Part 4: In Which Hermione Gets Cross.

If thy Wytche possesseth notte a Famylyar, then it doth behoove thee to gift a Famylyar as ye second Bridal Gifte. Be sure thou gifteth a Magickal Beast that be both pleasing & sufficient for ye Purpose.

Hermione sipped her coffee as she flicked through the morning paper. The usual photographs of herself, Harry and Ginny were eclipsed by pictures of Snape. There was also a potted biography of the Hero of Slytherin and speculation about where he had been living since the war. Hermione suspected that the reporting of the ball would not have been quite so favourable had Rita Skeeter not handed on her mantle to one of Draco's old school friends. Hermione was not entirely delighted to find a picture of herself and Lucius Malfoy, waltzing across the back page in black and white. The little figures moved together to the inaudible music, his hand splayed across the back of her close-fitting bodice, his grey eyes fixed upon her face no less intently than those of Scorpius upon Rose in the adjacent photograph.

Feeling unsettled, Hermione tossed the Sunday Prophet aside to find herself face-to-beak with a very large owl who had flown in through the open window and was waiting upon the breakfast table. It hooted at her and stuck out a leg with an air of thinly veiled impatience. The owl took off when she had unfastened the scroll. It was addressed to Rose, of course, but for some reason Hermione felt slightly disappointed. Perhaps one day, a wizard would send romantic notes to her. Hermione remembered yearning for the excitement of her adolescent relationship with Viktor Krum until the reliable normality of life with Ron had reasserted its hold upon her, soothing her war-torn nerves, giving her the illusion that everyone she loved was safe and persuading her that she was entirely happy.

By the time Rose wandered down in her dressing gown, looking rumpled and bleary-eyed, Hermione had wrestled her demons into submission. She was able to smile fondly at her daughter. "There's a letter for you from the Malfoys," she said, indicating the scroll upon Rose's plate. Rose's face brightened, and she broke the seal.

"The next gift is a new familiar!" she exclaimed, and then she frowned. "Oh dear, I hope it isn't something that's going to upset Biggles." She indicated the basket in the warm corner next to the kitchen fireplace, narrowing her eyes when she realised that it was empty. "Mum? Where is he?"

"Still next door with Madam Tyler, of course. You know how she spoils him! I expect he's still asleep on her bed."

Rose reached for the coffee pot under its Stay-fresh charm. "Scorpius knows we've got him," she said with a conviction that sounded slightly forced. "I'm sure he wouldn't do anything to put his nose out of joint." To be fair, Scorpius had always made a point of petting the old Crup whenever he visited the cottage.

"I don't think Scorpius has too much say in what's happening at the moment," Hermione said darkly.

They consumed coffee and toast in a pensive silence until Hugo clattered down the stairs, glanced at the picture of Snape on the front page of the newspaper, slathered marmalade on the last slice of toast, and enquired, "Any idea why there's an enormous flying horse tethered in the back garden, Mum? Because it's eating all your bedding plants."

"This is completely ridiculous," Hermione exclaimed, waving her arms. "We haven't got room to keep a miniature pony, let alone a bloody cart-horse!"

"He's a Granian, Mum!" Rose said in an awed voice.

Unnerved by the winged monster in his territory, Biggles barked furiously from the next-door garden until Madam Tyler shut him inside and offered to look after him for the rest of the day. That gave her as good an excuse as any to come out and lean on the garden fence, smoke her pipe and comment on the antics of her neighbours.

"There's probably something in the deeds against keeping a stallion," she pointed out, not entirely helpfully.

"Is he?" Rose asked, bending down to peer beneath the horse. "So he is. I wonder what his name is."

The horse stamped a hoof, leaving a large print in the lawn, and bit the top off what had been a splendid fuchsia.

To his credit, Severus Snape appeared within ten minutes of Hermione sending her Patronus. There was nothing rumpled or hung-over about him; he looked as razor-sharp as ever in his black robes and white shirt.

"You can't reject any gift outright without rejecting the entire suit," he pointed out.

"I know," Rose sighed. She had bribed the horse with carrots, conjured a rope and tied him up in a corner where he could do no more damage to the flowers, although the lawn looked as if it had been churned up by a tribe of Nifflers. "But he can't stay here." There was a wistful note in her voice nevertheless. As a teenager, Rose had desperately wanted a flying pony, although she more-or-less outgrew the phase once she discovered boys.

