Chapter 6: Howling Owls

Chapter 6

Howling Owls

Hermione slipped out of her wedding dress and hung it away in the cupboard of her bedroom at Grimmauld Place. Most of her packing was completed, save for the toiletry items she had used that morning. She slipped the last of these into her trunk as she pondered her next task.

Professor McGonagall had told her that the house on Spinner's End had not been inhabited since Severus had gone to prison and had only been used on holidays for several years before that – well, no one had lived there continuously since his mother had died. As a wedding gift, Professor McGonagall had assigned Winky to assist Hermione with bringing the old house into habitable shape; Hermione had only to call for Winky, once she was ready to begin. It would be nice to have her own home, she supposed – even if it was a derelict old heap in Hackney. The east end of London was not known for its nice neighbourhoods, after all.

'I'll be back for you in a day or two, Crooks,' she told the ginger tomcat. He blinked his yellow eyes at her once and flicked his tail to indicate his understanding, as well as his displeasure. 'Remind Harry, if he forgets to feed you,' she added, knowing her best friend's forgetful ways. Crookshanks turned in a circle upon her pillow and lay down with his back to her. Hermione laughed softly and stroked his head in farewell.

With a non-verbal 'Locomotor trunk,' Hermione moved down the stairs to find Harry and Ginny waiting for her in the hall. Ginny held a cage containing a snowy owl which Hermione first took for Hedwig, though when she drew level to her friends, she could see that this owl was smaller than Hedwig. Harry had a small black leather case in his hands.

'I'm ready to go,' she said unnecessarily, trying to seem upbeat.

Ginny smiled at her. 'This is my wedding gift for you and Professor Snape,' she said, extending the birdcage. 'His name is Snowe. This way we can stay in touch every day.'

Hermione felt a lump form in her throat as she took the cage and used the other arm to embrace Ginny. 'Thank you!' she whispered into the red hair. Ginny had offered to come with her to set the house to rights, but she had been honour bound to turn her down. Severus had asked her not to invite guests to his house – to their house – until he came home.

When she released Ginny and placed the birdcage on top of her trunk, Harry showed her the rectangular black case with a clip on it. 'This is my gift to you. It's a fully charged mobile phone. I have one, too.' He showed her the case now clipped to his belt. 'It's faster than the owl, if you need me right away. My number is already programmed in on speed dial.'

Hermione hugged him for rather longer than she might have done in less emotional circumstances. When she released him, she clipped the phone to her jeans.

'We want to hear from you every day, mind!' Ginny said as they helped her out to the back garden with her luggage. 'At least until we're sure you're settling in all right.'

Hermione held onto her trunk and Snowe's cage. 'I'll send word,' she promised. 'Bye!'

And concentrating carefully on her destination, Hermione Disapparated.

Severus stood before the full-length mirror in Minerva's spacious dressing room and surveyed his reflection for the first time in two years. Although he had expected his appearance to be bad, he had not expected it to be quite this alarming.

He had never been so thin; the delineation of his skeleton through his pale skin was slightly shocking. He realised that the unkempt hair and beard could be dealt with quite easily; he had his wand again. Remembering his wand cheered him immediately. Anxiously, he glanced to where he had perched it on the corner of the dressing table – ah, it was still there. He stood straighter and returned his gaze to his reflection. After all, he had never been a beauty, and Miss Gr – Hermione – would not be expecting him to be handsome. If he could not bring off good-looking, he could certainly manage dignified – perhaps even elegant.

Taking the shaft of rowan wood and feeling it as an extension of his left arm, he began to cut the tangled mass of black hair hanging down his back, feeling a grim satisfaction as the clumps of hair fell to the carpet. When his hair brushed his shoulders, he desisted. It was long enough to be tied back from his face – and long enough, when left loose, to swing forward and cover his expression when he so desired. He had been using it thus all his life. That sorted, he undertook the arduous task of removing two years' growth of beard from his face. When the skin of his cheeks and chin was smooth and hair-free, he felt quite tired.

'Professor, sir?'

Severus looked away from the mirror and saw a house-elf standing in the doorway, his tennis-ball sized eyes averted.

'Your bath is ready, Professor,' the elf continued in his high-pitched voice, careful not to look at the naked wizard. 'Can Dobby bring you anything else now?'

'You may clear away this mess,' Severus said, indicating the heap of ebony hair upon the floor. 'That will be all for now. I shall call if I need you again.'

