Chapter 2

Author's Notes: thanks again to out to Scabbyfish and Elfarren for beta reading!

Severus arrived back at his home on Spinner's End and made directly for the small laboratory that was on the first floor. It had been his parents' bedroom when he was a child, and was the larger of the rooms upstairs. His needs were few, and he had opted to keep his own smaller bedroom to sleep in and to instead dedicate more space to his work.

He carefully set his package down on the closest lab bench and began to unpack his purchases. He admitted he leaned towards the fanatical about order, though his ordering system might not make sense to anyone but him. Liquid ingredients – including the new batch of Chinese Fireball blood – went in one cabinet, dry ingredients another, and volatile ingredients were locked up in a cabinet reinforced with extra magical strength.

After putting away his purchases, he sat down at his desk to review his notes for the next potion he was going to brew. One of the deepest secrets in the Department of Mysteries was the disposal of the mortal remains of some of the Darkest wizards to walk the face of Europe. Both Voldemort's and Grindelwald's remains were locked away there, as were those of some earlier Dark wizards and some of the higher-ranking Death Eaters. They were trying to determine if there was any sort of biological trigger that enabled a person to manage such high levels of Dark magic.

The potions that Severus created – some old, some reformulated, some brand new – were just a small part, but they helped break down tissue and blood and allowed the Unspeakables to do further analysis. He didn't know the results and didn't want to, though from time to time he could figure it out based on what they asked for next.

It took him nearly an hour to review his notes and decide he was confident enough in his revised brewing method to begin the process. He collected the equipment he would need for his next experimental potion for the Ministry and set it on the lab table.

He was carefully setting a small flame under a copper cauldron when he realised that the warmth emanating from it felt particularly nice on his hands. Odd, he thought, I don't usually notice those things. Shaking his head, he continued to work through the initial steps to set up his work area. Before assembling his ingredients, he went to wash his hands – he had no intention of contaminating anything, especially after dealing with the results of the idiot twins' explosion.

The warm water on his hands was extra soothing, so much so that he decided that perhaps he could use a little extra washing time, just to be absolutely sure the residue from their idiocy was completely gone.

It was at that moment that things clicked. The dusty powder on his package when he went to pick it up, the fact that one of them had moved it. What the devil had they done? There was no way he could start work on a potion until he knew what was on his hands. Washing them didn't seem to change things, so it must have been absorbed already.

Experimentally, he touched different non-reactive items in the room. A cold cauldron – nothing. The fabric of his robes – nothing. His face – something. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was pleasant. However, that only made him angrier as he had no idea what he was looking at.

He took out a knife and scraped his hand, being sure not to draw any blood, as he had no idea what that might do. It felt like he was scraping his hand, but nothing else. He went back to the fire and felt the radiating warmth again. With a slicing gesture of his wand, he extinguished the flame and headed for the door.

Despite his comments, he hadn't really been serious about the detention scenario. Until now. Those two needed a lesson, and he was going to provide it. But first, he had to figure out how to get rid of whatever it was that was on his hands. And that meant determining what was on his hands to begin with. Given that he truly didn't recognise the symptoms he was having and also that he just might be too close to the issue to think clearly, he thought asking someone with more experience than himself would be a good way to go about getting started.

Hermione sat across from Professor McGonagall in the Headmaster – er, Headmistress's, she still stumbled over that – office. Her former Transfiguration teacher still looked a bit tired, but otherwise seemed to have recovered as well as could be expected from the variety of nasty curses and hexes she had received during the Final Battle. She was as Scottish as ever, though, with her tartan-trimmed hat that matched her emerald green robes.

They had been chatting over mundane Hogwarts gossip for a while now. The pot of tea and plate of chocolate biscuits between them had diminished significantly over the last hour, but Hermione still hadn't worked up to the point of her visit.

Apparently Professor McGonagall realised this. "Now, Hermione, I'm rather sure you didn't trudge through the mud from Hogsmeade just to listen to me ramble about the current Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalries. And while it was a distinctly pleasant surprise to see you at my door, it was nevertheless a surprise, so I suspect you have something you wish to ask me," she concluded.

Transparency must still be a hallmark of my style, Hermione thought.

"I wish I had come just to chat, but you're correct, I need some advice." She frowned and looked into her cup as if the tea leaves were the answer to her problems. Hardly. "It's about Fred and George, Professor."

