Phoenix Tears

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o 45 o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Phoenix Tears

The addition of ‘uepike roe’ on Hermione’s blackboard had bothered Severus all night. ’Uepike was only a partial word, but there were only two options as to what she could mean: blue pikeperch or, more likely considering how she wrote it, she meant Bluepike crab roe. He’d wondered briefly if she’d maybe gotten the idea from their date to Duncansby Head, then mentally shook his head before he lingered too long on the memories of the date.

After spending long hours working through the calculations for the addition of Bluepike crab roe in the potion, he realized she might be right. Holy Mother of Merlin! he thought as he stared at the conclusion. The suggestion is brilliant. But how… never mind. I still have plenty of the roe in my personal stores.

He wanted to ask Hermione about the addition, but when he’d entered the Great Hall that morning, she wasn’t there. When Severus spotted Reginald entering the Hall, he motioned him over to him. “I have something to show you,” he said as his friend approached. “Follow me.”

Reginald nodded and turned to follow Severus up to the small classroom on the seventh floor, taking the stairs two at a time to keep up. “What is so important that we’re missing breakfast?” he asked, lagging a few steps behind Severus.

Severus didn’t turn around but kept going, ignoring the students that dove out of his way. “You’ll see,” was all he replied.

Reginald scowled at him but managed to keep pace.

Severus quickly unlocked the door and ushered Reginald in. Once all the candles in the room were lit, he crossed his arms as Reginald stared at the blackboard. “Did you do this?”

“No. Hermione did,” Severus said with a smirk.

“Why the colors?” Reginald asked as he moved his finger from one line to another, trying to decipher the complex writing on the blackboard. “This makes little sense; the Cajanus is listed in two different places, the bicorn horn is both after and before the Leguminosae roots… fly agaric… and arsenic – for the same line? We already solved this variable…” He turned to look at Severus. “So why did you think this was so important for me to see?”

Severus smirked. “You’ve been her professor for almost four months, and you don’t know how her mind works? It’s layered in colors. She’s comparing Gruener’s version of the Médousa Potion in the green to Master Ogden’s in the blue with the new version we created in orange and highlighted where the directions overlap – but that’s not what intrigued me. Look at the words in pink.”

Reginald stared at the blackboard again. “One thousand seeds, six drops of Aquila’s tears, and… uepike roe?”

“Bluepike crab roe,” Severus stated, half smiling. “I’ve done some preliminary calculations, and I think it might work.”

“It works?! You’re kidding me? You’re actually considering that she might be right?” Reginald asked as he turned his back to the blackboard to face him. “These are most likely guesswork on her part! One thousand seeds is an exorbitant quantity, rather preposterous considering… and six drops of tears – anyone’s or anything’s tears are hardly enough...”

“She probably found the ideas in a book,” Severus stated. “Besides, we’ve been calculating for every type of seed known.”

Reginald turned back to the board. “With unsuccessful results. You know as well as I do that most seeds used in a large quantity are measured by weight volume – not counted.” He cocked his head ever so lightly. “You’re actually taking this seriously?”

“I’m intrigued,” Severus admitted.

“You actually think she’s uncovered something, some vague reference that neither of us knows about?” Reginald asked with a smirk.

“Barrett Muldoon was neurotic eccentric,” Severus said with a shrug. “He could have very well taken a weight measurement of the seed in question and then counted them, writing down a precise number. Other brewers have done similar oddities. There are basic calculations for the number of seeds per gram. For example, a yellow mustard seed is about one point ninety-seven grams and three point forty-two grams for black. One gram would have about five hundred and seven seeds in it. Celery seeds are approximately two thousand to twenty-five hundred seeds per gram, and thyme is about six thousand seeds per gram.”

“Approximately, but each of those are weighed when use in potions due to slight inconstancies; variations can exist between different cultivars, natural conditions such as climates, rainfall, and soil composition can change the size and weight of the seeds as well,” Reginald stated, shaking his head. He looked at the board again. “Okay, assuming Muldoon counted the seeds or used a standard ‘approximate volume by weight table’—”

“Except in soup – which eliminates all the legumes on the list,” Severus interrupted with a shrug.

But Reginald hadn’t paid attention to the barb. “—which, by the way, is insane – it still doesn’t indicate which one – or what variety. I will review all the known seeds used in potions, again, and try working on the calculations,” he said as he turned for the door. “I wonder why she wrote down one thousand.”

Hermione sent off her letter first thing in the morning and skipped breakfast in order to go straight to the library, hoping to find any reference to validate her discovery of the bluepike roe and came up short. Severus’ book had shown her only uepike, but she surmised it to be either blue pikeperch or Bluepike crabs, but she was leaning toward Bluepike crabs because she couldn’t find any reference at all for blue pikeperch as a potions ingredient, let alone its roe. When the bell tolled the hour, she put the book she’d been scanning through back in place and hurried off for her Charms lesson.

“Where were you? You missed breakfast,” Ginny asked Hermione as soon as she stood next to her in Charms. The students were milling around in the center of the room because the classroom was full of large furniture pieces along one wall instead of rows of desks.

Hermione looked at her and smiled. “I woke up early to send a letter to Mr. Prince about Christmas, and then I went to the library to try working something out on the Médousa Potion. Why? What did you need?”

“I wondered if maybe you were with Severus,” Ginny whispered, wiggling her eyebrows at her. “I mean you missed dinner last night altogether.”

“Severus was hurt, but he wouldn’t tell me where he’d been except to tell me that four more Death Eaters had been caught. Apparently he enjoys assisting the Aurors in his free time,” Hermione said with a frown. “He was a mess last night, Gin: cuts, bruises, mended fractures…”

“I suppose I’ll have loads of that with Harry,” Ginny said with a sigh. “Why I chose an Auror for a husband, I’ll never know.”

