Five: A chaw of tobacco

Seven Brides For Seven Snapes 5: A chaw of tobacco

Hermione sat contentedly, a mug of tea in her hands and her lists spread out on the table in front of her. In spite of the hour, ten o'clock, the house was quiet, the concept of an early start apparently being unfamiliar territory to her unruly pack of brothers-in-law. She relished the calm before what she was sure would be a storm and let the warm sunshine falling through the window warm her shoulders while the ticking of an old clock on the mantelpiece above the fireplace measured the rhythm of her thoughts.

In the security of solitude, she permitted her mind to wander a little. She gazed dreamily into the mug that said "Sev" and which she was already beginning to think of as hers. The night had been ... most satisfactory. She had woken with a disinclination to look for a fight and a smile on her face that broadened when she looked at the blissful features of her still-sleeping husband. It made her feel extremely smug to know she'd put that expression on a face that was known far and wide as the epitome of cantankerous. So she'd decided, in the spirit of research to which she was a devoted slave, to see if she could get him to wake up with a grin.

She could.

Breakfast had been waiting when they arrived downstairs, and as they ate, Severus had consented to tell her something of his family in order, as he said, to "stop her pestering him with her incessant bloody questions" before he went down to his lab to begin his day's work.

"Well, go on, then," she had insisted when he didn't continue. "Why doesn't anyone know you have brothers?"

"Grandfather went to great lengths to hide them."

Severus sighed into his coffee.

"I suppose it was necessary. By the time Seneca was coming up to school age, I was heavily involved with the Dark Lord's junior fan-club. Grandfather saw better than I did where it was all going, and made sure that the kids were sent elsewhere, so they never showed up on the Hogwarts rolls, not even as potential students."

"So where did they go?"

"The Molotov Institute in Novgorod."

Hermione blinked.

"Novgorod?"

"Novgorod."

Pause.

"Novgorod," she repeated.

"Uh-huh."

"Well, that explains the beards and baggy tunics, I suppose."

"Indeed."

"And I suppose the wards were for when they came home during the holidays? They did come home, didn't they?"

"In the summer."

"But why did he keep sending them all away after Voldemort fell the first time?"

"I suppose by then the Snape name was mud in wizarding society." He affected an indifferent tone, but he was messily eviscerating his sausages.

"Oh, Severus," she said softly.

"And anyway, Grandfather always was a belt and braces security obsessive – providentially, as it turned out, since you evidently can't keep a good megalomaniac psychopath down."

In the summer sunshine, it was possible for Hermione to summon a laugh at that.

"Good job we proved him wrong second time around, don't you think?" she said, pouring more coffee and passing Severus a pain au chocolat to dispel the face she had always – strictly in the privacy of her own head – called 'Mr Grumpypants'. She had too many memories of Monday morning Potions class to want to see that one very often.

"Now, finish your breakfast and go away and be useful somewhere while I think about how to bully your brothers into some semblance of good order."

"After Potter and Weasley, they should be a doddle."

"Be nice."

Hermione put her mug down. The time had come to set things in motion.

"May I speak with the house-elves, please?" she said to the empty kitchen. After all, it was hardly poltergeists doing the cooking.

Accustomed to the discretion of Ministry elves, Hermione was unprepared for what sounded like a barrage of machine gun fire.

"If the Mistress would like to come out from under the table and get on with whatever it is she feels she has to say to us, then we might be able to get back to our work."

This did not sound like the sort of elf Hermione had met before. This voice sounded as though its owner had had the meaning of the word 'obliging' explained in full, had examined all the ramifications, expounded at length on their philosophical lacunae, shredded them into hamster bedding, and buried them in the muck heap.

In other words, it sounded like a Snape.

Hermione had been rather nervous about handling elves, but Snapes were another matter entirely.

She crawled out from under the table and took her time straightening her clothes before facing what turned out to be a row of eleven elves, variously attired in clean pillowcases, teatowel-togas, and hessian sacks which, in the case of two elves, were accessorised with wellington boots bearing traces of steaming manure. (It was later explained that wellies were not, as many people erroneously suspected, items of clothing – they were 'protective equipment' and thus allowable under the Elvish Code of Practice [Rural Appendix].) All twenty-two large, green eyes were regarding her challengingly. An elf whose embroidered pillowcase strained slightly around his belly stood slightly in front of the others, his arms crossed.

"Good morning," she said politely, ignoring the obvious. "Who among you is in charge, please?"

Two of the other elves sniggered.

"I am the Optio, Mistress," said the embroidered elf, bristling.

"Optio? Oh! The centurion's aide!" Hermione exclaimed. "I see the Prince enthusiasm for Roman history extends beyond just naming my brothers."

One of the other elves pricked an ear – she supposed it was the equivalent of an eyebrow raise for a creature that didn't have any – and nodded slightly.

"And what is your name, Optio?"