"Hermione, I've told you to please call me Minerva. And what, pray tell, have the twins done this time?"

"I'm trying, Minerva. It's just difficult to break seven years of habit."

"Very true. I suppose it's easier from my side. Continue."

"The twins were at the apothecary in Diagon Alley today. To make a long story short, they managed to dust Professor Snape – or his package, at least – with a new product that hasn't yet been released." She went on to describe the Can-Touch Talc. "But they haven't widely tested for allergies, nor have they figured out average durations or anything. I'm sure they don't even know how much they dusted him with!"

Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose before answering. "Why is it that there are some students who seem to need to be parented their entire lives?" she muttered.

"I hope that was a rhetorical question," Hermione responded, "because I certainly don't have an answer for you."

"Of course it was a rhetorical question. Though sometimes it seems everything I ask around here is rhetorical, as usually no one knows the answers for me. Now, what to do about Severus and this – what was it called?"

"Can-Touch Talc. Did I mention it's a derivative of cantharis?"

As Hermione was speaking, the door to the Headmistress's office swung open. Given how her day had gone, she was completely unsurprised to see the Potions master in question standing there. He looked as menacing and livid as he ever had as a Hogwarts teacher. Even the clothes hadn't changed.

"Well, well," he sneered. "I was just coming to let you know, Minerva, that I was here and was planning to talk to Professor Slughorn. But if this discussion is about cantharis, perhaps I don't need to go any further, hmm, Miss Granger?"

Hermione was relieved to know that he was apparently okay and that he was already aware that something was going on. But for once she wished he wasn't quite as knowledgeable as he was – she suspected that most people, even Potions masters, wouldn't have recognised the active ingredient. He had to be widely read or – no, she wouldn't go there. If it was from personal experience, she really didn't want to know about it.

"Yes, well, um, you see, Professor–"

"I'm no longer a member of the Hogwarts staff, Miss Granger," he interrupted.

"You see, Mr. Snape, the twins got a little carried away–"

"No doubt," he interrupted again, looking down at her. "Since apparently this would take the rest of the afternoon for you to explain, why don't I begin by recapping what I know?

"Tweedledum and Tweedledumber were as irritated to see me at the apothecary as I was to see them. I warned them off combining two items that I knew they knew would cause an explosion. They deliberately combined the aforementioned items and made a mess that Mr. Jigger was forced to clean up. I threatened them with detention and telling Molly Weasley. In the process of moving my package, they dusted it with something that apparently contains the toxin cantharis. The preparation somehow amplifies pleasurable sensations to the skin without amplifying unpleasant ones.

"Does that sum up the situation as you currently see it, Miss Granger?"

Annoyed that he was looking so superior and smug, Hermione stood up and crossed her arms. "I suppose it does, Mr. Snape. Except I hadn't heard about the threat of detention, only the threat of telling Mrs. Weasley."

Professor McGonagall – no, Minerva, she had to remember – had been silent from the time her former colleague had arrived. "I'm afraid I'm not as up on my potions ingredients as the two of you obviously are. Would one of you care to explain to me what cantharis is?" she asked from behind her desk.

"Do I have to?" Hermione muttered.

"Perpetual parenting, and I don't want to have to do so with you," was Minerva's reply.

"Right. Cantharis, or more specifically the compound cantharidin, is extracted from dried Spanish flies and other blister beetles. In its natural form, it has magical nerve-sensitising and aphrodisiac properties for wizards and witches, and it has mundane nerve-sensitising and potentially irritant properties for Muggles. It is also as toxic as strychnine. It can be used in herbicide preparations. Diluted, it is used by Muggles as a third-tier treatment for wart removal and can also be used to remove tattoos. Victorians also used it in hair-preparation formulas, though that was later proven to be useless."

"A textbook answer, Miss Granger, but adequate."

Minerva apparently didn't agree. "As toxic as strychnine? What on earth are those two doing with it?"

Hermione sighed. This was not going well. "I said it was toxic in its natural state. The magical preparation methods used on it mitigate its toxic properties and, in this case, ensure that the only nerve-sensitizing effects are pleasurable ones." She looked up at Professor – Mr. – oh, forget it, he would always be Professor Snape in her mind. "It's called Can-Touch Talc, sir."

Professor Snape flinched a bit and tucked his hands firmly across his chest. "I see. No, actually, I don't think I do see. I wasn't aware that the Mssrs. Weasley were branching into adult-only products."

