All Day Long I Look

I am worn out with dreams;

A weather-worn, marble triton

Among the streams;

And all day long I look

Upon this lady's beauty

As though I had found in a book

A pictured beauty,

Pleased to have filled the eyes

Or the discerning ears,

Delighted to be but wise,

For men improve with the years;

And yet, and yet,

Is this my dream, or the truth?

O would that we had met

When I had my burning youth!

But I grow old among dreams,

A weather-worn, marble triton

Among the streams.

- W. B. Yeats, Men Improve with the Years

***

Severus woke from a troubled sleep and peered at his watch. It was almost one o'clock in the afternoon. He had only meant to sleep for an hour or two; he had not before permitted Hermione to use the Telenium cauldron, and his sleep-deprived decision to allow her to complete the brewing of the Exostraserum now seemed foolish in the extreme.

Cursing himself for his stupidity, he threw back the covers and headed for the shower. If the girl had rendered the Potion useless, he would not be pleased.

As the scalding water eased the throbbing in his neck, his thoughts turned to Minerva McGonagall. She had always been over-protective of her Gryffindor charges...even more so where Hermione Granger was concerned...but her audacity in hinting that he had feelings for the former Head Girl was unacceptable. That was not to say he did not feel something for Hermione Granger...it just annoyed him to be on the receiving end of Minerva's legendary meddling.

He stepped from the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He would have to proceed with caution: Cordelia's remark about Hermione had unsettled him; Minerva's suspicions had set alarm bells ringing; and Lance's constant inquiries about how they were getting along had also given him reason to worry. He derived much pleasure from watching Hermione, but it seemed his surveillance had not gone undetected. He had almost been guilty of the most heinous crime of all: the wearing of one's heart on one's sleeve.

Having dressed, he made his way to his study and summoned Moe, requesting breakfast and black coffee. He was in need of some caffeine, and there was thinking to be done.

Sitting back in his leather chair, he allowed his gaze to wander to the window. The petals of the apple and cherry blossom trees blew past his window like snow, and despite the warmth of the house, he gave an involuntary shiver. He closed his eyes and tried to focus.

Hermione Granger. He expected the image in his mind to be of the buck-toothed know-it-all of her adolescence, but the picture that came first was of a beautiful young woman in a backless, ivory gown. Damn it. Emptying his head once more, he tried to picture her as the bane of his Potions classroom, but saw her instead as the capable assistant who awaited him in the basement, her brow furrowed and her lower lip caught gently between her teeth.

He shook his head and opened his eyes with a sigh. He was a fool. He had allowed her to become too much to him. It was one thing to feel concern for her; he did, after all, owe her a life-debt. But it was another thing entirely to have allowed her to become, if he was at all honest, an object of desire. He had watched her, at first, to gauge how she and Theo had been getting along. Once Theo had left, he had watched her to ensure she was not miserable. But what reason had he for his continued scrutiny? He watched her now because he wanted to. He watched her because she drew the eye, and rather pleasantly at that. Beauty and intelligence was a heady blend.

But he had been caught watching her. What kind of Slytherin was he? It was unforgivable that he had been spotted ogling a girl almost twenty years his junior. He had absolutely no intention of denying himself either the pleasure of her company or the diversion of her prettiness, but he would have to practice discretion.

Her reaction to his proximity that morning had not gone unnoticed. He had observed the trembling of her hands as she had taken the stirring rod from him and the closure of her eyes when he had stood behind her. He had brushed it off as embarrassment at the time, but he knew it was more. Each time he had sought out her face in the Great Hall on Saturday night, she had already been watching him. It was gratifying to know that his appreciation of her appeared to be mutual. But it was a dangerous situation, and one that could not continue without great vigilance.

The clock above the mantelpiece in his study announced two o'clock, and he rose from his desk. It was time he checked on the state of his Exostraserum. He had brewed it at the request of an exclusive apothecary in Rome, but he rather thought he would keep a small phial among his personal stores. He was in a delicate position, and the occasion might arise when clarity of thought might elicit a way forward. Trouble was surely on the horizon.