"Obviously. I suggest that you dispatch your Patronus to request Draco's advice."

Hermione felt slightly better when she realised that Snape was as reluctant to approach the horse as she was. Perhaps he was reminded of Buckbeak.

Eventually Draco strolled through the front gate, sneered at the cottage and enquired loftily "I gather my presence is required?"

"Yes," Hermione snapped, "it is. You can take a look at your father's latest gift and then come up with helpful suggestions. It's in the back garden. And be warned – I've rather gone off Malfoys!"

Draco sauntered through the house, giving the impression of being far too well-bred to comment however much he'd have liked to. He took one look at the horse and burst into astonished laughter.

"Great Merlin!" he exclaimed. "That's Dancing Warlock!"

"What?" Rose had been hand-feeding the horse to prevent it from breaking free and ravaging the garden. She gaped at Draco. "The three-time winner of the Thousand Galleon Stake? Are you kidding?"

"I never 'kid' about horses. That's Warlock. Look at the shape of him, that white blaze and the black mane and wing-tips. Father must have paid O'Leary a fortune; I've offered him enough for this fellow over the years, and the daft old codger never budged an inch."

"I can't refuse him, but there's no way I can keep him." Rose stroked the stallion's velvety muzzle. He made a low, whickering sound.

"I'll rent him from you," Draco said at once. "He can stand at stud at my yard, and we'll split the proceeds." He rubbed his hands together. "What splendid luck, he'll do excellently for Queen of Hex, and possibly for Sweet Circe as well!"

"I doubt if there was luck involved at all," Snape said dryly, "No doubt Scorpius suggested that Lucius buy the creature for Miss Weasley, with exactly this outcome in mind."

"Can we get it out of my garden?" Hermione asked, trying not to sound plaintive.

"I'll get a stall prepared for him and return to collect him," Draco said grandly. "We can Apparate him. All racing Granians are accustomed to being Side-along Apparated. I shan't be long."

He was as good as his word, returning within fifteen minutes, accompanied by a particularly tall elf who was wearing a tunic fashioned from a tweed horse-rug. The elf leaped lightly onto the stallion's back, at which Dancing Warlock whinnied and tossed his head.

"Take him for a short flight inside the Manor's wards to let him stretch his wings, then hand him over to Trimble for assessment," he said.

The elf nodded, and both horse and rider vanished with a loud bang.

"Assessment?" Rose enquired anxiously.

"It's two years since his last race; I've no idea if he's been ridden at all, or even flown, during that time. You would like to ride him, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, wow, of course I would!"

"Then my trainer needs to assess his physical state and gauge his attitude towards being ridden."

"Without using aversive methods, I hope," Hermione said. Draco gave her a rather superior smile.

"If you had ever attempted to ride a Granian, you would know that whipping it would result in your being deposited somewhere in the English Channel from a great height. They are sensitive, highly intelligent and biddable beasts in general. Of course, if O'Leary has kept him shut up in a stable and only allowed him out to service mares, he will require a degree of rehabilitation."

He turned to Rose. "I'll owl you Trimble's report and draft an agreement concerning his keep, stud fees, hire and so on."

"Thanks, Mr Malfoy, that would be great!"

He nodded, glanced around and added, "And I'll dispatch my gardener elves."

He Disapparated before Hermione could decide whether to thank him or to refuse on principle.

"If you have no further need of my services," Snape said, "I shall bid you good day."

"Thank you for your help," Hermione said. "After this, I really need to push Lucius ruddy Malfoy outside his comfort zone! You'll hear from me again very soon."

She was ridiculously pleased by his smile before he Apparated away.

Lucius Malfoy stared down at the embossed card in his hand.

"To celebrate the betrothal of Scorpius Lucius Malfoy and Rose Weasley, you are cordially invited to afternoon tea and traditional games, upon the village green. This card is your Portkey. Please grasp it firmly at 2pm on Saturday. Dress optional; all equipment provided."

"Equipment?" he asked as the Portkey whirled him away from the Manor and deposited him smoothly upon a veranda in front of a low, white building.