“Love at first sight, fate, and that bloody Moon Song Curse – you never had a chance,” Hermione stated, smiling when Ginny stuck her tongue out at her.

“Thank Merlin Mum was always having me help her patch up the twins. But I suppose I’ll have to learn all the basic Healing Charms,” Ginny said with a sigh.

“From what I’ve seen you may have to learn to be a Healer,” Hermione said with a smirk. “Care to take on that project with me as well?”

Before Ginny could answer, Professor Flitwick announced that they would be working on nonverbal relocation of heavy objects, which made Hermione grin. She was pretty good at relocating furniture, having had loads of practice at Harry’s during the summer before her fifth year when they’d cleaned Grimmauld Place from top to bottom, and again more recently during the remodel this last summer. “Points will be taken if you damage the furniture or break the glass. Bonus points will be given if you keep the pieces upright.”

“Besides, I wasn’t with Severus all night – I just came back late,” Hermione said as she placed down a particularly large wardrobe.

“And you chide me for sneaking in after curfew,” Ginny said as Hermione tried moving a wardrobe across the room nonverbally. “We still on for Saturday?”

Hermione struggled to keep the wardrobe from tilting. The charm was definitely easier to control verbally and when not distracted by other things, like chatter or ducking the glass front armoire Dresden Penwalter dropped next to her foot. “I suppose so. I guess we’d better, considering I’m going to be staying there over the holiday.”

“So, did you solve anything on the potion?” Ginny asked, finally getting her wardrobe to float upright.

“Yeah, thanks to a paper cut,” Hermione stated, adding, “I’ll explain after class,” when Ginny looked confused, nearly dropping her wardrobe.

Hermione focused her thoughts on her wardrobe again, making it glide over to the far wall and set down upright.

“Excellent, Mrs. Snape!” Professor Flitwick said and rewarded her with house points, then turned to face Penwalter. “Mr. Penwalter, keep your wrist firm and your wand pointed up.”

Hermione walked to the back of the room. Ginny soon joined her. “Another five points! That was so much easier when we were cleaning up Grimmauld Place, wasn’t it?” she asked with a smirk. “So, how did a paper cut help you with the potion – you didn’t get blood in the Fearlessness Potion, did you?”

“No, I didn’t bleed in the potion!” Hermione told her what happened.

Ginny scrunched her nose. “Ew, yuck. But then you solved the missing ingredients, right?”

“I only got bits and pieces, but I think I’ve solved one ingredient, well, possibly. I’ll try again tonight,” Hermione said, turning in surprise as the two pieces of furniture Carothers and Hargett were moving banged into each other with a loud crash. Surprisingly, the mirror on the front of Hargett’s wardrobe remained intact.

“I thought we had a ball to go to tonight?” Ginny said with a chuckle.

Hermione groaned. “Yes, we do. At least you’re coming with me.”

“Nope, I’m meeting Harry at the school gate before dinner,” she said with a smile. “He wants to show me something before we go – my Christmas present. Some secret – but we’ll see you there.”

Hermione looked at her, wondering why he was showing her his gift so soon. According to his last letter, he wasn’t proposing until Christmas morning. Unless this surprise Harry was showing Ginny had something to do with the property acquisition of his grandparent’s house in Glasbury or possibly the house Sirius had been given from his Uncle Alphard Black. She’d been delighted when he’d told her that he’d unearthed the address on some documents in Sirius’, now his vault. He also told her, in the strictest confidence, that the Fidelius on both properties had been reversed and reset at some expense. She’d have to write Harry and find out.

When Ginny and Hermione entered Professor Reginald’s lab during their revision time that afternoon, she was surprised to see her blackboard standing next to his. Severus and Reginald were both deep in discussion, staring at the directions Hermione had drawn on the blackboard. “What – why did you move it?” she asked.

The men both turned around. “Where did you get the idea for the words you added in pink?” Severus asked, ignoring her question.

Hermione set her bag on Reginald’s desk carefully and withdrew her notes and Severus’ old book, setting the old book down gently. “From this,” she replied, indicating the book.

Severus stared at the book then looked up at her with narrowed eyes and a scowl. “Why did you take my book?” he growled.

“Last night, after you fell asleep, when I was leaving… I – the book was on the table, and it was open to the Médousa Potion,” she tried to explain. “I was – I checked it against the copy we made by combining the wand cores, and I noticed that it seemed the same, sort of… so I took it up to the room where I’d been working to compare… You were sound asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.” Severus was watching her so intently that she felt like a first-year. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked.”

“Yes, you should have asked,” he said coolly, obviously reigning in his anger. “You said the directions matched?”

Hermione nodded. She turned to the book, gently stroking the binder as she pleaded with the book, “Please open up.” It shivered but remained clamped shut as she tried to lift the cover. “Please, let me see. I will not harm you, I promise.” She could feel the book relax under her fingertips. She opened the book to the Médousa Potion then looked up at the men who’d walked over to her. “See, it’s the same – well, close. There are the gaps—”

“But no scribbles – only small smudges in the gaps,” Ginny said, looking at the book from the chair at Reginald’s desk.

“It’s blood,” Hermione admitted, feeling her face flush. She quickly looked up at Severus, catching his questioning glare. “It was an accident – I didn’t know my finger was bleeding until—”

“Blood?”

“Blood, from a paper cut,” Hermione admitted. “I didn’t think it was that deep; it didn’t bleed right away. But then when I was following one of the lines in the book with my finger it bled – on the space – and some words appeared.” She pointed to the blackboard. “Those words.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed, and Reginald turned to look at the blackboard and back. “Blood – words appeared when you touched the book with blood?” Reginald asked.