***

When he reached the laboratory, Hermione had already returned from her lunch and was busily brewing Pepperup Potion. She mumbled a greeting and kept her gaze downcast, making him smirk. He found it satisfying that his feelings, if they could be called such, were shared.

"I see my Telenium cauldron has, at the very least, remained intact," he said.

"I daresay you'll find it has," she responded.

He crossed to his workbench and examined the contents of his cauldron. The liquid was perfectly clear, and a brief incantation told him that the ingredients had been well blended.

She watched from beneath her lashes as he whispered a protective charm over the potion. "Is it to your satisfaction?"

He nodded. "It would seem to be. It must lie undisturbed in this cauldron for a month before it becomes active."

She fell silent and continued with her work. Severus watched from his bench as she lit the flame beneath her cauldron, chewing her bottom lip in concentration or nervousness...he wasn't sure which.

"I'm grateful for your help with the Exostraserum, Hermione," he said quietly.

She looked up and gave him a bashful smile. "That's quite all right; I'm here to help. And thank you for trusting me with the Telenium cauldron."

"You're welcome. You've gained my trust through your diligence. Unless you see fit to use the Basilisk bile again, I may allow you to brew in the cauldron once the Exostraserum has matured."

Ignoring his dig about the Basilisk bile, she beamed. "I can hardly wait! Would you permit me to use the Xiao Tiang Mei cauldron in the meantime?"

"I may, if you can keep your mind on your work," he replied.

"I'll do my best." It might be easier said than done, she thought, considering her very recent discovery. "What do you intend working on now?"

He uttered a sigh. "Paperwork for the remainder of today."

He picked up a stack of orders and began to leaf through them. One was from a new client, and he was reluctant to burden himself with such an unexciting contract. He had little need, financially or intellectually, to bother with orders for such mundane potions as Skele-Gro and Invigoration Draughts. He was about to scribble a note refusing the contract, when he thought of Hermione. He had yet to give her any responsibility for liaising with their clients.

He crossed to her bench and laid the sheet of parchment on her desk.

She looked up. "What's this?"

"It's a request from a new client."

"You wish me to add it to my contracts?" she asked.

"Not exactly," he said. "It's not yet a contract; it's a request for a contract."

She put down her knife and picked up the parchment, reading through the potions the client had requested. "None of the potions are a problem. What do you want me to do with it?"

"I research my clients before I agree to act as supplier. I wouldn't wish to become contracted to someone who may make unreasonable demands or request unsavoury potions. I have not the time to deal with this particular client. I would, therefore, like you to act in my stead."

Her eyes widened. "You want me to research them? How do I do that?"

"You go and visit them unannounced in their place of work, question them about their business, and if you're satisfied with what you find, invite them to dinner and negotiate the contract."

"Invite them to dinner?" She could not picture Severus Snape wining and dining his clients.

"An unfortunate part of running a business, Hermione. I know you've been hired as a Potions Assistant, but I think it would be worthwhile for you to gain some experience in the realms of public relations."

She shrugged. "If you think so. When would you like me to go and meet them?" She glanced again at the parchment. The client was a woman from Edinburgh.

"As soon as possible. If, of course, it fits your brewing plans for this week. Friday, perhaps?"

She nodded. "Friday it is."

***

Early on Friday morning, Hermione Apparated to Edinburgh. She emerged into an already busy street, smiling as she took in the familiar site of Edinburgh Castle in the distance. Heading straight for the gateway to the city's wizarding district, she pushed open the door of a small, dusty bookshop.

The Inky Quill had served, just like the Leaky Cauldron in London, as the entrance to the magical shopping quarter for well over three hundred years. And by the look of the grimy, yellow windows, nobody had bothered to dust the shop since it had first opened. It was the wizard equivalent of a second-hand book shop, and Hermione had spent many enjoyable afternoons in the Inky Quill during her last year at Hogwart's, seeking out magical texts that were no longer in print.

