Chapter 29

Chapter 29

AN: As with the previous chapter, sensitive readers beware of similar dark content.

* * *

Horace Slughorn almost dropped his coffee mug when Hogwarts' wards whispered the name and location of an unexpected guest in his ears.

Hermione Granger, outside the gates.

A sidelong glance at his colleagues affirmed what he already knew: it was his turn to be on duty and attuned to the year-old new wards, not the headmaster's. He masked a smug smile by drinking the last of his coffee. No need to share such an illustrious guest with Filius.

Even better, his first lessons of the day were after lunch. He'd have the delightful Miss Granger all to himself, and maybe for the whole morning if he was lucky. Technically it was Mrs Malfoy, or Mrs Snape, of course. Then again, perhaps she used Ms Granger, progressive Muggle-born that she was.

Pity she couldn't have been Mrs Slughorn, but Horace knew he would never have had a chance with her. Not when Malfoy and Snape outclassed him in fame and wealth. That, and they were both considerably younger. He couldn't resent them too much, though, not when he valued his bachelorhood. At least his marriage to Pomona Sprout was in name only; Filius Flitwick was her true husband.

Such a shame, however, that according to the Prophet there would be no progeny from the Granger-Snape or Granger-Malfoy union. Their children would have had such potential.

Horace stood up, muttering to Filius and Pomona that he'd forgotten something in their rooms. The wards twinged before he could sidle towards the nearest exit behind the high table. Horace narrowly avoided swearing aloud. Typical! One of the top ten...maybe even top five...in his prize collection arrived but left before he could reel her in.

He continued towards the door. Turning back now would leave him looking foolish. Once outside, he allowed his shoulders to slump and slunk off to his office. True, he was behaving like a pathetic animal hiding away to lick its wounds, but it wasn't every day that such an opportunity slipped through his grasp.

Then once again the wards delivered music to his ears: Hermione Granger, outside the gates.

Thankfully everyone was still at breakfast, otherwise he would have made a most undignified sight virtually skipping his way down to the edge of the grounds.

'Perhaps she will be grateful enough for my prompt appearance,' he thought, touching his wand to the gates to unlock them, 'that she will agree to come to my next party.' After all, if not for the new wards, she would otherwise have been stranded until she could summon a member of staff to let her in.

Horace bounded forward as soon as the gates opened to grasp Miss Granger's hand in both of his and enthusiastically shake it. "Miss...Mrs...Ms..." He faltered. If only he knew what she called herself now! It made him squirm, at least internally, to know that he must look like a bumbling fool, stuttering like a star struck fan.

Worse, she might think he was stumbling over her appearance. Miss Granger looked drawn and pale, despite her recovery from the plague months earlier.

Thankfully, that appeared not to be the case. She smiled, if a little stiffly, and corrected him. "Ms, Professor."

"Ms Granger, such a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in." Horace put one hand on Miss...Ms Granger's elbow and shepherded her through the gates and onto the path up to the castle. "What can we at Hogwarts do for you?" Other than preferably nothing that would mean sharing her with anyone else.

Ms Granger gently shrugged out of his grip. Horace didn't take offence; he supposed he had absentmindedly grabbed hold of her like a husband might have. "If it's possible, I'd like to see the records of all those who have their names down for Hogwarts but haven't started yet."

"I'm sure we can arrange something." Like her promise to attend all of his parties for the foreseeable future ... "I'm Deputy Headmaster now, you know. The one in charge of writing the letters to students before the start of the school year. That puts me in charge of those records."

"How kind of Hogwarts to send you to fetch me, then," Ms Granger murmured. "That is, I presume Hogwarts itself let you know I was here?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. You seemed to change your mind about coming." Would that suffice for her to satisfy his curiosity about her movements?

"Hrm? Oh, you mean it let you know when I was coming and going?"

Horace nodded. "Not that I'm complaining that you did decide to come back, of course!"

"It wasn't really my decision to leave."

