Chapter 4

"That was delicious," Hermione exclaimed. Prossy looked suspiciously at her out of the side of his prominent eyes and popped away with the empty dessert dishes, leaving port, glasses and a small silver box upon the table.

"Of course it was," Lucius said complacently. "I'd have been mortified had it been otherwise." He left unsaid the proviso that if the master had been mortified, the elves would have suffered more than mere mortification. Hermione pursed her lips but did not rise to the bait. She was aware of Snape smirking on one side of her and Draco on the other.

Lucius lifted the decanter of port and poured out four glasses. Hermione had already drunk more wine than she usually imbibed in a month, and she suspected she was well over the limit to Apparate. Lucius flicked his wand and levitated the silver box to Snape's end of the table. Snape opened it, lifted out a cigar and held it below his large nostrils, sniffing appreciatively along its length. Then he took a small pair of clippers from the box and trimmed the ends before lighting the cigar. He glanced at Hermione and twirled his wand, setting up a vortex of air above his head that sucked the smoke away into nothing, leaving only the faintest hint of the sweet-sharp aroma in the air.

"For some reason, I don't dislike the smell of cigars," she remarked, sipping her port. "When I was little, I always thought they smelled very grown-up."

"Masculine and virile," Draco drawled.

"Not exactly. My grandmother smoked little King Edward cigars and I still associate them with her."

Snape leaned back in his chair and blew out a perfect smoke ring, watching as it floated upwards before disappearing into his air-clearing charm. He looked rather less sallow than she remembered, and he had obviously washed his hair recently although it was still lank and could do with a good trim. She wondered why she had never identified the cause of the stains on his fingers, his yellowed teeth and unhealthy skin when she had known him at Hogwarts. It was obvious that he was a heavy smoker.

"I drank far too much black coffee and whiskey, too," he murmured, his comment segueing so well into her thoughts that Hermione nodded, then caught herself, and then she realised that he was unlikely to have used Legillimency on her when he wasn't even facing her. He twisted the hand with the cigar, gazing contemplatively into the wisps of smoke. He was smirking quietly to himself.

"One could hardly blame you," Hermione said.

"Does one really imagine that one has the right to blame me, for anything?"

"No," she agreed, "the debts are all paid."

He gave a sharp nod and drew in another lungful of smoke from his cigar.

"Speaking of coffee," Lucius remarked, "would anyone like some?"

"If I'm going to Apparate home, I'd better switch from port to coffee or risk splinching."

"There's always the Floo," Draco said.

"I left it locked."

"Really? Why?"

"Standard procedure for Aurors and Unspeakables; we never leave an empty house unwarded or the Floo open."

"So you can't even Floo into your own home? That's ridiculous."

"Oh, I could," Hermione protested, "I'd just have to be sober to open the wards. They're quite comprehensive; Harry helped me build them."

"Oh well, if Saint Potter built them, they must be perfect."

"Draco," drawled his father, "do let go of this old resentment. It won't help you, you realise?"

Draco pouted, and Hermione suppressed an urge to snigger.

"Potter wasn't a paragon of virtue in school, neither was he particularly bright."

"No doubt, my boy, but that is immaterial to what he is now."

"The shining light of the Wizarding world," Draco muttered.

"The most powerful wizard alive," Lucius stated, and Hermione looked sharply at his composed, elegant face. "You said to me, Hermione, that your friend is 'something like a sixteen', which was stretching the truth a little. It was clear from the strength of his Protego charm that he is probably verging on a level eighteen on the AIM scale; certainly he is already at seventeen. Don't you agree, Severus?"

Snape shrugged.

"I haven't encountered the boy since he came of age, but if you say so, Lucius. You have, after all, had as much exposure to a high-level wizard as I have."

"Indeed, the Dark Lord would have reached nineteen or twenty, but you also knew Dumbledore far better than I. Where did he lie upon the scale?"

"Nineteen, but he was declining for the last decade of his life. The Dark Lord probably overtook him towards the end, but of course he seasoned his magic with the vehemence that comes with a total lack of conscience."

"So did Dumbledore," Hermione said, and surprised a snort of wry laughter from Snape.

"My word, you have begun thinking for yourself. Congratulations, Miss Granger."

"What level is your magic, Professor?"

Snape regarded her out of narrowed eyes and Hermione felt her lips curve into a smile. "Sorry, that's a personal question. I'm a thirteen, Lucius is fourteen and verging on fifteen, Draco..." She tilted her head and nodded. "I bet you're a thirteen, too." She was convinced he was actually at level eleven or twelve. He had never appeared to be particularly magically powerful in school, and the faintly self-satisfied edge to his smirk told her that her private assessment was probably correct. "I'd put you at a higher level than Lucius, Professor."

