Chapter 8

A/N: Just a reminder that this story is based on The Grand Sophy by Georgette Heyer.

God bless my betas, the peerless LariLee & Keladry Lupin

These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.

Thou are not lovelier than lilacs, – no,

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Hermione Apparated into the back garden at Grimmauld Place and found Lupin disconsolately gazing in the direction of the Phoenix House. He started when she appeared and made an effort at nonchalance.

"Hullo, Hermione. Leaving the picnic early?"

Hermione approached him with a quick step and grasped his hands. "Oh, Remus, you mustn't take it seriously!"

Lupin looked down into her sympathetic brown eyes with a twisted smile. "Oh, Sirius isn't my problem anymore. He got bored and is haunting Varen Vector, now, but she won't give him the time of day."

Hermione allowed herself to be distracted. "Why ever not?"

Lupin replied, "Varen was at school with us – a couple of years behind us, really – so she remembers Sirius at that age. He was a bit of a heartbreaker and a cad, even then; he was never with any girl for very long. Besides, Varen was in Slytherin House and still has a certain regard for the house rivalry from those days." A ghost of a smile touched Lupin's eyes as he squeezed her hand. "Sirius is still declaring to me that he means to remain available until your affairs are settled. He can be an unmitigated berk, but his loyalty is unshakeable. He owes his escape from the Dementor's Kiss to you, Hermione. He won't forget that."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That isn't what I left the picnic early to speak with you about, Remus. Would you mind awfully much if I ask if you still want to marry Tonks? Feel free to tell me to mind my own business, if you like."

Lupin closed his eyes for a brief moment. "Would you think I'm pathetic if I say yes?"

"Of course not!" Hermione responded warmly, leading him to the bench beneath the beech tree. "But you have to see it from her point of view, Remus. Instead of sweeping Tonks off her feet, you made your formal offer to Dumbledore..."

"It's the proper way to initiate a marriage contract!" he objected.

"Well, of course it's proper, Remus, but then you came down with a desperately infectious illness before you could woo her and officially ask her to marry you!"

"I did NOT contract wolf pox on purpose! I couldn't help it!" He clasped his hands and stared down at them. When he spoke again, his voice was so soft Hermione had to strain to hear him. "I thought she wanted me, you see."

"I suspect that she still does, Remus, but you went away unexpectedly without a word to her – not even a note – and then what could she do but try to make you sorry?"

He stared at her with a fair assumption of indignation. "But I was ILL!" he protested.

"Oh, that was a minor detail of little importance when Sirius got the urge to see if he could play Lancelot to your King Arthur and began to dally with Guinevere." Hermione leaned toward him and lowered her voice confidentially. "If you still want to marry Tonks – and I must tell you that I think you and she would make a perfect match – I will tell you just how to go about it."

Lupin could not help but smile at her. "I am obliged to you, Hermione, but I cannot permit you to help me when it is your job to find a husband for yourself before the New Year!"

Hermione wrinkled her nose and looked mischievous. "I will be doing both things at once, Remus; you must trust me. This is an excellent way for me to move my situation along."

Lupin eyed her with suspicion. "Hermione, what are you up to?"

But she would only shake her head. "Never mind! Now, here's what I want for you to do..."

Mindful of his instructions, Lupin called in Grimmauld Place that evening, after dinner, and requested to speak with Tonks in private.

Tonks was sitting in the parlour at the top of the house with Sophronia, Skye, Hermione, and Professor McGonagall when Dobby carried the message upstairs. Tonks cast a panicked look around the group.

Minerva McGonagall spoke up. Though she had been absent that day from the picnic, Snape had informed her of the Krum-kiss-incident with malicious glee.

"Nymphadora Tonks," McGonagall said, with some exasperation, "the man made a formal offer for you, and has been waiting for WEEKS for you to make up your mind. The least you can do is speak with him now!"

When Sophronia added her quietly spoken agreement, Tonks went downstairs with the air of the condemned woman on her way to the executioner. She entered the study and closed the door behind her.

Lupin took her by surprise, coming up to her with a rueful smile on his face.

"Don't look like that, Tonks. I haven't come to make an ugly scene."

Tonks smiled at him tremulously. "You really are a nice man, Remus."

Reflecting that he would rather be an international Quidditch star, he gave himself a mental shake and doggedly continued with his mission. "I've just come to tell you that I am going to withdraw my marriage offer, Tonks. It was never my intention to cause you distress."

