Part Two

Babbity Git, Part Two

~Enemy Sighting~

Severus was bored.

He hadn't realised how much he relied on daily communication with Stump. He held fanciful conversations with the sea horses. He drank quite a bit more than he normally did. Which was a lot.

He got creative with coconut shells. He carved some into animal shapes. He constructed a tea set for eight, complete with saucers, cups, and a teapot...even a sugar bowl. He drilled holes through others, and played Conkers with a strong-looking palm tree. He nearly always won. He used the hole bits to make marbles, polishing the coconut hair off with care. He carved faces into a few, and named them all. His favourite was Milky Joe. Joe would listen to him as he expounded on ways to dispose of a Horcrux and offer suggestions on how to dissemble the wards in the cave. Milky Joe reminded him of Percy Weasley, so earnest and helpful. He wondered if Percy had survived the Final Battle.

He dreamt of Lily often, always as a mermaid, always out of reach. Sometimes the sea horses helped search for her. Sometimes Milky Joe joined in the chase. Several times, they all played games of Foxy between the boat and the coral reef. Severus was always 'it'.

It was during one of these dreams that the radio crackled to life. Which was how Colin became 'it' before Severus fully woke up. He was chasing Romaine to the ship hull as Severus opened his eyes.

"Babbity Rabbity. Babbity Rabbity, are you there? Over."

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Wee Willykins, sir."

"And whom, precisely, is that?"

"Seamus Finnigan, sir."

"What happened to Hopping Pot?"

"They got him, sir. His whole family...mother, father, his brother Dennis and two sisters...they were all home for his mother's birthday."

Severus tossed down the mic and opened a bottle of whisky.

"They've been targeting Muggle-borns lately, more than before. We reckon they're frustrated. They've been searching in Eastern Europe and haven't found anything."

"That would be a logical place to search. Tell your team that the cyclone left a gift behind. There is a Bulgarian ship on the coral reef in the cove. There was no one aboard. The ship is damaged, but it can be repaired. I will require wood and nails in the next Portkey shipment."

"Babbity, Sabre here. Do you think the ship and the eastern European search are connected?"

"I suppose it is possible. I found nothing on the ship to indicate that, though. Still, it's something I hadn't thought of. I will check the ship again."

"You do that. We'll send the wood and nails with the next rations delivery."

"Colin was a good man." Severus raised his bottle to the sky and took a long swallow.

"We know."

Eat, sleep, read, drink, harass Stump. Rinse. Repeat.

He investigated the ship more thoroughly, but didn't find anything that connected it with the Death Eaters. As a precaution, he cast a spell to obscure the ship from detection overhead. Luckily, the reef lay outside of the island's wards, because it was a strong act of magic. A new rations shipment arrived, and with it came wood, nails...even tools and books on shipbuilding.

Eat, sleep, read, drink, harass Stump. Work on ship. Rinse. Repeat.

It gave him something to do while his mind was busily assembling and rejecting plans to deal with the Horcrux Cave. He had consulted with Potter regarding the wards, to no avail. Which was hardly surprising. He had consulted his books, to no avail. Which he found disturbing, because books had rarely let him down before.

And yet something niggled at the back of his brain, like a Niffler looking for Knuts. He hadn't seen that combination of hues before in the Dark Lord's presence, but he had seen something like it, somewhere. He hoped it wasn't in one of the memories he tried to give to Potter. Most of them had been restored, but there were still small gaps. He assumed that a few of them had escaped collection. A loss was to be expected, given that they were transferred under arduous circumstances. After all, he had never really expected to get them back.

He spent the morning bailing water out of the Bulgarian ship through the hole in its larboard side. The sea was calm, and he expected it to remain so for a while, now that the cyclone season was over. Bailing water was sweaty work and he was more than ready to take a break when his stomach rumbled around noon.

Severus jumped ship, and sat on the dock to enjoy his meal in the relatively cooler breeze found there. He took a bite of Lancashire Hotpot and frowned at the tin of dessert. It was probably treacle pudding again. It was nearly always treacle pudding. He despised treacle pudding...position five on his list of hated items...because it reminded him of Potter.