The fact that Lucius did not argue convinced her.

"What I'd love to see is Severus and Potter in a duel," Draco remarked. "A formal duel, I mean, not a fight to the death."

"It would be spectacular," Hermione agreed.

"Five hundred galleons on the Slytherin, Granger," Draco drawled.

Hermione shook her head. "Apart from the fact that I don't have that amount of cash to spare, I'd put it on Professor Snape, too. I think cunning and experience would have the edge over sheer power."

Prossy appeared bearing a tray of cups and jugs, accompanied by the fragrant scent of fresh coffee.

Once they were all settled with their choice of coffee, milk, cream and sugar, Draco remarked loftily, "I bought out Gutteridge's shop last Friday. Old coot finally decided to retire to his cottage in the country."

"Gutteridge's pies and pastries? Are you going into catering now?" Hermione enquired, and Draco snorted.

"The shop – if you can call it that, shack more like – is next door to Weasley's. That means Weasley can't expand into it."

Hermione scowled at him.

"You know that I'm friends with the family."

"Exactly."

"So you want me to tell them about it? Why?"

"Because Weasley is making a fortune," Draco said, assuming a rather unconvincing mantle of patience. "Weasley will want to expand. Since I own the shops on either side, he'll have to move out into larger premises, leaving me owning the entire length between the butcher and the apothecary. He'll have to sell up eventually."

"He may prefer to sell to someone he knows."

"But he can't guarantee that they won't be tempted by a good offer." Draco shrugged. "Malfoys have money, but we work at it, you know, and we take the long view. That reminds me, Father: didn't you say you'd drawn up the documents for the trust fund for Scorpius?"

"They're in my study. Did you want to see them tonight?"

"If I may. Astoria's aunt wants to talk to me about a legacy from her grandfather. I'm hoping she'll let me invest it for her, and if there's something coming to Scorpius, we might as well make the most of it from the start. I may want to amalgamate the funds..."

"Please excuse us," Lucius said with a slight bow towards Hermione and Snape. He and Draco took their coffee and went out of the dining room, already deep in conversation about bonds and shares and interest rates.

"Bless their little Slytherin hearts," Hermione remarked. Snape chuckled, a deep, dark-chocolate sound. She had never heard him chuckle before; surely she would have remembered.

"Miss Granger, you have grown up into a cynic."

"A realist. And for God's sake, won't you call me Hermione? We're no longer Professor and student."

"Indeed, we're not, are we?"

He gazed at her through the faint drift of steam from his coffee, tilting the cup to his lips as he sipped. Hermione knew that look. She had seen it years ago when she'd had her short-lived dalliance with Viktor Krum; she had occasionally seen it in Ron's expression at the start of their marriage. But she had never expected to encounter lust in Snape's sharp black eyes.

He recognised her moment of realisation, and the bastard deliberately allowed his gaze to drop to the neckline of her evening robes, where the scalloped edge exposed the rounded tops of her breasts. Hermione huffed, sat forward in her chair and wiggled slightly, so that her robes slipped down and the lace of her bra peeked out. Thank Merlin she had thought to wear her best, most frivolous underwear tonight!

"Does that mean I get to call you Severus?"

"If you wish."

How the hell did he do that? How did he make three simple words sound like an invitation to bed? He had always had such wonderful control over his voice, wielding it as a weapon no less powerful than his wand. She covered an urge to giggle by taking a sip of her coffee, thoughts of investigating Snape's wand going off in an entirely new direction.

"Severus." She tried out the name, hissing the three syllables over her tongue. "Sev-er-us. Wasn't he a Roman emperor? Septimius Severus, father of Caracalla?"

"No doubt," Snape said in an off-hand manner. "However, Severus Prince was my maternal great-grandfather; my mother hoped to ingratiate herself with her grandparents by saddling me with his name. It didn't work; he wrote her out of the will anyway for marrying my father."

"Oh, I see."

"Do you?" He cocked one eyebrow at her.

"He was a Muggle, wasn't he?"

"He was, although that made less impression upon them than the fact that he was a brute and a drunkard. He would have converted the money to piss by the way of beer anyway."

"I'm sorry."

"You must stop this Gryffindor habit of taking responsibility for everything, Miss – Hermione."

"It was merely an expression of sympathy. I'm lucky: my parents are Muggles but very nice ones, whom I love dearly, but I know at firsthand how neglect in childhood can stain the rest of a life."