Tonks felt her eyes fill with tears. No one else, certainly neither Sirius nor Viktor, had said a word to her about marriage. Now, the nicest man she knew was not demanding an answer to his proposal – he was withdrawing it. NO one wanted to marry her. Remus was not a reckless, handsome flirt, like Sirius, nor was he a famous and sought-after charmer, like Viktor – but he was kind, and caring, and he would make an excellent husband – what was the matter with her? She would undoubtedly end up as one of the pathetic cases handled by the Office of Last Resort, as the Office of Lasting Relationships was lampooned by the young people.

Remus, seeing the tears in her eyes, felt a momentary urge to gather her into his arms and kiss her tears away. Then the image of her flinging herself into the arms of another man filled his mind and his determination firmed. He pressed a handkerchief into Tonks' hand and said, "Even if we can't be married, I will always want to be your friend. If there is ever any way I can serve you, Tonks, all you have to do is ask."

Her tears overflowed then and she made use of his handkerchief. "Thanks, Remus," she managed after a moment. "You are a mate."

Lupin did not trust himself to speak again, but kissed her hand and escaped the room. He passed Snape in the hallway without a word; his only goal was to exit the house before he made a fool of himself by returning to the study and begging the adorable girl to be his wife.

Snape found Tonks standing by the study window, wiping her eyes.

"Did you come to some agreement with Lupin?" he asked carefully.

"Yes – we've agreed that we don't suit."

For a moment, the vision of Ted Tonks' death grip on the hem of his robes invaded Snape's mind, but he shoved the memory away. Unfortunately, the sense of guilt and responsibility remained. "And is there someone, perhaps, who might suit you? Someone you know?"

Tonks turned her tear-ravaged face to him. "No, Severus. There isn't anyone."

And with a little choked sob, Tonks ran from the room.

It had become a Sunday night custom for the ladies of number twelve, Grimmauld Place to host a buffet supper and congenial family-type evening for their particular friends. The house-elves would prepare and lay out a selection of foods on the sideboard, and each person could serve themselves as their mood and the hunger struck them. In the sitting room, tables were set out for games to be played. There was a table bearing a chess set, a card table, and a larger round table set up for whatever juvenile games suggested themselves to the younger people. On one memorable Sunday evening, the solarium had been swept bare of furniture and plants while the young people danced to strange music from a device supplied by Justin Finch-Fletchley; it was powered by something called "batteries."

Hermione had taken pains to include Stormy in the events of the at-home evenings, and the little girl glowed under the attention from her older sisters, their friends, and their many young admirers. Harking back to her favourite games as a child, Hermione had sallied forth to the Muggle shops and brought back a can of Pick-Up Stix. The slender sticks of coloured plastic were a huge hit with Stormy, who regularly challenged all comers to a contest of skill at nimbly picking up the chosen stick – and no magic allowed! – without displacing the others. The game, which became a passionate interest of the young wizards when they saw how much the Snape sisters enjoyed it, usually inspired at least one monetary bet per evening amongst the young men.

Snape generally eschewed these family gatherings. Sunday was the one day of the week when he could be assured there would be no annoying Ministry event to attend or chaperone. He would spend the morning reading in the library, followed by an afternoon of writing and research, finishing with a quiet evening of drinks and occasional good company at the Cave. When forced – no, when urged – he made a visit to his betrothed. He reasoned with himself that, soon enough, he would be tied to the Delacours and would have to endure the constant daily presence of Fleur. For now, he would enjoy his last few weeks of freedom, before his life changed forever.

It was only after stumbling across Remus Lupin at Grimmauld Place for the fourth time in one week following the ill-fated picnic, and each time in the company of Miss Granger, that he decided it was time for him to spend a Sunday evening at home. He did not, however, let his family know of his intentions; he thought he would follow his usual pattern and simply come home quite early from the club.

On the next Sunday evening, number twelve, Grimmauld Place was full of merriment. All of the boys from Phoenix House were present, as well as numerous other friends and acquaintances. Lucius Malfoy had dumbfounded his son by strolling into the drawing room as if he were in the habit of doing so, and had bowed over Sophronia's hand with a charming smile.

Draco, who was sitting with Luna, muttered, "I wonder what he's up to?"

Luna looked up at his profile, feeling her heart fluttering in her chest at the beauty of him, and said in her frank way, "You don't trust your father, do you?"

