Part 7, Episodes 61-70

61. The Breaking of the Shell

Snape still felt quite unbalanced when he entered Minerva's office almost two hours later, a carefully prepared pensieve in his hands.

It had taken him longer than normally to create the memory of the attack. Partly this was due to the fact that second-hand memories were always more fuzzy than original ones, but the main problem had simply been an inability to concentrate on his part, an unusual difficulty concerning the separation of facts and emotions.

What he held in his hands now was as objective and purified a version of the events has he was able to produce. He hadn't been able to contain the malicious mind-touch without revealing other things, however. He would have to simply tell Minerva – and, he supposed, Potter, about this. And hope that it would be enough.

'Headmistress. Mr. Weasley. Mr....Williamson.' He sighed. 'Potter.'

He put the pensieve on the table and sat down next to the young Auror.

'Professor Snape.' Potter nodded to him. 'How is Hermione?'

'She was asleep when I left her. Madam Pomfrey is with her, of course,' Snape replied tersely.

'Will she be all right? Molly is very worried. Hermione is like a daughter to us –' Arthur leant over, oblivious of the pensieve. Snape only prevented the red-haired wizard from knocking it over by grabbing the bowl and pushing it into Minerva's hands.

His hand snaked up to his throbbing forehead. 'She will be fine in a few days. We were in time to ... to prevent ...' To keep her from being raped and killed. Oh Gods. 'He– Miss Granger suffered a broken jaw, a fracture of her left wrist, plus numerous lacerations and contusions, and a mild concussion. She was healed, of course, but it takes time to recuperate from such injuries.

'But she will recover completely.'

Arthur sighed. 'That's a relief.'

Williamson picked that moment to join the conversation. In spite of purple robe and ponytail, the sharp gaze and self-assured demeanour of the young wizard made clear at a glance that he was not an Auror by chance. 'I've been over the incident with Mr. Potter. Is there anything you can add, now that you've retrieved the relevant memories from Miss Granger?'

She loves me. She wanted to save my life, and she loves me.

Snape cleared his throat, forgetting the procedure instilled in him by Petrel. When he spoke, his voice sounded hoarser than it had in weeks. 'As Mr. Potter no doubt told you, upon our arrival at the scene we happened upon five Muggles who were under the Imperius curse, and a wizard of unknown identity who cast an 'In Cinere Muto' on himself, thus incinerating himself on the spot.

'But yes, there is more.

'The wizard who killed himself bore the Dark Mark. And Miss Granger got a good look at it. It was active when she saw it. Burning black on white skin.

'I have also reason to assume that the wizard was an accomplished Legilimens, who manipulated Miss Granger into straying away from the concert hall. To what end, I cannot say. But I do not believe that...' He swallowed. 'I do not believe that simply killing her was all that was on his agenda.'

oooOooo

Later, in the solitude of his bedroom, he could not settle down. Too much was on his mind.

Hermione Granger. The best friend of Harry Potter. Heroine of the War. His apprentice. His perfect, safe solution to end his miserable existence.

Was in love with him.

Loved him, even.

From her bizarre fascination with his nose to her ridiculous notion that in his arms of all places true safety and security might be found.

He paced the room.

When had his life become so strange? And what the hell was he supposed to do now?

Severus stopped and crossed his arms. He could not deny that he was attracted to Hermione.

The soft, delicate curves of her body. Those wild curls. That brave, infuriating smile ... That inquisitive, stubborn mind. Her calm, consequent caring.

Of love, he knew nothing. He had loved but once in his life, and that had ended with a man he hated marrying the woman he loved, and herself dead at his feet before her son was even two years old ...

Now the Dark Mark was burning again. Why? How? He had no idea. Voldemort was dead. He was certain of that. This Dark Lord was gone. But that didn't mean no other would rise. He sighed. All the signs pointed in that direction.

Severus slumped down on his bed, stared at the wall, his thoughts everywhere and nowhere at once.

What should he do now? Where should he go from here?

At last he shook his head and pulled out his main wand. Yew. For transformation and renewal. The core: dragon heartstring – for strength of heart. And his new secondary wand shared the core with Hermione's. Feather of a sphinx for joint wisdom. He felt his lips curl into a wry smile. The irony of the symbolism was not lost on him.

For a moment, he sat in intense concentration. Then he murmured, 'Expecto patronum.'

Silver haze drifted up from his wand, forming the translucent shape of a doe. Quietly, gracefully, she moved around the room, returning to him now and again to nuzzle him with gentle, worried touches of her shimmering nose.

Severus remained where he was, motionless, gazing at the blurred shape of his borrowed Patronus in silence. Thinking about love and life scared him. He was not used to such activities. But Severus knew he had no choice. He had to make a decision.

When the eastern horizon brightened with a new morning, Severus lowered his wand.

It was time.

'You cannot protect me any longer,' he whispered. 'Farewell – and thank you.'

For a moment the silver doe stood in the first golden light of dawn that filtered through the window. Then she seemed to exhale in a sigh.

And was gone.

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62. Cold Words

Two days later, Hermione stiffly sat down on her bed and reached out to pet Crookshanks. Curled up into a fluffy ginger ball, the half-kneazle was shedding in a spectacular contrast on the dark green cover.

'Hey, Crooks,' she murmured. 'I'm back.'

She stared down at her hands, the right lost in thick fur, the left resting in her lap. Covered under the black and green sleeve of her apprentice-robe, her wrist was still blue and green, with splotches of yellow. Her whole body sported a quite amazing array of bruises. Hermione glanced at the jar with bruise balm on her nightstand. It would take a while until her body was completely healed.

Strangely enough, that didn't worry her. Not even the burning Dark Mark she had glimpsed while lying on the ground worried her much. Her shrieking terror had drained away. She wasn't even able to formulate any theories about what was going on in her mind at the moment.

She could think about only one thing.

He knew.

Everything.

Her initial feeling of relief had faded, leaving behind a strange, shocked numbness. From that daze, apprehension had started creeping into her mind. By now her nerves were completely frazzled.

What would he do? End her apprenticeship? Give his final order? But he kissed me. He embraced me at the concert. It was rather obvious that he liked it, too.

But if Snape thought that a kiss was not the foundation for a marriage that would save his life, Hermione suspected that an erection would qualify even less.

