Infinitely Suffering

I am moved by fancies that are curled

Around these images, and cling:

The notion of some infinitely gentle

Infinitely suffering thing.

- T. S. Eliot, Preludes IV

***

Hermione spent the rest of the week avoiding Cordelia Mill. Despite everything Severus had said, despite every excuse he had made for Cordelia's behaviour, she couldn't help but feel indignant on his behalf.

There was something else, too: Now that she knew their marriage was nothing more than an arrangement, her attitude to Severus had changed. She found him attractive, and now she was less horrified by her own feelings. True, to become romantically involved with him would cause everything to tip wildly out of balance. Lance was wrong: there was no way she could act on those feelings. But now, somehow, they seemed more acceptable.

More and more often she found herself drifting off to sleep remembering the feel of those slender fingers upon her own and the rumble of his voice when he'd stood behind her. His obsidian eyes had begun to haunt her dreams. But they were just that: dreams. Was she really hurting anyone by allowing him to become an object of fantasy?

And there was something else on her mind. He'd told her he hadn't taken a vow of celibacy. Did that mean he'd had a lover? More than one? And did he have one now? The thought made her skin crawl. At first, she thought it was because she couldn't stand the idea of adultery, no matter what the circumstances. But by the end of the week, she realised the feeling of irritation was nothing to do with prudishness or disapproval. It was something much worse than that. It was jealousy.

***

At first Severus wondered if he had, perhaps, made a mistake in disclosing so much information to Hermione. The facts were not really his to divulge, given how he had come by them. But what else could he have done? His wife and her lover had flounced around Scotland with little effort at discretion. What were they to expect?

He'd spoken the truth when he'd said he had never discussed the circumstances with his wife. It was like an unspoken agreement between them, and he liked it that way. His marriage had given him the freedom to continue to live in Britain. He had been involved with two women during the first few years of his married life, and so far as he was concerned, he was free to see any woman he chose.

But these days, there was only one woman on his mind, and she'd been on his mind for longer than he cared to admit. Almost two years had passed since Hermione had married his stepson, and the image of that backless gown seemed to be permanently imprinted on his retinas. How often had he watched her brew and wondered what it would be like to run his fingers down the length of her bare spine? How gratifying would it be to hear her gasp if he dared to bury his nose in her fragrant hair and press his lips to the smooth nape of her neck?

He crossed his study and poured himself a brandy. The situation was too complex. She was his assistant; his stepson's wife; his former pupil. He looked across the square and cursed aloud. He had been too long without a woman. Surely there were desirable witches to be found in London? There were women of far greater beauty than Hermione Granger. But they weren't Hermione Granger. Their beauty might outshine hers, but they had not that intoxicating blend of intelligence, naivety and warmth that was there in her hazel eyes.

In a sudden fit of self-loathing, he drained the brandy from his tumbler and flung it into the empty fireplace, wincing at the sound of the shattering glass. Why did he feel for Hermione Granger? What did he feel for Hermione Granger? Somehow, lust seemed infinitely more acceptable than something deeper.

A tap on the door made him turn from the window. Cordelia entered his study, and her gaze moved to the shards of glass in the fireplace.

"I heard breaking glass," she said with a frown.

"I dropped a tumbler," he said. "No reason for concern."

"You dropped a tumbler? In the fireplace?"

He folded his arms. "Yes, I did."

"Isn't it rather early for a drink?" She crossed the room and took the seat in front of his desk.

He glanced at his watch. It was eleven o'clock in the morning. "Perhaps. Is there something you wanted, Cordelia?"

"I've decided to throw a surprise party for Lance," she announced. "He turns one-hundred and five tomorrow."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're staying in London for the weekend?"

"Yes. I hope I'm not interfering with your plans?"

He sat down and shook his head. "When are you planning to have the party?"

"Tonight. It's rather short notice, but I happen to know Lance has no plans for this evening, and I was hoping Hermione might escort him here after the other guests have arrived."

"Provided she has no plans of her own, of course," he said.

Cordelia looked surprised. "Well, yes. Of course. She doesn't seem to have much of a social life, poor thing."

He knew a moment of annoyance on Hermione's behalf and could not help his reply. "She spent last Friday in Edinburgh on business, but to my knowledge, she has no such plans this weekend."

