Epilogue: In the Blink of an Eye

Epilogue

In the Blink of an Eye

Severus lay beside his Sprite, his cheek upon her lower abdomen, looking up the length of her torso into her loving – if amused – brown eyes.

'Are you attempting communication?' she asked, smiling. 'Because the baby is about the size of a shrimp, now.'

Quirking an insolent eyebrow, he placed his lips near her navel, and said, 'Do not listen to your mother, Felix. She will learn that size is not necessarily a reliable indicator of ability.' In response to her gurgle of laughter, the other eyebrow rose, as well. 'Do you doubt me and my son, Felix?'

Hermione reached down and twined the fingers of one hand in the long, lank black hair. 'I hope you won't be too disappointed, Severus ...'

Gently he disengaged her fingers and slid up the bed, pulling her against the full length of his body. 'I cannot imagine being disappointed in either of you,' he said, his voice suddenly husky.

She burrowed her face into his neck. 'Well, good – because your child is a daughter, not a son – so you must call her Felicity, not Felix.'

Almost idly, he caressed the softness of her back. 'I do not see why I cannot call my daughter Felix,' he objected. 'Felix Prince is a fine name for a girl.' Distracted by the silken texture of her skin, his hands began to roam, working their magic upon her, evoking the soft whimpers of pleasure which compelled him to strive for even more responsive murmurs from her.

Hermione retaliated, her small hands pleasuring him, demonstrating all the skill she had learnt in the short time of their marriage, removing all thought from his mind save the necessity of joining with her, finding again in the haven of her embrace the serenity his restless soul had ever sought, but never found, until now.

And for all her life, Felicity Eileen Prince was called 'Felix' by her perverse father, who referred to her by her proper name only when he was very cross with her.

In December, before Yule, Hermione completed her graduate course of study at the Birkbeck College in Bloomsbury. In celebration, Severus arranged a soirée in her honour at a small hotel, inviting all of her friends and many of his colleagues and business associates, as well. She had been ignominiously married in a prison and deprived of a proper wedding, but he could provide for her, at the very least, a reasonable facsimile of a reception.

In a quiet moment during the festivities, he sat sipping at a glass of Ogden's and watching his Sprite as she chatted animatedly with Potter and his fiancée, Miss Weasley. Pregnancy was making Hermione, impossibly, more delectable and enticing than she had ever been before. The heightened hormonal state of her body during this, her second trimester, had her in a perpetual state of readiness to receive – often, to demand, like the vixen she was – his immediate and thorough attentions. He was frequently tired, to the point of inarticulate enervation, but he was so deeply and utterly enthralled by the Nereid who had walked out of the depths of the sea and into his life and his bed that he cared for nothing else.

When all of their guests had been thanked and wished a happy Christmas, Severus took his happily tired wife home and led her upstairs.

'I am so sleepy,' she said, stifling a yawn behind her hand. She frowned at the sight of a packed trunk in the middle of the bedroom floor, which had not been there when they had left for the party. 'What is this?'

Severus watched her through half-lidded eyes. 'If you don't mind, my dear, we will delay going to sleep for just a bit longer.'

Hermione looked quickly into his face. 'What are you up to, Severus?'

With a lazy smile, he produced a sweets-tin from the pocket of his robes. 'This is a Portkey, little Naiad. I would like to take you for a proper honeymoon – if you will come with me.'

She looked at him with eyes brimming with wonder. 'You are much too good to me,' she said.

'Nonsense. This is both your Christmas present and my holiday break. We'll be back in time for the new year.' He took the trunk in one hand and extended the Portkey. 'Come along – the Caribbean is warm at this time of year – I believe you will like it.'

And indeed, he was not disappointed. The private villa, with its own beach, was quite expensive, but the memories of that trip remained indelibly imprinted in his mind for the rest of his life. Hermione had required very little encouragement to frolic with him in the warm ocean; after the first few days, she had even been willing to dispense with her swimsuit. The vision of his naked pregnant wife rising from the sea, her long hair drenched and adhering to her face and shoulders, her belly swelling gently with the growth of their child, her pregnancy-enhanced breasts streaming with water which coursed down to bead in the brown curls at the apex of her thighs, was the answer to every fantasy in which he had ever indulged.