Horace frowned. From what she had said, it sounded as if someone had made her leave. Yet the wards had only notified him of her presence and no other. Were they faulty? "How so?"

"Something I'm sure I'll laugh about later. My mother accidentally tagged along. You'll be pleased to know that Hogwarts' anti-Muggle enchantments are definitely still working."

"Oh, good, good. You did manage to reassure her that we didn't school you in a ruin?"

"I didn't need to. She's read Hogwarts: A History."

Horace gradually increased his walking pace, conscious that breakfast would be over soon and that he needed to escort his esteemed guest to the Headmaster's Office before then. Filius should be teaching immediately after breakfast, after all.

Muttering the password to the gargoyle outside, he stepped aside for Ms Granger to ascend first. He stepped onto the rising staircase just in time to block the sight of her with his bulk from some passing students. Excellent ... There would be no rumours sweeping the castle of her presence from them.

Horace's eyes widened as his breath caught: students were not the only source of gossip in Hogwarts. He scurried up the stairs, afraid that he would be too late. By now Ms Granger had surely set foot into the office above, and that meant every portrait in the castle would know she was there if Dumbledore's portrait was awake.

He stifled a sigh of relief at the sight of Dumbledore snoring away. Thank heavens the painting was such a deep sleeper; the other portraits' welcome of Ms Granger would have roused anyone else.

Horace led the way through the assorted charm-related clutter of Filius's office to the inner sanctum where the Book of Names and other assorted priceless treasures were kept.

"Here it is," he proclaimed and opened the book with a flourish. Or would have, if the clasp hadn't firmly held it shut. Horace glowered, certain he could see the House mascots adorning it making faces at him.

At this rate Ms Granger would realise that he had technically shirked his duties ever since poor Minerva had persuaded him to be her deputy: that he'd never actually opened the book and instead used spells to write the letters.

A sharp rap with his wand and the clasp released, allowing the book to fall open on the intricately carved lectern holding it.

"Perhaps you could come along to my next little get together?" Horace suggested as he stepped aside to allow Ms Granger to stand in front of the book.

She gave him such a venomous glare that he stepped back...it was almost as if Snape had Polyjuiced himself as his bride.

"I hardly think this is the time for parties."

'Not the time for a party?! What could possibly...Ah, yes.' According to his Slug Clubbers on the Wizengamot, Ms Granger was campaigning against the law. "Of course, of course ... after everything is back to normal, and the law's interference is over, I mean."

She shook her head. "At the moment that law is the least of our problems."

"Oh?"

Ms Granger bent over the book, her eyes roving across the parchment. "The plague. It's back."

Horace clamped his mouth shut before he could ask if she was sure. Of course she was. Snape invented the cure...nifty bit of potions work that was indeed...so he must have been informed that his skills were needed again. Or ... Horace looked again at Ms Granger's pallid appearance. Perhaps she'd already relapsed, and that was how they knew.

So it really was back. But then the rest of the witches ... the staff, the students ... Pomona.

Ms Granger began to flick ahead in the book, turning pages. She had flipped through the pure-blood section and was making short work of the half-blood. "Severus is working on refining the cure. It still works, don't worry, but ..."

"More needs brewing?" Horace itched to be in front of his cauldron as soon as the answer had passed Ms Granger's lips. He already knew how to brew the cure; he'd been involved in manufacturing it last time.

"I don't know. I think Kingsley and St Mungo's are handling that. The problem is that the plague has mutated. The cure as it is won't work at all next time."

"Hence Severus's work on refining it, then. What are you looking for?" Horace asked, tugging at his moustache, hopefully the only outward reflection of his anxiety.

"My parents informed me of something that better not be true." She had reached the Muggle-born section now. Horace had a sinking feeling that he knew what was coming. He wanted to edge away but found himself rooted to the spot.

'It's not my fault!' he wailed internally. "What is it?" he made himself ask, his mouth dry.