The old, stooped proprietor looked up from his copy of the Daily Prophet as she closed the door behind her and smiled in recognition. "Well, if it isn't young Miss Granger!"

Hermione grinned. "Hello, Hamish."

"It's been a few years since you last darkened my doorstep, young lady," he muttered, giving her a wink. "What can I do for you?"

"Much as I would love to spend the morning rooting through your books, I'm here on business today," she explained. "I have to find a new apothecary. It's in Gael's Lane, but I've never really been beyond Vertic Alley, so I've no idea where it is."

"Aye," he said knowingly. "Looking for Morag McTaggish, are you?"

She nodded. "Yes, that's the one."

"Go straight down Vertic Alley and take the third street on your left...you can't miss it. There's a big tartan robe shop on the corner, and Morag's little place is the fifth or sixth shop along."

"Thank you, Hamish," she said, giving him a grateful smile.

"Any time, missy. What sort of business are you in these days?"

"I'm a Potions assistant for a private brewer in London."

"Let me guess: PrunellaWellsworth or Severus Snape?"

She raised her eyebrows. Hamish seemed to know everyone in the wizarding world. "Well guessed! I work for Severus Snape."

He chuckled. "Brave girl." His smile turned to a frown. "Isn't he married to Cordelia Mill?"

"That's right," she said. He could probably write a more successful gossip column than Rita Skeeter. "Do you know her?"

"Aye," he said with a sniff. "She's a frequent visitor to Edinburgh."

"I'd forgotten. She owns a cottage near here, doesn't she?"

"Indeed she does," Hamish whispered conspiratorially. "About ten miles north of the city. But I don't think it's the countryside that draws her here, if you get my meaning."

Uncomfortable about discussing her mother-in-law, she suddenly wanted to be rid of Hamish's inquisitive company. "Well, I should really be on my way. Thank you for your directions, Hamish."

He bid her farewell, and she made her way to a broad bookshelf right at the back of the cluttered shop. Examining the fourth shelf from the top, she sought out the worn, green cover of Wizard Clans of the Scottish Highlands. When she found it, she tapped her wand against the spine three times, and the bookshelf faded to reveal the sun-dappled cobblestones of Vertic Alley.

Stepping into the bustling street, she inhaled the smell of baking bread and freshly brewed coffee. Ignoring the sudden rumbling of her stomach, she made her way straight down the main shopping street, searching for Gael's Lane on her left. There would be plenty of time for some shopping and a spot of lunch later, but for now, she had business to attend to.

She finally reached the tartan robe shop and turned down the narrow lane to the left. About half way along the tiny street, she spotted a hanging sign depicting the cauldron and crossed wands of an apothecary. The building reminded her of the Burrow: it was three stories high, and judging by the way the upper floors were tilting dangerously forward, it was held up by magic.

A little bell above the door of the shop tinkled as she pushed it open, and a young woman with a long, blond plait looked up from the box of glass bottles she was unpacking on the floor.

Hermione gave an exclamation of recognition. "Annie Gilbert! I haven't seen you for ages!"

Annie rose from the floor with a squeal of delight. "Hermione! How nice to see you again!"

Hermione hugged the shorter girl. Annie was a Muggle-born who'd started at Hogwarts when Hermione, Harry and Ron had returned to the school to complete their seventh year. She'd been Sorted into Gryffindor, and recognising that the shy little girl was desperately homesick, Hermione had taken her under her wing.

"Shouldn't you still be at Hogwarts? Aren't you taking your NEWTS this year?"

Annie nodded. "Yes, I am, but I'm hoping to take a degree in Potions, and as I've no classes on Friday mornings, Professor McGonagall has allowed me to take a job with Morag. I work here on Saturdays, too. It's good experience, and I need to save some money for college."

"I took a degree in Potions, too. I'm working as a Potioneer in London."