A soft knock made her jump. The door opened. Snape stood framed by the torchlight of the corridor. As usual, he was dressed in black, trousers, frock coat, with the barest sliver of white indicating the presence of a shirt somewhere underneath the various layers of black fabric. His expression was unreadable.

'Miss Granger. I trust you are feeling better.'

Hermione swallowed around the lump in her throat and nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

'We need to talk.'

'Yes, sir.'

He spun on his heel and swept away towards the library. Hermione rose to her feet. Her heart was racing, her stomach was tied in knots of anxiety. Her mouth dry with nervousness, she stepped towards her desk and retrieved a piece of parchment, stuffing it into the deep pocket of her robes, before she followed her master.

Gryffindor courage, she thought desperately. As if I've got any choice ...

oooOooo

Inside the library, Snape had taken up position with his back towards the windows. He stood stiffly, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

'Close the door, if you will.'

She complied. Her heartbeat was thrumming in her throat. Her hand was shaking as she reached for the door handle.Then Hermione turned around to face Snape.

'Well, Miss Granger,' he said in his silkiest voice. His black eyes bored into her. 'What have you got to say for yourself?'

Instinctively, she balled her hands, promptly winced at the aching stiffness of her left wrist and let her hands fall loosely at her sides instead. She inhaled deeply. Drawing her shoulders back and raising her chin, she tried to gather her thoughts.

'There are surely worse things than marrying me,' she plunged in. 'And I should think that a life-sentence in Azkaban is among them. I know you may disagree with me, but you do deserve to have a life. ' She mustn't cry before she'd spoken three sentences. Damn. Hold yourself together, Hermione. 'Surely – a life – in freedom – even if it is here at Hogwarts and includes teaching all those dunderheads, even if-if it includes ...uh... my presence ... surely that is preferable to-to the alternative.'

Her heart was pounding so hard it was difficult to breathe. Her voice sounded thin and shrill in her own ears. 'I know that I'm not the apprentice you would have picked. That it will be awkward marrying your apprentice. And I'm very sorry for that. But it seemed the only solution at the time. And it is legal. We-we checked that. We – I – thought if – as your apprentice you might – maybe – come to – obviously not to like me. But maybe, maybe not ... resent me quite as much as when I was a student. Especially,' she gulped, 'if I could help you with teaching. Decrease your exposure to dunderheads. Do the boring stuff, so you might have more time for, for something you enjoyed.'

His posture had become even stiffer, if that was at all possible. His eyes had started to glitter blackly. A dead give-away for his rising fury.

She inhaled a shuddering breath and pulled the roll of parchment out of her robe.

'I am so very sorry that I betrayed your trust. I know I had no right to do what I did. But there was really no other way. And...' Her voice faltered, her hand was shaking. 'At least that way we know that there is a way for you to fulfil those ridiculous conditions of your probation, sir. You don't have to go to Azkaban. Please, sir, if you would just consider it!'

Silently he accepted the parchment. He studied the seal carefully, then he unrolled and read the document.

At last he put the scroll away. He spun around and stalked towards Hermione until he stood a mere inch away from her. His scent enveloped her and made her stomach tingle even now. His black gaze was hypnotising.

'A positively Slytherin scheme, Miss Granger,' he hissed at her. 'Insinuating yourself into my presence, securing my trust, assisting me with the unpleasant task of subduing those imbecilic children ... and all that just to save me from a life-sentence in Azkaban?'

She shivered, but she couldn't move away, or breathe, or speak.

'Tell me, Miss Granger,' he enquired, his voice soft as velvet, 'with all your mad scheming and preposterous planning, did it not ever occur to you to simply ... ask me?'

oooOooo

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oooOooo

63. ... and Warm Kisses

'Ask you?' Hermione gaped at Snape.

'Yes,' he repeated tersely. 'Ask me.'

'Who knows,' he smirked at her. 'I might even have said yes.'

'Yes?' She stared at him incredulously.

A terrible feeling of hope mixed with fear and dread gripped her heart and squeezed it. Nausea washed over her as she gulped again, and tried to catch her breath.

'Sir,' she whispered, unable to quench the giddy feeling of longing that was rising in her heart. In spite of the stiffness and the pain, Hermione balled her hands into fists. If she didn't, she might reach for him, and she was certain that the only thing Snape would appreciate even less than a sobbing apprentice was an apprentice clinging to his robes in an effort of persuasion.

'Sir,' Hermione repeated earnestly. 'If you'd only consider it! Please! You've read the document, you've seen it's valid. If you marry me, you're safe. You won't have to go to Azkaban. You can live in peace.

'It would only be a-a...marriage of convenience, a paper marriage, just for show. You would hardly notice that I'm there. I could continue keeping the dunderheads of the lower forms at bay for you. I know I am not the kind of apprentice you deserve, but at least I can do that. I think I cope reasonably well with the younger students by now.'

Hermione took a deep breath, and hurried on. She knew she was babbling almost hysterically, but she was too frightened of what he would say to stop now. 'I-I suppose I would have to stay with you, just to keep up appearances for the Ministry. But I promise I would, I would keep out of your way. And I would like to say that I do understand that – if – there will never be anything between us. Though of course if you'd consider ... if you ever thought that you might...uh...' She blushed fiercely.

'I – well, I guess you know that I-I would actually be ... quite pleased. Uh... I do understand that an arithmantic anomaly is not any better a foundation for a marriage than a kiss. But surely it is better than the alternatives. Better than Azkaban. Or...' she swallowed hard, 'death.

'And,' Hermione went on, 'while I'm certainly the first to admit that I don't know much about love or marriage – I am only twenty years old, after all – I do think that – in time – we might be able to establish at least a mutually agreeable companionship, if not exactly friendship. After all, we do share some interests and we have ...uh... already spent quite some time well, we're not complete strangers to each other.

'Please, sir,' she whispered. 'If you'd only consider it. It would be just to keep up appearances. Just for show. And it would save your life.'

He didn't react, just looked at her intently. She was trembling under his black gaze. But somehow she managed to keep her chin up and was able to meet his eyes.

'Are you quite finished babbling?' Snape asked.

Hermione tried to swallow the pounding heartbeat that seemed to have lodged in her throat, and nodded. Snape stepped even closer.

'Good.' He stared down at her for a long moment with the strangest expression in his eyes.

'However,' he said softly, 'you are forgetting about something here, Hermione.'

