Ten: Spring, Spring, Spring

Seven Brides for Seven Snapes 10: Spring, Spring, Spring

Lavender's attention wandered as an animated discussion of warding charms and hexes sprang up. Typical Hermione Granger behaviour. Any normal woman would want to talk about her baby and make plans for its nursery and discuss names. Not Hermione – oh, no. She got all lit up about Arithmancy and over-complicated spellwork. You'd never know she was pregnant, the way she behaved. She'd probably never even notice the baby once it was born.

Lavender always felt left out of conversations like this one. It wasn't that she was stupid – she'd done well enough at school without putting too much effort in – but rather that she just wasn't interested in all that theoretical stuff. What she liked, what she was good at, was style, and colour, and art, and all those things that her parents said were 'all very well for hobbies'. Which had left her stranded in a stupid, boring job at the Ministry, living for her lunch breaks and evenings, and a flat stuffed with lovely crafts and clothes she had no purpose for. It wasn't fair. And here was Hermione, mistress of a gorgeous old house she obviously didn't give two hoots about. Lavender had been itching to redo the colours and furnishings since she got here, and it was only good manners that kept her sitting on her hands.

She glanced over at Sidney, who was listening attentively to Hermione's point about triple-inversed polarities in locking spells being complicated by the inclusion of a blend of Ogham with standard runes – or some such.

Well, at least there were the greenhouses to go to. Sidney didn't say much about it, but he clearly had an eye for beauty. Only yesterday he had given her the most perfect deep purple orchid spattered with scintillating gold flecks – one of his own hybrids. It smelled divine. She had immediately cast a Permanence Charm of her own devising, to preserve its beauty and perfume forever. Most such charms destroyed the scent. And he had looked impressed. Really impressed. Not just with her looks or her repartee, but with something she'd created.

So ner, Hermione, she thought.

"If you'll all excuse me, I've got one or two things to do upstairs," she said inanely.

She trailed a hand across Sidney's shoulders as she passed him. He was such a love – he immediately caught her hand and kissed her fingers, raising those glorious amber eyes to hers with a silent promise of more passionate embraces. He took her breath away. He called her his flower ... She lifted her chin as she left the kitchen. She wouldn't be chasing her man away any time soon.

"Lavender!"

Hermione caught her at the foot of the stairs.

"What is it?"

"Can I ask you a favour?"

"Go on."

"It's Christmas soon, and I'm sure we'll still all be stuck here, and I want to make it nice, and ..." She took a deep breath. "Lavender, would you be in charge of all the decorations and stuff? It's my first Christmas in the family, so it has to be glorious, but I'm just no good at that sort of thing. And you've always been brilliant at it. Please?"

Lavender thawed a bit.

"I'd be delighted. Thanks. Do you want me to consult you at all?"

"No – I trust you to make everything magnificent. Thanks, Lavender. This means a lot to me."

As Hermione returned to the back of the house, Lavender saw her place her hand on her swelling stomach. There was such a strange expression on her face. So tender, but so very, very sad.

*

Scribonius leaned over the top of the half-door to check on the silver leverets. It had been an amazing stroke of luck to find them, and better yet that Septimius was there to raise them. They generally died if they were abandoned. Half-grown now, they were already beginning to glow.

"Will these hares be ready for the Equinox?"

"Oh, yes. They'll be big and strong – just right for what you need."

"I've always wanted to try this," said Scrib. "I've read so much about it, but this is the first time in over a century that anyone's managed to raise a litter. I'm going to publish a paper that'll make all the academics back in Novgorod green with envy – there'll be less sneering about 'unorthodox methods' then."

"Glad to be of service, brother."

"They're sweet," commented Luna, making them both jump. "What are you using them for?"

"It's a divination spell. They go crazy and dance under the full moon at the spring equinox, and the patterns they make on prepared ground can be used to give indications about the future."

"I like the spells where animals don't have to be killed," Luna said with one of her vague smiles. "They always seem more propitious. And it's good timing – not long before Hermione's baby arrives."

"So, what are you going to give Hermione for Christmas, Scrib?" Timmy asked as he fed shreds of cabbage to the young animals.

"I thought I might make a cradle. I had a look at ours and it's got woodworm."

"That's good thinking. Will you carve it, too?"

"If I can think of the right motif, yeah."

"That's actually a bad idea."

Merlin, but Timmy's girl was blunt at times.

"And why is that, exactly?"

"I'm sure you'll work it out if you think about it."