Cordelia hid her alarm well. "Wonderful," she said breathily. "I've invited most of the family, and I'm about to send an owl to the Malfoys. I thought I'd invite Newt Scamander and his wife, too; I know Lance is quite chummy with them at the moment. I would invite Minerva, but I'm sure she's busy with the school."

Severus was relieved: he had no wish to spend an entire evening under the scrutiny of Minerva McGonagall. "I'm sure you're right."

She gave him a brittle smile. "Providing everybody is available at such short notice, there should be enough of us for a jolly evening. I'll ask Moe to prepare the table in the ballroom; it's more spacious. Would you write a note to Hermione and ask her to bring Lance along shortly after eight?"

"Why don't you pop across the square and ask her yourself?" he asked with a small smile. He knew she wouldn't want to be alone with Hermione after his remark about Edinburgh.

She rose from her chair and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "I've not the time, Severus. I have far too much to organise."

"You've not the time, or you've not the inclination?" he asked, deliberately goading her.

She turned, one elegant hand on the handle of the door. "I've not the time," she repeated with a frown. "Besides, I'm sure you won't mind, seeing as the two of you are such good friends."

She closed the door with a bang, drowning out his amused chuckle. His wife was easy to bait.

He summoned his cloak, deciding he would pass the request to Hermione in person. He was keen to ensure she would play her part and behave normally in Cordelia's presence. Merlin only knew Gryffindors were not known for their subtlety.

***

Hermione sighed when she heard the knock on the front door. She'd persuaded Padma to leave the twins with her for the morning and go out for brunch and some shopping with Dean, and although Shivani was fast asleep in her little travel cot, she'd only just managed to get Preeya off to sleep on her shoulder. The baby jerked at the sudden noise, but continued to sleep, and Hermione climbed the stairs from the basement, humming gently, wondering where Moe had disappeared to.

She opened the front door with one hand, hoping she wouldn't find her mother-in-law on the other side, and smiled when she found Severus there instead. She pressed a finger to her lips.

"I've only just got her off to sleep," she whispered.

Severus looked as though he'd been Stunned. "Her?" he asked, staring at the yellow-clad baby.

Hermione grinned. "Yes. Her. Preeya. My goddaughter."

Severus stood rooted to the spot. "Your goddaughter?"

She rolled her eyes. "Are you going to come in, or will I have to babysit on the doorstep?"

"Whose is it?" he asked, stepping over the threshold and closing the door gently behind him.

Hermione sniggered. "It belongs to Padma and Dean and is part of a matching set."

"A matching set?" he asked, still looking startled.

"They have twin girls, as you know very well," Hermione hissed.

"I just didn't expect to find them here," he said, finally recovering. He tore his gaze from the sleeping infant. It had been some time since he had seen Hermione dressed so casually, in jeans and a t-shirt.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked, already heading for the stairs to the basement. "Shivani's in her cot in the kitchen, so I don't want to leave her alone for more than a minute or two."

He followed her down the stairs, eyeing the black-haired baby over her shoulder. "I've come to ask a favour."

"Have you?" she asked, crossing to the stove and lighting the flame beneath the kettle with her wand.

"Cordelia's decided to throw a surprise birthday party for Lance this evening," he said.

Hermione gasped. "I'd no idea it was his birthday!"

"He turns one-hundred and five tomorrow."

Hermione was suddenly anxious. "I presume Cordelia wants me to be there?"

He nodded. "She wants you to escort him to our house after the other guests have arrived."

"Do I have to go?" she asked, one-handedly measuring two large scoops of breakfast tea into an earthenware pot.

"You know you do. Lance would be glad of it: he hates his brothers, and they've all been invited."

Hermione uttered a deep sigh. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice."

Severus crossed the room and took the kettle from her. "I'll make the tea. Can't you put her in the crib?"

"I could, but I don't want to. She's so cuddly," Hermione said, smiling fondly at her goddaughter.

He watched in astonishment as she nuzzled the sleeping baby with her nose and inhaled.

"She just smells so lovely," Hermione said, "and if you listen really carefully you can hear her sort of sighing in her sleep."