With one word all hope, and all the nervous energy that had kept her talking during the last minutes drained out of her. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered her head, despair dragging at her.

'Hermione. Look at me.' His right hand moved to her chin, gripping it gently between his index finger and his thumb and tilting her head back, so that she was looking into his eyes again. His hand slid down to her shoulder. At the same time he brought up his left, until he was holding her tightly. She couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to.

'You are forgetting,' Severus repeated in a low, careful voice. 'that I've been inside your mind.

'I know how you feel about me.'

Something about the way he spoke made a shiver run down her back. She opened her mouth, but he silenced her with a slight shake of his head.

'I do not love you,' he said curtly.

Hermione sucked in her breath. Her nails bit into her palms, her left wrist throbbed with pain.

'Or ... in any case I don't think I do. At least ... not ... yet.'

Again she caught that hint of sadness in his dark eyes.

'Hermione, young as you are...among the two of us, I think you know far more about love than I do. I find myself most ill equipped when it comes to matters of the heart.

'You must be aware of the fact that I do feel attracted to you.

'And no matter what impression I may have given you, I do care about you.'

She could feel the warmth of his body against her breasts, right through the various layers of their clothing. She couldn't breathe.

'Very much,' Severus whispered. Hermione was drowning in his eyes.

'What –' She faltered and licked her lips. 'What are you are you trying to say?'

'What I am trying to say, in an awkward, roundabout way...is that while I still think that this "plan" of yours is the most bizarre scheme I have ever heard of,' he said forcefully, before he softened his voice again, 'I agree. You are right. Marriage to you is infinitely preferable to the alternatives. Even I am not so insane as to insist that death or Azkaban would be better options.

'Albeit probably more appropriate.' Severus sighed wearily. 'The answer to your question, Hermione, is "yes".'

A tender hand cupped her head, while his arm around her back pulled her against his body, until warm lips closed the last distance between them.

oooOooo

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oooOooo

64. Accursed Arithmancy

Hermione's world narrowed down to the touch of his lips on hers, warm, gentle, insistent, but infuriatingly chaste, to his hand holding her head, his fingers playing in her hair, his hand pressing against the small of her back ... When Severus released her at last, she swayed against him, gasping. Her whole body pulsed with desire from her little toes to her ears. He didn't let her go. Instead, both of his hands went around her back, pulling her against his body, while he lowered his head so that it rested against her right cheek. Tension and anxiety fell away. Within the circle of his arms, she could relax, and simply breathe. Breathe.

Finally Severus stepped back from her, but his right hand found hers, and pulled her along as he settled in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. Seated on the wide, squashy armrest, she leant against him, inhaled his scent, and once again rehearsed the components in her mind. Severus still looked tired and thin, but she couldn't remember having seen him in a better shape. And he did look more relaxed. Less tense.

'Now what?' she asked.

A black eyebrow quirked up. 'We go and talk with the Headmistress and arrange for an appointment with the Ministry's Registry Office. I suppose the Magical Law Enforcement Office may have to be consulted as well. And of course those Wizarding Genealogy Offices.'

Her heartbeat quickened again. Somehow she'd never anticipated that The Plan would actually work. Only of course it hadn't, even if they were to be married now after all. Hermione's brain seemed to be trying to tie itself into knots. How was it possible that her whole world had changed within five minutes? Or ten, maybe.

'Surely you didn't expect me to play the blushing bridegroom, Hermione?' he sneered softly. But his tone lacked its usual sting, and his hand was soft on her leg, gently rubbing back and forth on her thigh. His other hand strayed to the bridge of his nose, as it so often did, when he was tired or exasperated. 'I am definitely not ... eager ... to ... hell, Hermione, there is no good way to say this!' His tone hardened with an edge of desperation. 'But even vows exchanged at a Ministry wedding hold more power of protection than the vows between apprentice and master.'

His eyes darkened to absolute black, as his fingers carefully caressed her left wrist.

'I am afraid it seems that you will need all the protection you can get,' he added in a low voice.

'I'm not exactly helpless,' she argued.

'Which is why you allowed yourself to be overpowered by five Muggles controlled by the Imperius?'

She sucked in her breath. 'They were?'

Severus nodded. 'Yes. You were not attacked by chance, Hermione.'

'But ... but why?'

He shrugged. 'Another message? Whoever is behind all this is just establishing himself as the new Dark Lord. They will need death and blood to build up a reputation.'

Severus' long fingers wrapped around her hand, his grip both strong and gentle.

'I almost wish there were other rites we could employ ...' He moved his shoulders uncomfortably.

Hermione frowned. 'Why? What do you mean?'

His eyes glittered with impatience and he drew away from her. Restless, he rose to his feet and paced the room, black robes swirling. 'Ancient rituals. Marriage rites.'

He gave her a pointed look. 'Fertility ceremonies.'

When she gulped, he smirked. 'However, they all have a distinct drawback. Just like the Unforgivables you have to mean them, with all your heart, all your mind, all your soul, when you cast them. As it is, that option is not open to us.'

Severus gazed at her, and for a fleeting moment Hermione had the impression that his eyes darkened with regret. But she couldn't be sure as they were almost black to begin with.

'Oh.'

'Yes. 'Oh', indeed. As a matter of fact ...' He pointed at the scroll with the seal from the Wizarding Genealogy Offices.

'... If you weren't so bloody Gryffindor, you would have noticed that this doesn't really look like an arithmantic anomaly, but rather like a botched curse.'

Hermione blinked at Snape. 'A botched curse?'

She stared at him. That bit of paper had ruled her life for almost a year. She had built her entire future on it. Now Severus was saying that it was only a curse gone wrong?

'Use your brains – Hermione.'

She just stared at him.

'Think about it. You are a Muggle-born witch. I am part Muggle-born. The chances that there is no other fitting match for us are infinitesimal. I am not an arithmantist, but I would not be at all surprised if we were to find out that someone had fudged with the genealogies in an attempt to make sure that there was no legal match for me.'

'WHAT?' Her outrage made him smile.

'Hermione, you know who I am. What I was.'

She swallowed hard. 'But – if they bewitched the genealogies ... then how ... how is that possible?' Hermione gestured at the scroll.

Severus caught her gaze. 'Remember the ceremony when you became my apprentice?' he asked. 'Blood to sign you, kiss to bind you?'

She nodded.

