butler who had ruled the Finch-Fletchley home since Justin was a baby.

Justin was hoping his loyalty to Dumbledore's Army would stand him in good stead now, for he had made a terrible blunder.

Hermione entered the room, an unnaturally bright smile on her face.

"Justin! How delightful to see you!" she almost sang. "Do sit down!" She fluttered over to a chair and seated herself. "I've asked Kreacher to bring us tea. Will that be acceptable?"

Justin stared at Hermione, who was dressed in many-layered robes of light fabric. The colours ranged from brown to rust to orange, autumnal colours that looked undeniably wonderful on Hermione. But the style was something more like Pansy Parkinson would have worn. Still the result was altogether pleasant and quite attractive.

"That will be fine, Hermione, although when you hear what I have to tell you, you may not want to feed me. You may want to break the teapot over my head."

Hermione forgot her femme-fatale-of-the-manor act and stared at Justin. She certainly hadn't expected to hear that.

"Hermione, please say you'll listen to what I have to say," Justin continued. "Say you'll hear me out before you throw me out." He looked at her for a reply, apprehension and discomfort obvious on his face. Hermione nodded, intrigued. Her curiosity was piqued, and she could no more throw Justin out than she could throw out Kreacher.

"A group of us were talking at the ball last night," Justin began, staring morosely at his shoes. "About you and Ginny, and Harry and Ron. And I'm not quite sure how it happened. I admit I was drunk. I think we all were.

"Anyway, I admitted that I was going to court you, now that Ron was out of the picture. And... Look, Hermione, I'm not claiming to be in love with you, but I do respect you. Who wouldn't? You and I could make a great team, my family's money and power in the Muggle world.... Why, I might be Prime Minister someday! But more likely I'll have some stable position of power, behind the scenes. And you – well, I know you'll be Minister for Magic.

"If you married me, we'd be a perfect blend. We could do something about the prejudices still faced by Muggle-borns in the Wizarding world. We could work for better Muggle-Wizard relations."

"And you'd love my family. They already love you. They know who you are, of course. When I was in hiding with Colin..." A sad look took possession of Justin's face, for he and Colin Creavey had grown to be very close friends as they hid and fought together during the war.

"Anyway, my parents were fighting, too. My mum and dad helped Muggle-born Wizards get Muggle passports and get out of the country, and they...." Justin stopped, not wanting to say his parents had supplied funds for the exiles.

"Justin, I don't know what to say," Hermione said, looking stunned.

"Don't say anything until you hear me out, Hermione. What I've told you is all true, and the offer stands. It'd be like the sort of marriages of state that Kings and Queens used to make. Some of those marriages turned out very happy. And – you are a queen, Hermione.

"But let me tell you the rest, and then you can throw me out," Justin continued. Hermione nodded, waiting for the next twist.

"Where was I? ... Oh, I told the others I intended to court you. And that berk, Zabini, said you'd rather marry him; he's richer, handsomer, and has lots of Wizarding connections, and my family's Muggle. And somehow (I'm not too clear on this part,) we ended up betting each other we'd be the one who married you.

"Don't throw me out yet, there's more. Micheal Corner and Draco Malfoy bet each other that they'd marry Ginny Weasley. You have to tell her, or – I will if you want me to." Justin wasn't too keen on the idea of telling his tale to a woman renowned for her hexes, but he knew his duty. "Malfoy only wants to marry a war heroine, he doesn't really care about her. I can't speak for Corner.

"Hermione, what we did was unconscionable, and if you'll allow me to, I'll see myself out. But if you want to break the teapot over my head, or toss me out on my ear, or challenge me to a duel, I won't even attempt to defend myself."

Justin stood and drew his wand, then walked to Hermione and dropped to one knee, presenting her the wand pointed at himself.

"Any time you wish to call me out or call me to account, I am at your service," he said. "You deserve any satisfaction you wish to take out on me." It was a calculated risk, but Justin knew Hermione's gentle and kind nature and thought she was unlikely to use his wand against him, much as he might deserve it.

