Opportunities for Blackmail

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

Heidi had been quiet, unusually so, on their trip from Diagon Alley back to Spinner's End, where she now sat on his parlor couch sipping a steaming cup of tea. It was like watching a botched potion roil and seethe, knowing that at any moment, it would explode and splatter the observer with some foul, potentially poisonous substance. Severus nibbled his shortbread biscuit and gazed at her through his eyelashes with both morbid curiosity and a resigned air, knowing that he would probably deserve whatever noisome words were brewing behind her lips. He had just set them up to call on a man who had drugged her with the intention that Severus take advantage of her. Unfortunately, Lucius was their best source of information and had to be approached in just the right way.

Her cup rattled on its saucer as she set it on the low coffee table. Fixing him with a determined eye, she opened her mouth to speak.

'This is it,' he thought. 'This is when she will finally rake me across the coals, and I will drive her away with belittling insults. She'll leave ...'

"Does it really have to be Lucius Malfoy?"

Severus blinked at her. "What?"

"He drugged me, you know. In this very room." She stabbed her finger at the floor for emphasis.

"He won't hurt you again," Severus assured her automatically, surprising himself. Her resulting smile was unexpectedly warming, and he wouldn't have taken it back if he could. Clearing his throat, he attempted a sneering drawl to cover his small lapse. "Your presence isn't required if you are frightened."

"I'm not afraid," she said quickly. "I just don't like him. He's a conceited, presumptuous bigot."

"Perhaps."

She shot him a mutinous glare. "He is, and you know it. But I'm bloody well going with you." Shooting to her feet, she paced across the parlor and then whirled on him. "Honestly, Severus, is Malfoy our only option?"

"He is if you would like to find the burglar before he disposes of the Starglass."

"Malfoy wouldn't have..."

Severus snorted before she could finish the thought. "Don't be stupid. Lucius has much better things to do than to organize the petty theft of ice cream shop patrons. However, he knows people who know people..."

A shadow streaked across the room between Heidi's legs and made a flying leap into his lap, braking on his thigh with ten needle-sharp claws. Severus gasped in pained surprise, his biscuit taking an unexpected flight into the pot of a withered fern.

"Damn cat!" he yelled, but made no move to dislodge the kitten from his trousers. He had already learned that the damage inflicted on his clothes was not worth the brief respite before the kitten would jump back into his lap.

"What have you decided to call him?" Heidi asked, her shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. She wondered if Severus realized that he was now stroking the kitten's back.

Severus glared at her. "Exactly what makes you think this beast deserves a name?"

"Don't be a berk, Severus." Heidi regarded him speculatively, one long finger gliding over her bottom lip. When she spoke again, he'd almost forgotten what they were discussing. "How about Mewlip?" At his blank expression, she rolled her eyes and said, "J.R.R. Tolkien, look it up. Honestly, for such a brilliant man, you are woefully under-read."

"Thank you for your observation," he snapped sarcastically, not bothering to correct her on the fact that he did know the author. Let her underestimate him; it gave him an advantage over her. "I shall surely keep it in mind and make plans to rectify it, seeing as I have nothing better to do."

Heidi shook her head, smiling at him somewhat indulgently, and patted his shoulder as she walked past him to the parlor's exit. "Collect me at Madam Beetlebump's tomorrow," she called from the entry. "Half past three should give us plenty of time to prepare and arrive on time."

He heard the front door close and sighed, letting his dark head fall back against the chair. That had gone much better than he had expected. Then again, she was constantly surprising him. What was it about her that she was so determined to ignore his dark reputation, cruel words and ugly face to treat him so decently? They didn't have the commonality of being wizards in a Muggle world and the resulting childhood friendship that he and Lily had shared...

He had just thought her name. Her given name hadn't crossed his thoughts or lips in many, many months. He hadn't felt worthy to speak it. But now, he felt stronger, lighter than he had in years. In Heidi, he had a friend who seemed to like him for, or in spite of, himself; the truth was un-Occluded in her eyes. He had snapped at her, offended her, attacked her, for Merlin's sake, and yet she had forgiven him. Perhaps he wasn't such a disgusting waste of magic, after all.

The question was: would she forgive him when she found out what he planned to do with her precious Starglass? His intentions weren't exactly Dark, but few wizards would consider it, let alone attempt it. And then would come his reasons behind it, and no one as deeply good as Heidi could forgive him for that.