'The same principle holds true for the most ancient and most powerful betrothal rites. I do not remember anything of what you did to save me, but I am told that ...' He inhaled sharply. '... that it was not unlike this ritual.'

'But ... wouldn't you have to ... I don't know ... agree?'

Severus looked at her with that strange sadness in his eyes and inclined his head. 'Yes,' he replied. 'That is true. As I said, I don't remember anything at all. But had I been aware of anyone calling me in that realm betwixt and between...At that time ... I would not have thought of you when I answered a woman's call.'

oooOooo

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65. Would You Pass Me the Sugar, Please?

What softer side Severus Snape might possess, he'd very definitely left it behind in the dungeons today. Like the proverbial bat out of hell he swept up the stairs and through the corridors, scattering students left and right, who winced in his wake and didn't even dare to respond to Hermione's reassuring smile.

'My Lady Greensleeves,' Snape hissed at the gargoyle that guarded the office of the headmistress.

With a black swirl of his robes, he imperiously entered the room that had briefly been his two years ago. 'Minerva.'

'S– Severus. And Hermione. What a pleasant surprise. I did not expect you. How are you, my dear? I hope you are feeling better.'

'If you did not expect us, Minerva, then you still have a lot to learn,' Snape interrupted.

A stifled chuckle issued from the golden picture frame behind McGonagall's desk. Snape scowled at Dumbledore's portrait. 'Dumbledore. Don't you have ... business to attend to? Places to go? Canvas to adorn? Oil colour to sniff?'

The former headmaster's eyes twinkled almost as brightly as they had in real life. In the portrait he'd shrugged off his robes. He stood before them in shirt sleeves and bright pink braces that held up a pair of violet trousers. 'Actually, Severus, you are lucky today. My golf partners just informed me that they had to cancel our match for this afternoon. So today my time is completely at your disposal.'

'Albus, don't tease him so. Don't you see that he's not in a good mood?'

'Minerva, Severus has never appreciated being mollycoddled, neither by our own dear Molly, nor by you or even by myself.'

'Minerva, Severus can speak for himself, and if you really want to do something for him, send that old codger on his way,' Snape snarled.

The Headmistress frowned and fixed Snape with her patent penetrating stare. Snape merely raised a black eyebrow towards the portrait and crossed his arms in front of his chest in a gesture of exaggerated patience.

McGonagall's frown deepened. 'Albus, if you don't mind, I would prefer to speak with Severus and Hermione alone.'

Albus Dumbledore glared at his successor, but then he winked at Hermione, picked up his robe and quietly slipped from the frame.

Minerva moved around her desk and sat down, gesturing to Snape and Hermione to take a seat as well. 'I am sorry, but I have no new information for you about the attack. The Aurors, and I assume the Unspeakables are still working on the case.'

'This is not about the attack,' interrupted Snape. 'At least not ... only about it.'

He did not look at Hermione, but concentrated on the Headmistress.

Hermione's heart was thudding in her chest, and her hands felt unsteady. She would have liked to fidget and squirm or play with her hair or scratch at a hangnail. But that kind of thing was not quite the appropriate behaviour when your fiancé was going to talk to your boss about the planning of your wedding. She felt the almost irrepressible urge to cup her face in her hands and mutter an endless stream of 'Ohmygods'. For almost a year she had lived with The Plan. For almost a year she had thought about little else. For almost a year she had not hoped to succeed.

Now she had succeeded and failed and all at the same time.

'In that case, what do you want to talk about?' A straight line appeared above the bridge of Minerva's nose.

Snape remained completely unfazed. 'You are keeping up with my schedule for the Probations Officer, I believe?'

At this change of tack, Minerva had enough. She removed her spectacles and glared at the Potions Master. 'Severus Snape. Either you tell me what you want, or you get the hell out of my office. Hermione, if you need to talk to me, you can stay, of course.'

Hermione dared to cast a glance at Severus out of the corner of her eye. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes glinted with the barest hint of mirth. He was enjoying himself!

'I will need no more than a minute of your precious time, Minerva. Then I will leave you to consort with your lion-cub in peace.' He looked at Hermione for the first time since they'd entered the room. She could have sworn that just for second, maybe not even that, the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Then his expression grew stern again.

'Hermione and I are getting married,' Severus said simply. 'I wanted to ask you to ascertain the necessary requirements regarding the ceremony in order to fulfil the conditions of my probation.'

It said a lot about the resilience and presence of mind of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry that Minerva McGonagall did not faint on the spot upon hearing that quiet announcement.

oooOooo

'Ron? Would you pass me the sugar, please? Oh, and before I forget ... I'll be in London on Friday next week. And uh... if you don't have anything else to do, maybe we could meet?'

Harry felt his brows knit together and resisted the urge to rub his scar.

Ron, however, remained completely unconcerned. 'Sure 'mione. No problem. I was going to meet Lois for lunch, but we can reschedule or meet all together. What are you doing here?'

Harry saw Hermione's lips quiver, then she bit down on her lower lip the way she always did when she was nervous. But something was different. A strange spark was gleaming in her eyes. That was it! Her eyes were shining today! Harry remembered that light in her eyes. From way back when a simple five House points earned in Transfiguration could make Hermione happy.

Could it possibly be...?

Hermione couldn't suppress a grin now. 'I'm getting married on Friday, Ronald. And I would be very happy if you and Lois and Harry and my other friends could be there.'

oooOooo

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66. Never Doubt that this is Real

TREACHEROUS TRAITOR OR TRUSTWORTHY TEACHER?

While Muggle-born wizards and witches fear for their lives and renegade Death Eaters vanish into thin air, Severus Snape is entering the second year of his probation at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Severus Snape (40), the most notorious of all Death Eaters escaped life-long imprisonment in Azkaban last year after Harry Potter and Muggle-born witch Hermione Granger testified in his favour. Since then Hermione Granger ...

oooOooo

Hermione flung the paper away with such force that it sailed over the table and landed on the floor, the wizards inside the picture on the first page stumbling dizzily around inside their rectangle.

'That's disgusting,' Hermione hissed. 'Can't they leave you alone?'

Next to her, Severus sighed. 'Thank you for drawing the attention of all our students to the paper.' He pulled his wand and flicked it. Gently the discarded paper floated up onto the table again, spreading itself out next to his cup of tea.

He scanned the article, his expression unreadable. At last he looked back at Hermione, eyes black, mouth thin.