Hermione stared at him in shock. She certainly hadn't expected this when she'd received Justin's note this morning, asking if he could call.

Before Hermione could gather two thoughts to rub together, before she could get out another word, a large owl flew into the open window. Hermione thought she recognized it as the Malfoys' owl.

"That's Draco Malfoy's owl," Justin said. "He's not wasting any time. You have to tell Ginny..."

The door to the parlor opened. Ginny came in with an enormous tea tray. "Kreacher told me I had mail coming," she said as she crossed over to the tea table. "So I thought I'd bring the tea in."

"Oh, what a surprise," she added sarcastically, taking the letter from the owl. She acted as unperturbed as if Hermione had lads kneeling at her feet every day. "No response right now. You go fly around to the kitchen. Kreacher has a window open and will feed you before you return."

"Ginny!" Justin declared, fumbling to his feet. "Before you read that, I want to tell you – Draco Malfoy is after you. He wants a war heroine for a wife, someone to help his standing in Wizarding society. He doesn't really love you."

"Why, thank you, Justin!" Ginny said with a surprised look. "That's kind of you to tell me. I already knew about it, though. And to think I wasn't even his first choice, Hermione was. I am only a second-rate heroine."

Justin sputtered in amazement that Ginny knew so much already. Had she been listening at the door? But he hadn't said anything about Draco saying Ginny was his second choice.

"Has he told you," Ginny asked Hermione, "about the Chastity Vow yet?"

"Draco's already told you everything!" Justin said. "Oh, that's sneaky, but don't you believe he loves you, Ginny! Don't trust him!"

"Oh, no!" replied Ginny. "I hope we know better than to trust Malfoy for our information. But we have our ways of knowing things."

"Justin," Hermione said regally. "I call on your offer of service and swear you to secrecy. You did the right thing, coming to me with the truth. Now don't mention this to a soul, except us, of course, and I won't plot any revenge against you."

"My Queen" Justin said, kneeling down playfully before Hermione and kissing her hand. "I offer my services to plan revenge on your enemies." Hermione giggled at his silliness.

"Seriously," he continued, without letting go of Hermione's hand. "I wish you'd both come to my house sometime soon; we could have lunch and kick around some great ideas for revenge."

Hermione looked over to see Ginny's reaction to the idea.

"Don't you think we should bring our co-conspirators along?" Ginny asked. "May we bring our friends, Justin?"

"Harry and Ron?" he asked in surprise.

"No! Not them!" Ginny said. "They're likely to be on the receiving end! Now, you can't tell where we get our information; it's a secret. It makes us seem more mysterious and all-knowing that way!" Justin nodded his agreement.

"I won't tell anyone about your plans or your friends," he promised.

"Please plan lunch for two more, Neville and Professor Snape. I don't know if Professor Snape will come, but we should ask him."

"That's a kind thought, Ginny," Hermione added. "I don't imagine he gets out much."

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At the same time Justin was confessing to Hermione, Headmaster Snape had a visitor of his own.

"Come in, Circe," he said, opening the door to his office with a wave of his hand before she could knock.

Looking slightly startled (but dressed to kill) was Circe Abernathy, mother of Blaise Zabini.

Circe often dressed to kill, so there was nothing to be learned from her costly robes.

"Do sit down, Circe," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"Ah, Headmaster," she said with a smile that bordered on flirtatious. "How do you know I'm not here because I can do something for you?"

"Circe, we have known each other since we were children. And in all that time, I have never known you to dress so spectacularly when you are about to do something for another person without hope of personal gain."

Circe stiffened. "Are you impugning my motives?"

"No," Severus replied, "simply stating a fact. Now what brings you here?"

Circe looked taken aback for a moment.

"I should know that you see through everyone like a window, Severus. So offer me some tea and some of those scones that never taste so good anywhere else!"