The sun shone from a clear sky onto an expanse of closely mown grass, surrounded on three sides by mature beech, oak and elm trees. In the haze beyond the trees, he could just make out a couple of thatched roofs. As he turned to examine the building, he became aware that his body was no longer clad in his heavy silk robes, but instead he wore a white shirt and trousers with a sleeveless white, green-trimmed pullover and white boots with studded soles. His hair was neatly tied back. Despite his increasing indignation, he had to admit that it was a very sophisticated piece of charm-work.

"Well, well, you've grown almost trusting, Lucius."

Lucius could not help but stare. The voice was familiar, but Snape in white? Wearing sunglasses? "What's going on?" he demanded.

"We'd better move before we get mown down by the next arrivals," Snape said as he led the way down the steps onto the field. There were chairs set up in the shade beneath the trees, with tables bearing jugs, glasses, covered bowls and plates.

"Where are we? It was overcast in Wiltshire and threatened rain later. I don't recognise this place at all. It appears suspiciously Muggle."

"Does it?" Snape said unhelpfully. He indicated a large board, upon which white letters on little black squares spelled out 'Gentlemen vs Players, Captains, D. Dursley & H.J. Potter,' with two columns of names beneath them. Under 'Players' Lucius saw himself listed with D and S Malfoy, H, A and J Potter, F and H Weasley, N Longbottom and S Snape. The 'Gentlemen' consisted of names that he did not recognise at all.

"What the devil is going on, Severus?"

"Cricket, obviously," Snape said. "Clearly the 'Players' are wizards and the 'Gentlemen' appear to be Muggles or Squibs. Dudley Dursley is Potter's Muggle cousin, and I assume that the other Dursleys are his sons."

"Allan and Grahame," said Hermione Granger-Weasley, smiling as she came down the steps. She was wearing a summer dress of a light, floating material that displayed her calves and ankles to great advantage, and a large straw hat with matching ribbons. "And yes, Severus, you're completely correct. All the Muggles are related in some way to magical folk, so they know about us and won't be put out by any accidental displays of magic. Let's see; Simon Finch-Fletchley is Justin's brother, Carl Gilbert is married to a witch, and Joe and Jason Trussel are Squibs."

"I know nothing about this Muggle pastime whatsoever," Lucius told her. "I can't possibly play without consulting the rules!"

"Really?" Hermione asked. Her voice was light and amused. "Welcome to my world, Mr Malfoy. Do excuse me, I must go and greet my other guests!"

"Severus, do you understand this wretched game?"

"My father insisted upon my learning the basics," Snape said rather grumpily.

"Grandfather!" Scorpius bounded down from the veranda where his Portkey had deposited him, followed more sedately by Draco and Astoria. "Isn't this fun? You'll love cricket, I promise you. Dad and I'll explain it all to you, and you'll soon get the hang of it. Oh, look, Pimm's!"

"Muggle cocktail," Draco explained, "quite refreshing. Have they mixed it with lemonade or with ginger ale, Scorpius?"

"Lemonade. There's chilled champagne as well, and Chablis, and real ale on tap."

"Excellent!" Draco rubbed his hands together. "Not exactly Lords or the Oval, but delightfully civilised nevertheless."

"Don't look so worried, sir, it isn't too dissimilar from Quidditch," Scorpius said, taking Lucius by the arm. "When you're in to bat, you need to hit the ball as if you're a Beater; when fielding, imagine you're trying to catch the Snitch, and Harry won't make you bowl so don't worry about that."

"Wonderful," Lucius said, resisting the urge to pull his arm away. His daughter-in-law drifted towards a group of witches who were all clad in Muggle clothing. Their colourful dresses and broad hats, delicate shoes and light-weight jackets did indeed look surprisingly civilised, for a non-magical pastime.

Village cricket could best be described as soporific, with occasional flurries of activity. Hermione watched from the shade as Draco and Scorpius attempted to explain the principles of leg before wicket to Lucius before sending him in to bat. Snape, who had scored a respectable thirty-two before being caught in the slips by Allan Dursley, lounged in a deck-chair at her side and sipped a tall glass of Pimms.

