Chapter 7: Only An Owl Away

Chapter 7

Only an Owl Away

Hermione waved her wand and lit the candle-filled lamp hanging from the ceiling. Night had fallen and the windows of the sitting room were open, letting in the soft evening air. Winky had Apparated to Professor McGonagall's home with instructions to return in the morning. Although Winky had reported that she had made the bed with clean sheets, Hermione was strangely loathe to climb the stairs to her husband's bedroom and to sleep in his bed. It felt invasive to her – and wrong, somehow. It was a line that she found she was not ready to cross.

Fresh from her bath, comfortable in her oversized tee-shirt and pyjama bottoms, she browsed the bookshelves of her new home, at last choosing a volume of Machiavelli and stretching out on the sofa to read it. From within, soft snores issued from Mrs Snape's portrait, indicating that she was sleeping. From the park around the corner, the sound of cricket song came to her ears. She felt oddly at peace, in spite of the fact that she had, that morning, married a man she scarcely knew.

Hermione's eyes had become heavy before Snowe flew into the room, lighting upon the back of the sofa and hooting.

'Hullo, Snowe,' she said softly, stroking the bird. 'How was he?' She had sent a note earlier in the evening to let Severus know his Howler had accomplished its purpose; although Mrs Snape had not deigned to speak to Hermione again, she had stopped causing the house to resist Hermione's efforts at making all tidy.

Breaking the seal upon the parchment, Hermione read the note:

Hermione,

SXP

Hermione smiled to herself. The note, while not at all lover-like, was perfectly civil and possessed an additional virtue: it was entirely unnecessary, and therefore the product, if not of thoughtfulness, then at least of courtesy.

Hermione sat up and Summoned a quill from her bag, which was still propped against her trunk on the sitting room floor. She wrote an answer and gave it to Snowe, then settled again with The Prince and read until she could keep her eyes open no longer.

Severus had dozed all afternoon, both surprising and disgusting himself – he had never been the type to drowse an afternoon away! Minerva had told him that he would have to rebuild his strength after his confined existence of the last two years. Although he had outwardly scoffed at her notion, he was forced to acknowledge that she had been correct. She had gone so far as to suggest that he be checked over by a Healer upon his release, but he had flatly refused.

'Even after all those years of enjoying the particular attentions of the Dark Lord, I never required the ministrations of anyone but Poppy Pomfrey,' he had snarled at her. 'As she has now retired, I'll be damned if I will become a hypochondriac at this late date!'

They enjoyed a dinner of roast chicken and a table full of starchy foods which Minerva had insisted he eat to build his strength. It had been no hardship; the food was excellent. They had taken their after-dinner coffee into the lounge and were sitting companionably when the doorbell rang.

'I'll get it, Dobby,' Minerva called, crossing the room and moving into the hallway.

Severus sat forward to add a touch more whisky to his coffee cup, hearing a susurration of voices approaching the room. Dear God, was he to be called upon to endure visitors upon his first night out?

He was not left to wonder for long; Minerva entered the room looking immensely pleased with herself, a familiar figure in her wake.

'Poppy!' Severus said.

The former school matron crossed the floor and pulled him to his feet, embracing him. 'I am so glad to see you free,' she said into his chest, her usually gruff voice further roughened by unshed tears.

Severus awkwardly patted Poppy's back once or twice, glaring at Minerva over the head pressed to his shirt front, torn between annoyance and dismay.

At last Poppy released him and stood back, studying him. Out of the matron's uniform he had seen her wear for his entire acquaintance with her, she looked strange to him. Instead, she wore simple summer robes of mauve with a matching hat upon her head.

She, in turn, was looking him up and down with professional interest. Swallowing his equivocacy regarding his new wardrobe, he had dressed for dinner in a forest green dress shirt and charcoal grey trousers, his hair bound in a queue. After two years of wearing it tied back by necessity, he now found it annoying to have his hair hanging in his face.

'Stringy and peaked, but food and some exercise in the fresh air will mend that,' Poppy said. 'Business or pleasure, first?'

'Sit down, Poppy,' Minerva said quickly, coming forward with a cup. 'Have some coffee.'

