Nine: June Bride

Seven Brides for Seven Snapes 9: June Bride

Beyond the knot in the panel on which her eyes were fixed, everything in Hermione's peripheral vision was retreating.

"Mistress? Mistress Hermione?"

The elf's voice penetrated from far away. Hermione blinked once, twice, and forced herself back to the present. The grandfather clock's steady, booming tick calmed her racing heart. She took a deep shuddering breath and looked down into Secunda's huge, concerned eyes.

"I'm sorry, Secunda, did you say something?"

"Mistress, the young ladies have had their tea and they're all crying still. You need to say something to them." She glanced at the door. "Master Severus ...?"

"Master Severus is probably going away for a little while," Hermione responded, her voice raspy. "There are some things he needs to think through. The same goes for the boys. Secunda, please would you let the others know that my brothers are not to set foot in the house until I permit them to do so?"

"Mistress?" The elf was horrified.

"They have to prove they've earned the right to a civilised existence."

Hermione bent her head for a moment and gathered her strength. The girls were shocked and afraid, and needed reassurance. Though how she was to give them that when they were all effectively trapped on the Snape estate was another matter.

She pulled her jumper straight and twisted her hair up into a knot, then marched briskly to the kitchen, where six woebegone faces looked up from around the kitchen table. The Optio was busy at the stove. He frowned at Hermione as Secunda whispered her message in his ear, but then nodded unhappily. She nodded back at him before pulling out Severus' chair and sitting down.

Of the six girls, Luna was the only one looking moderately calm, and even she had reddened eyes. Parvati and Lavender were clinging to each other, feeding each other's distress, thought Hermione impatiently, just as they always had at school. Padma was twisting her many rings round and round her fingers, tears coursing down her cheeks. Cho just looked blank and withdrawn. Ginny was crying silently and furiously, her cheeks blotchy.

"When can we go home?" she demanded.

"There may be a little problem with that," Hermione said. Immediately, those who were capable of speech bombarded her with 'whys' and those who were not, burst into fresh storms of sobbing. She took the opportunity to hand the girls' wands back to their owners and waited until they calmed sufficiently to hear her.

"I'm sorry about this, but it seems that the estate's protective wards are going to keep us all here until such time as they are either removed or broken. They are keyed only to the head of the family and so ..."

At the renewed outburst of grief produced by this statement, the minuscule portion of patience remaining to her snapped and she laid down a blanket Silencing Charm. She ignored the glares. After months of living with seven Snapes, she was immune to dirty looks and pouting.

"Just listen! Hysteria gets us nowhere. It is late and we could all do with some rest. The Optio here, and the other elves, will show you to the bedrooms – Optio, would you make sure the boys' sheets are replaced with fresh ones? – where I suggest you make yourselves comfortable. I'll see that some supper is brought to you. I will see if I can get a message to your families, and in the morning ..."

There was a sudden clamour of knocking at the back door. Hermione scrambled to her feet and ran out of the kitchen to answer it.

"Severus!" she cried, flinging the door open. "Oh."

It was Septimius. She quickly masked her disappointment.

"What is it, Septimius? Make it quick."

"It's Severus!" He sounded frantic. "He's going! He came and told us he was leaving – and he says he's not coming back until he's got the new series of potions ready! You know how long that's going to take! Hermione, you might be able to catch him if you run down to the gate – he won't listen to us."

Hermione fought the urge to fling herself out into the darkness, and won.

"It's his decision, Septimius. And I'm not giving in to such passive-aggressive tactics. He has to acknowledge he's done wrong – as do you all – before I'll have him here again. Now go away. The house is for the girls."

She stood in the dark hallway for a few bleak seconds before becoming aware that she had let the Silencing Charm lapse.

"I really think you should exercise more control over them," Lavender accused as Hermione returned to the kitchen. "They seem to do anyth ..."

"Shut up, Lavender. They're adults. They make their own decisions, both good and bad. I'm not their mother."

"But Professor Snape ..."

"You want me to control my husband? What a strange notion of marriage you have." She laughed bitterly. "Now go to bed, please, all of you. We need clear heads to address this situation."