Dobby scuttled forward, keeping his eyes on the hair to be Vanished. Severus picked up his wand and moved into the near-decadence of Minerva's pink marble bathroom. The sunken tub with its many foam-producing faucets steamed with hot water. He slipped into it, suppressing a groan of sheer pleasure at the sensation of warmth as the water rose to his chin. It had been over two years since he had last had the leisure to soak in a bathtub.

Closing his eyes, he considered his immediate plans. He meant to eat, read, and rest for the next few days. He had needed to replenish his wardrobe, but had not cared to venture into either wizarding or Muggle London to shop. The week before, Minerva had accepted the written list he had given her and had assured him that the items he had requested were now in the cupboard in the spare room. The midnight blue dressing gown with which she had presented him before shooing him into the bathroom had been a tad large on his diminished frame, but he felt confident he could fill it out again, in time.

As he relaxed, he found himself thinking of visiting the premises of Security Solutions for the first time. He had planned the business for years as he bided his time and dreamt of the time when he would serve no master but himself. The horrific necessity of killing Albus Dumbledore had altered his plans somewhat ...

As always, the memory of the death of his friend and mentor at his own hand brought in its wake a flood of grief and remorse. His usual method of dealing with excessive emotion was ruthless repression, but in his fragile state on this day of regaining his wand, leaving prison, and binding himself for life to a former student, he found the necessary discipline to be beyond his abilities.

When he had added a bit of salt water to the warm depths in which he lay, he felt better, knowing that Dumbledore would be pleased with the success he and Minerva had made of Security Solutions. His discovery that the old man had left him a sizable amount of gold, held in trust for him by Minerva, had encouraged him to proceed with his plans in spite of his own uncertain future.

'He wanted you to have the gold, Severus,' Minerva had told him the day four years before, when she had shown him Dumbledore's will. 'He left it in trust so that the Ministry could not take it from you, in the event that they found you guilty of his murder.'

Severus had broached the idea of the business to Minerva, and they had planned it together, agreeing to involve Alastor Moody, as well. Severus had been the silent partner whose participation was not commonly known, but whose ingenuity had provided the hallmark of innovative solutions which had made the business a success in a very short time. The problem of corporate and industrial security in the twenty-first century was a thorny one, for both Muggle and magical clients.

Of course, the use of field agents, whose job it was to infiltrate businesses and leave evidence of their intrusions, had been rather helpful in drumming up business, as well.

With a loud crack, Dobby appeared near the edge of the tub with a crystal snifter of cognac in his bony fingers. 'Mistress said Dobby was to bring this to you in the tub, Professor, sir,' the house-elf said nervously, extending the glass in Severus' general direction, his eyes tightly shut. 'Mistress told Dobby that today is sir's wedding day, and that all men need a stiff drink when they get married.'

Severus sat up and took the snifter, his sensitive nose already informing him that this was from Dumbledore's stock of De Fussigny Tres Vieille. 'Mistress never spoke a truer word,' he rumbled. 'Now, get out.'

The house-elf promptly disappeared.

Severus settled back again and took a sip of the wine, savouring it with near-orgasmic pleasure.

Married. Dear Merlin. Trust Minerva a ruin a perfectly relaxing bath with unpleasantness.

Hermione cast a Disillusionment Charm on her trunk and on Snowe's cage before leaving them in the small, overgrown back garden and slipping out the gate and around to the front door of number eleven, Spinner's End. She placed the house key in the door and turned the lock, then surreptitiously took her wand in hand and said, 'Piaculum.'

The door to the house creaked open and she slipped inside.

She stood in a small, stuffy sitting room, with tatty old furniture and walls of books.

'Hello?' a voice called.

Hermione brought her wand up and froze in place, listening. The voice had come from inside the house, but she could see no one. Stealthily she crept forward, past the sitting area with the sofa, coffee table, and armchairs, and the room opened up slightly to the right. Keeping close to the wall, Hermione peeked around the corner of the ell-shaped room into a book-lined alcove holding two additional armchairs at the end, with the opposite wall containing the portrait of a heavy-browed woman beside the open doorway to the kitchen beyond.

'Who are you?'

Hermione flinched, and her heart leapt into her throat, racing with alarm. The voice had come from almost right beside her. Her wand at the ready, she made a slow circle, but the room was empty; she was the only one present.

'For Merlin's sake, girl, can you not look at me when I speak to you?'

The portrait – the woman in the portrait was talking to her.