Severus' eyes narrowed as he watched the women, wondering what business he had with Poppy Pomfrey, but he followed their lead, sitting and taking up his cup again. The women began to chat about Poppy's cottage in Hogsmeade and the news each had of other former colleagues. Severus drank his coffee and relaxed, this scene so reminiscent of evenings in the staffroom at Hogwarts that he felt somewhat comforted. Free once more, he enjoyed the luxury of the first coffee and whisky he had tasted in two years. Let the women chatter; he would sip and savour.

Half-an-hour later, Dobby slipped into the room, bearing Snowe upon his arm again. Minerva smiled when she saw him, commenting to Poppy, 'Look! Hermione has sent Severus another note. They have been corresponding all day.'

Severus snorted at this; Minerva made it sound as if he had been exchanging billets-doux with Miss Gra – with Hermione – as if that was a remote possibility! Dismissing Dobby, he took custody of the owl. Wondering what the girl wanted now, he opened her note.

Severus,

Hermione

Tucking the note into his shirt pocket, Severus offered his forearm to Snowe and stood with the bird perched there. 'You will excuse me, please?' he said to the witches, then exited the room, bearing Snowe to the kitchen and its open window.

'Come back for my reply early in the morning,' he murmured to the owl, stroking the sleek feathers. 'She's tired now, and she will worry about you if you do not return.'

Snowe hooted and took off; Severus stood at the window, gazing out at the night before going back into the hallway, meaning to slip away to his room for the night.

'There you are!' Poppy said, obviously waiting for him. She had her wand in hand, a purposeful look upon her face. 'Come along to your room now so I can examine you – unless you'd prefer we do it in the lounge?'

Severus briefly considered refusing, but his memories of previous refusals to cooperate with the matron and the results of those encounters suggested this would be an exercise in futility. Wordlessly, he led the way to his bedroom, glaring daggers at Minerva when she dared to fall into step behind Poppy.

An hour later, standing before the mirror in his room, Severus contemplated his reflection. Poppy had pronounced him fit, if underweight and weakened. Then she and Minerva had broached another subject with him – one he had endured from Poppy more than once in their long association. Before, his refusal of her skill had always come from pride – first, in his youth, wishing to pretend that it was his choice to remain as he was; later, as a teacher and Head of House, he had refused because to make such an obvious change would have exposed him to the derision of his students.

Tonight, the blasted women had worn him down.

'You're a married man, now, Severus – it's time to consider what will please your wife instead of yourself,' Minerva had said.

'This ought to have been done long since, young man, and you know it!' Poppy had scolded. 'Now, hush and open your mouth, like a good boy.'

The process had been time-consuming and not entirely painless, but Poppy had left him with a decently-brewed potion for his discomfort and a rare kiss upon his cheek.

Without looking away from his reflection, Severus popped the cork from the phial and bared his newly-straightened, much less yellow teeth. He looked ... better. Much better.

People who knew him would laugh.

Minerva insisted Hermione would be pleased.

His enemies would openly mock him.

Hermione would be pleased.

Potter and Weasley would snigger behind his back.

It altered his appearance dramatically – one of his stated objectives.

He would be an object of ridicule.

Hermione would be pleased.

Turning his back on the mirror, Severus downed the potion and threw himself upon the bed, taking up the silver-framed photograph of his bride from the bedside table. The picture-Hermione gave him a happy smile and a tentative wave. As weariness overcame him, he studied her, his eyes lingering upon the saucy anklet – what sort of young witch wore such an adornment? What did it tell him about her? And did she wear it in the bath? Thus engaged, his exhausted body dragged his mind into the Lethe of sleep.

Hermione woke when something skimmed across her face. Raising her hand, she brushed it away, only to feel the object slide over her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw Snowe upon the back of the sofa, watching her with his bright yellow eyes. Hermione sat up, wincing at the slight pain in her neck from sleeping with her head upon the sofa arm and saw a sealed piece of parchment float to the floor.

Bending, she retrieved the letter. 'You've been busy early this morning,' she said to the owl. He clicked his beak and fluttered his wings. Hermione smiled and went to fill his tray with water, murmuring, 'I believe there are loads of mice in the garden.'

Pattering into the kitchen, past the silent, glaring portrait of Eileen Snape, Hermione quickly made a pot of tea and a slice of toast, then sat down with her new letter from Severus.