Ginny and Luna were the last to follow the Optio out of the room. Each briefly put an arm round Hermione's stiff shoulders, but neither could think of anything to say, it seemed.

That suited Hermione. She sank into Severus' chair once more, tipping her head to rest against the high back, and closed her eyes.

"You should eat something, Mistress."

"I'm not hungry, Secunda."

"But you need your strength, especially now."

"I might have known you'd work it out." She felt a tear escape from under her lashes and trickle down her cheek.

"I don't reckon it takes a genius to put fatigue, nausea, and a sudden dislike of onions together and come up with the right answer," the elf said drily.

"Much too simple for a genius," Hermione responded. "I was going to tell him this evening."

More tears were pursuing the first. She stretched her eyes wide and looked up at the beamed ceiling, but there was no holding the damn things back.

"Secunda, I'm going to go away and cry for a while now, if you'll excuse me."

"Right you are, Mistress. I'll bring supper to the snug in half an hour. That should give you enough time."

*

Dawn, a week later, saw Hermione pacing the boundaries again. Well, part of the boundaries. Covering the periphery of the estate on foot was teaching her exactly how large it was. She'd also discovered a Dower House in great disrepair, a tumbledown hamlet, abandoned for what looked like centuries and buried under ivy, what seemed to be a bomb crater too well-concealed by rampant nettles, and a healthy marijuana patch (the micro-climate charms were fascinating, and confirmed her estimation of Sidney's skills). What she had not yet found was any way to breach the wards. Not even a Patronus could get through. Her otter now just sat glumly on its tail, so often had it failed to take a message out.

She blew on her fingers. Wands and mittens did not mix, so she'd taken to wearing fingerless gloves despite the chill. Indeed, the temperature was dropping day by day, even by the hour, it seemed. Even her thick clothes and boots, a woolly hat, and Severus' long scarf wrapped nine times round her neck couldn't quite keep it at bay. She stopped to take her thermos out of her backpack. Secunda had taken Hermione's care into her own hands and would not let her out of the house without a full inspection and a picnic, which had to be eaten by the time Hermione returned. Hermione reckoned that as long as Secunda didn't know what was eating it, she could get away with leaving half a loaf of toast for the robins, and she knew the crows and rooks appreciated the sausages.

The long grass crunched under her feet as she shifted to and fro, jigging slightly while she drank the sweet black coffee that was about the only thing she could keep down in the mornings. Her trouser legs sparkled with clinging frost. If she wasn't much mistaken, there was snow on the way.

It was good to be out this early. It was peaceful. The house was too full of movement and voices. With just the boys there, the days had generally been quiet enough, each of them in their separate workspace, concentrating hard, or discussing things in pairs, with occasional bursts of noise and activity when ideas and projects came together for a while. A house full of women with little to do was a nightmare. They expected Hermione to want to talk to them all the time. And when she was in the house, reminders of Severus were everywhere. She continued to organise his office space, in the hope that he would be back soon. The elves kept his unused lab immaculate. In the kitchen, she imposed his shape on his chair, or silhouetted against the window drinking tea and discussing the best balance of herbs with the Optio, or she imagined him stamping into the library demanding such-and-such a reference, or ... And in the snug, where she retreated for peace, she could not help but curl into his place on the sofa, or into his big armchair, seeking a ghost of his embrace. In bed, she held his pillow to her, breathing in his scent and weeping miserable, angry tears for all that she felt she was losing, and for all of his bloody arrogant wrong-headedness. Her husband had about as much empathy as a brick, but still she loved him, and it made her want to scream.

Outside, nobody watched her, or expected comfort from her, or asked her for things to do, or tried to apologise. Damn them. She wasn't convinced they really felt that they'd done wrong. They were intelligent, they knew the right words to say – but did they actually feel it?

A sound in the nearby birch copse startled her. Oh, just one of the Thestral herd. She was quite used to them by now, with their scaly hides and skeletal horse heads. This particular beast, judging by the scar on its leg, was the one Septimius had been treating when she first arrived. It trampled through the weeds and ground elder towards her and poked its nose at her rucksack. It poked again, sniffing noisily, making clouds of steamy breath, then looked at her hopefully.