"Did you bribe the Headmistress to allow this," he asked, "or does your status as hero still carry enough weight?"

"Professor Vector has always been very fond of Rose," Hermione said.

"I assume that your daughter inherited your ability in Arithmancy, in that case, rather than her father's."

Hermione squinted up at the trees. "Did the elms give it away?"

He followed her gaze. "I hadn't noticed, to be honest, but now that you mention it, it is remarkable to see English elms in their prime. I dimly recall seeing the final years of the species as mature trees."

"Ah, so you felt the wards, then."

"Indeed."

"Do you mind? I ought to have warned you."

He lifted a shoulder. "Not particularly. I salute your ingenuity."

"I wonder if Lucius has worked it out yet."

"Lucius is too busy attempting to keep his dignity," Snape said, and there was a little curl of satisfaction on his lips.

Sandwiches containing smoked salmon, egg and cress, roast beef or cucumber, accompanied by sausage rolls, pork pie, sherry trifle, strawberries and cream, plus plenty of chilled champagne, went some way towards restoring Lucius' mood.

"Out for a duck, indeed!" he muttered to Snape. Still, there had been something rather energising about this afternoon's activity. Perhaps he ought to consider physical exertion without the aid of magic more often. "Should I invite everyone to a day at the races next?"

"That depends upon how much you wish to impress Hermione."

"Would it impress her?"

"Not in the slightest," Snape said laconically.

They both glanced to where the lady in question was chatting to Ginny and Lily Potter. "A Granian stallion, Lucius? Really?"

Lucius almost blushed. "Perhaps that was a miscalculation. I've annoyed her, haven't I?"

"Very much so. You cannot buy her, or her daughter."

"So I'm coming to understand. What would you recommend next?"

Snape turned around to lean his forearms on the rail along the clubhouse veranda. "Stop trying to impress everyone and just do whatever will make Scorpius and Rose happy."

"I think I want to make Hermione happy." Lucius twirled his champagne glass between his fingers.

"Lucius, you only want to make yourself happy." Snape pushed himself upright and walked away.

Lucius stared out across the green sward of the cricket pitch to where the evening shadows were lengthening beneath the trees.

"Clever, isn't it?" Draco said, coming to join his father in his contemplation. "Not that I'd tell Hermione that, of course, but it took me long enough to work it out."

"Hm?"

"This." Draco swept his arm around in a circle, scattering crumbs from a slice of Victoria sponge cake. "Hogwarts, the Room of Requirement. Very clever."

"Yes," Lucius said thoughtfully. "Brilliant."

Hermione opened the front door and blinked rapidly to clear her vision. If Severus Snape had appeared out-of-place upon her doorstep, then Lucius Malfoy looked totally alien. Alarm clenched abruptly in her chest.

"Is anything wrong?" she demanded. He turned from contemplation of the tiny front garden with its untidy riot of summer blooms and gave her a slight bow. "Wrong, my dear lady? Of course not; why should anything be wrong?"

"I assumed that something must have happened to Scorpius or Draco."

"You took me to be a harbinger of doom? In that case, I apologise for alarming you, Mrs Granger-Weasley. In fact, an apology is exactly why I have come. I am here to make amends for my behaviour."

Hermione could hardly leave him standing on the doorstep after that. She opened the door wide and watched him sweep inside. He made an admirable attempt to overcome his disdain at the cramped, homely and chaotic interior: only her six years of watching Snape in the classroom gave her the experience to detect the subtle flicker of a suppressed sneer. He even managed to smile at Biggles when the old Crup peered myopically up at him and gave a querulous woof.

"Charming," Lucius said.

Biggles farted and went back to sleep.

"The Granian was a miscalculation, for which I am sorry. Being aware that your daughter greatly admires the flying horses in Draco's stable and having the opportunity to obtain one of high quality, I desired to please her without thought for the consequences. I apologise for inconveniencing you."

"Apology accepted," Hermione said, and his smile, with the crinkling at the corners of his mouth and eyes, and the hints of appraisal in his grey eyes, made her chest flutter in a way that she really ought to have grown out of decades ago.

"Excellent! As a gesture of goodwill, would you care to join me for dinner on Saturday? I did promise you to introduce you to the Manor's library, did I not?"