Hermione,

SXP

Hermione Summoned a quill and parchment and made a list of things to do as she had her tea and toast. It surprised her that her new husband had answered her question. Briefly, she wondered if he would continue to reply to queries she sent through owl post.

The morning passed quickly as Hermione and Winky worked to clean the kitchen from the floor to the fitted wood mouldings about the juncture of the walls and ceiling. Hermione caught Eileen Snape lurking amongst the cows in the pasture a time or two, but she did not speak, so Hermione ignored her. After a lunch of goodies sent via Winky from Professor McGonagall's kitchen, Winky was sent to bring order and cleanliness to the upstairs study; Hermione's next project was the sitting room bookshelves. Before she began pulling books from the shelves, she wrote a quick note to Severus and sent Snowe winging back to Kensington; then she began the pleasant task of becoming acquainted with her husband's library.

Severus slipped back into Minerva's flat, feeling enervated. A 'nice brisk walk in the fresh air' had been Minerva's suggestion of a way to spend the morning, and he was surprised by how much it had tired him. On the positive side, his progress through the streets of Minerva's neighbourhood had not brought any particular attention to him from other pedestrians. Dressed in Muggle jeans and a slate blue Oxford cloth shirt, he had passed amongst the Muggles as if he belonged there. He revelled in the freedom, but he now needed to rest.

Minerva came to the doorway of the lounge as he went by.

'Your owl brought another letter for you,' she told him.

Severus went into the kitchen, where Snowe drowsed upon the windowsill in the warmth of the summer sunlight. The owl stirred upon his entrance and offered the parchment, which Severus exchanged for an owl treat. 'I'll have an answer for you later,' he murmured, bearing the letter off to his room.

Collapsing into his armchair, he broke the seal and read Hermione's note.

Severus,

~Hermione

Severus smirked and allowed the parchment to fall to his lap. Leaning his head to one side, he picked up the silver-framed photograph, but picture Hermione had wandered off.

'The only thing different between now and then is that you do not wave your hand incessantly before peppering me with questions,' he informed the empty staircase in the photograph.

Oh, and you're also married to her now, his over-helpful brain reminded him.

'Sod off,' he muttered, his eyes closing for another nap in the soft armchair; he was unaware when Hermione came back into the picture and seated herself upon the steps, watching him sleep.

The heat of the summer afternoon was making the chore of pulling the dusty books down, cleaning the shelves, and wiping each book individually before replacing it an onerous one. Hermione reflected again that it was a good thing the summer term at uni had ended the previous week, for getting this house properly cleaned and sorted was going to be a time-consuming task.

Sagging to sit upon the floor, she cast a cooling charm upon herself before beginning to remove the books from the bottom shelf. These appeared to be centred in the life sciences. Hermione noted that one of them was an old Muggle book with colour photographs of unborn babies in progressive stages of development within their mothers' wombs. With a pang, she put the book aside and continued to empty the shelf.

The last volume was a thick organic chemistry textbook. As she lifted it, she noted that the book felt differently than it looked. Taking up her wand, she murmured, 'Finite Incantatem!' With the charm lifted, the book was revealed as a Muggle-style picture album, with metal rings holding the cardboard-stiff pages, covered on both sides by plastic film which could be lifted to insert and remove pictures.

Intrigued, Hermione glanced over her shoulder, but the portrait of Eileen Snape was empty; she must have gone up to the family portrait to devil poor Winky. Leaning against the back of the sofa, Hermione opened the album, wondering what sorts of photographs needed to be charmed to resemble a chemistry textbook.

The first two pages were empty, but the third contained an illustration that looked as if it might have been drawn for a Muggle fantasy story. It portrayed some sort of water sprite, a creature resembling a human woman. She was walking from the water onto the shore and the water was falling from her body as she walked. Her long auburn hair hung nearly to her waist and was plastered to her body by the water streaming from her simple white robes. The sodden robes clung to the water nymph's body; the darkness of her nipples and pubic hair was visible in the drawing. She held her hands out as if to grasp the hands of the one waiting upon the shore. Hermione found the picture strangely erotic.

The next page appeared to be an illustration drawn for a graphic novel. It was a roomful of girls in various stages of undress. The room itself had at its centre a pool. Some of the girls lounged about the pool, but others were within, bathing. All were beautiful, with their long, flowing hair and voluptuous bodies. The caption at the bottom of the drawing said, The Bathing Room at Castle Anthrax. The name of the place sounded familiar to her, but she could not place it.