"You want a sausage? I'm afraid they're cooked, but you're welcome to try."

She rummaged for the packet of sausages, kept warm by elfish magic, and passed one to the Thestral. It took the titbit daintily from her fingers and chewed thoughtfully before spitting the mess onto the grass. She laughed at its affronted expression.

"I suppose you think I should bring you a pound of raw steak?"

It shoved its nose against her pocket, hopefully.

"You great, soft beast!" she said and patted its cheek. It responded by placing its forehead against her side and rubbing vigorously up and down. Hermione braced herself against the affectionate gesture.

"Lummox." Then an idea struck her. "Listen – you wouldn't let me ride you round the perimeter, would you? No flying, mind," she added when it rustled its wings. "I just want to cover more ground. And then I'll get you some meat from the kitchen. How would that be?"

It snorted and bared its teeth in a snicker. She took that as a yes, and picked up the rucksack.

"Just come over here by this rock so I can climb up, will you?"

*

Two more weeks passed. Hermione and her Thestral, which didn't seem to want a name, made the circuit twice, the second time through deep snow. They made no progress with regard to the wards, but Hermione was given an exhaustive tour of the home farm by Sexta, Septimus and Decimus, who managed to convince her that starvation was not going to be an incentive she could use to get the girls involved in her efforts to circumvent centuries-old magic that had been reinforced by generation after generation of paranoiacs, not least of whom was her husband. She found his magical signature everywhere. She even started having conversations with it when she came across a particularly clever twist.

Secunda insisted that she be back in the house by ten for a hot drink and a bath. To be honest, a little coddling did Hermione the world of good, though she annoyed the elf by insisting that the Thestral was seen to first. She would then lie back in hot, scented water, letting her hair fan out round her as she set her mind to the next attempt to break out. Once she was dry, she would go to the snug and reach for pen and parchment, scribbling down ideas, Arithmantic equations, reminders to look up charms with particular characteristics, or potions she might try to brew. Then, before she could really get stuck in and forget to eat, she would be rousted to go and find her guests for lunch.

Cho was usually in the library. She was always at the opposite end of it from Salvius, the pair of them silent except for the rustling of parchment, the thump of a book being put down, or the scratch of a quill on a new index card, but there they were, obviously working together. Padma had wandered down to the labs one afternoon in search of the wherewithal to brew herself an anti-cramping potion, and stayed to tell Sejanus exactly why the theory behind his experiments was faulty. The shouting was audible all over the house. Padma was now engaged in demonstrating to her volatile admirer that he was still wrong, no matter how loudly he could shout. Parvati had of course been drawn to explore the attics, where Scribonius discovered her in a trance over a scrying glass. As it was the one instrument he had difficulty bending to his will, he invited her to stay. Sidney had come to the house seventeen times (she counted) to complain about Hermione being incapable of keeping her interfering little friends out of his greenhouses. Hermione bawled some choice epithets about whose fault it was precisely that the interfering little friends were there in the first place, but nevertheless slung a cloak over her baggy sweater and trudged down with him, to find Lavender jotting notes about the relative concentrations of certain essential oils in some of Sidney's hybrids. The next time he came to the kitchen door, he declared her to have "the best nose in Europe", even if she was horribly underfoot.

It had been impossible to keep the boys away from their own work spaces, and to be honest, Hermione was glad to see an intermittently spiky rapprochement between her brothers and the objects of their desire.

Luna and Ginny were also much occupied with Septimius and Seneca (who came to know the awesome power of the Ginny Weasley Bat-Bogey Hex), but they took the trouble to seek out Hermione other than at lunchtime and for dinner. They generally came to interrupt Hermione's tussle with her absent husband's spellwork for an hour in the evening, sharing whatever insights they might have into the current problem – as Seneca was discovering, Ginny's work at WWW was confirming her as an expert in some of the trickier sides of Charms work, and Luna's perspective was always oddly productive – or simply to chat.

"It's not doing you any good to hide away, working all the time," said Ginny. "You're so pale and drawn."