Draco looked down into her upturned face and felt an unfamiliar disturbance in his breathing. The absurd earrings she wore, shaped like smiling daisies, were painfully sweet. Draco was not accustomed to having his empathy evoked, and certainly not by this unaccountably strange girl. But he had seen her that day at the Riddle estate, back-to-back with Ginny Weasley, fiercely duelling Death Eaters twice their size as part of the perimeter defence. Dumbledore had been adamant in his instructions that day: no Death Eaters were to escape alive. She might be odd, but there was a bedrock of courage in Luna Lovegood that made her a formidable ally.

Luna, who was looking with unconcealed admiration up into Draco's grey eyes, watched the thoughts and emotions playing across his face with fascination. He was looking at her mouth – what if he wanted to kiss her? There was a swooping sensation in her tummy at the thought of the best-looking boy she knew pressing a kiss to her lips. The only boy she had ever kissed was Neville Longbottom, and that was only because they were coerced into playing Spin the Bottle. She had fled the room where the bottle was being spun after the messy ordeal that had been her first kiss. She was eager to try again though; other girls certainly seemed to enjoy kissing well enough.

Draco found himself leaning down toward Luna, his head tilted slightly to one side; he saw her eyelids drop as she lifted her lips trustingly to him and the golden blond of her eyelashes fluttered on her pale cheek. With a sudden recollection of their surroundings – in the sitting room with people moving all around them – he knew it was the wrong time to taste the lips which tempted him. With an uncharacteristic show of tenderness, he cupped her chin and passed the pad of his thumb gently over her lower lip.

Luna's eyes opened and she felt a bit of disappointment, but the look on Draco's face was at once curious and exciting.

"No, I don't trust him very much," Draco admitted, his voice sounding a bit gruff as he regretfully removed his hand from her face. "He hasn't always been a very nice person. I really like Sophronia Snape; if my father is unkind to her, he'll be sorry."

There was a rustle of movement in the doorway as Ginny Weasley slipped into the room, looking particularly pretty in a golden robe that simultaneously shimmered with her movement and clung to curves in a most interesting way. Luna saw her with a bit of a sinking heart; Draco had been spending quite a bit of time chatting with Ginny in the last few weeks, and Luna knew she wasn't nearly as pretty or as interesting as Ginny Weasley. But then Draco was much too handsome for her, anyway. Luna knew that most other people laughed at her for being the way she was; she realized that she was destined for some much more prosaic person, not a young god of masculine beauty like Draco Malfoy.

As they watched her, Ginny glanced quickly around the room, her gaze coming to rest on Harry Potter, as he stood by the mantelpiece, laughing with Roger Davies and Ron Weasley. Harry looked up as Ginny's eyes found him, almost as if he sensed the force of her attention; green eyes met brown, and he fell silent as he looked at her in her shimmering golden robes. Ginny's lips parted, as if a momentous word would pass from them, and Harry actually took a step in her direction. At that instant, Skye Snape swirled up to the boys by the fireplace in a cloud of ethereal blue, never doubting her welcome in their midst, her face alight with a pretty laugh that captured the notice of all three of the young wizards. Skye engaged Harry's attention with a gentle smile into his eyes; a few seconds later, when Harry thought to glance back at Ginny, she was gone.

Luna and Draco witnessed this entire interplay with some embarrassment, feeling as if they had been eavesdropping on a private conversation, though not a word had been spoken. When Ginny whirled in a flurry of gossamer golden fabric, her eye fell on Draco and she advanced on him like a tigress stalking her prey. Luna's heart was wrenched with pity for Ginny; in that moment, it had seemed to her that Ginny wanted Harry to come speak with her more than anything in the world, but he had chosen to speak with Skye instead. Luna knew very well what that felt like. Ginny had always been kind to her, including her in activities that she would never have attended without Ginny's sponsorship. Without a thought for herself, Luna stood and smiled at Ginny's approach.

"Here, Ginny, have my seat. I forgot I need to Floo Daddy tonight; I'll be back later." With a fleeting smile at a bemused Draco, Luna floated out of the sitting room in her distracted way, heading for the stairway.

Lucius Malfoy, invited to seat himself on an unoccupied loveseat with Sophronia, was a bit surprised to find himself facing Fleur Delacour. With practiced social ease, he gently twitted her for the absence of her fiancé.