"That the plague hasn't so much as returned for pre-Hogwarts Muggle-borns as never ..." she trailed off. Horace could see a single tear track down her cheek. It fell onto the book, drawing his eye to the list of names on the page. Almost all of them were struck through with a single line, red as blood. The only exceptions he could see were either the names of those who had already been to or started at Hogwarts, or masculine names.

And Horace knew he would have known about the damning situation already if he hadn't delegated his summer work to enchanted quills.

'The governors will have my job for this.'

His vision blurred for a moment, his breathing constrained. The spots in front of his eyes were soon replaced by the furious visage of Hermione Granger. Horace blinked. His feet were dangling in the air. How had such a slip of a girl managed to lift him off his feet by his collar?!

"You should have known about this. If not for you, some of these children could have been saved!"

"I didn't know!" Horace protested feebly. "I swear I didn't." He grimaced as she shook him, clacking his teeth together. Her arms weren't even trembling under his weight, he absently noted.

"It's not my fault! Ever since quills could be enchanted no Deputy Head has written the letters. It's always magically done, I swear! All we do is link the quill to the book and set it writing. Heavens above, if we did it all manually we'd be here all summer!"

She shook him one last time. "You disgust me," she spat and dropped him. "Can you honestly tell me that Professor McGonagall did that? How do I know that you're not lying, and you knew this was happening and purposefully did nothing?"

"I would never!" Horace pushed himself off his knees. "I swear upon my magic! I have nothing against Muggle-borns. They bring in fresh blood and ideas and the power some have ... look at yourself and Lily Evans, Merlin rest her soul!"

"Whatever you say, you're still at least partially responsible for the deaths of more Muggle-born children than I want to count."

"Partially?" Horace clung to that like a lifeline.

"Mostly whoever was responsible for distributing the cure to Muggle-borns outside Hogwarts. If you want to make up for your part in this, you'll bring that book and come with me to the Ministry as my witness," Ms Granger snarled, poking him in the chest.

"But the Book of Names can't leave the Headmaster's Office! And ... lessons! I can't leave the school!"

"This is rather more important than that. You'll have to do alone if the book can't come." She grabbed his wrist and pulled him along after her as she headed for the fireplace as the portraits watched, wide-eyed and stunned to silence.

"But..."

"Refuse to help me, and I'll make sure you go down with whoever bungled at the Ministry."

"That's blackmail!" Horace protested, then muttered, "Weren't you a Gryffindor?" under his breath.

"I married two Slytherins. And I wasn't averse to using blackmail long before that." She took a handful of Floo powder from the mantelpiece and cast it into the fireplace. "The Ministry of Magic!"

* * *

A knock at the door of his study rudely tore Lucius's attention from his enchanted portrait-calendar and its current depiction for September of a pregnant Narcissa.

"Come in," he called, his voice rough. Belatedly, he swiped his hands across his face, wiping away the dampness on his cheeks. Not that it mattered; his bloodshot eyes would doubtless give his tears away.

But it was not Severus who witnessed the evidence of his weak hold on his emotions. Instead it was Draco who stood in the doorway. Yet there was no shame to make Lucius's face burn; his son had been crying too, his eyes puffy and reddened.

"Ginny's miscarried." Draco's face crumpled, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.

Instinct dictated Lucius's actions as he stood up and crossed over to Draco to pull him into a fatherly embrace, rocking him as Lucius would a child until his sobs subsided.

The awkwardness following that moment was alleviated by busying himself with preparing a shot of Firewhisky spiked with Calming Draught and pushing it into Draco's hands, something Severus had provided for him in the aftermath of Narcissa's miscarriages.

"Ginny's unconscious while the cure works on her. Harry ... I can't talk to him. He won't leave Ginny's side, and I can't bear to see her and know the baby's gone. Not yet," Draco rasped, his eyes slightly unfocused as the calming potion kicked in.

"But you needed to talk to someone," Lucius gently nudged.

