Part 2: In Which Hermione Meets an Arbiter.

Ye Arbiter ys to make First Contact with ye Heades of ye Families of ye Prospective Betrothed in an Humble & Timely Fashion lykely to inspire alle Happy Feelings betwixt ye Twain; whilst ye Aforementioned Heades shall treate ye Arbiter as a Right Goode Addition to ye Intimate Circle of yr Acquaintances and notte to cast Bookes or Stones or Curses at his Heade on Payne of being Roundly Hexed.

At exactly one minute to nine, the Floo in Hermione's office flared green. She looked up from the morning's owl correspondence to see the elf emerging from the hearth.

"Ah, you're punctual, that's a good start," he remarked, flicking a finger to vanish the ash from his toga.

"Did your master really send you through just to check if I was here?"

"Nah, just to check you hadn't bollixed up the Floo by cursing it or anything."

"What, he thought I'd do that, and he forced you to risk your life? Just wait until I get hold of him!"

Hermione realised that the elf was sniggering. The fire flared up, high and green. She turned towards the Floo, her hand on her wand just in case, as a black-robed wizard stepped out.

He moved in the way that experienced Aurors moved, like a man who knew how to defend himself. He had black hair with threads of silver at the temples. It fell loose around his face, and Hermione thought that this is what Professor Snape would look like, if he had lived.

Sometimes it came upon her when she caught sight of a slender dark-haired wizard, a rare, disconnected moment of regret in which she mourned Severus Snape and his pointless death, but the man would always appear wrong in some way: too heavy or too tall or too bland in the features. She waited for this wizard to disappoint her as all the others had done.

He raised his head, and his hair swung back. His nose was uncannily authentic, and his cheekbones, and the black, shrewd gaze that bored into hers, and the smirk that curved his lips. He was faultless, down to the lines around his eyes, the slight loosening of the skin of his jaw and infilling under his cheekbones: the effects upon a once-frazzled wizard of decades of ordinary, healthy, contented life.

She stared at him, all rational thought gone. All the logic and precision that had been her allies through the war fled away, leaving nothing but a vague, unformed fear that this had to be a trick, a cruel, heartless joke played by someone who hated her.

"Ramsbottom, judging by Mrs Weasley's reaction, you clearly failed to inform her of my identity."

His voice convinced her; the pitch, the timbre and most of all, the precise rounding of vowels that came from the renunciation of a flattened northern accent. All were familiar from the Potions dungeon of long ago.

"Oops," Ramsbottom the elf replied without a hint of contrition, "it must have slipped me mind. Silly old me." He gave a smirk worthy of his master and vanished with a sharp crack.

Hermione had successfully raised two magical children and was auntie to a Quidditch team of Weasleys. She recovered her equilibrium pretty fast. Her heart was pounding, and she felt tingly and shaky, but she was proud of the steadiness of her voice when she spoke. "I doubt if I'd have believed him anyway," she said. "How lovely to see you again, Professor Snape."

The tilt of his eyebrow suggested that he did not believe that for a moment, but he let it pass. "It is twenty-nine years since I was last a professor, Mrs Weasley."

"And I've never actually been 'Mrs Weasley', Mr Snape. That's my dear mother-in-law. Officially I'm Mrs Granger-Weasley."

"Of course," Snape said, and the condescension in his voice lit the touch-paper to her anger. It flared up as hot and high as the Floo, taking her by surprise.

"How dare you?" she demanded, leaping to her feet and rounding her desk with her wand in her hand. "How dare you walk into my office without a word of apology or explanation, after three bloody decades?"

She heard Malcolm's gasp, and the swift tap of his approaching footsteps, but nothing fully registered except for the wizard who sneered at her, his wand lifted to oppose hers.

"I owe you nothing," he said coldly.

"I fucking mourned you, Snape!" she snarled, her wand trembling visibly, "I lived with your death weighing on my conscience for all those years, and you couldn't even be arsed to let us know that you were alive!"

Snape folded his arms, his wand dangling from his fingers, as if she was not even worth the effort of fighting. "On the contrary; the Malfoys have always known. I informed Shacklebolt and Potter, but I obtained their word that they would not make my survival public. I have no great love for scenes of high emotion."