Was it worth it, to lose his one good friendship? How could he not try?

"Lily," he tasted the word on the air, whispering it into the stillness of the room. The sound was absorbed as if it had never been spoken, vanishing into cracks between the tomes that lined the walls. All at once, his parlor seemed claustrophobic and stuffy, closing in on him like the padded walls of a holding cell in St. Mungo's for the dangerously insane. Invisible belts wrap around his chest, squeezing and constricting until he gasped for breath, clutching at his heart.

A quiet trill broke through the haze of pain and panic, and a sandpaper tongue traced a wet path up his cheek. Opening eyes he hadn't known he'd clenched shut, he was met with two gleaming yellow irises split by slitted pupils regarding him with compassionate curiosity. The kitten stretched his neck and lapped gently at Severus' cheek. The moisture wasn't from his tongue.

Severus batted the kitten out of his face, but he simply dug in his claws, his back feet perched on the top of his stomach, and the front latched firmly into the collar of his shirt, and leapt onto his shoulder, pushing his cold kitten nose into his ear. Despite his torment, Severus chuckled weakly, but the vocalization and the fondness accompanying it seemed to be the final crack in the dam that finally let loose a floodgate of pent up emotion. Burying his face in the kitten's soft fur, he curled up on himself and sobbed.

Hermione glanced furtively at the kitchen wall clock and said, "Really, this isn't necessary. It was fine..."

She was cut off by a particularly firm tug on her scalp as Madam Beetlebump wrangled her hair into a... well, Hermione wasn't sure what. She did know that her hair wasn't cooperating (if Madam's colorful phrases were any indication), that she was nervous as hell to visit Malfoy in his lair and that Severus was due to arrive in three minutes.

"Bartholomew, you come back with that pin!" Madam called out to the tail that disappeared around the kitchen doorjamb. "Bugger," she swore, giving Hermione's hair another tug, then fished a pin out of the collection she had clamped between her lips.

"He'll be here any minute!" Hermione said and winced as the tips of the pin scraped against her scalp. Pumplenoose was giving her a smug cat grin from the kitchen table, flipping the tip of her freshly bathed and groomed (in Madam's bathtub, with specially scented cat shampoo – Pumplenoose had protested most furiously) tail, and Hermione narrowed her eyes meaningfully, darting a glance at the cupboard where the shampoo was stored. Unimpressed, the fluffy, white Persian continued to stare.

Madam broke the hostilities with an insistent nudge to the cat's side. "Budge up, dear," she mumbled between the pins and pulled a length of gray-blue ribbon from under the unmoving cat's arse. Hermione was about to protest this new injustice when a drawling voice, tinged slightly with incredulity, preceded a young man clad in rich, black velvet.

"Excuse me, but when I knocked, one of the cats opened the door."

The cut of his suit was similar to the ones he had worn as a professor; the jacket had a row of tiny buttons from his throat to his groin, and the bottom hem reached to his knees, but instead of white, the undershirt was shimmering silver edged in ornate lace, both at the neck and cuffs. A large, silver broach with an intertwining snake motif rested at the hollow of his throat, and his hair was tied back in a matching silver bow. For a long moment, Hermione simply stared up at him, immensely glad that she had let Madam convince her to change into the satin blue dress that she was now wearing and that she hadn't run screaming from the kitchen when she had sat her down to untie the plait in her hair. The next moment she spent blushing furiously that this handsome (granted, untraditionally so) man had found her seated in a kitchen chair with a crazy old cat woman fixing her hair. She still had no idea what Madam Beetlebump was doing up there.

Pale pink dusted his cheekbones as he met her gaze, but his eyes, disconcertingly open, glittered with amusement. Bartholomew slipped between his legs and leapt up on the table, stealing another hairpin from the pile and breaking the spell.

"I'll be ready in a moment," Hermione said with as much dignity as she could muster, hoping that it was true. His lips twitching, Severus nodded solemnly to the cats on the table and Madam Beetlebump, mumbling a respectful, "Good day, Madam."

She ignored him, muttering under her breath and occasionally making comments to her cats, until she dropped her hands to her sides with a great exhalation of breath and a wide grin. "Isn't she lovely, my pets?"

All eyes seemed to gaze critically at Hermione, who squirmed under the scrutiny. Bartholomew and Pumplenoose glanced away shortly after, but it was Severus' dark eyes, which roamed her face and hair, that brought another bright flush to her cheeks. Hermione stood and smoothed her hands down her heavy skirts, straightening nonexistent wrinkles with fidgeting fingers.