Hermione nodded, still staring at Severus for any sign that he might be furious with her for taking his book without permission.

“These words appeared when you used blood.” Severus’ expression slowly changed from stony to introspective as he turned to the blackboard. “I can’t believe I never made the connection. Corcoran Maolduin’s portrait hangs in the library, in the Restricted Section.”

“Wasn’t he famous for inventing Dark Art blood curses to conceal objects?” Ginny asked. “Alecto had us write an essay on blood curses last year.”

“Yes, and from what I know, Barrett Muldoon is Corcoran Maolduin’s great-great-grandson,” Severus stated. “So it figures the paranoid git would use his twice-great-grandfather’s curses to hide his work – just so his work wouldn’t be stolen or copied.”

“So that’s where you came up with one thousand seeds, Bluepike roe, and the six tears?” Reginald asked.

“Well, yes, and no. The book only showed me uepike, but it seemed logical,” Hermione replied and turned to face Severus. “Bluepike crabs – you took me to collect some on our second date, Severus, remember? Didn’t you mention that you collected the roe for potions?”

“Very romantic,” Reginald said with a chuckle.

“It was fun,” Hermione said a bit defensively, which made Severus smirk.

“Yes, I do, every summer, and the membranes of the roe would burst on contact, which would allow them to blend in well,” Severus stated as he stared at the blackboard. “The directions stipulate only stirring the potion five times – that would be adequate – and the calculations work. We’ve yet to apply the theory in a practical application.” He drew his knife and jabbed his finger, gently swiping his blood on one of the gaps in the directions. The words, six drops of Aquila’s tears, appeared in the space. He tried the next gap in the directions, but once again the words, one thousand seeds, appeared in the space before, crush to remove the husk and press with a linen, the same as it had apparently for Hermione. He healed his cut and walked over to the blackboard.

Ginny put her elbow on the desk and leaned her head against her palm. “So we know one ingredient is Bluepike crab roe. That leaves the question of which seeds and whose tears…” She looked up at Severus who was now facing the blackboard, reading the line as well.

Severus turned and crossed his arms, his expression blank and his eyes unfocused as Reginald and Hermione searched through their notes for any annotation about tears.

“The only references I know to an Aquila is from Greek mythology… and a constellation which is just north of the celestial equator and is part of the Summer Triangle asterism, according to what I remember from Astronomy,” Ginny stated with an exasperated sigh and dropped her hands holding the parchments she’d been reading to the desk. “In classical Greek mythology, Aquila was the eagle that carried the thunderbolts of Zeus, although the Romans called the constellation of Aquila the Vultur volans or the flying vulture.”

“Zeus also used the bird to abduct people and to perform errands for him… He sent Aquila to bring a shepherd boy, Ganymede, to Mount Olympus to be Zeus' cup-bearer,” Hermione stated without looking up so she missed Severus’ scowl.

“Figures you both would be well versed in Greek and Roman mythology,” Severus said drolly.

“I loved it as a kid,” Hermione stated, setting down a handful of parchments with a sigh. He picked up Master Gruener’s journal, contemplating the blacked out scribbles.

“I doubt it’s a vulture,” Reginald agreed. “And neither eagle nor vulture parts are used in potions.”

Hermione was still staring at the scribbled out annotations on Master Gruener’s journal. They were the same – just like the versions in Master Ogden’s journal, only this time it looked different. As if all she needed to do was… Suddenly, some of the ink seemed to separate slightly as if a transparency lifted up. “It’s layered writing!”

Both men turned to face her as Ginny dropped her hand and sat up straight. “What are you on about?” Severus asked sharply.

“The scribble – it’s layered writing,” Hermione repeated, looking up at him. “I will write things down that I want to remember as a way of memorization. I know I have a photographic memory when it comes to general reading, but to memorize things, I write them down, sometimes repetitively. And if I write over what I’ve written, I can always lift the layers later if I want to. I found a charm in the library my third year that did the same thing, but I’ve become so adept at the magical technique, even before I’d realized the reason I could do so was because of my magic, that I’d never bothered to learn the charm.”

Severus stared at her, his expression thoughtful as Reginald rubbed his lip in thought.

“What if this Barrett Muldoon did use a blood curse on these three parts of the directions and then layered the Bedydrian Curse over it?” Hermione asked, looking at the smudges again. “What if by using a replicating charm instead of a Replication quill like we did, you only get blanks or smudges and the direction lines misalign. But using a Replication quill instead, the spell could have copied the missing parts, but jumbled them up, writing words on top of each other! The Bedydrian Curse might’ve concealed them so they look like scribbles!”

Hermione showed Severus and Reginald one of the unreadable scribbling in Master Ogden’s journal. “See, all his other annotations on every other page except the ones on the Médousa Potion are legible – either crossed out or underlined, but not scribbled out. Master Gruener scribbled out his annotations sometimes in his journal, but Master Ogden didn’t. But look at the scribbles on the Médousa Potion in both journals – compare them.” She laid the journals side-by-side. “Don’t you see the difference?” Hermione asked him, pointing to Master Gruener’s journal. “When we combined the wand cores, couldn’t it have also fixed the problem with the annotations on the page?” She tried to lift the layers of writing.

“Master Ogden frequently used whatever parchment or paper was handy to work out his…” Reginald started to say, before Hermione made some words begin literally to float above the rest of the scribble. “and then only kept his final draft…” Then another lifted, and a third, making each one readable. “Bloody hell!”

Hermione was examining what looked like a childish drawing that lay underneath the writing. She looked up at Severus beaming with delight. “It’s a drollery!”

“I can see it’s a drawing,” Severus stated dryly as Ginny rose up and leaned over the desk to look at it too.