Annie grinned. "Yes, we hear all about you on a regular basis. Old Sluggy is always telling everyone how you were awarded a Master's level degree because you're so clever."

Hermione tried to hide her delight. "Is he?"

Annie nodded. "Never stops talking about you and Harry Potter."

Hermione could well believe it. "Is Morag McTaggish here?" she asked, looking about with great interest. "I'm here on business and I need to talk to her."

"She's upstairs...second door on the right. You can go on up, if you like. I'm sure she won't mind."

Hermione climbed the stairs and tapped politely at the second door on the right. A voice bade her enter, and she hesitantly opened the door.

She stepped into the little office to find a startlingly familiar woman behind a cluttered desk. Morag's grey hair was pulled into an elegant bun, and, but for the lack of reading glasses, she looked exactly like a younger McGonagall.

Morag smiled. "You must be Hermione Granger," she said in a thick, Scottish brogue. "I've seen your picture." She rose from her chair and offered her hand.

Hermione shook it. "Yes, I'm Hermione," she said shyly. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm Severus Snape's assistant, and he has sent me in his stead. He's a little snowed under at the moment."

"Aye, Minerva told me you were working for him, and I'd wondered which of you would come to investigate me."

Hermione blushed, and Morag laughed.

"Have a seat, Hermione," she said kindly, indicating the chair before the desk. "Minerva has told me a lot about Severus. I fully expected an inspection before a contract was discussed. Minerva and I are cousins."

"I thought you must be related: you're incredibly alike." Surely Severus had known that Morag was related to Minerva? She was a little annoyed that he hadn't seen fit to mention it.

"Severus didn't mention it? It's probably something he expected you to uncover today. Is this the first time he's asked you to negotiate a contract?" Morag asked.

"Yes," she admitted. "I've had sole responsibility for a number of already existing contracts, but I haven't yet negotiated one."

Morag smiled knowingly. "I rather suspect Severus is testing you. Minerva speaks very highly of you, Hermione Granger, so feel free to explore every nook and cranny of my wee establishment, and I'll do everything I can to make sure you return to Severus Snape with a well-investigated and lucrative contract."

***

Morag was as good as her word. Hermione spent the entire morning looking through the stocks of potions in the tiny shop and leafing through the existing paperwork. As Morag had only recently set up her business, there were mercifully few contracts to be read through, and Hermione was finished by lunchtime. Nothing about the apothecary gave her cause for concern, and having arranged to meet Morag for an early dinner in a restaurant Severus had recommended, she left Gael's Lane in search of lunch.

She shopped for the afternoon, and her dinner with Morag in an up-market wizard eatery passed easily and quickly while they read through the minutiae of the Potions contract.

The waiter cleared away their dessert dishes, and Hermione picked up her quill. She took a minute to check through the list of potions required, and, drawing a line beneath her price-list, she circled the finalised figure and pushed it across the table to Morag.

"That's the total for each batch of potions, based on our regular prices for an order of this size." She expected Morag to haggle over the final figure.

Morag examined the sheet of parchment with a frown and took a quill from her handbag. She scribbled some notes beside the list of potions while Hermione looked on in anxious silence. Finally, she pushed the parchment back across the table.

"I have a suggestion," Morag murmured, sipping at her wine.

"Go ahead," Hermione said, expecting the older woman to propose a lower figure.

"I'm prepared to offer you an additional ten per cent for the inclusion of a clause that would be to my advantage," Morag said.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. An additional ten per cent was a lot of Galleons.

"If you agree to prioritise me above your other clients, I'd be willing to pay a higher amount," Morag explained. "I'm not short of gold, but I need something that will give me the edge over my competitors. There's a nationwide shortage of Pepperup Potion every winter, and a lack of Sunscreen Salve every summer. I'd like to be ahead of the game, and if you could guarantee that my orders are always completed within seven days, I'll pay you ten per cent on top of the total of each order."