'I'm sorry,' Hermione said with some asperity, sheathing her wand, 'but I didn't realise you were the one speaking.' She turned her full attention now to the painting. The woman had lustrous black hair, coiled into a bun at the back of her head, and large, dark eyes above her thin-lipped, unsmiling mouth.

'Well?' the portrait demanded unpleasantly.

'Good afternoon, Mrs Snape,' Hermione said as politely as she could, wondering why Severus had neglected to mention the presence of his mother. 'My name is Hermione.'

'Is that supposed to mean something to me?' Eileen Snape demanded waspishly. 'What are you doing in my house? Where is my son?'

'I am your son's wife,' Hermione told the scowling portrait. 'This is my house, now. Your son has been in prison, but he will be here in a few days.'

Her duty to the old woman's portrait now complete, Hermione moved into the cramped kitchen, which contained Muggle appliances dating back fifty years, if her estimate was correct. On the right was the single sink with counters to either side and open cupboards above; on the left was the stove and the refrigerator. At the far end of the room, a small dining table and four chairs were pushed to one side; on the far wall was the door out to the back garden. Above the dining table was a pastoral painting of cows grazing in a wildflower-filled meadow.

Hermione flinched when one of the cows began to rail at her.

'How dare you walk away when I'm speaking to you, girl?'

Wrenching her neck to the right, she saw Severus' mother standing behind one of the cows with her hands on her bony hips.

'I'm here to clean the house and to prepare for Severus to come home from prison,' she explained patiently. 'I need to look at the rooms and to see what needs to be done.'

The sound of an owl hooting reminded her that Snowe and her trunk were still in the garden.

'I'm coming, Snowe,' she called, disengaging the lock on the back door and going down the steps into the garden. The trunk and birdcage were where she had left them, but her new owl was looking rather disgruntled. 'Let's go inside and find a place for your cage,' she said, gathering her things and heading back to the steps.

As she reached for the doorknob, she heard the unmistakeable sound of the lock turning. To be sure, she turned the knob, but the door would not open; somehow, it had locked again.

'How strange,' she murmured, taking out her wand and saying, 'Alohomora!' – but the door remained locked. Grumbling to herself, she took up the birdcage and dragged the trunk around to the front of the house. The front door was locked again, as well. Thankful that she had put the key back in her pocket rather than laying it down in the house, she dug it out and unlocked the door, but it did not budge. 'Piaculum!' she said with great annoyance, and the door opened. Irritated, she lugged the trunk inside, set the birdcage on top of it, and closed the door.

'Back so soon?' a sly voice taunted from across the room.

'I didn't leave – I just went out to bring in my luggage – but the doors locked,' she said, wondering why she was explaining herself to a portrait.

'Oh, self-locking doors,' Mrs Snape said snidely. 'Why didn't I think of that?'

Ignoring her mother-in-law's portrait, Hermione called out, 'Winky! I'm ready to get started!'

The diminutive house-elf in a tartan tea towel Apparated into the room. 'Winky is here, Mistress Prince,' she squeaked, bowing low.

'Her name isn't Prince,' the portrait said obnoxiously. 'I don't know what the little upstart has told you, elf, but she is not a pure-blood. She can have no authority over you.'

Hermione turned angrily to the portrait of the sour old woman. 'Don't call her "elf," as if she has no name! Her name is Winky. And we'll skip the talk about bloodlines, Mrs Snape.'

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Hermione addressed Winky. 'I haven't been upstairs yet, so I'll do that next. I think you can begin by taking down the dishes from those open cupboards in the kitchen. Wash the dishes and clean the cupboard shelves, all right?'

'Yes, Hermione Prince,' the house-elf said and trotted into the kitchen.

Hermione picked up Snowe's cage and inspected the bookshelf covered wall behind the sofa, looking for the book entitled, Rome: Gateway to the Antiquities. Just as Professor McGonagall had told her, she found the large green tome right next to Hogwarts: A History. She grasped the spine of the green book and a portion of the wall swung inward, revealing a set of stairs. Hermione climbed to the first floor.

The first door to the right led into a small room dominated by a handsome rolltop desk. To the right, shoved into a corner, was a camp bed with a cardboard box poking out from beneath it. On the wall above the desk was a family portrait which must have been painted when Severus was a small child – certainly before he was old enough for Hogwarts. Child Severus slouched sullenly next to his mother, who stood behind his seated father. Tobias Snape was the only unchanging figure in the painting; as a Muggle, he had been unable to infuse the portrait with a touch of his personality. Austerely handsome despite his hooked nose, the dark-haired man gazed aloofly out of the frame. The younger Eileen, decidedly homely, hovered solicitously over her much better-looking husband, ignoring the glowering child.