He held his breath as he opened the tin, and let a sigh of relief escape his lips. Fruit dumplings and custard, his favourite.

It must be his lucky day.

He was just digging his spoon into the mélange of doughy bits covered in odd-coloured sauce...custard typically was not pink...when he felt the wards over the island hum faintly. He glanced up and dropped his dessert face down into the sand below the dock.

A pair of men in black robes flew high overhead on brooms, in a circular pattern. One of them pointed to the atoll. Severus held his breath as they swooped lower. The Lestrange brothers. The hum of the wards increased and Severus began to feel painfully dizzy. The brothers flew closer to the atoll, hovering above it for a few moments, before flying off to the west. They hadn't noticed the ship sitting on the reef.

The wards ceased humming, and Severus took several deep breaths before he made his way cautiously up the hill to the Quonset hut. He grabbed a bottle of firewhisky and collapsed onto his bunk. He drank half the bottle before he felt ready to radio Stump. Potter had been right, the wards were truly nasty. He knew it would be so; he just hated having to admit it.

Having to admit things he didn't want to acknowledge was position eight on his list. Most of the time.

"Babbity Rabbity calling Stump. Wee Willykins, are you there?"

"Yes, Babbity Rabbity. This is Wee Willykins. Go ahead."

"I need to speak to Third Brother."

"Sorry, Babbity. I'm the only one here at the moment."

"Shite."

"Sir?"

"I had a close call just now. The Lestrange brothers paid the island a visit."

"They landed?"

"Thankfully, no. But they did seem very interested in the atoll."

Seamus's exhalation whistled sharply through the speaker. "Shite."

"Precisely."

"I need a drink."

"Don't mind if I do."

"I propose a toast." There was a pause as both men poured liquor into a mug.

"Yes?" Severus prompted when the seconds stretched out between him and relief.

"May this crap day end soon."

"Amen." Severus drank his whisky in one swallow.

"I propose another toast." There was another pause as both men poured more liquor into their mugs. "To all the girls I've loved before."

"Loved very many, have you?"

"More than the fingers on one hand."

"With the fingers on one hand, more like."

"Shut it, you wanker." There was a moment of silence in which Seamus remembered exactly who he was speaking to. "Sir."

"I propose a toast."

"Sir?"

"To all the girls you've loved before." They drank. "In your imagination, with the fingers on one hand. You wanker."

"Git."

"That's Babbity Git, to you."

"Yes, sir."

"Drink up, Willykins. It's going to be a long night."

Several hours later, it occurred to Severus to propose another toast.

"To Hopping Pot. A good man."

"To Colin," replied Seamus. "A good wizard and a great friend."

"To Mr Creevey," added Severus. "A good singer, of middling talent and excellent taste."

"Colin sang?"

"Yes." A deep melancholy struck Severus unexpectedly. "This was his favourite song...

Show me the way to go home,

I'm tired and I want to go to bed.

Oh, I had a little drink about an hour ago,

and it went right to my head.

Wherever I may roam,

on land or sea or foam.

You will always hear me singing this song:

Show me the way to go home."

He began to sing the song again, and Seamus joined in.

"Show me the way to go home,

I'm tired and I want to go to bed.

Oh, I had a little drink about an hour ago,

and it went right to my head.

Wherever I may roam,

on land or sea or foam.

You will always hear me singing this song:

Show me the way to go home."

~Little Girls~

Severus was drinking his second cup of coffee with firewhisky the next morning when the wards screamed, tearing a jagged path of pain through his frontal lobe. He dropped his metal mug and clutched at his head, resisting the urge to curl into a mewling ball on his bunk.

The wards suddenly stopped caterwauling what seemed a lifetime later, but was more probably a few seconds. He stood shakily, and made his way to the scratched mirror over the dry sink in the hut's kitchen area. He wasn't bleeding out his eyeballs, then. That was a good thing.

Severus's keen intellect came out of hiding.

The wards.

He stared into the mirror and realised he looked like himself.

This was not good.

He wasn't ready for this. Lulled into complacency by the sun, sea and good food, Severus had misplaced some of the edge he had honed during the long years between the wars. He took several deep breaths before panic could set in.