Hermione didn’t care if he was annoyed. Using a replicating charm, Hermione copied the bottom layer onto a piece of parchment. “What does that look like to you?”

Severus looked at the drawing and frowned. “It’s a chicken.”

Reginald shook his head. “It could be a peacock, or a bird on water…?”

Ginny palmed her forehead as she exclaimed, “A phoenix!?” She dropped her hand and looked up. “What if this Muldoon meant six tears from a phoenix named Aquila after Zeus’ eagle?” she asked. “The Greeks often depicted phoenixes like a peacock or an eagle… and on a jewelry box Bill sent me from Turkey it shows a phoenix that looks like a swan with a long tail…”

“Wizards know what a phoenix looks like, Ginevra,” Severus stated.

Ginny laughed. “Not all wizards do, and some drawing of them are far from accurate. Besides, phoenixes are very rare, and very few wizards in history have ever had one as a familiar. I remember the first time I saw Fawkes; I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was the most amazingly beautiful creature I’d ever seen – well, second to unicorns, that is.”

“Severus, this could be a phoenix!” Hermione stated enthusiastically.

Reginald uncrossed his arms as he leaned down to examine the journal. “Phoenix tears,” he stated, looking up at the blackboard. “You know, it could be… but only six drops of tears – it’s a small amount… But there is no record of Muldoon owning a phoenix.”

“Master Gruener did! Well, he had access to one – he was friends with Dumbledore.” Hermione was certain now. “Phoenix tears have healing powers.”

“I’m well aware of that, Hermione, having been healed by Fawkes numerous times myself,” Severus stated. “One drop from a Pasteur pipette actually equals three to five tears depending on the size of the Pasteur… eighteen, twenty-four, or thirty. That would certainly be enough if it were correct. I’ll do the calculations.”

Reginald wrote six drops of phoenix tears from a Pasteur on the blackboard. “Add six drops of phoenix tears slowly and stir… or while stirring… They would have to be added between stirs because of the toxic nature of the potion at this point. Which just leaves us the problem of obtaining the phoenix tears; they are not easy to come by.”

“Which I may have a solution for,” Severus stated and walked out of the room.

Hermione turned to face Reginald, who was correcting the directions on the blackboard with the new additions. “Where is he going?”

“Oh, he does that – leaves. I’ve worked with him for years – I’m used to it. When he needs something and knows where to get it – he simply leaves. At least this time he said so,” Reginald said with a chuckle as he started writing the Arithmancy equation on the blackboard to work out the calculations. “He’ll be back – or at least he will let me – us know when he’s gotten the phoenix tears.”

Hermione was torn, wanting to follow Severus and desiring to know the formula equations Reginald was using. Both girls watched in amazement as he worked on his calculations. Hermione shook her head, thinking that he’d made a mistake in the fifth line that threw off the formula, possibly because of transference of two numerals in the third line… Pulling out a piece of parchment, she quickly copied down the formula equations. She could try them later after she found Severus.

“So who’s going to get the Bluepike crabs?” Ginny asked, just as confused as Hermione by Reginald’s nonchalant attitude.

“Maybe Severus will take Hermione on another date,” Reginald said, smirking as Hermione left to go and try to find Severus.

Severus reached into his trunk and tapped on the side panel with his wand. Like many wizarding trunks, a secret compartment opened, revealing a miniaturized brass bird stand, a large bowl sitting on folded robes of midnight blue dotted with sparkling stars and moons, and a thick letter sent to him from Aberforth two months after Dumbledore died. He shoved the letter into his pocket and then picked up the bowl, smiling at the woven design in the brass resembling a bird’s nest. He carried it reverently to the bed. Within the bowl lay a nest of oak, Boswellia, and Commiphora myrrha twigs, woven together with grasses and strands of unicorn hairs, and lined with a deep layer of ashes. The bark of the Boswellia and Commiphora had been severely slashed, which had allowed the branches to bleed out the resins that had hardened into tears of frankincense and myrrh within the nest.

Taking out the bird stand, he returned it to its original size, placed it by the open window, and gently placed the bowl with the nest on the stand. He picked up a small vial and uncorked it. There were tears already in the vial, a small amount of natural saline, almost two teaspoonfuls, although certainly not nearly enough for what he needed. Dumbledore’s letter had specified at least two to three teaspoonfuls were needed, and the more the better. He couldn’t use any spells or potions to make himself cry; they had to be natural tears – tears of his soul, Dumbledore had told him.

Severus paced his room, trying to drudge up any memory that would produce more tears.

He sat on the bed, remembering the anguish he’d felt over Lily’s death and the guilt he’d carried for years.

That didn’t work. Just as it hadn’t worked the last time he’d tried this.

Severus recalled the night he’d gone to Grimmauld Place to search Sirius’ room for the last time; he’d cried then as he held the half of the photograph with Lily in it to his chest. He still felt a deep sense of remorse, the tightening in his chest, but no longer the same anguish over her death.

He tried to remember the night he’d found his mother’s body, her limp form and the way her dead eyes stared back at him – the number of times he’d seen those eyes staring back at him in his dreams afterwards from the guilt and anguish of not being there to protect her, but only a few tears escaped, which he captured with a simple Collection Charm. He remembered the arguments, his mother’s bruises, and that he hadn’t been there when she’d needed him the most. His eyes watered, his throat restricted, the feeling in his chest seemed to restrict and more tears fell, magically collecting in his vial from the charm. He focused all this thoughts, concentrated on how much he missed her, and captured a few more tears, but still not enough.

This was harder than he’d thought. Dumbledore’s portrait was right; he’d closed off his emotions well.