And the Sand-Repelling Charm, for which he had paid the wrinkled old crone at the island village market an indecent sum of gold, had even made it possible to ravish his avidly willing water Sprite on the beach without unpleasant consequences.

At Easter, Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley were married. Apparently, every Weasley on three continents was in attendance; never had Severus seen such a mass of red hair. Due to her advanced pregnancy, Hermione had bowed out of standing as matron of honour, but she and Severus were in attendance, seated near the back of the wedding hall, in deference to the baby's frequent bouncing upon Hermione's bladder. He Disapparated with her to the Burrow as soon as the wedding was over, to await the beginning of what would undoubtedly turn out to be a long, drawn-out reception. As the other wedding guests began to assemble, Severus hovered about the edges, exchanging nods with fellow Order members, conversing with work colleagues, and keeping a sharp eye on Hermione.

Thus it was that he was privileged to witness his wife's reunion with her erstwhile lover, Ronald Weasley. The boisterous best man was charging about the Weasleys' back garden in a typically Gryffindor fashion when he was brought to a screeching halt by the sight of a nine-months-pregnant Hermione, standing beneath a spreading elm.

'Hermione!' Weasley said, his voice full of wonder. He looked at her, awe-struck, and unbidden, reached one hand to lie upon her greatly swollen belly. Severus felt himself go rigid with rage when the unworthy whelp touched his wife, but he contained the emotion and stood quite still on the other side of the tree, awaiting developments.

'Hello, Ron,' Hermione said with perfect composure.

'You're pregnant,' Weasley said stupidly.

'Yes,' Hermione agreed, her voice full of amusement.

'Snape?' Weasley said in a voice of deep loathing.

Severus was enormously pleased to see Hermione swat the hand away from her and answer shortly, 'My husband's name is Prince, Ronald.'

Weasley seemed somewhat abashed; he looked down at his feet and said, 'Right. I forgot.' He raised his freckled face again and his eyes lingered on Hermione's belly – or was it her breasts? – before he said, 'But I thought you couldn't have babies.'

Severus watched as Hermione's head turned to observe the progress through the crowd of Weasley's American wife, a vapidly pretty and decidedly unpregnant young woman who was bearing down on them with increasing speed.

'I know you did,' she answered simply. She then looked into Weasley's eyes. 'Severus didn't care about that, you see. He only cared about me. The baby is just the very best possible surprise.'

Weasley gaped at her with an expression of mute hurt on his face. 'I see,' he said, quietly.

In another instant, the advancing Mrs Ronald Weasley latched onto her husband's arm and said in an American accent, 'There you are! I wondered where you'd gone.' She turned a hard smile which did not touch her eyes on Hermione and extended her free hand. Severus was very sure she knew she was addressing her husband's former paramour. 'I'm Lola Weasley – and you are?'

Severus stepped from behind the tree at that moment and was gratified by the fleeting look of panic which passed over Weasley's vacuous countenance. 'She is my wife,' he said smoothly, stopping behind Hermione and placing his hands reassuringly on her shoulders. 'Mrs Hermione Prince – and I am Severus Prince. How do you do?' He glanced contemptuously at the uncomfortable redhead then, and said with a nod of acknowledgement, 'Weasley.'

He felt Hermione's shoulders relax under his hands, and he squeezed gently once. Bending to her ear, he murmured, 'How are you holding up?'

She leant back against him and glanced over her shoulder into his face. 'My back is bothering me,' she admitted. 'I don't know what's wrong. I just feel – odd.'

Severus opened his mouth to suggest that they return home so she could rest, but was forestalled by Hermione's gasped, 'Oh, no!'

Looking down at her, he watched as water poured down Hermione's legs and onto the shoes of Ronald and Lola Weasley.

'I'm so sorry!' Hermione moaned, appalled. 'My water broke!'

Severus turned her to face him, securing his arms about her. 'You'll make our excuses to your family?' he said to Weasley. When the other wizard nodded, Severus Disapparated to St. Mungo's Hospital.

Many witches had their babies at home, attended by medi-witch midwives. In deference to Severus' concern for her, Hermione had agreed to birth their child at the hospital. As he had pointed out to her, they could not be certain what complications might arise from the curse which had nearly claimed her life.