Severus waved his hand towards the bell-pull and asked the obsequious house elf who appeared for tea.

"The lady is fond of scones, Lucky," he added. Lucky grinned and bowed deeply to Circe before disappearing with a pop.

"I need your advice, Severus," Circe said without further blandishments. "Blaise went out with Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott this morning and came back an hour later with some magic spell clinging to him. The sensors detected it, but he won't tell me what it is. That Nott boy is a troublemaker. His father was horrible! I never did like any of the Malfoys, and Narcissa has always been jealous of me."

Severus smirked at the unconscious self-absorption that Circe revealed.

Lucky reappeared with a pop, carrying an enormous tea tray loaded with Severus's favourite treats and several varieties of scones. He set it on the tea table and disappeared with a bow and another pop.

"May I pour out, Severus?" Circe asked, like a child asking for a treat. Severus nodded, and Circe sat herself behind the teapot looking quite at home, although he doubted she'd ever been in the headmaster's office before today. Circe rarely felt (and never looked) uncomfortable anywhere.

"Do you still take two sugars with friends, Severus, and black in public?" she asked, holding the sugar tongs ready to do his bidding.

"Yes. Two sugars, only now I take sugar in public as well. I have grown soft in my old age and care less about projecting a frightening image. You always had a good memory, Circe."

"I can recall how one hundred fifty-seven of my friends and acquaintances take tea. It's much easier to remember than all the potions in your head."

"As I recall, you were also quite good at Potions," Severus replied. There were rumors about how some of Circe's eight husbands had died. Oh, yes, she was quite good at Potions.

She was also quite good at reading people, and she knew that Severus was considering her problem. She would wait patiently for him to speak now, so she merely murmured a quiet, "That's quite a compliment coming from you," and busied herself with a currant scone.

"I know where your son was," Severus began, "and I know what spell has been cast upon him. It is not dark, it is not dangerous, although he may find it... inconvenient."

"Oh, thank you, Severus!" Circe exclaimed. "You are such a good Head of Slytherin. Blaise still looks to you for advice, I know. He told me he visited you before the ball, although he wouldn't tell what he talked about. You're so good to your students!"

Severus paused, wondering how much to tell and how much Hermione would prefer remain unsaid.

"Does this have to do with a lady, a young lady of marriageable age?" Circe asked shrewdly.

"Tell me what you know, Circe, and I will tell you what I know, but I wish you to agree not to tell anyone else."

"Well, Blaise was very interested in the papers the day they reported Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley had dumped their fiancées. He even asked me if I expected him to marry a pureblood and would I be upset if he married someone who had fought at Hogwarts against Cecil.

"I said no, I did not like Death Eaters and would have divorced him after the battle, had he not died."

Severus could see Circe was uncomfortable with the subject of her eighth husband, even six years later. He wondered why, but diplomatically changed the subject back to her son.

"Eat your scones, Circe, and tell me more about Blaise."

"Well, yesterday morning he went to visit you, but wouldn't tell me why. And today he came back after his outing with a spell on him. That's all, really. He broke up with his last girlfriend a couple of months ago. That nice Melinda Button. You know she's descended from Rowena Ravenclaw."

"And how would you feel about Blaise courting someone who is not pure-blooded, Circe?"

"I thought it was the Weasley girl!" she cried. "Her father asked me some very hard questions at my trial... but he was fair, I have to admit. But it's the Granger girl, isn't it? He wants to marry the Granger girl. That would wash away a lot of the stain of not fighting with his classmates. When did he fall in love with her?"

"Circe, now I don't want you telling, or if you do, you may only tell that you believe your son is courting Miss Granger. And don't tell anyone you heard this from me," Severus said solemnly.

You know I can keep a secret, Severus," Circe replied, "I promise." Severus knew she was trustworthy and proceded to tell her what sort of antics her son and his companions had got up to.

to be continued