"Harry knew? And you wouldn't even let him tell me? You utter bastard!"

"Hermione, darling!" Malcolm gasped, rushing to put himself between her and Snape, "No! For Merlin's sake, think what you're saying!" He turned to Snape, his heels together and back straight, and saluted him with his wand. "Professor, headmaster, sir, please forgive my friend, she's overwrought, mother of the bride and all that rot, you know how it is, completely stressed out. Now, do have a seat while I fetch the tea. And it's wonderful to see you again, sir; I'm really glad that the rumours of your death were unfounded."

As he turned back to Hermione, he mouthed "Behave!" then he hurried out, Summoning the best tea service as he went.

Hermione and Snape glared at one another until she remembered what he had come for, and her heart sank. "I apologise for my language, but experience suggests that nothing I can say or do will ever overcome my shortcomings in your eyes. If you no longer wish to act as arbiter, I understand. Will you stay for tea or do you wish to leave immediately?" Too embarrassed to face him, she turned and began straightening the paperwork that had been disturbed by her robes as she had passed her desk.

"Mrs Granger-Weasley, your friend Potter informed me that you were not unduly distressed by witnessing my apparent demise. It did not occur to me that you would be anything other than mildly startled by my reappearance."

Was that almost an apology? Feeling slightly placated, Hermione glanced around at him again.

The first time she had attempted to explain her feelings of guilt about Snape to Ron, he had made fun of her in such an inconsiderate manner that she had never tried again. She had assumed, probably unfairly, that Harry would be equally dismissive. After all, in comparison with Ron and Harry, Voldemort had taken so little from her that she did not feel that she had the right to impose her weight of grief upon them. Harry had lost his parents, his god-father, Remus Lupin and Hedwig. Ron's uncles had died in the first war and his brother in the second. Hermione had not even lost her familiar.

"I watched you die," Hermione said carefully, "I did nothing, despite having a first-aid kit with Dittany in my bag. My failure to help you has haunted my nightmares ever since. I am truly sorry."

Snape stood utterly still, his black robes folded around his body like the furled wings of a crow. His expression was rather less accusatory than she expected.

"Had you said this to me twenty-five years ago, I would have thrown your words back in your face," he told her. "However, with the benefit of hindsight, at such a distance in time, I will point out three things to you: first, I was supposed to be your enemy and had done nothing at that time to disabuse you of the notion; second, it was more important that you supported Potter in his quest to finish the war quickly; and third, you were only eighteen years old. You were expected to get everything right with minimal preparation, training or knowledge. I had scant sympathy for children then, and have acquired little since, but everything depended upon you three teenagers to a degree that was insane, illogical and unfair."

Hermione swallowed past a sudden constriction in her throat. "Have you told Harry that?"

"We had a predictably awkward conversation," Snape said in an off-hand manner that suggested he did not care in the slightest, "in which Potter abased himself and swore to keep my survival a secret in exchange for a collection of memories of his mother. Suffice it to say, for Potter, such precious memorabilia must count for more than the assuaging of your conscience, so do not blame him overmuch."

"Here we are," Malcolm said, levitating the tea tray to the low table beside the fireplace, "tea and biccies. Now are you going to be all right if I go and ward Mr Coggins' cottage, or do I need to act as referee?"

"We'll be fine," Hermione said, noting that Malcolm had broken out his favourites in Snape's honour. Even their most illustrious clients had never merited the Jaffa cakes, Garibaldi biscuits and jammy dodgers that resided in Malcolm's locked filing cabinet.

Snape nodded in acknowledgement and took one of the easy chairs, sweeping his robes aside so that they settled in elegant folds around his legs and feet. Malcolm picked up his notebook and Flooed away, leaving Hermione alone with the man upon whom her daughter's happiness depended to a worrying degree.

Clearly Snape was prepared to recognise a truce while they poured their tea. Once he had settled back in his seat with a couple of Jaffa cakes (definitely a man who had been out of the country for a while) and a cup of tea adjusted to his liking (two sugars and a splash of milk), Hermione decided upon a pre-emptive strike.