As it turned out, there were no difficulties. Tiny Felicity Eileen was born after fourteen hours of labour, a respectable six pounds and four ounces of lustily squalling infant. Severus watched anxiously as the small lacerations in Hermione's birth canal were expertly treated by the Healer, then at Hermione's urging, he stepped over to watch as attendants cleansed and swaddled his protesting daughter. It was his deputed task to carry the tiny form to Hermione and to place the pink-swaddled bundle in his wife's arms.

'Oh, Severus,' Hermione breathed, gazing with rapt adoration at baby Felicity, 'she's beautiful!'

Severus swallowed, staring at the red-faced, squished-looking creature, and pressed a kiss to his wife's sweat-soaked hair. Hermione seemed not to notice his lack of comment, but moved over so that he could join her on the mound of pillows propping her on the mattress. Obedient to her wishes, he lay down and cradled her shoulders against him as she opened her gown and, after a false start or two, set the baby to nursing. The three of them soon fell into a sleep of exhaustion, cuddled together in the hospital bed, prostrated but triumphant.

Back at home with his exhausted wife and ever-hungry child, Severus gladly welcomed the witches who descended upon them for the next week to see to the baby; all of his concern was focussed on Hermione, who did little but eat, sleep, and nurse. Minerva, Poppy Pomfrey, Molly and Fleur Weasley, and Nymphadora Lupin were in and out of the house on Spinner's End, attending to and exclaiming over little Felicity. Minerva had assigned the house-elf called Winky to cook and to look after the house for the first month after the baby's birth. Severus felt himself to be redundant, except for the night watches, when he was alone with his wife and child.

On the fourth night after their return home, Hermione was particularly distraught. Her nipples were raw to the touch, she was constantly thirsty, her nether regions were still sore, and she was weary to the point of derangement.

She had been sleeping for less than an hour when the whimpering began again from the bassinette by the bed. Stepping over to the troublesome infant, Severus took her gingerly into his unpractised arms and carried her into the nursery, pacing from one side to the other of the small room, talking to his daughter.

'You cannot possibly be hungry,' he reasoned, holding her against his shoulder as the medi-witches had demonstrated and patting her back, 'and you are perfectly dry. Your mother is very tired and cannot attend to you, now; you will have to make do with me.'

'Walk her, Essex,' his mother's portrait urged him. 'She sounds a bit colicky.'

After several laps, with continual back-patting, the tiny being emitted a burp of such resounding quality that Severus was impressed. 'Oh, well done,' he said, as he might congratulate a fellow Slytherin for a well-placed goal on the Quidditch pitch. Tentatively, he sat down in the rocking chair beside the cot, which seemed entirely too large for such a diminutive individual. Shifting her so that her head was now cradled in his elbow, he looked into the face of his baby daughter and was gratified to see that her eyes were open and that she was returning his regard.

'Your looks are much improved,' he informed her. 'You are far less red, and the skin-peeling is almost behind us. Keep up the good work, and you will soon be a pleasure to look at.' With his free hand, he stroked one fingertip down the cheek so soft that he knew of no comparison. The wee fists which moved with no apparent intent came up, and miraculously, one wrapped about his finger. The dark eyes of indeterminate colour looked out of his daughter's solemn little face into his own hawkish countenance, and he was inexplicably captivated. 'Hullo, Felix,' he murmured.

After a time, the nearly-transparent eyelids of his baby girl floated closed, and still he held her, an emotion of such powerful, helpless love thrumming in his body that he felt too weak to stand. He drifted to sleep, as well, his head drooping to one side and cricking his neck.

It was thus that Hermione found them at dawn, when she peeled her daughter's hand from her husband's finger and lifted her from his arms. His eyes opened to the shining adoration in his wife's face. 'Why didn't you put her down and come back to bed?' she asked.

He held up his hand. 'She was holding my finger,' he explained, realising as he said it how foolish it sounded. 'I didn't want to wake her up.'

Hermione gifted him with a knowing smile. 'Of course you didn't,' she murmured, turning to change the baby's nappy.

Hermione was perfectly content to stay at home and care for the baby all through the spring and the summer, but as September approached – and for the first time in her life, she did not prepare to go to school – she began to turn her mind to other pursuits. On one weekend afternoon in October, she broached the idea to Severus as they sat upon the sitting room floor with Felicity between them.