Fleur shrugged with Gallic fatalism. "Severus does not care for such gatherings," she said philosophically, casting a shrewd glance at Skye and Harry as they laughed together just beyond eavesdropping range. "When we are married, I do not suppose that we will entertain very often."

"How unfortunate," Lucius said solemnly.

Fleur flicked him a look of vague dislike. "When one has love, what does one need with the society of mere acquaintances?"

Lucius nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, if one has love, one needs no other company," he agreed, stretching out a hand to pick up the cut glass dish on the table at his elbow, and inspecting the cashews within. "But whatever will you and Severus do without company, Miss Delacour?"

An ugly red stain flushed her cheeks as she unwisely rose to the bait. Before she could utter the words on the tip of her tongue, Lucius extended the dish to her. "Nuts, mademoiselle?"

Fleur was on her feet and flouncing away before Lucius allowed the wicked smile he had been holding back to grace his handsome features. Sophronia removed the bowl of nuts from his hand and placed it on a different surface. "That was a bit unkind, wasn't it?" she inquired softly.

Lucius captured one of her hands and raised it to his lips. "I would not distress you for the world, my dear," he said, allowing himself the luxury of being lost in her bluebell eyes.

Sophronia indulged the temptation to step into a tension-fraught moment with him for one beat of her heart before she gently removed her hand from his and lowered her gaze. "I have the greatest dislike of unpleasantness," she admitted.

Lucius took one long finger and lifted her chin, then took his hand away quickly, so that she would not pull away from him. He risked leaning just a tad closer to her before whispering, "Admit that you loathe the girl, you rogue."

Sophronia dimpled briefly before standing and evading their ever-increasing proximity. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" she said politely.

"For as many moments as I must, if you promise to come back," he told her.

Fleur emerged from the lavatory with her head held high. She would not permit herself to show her temper to that man; he was a nonentity. After all, he had barely escaped going to prison, from what she understood. No one considered him to be a hero; he certainly had won no Order of Merlin for his part in the war. No, he was a nobody and a nothing and she loathed and despised him.

She was startled out of her ponderings when Hermione Granger literally stumbled into her.

"Watch where you're going!" Fleur snapped irritably.

"I beg your pardon," Hermione said with slightly exaggerated politeness, "but what do you expect when you stand in the doorway to the nearest bathroom?"

Fleur tossed her head disdainfully and her ribbons of silver hair flew about her head. "Never mind." Her eyes narrowed for a moment and she reached out a hand to touch Hermione's arm. "I have been wishing to speak with you, Miss Granger - would now be a good time?"

With an inward gloat, Hermione allowed herself to be pulled into the room across the hall, which just happened to be Ginny and Luna's room.

"Yes, what is it?" she asked.

"I know that your mother is away on holiday," Fleur began, seating herself on Ginny's bed and motioning for Hermione to sit next to her. Hermione willingly took the place next to Fleur. "Because your mother is away, you may be in need of a ... guiding hand," Fleur continued self-importantly.

Hermione cocked her head to one side. "How could I be in need of guidance when Minerva and Sophronia are in residence? Not to mention Professor Snape, of course," she added, dipping her chin in a show of shyness, while darting a sharp look in the Frenchwoman's direction.

Fleur waved one hand expansively. "Older women forget what it is to be young and full of passion," she stated.

Hermione snorted to herself. You're about as full of passion as Stormy's Pygmy Puff! she thought. Fixing a look of docility on her face, she responded out loud, "How true!"

Fleur reached out and grasped Hermione's wrist. "Then you mustn't be upset if I drop a hint in your ear," she said, trying to look older and wiser. "You have not been out in society for very long, and you can be guided by me in this matter, just as I would be guided by you if I were trying to live in the Muggle world."

Hermione gave a fair imitation of an innocent blink. "Oh no, Miss Delacour, I would never presume to tell you how to go on - no matter where we were or what we were doing."

Fleur, who was apparently immune to irony, continued on. "Well, perhaps you are right. I have been so well brought up by my dear mère that I would know how to conduct myself no matter where I went, in Muggle society or wizard society."

Hermione could not prevent then the choke of laughter which escaped her. Fleur regarded her with imperial hauteur.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Delacour, but surely even you can see how very conceited a notion that is!"