"I've one ultimate objective in these negotiations," she stated, resisting the temptation to betray her nervousness by stirring tea that contained neither milk nor sugar, "and that's my daughter's happiness. I hope not to be made a fool of, reduced to penury or forced to endure anything too horrible in the process."

"Spoken like a true Gryffindor," Snape remarked, taking a delicate bite from the rim of a Jaffa cake.

"Spoken like a Gryffindor who's hoping to lull you into a sense of false security, you mean?"

"There is that. Quite an effective opening shot, madam. In exchange, I point out that Scorpius is my god-son and co-worker. I'm very fond of the lad, now that he has grown out of the dunderheaded adolescent stage, and his happiness is everyone's main concern."

"I'm prepared to accept that Scorpius' parents are as interested in his happiness as I am in Rose's," Hermione said carefully, "but I already get the impression that his grandfather would cut off his nose to spite his face."

Snape's eyes glittered. "On that, we are in agreement."

"Or at least you'd like me to think that we are."

She startled a brief, sharp crack of laughter from him, and he raised his teacup in her direction. "Lucius tells me that you have been involving yourself in politics over the years, and it shows. What is your latest campaign?"

"Goblins, hags, elves and centaurs don't have the right to bear wands," Hermione told him. "Which is discriminatory. If they want wands, they should be able to buy and use them as legally as witches and wizards."

"Giving a wand to an elf would be the equivalent of giving him clothes."

"Only if they want wands, Mr Snape. No one is forcing them to take them."

"I believe that you were all for forcing clothes upon elves at one stage."

She controlled an urge to roll her eyes to the ceiling. "I was an idealistic teenager at the time. Luckily, the Wizengamot refrained from implementing everything that Harry, Ron or I asked for immediately after the war. Once I'd spoken to a number of elves and their owners, I realised that what I thought was best for people wasn't necessarily what they wanted or needed."

"A revelation that has yet to strike your mother-in-law, I gather."

Hermione sighed. "Well, yes; that's why you're talking to me and not to Arthur Weasley. Molly refuses to let him act as Rose's head of family."

"So she believes that opposing the match is the best way to go?"

"Exactly. Of course, in the face of her outright hostility, Rose is going to be even more determined to have Scorpius. The most frustrating thing is that Rose was rarely defiant as a child or teen. Molly forced her into this position."

"Are the rest of the Weasleys lining up behind their matriarch?"

Hermione shook her head. "Definitely not. Rose's cousins all went to school with Scorpius. Albus Potter and Scorpius were best friends in their Slytherin days and still meet up very regularly. Harry and Ginny like Scorpius very much. Teddy, Victoire, George and Angelina usually side with Ginny and Harry in any family arguments. Charlie, Bill and Fleur think for themselves, so I've no worries about them. Percy's wife Audrey was a Ravenclaw with a Slytherin mother, and she doesn't bear any grudges. The only one who's just as indignant as Molly is Percy himself."

"Predictable," Snape muttered.

"That's only because he feels a need to be loyal to Ron's memory."

"Which you don't?"

Hermione flinched. "Not in this case, no. We never saw eye to eye on the subject of the Malfoys. Ron hated it when I worked with Narcissa and Astoria on the Knockturn Alley regeneration committee."

"But you did anyway," Snape observed, failing to hide his smirk behind his teacup.

Hermione shrugged and sipped her tea. "I refuse to give up on my principles simply because of other people's hang-ups and prejudices."

"You do realise that Lucius intends to adhere to the most exacting of formal pure-blood customs?"

"Of course he does."

"And what do your principles direct you to do in response?"

"I don't intend to embarrass my daughter or the very loyal, intelligent and honourable young man who wants to become my son-in-law."

Snape gazed at her as he finished his tea until she began to feel a little like a specimen on display. Then he stood up and inclined his head a fraction towards her. "Mrs Granger-Weasley, as Lucius' friend, I ought to warn him that he may have bitten off more than he can chew."