'You want to leave Felix with strangers so you can go to work?' Severus inquired incredulously, allowing the clever little one to hold one finger of each of his hands as she took a tentative step on her chubby little baby feet.

Hermione frowned. 'Of course not! But I've been thinking, Severus – surely I'm not the only employee at Security Solutions in need of childcare. Why could we not provide an in-house childcare centre for our employees, for a nominal fee? The centre would pay for itself, it would be a terrific service to offer our employees, and there would be far fewer missed work-days due to unreliable childcare.'

Felicity sat down hard on her nappy, letting go of her father's fingers, and immediately crawled across the room in pursuit of Crookshanks, who sped up when he saw her coming. The cat and the baby co-existed under a strained armistice – for Crookshanks knew very well who would win out in any dispute between familiar and child – but Crookshanks preferred to remain beyond the over-enthusiastic reach of the infant girl-child.

Hermione bent to lift Felicity into her arms, allowing Crookshanks to escape through the cat-flap and into the garden just as Severus said, 'Since when are you an employee at Security Solutions? And what do you mean, our employees?'

Hermione replaced the baby on the floor, where she promptly crawled to her father and grasped his robes, attempting to pull herself again to a standing position. 'Don't get shirty with me, Severus Prince! Minerva offered me that job before I ever thought about marrying you. Or, would you prefer I go to Draco Malfoy for a job?'

Severus gently disentangled the baby's fists from his robes and gave her his fingers instead, pulling her to stand. This task accomplished, he glared at Hermione. Draco had recently opened a security company as well, although he seemed to specialise more in providing actual security manpower – or in some cases, troll-power – for industry. 'Yes, why don't you do that? I'm sure the Troll Meister has need of a top-rank Arithmancer on his staff.'

Hermione flushed pink at the characterisation of 'top-rank Arithmancer,' utterly diverted. 'Severus! That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me!'

'Put your rambunctious daughter down for her over-due nap and see what sorts of nice things I can think of to say to you, Sprite,' he suggested, his eyes suddenly half-lidded and glittering.

Hermione had no fault to find with this suggestion, and she soon joined her randy husband in their bed for a languorous afternoon of the type of activity which seemed to grow only more satisfactory as time passed.

And in due course, she inaugurated the first in-house childcare facility in wizarding Britain, beginning a trend which quickly spread to other companies.

Severus looked up from the stack of office paperwork on the desk in the improvised office, tucked into the sitting room alcove at Spinner's End. Hermione stood before him with Felicity perched on her hip, her handbag hanging from the opposite shoulder; she was dressed for an outing.

'Are you two going out?' he asked, pretending not to see his daughter's imperatively outstretched arms as she reached for her daddy.

'No, Severus,' Hermione said patiently, setting Felicity down. The two-year old scampered to her father and Severus obediently picked her up to receive her adoring hug. 'As I told you last night, I'm going shopping with Ginny in Diagon Alley, today. She and Harry are ready to begin decorating their nursery. You said you would watch Felicity whilst I'm away. Remember?'

'Of course I do,' Severus prevaricated, having no memory of such a conversation. However, things at work were becoming so busy that he was often absent-minded at home. He was seriously considering hiring an assistant to help with the day-to-day management of Security Solutions. Draco Malfoy, whose own business had gone belly-up after less than a year, had been by to talk with him about it the day before. But how would Hermione react to having Draco Malfoy in an executive position in their company? She still called him 'the ferret' in private conversations.

'Excellent!' Hermione said with a bright smile. She leant over and kissed first Severus, then Felicity on the cheek. 'Be a good girl whilst Mummy is gone, and do everything Daddy says, all right?'

Felicity nodded, clutching her father's robes in her hands, and Hermione chuckled, saying in an aside to Severus, 'She would much rather be with you, anyway.' Then, with a glance at her wristwatch, she waved at them before turning on the spot and Disapparating.

Heaving a sigh, Severus stood with his daughter in his arms and carried her into the middle of the sitting room, where he sat upon the floor beside the large brightly-decorated trunk which held Felicity's toys. He removed several of these from within the trunk, noting that her happiest greetings continued to be for her soft plush toys. When she was happily engaged with these, he Summoned his paperwork to him and continued to read the latest proposal.