It was Hermione's turn to flinch. "Well, that wasn't the original intention, sir. They were aiming for something that would simply cause a tingling sensation for a short time, a more pleasant version of hitting your funny bone, more or less, used for practical jokes. I think they were going to call it Prickle Powder. But it ended up tingling only on initial contact, then after absorption being only noticeable when there is a pleasurable sensation on the skin, so unless you specifically do something, you can't feel it at all."

"In other words, they took what is normally an ingested aphrodisiac and made a sex-enhancing contact powder."

"Well, it certainly can be used in that capacity. However, there are more general uses for it. For example, it can be added to massage oil to increase the relaxation sensations that a massage induces in the recipient while simultaneously enhancing the pleasurable touch sensations for the masseuse. Which makes both parties happier."

He snorted. "Just precisely how long does this effect last, Miss Granger? And for how long is it traceable on the skin? It's rather difficult to brew potions if I might contaminate the ingredients."

That was the question she didn't want to answer.

"Well, you see, sir, they haven't actually put the product on the market yet, so, well–"

"Miss Granger, do you mean to tell me that those two idiots dosed me with something they haven't finished researching yet?"

Hermione gulped. "Um. Yes. Sir?"

"Slughorn's office. Now. Minerva, if you'll excuse us?" He gritted his teeth as he swung around, indicating that Hermione should precede him through the door. Was he always a gentleman, just not to the students? she wondered. She gave Minerva a pained smile and murmured her farewells.

Unfortunately, Professor Slughorn had no useful advice to give, either. While both he and Professor Snape were apparently aware of the basic properties and likely uses of cantharis, neither had ever had any reason to experiment with it.

"Well, Severus, I suppose it'll wear off when it does, probably no more than a few hours, if that, wouldn't you say, Miss Granger? Did you know, Severus, that Miss Granger is amazingly talented for a Muggle-born? So rare to find someone like her. She would have given Lily Evans a run for her money."

An insult and a compliment all in one – only a Slytherin could do that so well. Hermione rather thought that Professor Slughorn would out-Slytherin Professor Snape in a head-to-head comparison. Snape was nasty, cruel, and had always favoured his own house. Or at least didn't disfavour them the way he did the other houses. To be fair, she couldn't actually remember him ever granting points to anyone. But Slughorn was amiable and appeared laid-back, equally generous with points to all houses, yet had amassed the greatest web of favours she had ever encountered. What was more ambitious than that? And from her very first day at Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat had made it clear that ambition was the most identifiable, uniting trait of Slytherin House.

Professor Slughorn rambled on for a bit longer before she and Professor Snape were able to indicate that they needed to take their leave.

"Oh, do come back and visit again, Miss Granger. I've recently spoken with several of your schoolmates – weren't Blaise Zabini and Cormac McLaggen in or around your year? In fact, if I recall correctly, didn't you and Cormac date? I take it that didn't work out? Much too bad, he's doing so well for himself, a shame you couldn't have made a go of it together. And Severus, don't be a stranger. You're still one of the brightest students I've ever had the pleasure to teach, and it's so rewarding that you chose my field to go into!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, yes, and a good day to you," Professor Snape said quickly, once again ushering Hermione out in front of him to the hall.

Once the door was shut, she slumped against the wall and rubbed her temples. "Doesn't he ever shut up?" she asked.

"Rarely," Professor Snape replied. He had stopped next to her and was standing in the middle of the hall, looking rather pensive.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Professor. I wouldn't usually make a comment like that, especially not in front of someone's colleague, or mentor or whatever you'd call him, but I've the beginnings of a headache, and I'm afraid it overruled my judgment."

"How many times, Miss Granger? I'm no longer a teacher."

She shrugged. "I know, sir, but Mr. Snape just doesn't sound right to me. You might not be a teacher now, but you were my teacher for six years, and it just seems respectful."

"Yet you can call Professor McGonagall by her given name."

"She asked me to, and so I'm trying. I don't manage it all the time, though."

He looked at her with a thoughtful expression. "I see. Well, if Mr. Snape is such an obstacle for you, I suppose you may address me as Severus. I would prefer not to be addressed as Professor. As I hope you understand, I need to put that part of my life behind me."

Hermione was dumbfounded. If there was one thing she was not expecting him to do, it was to invite her to use his first name. Her shock must have been apparent.