Hermione thought of the other contracts sitting on her desk. Thus far, she had completed all of her orders well ahead of schedule. She sat back and smiled at Morag. "Are you doing this because you know I'm on trial with Severus?"

Morag chuckled. "Let's just say the arrangement would benefit us both, Hermione. You're not the only one who has done your research: I've approached other brewers, and none of them were willing to agree to a deadline of less than fourteen days."

Hermione picked up the contract and, having added the final clause, signed her name at the bottom. She passed it to Morag and offered her hand. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you," she said with a grin.

They shook hands, and Morag made a duplicate of the contract with a tap of her wand. Hermione asked for the bill and excused herself in order to visit the bathroom before Apparating back to London.

Still smiling over the successful completion of her very first contract, she left the bathroom and was about to return to her table when she glanced up at the handsome couple who had just entered the restaurant.

Cordelia Mill, dressed in beautifully tailored robes of midnight blue, arrived on the arm of a grey-bearded man whom Hermione had never before seen. She took a step backwards, screened from view by a rack of cloaks. Through the dim candlelight of the restaurant, she watched with a sinking feeling in her stomach as Cordelia and her mystery man looked at one another with an unmistakable air of intimacy.

Feelingly deceitful, Hermione had just decided to walk forward and make her presence known when she stopped: Cordelia and the bearded man, still waiting to be shown to their table, turned to one another and kissed.

Her heart pounding, Hermione stayed where she was. There was no question that the man on whose arm Cordelia had arrived was more than an acquaintance. They were lovers. Of that Hermione was certain. She breathed a sigh of relief when the proprietor finally led the couple to their table at the far end of the restaurant, out of sight of Morag and Hermione's table.

Hurrying back to her new client, Hermione paid the bill, bid Morag goodnight and returned to Kensington Square. Her excitement at having secured such a lucrative contract had evaporated. Instead of looking forward to reporting to Severus on Monday morning, she was filled with utter dread.

***

The weekend was torture. Should she say something to Severus about what she'd seen in Edinburgh, or should she keep her mouth shut?

It was really none of her business. Cordelia and Severus's relationship was nothing to do with her. She had suspected for quite some time that all was not well between them, but she had certainly not believed her mother-in-law capable of such blatant adultery.

She had considered, for a time, confronting Cordelia on her return to London. On Friday night she had decided she would insist that Cordelia come clean to Severus about her Scottish lover. But she knew that Severus would never forgive her if she said something to Cordelia before telling him.

Severus was her friend and her employer. Her greatest loyalty was to Severus and not to Cordelia. And she couldn't go on without saying something. He would know there was something wrong. She decided she would have to come clean first thing on Monday morning.

Would he be angry? Would he be upset? Would it make things difficult between them?

She didn't sleep a wink on Sunday night.

***

When Hermione arrived at work on Monday, she found Severus emerging from the storeroom, two jars of powder in his hands.

"Good morning," he said, crossing to his workbench. "How was Edinburgh?"

She didn't answer, and he eventually looked up from his cauldron with a frown. "Well? Is something the matter?"

She placed the contract before him. "My trip was ... good and bad."

He eyed her for a moment and picked up the contract. He skimmed the first page and turned to the second. "I presume Morag tried to bargain with you?"

"Yes, she did," Hermione said. "Turn to the last page."

He flicked to the final page and arched one eyebrow in surprise. "An additional ten per cent?"

"On the condition that Morag's orders receive priority treatment and are dispatched within seven days," she explained.

He examined the final clause of the contract and handed it back to her. "It would appear you have a hitherto unsuspected talent for business, Hermione."

She tossed the contract onto her workbench and returned her gaze to his. "I'm sure our arrangement was more due to Morag's innate kindness and connection to Minerva McGonagall than it was due to my haggling skills."

His frown deepened. "You're annoyed because I didn't tell you she was Minerva's cousin?"

"No," she said with a sigh, rubbing her brow, "not really. It's rather more serious than that."