Wand. Clothes. Glamour. Stealth mode.

It was coming back to him now. He took the parchment from the shelf beside his bunk and unrolled it.

"Homenum revelio," he whispered, touching his wand to the map's surface.

Five violet dots appeared on the flats above the Horcrux Cave.

Shite.

Five. He peered at them, his mind racing. They weren't moving. He kept the map in one hand, and held his wand up in the other as he crept silently out of the hut, down the deck toward the stream that separated him from the tableland. He crossed the stream at a low point, barely getting the soles of his boots wet. Then he checked the map again. The dots remained where they were, unmoving. Severus dared to hope. With any luck, they would be dead already.

He stopped in the middle of the camouflaging shrubs about five metres from his unwanted guests, and shaded his eyes against the sun. He wanted to get a good read on them before he stuck his neck out any further.

"What?" he said, and was so startled he nearly jumped out of his skin.

His voice certainly sounded different. Like he gargled glass as a hobby. The reason for his altered voice captured his singular attention again. He took a few steps closer to the clearing without realising it.

The interlopers were shorter than he expected. They were not wearing black robes, either. They were wearing navy blue skirts, and knee socks and white short-sleeve broadcloth shirts. All of them. Except for one. Severus surveyed the sky for a moment, and then strode over quickly to the prostrate figures.

She was dressed in a prim little navy blue suit and sheer hose, her hair spilling out on the ground in a halo of wild curls. Her shoes, plain navy pumps with a short heel, rested near her out-flung hand...as if she were reaching to put them on.

Severus knelt next to her, and was relieved to discover a pulse and regular breathing. He checked the other girls, and found the same results. Just unconscious, then. He spied a manky old boot near the littlest female and surmised that the wards had caused their Portkey to malfunction.

Seriously?

He looked up at the sky, tracing a cloud's movement for a moment or two.

It had to be her.

Of course it did. His life thus far had been a never-ending series of Karmic smack-downs. There was no reason to believe that Karma would not follow him here. To this tiny hunk of uninhabited volcanic rock in the middle of the South Pacific. No fucking reason at all. He wondered who he had been in his past life to end up on her most wanted list. Caligula? Ghengis Khan? Bonaparte? Stalin? Nero? Hitler?

Not that he hadn't done anything of particular note in his current life; but really, wasn't enough, enough? Karma didn't think so, apparently, for she had delivered unto Severus four young school girls and Miss Hermione Granger.

Inquisitive, intelligent Hermione Granger. She had a mind like a steel trap with almost perfect recall. She made Voldemort look like an inbred moron. Albeit, an inbred moron with a hair-trigger temper, questionable sanity and a thirst for power.

How the fuck was he going to do this?

He paced the wooden planks between the large table and the bunk row, occasionally glancing with apprehension at the last bunk, where Miss Granger lay, still unconscious. As they all were. A fact he was grateful for, as he needed time to think.

Once he had moved his unwanted guests one by one to the hut, situating them on the available beds...thank Merlin there was a double bunk for the bigger girls and the two smallest had fit on the other single side by side...he had radioed Stump with the headphones on, as quietly as possible.

They were no help at all, explaining that the previous day's sighting of the Lestrange brothers had put the team on high alert, and that a travel Portkey would not be forthcoming any time soon, no matter how much he begged. Sabre suggested a supply delivery via Portkey, under cover of night, to be dispatched when a list of needs had been compiled. On the assumption that if it were intercepted by their enemies at some point, no lives would be lost. And preferably consisting of more than just firewhisky; such as things the females might find useful. Severus reluctantly agreed.

Sabre promised a travel Portkey would be arranged as soon as it was viable to do so.

But then things went from uncomfortable to downright impossible, in Severus's opinion. Third Brother and Sabre ordered him to reveal as little as possible of his mission and identity to any of the girls, barring what they would need to know for their safety. Miss Granger, it seemed, had suffered a breakdown after the Final Battle, due to post-traumatic stress. It had taken her three years to fully recover, and another year to reunite with her parents and restore their memories.

Clever girl.