'It is not nice to stare,' the portrait Severus stated with precise diction.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but a shriek from downstairs sent her flying back down the staircase and sprinting into the kitchen, where she found Winky cradling her hand, with tears in her huge brown eyes.

'What happened?' Hermione cried, kneeling beside the distraught house-elf.

'Winky is cleaning the shelves, just as Hermione Prince asks, and that wicked picture-witch burned Winky!'

'Wait here, Winky,' Hermione said, storming out to the sitting room and opening her trunk, rifling through it and pulling out a pouch of basic first aid supplies.

'Perhaps now the elf will know who the witch of the house is,' the smug portrait gloated.

Hermione snatched the burn-healing paste and a roll of gauze from her kit and stalked past the portrait without a glance, muttering, 'No, she only knows who the bitch of the house is.'

Eileen Snape's outraged squawk did not deter Hermione; she continued into the kitchen and knelt by Winky again, casting a general healing spell before spreading the paste and gently binding the elf's hand in the gauze. 'Would you like to go back to Professor McGonagall's house, Winky? Your hand must really hurt.'

'Winky is not going back to her mistress!' Winky exclaimed, scandalised. 'Winky is here to help prepare the house for the Dark Professor – Winky will work!'

Putting word to action, the little elf promptly Levitated herself onto the counter top, but Hermione placed a hand on her arm before she touched the cupboard frame again. 'Not yet, Winky – maybe you could go upstairs and clean the bathroom for me? It's up the stairs and at the end of the hall, I believe.'

Winky pattered willingly through the sitting room and up the stairs, with Hermione in her wake.

'Don't you walk past me, girl!' Mrs Snape's portrait screeched, but Hermione ignored her.

In the study, Hermione sat down at the rolltop desk and settled the birdcage on a nearby bookshelf. 'We'll just send a letter to your master,' she said to Snowe, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill. 'I will not be bested by a portrait.'

Her missive written, Hermione opened the bird cage, allowing Snowe to step out. 'Aren't you a beautiful owl?' she said caressingly, stroking the feathered head. 'I've never had an owl before, you know. I'm very happy you've come to live with me.' Snowe hooted softly and offered his leg for the letter to be affixed. 'This is for Severus Prince, at Professor McGonagall's flat in Earl's Court Road, Kensington, all right?'

Snowe stepped readily onto her forearm and she took him downstairs, opening a sitting room window and allowing him to take flight into the cloudless blue sky.

'Don't ignore me!' Mrs Snape's portrait screeched when she walked past again and tugged a book at random from the shelf, flopping into an armchair and opening to the first page. 'I'll drive you out of here!'

'We'll just see about that,' Hermione said, without looking up. 'I've sent an owl to my husband.'

And she buried her nose in the book, easily tuning out her mother-in-law's voice.

Fresh from his bath, Severus leant back in his chair at the dining table, replete from a luncheon of good English roast beef with Yorkshire pudding. The digestive potion Minerva had forced upon him before he ate had actually been quite beneficial; the abrupt change in diet from prison-fare to plenty had not upset his stomach. He took another sip of the fine burgundy he had been served with the meal and smirked at her.

'Keep feeding me in this manner and I will need to obtain the name of Horace Slughorn's tailor.'

'If you keep eating like this, we'll have you back on form in no time.' Minerva surveyed him critically. 'Why did you shave the entire beard? I thought you meant to keep it – to alter your appearance.'

Severus shrugged. 'Miss Gra – Hermione requested that I shave the beard. It seemed a small enough concession to make.'

Dobby appeared in the doorway, a snowy owl perched rather precariously on his scrawny forearm. 'Excuse me, Mistress, but there is a letter for Severus Prince.'

Minerva looked surprised. 'Isn't that Harry's owl?'

Severus signalled Dobby to approach, and the owl stepped off the house-elf's arm onto the tablecloth, extending its leg.

'It's from Mi – my wife.' He covered quickly, catching himself. When would he become accustomed to calling the girl by her given name? He unrolled the parchment and began to read it. 'No, it's not Potter's owl – it's mine.' He looked up from the parchment at the owl. 'His name is Snowe.'

The owl hooted and clicked his beak.

'Yes, you may drink from the water glass and have the rest of my beef.' The owl thankfully dipped his beak into the water goblet, and Severus began to read again.

Seconds later, he shouted, 'Dobby!'

