Failure Of Plan A

Disclaimer: see first chapter.

Chapter reread by Dacian Goddess. My very own goddess of beta-reading.

My better half only needs to speak of the devil...meaning Potter...and voilà! Here he comes. The twins were both in my laboratory...which they incidentally possess ...this Friday evening to hear my weekly report about my work when he entered the place.

"Sir?" a voice quavering with excitation utters from the doorway. "You have visitors."

My eyes cast a purely psychological Avada Kedavra on Julian, the Hufflepuff salesman who has just interrupted me. I must have lost my efficiency if he has dared to do so. The idiot jumps up and down and beams as if he's seen... Potter. I make out the Boy Who Lived's silhouette, and that of the youngest Weasley right behind him.

"Thank you, Julian. You can go back to the shop," Fred answers him, or the man who has been called Fred since the beginning of the meeting. "Harry, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visiting? Come in!"

Which he does, hand in hand with the red-headed girl. Hands shakings, hugs, cries of every kind punctuate the reunion. One would think that they haven't seen each other for ages. Then comes the moment when they can no longer ignore my existence.

"Hello, Professor," Potter says to me with uncertainty, without too much hostility though. "How are you?"

I raise an eyebrow. Is Potter inquiring about my well-being? I need to consult the forecast tonight; a drastic change of weather is probably in the making. Well, in these times of Potter-mania, I'd best shake the hand he holds out to me.

"Good evening, Potter."

I won't say more. I give a slight nod to Miss Weasley without adding a word. She reciprocates the gesture with a touch of apprehension in her eyes. Potter speaks again.

"Did Hermione tell you that you're both invited to our engagement party on June eighteenth?"

"Indeed she told me."

"Good. I count on your being there."

"All the more because it will piss Scrimgeour off!" George adds.

I've never known that an engagement party could be used for that many purposes beside the matrimonial ones. And as the Friday evening report turns into the rendition of Potter's exploits, I take my leave without further ado.

The days pass, all identical. Being married isn't as annoying as I'd feared it to be. Hermione is not as intrusive as the other Gryffindors I've known; her conversation is interesting (I try to extort from her information about the patented spells of Nimbus); the sex is satisfying (and I have enough experience with other women to compare); my income is near extravagant, and I keep telling to myself that all of this is too good to last.

"Severus ?"

"Yes?"

"I've invited my colleague Miranda Malony to come home tomorrow afternoon. We must finish preparing a file for Monday, and we weren't able to do it today because Miranda was too tired. We only need an hour or two."

"As long as you don't bother me with your idle chatter."

I can already imagine the office gossips fluttering the lounge.

"Not a problem, Severus. We'll leave my office only for tea."

The next day is upon us quickly, and I find myself shaking hands with Hermione's colleague. Her name had rung a bell when I first heard it, but now that I meet her, I remember her. She was a Slytherin, one who had been under my care years ago. And how to forget such a well-proportioned figure endowed with a functioning brain? My wife looks like a teenager compared to her. They slip away upstairs and come back two hours later. They're grinning, but without losing themselves in moronic sniggers women and Gryffindors are usually fond of.

"Will you join us for tea, Severus?"

As I had been reading in the lounge, it would be rude to decline. I nod slightly to show my assent. Then Hermione invites her colleague to take a seat on our brand new, leather living-room suite (since I've been augmented, I don't see why I should go on getting back-aches while reading on threadbare armchairs) and slips into the kitchen to prepare some tea. Hermione's colleague casts admiring looks at me, the kind to which Potter is more accustomed than I. As I am the host, it falls to me to keep the conversation going.

"So, Miss Malony, you've decided to make a career in law?"

Her eyes lighten.

"Yes, Professor. It's a fascinating profession, and it leads us to face so many different situations."