"Your friend Potter, no doubt." Snape sneered and finished his coffee.

"Yes, but there's no need to scoff like that. The Muggles treated him like a house-elf; they dressed him in his cousin's old cast-offs, they barely fed him, they forced him to cook and clean when he was a tiny child. Worst of all, they never showed him an ounce of affection; they reared him to believe he was unworthy of love, and it was only through meeting people like Hagrid, the Weasleys, and me, and learning to love us and allow us to love him in return, that he was prevented from becoming another Tom Riddle."

"Dumbledore forged him into a weapon."

Hermione suspected this was as close as he could get to admitting that she was correct. He had not denied her assertions, at any rate.

"No more than he used you."

"I allowed it to happen; Potter was given no choice."

"What did you just say about the 'habit of taking responsibility for everything'? Are you suggesting that Dumbledore gave you a choice? Because I beg to differ."

Snape leaned back in his chair, allowing his hands to fall to the arms. His slim fingers caressed the finely carved wood.

"Ah, how I missed the passion of Gryffindors, and the wonderful world view that allows no shades of grey. First Dumbledore was a saint, now he turns into the devil."

"That isn't fair. He was a very clever, very manipulative and very powerful wizard, who looked at the big picture and was, shall we say, careless of the people whom he had to use to achieve his objectives. We would be living in a very different world if it hadn't been for Dumbledore."

"That much, I'll allow."

"There, not so different from the Slytherin view, after all."

"Extraordinary," Snape breathed and shifted slightly in his seat.

"What is?"

"Why did you marry Weasley?"

The question came like a hex out of nowhere, startling her into defensive anger.

"Lots of reasons."

"I'm hardly surprised that he didn't realise how incompatible you were, but surely you didn't think it could work? Or was that the only way you and Potter could cling to the memory of the mighty threesome, by bringing Weasley's sister into the mix and binding yourselves into two Weasley marriages?"

"And to think that for a few short hours, I believed you weren't a vicious bastard after all."

He ignored the insult, staring at her with a slightly quizzical expression, one black eyebrow quirked.

"Hermione, you are very intelligent – now that you have stopped relying entirely on books and started to apply your mind – and magically gifted. You have more influence upon the most powerful wizard in the country than anyone except his wife – another strong and clever witch, although I'll never admit to that in public – and you are making a name for yourself in an arcane and dangerous field of work. You have grown up into an attractive woman. Why on earth did you marry a Quidditch-mad twit?"

Hermione was unable to suppress a bubble of laughter.

"Now I'm starting to wonder what you're after. Compliments, from you?"

His expression changed from interrogative to predatory with just the realignment of his eyebrows.

"I have stated nothing that you don't already know. I do not offer idle flattery."

Hermione's heart gave a little stutter inside her chest, and she knew that only a sherry, four glasses of wine and a large port gave her the kind of idiot courage required to verbally spar with Severus Snape. They also ensured that she didn't really care whether she won or lost.

"What do you offer, then?"

Her question hung in the air. Slowly, Snape got to his feet, his heavy black robes whispering around his ankles as he rounded the table towards her. Mesmerised, she stared into his eyes. They were not black, she realised, but the darkest possible brown, darker than cocoa, the colour of black coffee.

"Only what you have already made up your mind to accept," he whispered. He leaned to touch his lips to hers.

She could smell him now, a hint of the herbs that had always hung around his brewing robes, mint and rosemary to cut the taste, overlaid by the faint citrus of his aftershave or cologne. He tasted of port and the rich, sweet smoke of his cigar. Oh, he was good. He did not demand her kiss; he enticed her with little nips and flicks of his tongue.

Ron had usually waited to see if she was interested, but as soon as she had made her agreement plain, he had dived in and snogged away like a vacuum cleaner. Snape was certainly not lacking in confidence, but he was surprisingly considerate. Slytherin, she thought. He's going to tease me until I make a move, and then I'll have to admit that I want him.

For just a moment, she stood aside from herself, amazed that she was reaching up to kiss the Greasy Git of the dungeon, the horrible, ugly, sneering Potions master. Except he wasn't ugly, not really. He had a hooked nose and olive skin worthy of a Roman emperor, he could do with a good Muggle dentist to sort out those stained uneven teeth, but he could kiss like she had never been kissed before.