'What did you expect, Hermione? You would do well not to forget with whom you are dealing here,' he said in the soft, dangerous tone that could mask anger as well as bitterness. 'They haven't.'

She wondered if he was referring only to himself. The thought of the disappeared Death Eaters was never far from her mind.

'Yes, sir,' she whispered.

The stony expression faltered for a second, before he fixed his scowl on her.

'You will need to be able to say my name, tomorrow,' he observed. 'If that is such a hardship, maybe we should arrange some time for you to practice pronouncing it?'

He raised an eyebrow, and drummed the tips of his steepled fingers against each other.

Promptly Hermione's hand began to shake and she had to put her cup down. Her heart syncopated its beats, making her feel rather woozy.

'Yes, s... Severus,' she breathed.

'Severus,' she repeated, firmer this time. 'SEH-ver-us.'

He smirked at her. 'See, it's not all that difficult. Though I fully expect that on Saturday we will be reading an article in that rag here, which will argue the only thing that could have prompted you to marry me is the fact that I am at least able to pronounce your name accurately. If I recall correctly there are precedents regarding your first name, aren't there, Herm-own-ninny? Or should I simply say 'mione?'

Hermione couldn't help smiling at that. But with the nasty article still in plain view, her mood darkened again quickly. Concentrating on her empty plate – she simply wasn't hungry enough to eat breakfast – she finally voiced what was troubling her the most regarding their upcoming marriage. 'I think I'm rather more worried about that this – this scandal sheet will print that it's nothing but a paper marriage.' She glanced at Severus worriedly.

'I have no doubt that they will print exactly that. And worse,' he said frankly. 'However, Aceline Loxweild-Spalt was very thorough in her research. She's the best lawyer money can buy, Hermione. My probation only asks for 'marriage'. It doesn't require a specific rite – hell, it doesn't even require consummation! As far as I can see, there is no way for them to challenge the validity of our marriage. That would only be possible if we were marrying only to keep me out of prison.' His voice was so soft, when he continued, that Hermione knew that only she could hear what Severus was saying. 'I am not sure what it is that we are doing here, Hermione. But whatever it is – it is not just 'for show'. Never doubt that whatever this is, it is real.'

oooOooo

On Friday, 28 April 2000 Ron Weasley met Lois Petrel for breakfast in Muggle coffee-place of American origin. As it was not the first time they went there, he felt fairly self-assured and quite cosmopolitan as he marched up to the bar and ordered a half-caf-decaf-cappuccino-with-cream-but-hold-the-cocoa and some of those American Muggle cauldron – no, cupc... no, muffins.

While Ron waited for his order to be readied, he caught a glance at himself in the gleaming metal of the machinery. Dressed in black jeans and a charcoal grey jumper (both picked out by Lois), his shoulder-length hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, he looked almost like a Muggle. And like an adult, something which was infinitely more important to him. He had to be an adult. Lois enjoyed fooling around as much as he did, but she'd been bringing up her daughter on her own since she was sixteen years old. If their relationship was to have any future at all, he had to be a man, and not a boy to her.

Sometimes, like today, that was rather hard on Ron. As they settled down in the comfortable armchairs, mugs of coffee and plates of muffins on the small round table between them, he allowed himself to glower at the bag that contained his and Lois' shrunk dress robes as well as the wedding present for Hermione and Snape they had bought together the day before.

Then he turned his attention back to the graceful, dark-haired woman and forced a weak smile.

'I just can't believe that this is really happening,' he muttered.

Lois – well aware of Ron's prejudices against the Potions Master and his fading infatuation with Hermione – rolled her eyes.

'Really, Ronald,' she said in perfect mimicry of Hermione's way of speaking, before continuing in her ordinary mellow voice. 'A blind man can see how much Hermione loves Severus. And although he may have a hard time accepting that, if you know Severus, then it's quite obvious that he is very much attracted to her. And...' She raised a finger to prevent the rash words that were waiting to tumble from Ron's tongue. 'And that he cares for her deeply.'

Ron wasn't convinced, but he knew better than to argue with Lois. 'If you say so ...'

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

67. The Foundations Relationships are Built on

Lois sighed into her white chocolate mocha. 'I will admit that their situation does seem a bit peculiar to me, what with his probation and her apprenticeship. But I assure you, I've seen relationships based on much more questionable foundations.'

Ron swallowed any disrespectful remarks about his former potions teacher that he might have been tempted to make, and observed Lois' face instead. He had noticed before, that sometimes, when they talked about relationships or about Alina, a shadow would cross her face, and her lips would press together into a hard line. He guessed that she was thinking about Alina's father in those moments. Normally that made Ron shut up quickly. He didn't feel any more comfortable today, but something prompted him to speak all the same.

'How was it between you and Alina's father?' he asked. 'Did you ever think about getting married?'

Lois put down her mug. Her face went very still. Instantly Ron regretted his question. Had he spoken too soon? Just a few weeks ago, he probably would have blundered on right away. But now – today of all times, he thought with wry amusement – he remembered the many times Hermione had snarled at him to THINK FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE before he opened his mouth. And he bit his tongue. Hard.

Lois toyed absently with the mug in front of her, turning it this way and that.

'He ... he told me that he was working on his PhD in sociology. At that time in my life this held an enormous appeal for me. A 'real' man, so much older than I was. And an 'intellectual'. In my eyes he had to be terribly brilliant in order to be working on a PhD. He was my first crush and my first real love, all rolled into one. A ... dangerous combination. And of course I was young and stupid and careless.' She counted the words off on her fingers.

'Looking back, I guess I could have noticed that something was wrong. His ... studies did not make him happy. He appeared to be under a lot of pressure all the time. I think he was very ambitious, but he worried too much to be truly brilliant. He lacked the ... well, I guess you'd call it "Gryffindor" daring.' Lois shrugged. 'I thought he was merely brooding in an attractive, darkly academic way.

'We argued often. He wasn't comfortable with my friends, or with going out. All the usual things young people do, clubbing, cinema, even watching TV... he didn't like that. At first I took his attitude for intellectual disdain, and tried very hard to live up to what I thought were his expectations of me.

'Then ... incidentally just a few days after a major row, I found out that I was pregnant.'