Her face becomes lively in a charming way when she speaks of her job. Before I realise it, a quarter of an hour has passed. Since when are fifteen minutes needed to prepare tea and unpack some biscuits? Even Hermione is supposed to be able to do it without burning the bottom of the tea pot. However, it leaves me some tête-à-tête time with a lovely woman who doesn't look at me with disgust, but rather with admiration. When my wife comes back with the tray, a part of me whispers that I might have been hasty in binding myself to Hermione. Until Miranda (less than a quarter of an hour was enough for us to be on a first name basis) opens her mouth, not to sip her tea or nibble at some biscuit, but to utter the stupidest sentence of the day. "You make such a lovely couple, both of you. One would believe that you're the opposite in everything, but this opposition is perhaps what makes you close."

I retract my thought about her functioning brain. I prefer Hermione's measured conversation. At least, she realises that we're not a lovely couple. There's a good reason why there aren't a lot of mirrors in this house. Hermione seems to be as mortified as I am, though I have an undefined feeling it isn't for the same reason as me. Between the both of us, we manage to make sure that Miranda Malony drinks two cups of tea and is out of our home in less than twenty minutes.

The door is hardly closed that I turn to Hermione.

"Hermione, if you must force me to share any kind of beverage with your friends under my roof, the least you could do is make sure they can hold an intelligent conversation!"

Irony flashes into her eyes.

"Yet, I was under the impression that you were getting along quite well when I came back into the lounge."

"I was merely keeping myself informed about what one of my Slytherins was doing with her life."

"Nothing more?"

Her questions and innuendos intrigue me. I scrutinize her face in the hope that I'd be able to read a clue there. I'm tempted to use Legilimency, but she would detect my intrusion, and I'd rather peace reigned in our household. It's strange; I have the feeling that she's both jealous of Miranda and disappointed that nothing happened between us. The answer is obvious, as clear as Veritaserum in the daylight.

"Would you have preferred that I ask for her address, or that I invite her for dinner, preferably during an evening when you're not here?"

She blushes, keeps silent and averts her eyes. This is the confirmation which I needed. I insist, as I adopt a face as menacing as possible.

"You would have preferred that, wouldn't you? And you'd have been there to catch me in a compromising situation. You would have been able to ask for a divorce. Alas, my dear, I'm a very faithful man."

Of course, I'm faithful to myself first and foremost. As for her, she's shaking, but doesn't step back. Then I decide to take her off guard. I don't want her to know what to do with me. I smile.

"It was a good idea, though. However, don't forget that I am more experienced than you when it comes to manipulating people."

She crosses her arms and, a resolute expression on her face, she tells me, "Don't forget that I'm a quick learner."

In a billowing of her robe that I would have been proud of, she turns on her heel and gets back upstairs. It's true that she's a quick learner.

Damn! It didn't work. He will be careful from now on; I can't expect to catch him with another woman... or man. Does he even like men? I don't think so, but one never knows. Anyway, Miranda was a bit cold towards me the next Monday at work. She figured out that we'd pushed her towards the door. It took her days to be herself again, charming and smiling at me. I can only hope that it isn't a façade.

I've been married for nearly two months. I must admit things aren't as horrible as I'd feared. He shows interest in my work and asks questions about my day when I go back home in the evening. I'm conscious that his questions probably hide not very altruistic purposes, but it's good to rant to somebody after a long day of dealing with human stupidity. He always finds the appropriate mockery, or the fault we've missed in our reasoning. I can't help but think that Ron would never have been able to offer me something like that; not out of lack of love, but simply because he wouldn't be able to listen to me speaking about tedious things like case law, and I feel guilty to be thinking like that.

The fact remains that my motivation to go back to the desired condition of being single doesn't lessen. I'm going to use plan B: sterility. It will be a bit long: we must remain married and childless for five years to hopefully get a divorce. However, given the state of my affairs right now, I have faith that those five years will be bearable. It's a good plan. Besides, I can learn a lot about "manipulating people" in five years. This is a very useful ability to have, if I want to make real progress in improving the elves' condition. Speaking of it, it's time that I visit Harry. I need him for the June twenty-first meeting, and we've agreed to meet at his flat in... thirty minutes.