"Don't gape at me, Miss Granger. You are an adult now, are you not? Do act like one, even if your colleagues are incapable. I expected better of you."

"Yes, sir, er, Severus. And please do call me Hermione."

"Of course, Hermione," he responded.

The way he emphasised her name threw her momentarily back to the speech he had given at the very beginning of their first year. Though she hadn't recognised it as such at the time, being only eleven, in retrospect that speech was one of the most sensual things she had ever heard. And his voice was caressing the syllables in her name in the exact same way. She suppressed a shiver. Even if he said to call him Severus, he's still the same person, she reminded herself. As she could tell by looking at him, actually.

"It might be easier to remember not to call you Professor if you perhaps varied your outfit a bit, you know."

He glanced down at his attire. "I hardly see how it's any business of yours, but for your information, Slughorn aside, most Potions teachers and masters stick to heavy dark or black clothing because many of the most common ingredients stain."

Oops. "Oh. Yes, well, anyway, Severus, I do apologise for complaining about Professor Slughorn to you. As I said, I have the beginnings of a headache, but that is no excuse."

"You only spoke the truth, Hermione. I assure you, I am not offended. In fact, the only time I've ever seen him to be at a loss for words was one time when Lily and I managed to switch one of his sample potions on him without him realising it. The one we gave him made him absolutely silent for a blissful fifteen minutes."

"You and Lily Potter did that? Did he find out?"

"Lily Evans, Miss Granger – Hermione. This was before she had even started dating Potter –" it sound like he was choking on the name as he turned and took a few steps down the hall, "– and I assume Slughorn knew who did it, even though we were never punished. There were very few students in the class who were capable of brewing the silencing potion or pulling off the switch. Most likely he was impressed with our ingenuity. That is his typical modus operandi, after all. He was no different when I was a student." He concluded his words by turning back to face her once more.

"I see." And Hermione rather thought she did see, at that. Apparently Harry's mum and Professor Snape – Severus – were friends at one point. She assumed it was before the incident that Harry had seen in the Pensieve during Occlumency lessons in their fifth year. Probably best not to mention that she knew about that, however.

Still . . . "How did a Slytherin and a Gryffindor manage to be friends, or at least temporary comrades-in-arms?" At his glower, she hastened to continue. "Not that I don't think they could be under the right circumstances, but in our year, I suppose everything was overshadowed by Harry. And he and Draco made immediate enemies of each other in first year, and Draco was essentially the top of the pecking order in Slytherin in our year, so of course no one would dare cross the line. And I've just answered my own question, haven't I? In our year everything was always different because of Harry," she concluded.

"Quite. Potter, inept as he may have been at many things, though he apparently did quite well by copying my own work, was such a sensation that your years at Hogwarts were some of the most abnormal ones in the last several decades. I suspect that within the last century or so, only Tom Riddle's time here might have been stranger." He started down the hall towards the staircases. "Come," he commanded.

She immediately fell into step slightly behind him. He may have wanted to put his teaching days behind him, but his people-control skills were apparently still fully intact.

She followed him up out of the dungeons and down to the library. Madam Pince was nowhere to be seen, but Severus headed straight for the Restricted Section. Normally she loved the quiet of an empty library, but at the moment the slightly musty smell of the older tomes in this section just served to exacerbate her headache.

"We'll look for books together, but you'll need to handle them, as I don't want to risk contaminating them," he said brusquely as he turned to scan the first row of titles.

"You wouldn't happen to have any headache potion on you, would you?" she asked him.

He turned to her and peered into her face. "You're pale. Sit down, Hermione," he said, pointing to the table and chairs in the middle of the stacks. He followed her as she crossed over and sat down without complaint.

"I'm sorry that I don't have any headache potion with me," he said quietly, "but I do know another remedy, and I might actually have to thank the Weasley twits if the cantharis amplifies the effect for you."

"What is it?" Hermione asked warily as she dropped her head onto her arms on the table.

"A head massage," came the reply as he stepped up behind her.

She shot up and spun around. He couldn't have said what she thought he did. "A head massage? Did I just hear you offer to give me a head massage?"

Obviously, he was out of his mind. Using given names had obviously prompted his brain to associate her as someone he might desire friendship with, and had lowered his guard to the point where he'd say something as idiotic as what he had just said.