"We goes by our titles, Mistress," he said firmly. Arms still folded, he jerked his head towards the others. "Them's Primus, Secunda, Tertius, Quartus..."

"I think she's got the picture, Optio," interrupted one of the others.

"Show some respect, you!" snapped Optio.

"Why?" asked Secunda in a perfectly reasonable tone. "Just 'cause you inherited the title don't make you the boss."

"Yes it bloody does!"

Hermione felt things were getting a little out of hand.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, and ladies! Time is passing and we have work to do."

That got their attention. Mentioning work to a house-elf was like dangling manticore spawn in front of Hagrid. Hermione cleared her throat nervously. She hated beginning with a criticism.

"Erm, I have noticed that – although many rooms here are very clean and tidy – many of the rooms used as work spaces are... er... not."

"That's not my bloody fault," muttered the Optio, his ears drooping. The others shuffled their feet.

"Optio, I suspect that had you and your cohort been given the opportunity, the disorder in the workrooms would be less pronounced..."

"They haven't let us do nowt for a month!" squeaked the elf ninth in line, smallest, stringiest, and twisting a feather duster between her hands. "And those of us that weren't off in Russia with the young maisters had too much with the inside of the 'owse to get t' outside looking nice...."

Hermione gaped.

"They made all that mess in a month?"

"Well, to be fair, Mistress," said Primus, "Master Severus has had since the end of the war to construct that papier mache rat's nest he calls an office. He claims it's a 'system'."

Hermione snorted.

"Am I right in thinking that you have had direct instructions from my brothers not to touch the rooms in which they work?"

"Yes, Mistress," chorused the elves in tones ranging from embarrassment to bitterness.

"Am I right in thinking that it is an affront to house-elf honour to allow such mess to go untouched?"

They straightened hopefully. She began to feel oratorical.

"Am I right in thinking that as Mistress of this house, I outrank them all?"

"Yes, MISTRESS!" they shouted. There were tears in the Optio's eyes.

"Well, then, first I'm going to set you to committing a little light burglary, and then here's what we're going to do..."

*

"Severus? I'm going into London – is there anything you need?"

He looked thoroughly absorbed in observing the progress of whatever he had brewing in a polished steel cauldron. Even his nose looked focused when he concentrated like that, Hermione noticed. It was rather endearing. She waited for his answer. After a minute or two, he set the potion under stasis and looked up.

"I'll walk you to the gates and show you how to lower those wards," he said. "You can't ..."

"... Apparate here, any more than one can at Hogwarts. Yes, I worked that one out quite quickly. Belt, braces, gaiters and puttees, your grandfather. And you rather like it."

He snorted, but took her hand once they were outside.

"And why are you going back to London already, wife?"

"Shopping."

"I might have known," he sighed. He fished in his pocket. "Well, I suppose you might as well have the key to my fortune, such as it is. The goblins warned me this would happen."

Hermione laughed.

"I won't bankrupt you. I'm just going to Marks and Sparks for your brothers. At the moment I feel like I'm wandering round inside a bad production of Dostoyevsky. I shudder to think what they might be using for underwear ..."

"You're going to buy knickers for my brothers? They're going to love that."

He was evidently enjoying the prospect.

At the gates, Hermione surprised Severus with her demand for a kiss goodbye. She wondered, suddenly, if she was presuming too much on the night before.

"You're taking this marriage business very seriously, wife," he said, reaching for her hands after a moment's hesitation. "It's a little unexpected."

"I take everything very seriously, husband," she replied. "Oh, and you might want to ward your lab when you get back inside. I imagine it's going to get very noisy before long."

*

Hermione browsed the selection of men's underwear and wondered how her brothers-in-law were going to react to her admittedly uber-Gryffindor tactics. She hadn't for one moment considered anything like a subtle approach. Sitting at supper with them had convinced her very quickly that anything less than a full-out assault was going to be met with derision, argument and, as a last resort, petulant stonewalling. She had decided very quickly to simply bypass all that and show them what a big sister was all about. She had sent the elves to steal all the boys' clothes and place anti-Transfiguration wards (they were delighted to learn these, as the Snape men were notoriously cavalier about how they used their surroundings) on any fabrics that were easily available. She had prepared six large notices to be pinned to the inside of each bedroom door, informing the occupant that the locking spells in place would not yield to any magic wielded by a person not freshly washed and shaved. She'd made sure that last word was in large, red letters, and had added a few sparkles, just to add insult to injury. Finally, she had instructed the Optio that should any of the boys – she had immediately lumped them into that category – manage to break the locking spells without obeying her instructions, then they were not to be fed.

Boxers or briefs?

It was quite fun selecting a different colour for each brother.

Black for Severus, of course.

Then an accidental trip to the lingerie department.

Whoops, was that a large book shop across the road?

Hermione decided that it was a) nice to have the time to actually shop, and b) that shopping, when one had the time, could even be pleasant.