She stared at him with those unblinking silvery eyes until he thought his own might start watering. Well, he wasn't about to start playing stupid guessing games. He waited. She shrugged and wandered off.

"Timmy, how on earth do you put up with her?"

"She's cute. And perceptive. She's right – perhaps you should make something for Hermione, not the baby."

"Oh."

"You should find out when Severus is going to come back and wrap that in a ribbon for her."

"You think I haven't tried?" Scrib growled. "The tosser's hidden himself good and proper – I can't see him with anything. Neither can Parvati, and she's better at scrying than I am."

"I've noticed you and she are getting very cosy. Been trying any of the really unorthodox methods the profs think nobody knows about?"

Scrib felt himself blushing.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I showed her a couple of those texts, and she, well, she said she's game for anything as long as it's with me!"

"I thought you were looking a bit blissful these days."

"So, what are you giving Hermione for Christmas, kidlet?"

"A cat, I thought. She said she had one, before. Something cuddly."

*

The Optio sat back in his comfy chair, conscious of a job well done. Not that all the jobs he did weren't well done, but Christmas dinner had been a triumph, and the evening buffet of turkey sandwiches, mince pies, cheese straws, and all those other little dainties – well, he would be hard put not to admit to perfection. And while he had not done all the hands-on preparation himself, he had certainly been the coordinator.

It had been decades since there had been a Christmas like this. He looked around his HQ and blessed the First Elf for sending him Mistress Hermione. She knew what organisation was all about; she it was who had introduced him to whiteboards and coloured pens and sticky notes. The three boards dedicated to Christmas Day currently held pride of place, and he was taking a few minutes to admire them in all their multicoloured glory before they were erased and the Boxing Day boards took their place.

What a pleasant change it was to have a proper Mistress, who valued his skills, and who set about turning the Hall into a home again. He'd been wary at first – the elf networks had been busy for years with gossip about the dreaded S.P.E.W. – but the Mistress showed that she had come to respect their culture, even if she did blather on about pay and holidays and other such nonsense from time to time. He raised his sherry glass in a silent salute to his stationery supplies cupboard.

There was a quiet knock at the door.

"Optio?" The Mistress put her head round the door. "May I come in?"

"Of course, Mistress! Take a seat! I'd have thought you'd be in bed by now – you'll not do yourself any good, missing out on sleep, now."

She shrugged but sat willingly enough. The Optio reflected that it was a good job Secunda had taken her in hand. The girl wouldn't take care of herself at all, left to her own devices. She had a package in her hands.

"Optio, I've given the others their presents – here's yours. It's a good job I did my shopping before we all got stuck here," she added wryly.

"There was no need, Mistress," he said, gingerly accepting the gaily-wrapped parcel.

"It's not clothes," she laughed. "I've learned my lesson – in that, at least."

He unwrapped it carefully, smoothed and folded the paper for re-use, and stared at the set of books.

"Cookery books, Mistress? You're not satisfied with my cooking?"

She looked horrified, and for a dreadful moment, he thought she was going to cry.

"No! No! I love your cooking! Oh – I'm sorry! I just thought... You love cooking so much, I thought you'd be interested in what's popular in the Muggle world at the moment. This writer's really good, and I thought ..."

The Optio felt awful. Secunda'd have his guts for garters if he upset the Mistress.

"Mistress! My mistake! It's a lovely present!" He thumbed through the first book and let it fall open at a particularly attractive photograph. "Chocolate fudge cake. That'd be the one that the Master liked so much in Muggle London, then?"

He scanned the recipe – it looked promising. Then he noted the last line: "Serves 10. Or 1 with a broken heart." [Footnote 1]

He looked up again to find that she had gone.

*

The hole had been widened, but it was still rather a scramble to get in and out. Seneca could have made the climb easier, but he enjoyed seeing Ginny get all dishevelled. He suspected she knew perfectly well why he had not altered the access to the tunnel, and that's why she too had left it alone. Spending time with her was always like that – guessing games, and mostly being second-guessed.

Seneca, despite his skill at talking rings round other people, had always secretly preferred not to talk about what really mattered to him. He was good at using speech to get results, but it felt like cheating to use it on Ginny, so he left silent messages. Growing up with six older brothers, she was an obvious expert at reading male communication ploys, and she never failed to understand him.

Nor did she fail to let him know that his company was welcome. After all, she had now spent weeks in a dark, dank, miserable tunnel with him, engaged in the frustration of attempting to break a seemingly impenetrable barrier of spells. Her magic was wonderful – fresh and alive, like a blustery spring day full of birdsong. He touched it every time they worked together now, since they had found they made more inroads on the wards by melding their power. It was intimate, and intimidating.