After a time, he charmed the little toy unicorn to trot about on the floor, a bit of magic which never failed to elicit a squeal of joy from the baby. Maintaining the charm with a small corner of his attention, he concentrated again on the closely written parchment. Father and daughter continued in this way until the little girl stood up and clapped. 'Lookie, Daddy!' she crowed.

Severus glanced up, and his mouth fell open. Not only the unicorn, but all four of the Magical Menagerie creatures were moving; the centaur was shooting imaginary arrows into the air with his bow, the mermaid was side-stroking around the rug as if it were a pond of water, and the Hippogriff was flying in small circles about an inch off the ground.

'Did you do that, Felix?' he asked her, awed.

'Felix did it!' she agreed, throwing her chubby little arms about his neck.

Severus felt a huge smile break over his face as he lifted the delighted toddler high over his head. 'That's my girl!' he told her, proud to the point of inanity.

'Felix is Daddy's girl,' the tyke proclaimed, clinging to his neck when he lowered her again, and she sat contentedly as he held her to him, unmindful of the tears which fell from his eyes into her wild coal-black curls.

Severus stood in glaring silence on platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station. The milling crowd of students, parents, siblings, and assorted other persons was oppressive to him. In spite of his shorter hair and his more colourful clothing, he had been recognised. He had heard more than one exclamation of, 'Snape! Look, it's Snape!' but when he had turned his sternest scowl on the speaker, no one had been looking at him. Hermione seemed unaware of the stir he was creating on the secure station platform amongst the throng of his former students and their off-spring; she was much too busy fussing over Felicity, giving her repeated admonishments and bits of stray advice.

'Relax, Mum,' the eleven-year-old finally blurted. 'I'll be fine – really.'

Severus glanced down at his daughter and found her big brown eyes, so like her mother's, seeking his, as they so often did, to gauge his reaction for approval. He nodded once, a glimmer of a smile on his lips, and she smiled her toothy smile, a little girl's mouth full of adult teeth that seemed too big for her face. He had agonised over it more than once, only to have Hermione calm his fears in her prosaic way. 'She'll grow into them, Severus – all children her age look awkward with their teeth showing. If she needs any corrective work, it will have to wait until she has all her permanent teeth.'

'All set, Felix?' he asked in his no-nonsense voice.

'All set, Daddy,' she agreed, her small hand stealing into his.

Suddenly indifferent to the crowd of dunderheads surrounding them, he knelt down until he and Felix were eye-to-eye. 'Remember that your mother and I are very proud of you,' he said quietly, willing her to absorb and believe his words. 'Do your very best, and we will never be disappointed in you, Felix.'

Before he could prevent her, the flesh of his flesh had thrown her arms about him, clutching his robes in her hands. 'Oh, Daddy,' she whispered, her voice thick with threatening tears, 'I'm going to miss you so much!'

Engulfing her in a very quick hug, he whispered back, 'I shall miss you as well, Felix. Be a good girl.' Then he put her from him and, pulling his handkerchief from his robes, he dried her cheeks.

'Princess!'

Severus stood, a glower on his face, and turned to see the Lupins picking their way through the crowd, their twelve-year-old son, Alfie, leading the way. The boy was the one who had called out. He and Felix had been playmates from the cradle and, early on, they had taken to calling one another by nicknames. She was 'Princess,' a play upon her last name, and he was 'Wolfie,' a play upon both of his names.

As Hermione greeted Lupin and Nymphadora, Severus heard a voice addressing him.

'Mr Prince? Sir?'

He looked down his long, hooked nose into the earnest, open face of Alfie Lupin. 'Yes?'

'Don't worry about Felicity, sir. I will see to her on the train.'

He issued the standard sneer for presumptuous second year boys and replied icily, 'I'm sure that will not be necessary.'

Felicity, however, had already negated his comment, kissing her mother on the cheek and saying her good-byes to the Lupins. 'I'm going to sit with Wolfie in his compartment,' she said, and ran after the older boy, boarding the train without a backward glance.

Nymphadora had her arm about Hermione's waist, the two heads bent towards one another; Hermione dried her eyes as the great scarlet train puffed out of the station. At the last instant, one of the windows on the next-to-last car was forced down by Alfie Lupin, who quickly gave way to Felicity's white-faced figure. Severus saw her, and his heart turned over in his chest. He could not hear her over the rising noise of the clacking train wheels, but her lips clearly formed one word:

'Daddy.'