His lips curved into the cold, ruthless smile that she remembered well. "But I am sure that I will derive far more entertainment from not doing so. We will be in touch shortly. Good day to you." He seized a handful of Floo powder, threw it into the grate and stepped through, declaring "Malfoy Manor" as the flames leaped high.

Hermione poured herself another cup of tea and ate the last of the Jaffa cakes, dental caries be damned.

Ye First Gifte shall be a Token yt doth indicate ye Intentione to courte. Maketh it smalle to middling in Worthe & of a Nature yt is Nice & Acceptable to ye Faire Sexe; thus a Booke, a Trinkyt or other sych Trifle. If ye Maiden is accepting of ye Suite, then shall she reciprocate in Kynde with sum Gifte of Equivalence. If she doth reject ye Gifte then ye Discourse is at an Ende. If ye Suite be an Insulte then may she hexe ye Upstarte (butt notte in ye Pryvates) notte more Tymes than be Acceptable to ye Arbiter. Ye Insultyd Familie may holden ye Feude of Bludde unto ye Thirde Generation ys it behooveth Alle to be circumspekte & to speke fayre.

"Scorpius and I are no longer allowed to meet except in the presence of one of the heads of our families, or two chaperones," Rose said irritably. "Have you ever heard such a load of twaddle in your life?"

"I'm definitely going out with half-bloods and Muggle-born girls only," her brother said. "I'll insist on checking their family tree before the first date. On second thoughts, I've a better idea: I won't get married at all."

"I don't quite see you as a hermit," Hermione remarked.

Rose chuckled. "You're going to live in sin, are you?"

"Might as well. Granny's disowned you for doing things properly, so what's the point of going through all the stress of getting married? I'm sure Mum wouldn't renounce me."

"I don't think Granny Molly has thought this through very well," Hermione said. "Open the window, please, Hugo; there's an owl waiting."

Hugo reached for his wand and waved it, causing the latch on the kitchen window to click open. A huge bird shouldered its way through, glowered at Hugo and held out a package to Rose.

As Hermione watched her daughter reach out to the eagle owl, she realised that her children had never lived through a time when it was necessary to check for curses and hexes in their post.

"Isn't that a Malfoy owl?" Hugo asked curiously as the owl flew off, disdaining the proffered owl treat.

"It isn't Scorpius' Terpsichore, I know her. This is the Malfoy seal, though." Rose picked off the sealing wax and untied the cord so that she could remove the outer wrapping. "It's from Draco! According to this, he's sending it on Scorpius' behalf. Oh Mum, it must be the first of the courting gifts!"

Rose wriggled in her seat, staring down at the flat, leather-covered box on the table.

Hugo pretended not to be caught up in his sister's excitement. Hermione crossed her fingers behind her back as Rose carefully pressed the little catch and lifted the lid on the box.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" Rose breathed.

Scorpius probably had some input in the choice of gift, since he must realise that neither Rose nor Hermione would be impressed by an ostentatious display of diamonds. The necklace and matching earrings were so delicately wrought that they had to be goblin-made. They glistened with pearls.

"Are they silver?" Hugo asked, and Hermione shook her head.

"White gold, or possibly platinum."

"The book said the first gift was supposed to be a 'trinket', didn't it?"

"I expect Lucius thinks this is a trinket," Rose said.

Hermione knew better, but did not spoil Rose's pleasure by saying so.

"So are you going to accept it?" Hugo enquired, cutting to the heart of the matter.

"Yes, of course I am! I'd have accepted whatever he sent, even if it was his old school scarf wrapped in a copy of The Quibbler!"

"Right, then, we need to find an equivalent gift to send in return," Hermione said.

"I'd like to see old Scorp wearing a necklace and earrings."

"Ha ha."

"What's Scorpius' favourite hobby?" Hermione asked. "Wine? Quidditch? Chess? Breeding peacocks?"

Rose smiled mistily. "Definitely his Dad's racing Granians. He's always talking about them, and he takes me to see them every time we visit the manor. They let me ride one of the mares, and she's absolutely beautiful."

"Oh, great, yeah, let's buy him a flying horse."

"Don't be an unhelpful little brother!" Hermione told him. "Hie thee to the PC and have a look on owlBay for books on racing Granians, the older and rarer the better."