Lois' eyes grew dark, her thoughts obviously far away. She shook herself, as if she had to bodily force her mind back to the present. For a moment Lois gazed pensively at Ron, as if she was trying to see though him or into him, trying to read his mind.

'I think he must have been a wizard,' she said at last. 'When I went to his flat to tell him that I was pregnant, the flat was gone. The button of his doorbell at the main entrance, the sign with his name on it. Inside the building the whole bloody landing with the door to his flat had disappeared. I thought I was going mad. 'Then I went to his university. The faculty had never heard of a graduate student working on his PhD with the name he'd given me. The few acquaintances we'd gone out with together ... none of them really remembered him. They did recall going out with us, but they were vague about his name and about what he was studying. When I asked if they knew where he had gone, they kind of shrugged their shoulders and suggested that maybe he'd accepted a job somewhere or his family had moved. Or "something".

'Whatever. He was gone. I was alone. I was sixteen and I was pregnant.'

Her eyes misted over. 'Damn,' she said softly. 'I didn't mean to cry.

'But if this ...' She forced a smile and gestured at the air between them. 'If this thing between us is supposed to lead anywhere, you deserve to know the truth about Alina's father. Or as much of the truth as I am able to tell you.' She paused, and when she continued, her voice was harsh with bitterness. 'I can't even tell Alina the name of her father, Ron. Because he lied to me. He never even told me his fucking name.'

oooOooo

The visitors' entrance to the Ministry of Magic was an old-fashioned telephone box. Ron stepped behind it and drew Lois closer to the wall of the building it nestled against. Smiling at her, he drew his wand.

'I'm only casting a quick 'Do-Not-Notice-Us' Charm, so we can pull on the robes,' he explained the deft flick of his wand and a few muttered words.

Another wand-turn, and the handkerchief-sized robes he had pulled from his bag changed into heavy fabric spilling over his arms. 'Here you go.'

Feeling self-conscious, Lois slipped into the Bordeaux-coloured robes.

'How do I look?' she asked and twirled for him.

'Stunning,' Ron mouthed. Judging from his dumbstruck expression, he was completely sincere.

Lois laughed. Ron might be a couple of years younger than she was, but she appreciated his straightforward honesty, and even his sometimes painfully naïve bluntness very much.

'You don't think the others will mind – that I'm not in Muggle clothes?'

'Well, you are – only underneath.' Ron grinned at her. 'I think.'

'This is not the appropriate moment for any comparisons between Muggle and magic underwear, Ronald Weasley. But honest? Do you really think it's okay?

'Of course it is okay. There's no law against Muggles wearing robes. And besides, I told you. You're beautiful!'

oooOooo

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oooOooo

68. Like a Bridge

It was a bit of a squeeze inside the phone box, but Ron didn't mind. Of course not, Lois mused, as they stepped into a busy corridor. After all he had managed to get not only a tight embrace out of this unusual elevator, but also a kiss. Lois grinned. Ron's technique might not be very sophisticated, but his lips tasted like ripe forest fruits, fresh and tart.

Harry and Ginny were already waiting for them.

'Oh, just look at you!' Ginny exclaimed. 'Almost like a witch!' She glanced at her brother. 'I hope Ron didn't suggest the colour just to annoy Alina?'

Lois chuckled. 'He might have. But no, in spite of this being an almost Gryffindor red, I picked the colour – because it looks nice with my hair and eyes. And I think I still miss a rather important implement in order to pass as a witch.'

'I'd be happy to let you hold my wand,' Ron offered at once.

Ginny groaned. Lois faked a blow at his head. 'I just bet you are ...'

Ron grinned unrepentantly. 'But honest, Lois, I don't even think it's illegal for you to own a wand. It's just a crime to sell it to you. And anyway, you know what they say ...'

Lois arched an eyebrow at him. 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do?'

Ginny frowned. 'I thought that was rather "When in Rome, stay the hell away from the enchanted fountains and the Vatican'"?'

Ron shook his head and caught Lois' eyes. 'What I really wanted to say was ... well, blood is thicker than water and all that. You're Alina's mother. You're part of our world now.'

oooOooo

The hall of the Registry Office in the Ministry of Magic was already packed when Harry, Ginny, Ron and Lois entered. Lois saw many witches and wizards she knew, both from Hogwarts and the Order. To start with, all the Weasleys were lined up in the front row. One of their own would be conducting the ceremony. Today marked Percy Weasley's finest hour – and his first wedding as Registry Officer.

Ron had explained that office weddings weren't very popular in the wizarding world. Most people wanted special magical rites. Apparently such rituals could enhance the magical powers of a couple and increase their fertility. Lois found those ideas quite intriguing. Given the situation of Hermione and Severus, however, she rather understood why they had opted for a quick Registry Office affair.

From the look of things, this wedding would be spectacular nevertheless. In front of the room a dozen reporters and photographers were milling about. And while there seemed to be many friends and acquaintances present, a number of dark-robed, ominous figures were lingering in the shadows at the back of the hall.

'Hello, Hermione. You are really beautiful today!' Lois embraced her friend tightly.

Hermione did indeed look lovely – if white as a sheet. The soft, moss-green velvet of a long dress shimmered underneath the hem and at the neckline of her customary black-and-green apprentice-robes, and a wide ribbon of the same colour and fabric kept her curly hair out of her face. Apart from that her jewellery was the only concession to the occasion.

Hermione was wearing emeralds.

'Normally, witches don't wear jewellery for their wedding ritual. But as this is really just a bureaucratic act today, I thought I might as well do the Muggle thing.' Hermione shrugged uneasily.

'Your grandmother would be very happy if she knew that you are wearing her jewels on your wedding day,' Lois said. 'And I love the symbolism.'

Hermione's fingers flew up to touch the emerald beads of her necklace.

'Yes,' she agreed with a faint smile. 'Emeralds for love and life.'

oooOooo

Lois' former patient was dressed in his customary severe scowl and black robes. She suspected however that the scowl was linked with the presence of a plump witch introduced as Dolores Umbridge, Probations Officer, who stuck to the side of Percy Weasley like an obnoxious pink burr.

'Thank you for the invitation.' Lois smiled and offered her hand.

'Lois. How good of you to come,' Snape ground out, glowering at the hovering Umbridge.

'Be easy on your voice, Severus. You'll need it to say some very important words in a little while.'