He thought about the night he’d killed Dumbledore. After he’d fled the castle and dumped a frightened Draco at Narcissa’s feet, the tears had flown freely then, but now the memory only made his eyes well with tears that he had to squeeze his eyes shut to let fall. He used the same charm to catch each one in the glass vial. He allowed his remorse of the death to fill his mind, as if saying a final farewell to the old man.

It helped; his grief over his actions made him feel the weight of his guilt, and his eyes welled up and more tears slid down his cheek. He gave in to his feelings of loss and regret, crying openly for a wizard who’d trusted him, stood by him, was his friend… respected him. The Collection Charm magically transferred each tear to his vial.

He thought of the people he’d Imperiused or killed, and the people who’d he turned over to the Dark Lord or the ones he’d simply stood by and watched die. He was a bloody monster, a murderer, and worse…

How Hermione could forgive him of everything so easily, so readily, amazed him. The charm caught the tears that rolled down his cheek, and he sniffed.

He thought back to all the numerous times he’d abused her, belittled her, called her names, used her – to punish her for his own selfish reasons. He’d nearly succeeded in driving her away. More tears fell as he recalled the night in Azkaban after Hermione had come to see him the first time and the despair he’d felt after she’d left – believing in the finality of his imprisonment and the reality that he was there for life. He’d pushed her away so he wouldn’t have to face what he couldn’t allow himself to believe – to hope… Tears ran unbidden down his cheek, and the Collection Charm caught each one.

He concentrated on the feelings he had when she was lying in the hospital after the backlash from the Bedydrian Curse, so pale and fragile… and how easily he could have lost her… the only woman to love him – him – unconditionally… and how hard he’d tried to push her away from him, denying to himself that she could actually love him. He was such a fool.

Finally, the feelings overwhelmed him and heavy tears began to flow. He wallowed in despair, catching his tears in the small vial as he imagined life without Hermione in it and the soulless wreck he’d be without her.

After a long, hard cry, feeling completely emotionally drained and weak, he mentally resolved himself and forced his emotions back into control. He checked the vial, satisfied that there was more liquid than before, but just enough to dampen a little bit of the ash.

He lit the ashes wandlessly. He waited, watched as the flames grew and spread as both the nest and ashes burned fiercely. The white-yellow color range of the flames with a blue hue at its base indicated a magically strong phoenix. He tilted the vial over the flames and let his tears pour out, which made the flames flicker and hiss. The typical balsamic-spicy, slightly lemony fragrance of the frankincense mixed headily with the heavily bitter and somewhat vanilla sweetness of the myrrh as the smoke rose, swirled, and was drawn out of the open window. The myrrh expanded, resembling blossoming blooms in the fire instead of melting like most other aromatic resins would and began to congeal with some of the ash into a lump in the center of the bowl. The fire died down quickly after only a few minutes as if absorbed into the ash.

Severus watched as the twigs turned to golden-orange embers, which emitted a soft subtle reddish hue. Female then. When the embers began to darken, the new phoenix chick lifted its head out from the ash and gazed upon Severus. “Hello, Aideen,” he said softly, the name he’d picked out years ago, and the tiny chick cooed.

In the center of the ashes, the new phoenix embalmed the ashes of its sire in the myrrh, forming an egg and then curled around it. Once the bird reached maturity, it would carry the egg to the Egyptian City of Heliopolis. If the vial had held enough of Severus’ tears, Aideen would return. Severus hoped that he’d added enough tears.

There was a timid knock on the door before it opened slightly. “Severus?” Hermione asked, pushing the door wider. “Are you in here?”

He kept his back to her and wiped his face on his sleeve to hide the fact he’d been crying. “Yes,” he said, not trusting his voice to say more.

She entered and walked over to him. “Are you all right?” she asked, and his heart swelled at the concern in her voice.

After every thing he’d done, every horrible thing, she still cared. He fought back the tears that filled his eyes and threatened to fall. “Yes.”

“You’ve been crying?” she asked, her small hand sliding on his back.

He inhaled deeply but continued to face the phoenix stand with the newly risen chick.

Hermione moved slowly so that she was now beside him. “Oh, is that Fawkes?” she asked when she saw the newborn phoenix.

“No, it’s Aideen, a newly risen chick. She was born from Fawkes’ final ashes,” he stated, hating the way his voice sounded, thick and laden with grief.

Aideen let out a soft cooing sound that helped ease his emotional turmoil.

“Hello, Aideen,” she said to the small featherless head and then turned to face Severus, wrapping her arms about him in a hug.

Severus engulfed her in his arms and buried his face in her hair, holding her to him tightly. He was never going to let go. She was his. Hopefully, she was finally starting to accept that fact. At least he hoped she did.

Aideen made one more cooing sound then settled into her warm nest and fell asleep.

Wendlynne and Sunita were delighted for the opportunity to help Hermione and Ginny with their hair and makeup for the Ministry of Magic’s Christmas Ball. Sunita, who usually only wore her long, dark hair in a braid, had a huge assortment of pins and clips to use, and Wendlynne was a marvel with curling charms. The girls helped Ginny first, since she had to leave early to meet Harry at the school gate. Hermione sat in her dressing robe and undergarments, marveling at the transformation of her friend. When she was finally dressed, Ginny looked lovely in her Christmas green dress robes and the silver heart pendant she wore was just the right length for the scooped-neck of the gown.

Ginny thanked Wendlynne and Sunita, hugging each in turn, then hugged Hermione. “Well, I have to go,” she said with a huge smile and her eyes brimming with happiness. “I have to meet Hagrid at the Entrance Hall so he can escort me to the gates. I’ll see you at the ball.”

“All right, your turn,” Wendlynne said cheerfully, holding her wand carelessly in her hand.