"Oh," Hermione said, sure that she ought to refuse and equally sure that she wasn't going to.

"You will be perfectly safe," he assured her.

"That depends upon your definition of 'safe', I suspect," she said, and then realised that she didn't really want to hurt his feelings. "Thank you, I'd like that."

He smiled again and gave his formal little bow, and she asked, as if it was an afterthought instead of the first thing that had come to mind when he suggested dinner, "Is Severus still staying with you?"

Her attempt to sound casual might have fooled a Gryffindor, but this was no lion. His cool eyes flickered for a moment with an unidentifiable emotion. "I believe that Severus is planning his return to France, but I shall enquire. Good day, Mrs Granger-Weasley, until the weekend."

"Yes, I'll see you on Saturday."

He left the house in a flurry of silk robes and vanished with a pop.

"That's bloody unfair!" Rose protested, "I can't even talk to Scorpius without a chaperone!"

"Despite the fact that you two have been at it like Nifflers for the last year at least," her brother muttered.

She shoved him with her shoulder.

"Too much information, thanks," Hermione said. "I know, but this is a different situation. I'm a feeble widow who's long past the age of..." she allowed her words to trail off and waited until her children had their laughter under control. "Yes, Rose, I totally agree with you, and I promise that I'll ask Lucius if you can give up on the outdated customs and go back to normal life again."

"Oh, so it's 'Lucius' now, is it?" Hugo said, grinning wickedly. "I see. Are we going to have another wedding in the family? Granny Molly will have a conniption!"

"I hope not," Rose said. She sounded serious, and when Hermione met her daughter's gaze with concern, Rose blushed.

"Do you dislike him that much, darling?"

"He's reformed, I suppose. Scorpius and Draco love him. It's just..." Rose lifted one shoulder, suddenly reminding Hermione of the awkward teenager she had been not so long ago. "Oh, Mum! He's taking you for a ride!"

"Of course he is!" Hermione said as Hugo sniggered, "It might be fun, nevertheless. But I'll turn down the invitation if it distresses you that much."

"It isn't us who'd get upset, it's someone else – oh, do be serious, Hugo!"

"You weren't worried about upsetting Granny Molly when it was all about you and Scorpius," Hugo pointed out. Rose rolled her eyes.

"Don't be dense! Of course I'm not talking about Granny Molly! She's just trying to control everyone as usual; she'll get over it. It's just there's someone else who fancies Mum, that's all, and I rather like him."

Deep inside Hermione, something shivered with excitement. "Do you really think so?"

"He watches you, and it isn't in quite the way that Lucius watches you. It isn't as predatory, more like admiring you from a distance."

"Who?" Hugo demanded.

"Work it out for yourself, clever-clogs."

"Oh, go on, you know I'm no good at this lovey-dovey stuff."

"It isn't lovey-dovey; it's just rather sweet."

"Perhaps old Lucius and this bloke will duel over Mum," Hugo said, brandishing his wand, "And Lucius'll end up in Azkaban for reverting to his evil Death Eater ways!"

"If they did get into a fight," Hermione said, "Lucius wouldn't be sent to Azkaban because there wouldn't be enough of him left to arrest."

Rose nodded. "I imagine your mystery admirer is ferocious. He certainly looks it."

"He is."

"Mum, if you go to dinner with Lucius, you're making a big mistake."

"No," Hermione said slowly, "only if I allow him to remain deceived. Thank you, Rosie, you've been an enormous help."

"What about me?" Hugo demanded as Hermione hugged her daughter. "Just because I don't get this mysterious female code doesn't mean I've only got the emotional range of a teaspoon!"

Ron had so often said that, teasing Hermione with her own words from long ago, and they echoed through the room. Hermione paused for a moment, feeling chilled.

"Mum?" Rose whispered, "he'd want all of us to be happy – you as well."

"Whoever he is, this wizard isn't like Dad, is he?" Hugo asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"Well, then, you're not trying to replace him, are you? You're moving on to something else, and Dad would have liked that. He always said that there's no point in living in the past."

Rose and Hermione gaped at Hugo, who smirked and twirled his wand, sending up a shower of purple sparks, inadvertently setting fire to the curtains and putting an end to the conversation.