Severus relaxed in the sitting room, a glass of Ogden's in his hand, a favourite book opened in his lap. One thing he adored about Greek mythology was the pervasive presence of the water nymphs and water sprites. He smirked. Leaving Draco in charge of the office, he and Hermione had taken an anniversary trip, wherein they had visited again the private Caribbean villa where he had taken her on their first Christmas. At thirty-eight, her lush body was enough to bring on a heart attack in a wizard of his age who was less fit and less used to keeping up with her ardent, demanding ways than he. They both sported all-over tans from their jaunt, which had actually taken place before the true date of their anniversary – Hermione had insisted that they be back at home in time to retrieve Felicity from King's Cross Station, following her successful completion of her O.W.L. year at Hogwarts. The child's O.W.L. results had actually come by owl post that day; he had thought Hermione would sulk all day over Felicity's twelve Outstandings.

'Don't fret, Mum,' the brass-faced little baggage had said to Hermione, 'if your father had been a former Defence teacher, you would have gotten an "O" in Defence, as well.'

'That's right, my love,' Severus had agreed, his evil genius prompting him to get in a dig, 'Felix has a point. You had only the likes of Lockhart, Lupin, and Potter to teach you Defence.'

Upon reflection, it was perhaps a lucky chance that his Sprite was even speaking to him today.

A moment later, his sixteen-year-old daughter danced down the staircase, dressed to go out. Her beauty hurt his heart. She had Hermione's eyes and hair, although the colour was his glossy black, and she did not have to fight bushiness in her curls as her mother had done. Felicity had, indeed, grown into her teeth, as Hermione had prophesied. She was taller than her mother, and thinner, taking more after his family in her build. She was brilliant, she was beautiful, she was a Prefect, she was at the top of her class – and she was going to be the death of him.

'Where are you going, Felix?' he asked in his silkiest voice.

'I'm going to a party, Dad – I told you,' she reminded him.

'And where are your clothes?'

Hermione came down the staircase and entered the room as the girl's mouth dropped open. 'These are my clothes!'

Severus sneered. 'Those are not clothes – they are an advertisement.'

Felicity raised her chin to him, as he had seen her mother do one thousand times before, and said hotly, 'There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing!'

He replied coldly, 'I beg to differ.'

Felicity opened her mouth to argue, but Hermione cut across her. 'I told you what you need to do if you want to wear that outfit,' she said firmly.

'But, Mother,' Felicity said in exasperation, 'it's not as if I have all that on top, like you do. It doesn't matter!'

'Wearing proper under garments is not a question of build, young lady, it is a question of propriety,' Hermione responded adamantly.

'Oh, Mother – you are so twentieth century,' Felicity sneered in a fine imitation of her father's nastiest manner.

'Felicity Eileen,' Severus thundered, incensed at this show of disrespect to Hermione, 'you may follow your mother's instructions, or you may stay home tonight. The decision is yours to make.'

Without another word, the teenage witch stormed out of the room. 'I'll speak to her,' Eileen Snape's portrait said, and she walked out of the frame, undoubtedly to visit the family portrait in her granddaughter's room.

Hermione sat down on the couch beside Severus and took the glass from his hand, swallowing a slug of firewhisky. 'I'm going to be grey before we manage to get her to adulthood,' she moaned.

Severus moved a swath of hair from Hermione's face and kissed her throat. 'I predict that you will go silver, rather than grey,' he murmured.

Hermione turned to face him, running her hand through his inky black hair, now threaded with silver. 'If I grey as gracefully as you have done, I will be a happy witch.'

He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the lips. 'Who is she going with, tonight?'

Hermione sighed. 'Castor Rosier.'

Severus sat back. 'Not Evan Rosier's son? Surely that dolt never reproduced!'

Hermione shook her head. 'No – his grandson, Severus. Evan Rosier's son is about my age, but he was educated in France.'

Severus winced at this reminder of the disparity between his age and Hermione's. 'I don't want any relation of Rosier's to date my daughter,' he snapped.

'You didn't want Alfie Lupin to date her, either,' she reminded him.