He waited for a minute before he lost his patience. "Shall I seek the insight of Sybill Trelawney or would you prefer I perform Legilimency?"

She took a deep breath. "Severus, there's no easy way of saying this, so I'll be as direct as I can. I hope this isn't going to make things awkward between us."

"For pity's sake get on with it, girl," he growled.

"I had dinner with Morag at that restaurant you recommended, and while I was there, I saw ... I saw ..."

"Yes?"

"I saw Cordelia with ... with another man," she finished in a rush.

His face remained impassive. "And that's it, is it?"

"What do you mean, 'that's it'? I mean another man, Severus, and they were more than friends by the looks of it!" she said, shocked by his lack of reaction.

To her astonishment, he chuckled. "Let me guess," he said with a smirk. "Tall man with short grey hair and a neat beard?"

Her jaw dropped. "You know him?"

"His name is Everard Munroe, and he is her lover," he explained, apparently not bothered.

Hermione gaped for a moment, completely wrong-footed. "Her lover? How can you be so calm about this? I haven't slept since Friday night!"

"Hermione, you are naivety itself," he said and summoned her stool with a flick of his wand. "Have a seat."

She perched on the edge of her stool, utterly confused.

"Cordelia and I married out of necessity. We have a reasonably amicable marriage; why should that mean Cordelia be denied her romantic freedom?"

"Why should that mean she be denied her romantic freedom?" Hermione echoed. "Because she's your wife, Severus!"

Severus sat on his own stool and folded his arms. "I will expect you to keep what I say to yourself. This is Cordelia's information. Do I have your word?"

She nodded. "Of course."

He scrutinised her face for a moment. "Cordelia, as you are probably well aware, was the only daughter in her family. She has four brothers, all of whom she out-performed while at Hogwarts. Her mother died while she was in her second year, and her father had little time for a girl: the boys were infinitely more important, so far as he was concerned. Her appointment as Head Girl passed him by completely unnoticed. Desperate for recognition and male approval, she fell for the first man to pay her any attention: a man who happened to be acting on the Dark Lord's orders.

"Gilbert Nott had been a Death Eater for three years when he was ordered to marry Cordelia. The Mills had long resisted any involvement with the Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord believed it would cause them great embarrassment if the only female of their line was to become wed to a known Death Eater. He was, of course, correct. Cordelia eloped with Gilbert Nott, and the family were dreadfully ashamed. She was young and foolish, but despite the fact that theirs was a loveless marriage, Gilbert was always fond of her and treated her with kindness."

Hermione was fascinated. Theo had told her nothing of his mother and father's relationship. "Was he kind to Theo?"

Severus shrugged. "I've no reason to believe he mistreated him. Cordelia inherited a cottage on the outskirts of Edinburgh from one of her aunts, and she spent an increasing amount of time there when the Dark Lord returned, in order to be near to Theodore while he was at Hogwarts and to ensure that he was not coerced into becoming a Death Eater. I'm not making excuses for Theodore or Cordelia, Hermione. I am all too well aware that Theo has inherited his mother's innate self-obsession, but she did her very best to ensure that he did not follow in his father's footsteps, and in that regard, she succeeded."

Hermione nodded reluctantly.

"Everard Munroe was, for quite some time, a Professor of Transfiguration in Helsinki. Fearing for the safety of his elderly parents, he quit his position and returned to Edinburgh in the wake of the Dark Lord's return to power. I'm not quite sure when he and Cordelia met, but I know they began seeing one another before Gilbert Nott died in the final battle."

"So she cheated on her first husband as well?" Hermione asked, indignant. "You and Cordelia might have married because of the Marriage Act, Severus, but she married Gilbert Nott of her own free will, and she had no right to cheat on him!"

"Hermione," he said, exasperated, "she married him when she was eighteen years old. Was she really to pay for that mistake for the rest of her life?"

"If she decided it was a mistake, why didn't she divorce him?"