Fleur stood suddenly and glared down her nose at Hermione in an unconscious parody of her fiancé. "I know nothing of conceit. What I wish to say to you is that you are making yourself conspicuous with the number of men who visit you here and with whom you are seen all over town. All the world is talking about the fast Miss Granger and her many admirers. I'm sure you do not want that, Miss Granger. Think how very uncomfortable it must be for Madam Snape to be forever making excuses for your very odd behaviour. And what wizard would want to offer for a woman who has earned for herself the reputation of being fast and loose with her affections?"

Hermione rose with a speed that caused the taller woman to move back and grope for her wand; Hermione, however, was holding Fleur's wand by its tip in one hand while the other hand levelled her wand at Fleur's face.

"You had best be a bit concerned about what wizard might want me, Miss Delacour."

There was a long moment filled with nothing but the fast, panicked breathing of Fleur, who was desperately trying to use an unspoken spell to Accio her wand from Hermione's contemptuous fingertips, and the slow, even breathing of Hermione, who was trying to decide which part of the other witch's perfect body she wanted to hex. Their confrontation was interrupted by Luna, who poked her head into the room.

"Professor Lupin is here, Hermione, and he's asking for you," she said. She then came fully into the room and looked from Fleur to Hermione and back. "Are you going to duel?" she inquired curiously.

Hermione dropped the other wand disrespectfully onto the floor and pushed past Fleur. "I wouldn't dirty my wand," she muttered as she walked out of the room.

"Severus will hear of this!" Fleur's shrill voice threatened.

Hermione continued toward the staircase without looking back. "Oh, I sincerely hope so," she said, giving herself a mental shake before dancing down the steps and making a great show of kissing Remus on the cheek before the assembled crowd, which included the recently arrived Nymphadora Tonks, with Viktor Krum in tow.

Fleur entered the sitting room again without glancing towards the Pick-Up Stix players laughing at the games table.

"Would you like to come play, Fleur?" Stormy called to her in a friendly way, before deftly removing a red stick from the pile before her.

Fleur did not halt in her progress towards Sophronia, who was smiling and patting the seat next to her on the sofa. "I do not play children's games," she said in passing. Some remark was made that caused the game players to explode into choked snickers and fake coughs; Fleur did not have to think very hard about who might have said something derogatory about her when she knew that Hermione Granger was sitting at that table.

Lucius Malfoy had gone to the drinks table and poured himself a glass of brandy; Remus Lupin, in the act of procuring a glass of lemonade for Hermione from the iced pitcher on the tray, paused to exchange civil words with his former enemy.

Calming somewhat under Sophronia's kind-hearted attentions, Fleur was able to join a conversation begun by Minerva McGonagall concerning the social rules pertaining in her youth, many years before. Fleur, having been lectured on this subject by her Veela grandmother, was able to contribute information to illustrate how English ways differed from those in France. When Lucius Malfoy wandered back over and joined them, she simply pretended he was not there.

"All of the balls were formal, when I was a girl," Minerva said. "The witches wore beautiful gowns in the most exotic fabrics; I remember a dress I had that was made of hand-woven faerie silk."

Sophronia nodded, a far-away look in her eye. "The year that Millicent Bagnold became Minister for Magic, there was a formal ball at Hogwarts in her honour. I was only fourteen, but I remember it vividly. The wizards looked so elegant in their dress robes and the witches wore the most colourful gowns I have ever seen. There has never been another ball like it."

Lucius was standing at Sophronia's elbow, between the sofa and the armchair in which McGonagall sat.

"And do you remember with whom you danced your first dance that night?" he said wistfully.

Sophronia cast him a sidelong look. "If you don't remember, I will not humiliate myself by saying," she responded with the faintest blush in her cheek.

The consternation on the faces of the various people who saw Snape when he stepped into the sitting room and simply stood, strafing the room with his sharp gaze, might have amused him, if he had been in the mood to be amused. Ronald Weasley was sitting quietly in the corner, closely attending to what Shadow was saying to him with such an earnest expression on her face. Why did not Sophronia force the girl to join the group at the table? And at the table, there was Skye, with Potter on one side and Krum on the other, urging her on in the game of Pick-Up Stix, each of them having apparently backed her to win the contest. Stormy was clinging to Potter's arm, squealing in her over-excitement. And there was Nymphadora Tonks, sitting on Krum's other side, looking rather put-out, though her attention seemed to be focused across the table, rather than on Krum's attentions to Skye.