She returned her gaze to Severus and laughed at the look of utter horror on his face. She crossed to the crib and laid Preeya next to her slumbering sister. "Surely even you have to admit they're lovely babies?" She turned and accepted a mug of tea from him.

"What do you mean 'even you'?" He peered over the edge of the crib, keeping a cautious distance. "They're not as ugly as some specimens I've come across," he said, taking a seat at the pine table.

Hermione gave a quiet laugh. "I'll pass your compliment on to Padma and Dean." She sat opposite him. "I'll feel awkward tonight, seeing Cordelia again."

"I expected that," he said, sipping his tea. "That's why I wanted to speak to you. It's imperative you behave normally around her this evening."

"I'm not good at hiding my emotions, but I'll do my best."

He watched her for a minute, admiring the way a few strands of hair had worked themselves loose from her ponytail. "Bear in mind, Hermione, that the situation has not changed. It continues as it has done for many, many years. The only thing that has changed is your awareness of the circumstances."

She met his gaze and nodded. "You're right. Lance said something similar. Besides, I think I'm over the shock of it by now. You're the one married to her. Surely if you can be so magnanimous, I can at least ignore it."

"I assure you, my magnanimity is motivated by pure selfishness. Why would I want to rock the boat?"

She shrugged. "I can't pretend I understand it, Severus. I don't think I could stand to live like that."

"I had a choice. The time may come when you have no choice but to live similarly." His gaze was drawn to her wedding ring. "There's a veritable epidemic of extra-marital affairs in the wizarding community."

She shrugged a second time. "Maybe there is, and maybe I'm naive, but I just don't like it, and I can't condone it." No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she felt guilty. Hadn't she, a married woman no matter what the situation, had amorous thoughts about the very man sitting before her?

He drained the last of his tea. "Can I count on you not to confront my wife?"

"Of course you can, Severus," she insisted. "Have I ever betrayed your confidence before?"

He could read nothing but sincerity in her brown eyes, and it suddenly occurred to him that the girl sitting before him probably knew more about his personal life than any other person on the entire planet. How very strange. "No. You've never betrayed my confidence. I know you are trustworthy." He rose from the table. "I'll see you this evening."

She watched him make for the door. "How will I know when all the other guests have arrived?"

"I'll send my Patronus."

She nodded and glanced at the sleeping babies. "Would you like a go before you leave?" she asked, gesturing to the crib.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know," she said, smiling, "would you like to hold one of the babies?"

"Are you out of your mind?" he spat.

She giggled. "I'll take that as a no, then."

***

Lance hobbled into the kitchen while Hermione was feeding Shivani. Preeya had already been fed and was happily gurgling at the three teaspoons Hermione had Levitated above the cot.

"Babies!" he exclaimed, smiling. He tickled Preeya under the chin and was rewarded with a gummy smile. "Padma's twins?"

"Yes," Hermione replied. "That one is Preeya, and this is Shivani."

He stiffly took a seat and watched Hermione feed the ravenous baby. "You seem remarkably comfortable with them."

"I've been around them quite a bit," she explained, "and they're very good. James Potter is more of a handful all by himself, really."

"Was that Severus I heard earlier?" he asked.

"Yes, Cordelia has invited you and me to dinner tonight."

Lance gasped. "Godammit! She's planning one of her bloody surprise parties, isn't she?"

Hermione gaped at him, groping feebly for some way to deny it.

Lance shook his head. "Must I go through this every five years? Just because she's at a loose end for the weekend doesn't mean the rest of us have to suffer!"

"Well, maybe it's not a party, maybe it's just dinner with her and Severus," she said, knowing that her flaming cheeks would give her away.

Lance pushed his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose and peered at her. "I wasn't born yesterday, girl. She'll have the entire bloody family there. You haven't even met my youngest brother, Galahad. Complete toe-rag. Can't stand the sight of him."

Hermione laughed. "Are all your brothers named after Knights of the Round Table?"

"Yes. My mother was a complete and utter idiot. Bedivere, Tristan and Gawain are the other three. Gawain is the only one I can bear, as it so happens."

"Weren't Gawain and Lancelot supposed to be sworn enemies?"