Severus gave a sigh. "In wizarding society, Hermione, both parties must agree to a divorce, no matter what the circumstances. She asked him for one on many occasions. Gilbert would not agree; it would not have pleased the Dark Lord."

"It's still adultery, and I just don't like it," she insisted, pursing her lips.

"Forgive me for saying so, but sometimes you view things from a Muggle perspective. This is not a Muggle soap opera; it is real life, and pure-bloods have been arranging marriages for centuries. Such behaviour is now legally obligatory, and where there are arranged marriages, there will always be adultery. Adultery is not frowned upon so much as it is in Muggle society."

Hermione rather begged to differ, but she crossed her arms and said nothing.

"Everard Munroe is a pure-blood," he continued. "When Gilbert died, Cordelia entered a requisite period of mourning. It would have been unthinkable for her to marry within a year of Gilbert's death, but she and Everard planned to do exactly that when the year had elapsed. Unfortunately for both of them, the Marriage Act came into effect before they had a chance to wed. I cannot be sure, but I've reason to believe they were thinking, reluctantly, of fleeing the country. Everard was loath to leave his parents, however, and Theodore had not yet sat his NEWTs. The opportunity to abide by the Marriage Act presented itself, and Cordelia found a way around her problem."

"You were her solution?" Hermione asked.

He laced his fingers. "I suppose you could say that."

"You knew she loved another man, but you married her anyway?"

He gave a derisive snort. "I did not marry for love, Hermione. It was to my advantage to marry Cordelia Mill."

"Did you know about Everard before you got married?" she asked.

"I decided to do a little research before offering for Cordelia. I found out about her affair with Everard Munroe. I was a spy: it was not difficult to unearth the truth."

Hermione shook her head. "Why did you marry her, if you knew?"

"Why did I marry her? For the very reasons you married Theodore: to abide by the law and stay in Britain. And there were other advantages: she is wealthy and has many connections. She enabled me to set up what has become an incredibly lucrative Potions business. I am a Slytherin, Hermione. I would not have married Cordelia unless I believed that such a marriage would be to my personal advantage."

"Is she open about it? Do many people know?"

Severus shook his head. "We've never discussed it; I've no idea whether or not she knows I'm aware of the situation. I know she practices no discretion when in Edinburgh, as you've discovered, but they never meet in London, and for the most part, she is tactful. Lancelot knows. Of that I'm certain."

"Is Everard married?"

"No. He was fifty-three when the marriage act was introduced. He was exempt."

Hermione looked at him so intently he was forced to look away. "I just can't believe this, Severus. I'm in complete shock. I can't believe you're so accepting of this situation."

"I made a choice; I went into this with my eyes wide open. Cordelia has my respect; she does not have my affection. I've enabled her to carry on with her life in this country. She, in turn, has given me the financial and political support to launch a successful business. Where's the negative, exactly?"

"In your personal life, Severus," she said, knowing she was stepping over one of his invisible boundaries. "Would she be so understanding if you found someone you wanted to be with?"

He glared at her. "You're getting rather personal here, Hermione. Do you think I've adhered to some sort of vow of celibacy these past six years? Not all of us were so idiotic as to take vows of fidelity."

She stifled a gasp. It had never occurred to her that he, too, might have taken a lover. She blushed. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, slipping off her stool and returning to her bench. "I didn't mean to pry. Honestly. I was just so taken aback when I saw them. You've been very good to me, Severus, and I just hated to think that something was going on behind your back; I hated the idea that you were being treated unfairly."

"I haven't been treated unfairly. Cordelia is to be pitied, Hermione. She is not to be despised."

Hermione looked up. "How, exactly, is she to be pitied, Severus?"

"She made a huge mistake when she was a young woman, and when she eventually found someone with whom she could be happy, that happiness was snatched away from her by the Ministry of Magic," he explained. "She cannot be with the man she loves and is forced to live a lie. Do not detest her on my account. I'm by no means unhappy with the situation."