Hermione cringed, but took the seat Ginny had vacated. She did as she was told: closed her eyes, tipped her chin up – then down, looked up – then down, and blotted her lips as Wendlynne said to do, and then sat still as Sunita arranged her hair. Hermione stood on cue, and Sunita had her step into petticoats and the silver and gold lamiae under dress. The long-sleeved, brown velvet dress robes had a wide, deep plunging neckline and opened all the way down the front, held closed by a single magical clasp at her waist. The voluminous skirt was surprisingly light for the heaviness of the fabric. When she finally looked at herself in the mirror, Hermione gasped. She looked like a princess. “Thank you,” she said in awe, turning her head so the light caught the multitude of crystal pins holding up her hair.

“Don’t worry about the hairpins, they’re charmed,” Sunita said. “If they come loose, they won’t fall off, so you won’t lose any of them. Just release them before you go to bed and give them to me in the morning.”

Hermione thanked both of her friends for helping her and left. The noise in the common room died down as she exited the stairs, a few of the guys whistled, and many of the students stared as Hermione walked across the room. When she reached the stone gargoyle, he leapt aside immediately, and she rode the stairs up to Severus’ office. Severus rose from his chair behind the desk as soon as she stepped into the room, and she laid her cloak on the nearest chair. He was silent, his eyes sweeping over her appearance. “It’s from Mrs. Malfoy,” she said lamely, hoping he approved.

He nodded, moving slowly around the desk, his gaze still roaming over her. He looked nice; he had on his black dress robes with his hair caught back in a tie, although some of his hair escaped and framed his face. “You look…” he said and paused, “lovely.” He turned suddenly and picked up one of the wooden boxes, pulling out an ornate necklace of amethyst set in a silvery metal that shined like moonlit silver. “Turn around so I can do this,” he said softly. His fingers barely brushed her skin as he put on the necklace. He handed her the earrings and stood back, waiting until she was finished. “Shall we?” he asked, picking up her cloak.

“Won’t we be early?” she asked, knowing that Ginny and Harry wouldn’t be there yet.

“Would you rather make an entrance?” he asked with a slight smirk.

Hermione shook her head. They walked in silence to the Entrance Hall and out the huge doors. One of the school carriages awaited them. She gazed remorsefully at the sight of the Thestral standing patiently in the harness, feeling a heavy pang of sadness as she tried not to name those she’d seen die in the final battle of the war.

“Is anything wrong?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head and accepted his hand to climb into the carriage. When they disembarked from the carriage at the gates, he Apparated them to a lush garden landscape where other couples in their finery were appearing or mingling to talk to friends. Severus led Hermione through a huge gazebo, covered in night jasmine and angel trumpet flowers, and they stepped out onto a white stone bridge. Beside them, a waterfall cascaded down between hundreds of flowering orchids, lit with fairy lights, into a slow running stream with swans swimming lazily under the bridge. Ahead of them stood a huge crystal building that reminded Hermione of the description of Rivendell from Lord of the Rings.

“This way, Miss… Granger – er – Snape!” a wizard with an old-fashioned camera stammered.

“Smile,” Severus said softly, placing his hand on her lower back and moving to stand close to her. The flash nearly blinded her.

The wizard took another picture and then lowered his camera. “Thank you. Your copies will be delivered to your table,” the wizard said, turning his head. “Next.”

“Severus, where are we?” Hermione asked as they crossed the bridge.

“Cassiopeia and Pierre Corneille’s botanical gardens and ballroom; they host the ball every year,” he said, pausing to allow a group to pass though the doors ahead of them.

The sight before her was amazing. The huge room was full of tables, set with sparkling silver place settings on shimmering white linens, surrounding a dance floor, which looked like a frozen lake. Thousands of crystal orbs floated overhead in what looked like a starlit sky, giving the room a starlight glow. White flowers were used everywhere, and tall silver fountains stood in the corners.

A willowy woman handed Severus a card. “You’re at table one-twenty-three,” she said and made a notation on her clipboard.

Severus took Hermione’s hand, placing it in the crook of his arm, and led her to their table. She was introduced to two Aurors, Lorraine Matsuno and Maurice Duncan and their spouses, and a witch, Catherine Stewart, from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and her husband, Kenneth, who worked in the Improper Use of Magic office. Dinner was surprisingly enjoyable, if not a tad dry compared to the meals served at Hogwarts. Catherine and Kenneth Stewart were delightful company, as were Auror Loraine Matsuno and her husband, Burt, who dealt with magical artifacts from wizarding estates.

Following dinner, Narcissa Malfoy, resplendent in ice blue and silver dress robes, led Hermione around the room to introduce her to several people she thought of importance. Severus stayed by her side, a stoic protector, as they made their way around the room. Hermione smiled politely and shook hands with each person she was introduced to, and kept her answers to their questions vague.

When the music started, Severus kept a protective hand on Hermione’s back, yet he encouraged her to dance with any of her friends who approached them as well as a few of his friends from the Aurory. Severus only danced with her during the slow songs, but that suited her just fine. Hermione had spotted Rita Skeeter a few times, and Maggie Whitmire, but neither witch ever seemed to get close enough to bother her. Once, when leaving the dance floor with Ron, Maggie had tried to swoop in, only to be asked to dance by Burt Matsuno. Hermione had been thankful for the man’s sacrifice.

Severus sighed impatiently as Harry lingered next to Ginevra in order to kiss her goodnight. “Hermione, take a walk with me,” he suggested in order to avoid the inevitable scene which was about to unfold.

Hermione looked up at him inquisitively. “Shouldn’t we wait for Ginny?”

“I’m certain that she can fend off Fang by herself,” he said with a smirk. Some of the pins, which had held up Hermione’s coiffure, had come loose throughout the evening, and several strands of her hair wafted in the breeze. He looked over to where the other couple stood. “Mr. Potter, if you’ll see your wife to the castle, I’d like to take my leave.”