After that, they had charged her with transporting war orphans to Australia, where her parents watched over them. With Andromeda Tonks's help. To keep her safely away from their more dangerous work. She had changed, Severus was warned. She was not the same girl he had known at Hogwarts. He was hard pressed not to snort at that. Of course she was changed. That didn't mean she was suddenly stupid or incompetent.

However, he did see the wisdom of breaking things to her gently. He did not believe that she was fragile, but a little caution wouldn't hurt. Besides, the longer he could evade harassment and endless questions by being a stranger who deserved company manners, the better. He had an enormous headache already, contemplating the travails of living with five females.

~Taking Over the Hut~

"Who are you? Where are the girls?"

Severus stopped pacing mid-step and turned to face Miss Granger.

"The girls are on the bunks next to you. They appear to be healthy, other than mild abrasions and such."

She sat up slowly, and looked over at the girls, then back at Severus. Every movement she made was careful, as if she didn't trust her body yet. "Where are we?"

"On a small island in the South Pacific." He sat on the chair by the pedal radio.

"Did our Portkey malfunction, Mr..." Miss Granger peered at him in puzzlement. "What did you say your name is?"

"I hadn't," replied Severus. "It's Zabini. Walter Zabini." He held out his hand for her to shake.

She did so daintily. "Do you know Blaise Zabini?" Severus...Walter...nodded. "You look a little like him."

He knew that, having glanced in the scratched mirror after placing the medal on his neck. Third Brother had informed him during their radio call that Blaise had constructed the glamour, since he excelled at them. He'd learned the craft at his mother's knee.

Plus, Severus thought, his picture was next to the definition for narcissist in the dictionary.

"He's my nephew."

"Ah," Miss Granger said, as she looked around, taking in her surroundings.

The Quonset hut was built from cedar with a reinforced aluminum roof. It measured a roomy five by twenty metres that housed, as far as Hermione could tell, three bunks, a long table and chairs, a pedal radio station, a small kitchen area with a dry sink, storage shelves and an enormous pile of rubbish that needed to be burned as soon as possible.

"That needs to be burned," she muttered, pointing at the offensive mass.

"We can't light a fire," said Severus.

"Why ever not?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "Because it could be spotted. You can't do magic, either."

"Oh." Miss Granger worried her bottom lip. "Is there indoor plumbing?" she added hopefully.

He snorted. "No."

"What if?" she started delicately, only to have Mr Zabini interrupt her brusquely.

"There's a field of low shrubs out back and a bucket and shovel to help."

"Help?" asked Miss Granger.

"With burying." He pointed at the rubbish. "Bog roll, Miss..."

"Granger. Hermione Granger." She pointed to the girls, one a time. "That's Harriet on the top bunk, she's twelve and a tomboy. Annie is on the bottom bunk. She's fifteen, very girly and artistic. Elisabeth is ten. She can be very dour. And last is little Jenny. She's six. She hasn't spoken since her parents died."

"Murdered?"

"Yes," said Miss Granger. "By Death Eaters."

The girls began to stir. Miss Granger swung her legs over the edge of the bed, standing up carefully while straightening her skirt. She also did her best to smooth down her hair before walking between the girl's beds.

"Take it easy, girls," she said, soothing them with a calm voice. "We've just had a bumpy landing."

"Are we in Australia?" asked Elisabeth. She sat up, looking around. "This place is a dump."

"Elisabeth!" Miss Granger admonished. "Mind your manners."

"Who for?" Elisabeth muttered querulously.

"Our host, Mr. Zabini," Miss Granger replied. "That's who."

Severus shifted uncomfortably as four sets of young female eyes looked him over. "Good evening," he said.

"Good evening," they replied as one, except for Jenny, who merely waved at him.

"I need a drink," muttered Severus. He uncapped the half-empty bottle on the shelf next to the radio and poured a generous measure into his mug. Five sets of eyes watched his every move.

"Mr Zabini," began Miss Granger, clearing her throat. "Not in front of the children, please."

"I didn't want them here." Severus took a drink and smacked his lips.

"Mr Zabini!" Miss Granger's eyes fairly bulged from her head.