Following Tonks' line of sight, he saw the object of her ire. Sitting on the edge of her chair, her eyes closed in a dramatic show of gathering her wits for her next turn at the Pick-Up Stix, was Hermione Granger. When had her hair stopped looking like a mare's nest and begun to resemble the corkscrew tresses of a water nymph, tumbling about her face and down her back in an ash brown cascade? Why had he never noticed how her facial characteristics had matured, with the roundness of her girlhood features replaced by the fascinating hollows of her cheeks and the lovely line of her throat leading to her ... and what the HELL was she doing wearing a tight jumper with such a low neckline that her impressive cleavage was on display for one and all to see? And why in the DEVIL was Remus Lupin putting his hands on her shoulders, ostensibly rubbing them to relax her, and leaning over to whisper in her ear?

What kinds of orgies were his charges getting up to in his absence every Sunday night?

He had actually begun to reach with his left hand for his wand when his right arm was grabbed and the voice he least wished to hear in that moment said, "Severus! Darling!"

At the sound of Fleur's greeting, many of the faces at the table turned to see him there. Miss Granger, however, merely opened her eyes, as she sat there so wantonly with the werewolf's paws all over her, and stared straight into his eyes. For the veriest instant, it was as if no one else was in the room, and his indignation was met by the tiniest trace of a gratified, questioning look from her.

Then the sounds in the room rushed in upon them, and Severus was looking down his hooked nose at the woman hanging from his arm. The numerous ex-students of his in the room waited with bated breath for the verbal annihilation of the annoying Frenchwoman, but it didn't come.

Snape turned away from the table and led Fleur over to the sofa where Sophronia sat, in close conversation with Lucius Malfoy. After courteously seating Fleur, Snape procured the requested glass of sherry for her, and poured a measure of brandy for himself.

"What do you say, Severus – I believe I will host a formal ball at the Manor," Lucius said blandly, watching his old friend from beneath his lashes.

"Sophronia said she wished to attend one, and voilà, Monsieur Malfoy said he will make one for her," Fleur told him disapprovingly.

"It sounds like a great deal of trouble to me," Snape growled into his brandy snifter.

"We will make a weekend of it," Lucius continued, expanding on his theme. "I will invite a number of people to stay, and the others can Apparate or Portkey in for the ball. All of your young ladies and the young men of Phoenix House will be asked to stay – and Mademoiselle too, of course," Lucius added with a faintly mocking smile for Fleur.

A loud screech came from the game table, where Lupin was hugging Granger, under the disgruntled eye of Nymphadora Tonks, while Krum spoke softly to Skye, sympathizing with her over her loss. Potter was looking less than delighted as he scowled at Draco Malfoy, who was lounging on a loveseat, accepting the hand-feeding of assorted nibbles from the brazenly flaunted hand of Ginny Weasley.

Snape strolled over to the table with Fleur close behind him.

"What does the winner of this Olympian feat receive?" he inquired sardonically.

Roger Davies and Lee Jordan simultaneously thrust their open hands at Potter and Krum, who good naturedly handed over the Galleon each had lost on the bet. Stormy was now hanging on her big sister, consoling her for her loss, while nearly shrieking her congratulations to the victorious Granger.

Granger released her hold around Lupin's neck and turned in his arms, so that she stood with her back to the werewolf's broad chest. She smiled sweetly at Tonks before giving Stormy a wink. "The winner receives the admiration of the spectators," she said playfully.

Fleur stood like a statue at Snape's side, her eyes focused malevolently on the champion. "No doubt she will receive a great deal of unwarranted attention for succeeding at this silly Muggle children's game," she said maliciously.

All of the conversation stopped as eyes turned nervously to the Veela-girl with a temper problem. Snape's mouth thinned in displeasure, but it was Stormy who saved Fleur from the immediate consequences of her actions.

"You just don't like it because Hermione gave it to me!" Stormy said loudly, not bothering to hide her contempt and dislike for her sister-to-be.

Into the shocked silence, Snape's voice snapped like a whip. "That was a foolish and insolent remark, Stormy. You may go to your room and go immediately to bed."

With her pinched little face flushed with confusion and mortification, Stormy fled up the stairs to the nursery, where she sought the counsel and consolation of her dolls and her Pygmy Puff.

For an embarrassed moment, no one spoke. At last, Davies stood and said he had to get home, just look at the time! Jordan was right behind him, and the boys of Phoenix House took their leave too, kissing hands and setting assignations with the young ladies as they were escorted down to the door.