She got to her feet, her arms wrapped around him. He was more solid than she had expected; perhaps he had gained weight since the war years, although there was no excess fat on him. He was not as lanky as Ron. Throughout her schooldays she had thought of Snape as a tall man, looming ominously over her, swooping like a bat through the corridors, yet he was only a little taller than Harry was. She could kiss him without getting a crick in her neck, and wasn't that wonderful? He was working down the side of her throat, now, with little butterfly nips and sucks. One hand was around her waist, the other crept upwards, to settle as lightly as a butterfly on her breast, stroking her nipple, just a little more than a tickle through the lace of her bra, enough to arouse her.

He was breathing more deeply now, giving her a sense of power. He wanted her. She moved one foot so that her thigh was between his legs, and yes, there beneath the heavy folds of his dress robes was his firm erection. It butted against her hip and she shifted a little against it.

"Perhaps we should take this elsewhere before we embarrass ourselves in front of the house-elves," he suggested.

"I could happily listen to that voice of yours reciting a shopping list," Hermione sighed. He gave his low, deep chuckle and it vibrated through her, igniting something deep in her abdomen.

"I can quote Shakespeare if it would help."

"Anything. Has anyone ever told you how sexy your voice is?"

"Occasionally, yes. I am not unaware of my assets; I have to make the most of them." He leered and tucked her arm through his.

"Aren't you going to sweep me off my feet and carry me away to your chamber for a night of torrid passion?"

"You have clearly been reading the short fiction in Witch Weekly. If I'm going to wrench my back, I'd rather it was after the torrid passion than before."

"Fair enough – shit!" Hermione's foot twisted beneath her as her heel caught on the edge of one of the magnificent carpets. Snape grabbed her around the waist and held her steady.

"Why you females insist upon wearing such impractical footwear, I'll never understand."

"Supposed to be sexy," she grumbled, reaching to remove both shoes and sighing with relief as she flexed her aching feet in the pile of the carpet. "Ginny chose them for me; I've never worn heels this high before in my life."

"Wanting to make an impression upon the Malfoys, were we?"

"'I am not unaware of my assets; I have to make the most of them.'"

Snape's eyes glittered as he looked sideways at her.

"Be careful, Hermione, you could bankrupt yourself."

"Nah, not me." She swung the delicate strappy shoes from one hand. "This was a one-off, I couldn't be another Narcissa."

"Indeed you could not," he murmured. When her face fell, he reached up and tapped the side of her head. "Narcissa was a good and courageous friend and a gracious lady," he said, "she wasn't a fool, but she had nothing like your intellect, my dear."

"Since when is being an intellectual sexy?"

"You have no idea," he growled.

He pulled her into his arms and closed his lips over her mouth, reigniting the fire that had died down inside her. He released her far too soon. "Come along, Miss Granger."

"Detention, Professor?"

"Absolutely."

She laughed and followed in his wake, her shoes dangling from her hand.

oooOOOooo

Hermione glanced around the large, airy bedroom. No matter where she was, who she was with or what she was about to do, she always took notice of her surroundings. Having been married to one Auror and being best friends with another, she had picked up some of their habits. Snape closed the door, murmured a privacy and silencing spell to warn the house-elves away, and then turned to her, his wand still in his hand. Hermione experienced a moment of unease before hearing him mutter another charm. It was the one that Madam Pomfrey taught the fifth years in their sex education lessons at Hogwarts, the standard spell to protect against pregnancy. Hermione opened her mouth to tell him he needn't bother, but realised he probably wouldn't believe her anyway. She waited until he had cast the contraceptive charm, and then she reached up to the fastening of her robe. Snape's hand shot out and caught her wrist.

"Allow me, Hermione?"

She dropped her hands and let out her breath on a long sigh. "Just keep speaking to me in that voice, and I'll allow you to do almost anything you like."

"Hm, I was under the impression that the damage to the vocal cords had rather spoiled my voice."

"It has a kind of edge to it, that's all, a roughness that it didn't used – oh." He had unfastened the top buttons of her robe, pushed it back over her shoulders, and leaned to mouth her left nipple through the lace of her bra. His hot, humid breath and the light swipes of his tongue made her insides go hot.

"You were saying?" he murmured against her as he transferred his attentions to the other breast.

"Used to be like silk," Hermione panted, "but now it sounds like velvet being rubbed up the wrong way..."

His quick fingers unfastened another few buttons, so he could push the robe down and leave her standing there in her bra, panties, suspender belt and stockings.

"Excellent work, Miss Granger."

"Do I get points for this?"

"Undoubtedly."

Hermione knew, in the sensible part of her mind that had not been completely turned to mush by alcohol, that she was not unaffected by his praise. She had spent six years at school desperately trying to earn approval from him, longing for him to acknowledge that she was good at Potions. Now she revelled in his obvious admiration, even though a small, cynical voice reminded her that he was a randy Slytherin who would probably say anything to get inside her knickers. She told the little voice to shut up; she might as well enjoy herself while the opportunity presented itself. Snape was brilliant at potions; was he as thorough and conscientious at sex? She very much wanted to find out.