Lance chuckled. "Yes, indeed. Stupid woman didn't do her research very well, did she? Look at me...I'm supposed to be a towering mass of male virility, and what did she get? A five foot tall pansy! Served her right, if you ask me."

Shivani smiled, amused at Hermione's laughter.

"But isn't one of your sisters called Mary? I was expecting a Guinevere or a Morgana at the very least."

Lance grinned. "They're called Mary and Jane."

Hermione snorted. "I'm sure tonight will be entertaining with you lot there."

"Right," Lance grumbled, getting up suddenly. "I'm off to Madam Malkin's. I haven't any robes nearly dreadful enough for tonight. If Cordelia insists on throwing me these awful parties, the least I can do is embarrass her with the vulgarity of my clothing!"

***

Padma collected the twins after three, and Hermione spent most of the remainder of the afternoon tackling her hair. It wasn't nearly as pretty as when Padma charmed it for her, but it wasn't quite as bushy as usual, and copious amounts of Sleakeazy's had worked wonders. When she was happy with her appearance, she went in search of Lance, who was already waiting in the hallway, his ebony cane tucked under his arm. She could not prevent her jaw dropping at the sight of his outfit.

"What do you think?" he asked, hobbling around in a circle to give her the full view.

The robes he had chosen were of the most garish pink Hermione had ever seen, and were embroidered with gold and silver stars. He wore a matching, jaunty little cap at an angle on his head. Hermione couldn't imagine a more objectionable outfit.

"Absolutely perfect. Cordelia will have a fit." The thought did give her a certain amount of pleasure.

"Just as I'd hoped!" Lance said. "She'll probably have some of her Ministry of Magic cronies there tonight...I can't wait to see her face."

"Has Severus sent his Patronus yet?" she asked, glancing at the front door. "He said he'd let us know when the guests had arrived."

Lance shook his head. "Not yet. Might we wait in your sitting room?"

"Yes, of course!" She opened the door of the sitting room, but before Lance could shuffle across the carpet, there was a faint whooshing sound, and the biggest Patronus Hermione had ever seen came through the front door. She looked in surprise at the huge, silver figure that landed on the floor, its great, leathery wings outstretched.

She'd been expecting the silver doe Patronus that Harry had described in such detail. But as the silvery figure in her hallway turned its blank eyes towards her and gave a slight nod, there was no mistaking the magical beast: a Thestral.

She stared at it, waiting for it to speak and wondering if it would have Severus's voice or if, perhaps, it belonged to somebody else. But it didn't open its mouth, and after a few more seconds it disappeared.

Lance sighed. "Well, I suppose we should go."

They made their way slowly around the green, and when they finally reached Severus and Cordelia's front door, Hermione took a steadying breath. She would have to be careful around Cordelia. Around Severus, too. She had no wish to draw attention to herself as she had done at Hogwarts.

Moe answered their knock with a deep frown. "Master Lancelot," she hissed, one hand on her hip. "Just what is you wearing?"

Lance chuckled. "What's wrong with it, Moe?"

"You is looking like a Pygmy Puff!"

Lance looked down at his gaudy robes. "I think they're quite dashing!"

Still shaking her head, the little elf lead them to the ballroom, and when she pushed open the door, a loud chorus of "Surprise!" rang out.

Lance feigned immediate shock and confusion. "What? Is it someone's birthday?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and then quickly pasted a smile on her face as Cordelia strode towards them, her arms outstretched.

"Oh, Uncle Lance," Cordelia simpered, kissing the old man on both cheeks. "Happy Birthday!"

She turned to Hermione and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you for bringing him, dear girl," she whispered. "Couldn't you have persuaded him to change out of that hideous outfit?"

Hermione tried to look innocent. "I thought it looked rather nice."

"Do you really think so?" Cordelia shook her head. "If you cross to the bar, dear, Severus will fix you a drink."

Hermione was glad of an excuse to leave Cordelia's side and worked her way across the room, staying away from the more tedious old Mills as she went. There were more than forty people present, and she didn't recognise some of them, although she could clearly make out Lucius Malfoy's drawl coming from somewhere to her right.

Severus smirked when she reached the bar. "He knew about the party," he said, nodding in Lance's direction.

Hermione smiled. "Yes, he did. Sharp as a tack, that man, despite appearances. He wasn't happy about it."

