Chapter 5

****WARNING: MINI-SPOILERS WITHIN****

A/N: Sorry for the, um, ten-month hiatus. *Blushes fiery red.* I got a new job with the government, started freelancing for the crappy local daily, then I got promoted, so time has been at a premium. Deathly Hallows has inspired me, too. This story doesn't give away major plot points, but may include smaller details from Book Seven (hence 'mini' spoilers). AU on the whole, though, because there are certain characters for whom I bawled my eyes out while reading their death scenes and then decided that my fic would forever be AU.

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"My breath is bated, Severus. Bated." Hermione reluctantly followed Snape to an empty space beneath the awning Madam Puddifoot's of all ironic places.

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Granger. Now," he began, glancing furtively around before continuing, "I'm not sure what sort of skewed idea of love and lust you picked up from Polyxena Ollivander...excuse me, Moody, but I'm here to tell you..."

A sharp snort issued from the girl's nose. "Severus, please. I might be missing a few key life experiences, but I assure you I'm not some delicate, Regency-novel innocent who fears rakish rogues above all else."

"Rakish rogues?" repeated Snape slowly, a decidedly evil smile appearing on his sallow face. "Whoever said anything about rakish rogues? I was talking about my unfortunate tendency to...erm...salute you at inopportune moments."

"Salute me?" Hermione burst into raucous laughter that drew stares from the patrons of the little tea shop. "Salute me; that's classic. If you're referring to getting a huge hard-on, you might as well just say so. Salute me," she chuckled appreciatively.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Miss Granger, it's been rather a long time. 'Huge hard-on,' quite an interesting and dare I say flattering choice of words."

"Aye, aye." Raising her hand to her forehead, Hermione gave the former Potions master an insolent salute and walked off toward the Hog's Head as she sang (rather loudly) the first few bars of 'Soldier Boy.'

"Hermione, back so soon?" Polyxena waved from a corner table.

"Soldier boy/oh my little soldier boy/I'll be true to you!" she finished with a flourish. "All right, Polyxena? Mad-Eye? And...?"

"Yes, right, this is Sugar-Quill." Moody emphasized Dung's drag name.

"Hello, Dung," whispered Hermione, suddenly remembering where she had seen the black veiled witch previously. "I expect Severus will be arriving shortly," she continued in a normal tone. "And he's requested that we all salute him as he enters. Tell you later," she added at Polyxena's raised brow. "I think it would be good for his morale."

A moment or two later, Snape swooped into the pub and stomped toward the corner table. At once, the foursome stood and gave him a very respectful salute. Snape glowered at Hermione, not noticing that Aberforth was headed for the old, broken down piano until the older wizard struck up a rousing rendition of 'We Salute Ye, Noble Wizards' in which all the pub's patrons joined.

Witches and wizards, gather ye round

Oh, we salute the...

"Enough!" snapped Snape, so abruptly that Aberforth hit a false note and disappeared behind the counter once again. "We have serious work for the Order to accomplish," he said in a low, seething voice mostly directed at Hermione. "We're not vanquishing the Dark Lord by sitting in pubs singing bawdy songs and dressing as witches."

"How do you propose I dress, then?" queried Polyxena, just as Hermione asked,

"Are you planning to dress as a witch, too, Severus?"

"Hate to say it, but Snape's right," Moody cut in tersely. "Here's what we learned from old Abe: the locket's got a hex on it, and it bloody well won't open." He held up Slytherin's most valuable artifact so that it caught the light.

Hermione's pulse quickened at the sight of the Horcrux, but naturally she didn't shout, 'Hey, it's a bit of Voldemort's soul!' "I don't think it will help us find Regulus or his illegitimate son," she said instead. "Why don't we keep it and let Harry have it for, er, inventory purposes. You know, it being part of his inheritance and all."

Snape eyed her suspiciously, but didn't speak. Raising a glass of Firewhisky to his lips, he drank a deep, burning draught and set the empty container down slowly. "It's no secret that the brothers Black were, shall I say, less than chaste."

Sugar Quill gave a roar of wheezing, coughing laughter until Aberforth eyed him suspiciously. "Chaste, eh? Y' know, Snape, if the pickins are slim over at 'Ogwarts, there's a lot of willin' hags down the Leaky Cauldron."

Shuddering, Snape signaled for another Firewhisky. Sexual euphemisms had never been his strong suit, and he had no wish for the entire bloody pub to start singing, 'There Was A Witch So Chaste And Pure."

"I'd heard that about him," Hermione put in kindly, no doubt feeling guilty over the whole 'Soldier Boy' incident. "Apparently, after he left home, he was with a different witch every night in Knockturn Alley. This obviously complicates matters a great deal."

"And the Blacks didn't exactly merit an Order of Merlin for constant vigilance. Seems likely that he'd be inclined to forget a certain charm."

Polyxena turned beet red and took a sip of her pumpkin juice. "Y-yes. Although I'm sure that anyone could neglect that in the heat of the moment."

Moody squinted at her with his real eye and proffered his hip flask. "No one comes to the Hog's Head to drink pumpkin juice. Here, have a sip of Jack's. Found it in the Muggle off-license."

"Oh, no thank you, dear. I never drink before five. I read in...in Witch Weekly that it interferes with the...Patronus."

Moody arched a grizzled eyebrow. "If you say so."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Back," Snape interrupted sternly, "to the matter at hand. There's no one left who could possibly tell us who or what Regulus slept with seventeen years ago, if in fact our theory is even correct."

