Written for Kerravonsen at the 2018 SSHG_Giftfest on LJ.

Her prompts were a quote from Jane Eyre and to dust off a fic that had been languishing and bring it to life. I had started this fic so many times (as my beta, DelphiPSmith can attest to), and it finally fit this particular prompt.

Much adoration to my beta, D. You fixed my cold-medication induced rambling like a champ! Thank you also to Toblass, who helped me brainstorm!

There are several television series I reference in this fic, therefore, disclaimers abound! I don't own the shows, the BBC does and it would be useless to sue me, as I'm not making any money off of them and I'm poor as dirt. If you don't recognize the shows, a list of the ones I referenced will be at the end of the fic.

Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

The barriers between reality and fiction are softer than we think. ~ Jasper Fforde

It wasn't often Severus Snape was seen in the corridors of the Ministry; few people in the wizarding world realised he'd even survived, let alone that he was an Unspeakable. Being 'dead' for all intents and purposes did have a rather nice benefit when he was tasked to make his way amongst the masses. On occasion, he observed his fellow witches and wizards giving him a double-take, only for that person to shake their heads and smile oddly to themselves before melting into the crowd. Anonymity was refreshing, really.

On this day, however, he was anything but relaxed.

"Glad you could make it, Severus."

Kingsley Shacklebolt (or, to the public at large, the saintly Minister of Magic) would, if Severus had his wish, suffer a thousand Cruciatus Curses for having dragged him up from the depths of the Ninth Level and into the overcrowded conference room attached to the Minister's office. Severus glanced around at the dozens of witches and wizards engaged in animated conversation, with whom he had little in common and in whom he had precisely zero interest.

"I was given little choice."

"Now Severus, don't be like that; people like interacting with their co-workers."

Severus gave him a look of pure disgust. "It's quite possible, as you say, that wizards and witches enjoy indulging in meaningless drivel spouted by their colleagues. I, however, am not one of the mindless sheep that gather to listen to the latest gossip-mongering. I prefer to be left alone."

The idiot had the audacity to clap him on the shoulder! "That's not true. In fact, listening in on others' secrets is what you did best, my friend. You just chose not to be obvious about it."

"Let me phrase it differently then, sir," Severus snapped, removing the Minister's hand from his person. "I dislike crowds. Intensely. I never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups."

The façade of Kingsley's ever-present smile faltered and Severus was viciously glad of it. "I know it's hard to let go of old habits, Severus," he said, "but don't you think you're being a bit paranoid? This is just a little soirée, not a one-on-one with Voldemort."

Snape's upper lip curled at his former master's name. Though Shacklebolt was competent enough, he had no clue as to what the Dark Lord's nature had been truly like, as he'd just proven with his off-hand comment. "Oh, I have the power to channel my imagination into ever-soaring levels of suspicion and paranoia."

"About a farewell party?"

For the life of him, Severus couldn't begin to speculate why the Minister thought he cared about such things. "I hate people."

Kingsley gave him a wry grin. "Clearly. However, there'll be refreshments provided by Arnaud Delmontel, Boulanger Pâtissier Traiteur. Perhaps that will tempt you—"

"I hate cake."

"Now you're just being obstinate."

"I am at one with my duality," Severus growled.

Shacklebolt sighed in exasperation and looked as if he were gearing up to continue his bothersome diatribe, but just then Potter barged up and interrupted them. Severus was pleased to see that the boy still had appalling timing… in the Minister's case, not his own. Shacklebolt pursed his lips and made his way to the front of the chamber, which was nearly bursting at the seams with every mid-management (and higher) Ministry employee.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if we could all quiet down, please?" Kingsley asked. Conversation died away and he smiled and nodded. "Thank you." He beckoned forward a spindly wizard, sporting a shock of red hair and dressed in an ill-fitting brown pin-stripe suit. "As you know, my Junior Assistant Percy Weasley has just been promoted to Senior Undersecretary."

There was a brief pause, then everyone started clapping. Politely. Severus rolled his eyes, hoping the Minister would get on with his little speech so he could return to his experiments.

"Unfortunately, the position is not within our Ministry, but in Australia, with Audrey Lucas." Again, there was a hesitant response from those gathered. "I hope you'll join me in wishing Mr Weasley all the best of luck in his new position."