"I assume he wore that horrid ensemble just to annoy Cordelia?" Severus asked.

"Right again," she said, accepting a glass of red wine from him.

"You did well with Cordelia."

Hermione shrugged. "I'll behave myself, don't worry."

"I know you will, and I know you did not relish the idea of coming tonight. I hope it's some consolation that I've seated you with Draco and Susan."

She immediately brightened. "They're here?" she asked, looking around and spotting them in a corner of the room. "Thank you, Severus. If I'd been next to Aunt Jemima again I probably would have turned my wand on myself."

"You're welcome," he replied. "I must mingle with the guests. I will see you later."

***

Draco was as amusing as ever, but still, Hermione found the surprise party difficult to endure. Before they'd sat down to dinner, Susan had announced she was pregnant. Happy as she was for Draco and Susan, Hermione couldn't help but feel a little sorry for herself. Harry, Ron and Draco would all have a generation of children heading off to Hogwarts together some day while she would, in all probability, look on enviously. She recalled what Neville had said about his Boggart, that it would take the form of him...old, alone and unloved. She knew that in this safe, post-war world, loneliness had become her greatest fear, too.

Her discomfort was made worse by some of the elderly Mills asking after Theo's whereabouts, to which Cordelia replied, "Darling Theodore is still abroad!"

Hermione thought she would quite like to hunt down darling Theodore and wring his darling neck. No sooner had she thought it, then, as if on cue, her goblin-wrought ring began to tingle. She put down her fork and placed her hand in her lap beneath the table. Gripped by panic, she twisted the ring around and around on her finger, willing it not to burn. Not now, in a room full of people. She had always expected this day to come, but she had no idea how bad the pain would be, and she would rather not suffer the humiliation of a room full of people bearing witness to her husband's first act of infidelity.

Agitated, she excused herself and rushed to the bathroom, where she turned on the tap and placed her ring finger beneath the cold water. She left it there for a few minutes, and by the time she turned off the gushing water, the tingling had stopped.

Hermione returned to the ballroom, wondering if she had, perhaps, imagined the sensation. Taking her seat at the table once again, she glanced towards the opposite end of the room where Severus was seated beside his wife. He didn't look up, and she was glad he hadn't noticed her state of alarm.

The rest of the meal passed by without incident, and Hermione noticed that Severus had hardly once glanced in her direction. She wondered if somebody had said something to him about their camaraderie. If Lance had been so candid about his suspicions with her, it stood to reason that he'd made similar comments to Severus. Either way, she missed his attention, and she longed for the night to end.

By the time the dessert dishes had been cleared away, she was drained. In no mood for idle chat, she was finding Draco's theatrical behaviour bothersome, Lance's affected senility irritating, and Cordelia's play-acting downright infuriating. She had a clear view of her mother-in-law from where she was seated, and the manner in which Cordelia constantly placed her manicured hand possessively on Severus's forearm was unbearable to watch. It was almost nauseating.

Once the coffee had been served, Cordelia ushered a group of her friends and relatives to the sitting room, and Lance finally dropped his act of aged befuddlement. Many of the guests left, and Hermione lingered with Draco and Susan. After a time, Severus approached their end of the table. He shook Susan's hand and turned to Draco.

"Lucius tells me congratulations are in order," he drawled, taking Draco's hand.

Draco smiled. "For a man who insists he dislikes babies he's spreading the word pretty quickly."

Severus turned and met Hermione's gaze. "And how is my assistant this evening?"

She gave him a forced smile. "Fine, thank you."

He sat opposite her and placed his empty glass on the table. "Might I ask you to pass that bottle of wine?" he asked, indicating a bottle a little way along the table.

She stood and reached down the table. Picking up the half-full bottle, she leaned across the table to fill his glass when, without any warning at all, her left hand was suddenly engulfed in the most intense sensation of heat she'd ever experienced in her life. She couldn't help but cry out, and, dropping the bottle of wine on the pristine tablecloth, she instinctively cradled her left hand against her chest.

As the wine flowed from the bottle and stained the white cloth red, Severus and Draco sprang from their chairs. Severus's gaze moved from Hermione's hand to her face, and as he met her eyes, he knew by the alarm he read there that her wedding ring had finally started to burn.