For a second Snape glared at her as if he wanted to hex her. But then he surprised Lois. A hint of smile ghosted over his lips and he inclined his head, allowing his hair to fall forward so it would hide his softening expression.

'Yes, indeed. I do,' he replied – and this time his voice flowed smoothly, like silk.

oooOooo

The ceremony was short and to the point, and went without a hitch.

'... marriage, says an old proverb,' intoned Percy Weasley, 'is like a bridge you have to rebuild every day – from both sides. I hope that the bridge you are building will last long years and that it will prove solid enough to carry your lives safely to the other side of whichever river you may want to cross.'

'Err... Professor Snape? You may kiss Her... err... the bride.'

To everyone's surprise, Severus Snape did just that.

oooOooo

If looks could kill, neither Hermione nor Severus would have survived the ceremony. The toad-like Probations Officer in her frilly tweed costume was definitely not amused.

oooOooo

Twelve witnesses were asked to step up to the table and undersign the certificate of marriage. Lois was a little shocked, but also incredibly pleased, when her name was called.

Severus' bold scrawl was affixed next to Hermione's two neat signatures of her maiden and her new married name, written in a strange rust-coloured ink.

Lois bent over the creamy expanse of parchment. With plain black ink she carefully wrote her name. Her signature was the twelfth, thus rendering the certificate legally valid.

'Congratulations!' Lois beamed at the newly-weds. 'How does it feel to be husband and wife?'

Both of them merely stared at Lois in silence, looking rather shell-shocked.

oooOooo

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oooOooo

69. Doves and Childhood Dreams

His wife looked ready to faint. The urge to vehemently clear his throat was quite overwhelming. Only months of Lois Petrel drilling him about good vocal hygiene prevented him. 'Don't whisper, that's not good for you. Don't cough, that's even worse. And never ever clear your throat.' Was he allowed to sigh? Right now Severus Snape didn't remember and he didn't care. He didn't want a glass of water to ease his throat either.

What he wanted was an hour alone with Minerva's collection of whiskies.

'Hermione, I think they are waiting for us,' he said softly, putting a hand under her elbow to steady her.

'Oh. Yes.'

'There will be journalists waiting for us out there. And photographers,' he reminded her.

'Yes. Right.'

Severus could feel how she inhaled, how her back straightened, head high, chin thrust forward. He didn't need to read her mind to know what she was thinking: 'Gryffindor courage.' He was sorely tempted to whisper into her ear, 'Care to share?'

But since whispering wasn't good for his voice, he remained silent. A scowl wouldn't be appropriate either. But he assumed that as a former Death Eater he was allowed to live up to his name even on his wedding day. His expression severe, he led Hermione towards the door, Potter and Ginevra Weasley hard on their heels. Out of the corner of his eye he saw how Potter's right hovered over his wand holster. Did he expect an attack right here in the Ministry?

Outside Snape felt as if he had walked into a thunderstorm – lightning flashed from all sides, the noise of voices was deafening like thunder.

Suddenly Ginny prodded his arm. 'You have to give them what they've been waiting for, Professor. Kiss Hermione, and make a good show of it. Harry will field the questions while we make our escape. But you have to give them something!'

Hermione had stopped dead, her fingers gripping his arm so hard that the sensitive scar tissue on the inside of his forearm twinged. He glanced at her, and suddenly his incredulous heart skipped a beat.

She married me.

She had married him to ensure his freedom. She had married him because she loved him with all her heart. In spite of the fact that he did not love her.

... yet, reminded him an echo of his own words and a strange feeling coiled and uncoiled inside him. Stronger than longing, different from desire.

And she wants me.

At that thought, desire did flare up in the pit of his stomach, sending fiery tendrils further down.

'Hermione,' he sighed.

She turned, her eyes huge. The moss-green ribbon in her hair and the glowing emeralds at her throat brought out sparks of green in her eyes that he had never seen before. She swallowed and quickly licked her lips with the tip of her tongue.

For a second he wondered what her tongue might feel like twined around his own – then he pressed his lips against hers.

She stiffened for a moment, surprised by his action, no doubt, before she softened in his arms. Her hips swayed against him, her small round breasts teased him even through all those layers of fabric that separated them.

And her lips ...

... her lips tasted of summer.

oooOooo

The wedding reception was held in the Room of Requirement.

The Room had outdone itself and transformed into a beautiful hall with a soaring wooden ceiling that looked like an overturned hulk of a ship. Tapestries that displayed mythical garden scenes covered the walls in gentle colours of green and cream, with muted splashes of colours were roses and iris bloomed. High Gothic windows looked out on beautiful golden summer sunshine somewhere or somewhen. A long table decked out in white linens, precious porcelain and gleaming sterling cutlery took up the middle of the room, surrounded by many high-backed chairs that matched the tapestries.

At the centre of the dining table, a sprawling arrangement of leaves and flowers shone in greens, yellows and whites, filling the room with the fresh fragrance of perfect spring.

'Wow,' Hermione whispered, awestruck.

Severus and their guests were affected likewise, because as one after the other of their friends filed into the room, only the occasional murmur broke the silence.

'What did you think of?' she asked, turning an astonished gaze up at her husband.

Severus blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was just as speechless as she was.

'Nothing,' he admitted, his voice hoarser than it had been in weeks. 'I-I probably should have, but ... I was ...'

He indicated the ring on her finger. The moment the enchanted dragon heartstring had touched their skin, it had transformed into matching golden wedding bands.

Hermione nodded. 'I couldn't come up with anything useful to concentrate on either.'

A smile bloomed on her face. 'It's absolutely magical.'

To her surprise, he smiled back. 'Most certainly.

'Does it remind you of anything? Something you might have unconsciously connected with ... this occasion?'

Hermione creased her forehead. Yes, somehow she did seem to recall this room, or something about this room. But she knew she had never been here before. She tilted her head back, studying the honey-coloured beams above their heads. A flock of white doves was sitting on the beams below the high, vaulted ceiling.

Hopefully they are just as magical as the rest of the room, Hermione thought, and don't defecate on our food, as she looked at the open window at the far end of the room. As golden god-rays slanted into the room, she recognised the scene.

'Oh my,' she breathed and blinked rapidly.

'What is it?'

'I remember now where I know this room from.' She couldn't prevent a certain wistfulness from creeping into her voice. 'It's quite silly. It's from a book I had as a small child. You know, the kind of books people give to little girls so they can imagine their happy ending.'

oooOooo

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oooOooo

70. Gifts and Flowers

'What about you?' Hermione asked and peered up at him, eyes wide with wonder.