"I have to get you lot out of here somehow!" protested Hermione. "Or at least send a message to say you're alive and well!" She sank her face into her hands. "I feel so responsible!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ginny scolded, sounding for a minute just like her mother. "You're not their keeper, and we're all adults, so you can stop trying to look after us like a pack of babies."

Hermione burst into tears.

Luna came in with a plate of cakes she had been working on all day. The Optio had taken her under his wing, and as a result the meals had a tendency towards oddness from time to time.

"Have a butterfly cake," she said kindly, then, "Oh, bother!" as they took off.

Hermione's tears changed to giggles and she allowed her friends to hug her.

That night, snuggled in Severus' pyjamas, she whispered the story to his pillow. "You should have seen us trying to catch them!" she said, and fell asleep with a sad smile on her face.

The next morning, finding a fresh storm of snow drifting down, Hermione decided not to go out for her customary ride. The Thestral came to the kitchen window for its meat ration and a pat, but returned voluntarily to the barn with the rest of the herd. They didn't like the feel of snow on their wings. Hermione settled into Severus' chair and tucked her thickly besocked feet under her. The Optio was busy at the stove.

"Are the young masters allowed in for breakfast today, Mistress?" he asked non-commitally as he stirred the porridge.

Hermione sighed. There seemed little point keeping them out any longer.

"Yes, Optio, they can eat in the house now."

The tips of his ears rose, and his shoulders relaxed. He turned round to smile at her. She hadn't realised how much of a strain her orders had put on the elves.

"But they will still be sleeping above the stables."

"Of course, Mistress. It wouldn't be right to have them in here with the young ladies."

She suspected that the old workers' quarters were in any case now far cosier than they had been a few weeks before. Elves had their own ways of getting round rules, after all.

So breakfast was a noisy, crowded, and jolly affair. Hermione found she could smile at the fun, even though this in itself saddened her. She was growing used to the ache of Severus' absence, to the regret of not being able to share her news with him, to the strain of having nobody to lean on. So when Septimius suggested they all go for a walk to gather evergreens and berries to start the Christmas decorations, she acquiesced readily enough.

She opted out of the snowball fight that sprang up, choosing instead to wander away from the squabble about the ethics of using magic to enhance the velocity of hurled snow. There was a place she knew where the holly grew thickly, with many bright berries. It wouldn't take long to harvest a few branches.

"Where is the Mistress?" asked Secunda sharply, while she and the other elves helped to deal with the pile of wet coats, gloves and boots.

Ginny broke off from bickering with Seneca about hiding ice inside snowballs.

"Hermione?" she called. She ran to the back door and called outside. "Did anyone see her leave? Where did she go?"

Secunda and Octavus began shoving outdoor gear back into everyone's hands.

"You have to find her! Now!"

Nobody questioned the urgency of the elf's order. Nobody doubted its wisdom when, hours later, Septimius landed a Thestral in the stable yard, slipping off its back with Hermione in his arms.

"The Thestral found her!" he said in a panicky voice. "She fell into an old tunnel near the hollies. The ceiling collapsed under her." He relinquished her to Seneca to be carried upstairs. "Will she be okay? Please tell me she's okay! She's so still!"

"Let me come up," offered Padma, pushing the others aside and making to follow Seneca. "I'm a Healer..."

"I'll call you if you're needed, Miss," said Secunda. "But I reckon it's not much more than cold and bruising. I hope it's not more," she added grimly.

Seneca laid Hermione gently on her bed.

"Go and get me hot water bottles, hot, sweet tea, and the dark green cushion from the big armchair in the snug," he was ordered. "Then go away again."

Hermione started to cry weakly.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so cold. I lost my wand. I'm sorry. My head hurts. Severus?"

"You've given your head a good thwack and your ankle's sprained," said the elf briskly as she banished Hermione's coat and boots and surrounded her in a warm aura of elfish magic. "Master Severus isn't here – you know that, Mistress."

"Oh. Yes. I forgot." She couldn't seem to stop the tears. "I'm sorry!"

"None of that, now, Mistress. You're fine. You'll be just fine. Don't go to sleep just yet, though. I want to get you all warm and clean and tucked up with some sweet tea inside you."

"Secunda, what would I do without you?"