"What about Madam Rosmerta? Or Madam Puddifoot?" Hermione suggested tentatively. "They're privy to all the romantic happenings at Hogwarts, given the lack of suitable dating venues in Hogsmeade. And as the stock character 'Town Gossip,' Rosmerta is a prime candidate for disseminating information."

"Good enough," growled Moody. "Let's go." Seizing his wife by the upper arm, he dragged her through the maze of tables and out into the July sunshine. "I'll deal with you later," he muttered darkly, out of earshot of the others.

Polyxena gulped. "Sugar Quill, you lot, are you coming?" she called quickly, nervously over her shoulder.

Hermione made a quick scramble for Polyxena. "He's going to murder you," she hissed. "And probably send you back to Grimmauld Place...for the rest of your life."

"Stop mixing metaphors," she replied. "What exactly did Snape say to you just now? Why did you have the entire pub singing ballads?"

"Nothing much, he just wanted to discuss his tendency to get hard whenever he sees me, but he called it 'saluting' me."

Polyxena chuckled heartily. "Brilliant. The poor sod fancies you, no matter what he says about 'school age' and 'ethics.' You'll have to seduce him, but how?"

"Tellin' 'im 'e's got th' biggest..."

"Dung, please! This is a sensitive issue." Polyxena held up a regal hand.

"Yeah, yeah, but r'member: I do a damn good Engorgement Charm." One of his bloodshot eyes winked suggestively at Hermione.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said politely as she hurried away down the pavement.

The Three Broomsticks was a great deal easier on the senses (and the sensibilities). The lunch crowd was a cheery lot, swigging butterbeers and eating sandwiches from pewter trays.

"Madam Rosmerta!" called Hermione cheerfully as the five wizards made their way to the bar. "All right?"

"Not so bad, aside from Death Eaters invading my pub every morning, and Dementors drifting down the street every night," replied the buxom witch sardonically. "What'll it be gents, ladies? I've got wine; I've got butterbeer; I've got whisky."

"A butterbeer," Hermione ordered. "And a pint of mulled mead for Severus."

"Polyxena Ollivander! Such a lovely girl! Will you have your usual elf-made white?" pressed Rosmerta. "I remember you always used to have that with your lunch."

"Er, no, I've got..." Blushing slightly, she held up a small sliver flask. "Pumpkin juice."

"And mine's not good enough for you, is that it?" The barkeep swelled like a bullfrog.

"I'm sure you've met my husband, Alastor Moody?" Placing a hand on Mad-Eye's sleeve, she smiled sheepishly.

With a knowing laugh, Rosmerta turned to Dung. "And Mundungus Fletcher, of course," she went on, slightly more coldly. "You'll not be harassing the hags among my customers today, Mundungus, or you're out for good."

"There's hags 'ere?" He looked about eagerly.

"Dung, no!" Gripping the thief's tweed-clad shoulders, Polyxena steered him into a seat. "Sit here. Have a sandwich. And no sexual harassment!"

"Speaking of sexual harassment," Snape cut in neatly, "we actually had a question for you. Do you perhaps remember Regulus Black?"

Eyes wide, Rosmerta nodded. "Indeed, I do, and a more reckless little rogue I never saw...aside from his brother, that is, and his brother's best friend, and his brother's best friend's son, and his..."

"Did he have a girlfriend while he was at Hogwarts?" Hermione leaned in eagerly.

"A girlfriend?" The witch was incredulous. "Try a hundred girlfriends. Quite the ladies' man was little Regulus, even after he joined the Death Eaters. He was only sixteen," she added sadly. "The poor little bloke. He was a haughty one, but I think he realized soon enough he'd made a mistake."

"He certainly had." Moody's magical eye spun for a minute before he drew the fold of his cloak around Polyxena. "Sit," he growled. "My wife will have a sandwich."

"Actually, I'm not hungry. There's no..." At his narrowed eyes, she trailed off. "Well, I could probably manage an egg and cress."

"You don't like egg and cress," Moody stated.

"Yes, I do. I've been cra...er, tastes change. Do you think you know everything about me?"

"Probably more than you realize. Now eat that," he barked gruffly.

"I saw a book you might enjoy in Flourish and Blotts. Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches, fascinating read."

"Go on about Regulus," encouraged Hermione. "Who was the last girl you remember him dating?"

Rosmerta's eyes squinted thoughtfully. "Well, in the fall there was that Posey Parkinson. Around Christmas, I saw him with the Greengrass girl, then in the spring, right before he joined up, there was that blonde girl. I think she was from Beauxbatons, though. Therese, her name was. Of course, he was in with his cousins a fair number of times, but I don't count those devious little cows."

At that, Snape choked on a large gulp of mead, and Hermione sent a swift kick to his shin. "Narcissa and Bellatrix?" he managed in a strangled voice.

"Well, yes. And that Alice Pritchard girl. He always told me she was his cousin, though I had my doubts. They used to fight like Quintupeds, and I distinctly remember them renting out a room from me one evening rather than walking back through the snow."

"Alice Pritchard," growled Moody slowly, turning the name over as he spoke. "Alice Pritchard."

Shooting a glance at Moody over Hermione's head, Snape added, "Of Gryffindor." He threw a handful of Sickles on the bar and led Hermione and the rest out the door.

"A definite dead end," grumbled Mad-Eye. "No good'll come of questioning Alice Pritchard, not even with Veritaserum."

"Who is Alice Pritchard?" queried Polyxena eagerly. "Do you know her, then?"

"She's in St. Mungo's," said Snape quietly, "with her husband, Frank Longbottom."