"Sod it!" snapped Ginny as their latest attempt failed and the wards snapped back into place as if they'd never been dented. "I think Hermione's right. We're going to have to infuse some blood magic – Merlin, I hate that stuff. It's filthy."

She flopped onto one of the heavy crates they'd dragged down as furniture and unscrewed a thermos. "Tea?"

He joined her and rummaged in the basket for biscuits.

"It's not all Dark magic, you know," he admonished. "When there's a strong familial tie ..."

It struck him what he was saying. His biscuit stopped half-way to his mouth.

"Gods, Ginny. Your family. I'm ... I'm sorry."

In the candle light, he saw tears well in her eyes.

"It's not just me," she said, facing him squarely. "It's my dad and my mum – they nearly lost me at the end of the war. They did lose my brother. They must be frantic. Or maybe they're past that now." Her chin wobbled.

"They surely don't think you're dead?"

"No! Oh, no! Mum's got one of those clocks, you know? It probably just says 'missing' or some such. I hope so, anyway. I keep having this dream, that my hand on the clock just spins and spins and then flies off into nowhere."

Seneca folded her in his arms.

"You're making me spill my tea, Seneca."

"Let's go and see how far Hermione's got with researching the last layer of charms we identified. She's so frustrated at not being able to get her own hands on these wards."

Ginny snorted.

"She wouldn't fit down the hole, anyway. Yes, let's go and make her eat toasted teacakes in the kitchen, where she can't keep throwing doleful looks at the cupboard with Severus' birthday presents in. He is such an arse for sulking this long."

"Actually, I overheard Secunda telling her off for throwing darts and swearing at that cupboard – and my grandfather sulked for thirty-two years before dying in a fit of pique, so don't hold your breath. We need to keep working."

"I love you, Seneca!"

He was speechless, which seemed answer enough for her.

*

Cho and Padma faced each other across the chess board. The room was a little chilly, but they were enjoying the crisp air and watery March sunshine admitted by the open window, and it was nothing that a shawl or two couldn't cope with. Cho moved her bishop, and as she did so the sunlight picked up the ring on her left hand.

"Opals are such a funny choice for an engagement ring," remarked Padma, frowing at the bishop, who was gesturing rudely at her queen.

"It's a family heirloom, he says." She held up her hand, angling the ring to bring out its colours. "I've always liked opals – full of hidden fire."

"Like Salvius?"

Cho blushed. "You could say that."

"He certainly does keep his fire hidden," continued Padma judiciously. "So quiet and studious most of the time, and then, bam! he explodes over something trivial."

"How are you getting on with Sejanus? I must say, it's a treat to have you here out of the lab."

Padma prodded a pawn, which slouched unwillingly into the next square and squatted down with its arms over its head.

"Hard to say, really. He's like quicksilver. One minute all honey, the next vinegar – and he's always saying really cutting things and arguing with me. I'm never sure quite where I stand with him, but I can't stay away."

Hermione, bearing a vase overflowing with daffodils into the room, caught Padma's wistful statement. She put the flowers down on a table, moved them to the mantelpiece, then the windowsill, then back to the table.

"How come whenever Lavender does this they're always perfect, and whenever I try it, they always look vaguely wrong?" She shrugged and sank into an easy chair. "Sejanus wouldn't let you anywhere near him if he wasn't besotted, Padma. He's completely ... oof!"

"Kicking hard?"

"Kickboxing, more like. I can't believe I've got another six weeks of this."

"Do you want a game of chess?" asked Cho. "It might take your mind off things a bit."

"No – it's all right, but thanks for offering. I haven't the patience for chess, and besides, I can't concentrate for thinking about what they're all doing down there."

"Ginny said they needed to try with all the blood members of the family at once. She sounded quite hopeful that they'd break through today."

Hermione grimaced.

"Merlin, I hope so. I really, really, really hope so. I've got to get you all free somehow."

Cho looked at her ring again, and back at Padma.

*

Secunda wasn't happy with the idea, but sometimes it just wasn't worth arguing with Hermione. And there was an example, she reflected sourly. She'd never thought it would come to addressing her Mistress by her first name. Silly modern notions. It wasn't proper. But Hermione insisted, and had a neck as stiff as any elf's, so ... She finished tying Hermione's shoelaces and stood up to check her handiwork.

"I feel awful getting you to do my shoes, Secunda. It's so wrong, somehow."