“Of course, Headmaster,” the impertinent boy replied with a huge grin, and Ginevra snickered.

Severus flicked his wand, resetting the magical protective barrier, and, taking Hermione’s hand, he led her off toward the lake. Hermione looked lovely tonight in her brown dress robes and her hair a loose mass of curls. He had to admit, Narcissa had good taste in clothes, even if her jewelry was a bit ostentatious for his taste.

The Ministry of Magic’s Christmas Ball had been intolerable, as it had been both years he’d been forced to attend. It was oppressively overcrowded, people he hardly knew prostrating or wanting to shake his hand or pose for pictures, hoping to make the society page of the wizarding publications. At least this year there was more gaiety than previously and plenty of booze. Although, there certainly were more people snogging in drawing rooms and corners this year. In addition, the music had been deplorable; some band called the Dream Dragons, who played that jarring contemporary music the young people preferred, but at least they had included some of the older songs in their playlist.

“Wasn’t the party lovely? The ball room was so beautiful…” Hermione said, breaking the silence as she gazed at the picture that had been taken of them upon arrival.

He glanced at the image again and winced. He hated having his picture taken. He was almost always scowling in wizarding photographs, although in this one his expression was considerably less dour – if not slightly… sappy. Still at least he wasn’t grinning like an idiot. “It’s the same every year – only the color scheme changes,” he said, pausing to enjoy the solitude and the lights of the castle reflecting on the surface of the lake.

“I loved how they made the dance floor look like a frozen lake,” she said dreamily.

“It was charmed to do so,” he said and pulled her to him. “I don’t want to talk about the party.”

“Oh? Why not? Didn’t you have a good time?” she asked, wrapping her arms about his waist.

“I don’t particularly like that type of party,” he said truthfully. “I hope that you enjoyed yourself, though.” He’d truly hoped she had. He’d encouraged her to dance with all her friends, making sure he had all the slow numbers with her, and that the nosy-busybodies of the Ministry didn’t bother her too much. His previous arrangement with Lorraine Matsuno and Maurice Duncan had worked out perfectly; Maggie Whitmire, Brilhilda Meddleton, nor that insufferable Rita Skeeter had gotten within six feet of Hermione all evening.

“Yes, I did. It was fun as office parties go,” she admitted.

He leaned down and kissed her, slightly self-conscious that they might be seen from the castle. “Come up to my rooms,” he asked softly as he brushed away a curl that had caught on her lashes.

“All right,” she replied.

He smiled. The evening suddenly looked far more promising. When they entered his sitting room, Severus removed his frockcoat and dropped it on the nearest chair. “Come up with me,” he said as he took her hand and pulled gently.

“I’m not sure…” she said shyly.

He kissed her tenderly before saying, “I want to do this properly, Hermione,” urging her to go with him to his bedroom. She resisted but finally followed him upstairs. The light of the half moon and the single candle on the bedside table barely illuminated the room, but there was enough light to see by. He let her undo the buttons of his shirt, then took his time undoing the fastenings on her robes and under dress, kissing her neck and shoulders as both layers opened up to him. With a flick of his fingers, her bra hooks gave, the elastic of her petticoats loosened, and her clothes fell to the floor.

Her creamy skin glowed in the candlelight as she turned to face him, wearing only a tiny bit of lace for knickers, dark hose, and Narcissa’s jewelry. “You are so beautiful,” he said softly as he trailed his fingers down her chest, over her breasts, and cupped her waist.

“Thank you,” she said with her eyes downcast demurely.

“No, Hermione, you are. You’re truly beautiful,” he said as he carefully removed the necklace.

She blushed as she took off the earrings, placing them on the bedside table, smiling slightly, still unable to look him in the eye. He tipped her head up, gazed at her for a heartbeat, and then kissed her tenderly as he backed her to the bed. She sat down and reached for his belt buckle as he toed off his boots.

He waited as she unfastened his trousers and kicked out of his clothes. He urged her to scoot back on the bed and climbed up next to her. He ran his finger down her chest, around one breast and lowered his mouth to her nipple. He stroked her skin as he trailed kisses down her stomach and back up, and finally kissed her mouth. She responded to him, her tongue seeking his eagerly. She arched her back as his hand moved to her abdomen and sighed when he moved it upward instead and cupped her breast. He kissed her jaw but avoided the sensitive spot under her ear as his fingers explored every inch of her skin. He moved slowly, his touch light and his kisses sensual, even though he ached to be inside her.

“No, up,” she said when his fingers changed course on her thigh, moving slowly to her hip. She tried to squirm in such a way as to get what she wanted.

He knew that he was teasing her, but he wanted to hear her beg him. Her hand slid into his pants and cupped him, stroking his length. “Patience,” he purred silkily, “all in due time.”

He moved away and picked up one of her legs, slowly kissing his way down to her thigh. “Oh no, Severus, please,” she moaned in frustration when he stopped and changed direction, slowly rolling the hose off her leg.

“No? Are you sure?” he replied as he shifted position so he could remove her other hose the same way, pleased as she squirmed under him.

“No, more,” she pleaded as his nose rubbed across her knickers. She was warm, and her knickers moist.

“How much more?” he asked as he removed her hose slowly, kissing her from the inside of her thigh to the arch of her foot in the process.

“That tickles!” she exclaimed, pulling her foot from his grasp.

“Hmm,” he purred as he scooted back up. “What about this?” He nipped at the skin of her inner thigh as he toyed with her knickers. He slid his finger along the elastic as he nibbled on her skin, making her buck up at him.

“Stop teasing me!” she gasped, lifting her head so she could look down at him.