Hermione looked down once more, determined to set her mind to her work. Despite Severus's words, she couldn't help but feel for him. He had spent many years living a lie for Albus Dumbledore, and now he was doing the same for his wife. Lance's words about playing pretend suddenly made complete sense. Maybe Cordelia Mill deserved some happiness after the mistakes she had made in her youth, but surely the same could have been said of Severus Snape?

***

When Hermione left work later that day, she returned home and climbed the stairs to Lance's study. She knocked on the door and found him scribbling furiously on a length of parchment. He put down his quill as she closed the door behind her.

"Are you busy?" she said. "Will I come back later?"

He grunted. "Just drafting a letter to those Bertie Bott's people." He motioned for her to sit down.

She frowned. "The people who make Every-Flavour Beans?"

"The very ones!" he said, rapping on the desk with a scowl. "I've been buying those blooming beans for over eighty years, and guess what they've gone and done?"

Hermione couldn't tell whether he was genuinely annoyed or just pulling her leg. "I've no idea. What have they done?"

"They've decided, in their wisdom," he said derisively, "to discontinue the radish flavour beans!"

Hermione grinned. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Of course it's a bad thing!" he said, aghast. "I can't be doing without radish flavour beans!"

She giggled.

"Laugh if you will!" he said. "Maybe you're not fond of radishes, but regardless of one's taste in vegetables, you must admit it's false advertising. I'm just pointing out to them that they're going to have to change the name of their product from Every-Flavour Beans to Almost Every-Flavour Beans."

"Oh, Lance," she said, still giggling. "You certainly know how to cheer a girl up."

He grunted again and pushed the letter away. "And why do you need cheering up? Is Severus misbehaving?"

Her smile vanished. "No, Severus is not the one misbehaving." She looked Lance directly in the eye. "I was in Edinburgh on Friday, and I happened to come across Cordelia and Everard Munroe."

"Ah, yes," he said knowingly. "He has rather a nice beard, does Everard."

Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing Lance was being deliberately obtuse. "His beard is hardly the issue. I was so shocked, Lance. I had to confront Severus about it, and I just feel so bad about the whole thing. How am I meant to go around pretending everything's normal?"

"Everything is normal, dear girl," he said gently. "The only difference is that you happen to know about it. Severus doesn't love Cordelia; Cordelia doesn't love Severus. You should be delighted."

She felt like a child caught with her hand in the biscuit-tin. "What do you mean by that?"

It was Lance's turn to roll his eyes. "I wasn't born yesterday, girl! Cordelia and Severus have what amounts to an open marriage; you've been abandoned by your husband. Severus deserves a bit of happiness; you deserve a bit of happiness. Do I need to spell it out for you?"

"Lance, are you insane?" she cried, rising from her seat.

He chuckled. "That would seem to be the general consensus." He gave her a penetrating stare over his glasses. "Are you telling me you feel nothing for Severus Snape?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't know how to deny it. Not to Lance.

Lance chuckled again. "You see?"

She walked to the door, suddenly eager to flee. "He's my employer, Lance, and he's Cordelia's husband, regardless of what's going on between them. Furthermore, I'm still married to your great nephew, and much as I despise him, he's not yet caused my ring to burn," she said, raising her hand and pointing to her wedding band.

Lance sat back in his chair. "That ring will burn; mark my words. And are you telling me you intend to remain celibate for the rest of your life? What if Theo never comes back?"

"It's only been three months. He'll want a divorce at some stage; I'm sure of it."

"We'll see," Lance said with a crooked grin. He dismissed her with a little wave of his hand and picked up his quill once more.

She left the room and shut the door behind her, her heart thumping. Her mind was whirling with all this newly discovered information. But somewhere behind the shock, the disgust, the embarrassment at what Lance had said and fear at what she might be getting herself into, there skulked some as-yet nameless new emotion. Hope? Interest? She wasn't entirely certain. But for the first time she realised that in an emotional sense, Severus Snape was very much a single man.