Severus suspected his brain was subconsciously praising the narration that led her to understand how Potter had affected her entire career at Hogwarts in such a way that it coloured her view of even inter-house relations. He had always known, despite his insulting, nasty teaching style – particularly against Gryffindors – that she was intelligent and logical. She had proven that in her very first year by solving his obstacle to the Philosopher's Stone. But rarely had he seen her work through a problem verbally like she had the one about Lily.

Likely as a student she would never have been comfortable doing so in front of him, but he admired her ability and recognised that she would be someone he could intellectually converse with. Hence, his brain promptly slotted her as "potential friend" and therefore deserving of – had he really suggested a head massage? That was going beyond friendship. He really shouldn't go there, but she looked so miserable....

As the silence between them grew, she began to fidget, then turned and put her head back down on the table. "Obviously, I was hearing things," she muttered. And then, louder, "Just give me a few minutes, please."

That spurred him into action. He stepped up just behind her chair and had started to reach for her when he paused. He looked down at his hands and wondered if the cantharis powder had even started to wear off. Either way, this would be – interesting. He wasn't sure for which of them it would be more so.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned over and placed his fingers on her temples, straightening her head so that her forehead was touching her hands on the table. She started, but held her body still and let him guide her head into place.

He knew it was a bad idea before he started, but as soon as he spread his hands on the sides of her head, he realised it was outright stupid. The tantalising sensation of gentle human contact, even if he was the one providing it, was increased at least tenfold in his hands. It made him want to do this all day, and that thought alone was enough to snap him back to blocking out the feeling.

He circled his fingers around her temples in as clinical a way as he could manage.

Hermione sighed.

Perhaps if he minimised the skin contact. He eased away and just used his fingertips. That was a little better and allowed him to press in a little deeper, which would hopefully rid her of the headache faster, and allow him to be done all the sooner.

He was nothing if not methodical and wouldn't leave a job half-done.

Hermione sighed again and added a moan.

Severus jumped back. Perhaps he could leave a job half-done after all.

"Oh, that definitely helped my headache," she murmured as she sat up again. "Though to be fair, I don't think it produced exaggerated sensations; I think it was just the pressure from your fingertips. So I believe we can tentatively conclude that the powdered form, once absorbed into a person's skin, does not transfer to someone he or she touches. That is, assuming it was still affecting you."

The scientific analysis put Severus back on an even keel, and he dropped his hands to his sides. "Quite," he agreed as he stepped back from her chair. "On both counts. That is, I could still feel a distinct difference, an enhancement you might say, and given such, I agree with your conclusion."

Hermione pushed her chair back and stood up. "Shall we return to the original reason for venturing into the library on a Saturday evening? I assume we were looking for books that discussed preparations of cantharis."

"Correct," he responded. "You take that stack over on the right, and I'll start here on the left." He walked to the stack he had indicated for himself and left her to begin on her own.

He had worked through about two rows of books – still not touching any, however – when the door to the library slammed open. Someone was going to lose points immediately – no wait, he couldn't do that anymore. Damn.

"Hermione! We've been looking all over for you and Fred and George said they thought you might have come here," said a somewhat frantic voice that Severus had hoped to never hear again.

"If it were possible, that would be twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," he sneered as he turned around to face the boy, young man, who was loping across the room.

"For what, sir? And what are you doing here with Hermione, anyway?"

"Ten points each for slamming a door open and raising your voice in the library. And as for what I'm doing with your friend, perhaps you should ask her. I believe I'll take my leave. Miss Granger, you will hear from me tomorrow if things don't resolve themselves. I suggest you rein in those idiots you call your colleagues. And do mention to them that they should count themselves lucky I realised there was a problem before I started brewing. Or else they would owe me some very expensive ingredients."

Hermione shot him a quizzical look. "Of course, sir. I will certainly do my best, sir."

Severus strode past Potter without responding any further. Irritating little pest. In the span of an hour's time, he had managed to completely forget that Miss Granger was attached, if not at the mouth or hip, then at some fundamental level with the reincarnation of his school-hood nemesis. And the hero's requisite sidekick, of course. Just like one of those American western movies. He paused his thoughts as he deliberately opened the door and shut it as quietly as he could before heading for the Entrance Hall.