"He's still a pompous arse, but now he'll be someone else's stick up the bum!" Ron called from the back of the room.

Sniggers were heard from various quarters, causing Shacklebolt to frown. "Thank you for that assessment, Mr Weasley. I'm sure Percy returns the sentiment."

That earned a few more laughs, but Severus tuned out the rest of Kingsley's announcements as dull and unimportant. So there would be one less ginger in the British Isles—he saw no reason to indulge in ungodly amounts of sweets on the behalf of the third Weasley spawn's upcoming absence.

"I snagged you a piece of chocolate gateau."

Severus turned to see his fellow Unspeakable (and occasional partner, when an assignment made it necessary) Hermione Granger, holding a plate with a sinfully luscious-looking slice of his favourite dessert. It was slightly disconcerting that his former student knew which confection made him practically drool, but it was part and parcel, he supposed, of working so closely with a select few individuals. He studied the offered temptation then returned his gaze to the milling crowd.

"Your resistance is duly noted, Severus," Hermione muttered. "But I didn't risk life and limb hexing a Hufflepuff right here in the Minister's chambers to obtain this last piece just so you could turn up your nose at it." She grabbed his left hand, plunked the plate onto it, and gave him an over-sweet smile. "You're always cranky when we have to make an appearance at these events, but keeping you preoccupied with chocolate at least lets the rest of us escape your wrath."

He harrumphed, yet didn't disagree with her; she knew him well. Perhaps too well for him to be entirely comfortable. But the opposite could be said—besides being his former student, he'd worked with her on enough dangerous assignments that they'd learned to anticipate each other's moves, cover one another's back and trust where they had previously had no reason or desire to do so.

Eight years had mellowed Granger into a competent, resourceful, imaginative young witch. Weasley had been a fool to leave her behind to play mediocre Quidditch, only to fail a mere two years after he'd wheedled his way onto the reserve team of the Chudley Cannons. He had eventually returned with his proverbial tail tucked between his legs, but the damage had already been done. Granger was safely ensconced in uni and had other things to worry about than whether the whelp returned her affections. Severus privately thought it was all for the best… at least for Granger. Weasley, sensing that their moment had passed, had slunk back to his friend Potter and begun Auror training. Surprisingly, he'd turned out an effective Auror, especially since he was usually posted to guard Potter's back.

Granger had naturally achieved highest honours in uni, after which she'd returned to London and became an Unspeakable in the Tempus Room, studying time and the effects of time-related devices. Severus had a vague knowledge of who worked within each of the Department of Mysteries' rooms; their fields of study sometimes overlapped with his own, and since none of them could consult outside the department, they relied on one another, albeit rarely. He himself was head of the Potions Room—the deepest chamber within the Department of Mysteries—and his chamber abutted the Tempus Room, so he had more contact with Granger than with his other colleagues.

Severus had also noted that the Ministry had not assigned Granger to the Time Room at random. He'd learned of her Time-Turner experience during the Trio's third year from McGonagall, on one of the few occasions he'd had to meet with her since the war. His former colleague was still hesitant to trust him, even after all these years. He understood her reasoning, yet a fraction of him had been disappointed that Minerva hadn't seen past his ruse during the war. However, he'd quashed what little sentiment he'd had on the subject and retained a professional demeanour during all their dealings.

A nudge from his left shifted the plate of sweet decadence closer. "It'll go stale if you linger," Granger muttered. "There's nothing worse than dry gateau."

Severus pursed his lips to keep from smirking. "Yes, truly dreadful."

He capitulated and lifted a forkful to his mouth, nearly moaning with the blissful sensation of silky chocolate dissolving on his tongue. He licked his lips, then spared a look in Granger's direction, noticing the high colour on her cheeks. He watched the progression of pink down her neck, where he spied a delicate gold chain dipping below her blouse. Recalling his discussion with McGonagall, he surmised that Granger had retained the Time-Turner she'd been given while at Hogwarts, and now kept it with her at all times. Wise decision, since it was the last known portable item of its kind. He imagined there were stationary units, somewhere in the world, but only Granger would know their whereabouts.