He swooped down upon her, enfolding her in his arms so that the wool of his robes scratched softly against her bare skin. There was something exceptionally erotic about the fact that he was still fully clothed, something naughty and forbidden, like snogging her teacher in the potions prep room. Snape guided her backwards until her calves met the side of the bed, all the while nuzzling at her throat and fondling her breasts. Then he pushed her back onto the bed, hooked his thumbs on either side of her panties and eased them down. Hermione was slightly disappointed, but not for long. He lowered himself onto the bed, enveloping her in his robes like a film vampire about to suck her blood, and moved down to take one of her feet in his hands. His touch was light, just firm enough not to tickle.

"Severus, what are you ... oh!"

He took her big toe into his mouth and licked it thoroughly.

Why the hell hadn't anyone ever done that before?

How had she been married for five years to a heterosexual wizard who had sworn he loved her and wanted sex to be good for her too, and yet not known that her feet were incredibly sensitive, and having her big toe sucked was just wonderful? Snape applied the same thorough attentions to every toe on both feet, then kissed his way up her ankles, her calves, and then demonstrated that the backs of her knees were equally sensitive, kissing and sucking on the skin. Hermione thanked the gods of sex that she had not only showered before coming out to dinner, but had used a depilatory charm on her legs.

He kissed his way up the insides of her thighs, and then he buried his large nose between them, breathing in the scent of her arousal. Had Hermione not been rather drunk, she would have been too embarrassed to enjoy the sensations of his hot breath and the tip of his nose, nudging at the folds of her sex.

She had never done anything like this with Ron. The very thought made her blush; it was as unlikely as the idea of Molly suggesting that Hermione gave Ron a blow-job to keep his interest; as unlikely as Hermione going to bed with Professor Snape.

She had stepped so far outside the usual parameters of her life that she felt as if she were flying or breathing underwater, encountering sensations so novel and strange that she could do nothing but lie back and allow them to overwhelm her.

Snape's tongue was doing amazing things to that little nub of flesh that she knew was her clitoris, that she had never realised could feel like this. She arched her back, trying to press herself even closer to him, and heard his slightly muffled chuckle and felt it vibrate through his mouth. She burbled something like "God, yes! Just there! Oh please...." and then before she could warn him, her insides were spasming in a climax so intense she thought she might black out. He didn't seem to mind at all; in fact he emerged looking supremely self-satisfied as far as she could tell through her daze of pleasure.

Snape unfastened his robes, allowing them to drop to the floor. Under them he wore a white shirt, black trousers and black boots, all of which he shed efficiently, and then he climbed onto the bed beside her. He was pale, with a slight dusting of black hairs on his chest and a thin line leading down to the inky thatch at his groin, where his erect cock bobbed, dark red and gleaming. He was lean, some might say scrawny, but he had enough muscle to look like a mature wizard rather than a skinny adolescent, and there was no sign of a middle-aged paunch. He probably looked the best he ever had, she thought, as he grasped his cock and lined himself up to enter her. She canted her hips and he plunged into her, hard enough to make her gasp but not hard enough to hurt. He stopped moving then, gazing down into her face.

"All right?"

"Oh yes!"

Hermione twitched her internal muscles and he smirked and began to thrust. She reached up to hold onto him, seeking his mouth, the brush of his lightly furred chest against her breasts and the long, lovely rising tide of mutual enjoyment. Her orgasm triggered his; they came together in a delicious cresting wave of sensation. To Hermione, it felt like a burst of magical energy roaring through her nerves, the feeling she had had when she had first used her wand to cast a perfect (if simple) charm.

Snape subsided onto her and they lay in a sweaty tangle of limbs. He looked as open and vulnerable as he had when he lay, seemingly dead, on the floor of the shack. Filled with a sense of relief that made her light-headed, Hermione kissed his nose and gently swept aside the tendrils of black hair that stuck to his face. A black eye opened and swivelled to gaze at her. Hermione sensed the Occlumency that was so habitual that it had become a part of him remained lowered, and she smiled, rather honoured that he trusted her this much. He rolled so that his weight no longer lay on her, although his thigh still overlapped hers, and he muttered something and the covers slid up to cover them.