Hermione could tell by the Severus's stare that he knew exactly why she'd dropped the bottle, and as tears sprang to her eyes, she silently pleaded with him to get her out of this room full of people, many of whom had turned to see what all the commotion was about.

Lance extracted his wand from his brash robes. "Oh, dear me!" he exclaimed, cleaning up the spillage with a flick of his wand. "Those bottles are dreadfully slippery."

He directed an intense stare at Severus over his little spectacles. "Severus, it's after eleven o'clock, and I do believe you and Hermione promised to whip me up a very special potion for my birthday. Time is running out, so I suggest you get cracking, dear boy!"

Severus shot him a look of deepest gratitude. "I'd almost forgotten," he replied, feigning a glance at his watch. He moved around the table and took Hermione by the elbow. "Excuse us, ladies and gentlemen, this should not take long."

Without waiting for a reply, he steered Hermione to the door and down the stairs to the basement.

"It's your ring?" he whispered as they reached the laboratory.

"Yes," she said, her voice shaking. "I know you warned me, but I'd no idea it would be this painful. Thank you for getting me out of there."

"You've Lancelot to thank for that," he muttered, opening the door. He stood aside to let her enter and glanced at her face as the torches on the walls lit the room. Her cheeks were drained of colour, and he could tell she was trying not to cry.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to her stool and making for the storeroom. "I know something that will help ease the pain."

Ignoring his order to sit, Hermione paced up and down, her teeth clenched. The heat from the goblin-wrought ring was making her entire hand burn. As she paced, she held her left hand out and splayed her fingers. It didn't look any different, and she scratched viciously at her ring finger with the nails of her right hand.

Severus emerged from the storeroom with a jar of yellow liquid. "Scratching at the ring will only make it worse," he said as he Conjured a glass bowl.

"Fucking stupid, cheating bastard," Hermione hissed. She picked up an empty phial from her bench and hurled it against the stone wall, trying not to imagine Theodore Nott copulating with some attractive woman.

Severus glanced at the shattered glass and turned to face her, one eyebrow raised.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm sorry, Severus. I know I'm childish; I'm just so fucking angry."

He'd only once before heard her swear, and he looked at her in concern as he opened the jar and poured half the contents into the bowl. "There's no need to apologise. I'm infinitely more fond of justifiable anger than I am of tears of self-pity."

She uttered a rueful laugh. "Well, brace yourself, Severus Snape. The tears may yet come." She looked at the bowl. "Solution of strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles?"

He looked surprised. "You've used it before?"

She nodded, and her face contorted with pain as the burning of the ring increased. "I made some for Harry after Dolores Umbridge made him slice his own hand open in fifth year." She glanced at the bowl again. "I thought Murtlap essence was only good for cuts; doesn't it intensify the pain of burns?"

"Usually, but you have not been burned; you're suffering from the magically-induced effects of a broken vow," he explained.

She lowered her throbbing hand to the bowl. "Are you sure about this?"

"Of course I'm sure," he snapped. "I've used Murtlap essence many times for someone suffering from precisely these effects. Don't you trust me?"

She submerged her hand in the liquid. "I'm sorry, Severus. Of course I trust you." She uttered a sigh of relief. "That's much better."

He gave a small grunt of annoyance and turned from her. Picking up the jar of the remaining Murtlap essence, he turned to go back to the storeroom.

"Please don't go, Severus," she pleaded. "I shouldn't have doubted you. I just ... I really don't want to be alone right now."

He stopped and turned to face her again. Placing the jar on the bench, he fetched his stool and sat beside her. She seemed close to tears once more.

"Talk to me," she said. "The pain is much better now, but I'd rather not think about my husband and his current occupation."

He laced his fingers. "What do you wish to discuss?"

She remained silent for a moment. "Who was the woman you knew who took the vow of fidelity? The one you mentioned on my wedding day?"

He scowled. "That is absolutely none of your..."

"It was your mother, wasn't it, Severus?"

He glared at her for a moment, and she was afraid that she'd gone too far, that he would storm from the room. But he gave a deep sigh.

"Yes, it was my mother. An eminently foolish woman."

"Does that mean I'm an eminently foolish woman?"