"We aren't in Australia, are we, Miss Granger?" asked Annie.

Miss Granger turned her attention to the girls. "No, we aren't, girls. Our Portkey malfunctioned. I think we should all have tea while we discuss this, don't you, Mr Zabini?"

"Go right ahead," Severus said with a smirk. "Be my guest."

"Do you have a tea set, Mr Zabini?"

"Where do you think you are, Miss Granger, the Palm Court?" Severus began, before halting abruptly. "Er, yes. I think I do. On the shelf over the dry sink."

"And how do I boil the water?"

Severus strode over to the kitchen area and lit several Hexamine stoves, before retrieving some Operational Rations Packs for the girls to open, since they were all now sitting at the table. He felt a bit grumpy sharing his things until he found out that all the girls loved treacle pudding and loathed Marmite. Excepting Elisabeth, who nearly snarled when he reached for her packet.

He drew back his fingers so quickly that all the girls giggled, including Miss Granger. Only Jenny made no noise.

When she recovered, Miss Granger cleared her throat. "How are we to get to Australia, Mr Zabini?"

"You could swim," he suggested. He popped a Marmite-covered Brown biscuit in his mouth and chewed.

"That is not funny," Miss Granger said, as Harriet and Annie dissolved into peals of laughter again. "Harriet, sit up straight, you are going to fall off the bench."

"My name is Harry." The girl's mouth adopted a mulish cast.

"Oh, yes," said Miss Granger. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm a bit distracted."

"That's all right," Harry said as Jenny pushed her treacle pudding over to her plate. She petted Jenny on the head and dug into her pudding.

"Seriously, Mr Zabini. Do you have a boat or perhaps..."

"There's a Bulgarian ship caught up on the reef. But it won't get you anywhere, seeing as there is a massive hole in its side." He took a drink of tea and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, which he then crumpled up and threw onto the rubbish pile. He ignored Miss Granger's gasp of outrage. "My contact said the team will have a travel Portkey ready for you in a couple of weeks. The area is too hot to send one just yet. For the time being, you should compile a list of necessaries, as they are able to Portkey supplies. At least, we should hope they are."

"Where will you stay while we wait for our travel Portkey?"

"What do you mean, where will I stay? Right here, in the Quonset hut." Severus stood his ground at the head of the table.

"I'm afraid that is unacceptable," Miss Granger said, standing to face him. "There are young impressionable ladies present, and not enough beds to go around." She folded her arms across her chest.

"Where do you suggest I sleep, then?"

She tipped her head and thought for a moment. "You said there was a Bulgarian ship?"

"With an enormous hole in its side, practically at the water line!"

"Surely there is a dry room on one of its decks?"

"Yes," Severus muttered. "Surely." He turned to fill his supply chest with a few items. "I'll come back for the rest in the morning."

"Have a good night."

"There is one small matter you've disregarded."

Miss Granger tilted her head again. "And that is?"

"The radio. I'm the only one who can operate it."

"I'm sure we can work out something in the morning, Mr Zabini." She smiled widely at him. It was almost menacing. "Sleep tight."

He grabbed two bottles of whisky as he stomped out the back door. "I'm sure I will."

~The Father Figure~

The next day, Severus awoke early and spent most of the morning puttering around the boat, in an effort to make it somewhat habitable. It also kept her Highness waiting, as a much desired bonus.

When it got close to lunchtime, he reckoned he would put in an appearance. Firstly, because it would impose on her manners and she would be forced to feed him. Which served her right for kicking him out of his hut. And secondly, he remembered they needed to submit a supply list to Stump as soon as possible. Those rat packs wouldn't last very long, with five additional mouths to feed.

Once he got to the hut, he stomped loudly on the deck to alert the females to his presence. Severus wasn't about to knock on his own bloody door, manners or not. Luckily, everyone was busily working on large piece of material he couldn't identify at the long table.

Miss Granger looked up from her section of cloth. "Oh, Mr Zabini. I didn't see you standing there. Did you knock?"

"It's my hut," he replied evenly.

She pursed her lips, but said nothing in return.

He leaned against the supply shelves and watched them work. "Do you have a supply list ready?"