"Something even more ridiculous than throwing yourself down an old tunnel, no doubt."

Hermione laughed weakly, then gasped and reached out.

"The baby? What about the baby?"

"Baby?" echoed Seneca from the doorway.

*

Hermione was late to breakfast the next day. It had taken some time and eloquence to persuade Secunda that she was perfectly fit to get out of bed. She had slept well and was actually, for a change, starving hungry when she woke. The bump on her head didn't trouble her much, and her ankle was well strapped, so it wasn't as if she was immobilised. As for the baby, he – "She, Mistress, definitely she!" – was having a party and using Hermione's bladder as a trampoline. For some reason, Miss Snape seemed to have taken the accident as a signal to become vastly more active.

She hobbled down to the kitchen and paused outside the door to let her daughter get over the urge to head-butt her in the stomach.

"If you hadn't been so wrapped up in flirting with Seneca, you'd have seen she wasn't there!" Lavender's voice rang out.

"Why is it suddenly all my fault? We were all there, and I didn't notice you take your eyes off Sid for a single moment. It was all, 'Oh, Sidney, come and help me out of this snow drift' and batty eyelashes all day!"

"It was not!"

"Please stop arguing," said Cho quietly. "None of us was paying attention. We were all at fault."

"And to think we never even knew she was pregnant!" added Parvati. "Why didn't she say anything? She should have said something!"

"Hermione can be very private about personal things," said Luna.

"I just hope the baby's okay," said Padma. "That elf wouldn't tell me anything..."

"'That elf' is called Secunda," said Hermione, pushing the door open, "and has been midwife at the birth of almost every single Snape since nineteen sixty. I think she can manage. And yes, the baby is fine, thank you."

"Oh, Hermione! What if ..?" Parvati was managing to look utterly tragic.

Hermione helped herself to coffee and an enormous mound of bacon and eggs.

"If I weren't pregnant, you'd just have been going on about how stupid I was to fall down a hole. Now, perhaps we can stop arguing and have breakfast in peace."

"I still think you should let me examine you," said Padma, on the verge of a sulk.

"They haven't let you do any obstetrics yet at St Mungo's?"

At least she had the grace to blush.

"It would be very valuable experience for me," she admitted. "Would you, please?"

"You can have a look once a week, with Secunda present, as long as you remember she's the one who's in charge of my care. Now, can we stop talking about my completely normal and uneventful pregnancy and please eat? Where are the boys, by the way?"

"They went to look for your wand," said Ginny. "You know, you don't have to wear those enormous jumpers any more. I mean, you don't need to hide it."

"I like wearing enormous jumpers."

"Oh, it's so romantic!" burst out Lavender. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Hermione. How far along are you?"

"Due late April."

"And you got married in June! I've always wanted to have a baby right away when I get married!"

"Actually, it's more the result of carelessness than romance," said Hermione sardonically. "Pass the mushrooms."

The outside door banged and there was a trampling of feet in the hallway.

"WIPE THEM!" bellowed an elf.

Septimius appeared in the doorway, hopping as he pulled off his second boot, which he flung over his shoulder, to an irate shout of "Oy!"

"We found your wand!" he said, and thrust it into Hermione's hand. "It was right up in one of the trees."

"Thank you."

She watched as her brothers settled themselves into the free spaces around the table. She waited for a while. She mopped up the last puddle of egg yolk with some toast and chased it down with some orange juice. Then she picked up her wonky mug and inhaled the fragrant steam.

"Okay. Someone tell me what the matter is – besides the obvious shock of imminent unclehood."

It was Sejanus, he who generally stayed aloof unless he had something annoying to say, who finally answered.

"We nearly lost you, Hermione. It was... a shock to us."

She felt something in her chest release, and she smiled behind her mug.

"It's horrible to have someone dear to you snatched away, isn't it?" she asked pointedly.

"At least something good came of your fall, Hermione," said Seneca, breaking another awkward silence.

"Oh?"

"Yes. What with the tunnel being forgotten for generations – Sal hunted up a record of it in the early eighteen-hundreds, but nothing since then – the wards are a bit weaker down there. We think that with a bit of work, we might be able to get a message through ..."