"Yes," he said. "You were eminently foolish when you agreed to take such a vow, Hermione. And like you, my mother was certainly not unintelligent. The main difference between you was that she genuinely loved my father. Why, I'll never understand, but the burning of her ring did not just result in physical pain, but in emotional anguish of the most severe kind."

"It doesn't sound like the happiest of marriages."

He gave a wry laugh. "It could hardly have been any worse. I've no idea how they got together, but I'm convinced she gave him a Love Potion. She was not graced with beauty, and my father was handsome in his youth. Unfortunately, I was blessed with my mother's looks," he said with a crooked smile.

Hermione couldn't help but draw a parallel between Eileen Prince and what she knew of Merope Gaunt. There was a striking similarity between Tom Riddle's and Severus's parentage. "I saw a picture of your mother once: Eileen Prince."

Severus looked taken aback. "How did you know?"

"I started doing a bit of research into the identity of the Half-Blood Prince when Harry found your Potions book," she explained. "And then, when you ... left at the end of our sixth year, I looked through some old copies of the Daily Prophet and found your birth announcement. I presumed from what I read that your father was a Muggle."

"Yes, he was. The very worst sort of Muggle," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't mean to disparage Muggles, Hermione, but my father was a particularly poor specimen. He hated magic; he drank too much; he was tight with what little money he had and generous with his fists."

"Were you an only child, Severus?"

"Yes. I was born shortly after they married, and my mother suffered many miscarriages in the years following my arrival. Hardly surprising, given that she was periodically used as a punch bag."

Hermione fell silent once more, astounded that he'd been so open with her. What a terrible childhood he must have had. Her gaze fell to her still-burning hand beneath the liquid. "Did her ring burn often?"

"Yes," he said, his gaze drawn to her goblin-wrought ring. "He regularly disappeared for the weekend with his entire week's wages, and it was usually on these occasions that the ring would burn."

"Did you feel sorry for her?"

He tapped his fingernails on the surface of the bench, and for a moment she thought he would not answer. "I sympathised at first. I discovered the benefits of the Murtlap essence in my second year at Hogwarts, and that gave her some relief, but as I grew older I lost patience with her. She could so easily have left him. She was a witch; it was her duty to protect her only child. But in my later years I came to believe she'd chosen him over me, and I became embittered towards her. I stopped providing her with the Murtlap essence, and then ..."

"And then what?" Hermione asked, fascinated.

He looked away from her. "I came home after my graduation to find the stupid woman had taken a carving knife from the kitchen, and in her distress, she had severed her own ring finger."

Hermione gasped. "Oh, no!"

"She almost bled to death," he said dispassionately. "She died a few months later."

"That's just awful," she whispered. "And your father?"

"He drank himself into an early grave before I returned to Hogwarts to teach. I certainly did not grieve for him."

She sat staring at him in stunned silence. It was another minute or two before she remembered her own discomfort. She looked down at her hand again. "Did you tell me all of this because you wanted to, or to distract me?" she asked with a small smile.

"A little bit of both, perhaps," he said. "You manage to ferret things out of me with remarkable ease, Hermione Granger, so perhaps I've given up trying to fight you. Besides, I'm impressed with how you've coped this evening: both with Cordelia and with your ring."

Her eyes filled with tears again. "I know it's not the same for me as it was for your mother, Severus, but it's still hurtful. I know I didn't love Theo, but I still don't like the thought of him with another woman."

They remained quiet for a few moments, their gazes on the ring. Anxious not to dwell on Theo, Hermione thought about Cordelia.

"I watched Cordelia during dinner," she said. "She's very possessive of you; I don't know how you can stand her pawing at you like that." She looked up at him and knew she'd said the wrong thing. By the expression on his face she could tell he'd taken it as a criticism.

"Well, one would think," he snapped, "that if tonight has taught you anything at all, it is that one cannot always control the actions of one's spouse."

She bowed her head and, feeling overwhelmed, could not stop the tear that slid down her cheek. "I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean any offence, Severus."

"And I did not mean to upset you," he said softly. "Come, dry your tears. You have behaved admirably well."

To her surprise, he reached forward with his thumb and brushed the tear from her cheek. His hand lingered there for a moment, and she closed her eyes, leaning in to his touch.