"Yes, almost. I need to add an item or two after lunch," she said, putting several stitches in the cloth. "Would you like to make lunch for us, Mr Zabini, while we work? Or have you already eaten?"

His stomach rumbled before he had a chance to answer.

"Obviously not," Harry sing-songed. She didn't look up.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Where did you get that cloth?"

"From the rubbish pile," Miss Granger said. "And I borrowed the sewing kit from the shelves behind you. I hope you don't mind."

Now he recognized the cloth. It was an old silk parachute left by some prior occupant. They had washed it and were in the process of darning all the little holes in it.

"What are you going to do with it?"

Miss Granger looked up at him with a smile. "Hang it as a curtain between my bunk and the pedal radio. So that you can use it while the girls are sleeping or getting dressed."

She thought she was clever, didn't she? It wouldn't keep them from overhearing him, though. And that wouldn't do.

He looked over where the rubbish pile used to be. It had been reduced to a neat stack of boxes. He looked back at Miss Granger. She was worrying her lower lip between her teeth as she sewed.

"We also sorted the rest of the rubbish heap out, as you can see," she said after listening to the girls chatter for a while. "The bog paper, as you called it, has been put in a box next to the necessary pail."

He decided not to tell her the Bulgarian ship had several functioning heads.

"Mr Zabini, may I ask you a question?"

Well, at least she wasn't waving her arm around like the Whomping Willow. "Yes."

"Did you by chance find a small beaded bag near where we fell? I couldn't find it in the hut."

"Can't do without your lippy, eh?"

Miss Granger huffed in exasperated indignation.

"No, I did not." Severus started to make lunch.

"Or a cricket bat?" asked Harry.

"No."

Annie sighed mournfully. "I lost my perfume. It was expensive, too. Twenty quid a bottle."

Elisabeth rolled her eyes. Severus quite agreed with her assessment.

The girls cleared the table, placing the parachute on Miss Granger's bed, and they all sat down to eat. Except Severus, who remained standing, while he ate his beans directly from the tin.

"Mr Zabini, won't you join us?"

"I'm fine right here, thanks," he said. He tore open a packet of Brown biscuits with his teeth and used his bean spoon to spread Marmite on them.

Elisabeth did the same. Exactly the same.

Miss Granger stared at him with the intensity of a surgical laser beam. "Might I have a word, Mr Zabini? Outside?"

"Of course," said Severus. "Shall we go out the back?" He led the way.

"Girls, keep eating and when you're finished, practise your times tables," Miss Granger said over her shoulder, before shutting the back door closed with a snap.

She faced Severus and folded her arms across her chest. "Just what do you think you are doing?"

"What do you think I am doing?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, and held her ground.

He counted silently to sixty just to make her wait and then responded. "Eating lunch."

"You had better manners last night."

"That was before I was kicked out of my hut."

"Did you build it, then?"

He shook his head no.

"I didn't think so."

"I was here first."

"Are you twelve?" Miss Granger retorted in disgust. "Didn't your mother bring you up to be a gentleman?"

He gave her a filthy look but didn't answer her. His family was not his favourite topic of discussion. In fact, it held position nine on his list of hate.

"The girls are watching you, heaven help them," Miss Granger said. "You are the closest thing they have to a father figure right now."

Severus snorted. "Good luck to them."

"No," Miss Granger said, stepping closer to him. "Good luck to you." She held up a finger for each edict. "No swearing. Sit down when you eat with us. Use dishware and the proper utensils. Knock and wait for permission before opening a door. And no drinking."

"In front of the girls."

"Period. It's bad for you. At the rate you're going, you'll have a pickled liver by fifty."

"You are not my mother. Or my wife. Or even my daughter, though you're nearly young enough..."

It was Miss Granger's turn to snort. "Nearly!"

Pity the glamour hadn't de-aged him. But the Zabinis had kept that little trick for themselves. Bloody gannets.

"In short, you are not the boss of me," Severus said. "In point of fact, I am the boss of you." He ignored her gasp of outrage. "You shouldn't be worrying whether I use a spoon to eat beans out of a tin at all, Lady Muck."

Sod being gentle.