Draco nodded miserably. "I don't know if the baby was mine or Harry's. I'm not sure I want to know."

"Would it change anything if you knew?"

Draco frowned and glared at Lucius.

'Perhaps I should have slipped more of the Calming Draught into the shot ...'

"You tell me, Father. Would it change anything for you if I wasn't the father of that poor baby?"

"It would change nothing. You would have been a father to the child, by nurturing if not by blood." Lucius forced down his indignation, moderating his voice so that he spoke calmly. He would not snap at Draco, not now. "I ... I would never wish a miscarriage upon anyone. I know how it feels to lose a child before it has a chance to draw breath."

Draco's shoulders slumped. He sniffled, fishing out his handkerchief to dry his tears and clear his nose. "Does it get any easier?" he whispered.

Lucius grimaced. "The loss never goes away, but having other children helps ease the ache."

The sound that escaped Draco was too harsh and bitter to be called a laugh. "We both know that's not possible until the plague's gone for good, or witches will keep miscarrying."

"Severus will come through. He always has before."

"I hope you're right," Draco muttered. "He does know that this isn't his fault, doesn't he?"

Lucius curled his lip. This being Severus ... "I think he does blame himself, but I'll do my best to point out that the powers that be are the guilty party here. They're the ones who forced more pregnancies than there would have otherwise been; and therefore will cause more miscarriages."

"They shouldn't have interfered. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a ..." Draco trailed off as something rapped on the window. Lucius marched across the room to open it and allow a bedraggled owl inside.

"I did wonder why the Prophet was delayed. It's at least half an hour late." Lucius removed the paper from the owl's leg and stroked a gentle finger over the ruffled plumage. "Go up to my aviary and get some food and rest, eh?" The owl gave him a friendly nip and swooped away.

He unfolded the paper. "Fuck," he blurted as he spotted the headline.

Draco peered over Lucius's shoulder. "Well, that puts the cockerel with the basilisk."

Absently, Lucius belatedly realised what Hermione must have meant when she once said something about foxes and chickens. He shook himself; he needed his wits about him. "Are they trying to incite a riot?"

"I was about to say that I wouldn't be surprised if there was one before that owl arrived. All the Prophet is doing is accelerating things. Is it such a bad thing if a mob descends on the Ministry?"

"It is if they also go after Severus!" Lucius stabbed a finger at a paragraph which named the developer of the potion which had made it so that almost all fertile women would conceive a daughter. "It's also no secret that he helped make the cure. He might get blamed for its perceived failure, too."

"We've got to warn him!"

Lucius led the way to Severus's lab. "Fuck," he repeated as he tore off the note stuck to the door.

Draco took the note from him and read it out. "'Hermione, I'm meeting with my research team colleagues at the Ministry. I will be back late, I'll join you in bed. Always yours, Severus.' Ugh. Bit too much information there for me!"

"Or too little," Lucius murmured absently.

"What?!"

At Draco's suspicious stare, Lucius hurriedly corrected himself. "I mean, we don't know exactly where he'll be at the Ministry. It'll have to be a Patronus."

It took a few tries to summon his peacock Patronus, his difficulty there the status quo after Narcissa's death and his estrangement from Draco, even if the latter was healing. Lucius put all of his focus into getting his silvery peacock to stop strutting about and concentrate on the message.

"Find Severus and tell him this: 'Screw your meeting and get back to Malfoy Manor right now if you want to keep your scrawny hide intact. The Prophet's out for your blood.' Go!"

The Patronus cocked his head quizzically for a few seconds, then finally scurried off as if a wolf were on his tail.

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AN: Many thanks to Kribu, Septentrion and JunoMagic for betaing.

Sorry for the delay with this chapter. Although expected for the past few months, the death of my grandmother at the end of September had a detrimental effect on my muse. The start of the academic year also means that while I'll try to have at least one update every month as usual, I can't guarantee it.