Clearing his throat, Severus offered her his arm, and she stilled the motion of her hands. "I really need to find a mirror," she said, now gingerly touching her hair. It felt like Madam had twisted the hair at her temples back to form a knot on the top of her head, leaving the length of her hair and several ribbons to cascade down.

"There is no need," he said, and the look he sent her tingled straight to her toes. She glanced away, thoughts of Ron and how he would feel if he knew how much a glance from Severus could affect her sending a chill of guilt through the heady rush of being admired, but took his arm nonetheless.

The gates of Malfoy Manor were designed to impress and did their job effectively. Tall yew hedges stretched for what seemed like acres to either side and through the heavy, wrought iron filigree, Hermione could see the stately manor house perched at the end of the straight drive. The lawn was verdant, lush and evenly clipped short, and the faint cry of peacocks broke the warm, summer air. Lovely and imposing it might have been, but all Hermione could focus on was the horrible trek up this very drive that she had made one terrifying night in the clutches of Fenrir Greyback and his cronies. She was unprepared for the dread that shot through her veins like a paralyzing potion.

Over the last day or so, ever since their visit to the Post Office, she'd been assaulted by vivid memories of her school years. It had struck her, as she stood staring at the tidy cubbies of parchment and quills in the Diagon Alley Post Office, that a few simple notes sent to key people could solve most of the Horcrux problem in a matter of days, preventing Voldemort's overthrow of the Ministry, maybe even his return to power, and saving the lives of many witches and wizards. Merlin, how she had been tempted!

Dear Dumbledore,

...and so on. She could have told him that Hagrid hadn't really set the monster of the Chamber of Secrets on Hogwarts (though he probably knew that already) and that Ginny would be the one to open it again, under the influence of Riddle's diary, that Peter Pettigrew was alive and living as a pet rat, and to verify that old Mad Eye Moody really was Moody when he hired him as Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. There were so many bits of foreknowledge that she could impart... but with what consequences?

It had taken a Herculean effort to resist, but she had done it. "Horrible things happen to wizards who mess with time," Professor McGonagall had once told her, and she was already tempting fate with her current exploits. She could only hope that she was not further changing the time line as she knew it.

Severus gave her hand that was tucked into his elbow a reassuring little pat, startling her to the fact that all of her muscles had gone rigid as she stared straight ahead so hard that she could almost hear her eyeballs creak when she raised them to his. Gazing intently down at her, he said, "I told you he wouldn't hurt you."

"Yes, you did," she replied and tried to smile, forcing her muscles to relax. She must not have been very successful because he patted her hand again. "I trust you," she added, "but I don't trust him."

"That's probably just as well," he said as he tapped his wand twice on the gate. It swung open on silent hinges, and they stepped through together, Hermione's hand still on his arm. Neither attempted to remove it as they strolled up the drive, and Severus seemed to exude a smug, pleased air through his concern of earlier. Hermione hardly noticed; her attention was fixed to the grand front door that was being swung open, a house-elf's head peering out anxiously. Flashes of the Malfoy drawing room, of Harry and Ron being dragged down into the dungeon, of Bellatrix raising her wand and the nerve-rending pain that followed, rolled through her mind's eye like a reel of horror shorts. Regardless, she drew her back up straight and thrust out her chin. She had successfully not thought of that horrible night in years, and she wasn't about to let those memories overwhelm her now. Just the same, she clutched Severus' arm as if it were a life preserver.

The house-elf, a skittish creature wearing a pillowcase with holes cut for the arms and neck that instantly gained her pity, led them through the sumptuous entry hall with hand gestures and fearful squeaks. It was as lavish as Hermione remembered, with gilt friezes and taffeta wallpaper, but it only twisted the coils of apprehension in her stomach. She could feel her pulse throbbing against Severus' velvet sleeve and her cold hands becoming moist with sweat. As she had feared, the elf took them through a side door into the drawing room that had played a starring role in many of her old nightmares. It was only with the greatest of efforts that she stepped into the room and drug her eyes away from Oriental rug on which she had been tortured to greet their host.

"Well, well, Sev!" Malfoy rose from a velvet armchair that had been placed by an enormous marble hearth. "When you said you were bringing a lady, I hardly dared to believe it." She felt his arm tense under her fingers, and she gave him a reassuring squeeze, now quite glad that she hadn't skived on this engagement.