"When you can't get near your feet, it only makes sense to ask for help."

"Are you sure there's only one baby in here? I'm so huge – and there's still a month to go!"

Secunda snorted.

"Come along, now. If you're insisting on following this daft notion, then you'd better get it over with before you get any bigger."

In fact, thought the elf, Hermione was moving very well for a woman in advanced pregnancy. She didn't let it slow her down any more than she had to. A shame that Master Severus wasn't there to see how lovely his wife was, carrying their child. They crossed the stable yard, wet from the night's rain, and took the path down to the tunnel. Hermione exclaimed at the new growth everywhere and drew Secunda into a trivial discussion about whether it was worth bullying the Optio into using the new growth of wild garlic in an omelette. She seemed on good form, but Secunda knew nervousness when she heard it.

It was good to see that the boys had enlarged the hole into the ground and set a sturdy ladder in place. Even so, it was no place for a pregnant woman. Dark, dank, slippery, dirty ... She could have continued her litany of subvocal grumbles, but right now she had to make sure her Mistress got down the ladder in one piece.

She followed, checked Hermione once again ("I'm fine! I've been up a ladder helping Lavender paint the nursery, haven't I?"), and gave her consent for the next part of the folly. She wasn't happy, though.

"Master Seneca!" she hissed.

He stopped and let the others go ahead to where Ginny was waiting at the boundary.

"What?"

"You'd better be very sure this is the only way to do this, young man!" Secunda threatened.

"I was sure two weeks ago – but this is the first time you've let us try."

"It's the first time I've been willing to let her risk early labour. It's not safe. Not for her. Not for the baby."

He sighed and rubbed his hand wearily over his face.

"I know, Secunda. And if there was any other way ... Look – we've practiced together until we're chanting the incantation in our sleep, and we've configured it for maximum protection of Hermione, but the charm needs all the blood members of the house to be present. And that means the baby, too. It's actually safer for him to be where he is for this casting – once he's born he'll be too fragile."

"Just look after her, boy." Secunda was quite proud that her voice remained more or less steady, she was that afraid.

At the boundary, Hermione and the others were already in formation, needing only Seneca to slot into his place. Miss Ginny drew back a ways with Secunda, to be out of range. She was nervous, too, judging by the way her fingers were trembling in Secunda's hand. The elf felt her ears droop – blood magic made her itch, even when none was shed. She could feel the power building as seven wands were raised and directed at one particular spot in the invisible wall. She didn't catch the incantation – it was in some funny language she didn't know – but the backwash blew her off her feet. She struggled up to see Hermione, supported in her brothers' arms, hurling her Patronus directly ahead and, when it slipped through with barely a shudder of distortion, punch the air.

"We did it!"

The boys were crowing their success. Miss Ginny ran to hug her friend.

"Ginny, I've sent a message to your father. It's still not easy to get anything through, but at least he'll know you and the others are all right and he'll spread the word. Oh, Ginny! We did it! All thanks to you and Seneca!"

"What about Severus? Aren't you going to send one to him?"

Secunda thought that was a very good question. She was glad, however, that she was not the one who caused Hermione's face to close down like that.

"It's up to him to contact me, Ginny. All this time, he could just have walked back in here, and he hasn't." She frowned around the group. "And that goes for all of you. Nobody contacts him. Secunda? I might need a bit of a push to get up the ladder."

The walk back to the house was slower, and silent.

"Mistress? Are you fit?"

"I'm fine, thank you. Just a little tired after that. Must be why I'm feeling a bit spaced-out."

Uh-oh, thought Secunda.

*

Septimius loved his eldest brother. He almost hero-worshipped him, to tell the truth. But the way Severus'd behaved towards Hermione had severely tarnished his image. Hermione had forbidden them to send any messages to Severus, and he could see why, but he could also see that she loved him, and she missed him, and right now she needed him there.

He slipped out of the house unnoticed. It wasn't difficult, given that everyone's attention was elsewhere. Hermione's Thestral whuffled from the shadows as he passed, wishing him well, perhaps.

The altered wards shimmered slightly in the wand light he cast in the tunnel. He wasn't even sure his message would get through without a repetition of the spell, but he had to try.

"Expecto patronum!" he said firmly. His Labrador wriggled through and was gone.

"You're a good man, Septimius," said Luna from behind him. "That must be why I'm going to marry you, once you get round to asking me."