*

Most of the initial round of shouting was over by the time Hermione returned. She found her brothers-in-law attired in a selection of frilly and flowery bed linens tied at random round their bodies, seated round the kitchen table partaking sulkily of what looked like a splendid lunch. Glowering left her unmoved, however, and she blithely took Severus' chair and helped herself to cold roast chicken and salad.

"I had no idea I'd married into such an attractive family," she said blithely.

Someone growled.

Well, to tell the truth, with the exception of the inexplicable Septimius, they were none of them classically handsome, and in the case of Seneca, downright fearsome to behold, but there was something ... Character, charisma? She examined them while they ate and refused to return her gaze.

Seneca, built (as Ron would say) like a brick shithouse, craggy and forbidding, with heavy brows and a lantern jaw, but blessed with that voice and charm in bucketloads when he chose to exercise it. The man for whom the term joli-laid had been coined.

Salvius, the one who had received the most unadulterated expression of the Snape nose, and whose obvious difficulty in tearing that appendage out of his book in order to remember to scowl endeared him to Hermione.

Scribonius, a devilish glint in his dark eyes, and clever hands for scattering the runes, shuffling the Tarot, and arranging the stems of mallow and hogweed for the divinatory fires.

Sejanus, lounging like a panther, looking as though he were just waiting for the next opportunity to pounce with the most cutting remark he could think of.

Sidney, tawny and amber, the most similar to Severus in feature, but a Severus hewn from golden sandstone rather than black iron. He was toying with the salad leaves, arranging them by size and variety – a gastronomic taxonomy.

And lastly, Septimius, blessed with all the looks and sunny disposition that had passed the others by; as enthusiastic as Hagrid about every animal that existed; and a true Hufflepuff if ever there was one. No wonder they all called him "Timmy".

And now, all of them hers to shape into something that could move in British wizarding society without breaking anything important.

"So," she said, "first things first. I've bought decent clothes for all of you, so you won't look like a bundle of scarecrows any more. I had to guess at sizes, but I'm sure a little foolish wand-waving will fix that. We will reconvene in the library in half an hour, and I'll tell you what's going to happen next."

*

One week of relentless bullying later, Hermione felt she deserved another trip into town. Harry and Ron had been exhausting at the best of times, but a houseful of Snapes, while offering more in terms of stimulating conversation, almost had her beating her head to a pulp at the end of each day. If it hadn't been for Severus, whose habit of authority swayed even his brothers occasionally, and the unswerving devotion of the house-elves (the Optio, discovering a passion for stationery supplies, had cleared out a back scullery and plastered the walls with charts, pinboards, and every colour of sticky-note known to creation, leaving Hermione no alternative but to place him in charge of the details of organising the house while she held onto the 'big picture' role by the skin of her teeth), she would probably have given up at the end of the first afternoon.

The one ray of sunshine was that when, frazzled from shouting down Salvius over the importance of cataloguing the library (while the elf Tertius quietly got on with the job) or from browbeating the others into agreeing that some sort of system would help them actually to integrate their various fields of expertise, she was able to escape to Severus' work space. There, they talked over his plans for the future, and he even, after several large hints were dropped, let her begin to sort out his office.

Hermione was beginning to have a few ideas for her own role in the enterprise, and now she wanted to equip her own work space, which was what she told Septimius when he bumped into her leaving the house.

"Oooh, can I come?" he asked.

"It's really going to be very boring," she said repressively.

"But you're going to need someone to help carry things, aren't you?" he pleaded.

He gave her his most melting look, made all the worse by the fact he had no idea he was doing it.

"Oh, all right, then. Wash your hands, first, though – you've been feeding the Thestrals."

The next thing she knew, he'd charged into the house yelling, "Hermione's going to town! Who's coming?" and she had a full escort of six men, all trying very hard not to look excited about their first trip to Diagon Alley. It was, she supposed, rather gratifying to be thus accompanied – they were an impressive bunch – but somewhere inside, there was a Very Bad Feeling growing.

"Just remember," she said, "behave yourselves."

And they tried. She had to give them that.

She had brought them to Weasleys, as she wanted both to give them an idea of the competition and to see Ginny. Ginny squealed and dragged her to the coffee shop where she bombarded her with questions while Hermione attempted to keep a weather eye out for trouble. Septimius followed her and almost immediately fell into conversation with Luna, who had spotted a Vrugoi hovering above his left shoulder.

The other Snape brothers looked about them with interest, but they seemed to find nothing more fascinating than the young women who wandered to and fro, casting curious looks at the strangers.

Too late, Hermione saw that a small group of girls was drifting purposefully towards her brothers-in-law.

She saw Sejanus poke Sidney and hiss, "Go on – say something."

She saw Sidney shove his hand in his trouser pocket and say ...

"Want to see my Gargantua nuts?"