Malfoy snapped his fingers, and a house-elf draped in what might have been an old window dressing appeared with an extensive tea. Cakes, biscuits, scones, and delicate finger sandwiches were stacked high on a golden, tiered stand, an obvious match to the bone china tea service in white with golden filigree designs decorating the edges. They were led to a low couch that had been designed for looks more than comfort; the green velvet cushions were hard and unyielding, forcing one to sit ramrod straight. A ridge of carved ebony trimmed the back and bottom edges of the couch, ending in four clawed feet. Woodenly, Hermione sank into her seat, desperately glad to have Severus' cool confidence next to her.

The house-elf served them, and Hermione gingerly held her cup and saucer, almost able to see her fingers silhouetted through the porcelain. A warm summer breeze washed through the large French doors that stood slightly ajar, opening onto a veranda that overlooked a carefully manicured hedge maze. Sunlight caught in the crystals hanging from the wall sconces, casting dancing rainbows on the furniture and Severus' hair.

She tried to pay attention to the conversation, which at the moment seemed to be small talk and thinly veiled, condescending comments about Severus' lifestyle, career and choice of clothing, but her eyes were inexorably drawn to the carpet. There: that particular whorl of blue and silver by the fringe is where her nose had rested between bouts of Cruciatus. And that trailing vine of wisteria was where she had planted her palms as she panted for pained breath.

"Do have a sandwich, Miss Greenglass," Malfoy said, breaking her morbid thoughts and forcing her to glance back up at her tea companions. "And you haven't touched your tea!"

She gave him an arch look, forcing away the lingering horror of the room. "I am not particularly in need of refreshment, thank you, Mr. Malfoy," she said, placing her cup and saucer on the round table at her elbow. Folding her hands on her crossed knees, she stared challengingly into his gray eyes with much more bravado than she actually felt.

Malfoy glanced quickly between her and Severus, then seemed to start in sudden remembrance. "Oh! That. You must understand, Miss Greenglass, that I only had dear Sev's best interests at heart. And here you are! So it must have worked out."

He shot her a winning smile, and Hermione resisted the urge to stuff his expensive teacup down his throat.

Through clenched teeth, Severus redirected the conversation. "And we're all quite grateful, I'm sure. However, we did not come to discuss your matchmaking skills. I trust you heard about the recent robbery at Diagon Alley?"

Flicking an imaginary crumb from his immaculate trousers, Malfoy said, "Robberies, you mean. Nine different shops, none carrying an inventory worth mentioning, were hit. The main victims were the patrons themselves." He didn't sound very sympathetic. On the contrary, he reminded her of a spinster Aunt who had relished repeating the death count of natural disasters at family gatherings.

Severus leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and eying Malfoy interestedly. "All of them occurred yesterday?"

"Yes, at different times of the day in completely different locations of the Alley."

Silent for a moment, Severus tapped the tips of his fingers together as he stared appraisingly at Malfoy. "We stopped by Fortescue's that afternoon," he said casually.

"He does make a delicious elderberry parfait."

Hermione shifted restlessly, wishing she could simply come out and ask if Malfoy knew who had committed the robberies. This beating about the bush was tedious.

"We had the sorbet, but it left much to be desired. Lacking something important, I'd say." Hermione bristled, for he hadn't complained at the parlor, but Severus shot her a quelling glance, and she subsided mulishly.

Lucius took an elegant sip of tea, pinky properly extended, then set his cup back in its saucer. "That is a pity. Perhaps it was the cream."

"Undoubtedly."

Sighing, Hermione was about to explain that sorbet wasn't made with cream; that had been the point of ordering it, to accommodate Severus' lactose intolerance. Before she could speak, a door crashed open (not the door to the dungeons, thank Merlin), and a chubby, towheaded toddler wearing nothing but a nappy pranced in, followed by a frantic house-elf. Squealing in glee with a smile that reached from ear to ear, he waved in one pudgy fist a dingy tea cozy that could only have served as a house-elf's hat.

"Master, please! He mustn't..." the house-elf cut herself off with a sharp, self-inflicted blow to the head, hard enough to knock herself to the ground. Hermione winced, but knew better than to bring up the plight of the house-elf in present company. Obviously enjoying the game, the toddler giggled and turned to the house-elf, brandishing the cozy, and then made a waddling dash for Malfoy as fast as his legs could carry him, though much encumbered by the nappy. He tumbled into Malfoy's legs, leaving a shiny trail of spittle or snot (Hermione couldn't tell) on his trousers.