"I spotted Death Eaters two days ago. They very well might come back. Don't do magic. Keep the girls calm so they don't either. Don't let them play in the open. If someone calls on the radio, fetch me straight away. Do you understand me?"

Miss Granger snapped her jaw shut and nodded her head in acknowledgement. She swallowed visibly and was very pale. He noticed her hands were shaking.

"Do you need some firewhisky? It's Special Reserve."

It was her turn to give him a filthy look.

"Pull yourself together, then. We need to radio that list of supplies in."

"I'm fine," she gritted out after taking several deep breaths.

They went back inside the hut. He even held the door open for her. The girls were working quietly on their times tables, though Severus suspected they had made a mad dash for the table as soon as the adults had approached the back door. None of them would look up to meet his eyes.

Miss Granger found her list, added some lines to it, and met him at the radio.

"Babbity Rabbity to Stump."

"Wee Willykins here." Seamus's voice sounded different. Smart lad.

"We have our supply list ready."

There were scrabbling noises at the other end. "Hang on a tic, I need to grab another quill. This one's tip is broken."

"Mr Zabini, there are a few... feminine requirements on the list," Miss Granger said, clearing her throat. "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to read it out loud?"

Severus rolled his eyes at her. "Just hand it over, Miss Granger."

"Stump is ready, Babbity," said Seamus.

"Twenty pairs of knick..." Severus came to a halt as his eyes slid down the list. They shut in horror at the word "tampons." He gave Miss Granger the list and wordlessly showed her how to depress the talk button, before he grabbed a bottle of firewhisky and left the hut. Her laughter followed him out the door.

"Babbity, are you there?"

"Babbity has left the building," Hermione said into the mic, still laughing. "I'll read the list to you instead."

"All right, fair Maiden, start reading."

"Why did you call me that, Willykins?"

"Code names, miss. You never know who's listening."

~Not Playing Nice~

She got straight up his nose, even now, when she wasn't there to purse her lips at his slovenly ways, or huff in indignation at some outrageous comment he felt compelled to make whenever she tutted at him or stare straight through him, like she could see every lie he'd ever told. Possibly since birth.

Trying to tell him what to do. Father figure. Bah. He hadn't been comfortable as a role model when he'd been teaching. He wasn't going to ease into it now. No way.

With any luck, his little speech would keep them all out of his hair for their entire stay. He was sure it had made a lasting impression on Miss Granger. He thanked the stars above she was inclined to respect authority. For the most part, anyway. And since new supplies were on the way, he had packed his trunks to the brim, and brought them to the ship. He'd left the radio there for now, and most of the firewhisky, until he worked up the strength to move it.

Or the nerve to test a pet theory of his. That Voldemort had not considered witches and wizards to be equals. More fool him. The Dark Lord certainly had called his mother weak more than once in Severus's hearing. He had treated Bellatrix more like a toy or a pet than a powerful witch. Severus could count the number of female Death Eaters on one hand. Most of the women in that circle were merely wives of Death Eaters, and never bore his Mark. If he was right, and he was right most of the time, then Severus was sure he could still do small acts of magic without setting the wards off.

Although. The Portkey, with five females attached, had definitely set the wards off. Yet a Portkey was a strong piece of active magic. And probably man-made as well. The Ministry could not have changed that much in five years. Keep the witches busy with theoretical magic, leave the practical magic to the men. And the Ministry was backing Miss Granger's humanitarian missions, Hopping Pot had informed him, as a show of reparation after the Final Battle. It was just bad luck that had placed her trajectory directly over the island this time. Or maybe the Ministry had adjusted the usual route to avoid a storm of some sort. He'd have to check with Willykins.

"Mr Zabini!"

Merlin's frozen hairy testicles, did that woman never listen?

He rolled off the spar deck hammock, and peered over the ship's rail.

Annie shaded her eyes, and waved him down. "Mr Zabini, the radio wants you!"

He shushed her with a finger to his mouth and then pointed to the dock. She ran to it and he nodded vigorously in approval, before throwing a rope ladder over the side and climbing down it. He joined her at the dock.