"Surely he'll already have everything worth getting?" Rose asked.

Hermione and Hugo shared a smile.

"The Malfoys don't have a computer, don't understand owlBay and definitely don't know what you can buy online from Europe or America!" Hugo jumped to his feet. "I'm on it!"

Hermione wondered if her burst of optimism was misplaced.

'An Historical List of all Horse-Matches Flown

Containing the Names and Owners of the Horses that have flown as above, and the Names and Colours of the Horses also; with the Winner distinguished of every Match, Plate, Prize, or Stakes: the Conditions of Flying, as to Weight, Age, Size, etc. and the Places in which the losing Horses have come in; with a list also of the Principal Cock-Matches of the Years above, and who were the Winners and Losers of them.'

"Wow," Scorpius breathed, gently tracing the title of the fragile old book. "Where on earth did Rose find this?"

"Or this?" Draco said, lifting the second book from its wrapping. "'The Authentic Granian Horse and his Descendants' by Pellucida Devyce.' This is a classic; I've been searching for a decent copy for years!"

"That's mine, thank you, Dad!"

Lucius, watching from the opposite side of the breakfast room, controlled his need to pout. He had been overtaken at the very first hurdle. That wretched Granger-Weasley woman had probably paid one percent of the amount Lucius had spent on jewellery, but had succeeded in finding not one, but two very rare books about the only sport that both Draco and Scorpius truly cared for. He needed to try harder.

Lucius went off to the library to search Eponyma de Mallfoye's Grimoire for inspiration.

Ye Announcemente of ye Betrothal shall notte be made in sych fashion as to overwhelme yse present butt enableth ym to heare ye Goode Tydings in a Merrie & Genteel Manner; to wit, with mickle Goode Taste & Refinemente.

"Since Scorpius is determined to have the young witch," Lucius said to his son, "and she is apparently cognisant of the honour that he is bestowing, the next step is the announcement of the betrothal. Oh, do stop smirking, Draco!"

"I'll take out an ad in the Prophet, shall I?" Draco asked as his wife's Kneazle kitten attempted to paw his quill out of his hand. "Persephone, stop it or I'll shut you outside."

"Certainly not!" Lucius snapped. "Malfoys do these things properly! No, we'll throw a grand ball to celebrate the happy event."

"Really?" Draco turned in his seat to stare at his father. Persephone took the opportunity to seize his quill and scampered away with it clamped between her jaws. An elf gave a squeal of alarm on seeing the trail of ink-spots and set off in pursuit of the errant feline. "Here, Father?"

"Where else?"

"There hasn't been a formal ball here since I was very young," Draco mused. "I'm surprised, that's all."

Lucius drew himself up to his full, impressive height and twirled his cane. "Then it is about time we had one, is it not? Kindly ask Astoria if she and her sister are interested in making the domestic arrangements, or whether she would prefer me to enquire of your Aunt Andromeda."

"Knowing Astoria and Daphne, they'll love every minute of it, but I'll check with them."

"Good. I shall draw up a provisional guest list and speak with Dworkin." He turned and strode out, calling for his head elf.

Draco shook his head, Summoned a new quill and returned to the Château Bonfoi accounts.

Hermione had barely hung up her cloak when the tinkling of the doorbell charm alerted her to someone at the front of the cottage. Rather to her surprise, Snape stood upon the doorstep, looking as out of place against the hollyhocks as a vulture in a supermarket. He was holding a scroll that dripped with ribbons and wax seals.

"This is your family's invitation to the grand ball that Lucius is throwing to announce the betrothal of his grandson to your daughter," he said, in the nature of one making a formal declaration. There was just the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.

"Oh," Hermione said, slightly flummoxed. "Thank you. I expected to hear from him by owl."

"I pre-empted the owl for a reason, Mrs Granger-Weasley."

"Really? Do come in, Mr Snape."