Sophronia excused herself to Lucius and stood, moving toward the staircase. Snape stopped her as she reached him. "Let me do it," he said quietly, looking up the darkened stairs after his little half-sister. "I was too harsh."

Sophronia placed a placating hand on his arm. "No, it was terribly rude of her; she needed to be reprimanded." She delivered a smile to Fleur. "She has been a bit difficult ever since her father died. I'm very sorry."

Snape spoke. "I'm sure that Fleur understands, don't you, my dear?"

Fleur obeyed the command implicit in his voice. "Of course I do, Sophronia. Please do not waste another thought on it."

Snape then spoke to his stepmother. "Will you see Fleur to the door for me? I would not keep her waiting and I must speak with Stormy."

Sophronia gladly linked arms with Fleur and inexorably guided her to the stairs.

"...but I would not mind waiting, Severus," Fleur said plaintively.

"I do not know how long I will be. I will call on you tomorrow, Fleur. Good night."

Without a backward glance, Snape climbed the stairs until he reached the nursery floor.

Sitting on the rug in the dark, Stormy held Fletcher the Pygmy Puff to her heart as she cried. Entering her room purposefully, Snape disposed himself in the only chair, an ancient wooden rocker, and looked down upon her bowed head.

"I-I'm s-sorry," she sobbed, her words muffled as she spoke them into the fur of the squirming Pygmy Puff.

Snape eyed the scrawny heap near his feet, seeing a blond version of himself at that age, crying as he often did from the brutality he encountered in his daily life as the only prisoner of war in the epic battle between his parents. His mother had died when he was ten years old; in later years, it had seemed to him that she had died of bitterness. When he was ten, though, all he knew was that he had lost his mum, and he had grieved her for years – grieved her still, if he was honest with himself.

His father had changed in those years that Severus had been in school at Hogwarts. The simmering rage had died down to a mere taciturnity of nature; by the time Sandoval Snape had met Sophronia Prewitt in the home of mutual friends, he had seen in her angelic beauty his own deliverance, and had petitioned her father for her hand. Sophronia, ever a dutiful daughter, had obeyed her father and married a man who was older than her own parents. Sandoval had not been a sweet or charming man, but he had loved his pretty young wife and the children she had borne for him. He had become an indulgent husband and a fond parent, usually unable to deny his girls anything they desired.

On the very rare occasions when Severus was summoned to make an appearance, Sophronia had treated him with kindness and the girls had swarmed him like kittens, chattering at him in a way his students would never have dared to do. His students found him ugly and forbidding; his sisters found him to be in appearance and disposition just like their papa, and had expected from him the same deeply hidden affection and forbearance granted them by their shared parent.

In a quiet tone, he said, "You must learn to think before you speak, Stormy." She sobbed more loudly, but he continued. "We have a duty to show proper respect to our family, you know, and also to behave appropriately in the company of guests. Your words not only hurt someone who is soon going to be part of your family, but you embarrassed all of our guests."

Now the little body was quaking as she keened in her misery. Severus thought that if she were his student, he would call for Madam Pomfrey to give her a Calming Draught; as his sister, what was he to do? How had he ended up in this position of responsibility over the care and upbringing of this tiny soul? Consulting his highest authority, he thought, 'What would Dumbledore do?'

Cautiously, he reached out one hand and placed it ever so lightly on the top of her head. There was a pause in her sobbing as she raised her face, seeing him with the moonlight pouring through the window and throwing his angular face into stark relief. She stared at him for a moment, before she hiccupped and said, "You look so much like Papa, Severus."

In the next moment she hurled herself into his arms with a plaintive cry – "I miss him! I miss him!" – and she clung to him as if her heart were breaking.

Obeying instincts he did not know he possessed, Severus gathered the tiny body to him, feeling her hot tears falling on his neck as she cried into his shoulder; one arm held her safely nestled against his bony frame, and the other hand rhythmically stroked the silky blond hair, as he murmured comforting words to her. Of their own accord, his feet set the chair in motion, and he rocked his baby sister until she quieted, though her fingers still clutched at his coat, as if releasing him would cause her to be carried off by a tidal wave. At last her grip loosened and her breathing deepened; still, the two of them rocked in their cocoon of safety, the skinny cherub in the arms of the gaunt ogre, the one assured of her salvation, the other convinced of his damnation.