"Willykins called for you, sir. You need to call back," Annie whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Yes, all right. Let's go."

"I need to stay at the lagoon, sir, and help the other girls with the laundry," she whispered.

"You don't need to whisper, girl. Just try not to scream or shout. Unless you need to."

"Yes, sir."

He left her at the lagoon with the other girls, who were using rocks to scrub their socks.

"I'll whistle when I come by again, yeah?"

"Thanks, sir," said Annie as she waved him off.

Miss Granger was sitting at the table when he entered the hut.

"Would you like some tea, Mr Zabini?"

"Yes, please." He sat at the table, across from her. "Nice curtain."

The mended parachute flapped gently in the breeze.

She poured tea into his mug, and placed a packet of Brown biscuits next to it. He fetched some Marmite, and offered a pouch to her. She waved it away with a smile.

"Annie said that Willykins called?"

She took a sip of tea and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "Yes. About an hour ago."

He stood up to walk over to the radio.

"Please sit down and finish your tea first."

He sat. Only because there was Marmite on the table. And she had asked nicely.

They drank and ate in silence, occasionally giving each other awkward smiles. Actually, Miss Granger smiled. Severus grimaced.

When he was finished, he helped her clear the table. "Well, better make that call now. I wonder what Willykins wants."

Miss Granger cleared her throat and said, "I know."

"You do?" He stopped walking, and turned to face her.

"Yes."

He stepped closer to her. "Well?"

"Well, what?" she asked, linking her hands behind her back.

He heaved a sigh of exasperation. "What did Willykins want?"

"Oh!" She rocked forward on her toes. "Yes. What did Willykins want? I wrote it down. Where did I put that note?"

They looked at the table. No note. They looked at her bunk. No note. The shelves. No note. The kitchen area. No note. The top of the radio. No note.

"Never mind," said Severus. "I'll just call Stump now."

"It won't do any good," said Miss Granger.

He ruthlessly suppressed the urge to throttle her. "Why not?"

"Because Willykins had an errand to run, and couldn't wait."

"So he gave you the message instead."

"Yes, and I wrote it down and I put it somewhere," said Miss Granger, putting a hand in her skirt pocket. "Oh! Here it is. Silly me, I had it all along."

Severus held out his hand and Miss Granger dropped the note into it. He attempted to read it. Gobbledegook was easier to translate.

"I can't read your handwriting."

"Sorry! It's in Gobbledegook. Here, I'll read it."

He handed it over to her.

"Babbity Rabbity, are you there?" she began.

"Skip to the message, please."

Her eyebrows rose in astonishment. "Skip the protocol?"

His right eye twitched in alarm. "Oh, for fu...dge's sake, did you take the rock off that book?" He glanced uneasily at the front door.

"Yes. But only because it seemed cruel," she said. "After a bit, I put it back on."

He nearly laughed. "Horrid, isn't it?"

"I found it interesting," she replied. "Elisabeth begged me to do it."

He couldn't help but grin.

"After she threatened to set it on fire."

He did laugh then. "Please read the message."

"Willykins said the supply Portkey is a no go. Luckless was injured and he can't make one right now. The others are out on assignment. He says we'll have to make do for at least three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Severus looked at the supply shelves. "We only have enough food for one week."

"Not to mention a distinct lack of clothing for the girls," added Miss Granger. "If only I could find my bag."

"You said it was small," Severus said. "How much could it hold?"

Miss Granger's eyes twinkled. "With expansion charms? Quite a lot. All the girls' suitcases. My set of reference materials. A two- month supply of tinned food for six people..." she trailed off at Severus's look of amazement.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"I like to be prepared."

"Speaking of which," he said, looking around. "Where is the whisky?"

She didn't answer, averting her eyes.

"Where is my firewhisky, Miss Granger?" It came out as a growl.

Her eyes whipped to his face in an instant and she narrowed them at him for a heart-stopping moment.

"Where you will never find it, Mr Zabini. You should have taken me seriously when I said no drinking."

He gave her a hard glare, and turned on his heel, striding from the hut almost silently. It was a good thing he wasn't wearing robes or his cover would have been blown. Or, more accurately, billowed.