Wrinkling his nose but patting the toddler on the head, Malfoy said, "Now, Draco, your father is entertaining guests." He shot the house-elf a look that promised pain, and the creature cringed, wringing her hands.

"Mine," the toddler informed him, waving the cozy.

"Of course it is, though why you would want such a thing is beyond me." He gave baby Draco a final pat on the head and then a nudge toward the elf. "Glompy, handle it."

"Yes, master. Of course, master. Glompy will get right on it!"

With agility born of practice, the toddler dodged Glompy's long fingers and ran to Severus, similarly marking his knees and displaying his prize. Severus dabbed at the wet, slightly slimy track now adorning the velvet.

"Sev'wus," Draco lisped and began whacking his trouser leg with the cozy. Behind him, the elf groveled and twisted her fingers, muttering a litany of apologies.

Snatching half-heartedly at the cozy that Draco somehow managed to keep just out of the man's reach, Severus carefully pronounced, "Severus."

Draco ignored him, choosing instead to repeat, "Sev'wus" and "mine" as he thwapped Severus' leg. He had a decent sense of rhythm for such a young child, Hermione thought absently. Of course, the posturing arse with whom she had gone to school would have been absolutely horrified to know that Hermione had seen him in nothing but a nappy and mispronouncing his godfather's name. It didn't surprise her that he was already a terror and that none of the authority figures in the room were doing anything to correct his behavior. His father seemed to view him more like a puppy than a human, the poor elf was obviously terrified, and perhaps forbidden, to implement any kind of punitive measures, and Severus had never looked further out of his league. Where was his mother in all of this?

Through it all, Severus repeated, "Now, Draco," and swatted at the cozy. It was all very ineffective and silly, and Hermione would have expected better of him if she had ever considered this situation before.

"Glompy!" Malfoy snapped, startling the elf so badly that she jumped several inches off the ground, then threw herself at Draco's bare feet.

"Master, please!"

"Draco!" Hermione said with enough force to catch the toddler's attention. "Enough of this!" He stopped his abuse of Severus' legs, staring at Hermione as if she were some sort of fascinating new creature, his gray eyes wide. Taking advantage of his distraction, she plucked the cozy out of his fingers and leaned forward until they were at the same eye level. One pudgy fist crept into his mouth, and he chewed on it as he regarded her solemnly. "You shouldn't be teasing the house-elves or your godfather."

Glompy whimpered piteously from the floor but Hermione ignored her. Listing against Severus' legs, Draco tried to bury his face in the small gap between his knees, but still keep a curious watch on Hermione. A small line of drool was beginning to creep down the fist that was still firmly planted in his mouth.

If only she had a camera! Years of torment could have been avoided with one shot of Draco at such an embarrassing, vulnerable moment. However, despite her dislike for the man Draco Malfoy would become and the blackmail opportunities such a photograph would provide, she couldn't help but admit that he was rather cute. Baby fat hid the sharpness into which his features would develop, and his gray eyes were large, guileless and alert. With the proper guidance, he could have been so much more than he would become.

She shot a glance at Severus, who was watching her as curiously as Draco. Neither of these two men really knew what to do with a baby, she realized, even less than she did. Tossing the cozy to the elf, who groveled with profuse thanks, she smiled sadly at the toddler and said, "I'm sure you have your own toys to play with."

Draco seemed to come to some sort of decision because he gave her a gap-toothed grin and pushed away from Severus, winding his hands into her skirts until he had the hold he needed to climb into her lap. Stunned and unsure of herself, Hermione simply let him, reaching out a helping hand when he teetered precariously on her knees.

"I do apologize, Miss Greenglass. Glompy will take him off yours hands," Malfoy said, waving peremptorily at the elf. She sprang up, reaching for the toddler, but Hermione just shook her head. Draco had curled up against her chest and was fiddling quietly with the trim on one of her long bell sleeves.

"He's fine, Mr. Malfoy."

Shrugging noncommittally, Malfoy said, "As you like. But do please call me Lucius." Severus was still staring at her in rapt fascination, and she cleared her throat uncomfortably. A rustle of paper brought both of their attention forward as Malfoy extended a copy of the Daily Prophet folded to display a photograph that was now quite thoroughly etched into Hermione's mind. Severus eyed it disinterestedly until his and Hermione's faces appeared in the frame. Malfoy smirked as Severus took it from his outstretched hand.