Severus Snape stared at the table. Absently he lifted his hand to his forehead, is if he wanted to smooth away the lines there, or ward off an impending headache.

'The flowers,' he said at last. 'My mother loved flowers and their hidden meanings. She had an old Muggle book from the 19th century – her mother was a Muggle, too – about the secret language of flowers. When I was a small child, she used to make up stories for me while she was working in her scrap of a garden.

'I suppose you could describe them as stories with the happy ending a mother imagines for her son.'

'Oh.' Hermione turned her attention to the flowers.

Severus knew she would recognise them, thanks to her NEWT in herbology.

There were three greens – fern, young oak leaves and ivy –, three whites – blooming myrtle, apple blossoms and honeysuckle –, and three yellows – iris, zinnia and daffodils.

'So there is a message for us hidden in those flowers?'

He nodded. 'Yes.'

His eyes glinted like obsidian in the rays of sunlight that filtered through the high windows. 'Each plant and flower of this arrangement has its own meaning. Fern is for magic, shelter and sincerity. Oak leaves,' he couldn't help smiling, 'for bravery. Ivy, of course, symbolises wedded love. Myrtle is an ancient Hebrew symbol for marriage. In common flower lore, however, it simply stands for love. Apple blossoms for good fortune. Honeysuckle ...' He frowned a little. 'Bonds of love. Yellow iris for passion. Zinnia ...for daily remembrance. And daffodils...'

'I thought daffodils were something bad?' asked Hermione, obviously recalling some half-forgotten Muggle folklore.

'Not when there are many of them.'

She laughed. 'There's rather a lot of them.'

'Indeed.'

'So what do they mean?'

Somehow his hand slipped around her back, delighting in the feel of smooth velvet over gentle curves. He leant his head a little against hers. Just enough to be able to smell her hair. Could hair smell of sunshine?

'Joy and happiness,' Severus replied.

oooOooo

Sometime between cheese and dessert, Alina got bored. She couldn't help fidgeting on the scratchy fabric of her fancy chair. And it was really difficult to keep from curling her braids up and down, just to keep her hands busy. But she didn't complain. She'd rather end up buried by debris again than to disturb her favourite teachers' party. Though she had to admit that she much preferred Slytherin house parties. Grown-ups had such a boring idea of fun.

Suddenly someone nudged her. When she turned to look, it was the young blond witch who was friends with Hermione. A Ravenclaw like Prue, Alina recalled.

'Hello Alina,' she said. 'I don't know if you remember my name from when we were introduced – I'm Luna.

'I know it always sounds horrible when adults say that, but I have heard a lot about you. What do you think? Should we explore the room for a bit? I don't think I could eat another bite just now. And I'm afraid they'll try to squeeze in another speech or two between the cheese and the dessert.'

Alina turned to her mother. 'Mum? May I? Please?'

Lois frowned at her.

'We're not going anywhere, Lois,' Luna put in. 'This room is special. And it's quite safe. Really.'

'And you don't mind?'

Luna smiled. 'I wouldn't have offered in that case. It's been a while since I've seen this room in action. I'll enjoy myself as much as Alina. Don't worry – I think Hermione is very glad that you're here today.'

Her mother looked grateful and Alina felt promptly ashamed. Hermione had been her babysitter when she was a toddler. And Professor Snape was her Head of House. And she couldn't even manage to sit still through their wedding dinner.

'Really, don't worry.' Luna glanced at Alina. 'Both of you. And now come along, Alina! Do you know what Room this is?'

oooOooo

The Room of Requirement was absolutely amazing, Alina decided.

Luna told her all kinds of stories about the room, some of them quite scary. And the room itself! In the wooden panels below the tapestries they discovered numerous hidden compartments and cupboards. One of them had revealed a large silver sword with rubies in its hilt, hidden behind a protective glass screen. Alina gaped at it, while Luna smiled and nodded.

Oh... Exultation flooded Alina, as she thought about how her friends would react to what she had seen here today. The sword of Godric Gryffindor!

But even better: the Room of Requirement had given her a present.

When Alina slid her hand over a small knothole in the panelling, it swung back like the mechanism of a gumball machine and popped a small bag made of dark blue velvet into her hands. Inside was a tiny silver bell with a mahogany handle, a silken kerchief wrapped around its clapper.

When she wanted to remove the fabric, Luna put her hand over the bell.

'Leave it. You can safely assume that it's magical, and you don't know what effect the sound of that bell may have. Put it away for now. You can examine it later with your friends.' Contemplatively Luna eyed the small bell. 'Maybe you should have a teacher look at it ... On the other hand, I shouldn't think that the Room is in the habit of making dangerous gifts.

'Oh, and now I think it's time for the dessert. Ready to eat some more?'

Alina carefully put the bell back and secreted it away in her robes. 'Sure. Do you smell chocolate?'

As Alina rose to her feet, she noticed something lying on the mantelpiece between two golden candle sconces. 'Look! Another daffodil! I wonder what it's doing over here all by itself.'

Luna shrugged. 'Maybe a house-elf forgot it? Come on, I think your mother wants to talk to you before the banquet is over.'

oooOooo

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NOTES

Banner

The banner is based on CC Attribution/NonCommerical licenced pictures by cambiodefractal and on CC Attribution pictures by "Drawings Of Light – Paul" and i.m.indraneel. The face of my Hermione belongs to Minnie Driver.

FAQ

See Part 1.

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The Breaking of the Shell

The title refers to a quote by Kahlil Gibran:

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain."

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Cold Words

... and Warm Kisses

These titles refer to a quote by Utada Hikaru: "I'll give you cold words and warm kisses. This is love."

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Like a Bridge

The old proverb Percy uses to conclude the ceremony is actually a quote from the German writer Ulrich Beer. The original reads "Marriage is a bridge you have to rebuild every day – best of all from both sides."

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Gifts and Flowers

Floriography was quite en vogue in the 19th century. The book "The Flowers Personified" from 1847 is available online. Google it...it's really interesting. The arrangement of flowers used in this chapter is based on various online resources (too many to list them here). I'm not sure if a florist would approve of the arrangement, but at least the colours go well together and the meaning works.

A single daffodil symbolizes misfortune.