"Nox," he said, and the lamps faded to darkness, and Hermione closed her eyes and fell asleep almost at once.

oooOOOooo

Hermione felt vaguely woolly-headed and lethargic, with gritty eyes and a dull, heavy feeling behind her eyes that threatened to turn into a hangover as soon as she was awake enough to fully register how much she had consumed the previous night. The early morning sun was in her eyes, and for a moment, she thought she was in the bedroom in the cottage she shared with Ron. Even then, she had a sense not of wrongness, but of difference. The bedroom even smelled different.

Something screamed outside; she recognised the high, piercing cry of a peacock, and everything clicked into place in her brain. She was in Malfoy Manor, wearing a pair of stockings and a suspender belt, she had got rather drunk last night and she had shagged Severus Snape.

"Bloody hell." Hermione sat up, staring around the large, airy bedroom. Her head throbbed warningly. She was alone and the house was silent around her. On the beautiful rosewood bedside table sat a vial of green glass with a silver-edged label: the best-selling hangover cure from King's Potions. Hermione groped for the vial, yanked out the stopper and swallowed the contents. Her ears went hot as steam fizzed from them; then the feeling of dull lethargy lifted and her headache pulsed once and vanished.

A brief investigation led her to an adjoining bathroom, with a wonderful, huge claw-footed bathtub with a shower head in the shape of a serpent's head. She showered, attempted to cast a charm upon her impossibly tangled hair and collected her scattered garments. She was debating whether to attempt to sneak to the Apparation point, or if getting caught would be just too humiliating, when someone knocked on the bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, she opened it to find a house-elf peering up at her.

"Master says to tell Miss that breakfast will be served in ten minutes," it squeaked. "Miss to please tell Uppity if Miss likes tea or coffee, and if Miss wants her eggs scrambled, poached or boiled."

"Oh," said Hermione, wondering if finding strange women in the bedrooms was all in a day's work for the elves in a high-class establishment. "Thank you. I'll have coffee and scrambled eggs, please, Uppity." The exceptionally high voice and demurely large pillowcase suggested that Uppity was female, and Hermione stifled a giggle. Was it appropriate to ask an elf to assist with repairing laddered stockings and detangling a bad case of bed head?

The elf cocked her head and asked, "Is Miss requiring anything?"

"Do you have Sleekeazy's hair potion?"

"We does not!" Uppity squeaked indignantly. "We has King's potions Tidy Locks." She glanced down and clicked her fingers, then presented Hermione with a pair of sheer stockings, a comb and a bottle of hairspray, before vanishing.

Hermione had no great hopes for the hair potion, but she sprayed it liberally onto the mess that, last night, had begun as a neat twist pinned on the back of her head. To her surprise, the comb glided through the strands, which miraculously unknotted themselves, and she was able to quickly pin her hair up in its usual tidy bun. She discarded the laddered stockings and cast a charm to get the creases out of her robe. She was reluctant to transfigure her best robe; Malfoy knew she had stayed the night so she might as well be brazen and wear the same clothes that she had arrived in.

Lucius Malfoy was alone in the breakfast room. He was eating poached eggs on toast, drinking tea and reading the Daily Prophet. He lowered the paper sufficiently to glance at her, wish her a good morning and indicate the coffee pot before resuming his perusal of the news. Hermione was unsure whether to be glad or sorry that Snape was absent, as she had no idea what to say if she saw him. Uppity appeared bearing a dish of eggs and fresh toast, and Hermione busied herself with breakfast. Eventually Lucius folded the paper and enquired.

"Will you be working in the library today?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Now that the curses are parallel, I can start breaking them one by one, so I'm likely to be at the Ministry for at least the next week."

"Do owl me, if you wish to use the library, or if I can be of further assistance."

"Thank you."

He nodded, getting to his feet and offering the paper. Hermione took it with a nod of thanks.

"Is Severus still here?"

"He has an appointment with Daphne, then he will be working on the ideas he brought back from the conference in Australia. I wouldn't expect to see him for the next week at the very least."

"Oh. I see."

She was annoyed with herself for being disappointed. No promises had been made on either side, but Hermione had assumed he would want to see her again. He had enjoyed talking to her, surely? Or had he flattered her simply to get her to have sex with him? Lucius raised an eyebrow and she forced herself to smile. No way did she want him to see how disheartened she was.

"Please give him my regards when you see him, and I'll let you know how I get on with the curses."

Lucius gave a short bow and left the room.

Hermione Apparated home where she changed into her working clothes and fed Crookshanks; then she Flooed to the Ministry and the vat of curses awaiting her.

oooOOOooo

Hermione allowed Ginny to convince her to continue to attend the traditional Weasley Sunday lunches at the Burrow.