The third page surprised her. Gone was the fantasy drawing; here was a wizarding photograph of a woman in an old-fashioned claw-footed bathtub. The woman reclined in the bubble bath, her long dark hair spilling over the back of the tub and hanging down to the floor. Her eyes were closed and the finger of one hand rested between her lips. The other arm was immersed in the water, though it appeared to be moving, for the water seemed to ripple with mild agitation. In the next moment, the woman moved her fingers from her lips to her breasts, and Hermione's mouth fell open as the woman began to pinch her own nipples, moving her hand from breast to breast. She opened her dark eyes and turned her face to Hermione, her eyes fogged with pleasure, and her knees came up out of the bubbles, splaying to either side of the tub, the hand beneath the water beginning to work there more vigorously. Very soon she seemed to arch a bit out of the water, her pretty mouth in an 'Oh!' of pleasure. Sated, she turned a lazy smile upon Hermione and then appeared to drift to sleep.

Feeling as if she were spying, but unable to resist the temptation, Hermione continued to go through Severus' collection of erotic pictures.

Later, Hermione closed the book and picked up her wand, replacing the charm with which it had been disguised. She was not shocked; she was, after all, a Muggle-born witch living in the twenty-first century. She knew very well that most men kept such items nearby – but in spite of the fact that she had, with single-minded determination, pursued a marriage to Severus Prince, she still had not yet managed to picture him in a sexual situation with her. Here, however, was incontrovertible proof of his existence as a sexual being.

Her mind buzzing with the discovery of her husband's secret stash, Hermione returned to her task. She was wiping down the last of the shelves and had made mental note of many books she wished to read, when Snowe flew into the room.

'You were gone a long time,' she commented, accepting the new note from Severus. The owl fluttered to his cage for water as she broke the seal and began to read.

Hermione,

SXP

Hermione pursed her lips. That was a rather evasive kind of answer, wasn't it? Shrugging off her mild annoyance, she finished reshelving the books before rising and going to take up her list and her quill again. Marking the bookshelves as sorted, she sat down and composed a quick note to Harry to let him know she was well, and then she sent Snowe off to Grimmauld Place.

On the third day, Hermione and Winky completed the tidying of the house. Winky reported the bedroom as clean and organised, at least; Hermione had yet to cross the threshold of Severus' bedroom. After her discovery of what she had begun to think of as his water-pictures, she felt even more uncomfortable about the notion of nosing around in there.

After lunch, Hermione said, 'I would like to see if something can be done to shape up the back garden, Winky. Would you be willing to assist with that, as well?'

Assured that Winky could think of no greater joy than weeding the overgrown flower beds, Hermione led the way into the small jungle-like area. Clearly, the flower beds around the fence line had been carefully planned and planted by someone who cared for flowers. A second patch had been dug and planted in an area against the back of the house. Hermione was not surprised to find a garden of commonly-used potions ingredients was planted there. Setting Winky to work at bringing order amongst the rose and hydrangea bushes, Hermione happily toiled in the more practical herb patch, making an internal inventory of all the types of potions she could brew from them.

Severus came in from his afternoon walk, thinking that a whisky and a kip before dinner would be just the thing. Before going to the lounge, he detoured into the kitchen on the off-chance that Snowe would be awaiting him, and he was not disappointed.

'Took you long enough,' he grumbled at the bird, offering an owl treat in exchange for the note from Hermione. This he slipped into a pocket before strolling into the lounge and helping himself to a whisky from the drinks tray.

'You were gone a long time,' Minerva said, looking up from her book.

'I'm building up my stamina,' he replied testily. 'Isn't that what you keep harping on about?'

'Is that a note from Hermione?' Minerva inquired, staring at his shirt pocket.

Damn – he hadn't tucked it away completely. 'Mind your own business, woman.'

The old woman did not speak again, but looked unbearably self-satisfied.

'I'll be in my room,' he said tersely, striding into the hallway.

'Yes, it's time for your nap,' the smug voice agreed as he left.

Nosy old witch.

Closing himself into his room, he opened the note and read.