He brightened. 'Why can't she go with young Lupin, then? They're great friends – I know the boy has been well brought up. She can go with him.' He nodded.

Hermione chuckled. 'Severus, have you ever known a teenage girl who allowed her father to pick out her boyfriends? No, don't even answer that,' she added when he opened his mouth. 'You know good and well that if you push her in one direction that she will go in the other just to show you that she can. You were the one who objected when she wanted to go out with Alfie last year – and now she's going through the Slytherin boys; she finished with Ravenclaw last term.'

'Bloody Gryffindors,' he swore. It had been galling to him when his daughter had Sorted into Gryffindor, but he should have known; the Sorting Hat had very nearly put him in Gryffindor, after all, so it wasn't completely beyond belief for Felicity to be in Hermione's House. The child had been excited when it had happened, because she was in Alfie Lupin's House. They had continued their close friendship for all their years in school, but Severus had exerted all his influence to prevent his daughter from imagining herself romantically attached to Lupin's son. Now, he thought rather nostalgically of sending her off with Alfie in the past, for he had known she would be completely safe with that young man, who tended to watch over her as if he was a dog and she was his only bone.

The child burst into the room again in the next moment, properly dressed and dutifully contrite. 'I'm sorry, Mum,' she said, bending to kiss Hermione on the cheek.

'Have fun, love,' Hermione said, 'but don't be late.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Felicity replied, turning to her father.

Severus quirked an eyebrow at her. 'Well, Felix?' he said.

Grabbing a fistful of his robes, his daughter kissed his cheek, whispering, 'I love you, Daddy.'

There was a knock on the door to the back garden, and Severus rose and strode into the kitchen with Felicity at his heels. He opened the door to the young wizard who stood on the step; the young man had very short blond hair and piercings in each ear and each eyebrow. In his hand, he held a broomstick.

'Yes?' Severus said coldly.

'Dad!' Felicity hissed, trying to get around him.

'Good evening, sir,' the boy said, obviously nervous. 'I'm here to pick up Felicity.'

Felicity squeezed past her father successfully and followed the boy into the garden, mounting his broom behind him. Severus' last sight of her, as she and the young Slytherin wizard flew into the night, was certainly the waving of her hand – and may also have been the blowing of a kiss.

Hermione sat by the open window of the large kitchen of her country house, her eyes on Severus as he sat in the back garden, watching the children splash about in the charm-heated pool. Severus had contracted to have the house built to his design in every detail, right down to the pool, which did not resemble a swimming pool at all, but rather a natural pond, fed by a fresh water spring and complete with a waterfall. When they were not entertaining their family or friends, he and Hermione had very much enjoyed spending time in the surroundings he had created for her – 'A setting fit for my Naiad,' he was wont to say.

When the grandchildren had begun to come, he had finally persuaded Hermione to move from Spinner's End, pointing out that there would never be enough room in the old terraced house for them to entertain their daughter's numerous offspring in any comfort. Felicity had married her Wolfie, and after two childless years – and against her mother's counsel – she had taken a dose of Felix Felicis. The identical triplets, Felix, Severus, and Remus, had been the result of that experiment, but only the beginning of Felicity and Wolfie's family.

Hermione heard the sliding door from the lounge to the patio open, and the elder Lupins appeared outside the kitchen window. Remus was completely white-haired now, but moved with the grace of a much younger man, whilst Tonks continued to be a bit on the clumsy side. Although Severus was hard put to admit it, he and Remus Lupin had become close friends through the years, and they still played the occasional Quidditch match, although now they did so with their grandchildren flying about, rooting them on.

'It's Grandmother and Grandfather Lupin!' young Alfie called, and the other five piled out of the pool behind him, converging on the Lupins with their greetings.

A smile touched Hermione's eyes at this; it was lovely to see her healthy, beautiful, energetic grandchildren in motion. The triplets were now fifteen and entering on their sixth year at Hogwarts in the fall. The girls, Eileen and Jane, were thirteen and twelve, respectively, followed by eight year old Alfie. Of the grandparents, only Tonks, at her own insistence, had escaped having a grandchild named for her. 'My mother may have been fool enough to call me Nymphadora,' she had declared, 'but I will not perpetuate the horror – the stupidity stops here.'