Dobby dashed back into the room, quickly enough that he sent a small area rug skittering behind him.

'S-sir?' Dobby inquired.

'Fetch me parchment and quill,' he commanded, his brow thunderous.

'What is it, Severus?' Minerva inquired, somewhat alarmed by his dark look.

'My mother,' he snarled.

'Oh,' Minerva said, sitting back again, satisfied. That answered everything, really. She had heard rather often about Severus' difficulties with his mother's portrait.

Severus wrote a reply with much swearing under his breath, the quill scratching quickly across the parchment. Without pause, he completed the letter, folded it and tapped it with his wand, muttering an incantation. Instantly, the piece of parchment was encased in a red envelope which smoked slightly.

'Severus!' Minerva said, shock and amusement warring in her voice. 'To your mother?'

'She has already locked Hermione out of the house and burned your house-elf,' he informed her, turning his attention to Snowe. 'Please deliver this to Hermione Prince in Spinner's End, Hackney,' he told the owl. 'She'll see to it that the message arrives at its destination.'

With surprising gentleness, Severus smoothed Snowe's head before attaching the envelope to the owl's leg and sending him on his way. He glared at Minerva, knowing she had seen the uncharacteristic action, but she simply returned his look. Severus then glared at his plate, his fingers drumming on the tabletop.

'Come,' Minerva said, standing. 'Let me show you where you will be sleeping and where I have put your clothes. You can look through them and see what else you might need before you go to Spinner's End.'

Minerva led the way into the nicely appointed spare room. The chamber held a burnished cherry wood sleigh bed, a matching dresser, a table and armchair, and a wardrobe. Severus noted that the room was bare of personal items, save for an elegantly framed wizarding photograph reposing on the dresser. When Hermione, in her full bridal regalia, waved to him from the frame, he shot Minerva a suspicious look.

'Isn't that a lovely likeness?' she said fondly. 'Ginevra Weasley sent that along whilst you were in the bath.'

Severus sneered. 'Miss Weasley has been very busy.'

Minerva did not respond but opened the wardrobe doors, revealing hangers full of numerous sets of robes, dress shirts, trousers, and a black wool suit. Severus stalked forward, his worst fears realised. Snatching a shirt from the rail, he thrust it at her.

'What is this, Minerva?'

'Blue, Severus. That colour is called blue.'

He threw it on the bed and pulled out a forest green shirt and a pair of grey trousers and shook them. 'I do not wear these colours!'

Minerva narrowed her eyes at him. 'You told me that you wish to alter your appearance. How do you expect to do that if you dress as you have always done?' The indignant older woman retrieved the maligned blue shirt from the bed and hung it again with the others. 'Your wardrobe was as much a part of your Potions master persona as your obvious dislike of any student from a House other than your own. If you wish not be identified from a quarter-mile away as Severus Snape, you must change the way you dress!'

His lips pressed in a terse line, Severus replaced the garments. She was right, of course. He was simply unaccustomed to wearing anything other than black, white, and Slytherin green – and that only on special occasions.

Stepping back from the wardrobe, he closed the doors. 'I believe I will rest for a while,' he said quietly.

He waited until the door closed behind Minerva before he took the silver picture frame in his hand and sat down in the armchair. The picture had been taken on the staircase in Grimmauld Place; he recognized the banister. Hermione was smiling. Barefoot, clothed in white, with the wreath of wildflowers in her unruly mane of hair, she looked like a dryad maid – a wood nymph.

... a wood nymph with an intriguing golden chain upon her slender ankle.

Replete with good food and wine, Severus drifted to sleep upright in the squishy armchair with the picture of Hermione clasped in his hand.

Snowe flew through the window and alit upon the arm of Hermione's chair.

'That was quick!' Hermione eyed the letter warily. It was red – and smoking. Detaching it from the bird, she read the name on the envelope and stood to face the portrait of Eileen Prince Snape.

'Ah hah!' the old woman said. 'Look at that! Now you'll get sorted.'

Hermione smiled sweetly at the portrait. 'Yes – we'll get this all sorted out, now. I'll just leave you alone to read your mail.'

As Hermione let go of the envelope and walked into the kitchen, the Howler burst into flames, and the voice of Severus, magnified several times its angry-classroom volume, filled the small house.

Hermione leant her hip against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed over her chest, and smiled. The old bat was getting only exactly what she deserved – and even better, Severus had passed the first critical test of a newlywed.

He had sided with his wife against his mother.