Severus,

~Hermione

'Hah!' he said aloud, addressing the girl in the silver picture frame. 'You haven't found the cellar entrance. Good.' He didn't know why this knowledge pleased him; he supposed it might be because it was rather unnerving to imagine anyone going through his home room-by-room. 'Serves you right,' he added darkly, taking a long swig of whisky and glaring at the picture.

Picture Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared back, causing him to gasp and inhale whisky. Cursing loudly, he took out his handkerchief and mopped himself up. Placing the photograph face down on the bedside table, he stretched out on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying to dislodge the notion of a pissed-off know-it-all wife from his mind.

Hermione was finishing up her dinner when Snowe returned with Severus' answer. Pushing her plate to one side, Hermione broke the seal and read.

Hermione,

SXP

Hermione stared at the parchment. Evans? The password was Evans?

She sat for a long while staring at the candles upon the tabletop as they burned lower. She was not upset – that would be silly. In ways, though, she felt as if the revelation of the cellar password had been the most personal act she had yet witnessed from her enigmatic husband, including their marriage vows and closed-mouth wedding kiss. It seemed as if Severus might have had more than one reason to loathe Harry's father so utterly.

Thoughtful, she chose a new book from the sitting room shelf and curled up on the sofa to read before sleeping.

Over the next few days, Hermione sufficiently tidied the front and back gardens and dispensed with Winky's assistance, turning her attentions indoors once more. She wandered from room to room, studying and thinking, making a list. She even forced herself to enter the bedroom she would soon share with Severus, making notes to herself as she went. A trip to Muggle shops and then Diagon Alley with the funds Severus had sent was quite enjoyable for her. For the first time in years, she was shopping and the gold had not been given to her by Harry. Surely when one's husband gave one gold to shop it was different than living upon the kindness of one's friend?

Apparating back to Spinner's End with her purchases, Hermione busied herself making a home of the house which had become hers by the act of marriage. With furniture polish rich with beeswax, she tended to the furnishings, rubbing until her arms ached and the seasoned wood shone with her efforts. Taking the brass fittings from the fireplaces in the sitting room and the bedroom, she cleaned and buffed the metal to a fine burnish. Using a trick of her mother's, she put old cotton socks on her hands and rubbed the newly-waxed hardwood flooring until it shone, as well.

Occupying herself in this way made her feel closer to her absent mother, who had managed to be an excellent dentist and an exemplary homemaker. After the limbo of living in Harry's home, on his charity, it filled Hermione with a deeply peaceful self-satisfaction to convert her living space into a home reminiscent of the one in which she had been raised.

She draped the old cloth of the sofa and matching armchairs in a corded dark blue fabric and laboured for hours over an upholstery spell until the ancient battered furniture looked as if it had been recovered by a professional. As the rooms became more her own, her spirits rose; Hermione loved taking the skills she had learnt and applying them to the previously neglected old terraced house. In the evenings, muscles sore from the work of loving the old house into submission, she wielded her wand and sewed cheerful cushions to add colourful accents to the carefully chosen, House-neutral palette she had selected to decorate her home.

Two or three times a day, Snowe flew between Earl's Court Road and Spinner's End, carrying messages between the newlyweds. There was nothing romantic in the content of these notes, yet the manner in which they wrote to one another became more relaxed as the days passed.

Severus attacked the job of becoming fit and strong again as a task to be accomplished as speedily and efficiently as possible. He ate three meals a day, as well as ingesting nourishment when he took tea with Minerva in the afternoons and the late evenings. By his fourth day out of Azkaban, he had increased his walks to two per day and felt he could safely say he was thoroughly bored with Kensington, its High Street, its Gardens, and Holland Park. He attempted to read for pleasure, but found it difficult to concentrate; his mind often wandered to Spinner's End, wondering what the girl was getting up to there, all alone. He also found himself spending increasing periods of time gazing at the photograph of Hermione and more frequently than he truly wished to admit, he addressed comments to the silver frame as if she actually resided there. As his strength began to return to him, other drives began to assert themselves as well, and he began to think that ratifying the marriage covenant might not be such a burdensome chore, after all.

On the morning of the fifth day, he was in the hallway when a knock came upon the door. Striding forward, he opened it.

'Severus!'