"You're a Weasley in the same way that Harry's a Weasley; it doesn't matter whether you're married to us or not."

"I don't think Molly sees it that way," Hermione said glumly. "She's glad to get rid of me."

"But the rest of us aren't, sweetie! Mum will ignore you for a while, and Ron will sulk, but you can't tell me that Dad, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, Penny, George, Angelina, Harry and I won't be pleased to see you. Harry told Bill about your weird curses, and he's fascinated; you can spend the entire time talking shop."

"Is Charlie home again?"

"Yes, he had to come over to collect a Welsh green egg from someone in Beddgelert so he's taken a week's holiday. Mum'll be too busy trying to persuade him to find a nice witch to worry about harassing you."

"Doesn't she realise he's gay?"

Ginny sniggered.

"Hard to tell whether she thinks it's just a hobby that he'll grow out of or that she can force him to get married to a witch whether he wants to or not."

"Doesn't she realise how miserable he would be, and his wife, if she forces him to marry?"

"Don't worry, he won't. He's more than able to stand up to Mum for himself, and the rest of us would back him up; he knows we're all on his side. I think he'll settle down soon; he's been seeing that German dragon handler for years."

Ginny reached out to prevent James from pulling Albus's cot over in an attempt to see what the baby was doing. "Come along, James, time to wash your hands and face; we're going to the Burrow for lunch."

"Don't want to!" James stamped his foot, so Ginny calmly picked him up under one arm. He screamed as if mortally wounded.

"You don't know what you're missing," Ginny said darkly, leaving Hermione to watch the baby while she took her struggling son to the bathroom. Harry wandered in, clad in shorts and a tee-shirt and scratching at his chest and yawning.

"Late night?" she asked, and he blinked at her.

"Hi, Hermione. Yeah, another big undercover job. We got him, though, bastard had been selling cursed artefacts to rich Muggles, then laundering the funds and putting them through Gringotts. I had to pretend to be a Muggle millionaire trying to bump off a blackmailer. Didn't get in till three this morning. Are you coming to the Burrow?"

"Ginny's persuaded me."

"Good. Just ignore Molly and don't let Ron get to you. They'll get over it. Suppose I'd better go and get changed."

He wandered out again, and Hermione suddenly wished she could tell her friends about Snape.

She had tried to convince herself that sex with her old teacher had been nothing but an aberration, fuelled by too much to drink and a desire to get revenge on Ron for finding someone else. The trouble was she wanted to see Severus again. The sex had been mind-blowing, as far as she could remember through the haze of alcohol, but more memorably, he had been considerate and witty and interesting to talk to. Even if he had simply been polite in order to seduce her, she had seen a side of him that she had never suspected.

In every spare minute of her day, and lying alone in bed at night, she had remembered the feel of his hands and his mouth. She had touched herself, pretending she was being touched by him. She knew what his mouth tasted like, and how his tongue felt against her own. It wasn't that she missed sex as such, she just missed Severus, and wasn't that strange?

Molly gushed over Harry, Ginny and the children, ignoring Hermione, but since everyone else made an equally obvious point of greeting her exactly as usual, she didn't really care. Even Ron made an effort to smile and kiss her cheek, although he looked awkward while doing it.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"We're still mates even if Mum has got her knickers in a twist."

"How was your date?"

"Okay. How was yours?"

"The same."

They looked at each other and blushed. Ron shook his head.

"Weird, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Ginny grabbed them each by an arm and grinned at them both.

"Now remember, Mummy's got a really nasty Bat-Bogey Hex if you don't play nicely, so be good children and there may be trifle."

Ron stuck out his tongue and went off to talk to George.

"Very mature," Hermione sighed. "Thank God he didn't bring his new girlfriend."

"I think he's playing the field. Ron said you were seeing someone...?"

Hermione shook her head, knowing better than to try to say anything about her night at Malfoy Manor.

"No. I just went to dinner with Lucius and Draco Malfoy."

"You what?" Ginny shrieked, and Hermione had to explain about the invitation to celebrate the first victory over the cursed parchment.

"Rather you than me. You wouldn't get me to go there under any circumstances."

"Draco's grown up," Hermione explained. Harry nodded.

"He's okay. Still keeping his secrets, though."

"What sort of secrets?" Ginny asked.

"Dunno – there's something I can't quite put my finger on." Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "He has this air of knowing something that I don't, sometimes, and it's something that amuses him to no end. I don't reckon it's anything evil, though; he doesn't really do evil."

"Could have fooled me," Ginny muttered.