“If that’s what you want, sure,” he replied, smirking before pulling her knickers away. The crotch of her knickers was damp, making him smile predatorily. He pulled his own pants down as he kneeled over her and licked between her lips, eliciting a gasp form her.

Her head fell back onto the bed. “Oh yes,” she said as she bucked into his face and he smiled. He found her clitoris easily enough and grasped her hips firmly. It didn’t take him long to have her moaning, her head tossing as she came.

He was so painfully engorged now, so hard; he needed to be inside her heat or he’d burst. He moved up, pulling her legs up to his waist and positioning himself, entering her easily, watching her face as he moved within her. He had her pinned under him, her hands grasping his forearms as he undulated, loving the feel of their coupling. He wasn’t going to last much longer; his testicles were already restricting, the pressure building. “Touch yourself, Hermione. Make it feel good,” he urged her, trying to delay the inevitable explosion within himself.

Her fingers stroked his penis before she found her clit. “That’s it,” he said, watching her. She was an amazing sight, her face flushed, her hair spread out on his pillow, her breasts bouncing in rhythm to their lovemaking. But if she didn’t come soon, he would, and without satisfying her. He reached down and laid one hand on hers, stroking her, and feeling himself at the same time, trying to push her over the edge. She gasped, her lip quivered, and she clenched down around him. Good, she’s close. C’mon baby, come. “That’s it, come for me,” he purred in his most silky voice.

It worked. Her head rolled back as she came, the sound of her panting cry, the arch of her back was his undoing, and he followed her into bliss. He stayed locked in her for a few seconds as he caught his breath, then lowered her legs and stretched out beside her. He turned her face to his and kissed her. He had twenty minutes before he could go again. He kissed her, fully intending to keep her engaged with him until he was ready. Her skin tasted salty and was warm even in the cool room. She touched him, her fingers exploring him as much as his explored her.

As soon as he felt himself twitch and stiffen again, he lifted her leg and held it on his hip, entering her from behind, all the while stimulating her with his fingers. She spooned into him, rolling her hips to meet each thrust, groaning in pleasure. He loved how responsive she was, how tight. After a while, he placed one of his pillows under her abdomen and pushed her gently to roll her onto her stomach onto the pillow.

He pulled her back into him and braced himself so he’d have better control as he entered her again from behind. It was one of his preferred positions, but one she’d not experienced with him. Pinned under him this way, he rode her with long sure strokes. “Gods you’re tight,” he growled softly, leaning over her, feeling her sweat dampened skin against his.

She moaned, mumbled something, the sounds muffled by the covers. He braced himself with one hand by her side and plunged into her, drawing out as far as he dared on each upstroke. She mewed, trying to buck back into him, gasping. She turned her head, and he wanted to sweep the strands of curls that obscured her face, to watch her expression, but the sounds she was making told him enough. Like before, he felt his testicles restricting again, retracting, pulling up, so close to his own release. She has to come first.

She pushed herself up on her elbows, and he reached around her, his fingers finding her moist center and her clit. She gasped, her head bowed as she bucked into him. The pressure in his testicles tightened even more, so tight it made it hard for him to control himself.

Suddenly she cried out into the bedcovers, and he could feel her clench down on him, feeling her shudder as she tightened on his shaft. He moved with more force, pounding into her, riding her hard. He made one last thrust, burying himself deep inside her, as he felt the euphoric gush of his seed. The sensation of his orgasm consumed him, made everything else around him fade away as the hot, jetting spasms shot down his penis shaft and into her, filling her canal again. His heart pounded in his chest and ears, and his body was wet with sweat, but he felt sense of completion, a sense of satisfaction that she had come first.

He lay down and pulled her to his chest, exhausted, hoping she was as well.

He fell asleep with his face buried in her hair and one arm holding her close, only slightly aware that she had relaxed into slumber as well.

~ T B C ~>

Author’s notes:

The surname of Muldoon originally comes from the Gaelic as O’Maolduin, a patronymic name meaning ‘descendant of Maolduin.’ The personal name Maolduin is comprised of the elements of ‘maol,’ meaning ‘cheiftain’ and dun,’ meaning ‘fortress.’ Among the many spelling variations of the surname Muldoon that are preserved in archival documents are Muldoon, O’Muldoon, Meldon, O’Meldon, and, of course, Maoldoon. (http://www.houseofnames.com/muldoon-family-crest) Why Severus knows this, I have no idea.

Fly agaric is the quintessential toadstool, Amanita muscaria, also commonly known as the fly Amanita. It is a large white-gilled, white-spotted, usually deep red mushroom, one of the most recognizable and widely encountered in popular culture. It is a poisonous and psychoactive basidiomycete fungus, one of many in the genus Amanita. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fly_agaric

Severus’ list of seeds would look something like this: http://www.greenharvest.com.au/seeds/info_sheet/seeds_per_gram.html

Pasteur pipettes, also known as droppers or eyedroppers, are used to transfer small quantities of liquids. They are usually glass tubes tapered to a narrow point, and fitted with a rubber bulb at the top. Definition borrowed from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pasteur_pipette

From searching for a name of the baby phoenix, I came across the name Aideen. The meaning of the name Aideen in Gaelic is Little Fire, although the origin of the name Aideen seems to be Irish. Note: It’s the feminine version of Aidan, male, for Little Fire or Little Flame. I thought that appropriate.

http://www.ourbabynames.co.uk/gaelicgirl.php or http://www.babynamesofireland.com/pages/girl-names-a-c.html

I want to thank Arabellabloodgood, my alpha-reader, and my betas, EverMystique, DuchessOfArcadia, and dandru for giving this a read and helping me clean up all my mistakes. I really appreciate it very much.

Thank you also to Jay for my beautiful banner. I really love it!