'Lupin,' Severus drawled, failing to notice the extended hand and stepping aside to allow the werewolf to enter. 'Was Minerva expecting you?'

'She asked me to come, yes,' Lupin replied, good humour evident in his face. 'You're growing bored with your walks, and she asked me to provide an alternative activity.'

Severus sneered. 'I'm sure that will not be necessary, Lupin.'

Lupin grinned. 'Grab a jacket – you'll want one.'

Severus opened his mouth to deliver another refusal, but Minerva forestalled him, appearing at his side and thrusting a lightweight denim jacket into his hands. 'I'll see you back for luncheon, Severus. Now, shoo!'

With ill-grace, Severus allowed Lupin to Apparate them both and soon found himself standing upon a windy moor. Lupin released him and strode behind a nearby tree, returning with two broom sticks. Severus was prepared to utter a snide remark until he saw that one of the brooms Lupin held was his own Nimbus 2001, given to him by Lucius Malfoy the year the Slytherin Quidditch team had been supplied with them.

Lupin put the lovingly maintained broomstick into Severus' suddenly eager hands. 'Come on, Severus – how long has it been since you've had time for flying, purely for pleasure?' Lupin mounted his Cleansweep Eleven, a boyish grin making him look young. 'I haven't been flying for fun since before Tonks got pregnant. Can you still outfly me?'

Severus watched as Lupin kicked off, producing a red Quaffle from within his travelling cloak.

'The Cannons' practice pitch is directly over the rise – fancy a bit of one-on-one?' Lupin grinned and rocketed into the air, the Quaffle tucked correctly under his arm.

'You could never play Chaser, Lupin,' Severus snarled, mounting and kicking off, in hot pursuit.

The Lupin family shared breakfast with Minerva and Severus two days later, before the wizards departed for another game of one-on-one on the Chudley Cannons' practice pitch. Severus surreptitiously watched Lupin and his wife as they interacted with one another and with their infant son. As Nymphadora laughed and leant up to place a kiss on her husband's face, Severus felt as if lips had pressed spontaneously to his own cheek, and the skin there tingled for a moment. He had never been the recipient of that type of impulsive tenderness. In fact, he had usually found such displays disturbing, but Remus Lupin had no apparent qualms. What would it be like to have that type of easy, affectionate action bestowed upon one? What if he and Hermione ...

Alfie Lupin, transferred from the arms of his father to his mother, gurgled in babyish pleasure, and Severus was torn from his insane reverie. He and his anklet-wearing wood-nymph of a wife were entered into a marriage of convenience, wherein he received freedom in fair trade for financial security – it was a sign of mental imbalance to imagine there was anything else on offer.

'Finish your kippers and come along, Lupin,' Severus drawled, standing and placing his napkin upon the damask table cloth. 'Unless, of course, you thought you would prefer not to receive another thrashing on the Quidditch pitch?' In truth, Severus had only just managed to score more goals that Lupin had done. He was abysmally out of practice for such antics, but the flying had been exhilarating; he was eager to be on his broom again.

Lupin took his leave of the witches and the two men Apparated again to the practice field. Severus was pleased to find that he had managed the Apparition without feeling weak afterwards. He was much stronger, both physically and magically, than he had been a week before.

After a match in which Severus managed to best Lupin by a score of six goals to two, the wizards sat upon benches on the empty pitch to catch their breath. Slanting a look at Lupin, Severus said, 'So, you'll be in Bristol tomorrow.'

Lupin looked at him in some surprise. 'Yes, but I'm not sure why you know that.'

'Because you are my field agent, Lupin. I am the founding partner of Security Solutions.'

Lupin gaped at him. 'Minerva and Mad-Eye have kept that bit rather close, haven't they?'

'I saw no point in making it known whilst I was incarcerated. But, since you may stumble across me in the office next week, I thought I would break it to you now.' Severus smirked.

'Next week?' Lupin frowned. 'You'll be on your honeymoon next week, surely? I understood you are going to Spinner's End tomorrow.'

Severus ignored the comment and question. 'I have heard rumours that the Bristol company you will be visiting has motion sensors. Be careful to use Specialis revelio before you enter the premises.'

Lupin nodded. 'Yes, I will.'