"No, Gin, he used to try to do bad stuff when he was a kid, because it was cool or because he hated me and desperately wanted to get back at me, but when he lived with it at home and really understood what it meant, he couldn't do it."

"I think even his dad has realised that Voldemort took evil to levels he couldn't handle," Hermione said.

"You mean Draco and Lucius have kind of fallen into doing good by accident?"

"I wouldn't go that far." Harry chuckled. "More like they've fallen out of doing bad when they found it didn't pay. Draco seems to take after his mother rather than his father."

"Lucius has his good points," Hermione said, trying to sound off-hand, but Ginny fixed her with a gimlet stare.

"Oh, yes? Since when? Has he been letting you in on his hair-care secrets?" She reached up to tweak Hermione's unusually well-behaved tresses. Hermione remembered Uppity and she blushed, making Ginny crow with laughter. "My god, he has!"

"His elf recommended King's Tidy Locks instead of Sleekeazy."

"His elf? Oh yeah? Tell us more!"

Hermione opened her mouth and felt the muscles tighten warningly in her throat.

"I can't."

"Can't?" Harry peered at her. "Do you want to?"

Did she? Well, these were her two best friends in the world; the man with whom she had gone through hell and the only real female friend she had ever had. Hermione nodded.

Harry glanced around, checking that James and Albus were with Molly, who was introducing the baby to Andromeda and Teddy. The two older women had their heads together and were glancing at Hermione in a way that told her exactly what they were talking about.

"Okay," Harry said, taking Hermione's arm and leading her into a corner, "animal, vegetable or mineral? Just nod or shake your head."

"What?" Ginny looked perplexed.

"Old-fashioned Muggle child's guessing game," Hermione told her.

"Fidelius?" Harry asked shrewdly.

"Oh," Ginny's eyes went round in surprised comprehension.

Hermione nodded with a slight balancing gesture of her hands.

"Modified," said Harry the Auror. "Animal?"

Another nod.

"So it's hiding a person?"

She nodded again.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "The Malfoys are hiding someone, but you obviously aren't worried about them, so they can't be a fugitive Death Eater or other criminal ..."

"Alive or dead?" Ginny asked suddenly and Hermione didn't know how to reply. She made the tipping gesture again, and Ginny demanded, "Narcissa?"

Hermione shook her head, staring from Harry to Ginny and back again.

"You're on the right track," she said, wondering how much she could say before she began choking. She put a hand to her throat, and Harry's green eyes widened.

"At the Ministry, it wasn't ash in your throat, it was the Fidelius. What were we talking about? Malfoy asked about the voice that came out of the scroll, and you started to tell us something and then choked. What did you – no, don't say it." He frowned.

"I said we should have persuaded someone to accompany us," Hermione said carefully.

"So if you and Malfoy wanted them instead of me or Kingsley, they must be bloody powerful and they must be knowledgeable about the Dark Arts ... and we think they're dead. The Malfoys are hiding him." Harry took in a deep breath, his hands clenched at his sides. "Draco is heavily involved in King's Potions, isn't he?"

She nodded. "You've got it, Harry, but please don't say his name or I'll start choking."

"Fucking hell," Harry breathed, his voice reverential. "That's Draco's secret! He's hiding him!"

Ginny stared at Hermione and then she reached up to whisper something in Harry's ear. He nodded once, sharply, and his wife gave a short squeak then clapped her hand over her mouth. A couple of people looked around, and she lowered her voice to a whisper.

"My god, but how?"

"If anyone could put a stopper in death, he could. Shit, this is some secret; no wonder ferret looks smug. Apart from anything else, he's got a potions business that's bound to make him a fortune, knowing who's in charge of the brewing, and the chief brewer can't very well strike out on his own or take a job with the opposition either. Draco and Lucius have him trapped."

"It isn't like that," Hermione said. "He goes abroad to conferences, under a glamour I suppose, or Polyjuice, and he seems content. He never was a very sociable sort, was he?"

"No, but he should have the choice. Christ! Mulciber! Did he capture Mulciber for us?"

"Yes, so he said. I think he might have dealt with a few others as well. Look, my throat and chest are getting tight and achy; can we stop talking about it for now?"

"Of course, love. This has given me a lot to think about."

"You won't betray him? I found out by accident, but he trusts me."

"It stays between the three of us," Ginny said at once. "Not even Ron."

"Especially not Ron," Hermione muttered, and her friend gave her a startled look that morphed into astonished comprehension. Damn, she sometimes forgot how very astute Ginny was. She shook her head, but knew she would have to ask Lucius or Severus to allow the Potters into the Fidelius – if, of course, she ever saw Severus again.