"There is a bakery in Crawley, in the old market town, that might interest you," he said conversationally. Merely nodding, Severus continued to watch the photograph. Suppressing a shiver, Hermione wondered if she were indeed seeing the very photograph Luna had found among Severus' books. Had he kept it because he was in it? Because they were in it? The idea filled her with a hopeful, fluttery feeling that was swiftly followed by niggling shame. But why should she feel ashamed? She had not done anything inappropriate, and there was nothing wrong with being pleased that a friend would want to keep a memento of their time together. After all, how many photos of Harry had she collected over the years?

The baby in her lap shifted suddenly, grasping clumsily at the tea stand and drawing her out of her thoughts. "Draco," she hissed quietly, trying not to interrupt the men's conversation about cream-filled pastries or whatever that translated to in Death Eater. Catching his fingers before they could upset one of the delicate china platters, she said, "Tell me what you would like."

"Cake," he said, pointing to the fancy variety of Battenberg that sported four colors instead of two.

"And what do you say?" He gave her a blank look. "Please," she prompted. Draco stuffed his fist in his mouth and blinked coyly. Raising an eyebrow, she elaborated, "Polite boys say please."

He mumbled something that may have started with a 'p' around his fingers, and Hermione capitulated. It wasn't really her problem, and he had given it an effort. Plucking a small slice of the cake off of the platter, she handed it to the baby who was now reaching for it with both hands outstretched. He crammed it into his mouth in one go and grinned at her with a mouth smeared liberally with marzipan. "Cake, please," he said clearly and pointed to the cake, bouncing a little on her lap.

Hermione was about to suggest something a little more nutritious, like a sandwich, when she caught the odor of something foul. Next to her, Severus was sniffing the air with large nostrils, giving the baby a suspicious, black look. Draco began to bounce again, and Hermione caught him under the arms, just in case whatever was beginning to flavor the air should leak out his nappy.

"Please, Miss, let Glompy handle it," the house-elf blinked lamp-like eyes at her and reached for Draco. He squirmed and protested as he was handed from human to elf, but the moment Glompy had a firm grasp, they both disappeared from the room with a quiet pop.

"Miss Greenglass and I should also take our leave," Severus said as he stood, tucking the newspaper into his jacket. Extending a hand, he helped her to her feet, and she took a brief moment to examine her robes for signs of baby deposit. Malfoy also rose gracefully to his feet.

"It was delightful, Sev, as always. Do bring Miss Greenglass by again. Perhaps in a more... delicate... condition?"

"As I have said before, Lucius, just because you find fatherhood rewarding, doesn't mean we should all rush out and do it."

"Nonsense! Every man should have an heir! Even those with unfortunate parentage."

Hermione bit back an angry retort, but refused to join Lucius' laugh or Severus' strained chuckle. Stretching her lips in a tight smile, she tucked her hand into the crook of Severus' elbow and gently nudged him toward the door. Eagerly, he obliged, leading them both out of the room. Within minutes, they were out of the house and striding up the drive, and Hermione released her breath in one relieved gust. The heavy atmosphere of stress and pain evaporated in the late afternoon sun.

"How can you let him treat you like that?" she asked him as the front gate swung shut behind them.

"He treats everyone like that." He searched her eyes, tossing his head when the breeze blew lank black locks of hair that had escaped his ribbon into his face.

'More importantly,' she thought as she stared up at him, unaware of the sad, affectionate expression that had settled on her face, 'he is used to being treated like that.' Running her hand down his arm, she grasped his fingers in her own and squeezed gently. "It's not right, you know."

He shrugged but didn't let go of her hand. Realizing that she still held it, she dropped it quickly and glanced away, flustered, her eyes roaming absently over the gates, the hedge, and the lane beyond the grounds. "And another thing," she said to distract herself, "that poor baby needs some guidance in his life. Left to that household, he will be spoiled rotten." He was still gazing at her intently, so she added, "As his godfather, you could help him become a contributing member of society."

"He will contribute, I'm sure," he drawled in what Hermione thought of as his best Malfoy impression.

Hermione glared at him and changed the subject. "Where to next?"

"Crawley, of course," he said as he raised a black eyebrow. "I suddenly find that I have a craving for jam-filled doughnuts."