Severus detected a troubled air about the werewolf, but he had no intention of discussing his marriage – particularly not his honeymoon, or lack thereof – with Remus Lupin. Standing and taking up his broom, he said, 'Good. Shall we return?'

Lupin nodded and Severus turned on the spot and Disapparated.

Saturday morning, Snowe delivered a note by dropping it on Hermione's face, bringing her out of a deep sleep. Struggling into a sitting position, Hermione saw Severus' spidery handwriting on the envelope and smiled, feeling at the same time a flash of apprehension. The deadline to consummate the marriage and to ratify the Covenant was midnight on Sunday night; they had less than forty-eight hours left to make that happen.

Breaking the seal, she read the note.

Hermione,

SXP

Hermione stared down at the parchment in her hand. Today. Tonight.

Standing, she wandered through the kitchen and out the back door, seating herself on the steps and gazing unseeing at the profusion of colourful flowers. Severus was coming home, finally. A week after their wedding, and he was coming home. Her husband. A strange mixture of terror and exhilaration flowed through her body, and the small back garden echoed with the utterance, between a laugh and a scream, which came from her throat.

She had a thousand things to do!

Late that afternoon, Hermione made one last circuit of the downstairs. Inexpensive vases, full of fresh flowers from the garden, adorned table tops, and a special arrangement sat in the middle of the dining table. Everything gleamed and sparkled, dinner was cooking in the oven, and she was ready to bathe and dress.

Climbing the stairs, Hermione paused for a moment in the doorway of the bedroom, pleased to see that the newly-sewn cushions brightened the plain white bedspread, and that the vase of flowers on the dressing table reflected nicely in the mirror. She could not prevent herself from staring at the bed, trying to imagine being there with him, but her imagination failed her. She couldn't begin to picture herself in such an intimate situation with Severus Prince, the husband whom she had never even embraced.

Moving on into the bathroom, she took a series of deep, steadying breaths to calm her nerves.

Severus stood again before the mirror in Minerva's dressing room. Though his body was by no means completely recovered from two years of imprisonment, he no longer appeared quite so emaciated. Tonight, he would take his bride to bed and ratify the Covenant, sealing the two of them into a lifetime of fidelity. The idea of consummating the marriage was no longer alien to him. He had deliberately studied the girl in the photograph and had given himself permission to think carnal thoughts of her. Clearly now, he could envision himself rising above her, taking her, completing the charm which would keep him free of prison.

Then, he would step back and occupy himself with work. He would sleep in the study on the camp bed he had provided for Peter Pettigrew during the horrible summer the Dark Lord had forced Wormtail to remain at Spinner's End to spy upon him.

A terrible thought assailed him. What if she had already claimed the study as her own? Perhaps the girl was, even now, thinking of ways to avoid having to sleep with him after the necessary deed was done. His lips twisted in self-derision. Women had always made perfectly clear to him precisely in what ways he was useful – an adequate bed partner, providing he was gone before his face could be clearly viewed by dawn's early light.

His expression hardening, he turned from the mirror and moved into the bathroom. He did not tarry and soak this time; he was all business. Deftly, he washed himself from head to toe before rinsing off and stepping to the mirror to shave. Sneering at his reflection, he applied the aftershave lotion Minerva had pressed upon him, insisting that the child would like it if he smelt of the scent. The sneer revealed his teeth, which still took him by surprise when he saw his reflection. To be honest, allowing Poppy to correct the mess that had been inside his mouth had made a noticeable difference in his appearance. Taking up his toothbrush, he cleaned his teeth, feeling somewhat more optimistic.

Dobby had packed his new clothes in his new trunk, save for the garments he had kept out to wear home to Hermione. The midnight blue shirt was sharply tailored and open at the throat; his trousers and boots were black. He had the ebony-backed brush in his hand to smooth his nearly-dry hair when Minerva burst into his room without so much as a knock upon the door.

'Severus – thank God you haven't left!'

Quirking an inquisitive eyebrow, Severus bound his hair back into a queue. 'What brings you into my bedroom, Minerva? You do remember that I am a married man, now?'

Her colour unnaturally pale, the old witch sagged onto the edge of his bed. 'It's Remus Lupin. He sent his Patronus; he has tripped an alarm on the premises in Bristol – he's trapped inside and surrounded, Severus.'