Hermione saw Severus rise from his chair, pause to exchange greetings with the Lupins, then she heard again the sliding glass door.

'He's coming in,' she said to Felicity, and the two women held hands and smiled at one another, both with tears upon their cheeks.

Severus found Hermione in the kitchen, sitting with their daughter. Each of the women was in tears, and he frowned from the doorway.

Hermione had, as he had predicted, silvered beautifully; menopause had brought about the end of bushiness in her hair, and the long silvery curls hung down her back, secured with a clip at the nape of her neck. Nearing sixty, she bore the appearance of a woman ten years younger; in his eyes, she was more beautiful than she had ever been. They were both retired from Security Solutions now and pursuing their hobbies in their large, comfortable home, which was always open for 'grandparent business,' as Hermione put it.

Their only child was maturing into a beautiful woman in her own right. In her mid-thirties, she wore her cap of jet-black curls cropped closely about her head. The birth of six children had thickened her body, but had not diminished her loveliness, nor the glow in Alfie Lupin's eyes when they rested upon his 'Princess.' Alfie now headed up the Incursion Division of Security Solutions, a post inherited from his father; Felicity, on the other hand, was a free-lance journalist. She had been working on a project for the last two years which she sometimes discussed with her mother, but which she had yet to confide to her father. Severus, always respectful of reticence in others, had not pried; he knew she would discuss it with him when she was ready.

Hermione looked at him in the doorway and said, 'Hello, Severus.'

Leaning against the doorframe, his hands tucked in his pockets, Severus inclined his head. 'Am I interrupting?'

His daughter stood and picked up a thick sheaf of papers from the table in front of her. 'I have something to you show you, Daddy,' she said, approaching him and handing him the heavy manuscript.

'What is this?' he asked, hefting it. 'About – two years of work, perhaps?'

Felicity smiled. 'More like fifteen years of research and two years of writing,' she said. 'See? The title is on the front.'

Echoing back to a babyish voice saying, 'Lookie, Daddy!' he glanced down at the front page.

Dumbledore's Double Agent

By Felix Snape

He was not aware of the tears on his face until Hermione took the manuscript from his hands put it on the table; as she dried his face, she said, 'You don't want to smear the ink.'

Clearing his throat, he said, 'No one will want to read such a thing, surely?'

'It has been accepted for publication, Daddy,' Felicity said, standing before him proudly. 'It will come out next year – on the fortieth anniversary of the Final Fall of Voldemort.'

Severus allowed Hermione to lead him to a chair, where he sat clasping the handkerchief she had given him, wishing his hands would not shake. 'I am surprised that anyone would publish the true story.'

Felicity moved behind him and rested her cheek on the top of his head, his black robes bunched in her fists. 'Times have changed, Daddy. The world is ready to know the whole story, now – and the Minister has already read the manuscript. Next year, at the fortieth anniversary celebration, you will receive your Order of Merlin, First Class, for your service during the war.'

Severus sat in silence, staring at his hands. 'It's not as if the Minister didn't already know all the facts,' he said.

'If it had been up to him, Daddy, you would have received the award when he first took office, five years ago. But at that time, he didn't have the support of the Wizengamot. Since the last election, with the new party in power, Arthur Weasley is the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and he has forced the issue. Each member of the Wizengamot has read the manuscript, as well. The measure to present the award passed by a vote of acclamation.'

Severus looked up at Hermione, whose cheeks were again streaked with tears. 'How much did you have to do with this?' he asked.

She only shook her head. 'I helped with the research – and you know I campaigned for both Arthur and Harry – but your daughter was the force behind this, Severus. She made it happen.'

And so it was, that on the fortieth anniversary of the fall of the Dark Lord, Severus stood before the wizarding world, with his family surrounding him, and accepted the Order of Merlin, First Class, from the Minister of Magic, Harry James Potter. He was also accorded forty years of back-pay for the Order of Merlin annuity, which he promptly donated to the Ministry fund for the British Wizarding University.

Vindicated, he listened to the tumultuous applause of the assembled people, reflecting on the vagaries of fate, which had brought his very determined wife into his life. She, with stubborn single-mindedness and a dose of lucky potion, had taken their improbable union and formed of it a life of the greatest felicity for which a man could wish.