He dropped his hand as the door of the laboratory was flung open, and an irate Cordelia marched into the room.

"Just what is going on!" she demanded. "What are you thinking, Severus? Disappearing off like this. People will talk!"

He narrowed his eyes. "Our exit was necessary, Cordelia, thanks to your son!" he spat, pointing to Hermione's hand.

"What on earth are you ..." she stopped, comprehension dawning on her face. "Ah. I see."

"Lance's quick thinking enabled us to leave the room with the excuse of brewing him a potion. And quite frankly, Cordelia, I don't really give a damn if people talk."

Cordelia put her hand on her hip. "Well, does this really require both of your continued presence?"

"Yes. Hermione is in quite a lot of pain and has no wish to be left alone, given the circumstances."

Avoiding her daughter-in-law's gaze, Cordelia turned and walked back to the door. "I will expect you both back upstairs as soon as possible, and I'd appreciate if you tried to appear as if you were enjoying yourselves."

Hermione said, "Well, at least Theo's enjoying himself."

Cordelia paused on her way through the door, but did not turn around.

Severus gave a deep chuckle once she'd left, and Hermione looked up at him, relishing the sound.

"That was quite a comeback," he remarked.

She grinned. "I couldn't resist."

Slowly, she raised her hand from the solution. "It's stopped!" she exclaimed. "The pain has vanished."

Severus extracted his wand and Conjured a small towel, which he tossed to her. "I'm glad to hear it."

She picked up the fluffy white towel and dried her hand, wriggling her fingers as if to ensure the burning really had stopped. She looked at her watch and smirked. "Only ten minutes," she said smugly. "Stamina never was Theo's strong point."

Severus Vanished the glass bowl and its contents and graced her with an amused smile. "I think the Sorting Hat placed you well, Hermione." He walked to one of the shelves and picked out a small, blue phial.

"Something for Lance?" she asked.

He nodded. "A potion that temporarily dyes one's hair to match one's outfit."

Hermione sniggered and walked to the door. "Pink hair! Cordelia will be thrilled."

He joined her at the door, and she looked up at him with a smile of gratitude. "Thank you, Severus. You've come to my rescue more times than I can count these past few months." She held up her left hand and gazed at her ring. "The decision to accept this ring was probably the most ludicrous I've made in my entire life."

"What is this?" Severus asked, grasping her hand and peering intently at the base of her thumb.

She tried to pull from his grasp. "It's nothing," she insisted.

With the index finger of his free hand he reached out and traced the long, silver scar on her skin. "Where did you get this scar?"

She wriggled, trying to free her hand from his vice-like grip. "Nowhere."

"Stop trying to pull away," he said, his gaze still fixed on her hand and an expression of horror on his face. "I did this, didn't I?"

She didn't know what to say.

"That night at St. Mungo's," he continued, "when you tried to return my memories. I made the glass beaker explode."

She looked at him, wanting to deny it, but knowing he would see through a lie.

"I had absolutely no idea I'd hurt you. I'm dreadfully sorry," he said.

She gave him a nervous smile. "It's fine. Honestly. It was easily healed."

"I could remove the scar for you ..."

"No! I've grown accustomed to it. It reminds me ... It reminds me that I don't always know what's best for other people."

He stared at her for a moment then returned his scrutiny to her hand. He seemed lost in thought, and she couldn't read the expression in his eyes. He repeatedly traced the thin scar with his finger, and she found the sensation more than agreeable. She was glad that he seemed too absorbed in his thoughts to notice her shiver of pleasure.

"Severus," she said, embarrassed. "Might I have my hand back?"

He suddenly realised what he was doing and dropped her hand as though he'd been bitten. "Forgive me, Hermione. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Suddenly emboldened by the behaviour of both their spouses, she leaned forward and whispered, "You didn't make me feel uncomfortable, Severus. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was just afraid that if you continued for much longer, I'd never want you to stop."

She held his gaze for a moment, then turned and headed for the stairs, stunned by her own audacity.

He watched her go, drinking in the sight of her dark silhouette and bouncing curls as she climbed the stairs, pleasantly surprised at her coquetry. He smirked to himself. The immediate future was beginning to look rather interesting.