Resuming his mental ramblings, on this theme of the American western movie, he was actually somewhat surprised that neither the hero nor the sidekick had ended up with the girl. If rumours were to be believed, the Weasley boy was kicking up his heels with Quidditch groupies, and Potter was practically engaged to Weasley's sister. Hermione must have managed to keep her romantic interests very, very private, since the Daily Prophet hadn't seemed to have tracked down of any gossip to publish. Clever woman, he said to himself as he departed from the castle.

Hermione watched Severus leave the library before shifting her gaze to Harry. "What's so urgent that you had to track me down here?" she asked.

"It's Ron. He's okay, but he took a nasty fall during a training exercise. We were supposed to be Apparating silently from the ground to the roof of a storage shed we were using for training, and, well, he missed."

"Oh, no. Where is he now? St. Mungo's? How high was the roof?"

"Yes, of course, he's at St. Mungo's, and it was less than eight feet off the ground. He's hurt, broke a few bones, but he'll be fine by morning. He's asking for both of us, however, which is why I've been trying to track you down."

Ron was indeed feeling better in the morning. Hermione and Harry had gone their separate ways after visiting him, Harry to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and Hermione to her flat off Diagon Alley. However, by unspoken agreement, they met back at Ron's room the following morning directly after breakfast.

Unfortunately for her, Ron had apparently had a flash of insight during his recuperation, and had realised that groupies were not likely to follow him into St. Mungo's and stick with him if he ever had any sort of long rehabilitation. He was currently trying to talk Hermione back into dating him.

"But, Hermione, I thought you thought I wasn't ready to settle down? You were right. But this made me think more about it, and I want to try."

"That was one of the reasons I gave you, Ron, but you do recall there were others?" Her headache from the day before was coming back en force, and it wasn't even nine yet.

"Well, sure, but you didn't really mean them, did you? I mean, I know you're always going to be more intellectual than I am, and I know we fight all the time, but that doesn't mean we don't get along, does it?"

She glanced away and noticed that Harry seemed to be trying to blend in with the woodwork next to the door. No help from that quarter, apparently. She sighed and gave thanks that the other bed in the room wasn't occupied, as apparently this was going to get rather personal. She turned back to the bed and perched herself at the foot of it.

"Ron, your family is fun-loving, boisterous, and, well, loud. And everyone fights now and then and it's all fine. But I didn't grow up like that, and I'm not used to it. And it's not that I'm more intellectual – it's just that we rarely have anything in common to talk about other than Harry. We don't enjoy the same things. I love books and research and puzzles, and you love Quidditch and chess and active stuff like Auror training."

"Well, sure, but what does that have to do with being together?"

Hermione dropped her head into her hands. This was exactly why it wouldn't work out with Ron. He was a terrific guy and would make some woman a wonderful husband, but not her. His one-track mind would just not see her point.

"Ron, please. I was glad we tried being together as a couple, because I think that was the only way I knew it wouldn't work. Yes, there's an attraction between us. Yes, it might always be there a bit, regardless of who we choose to date, but no, the relationship isn't right for us. Or at least me."

She stood up and crossed to where Harry was still attempting to make himself invisible without the aid of his invisibility cloak. Turning back, she said, "I'm sorry, Ron. And I think I'd better go now." Hermione touched Harry's arm and gave him a look that tried to convey that it was his turn to deal with their friend, and left the room.

As she walked down the hall, she heard Ron exclaim, "She doesn't really mean it, does she? I really thought we'd be together eventually, once I was ready."

Harry's voice was rather subdued when he replied. "I think she probably does mean it, Ron. You might want to consider moving on."

"No way, Harry. She'll come around."

Hermione shook her head as she continued out of the hospital. He'd better come around soon, or else this was going to be a rather awkward friendship for a while. Probably more awkward than when they had ended their romantic relationship to begin with – it was mutual at the time, and everything had felt more natural once they had slipped back to friendship. They were attracted to each other, yes, but it had always felt a bit uncomfortable. Not like being attracted to a brother or anything, but maybe to a cousin. Yes, people used to marry their cousins in the Muggle world, but not any longer.

She wouldn't be surprised if it was common to marry cousins in the Malfoys' world, though. And perhaps it wasn't that uncommon to the Weasleys, either – they were pure-blood, after all, no matter that they didn't have the airs and attitude of many other pure-blood families.

She took the lift back to street level and exited through the department store window. It gave her a bit of an idea – it was time for some good old-fashioned retail therapy. She quickly checked her outfit to make sure it was Muggle-safe before she set out.