Only the violence with which he slammed his trunk and engaged the latch suggested his anger. 'What have you done, in the past, when this has occurred?'

Minerva shook her head. 'It hasn't happened before – not on this scale.' She closed her eyes. 'What if he's taken into custody by the Muggle authorities? We can't call upon the Ministry for assistance – we can't use the Obliviator Office – it's not as if his activities are legal in the wizarding world, either.'

Severus sheathed his wand. 'Where is Moody?'

'He will meet us there.'

'No. You will go to Nymphadora and make sure she does not attempt to "assist" us. I will meet Moody.' His brow furrowed in thought, he strode past Minerva. 'It may be necessary to create a diversion. This could take a while.' He stalked out of the room.

Minerva followed him. 'But, Severus!'

He stopped and turned, scowling. 'What is it?'

'Hermione!' Minerva reminded him.

'No! I will not have her involved in this.'

Minerva rolled her eyes. 'She is waiting for you at Spinner's End.'

Comprehension dawned upon him. 'Bugger!' He drew his wand and a large four legged creature erupted from its tip in a burst of silver. 'I will be delayed. It cannot be helped,' he said, and the Patronus leapt out of sight.

Minerva opened her mouth to wish him luck but he was gone; had he been wearing robes, they would have been swirling about him as he departed.

Hermione sliced the lemons in precise one-eighth inch rounds, her mind running through her schedule. The lamb shanks were in the oven; the ingredients for the red currant glaze were lined up precisely to one side. The fruit for the gooseberry fool had been fresh-picked that afternoon, simmered and mashed, and was in the fridge awaiting its inclusion with the whipping crème; on its side beside the gooseberry purée was a bottle of champagne.

Satisfied with her mental check list, Hermione carefully arranged the lemon slices on the platter with the Scottish smoked salmon, praying for the hundredth time that her menu would meet with his approval. She certainly was not in a marriage born of love, but that was no reason why she should not put one hundred percent of her effort into making the best of it. This was, for want of a better word, their wedding night. Proper respect for their marriage called for some observance of the rites.

Satisfied with the presentation of her appetizer, Hermione placed the platter carefully into the fridge and washed the lemon juice from her hands. Moving into the sitting room, she tried to imagine sitting with him there on the sofa where she had slept for the last week. Would they make small talk? Would there be long, painful silences? Would they just eat their dinner and march up to bed to get the business over with? Feeling momentarily ill, she sagged onto the sofa cushion and her fingers went to her hair, feeling for renegade bushiness.

In deference to her first night with her husband, Hermione had made a special effort to look nice. She had taken the tremendous trouble of applying copious amounts of Sleekeazy and had arranged her hair in an elaborate chignon. Her make-up had been painstakingly applied, with all of Parvati's and Ginny's maxims in mind; the result was an emphasis on the size and brilliance of her brown eyes, a light blushing of her cheeks, and lips glossed with a pale pink. The simple pink peasant blouse and matching full skirt were cool enough for the summer evening, while also being dressy. Her legs were bare, and she wore plain pink flats; her only jewellery was her wedding ring and her anklet.

She was staring at the plain gold band upon her finger when the figure of a silver panther leapt into the room through the open window. Hermione cowered back in her seat momentarily, her heart in her throat. The panther came straight towards her, the muscles rippling beneath its sleek, silver-vapour pelt. It was a Patronus! Who did she know who had a panther Patronus?

'I will be delayed,' the panther said, pacing before her as a big cat will do. 'It cannot be helped.' Then the Patronus sat before her, staring at her with its great silver eyes.

'Thank you for letting me know,' she said, reaching a hand as if to pet her husband's Patronus, but it turned and leapt away into the night.

Delayed! Hermione looked at her wristwatch. It was eight o'clock; the lamb shanks would be finished cooking soon; she could place them under a warming charm and delay preparing the potatoes and asparagus until she knew when he would arrive. Surely, he would come to her as soon as he could.

At ten o'clock, she opened the sherry and enjoyed a glass, thinking it would help her to be relaxed when he arrived.

At midnight, after her fourth glass of sherry, she made one last unsteady trip into the kitchen to ensure that the warming charm on the lamb was holding. She then settled on the sofa with a book open upon her lap, and was soon fast asleep with her head against the cushion, the pins securing the elegant chignon loosening as she drowsed.