Hermione was acutely aware that the small cottage was in its usual state of chaos. Hugo had left his broom and broom-maintenance kit in the hall. Rose's Arithmancy calculations pertaining to the Malfoy/Granger-Weasley future alliance covered the dining table. The now-elderly Crup, who had filled the void in Hermione's life when Crookshanks died, demanded a bed and water bowl in every room so that he did not have to hobble very far. Hermione's latest attempts to convince the Wizengamot to allow centaurs to obtain wands had resulted in tottering piles of law books on all the armchairs. She bit her lip to prevent herself from apologising like an errant schoolgirl and tried to ignore the sardonic glint in Snape's black eyes.

The Crup heaved himself to his feet and gave the asthmatic grunt that now passed for his bark.

"It's all right, Biggles, he's a wizard and a friend. I was about to make a cup of tea; would you like one, Mr Snape?"

"I did not intend to interrupt your family's evening."

"You haven't. Rose has gone out with her cousins for young Molly's birthday celebration, and Hugo's on duty at St Mungo's tonight, so I'm on my own."

"In that case, tea would be welcome, thank you."

Hermione filled the kettle and let Biggles out into the back garden.

"Is the ball to be held at Malfoy Manor?"

"Of course," Snape said, watching the Crup totter across the lawn to cock his leg on a clump of geraniums. "Do you give him potions for his arthritis?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it's simply the march of time. I got him from the Hogsmeade branch of the Crup and Kneazle Rescue. His previous owner had died, so I don't know how old he was, but he must be at least twenty-five. My neighbour lets him out at mid-day and gives him his lunch and his potion."

Aware that she was starting to prattle, Hermione concentrated on brewing two mugs of tea. "You said that you had a reason for bringing the invitation, Mr Snape?"

"Indeed." He placed the scroll precisely in a small bare space upon the oak dresser, lining it up with the tea caddy and a tin of Samuel Smegg's Superior Crup Cuisine with Ground Dragon Claw for Added Vitality! "I presume that your son will escort you to the ball?"

Something in his tone, belying the nonchalant nature of his words, made Hermione pause for a moment before replying. "I'm sure Hugo will want to impress his latest girl-friend by inviting her."

"In which case, if you have no prospective escort, may I have the pleasure of accompanying you?"

Hermione simply gaped at him; she could not help it. Only when spots of colour appeared high on his cheeks did she realise that he assumed that she was about to refuse.

"Of course, thank you, yes," she said, as flustered as she had been when Viktor Krum had invited her to the Yule ball, all those years ago. "You took me completely by surprise. I thought you didn't want anyone to know that you're back in Britain – or that you're alive at all?"

"Lucius has persuaded me to emerge from obscurity," he muttered, appearing mildly embarrassed. "Or did you assume that I invariably lurk in the background in order to take house points from canoodling couples?"

She laughed and handed him a china mug bearing the legend 'Quidditch Players do it with enchanted balls', and a cartoon of a wizard hanging from a broom with one hand and flailing at a bludger.

"I don't quite know what I assumed, to be honest. It'll be very helpful to have someone to steer me through all those awkward pure-blood rituals, but I thought you're supposed to remain aloof and impartial?"

He shrugged and sipped his tea. "What makes you think that I am not?"

"Is Lucius trying to set you up with someone?" she asked.

"Very good, Mrs Granger-Weasley; take a house point."

"Please," she said, laughing, "call me Hermione!"

He slanted a black eyebrow at her above the ridiculous mug. "What was that about remaining impartial?"

"So you refer to Lucius, Draco and Scorpius as 'Mr Malfoy' in that case?"

He saluted her with his tea. "Of course not, Hermione. Very well, please feel free to call me 'sir'." His lips curved at her amused snigger. "Or 'Severus', of course, but please, not 'Sev'."

"On condition that you never call me 'Hermie', 'Herms' or, Merlin help you, 'Mione'." Giving an exaggerated shudder, she continued, "Well, I had better compose my reply to dear Lucius and find out what I am supposed to do in response to this blasted ball."

"Avoid one-upmanship at all costs," Snape said seriously. "Lucius is prepared to throw money at this until the cows come home. Despite losing a proportion of his assets after the war, he is still a very rich man."

"Thank you, I'll bear that in mind."

He nodded, placed the empty mug on the draining board and gave her a little bow before stepping outside the back door and Apparating away.