*

For the first time in all the forty-one years he had been Master Severus' particular servant, a position he regarded as both a privilege and a horrible responsibility, Primus surveyed a carnage of smashed glassware, overturned cauldrons and spilled potions with equanimity. With pleasure, even. He leaned against the door jamb and dug in his pocket for a packet of cigarettes. The Master didn't like him to smoke when there were potions brewing, but there was bugger all left that was going to be of any use to anyone, so he might as well light up for a while before cleaning this lot away.

Secunda would skin him if she saw him smoking, but who cared? She'd skin him worse once she saw he was wearing overalls.

The Master had been so furious at being followed to Spinner's End that he'd given Primus clothes. Primus had taken them without a blink and stayed anyway. 'Free' meant 'free to make his own decisions', as far as he could see.

He took a long drag and blew the smoke out through his nose contemplatively. Perhaps this bloody stupid exile was over at last. Sometimes Master Severus shook out the worst elements of his father's and grandfather's personalities, mixed them together and let them explode: pride, arrogance, impulsiveness, bad temper, resentment ... Primus had had a soft spot for Toby Snape. He wasn't a bad man at heart, but he'd never learned to cope with a wife who had more power than him. It wasn't even enough that she never used it on him – he knew she could if she wanted, and sometimes it drove him mad that she didn't. Mind you, the making up made the walls shake as much as the fights did – and accounted for the arrival of six little brothers for Master Severus.

He hoped for Mistress Hermione's sake that she knew some better contraceptive spells than Eileen, though he doubted it if she was dropping a sprog already.

He finished his fag and crushed the end under his shoe. There was a bottle of ale waiting in the kitchen, but it could be his reward for cleaning up the mess. He'd be glad to see the back of this miserable bloody house.

He'd followed on Master Severus' boot heels the day he stormed off the Prince estate, slipping out just as the wards slammed up. The Master had already Disapparated, but Primus knew where to go. And what he'd find. He stayed out of sight while the Master shouted and stormed and threw hexes around; he remained out of sight once the self-righteous ranting set in; he came out when Master Severus started to hit the bottle. That's when he got given a tie to wear and told to "sod off". But he'd stayed and cleaned up the mess and the tears. It was just as bad as when the Master was serving the two bad wizards through that war.

Primus stopped in his sweeping and crunched across the glass-strewn floor to rescue Master Severus' notebooks from where a smoking rivulet of Bes-knew-what was creeping towards them. These, he knew, were precious.

There had been nothing but work, work, work once the first week or two went by. Now and again the Master would glance out of a window, searching for something, it looked like, or stare at the fireplace, but no messages came, so he just worked, ate when Primus shoved a plate in front of him and stuck a fork in his hand, and never spoke. He never went out, never read the papers, just became a complete hermit. It was sodding miserable.

Primus read the papers, though. He knew there was a search going on. But he wasn't about to betray the Master, when he knew them girls were perfectly fit and the other Masters safe.

He righted the cauldrons and set the mops to work on the floor. All the glass was piled up on some old Prophets. Time for another smoke.

Oh, he'd been right worried about Master Severus, mind. All closed up like that and ready to go off like a bomb any time. And then Master Timmy's Patronus barrelled in. Primus stuck the fag in the corner of his mouth and smiled as he gestured to cast the memory up on the wall, the better to enjoy it again.

There was Master Severus, jumping off his lab stool with his wand drawn and hair flying. There was that great shining dog leaping at him and shouting:

"Severus! I don't know what you thought you were doing, blocking off all communication like that, but it's taken us this long to make a hole barely big enough for a Patronus. I won't waste time saying all the things you deserve to hear, because you need to get home NOW! Hermione's baby's coming!"

Then the dog vanished. Primus snorted at the image of his Master gaping like a fish. Last time he'd seen that was about 1970. "Baby...?" shouts the Master. "Baby...? She never said a word, damn her!" Then he starts throwing hexes around. Then he stops and sits down like a collapsing deckchair. "Oh, Merlin's balls! She couldn't! The wards – I had no idea... A baby. My baby! Hermione!" Then he gets this insane light in his eyes –

Primus peered more closely, considering. Ah, yes, that was the look old Master Prince used to get when Eileen's mother so much as stubbed her toe.

And after that, well, Primus had already put the front door back on its hinges. He surveyed what was left of the mess and lit another cigarette from the stub of the last. He was far too old to go rushing around like the children. And besides, Secunda would never let him smoke as much as he wanted, once he got back.

*

[Footnote 1: Nigella Lawson, Nigella Bites (Chatto & Windus, 2001), p. 48.]