Though she was not looking directly at him, Severus observed the slight age and worry lines that had started to appear on her face. Not that there was anything wrong with such marks of time, but it was surprising that they had appeared at such a young age. He wondered if she was truly thirty-two or if excessive Time-Turner use had aged her; her face reflected perhaps a forty-something age. It wouldn't surprise him. Although witches and wizards had a longer lifespan than Muggles, she seemed much older (and wiser) than peers of her own age.

"If you don't stop staring, people will talk," she said in a low voice.

Caught in outright ogling, Severus cleared his throat and busied himself with finishing the gateau. He heard her laughing lightly and felt his own cheeks flamed red. That was inexcusable—being overt in his observations was tantamount to failing a Potions exam, something which did not ever happen.

Her smile dropped somewhat as she ruefully added, "Don't worry. I know you're not interested in me that way." She gave him a false, overly bright smile, her shields firmly in place. "Not many people are. For the best, I think, with my lifestyle."

Severus frowned and was about to correct her skewed interpretation of herself, when Shacklebolt appeared before them.

"Just the two people I need to speak with."

"I knew it!" Severus growled. "You never ask for me unless you need something unsavoury done in the name of the Ministry."

Granger glanced between the two men. "What's happened?"

Shacklebolt gave them a thin smile. "Would you be good enough to please stay after the party is over?"

"Only for sheer morbid curiosity," Severus said with a raised eyebrow.

The Minister nodded his thanks and drifted away, back into the sea of people filling his chambers.

"I've never seen Kingsley rattled," Granger murmured.

"I have. Once. It was concerning…" Snape trailed off, but Granger clearly had no doubt as to whom he referred. It was one of the reasons he increasingly found her company tolerable.

She hummed softly and nodded, letting her gaze drift amongst their colleagues.

hr

It was only after reassuring Potter that nothing dire was going to happen to her that Granger was able to escape with Severus to Kingsley's office, where she sat down next to him in front of the Minister's desk. "Tell us."

Shacklebolt leaned forward and sighed heavily. "You recall that Professor McGonagall became the keeper of the Reliquum Quill upon becoming the Headmistress of Hogwarts, yes?"

The Reliquum Quill wrote down in the Book of Admittance the name of every wizard and witch in the UK when they were born. Thus, there was a record of every member of the British wizarding population from the moment of his or her birth, regardless of location or ancestry. If there were a child born that registered as particularly powerful, a Squib or other magical folk in the vicinity of said child, were notified and asked to keep an eye on them, should there be any sort of 'incident' prior to them reaching Hogwarts. For the most part, these precautionary measures worked to the advantage of all parties involved, but there were always exceptions.

Both nodded, so Shacklebolt continued.

"As you know, being Headmistress is a full-time job, especially after war." Shacklebolt gave Severus a grim smile.

"Minerva certainly looked frazzled that last time I spoke with her," Severus agreed.

"Yes, and things sometimes slip through the cracks. She contacted me when she realised there was a name that had been overlooked within the tome."

Shacklebolt rose and disappeared into a hidden alcove, returning with a piece of parchment. He placed it on the desk for Severus and Granger to see. In flourishing script was a name, date and location.

Adair Tenpenny

June 5th, 2002

St Ives, Cornwall

Severus frowned. "And? It's 2010, she's eight and hardly ready for a letter from Hogwarts."

"That's the problem," Shacklebolt sighed.

"What do you mean?" Granger asked. "Is she showing signs of uncontrolled magic?"

Shacklebolt grunted. "I think this goes beyond 'uncontrolled magic'. It seems this child has quite a bit of power. Normally, we would have had someone monitoring her, but one of the reasons she slipped under the radar, so-to-speak, was because her power was practically non-existent until a week ago. That's when Minerva became alerted to the girl. Her family have not been contacted, but I've been getting odd reports in that area: people going missing, only to turn up later with no memory of where they'd been, items disappearing and reappearing in locations they have no business being."

"Such as?" Granger asked.

"They found several stop signs in the bell tower of the local parish, preventing the bells from ringing out Evensong."

"Clever," Severus mused.

Kingsley gave him a disapproving look. "As I was about to say, for a person's ability to perform magic to be useful, a good deal of training is required to acquire the correct discipline." He fixed his gaze on Granger. "You were an anomaly, Miss Granger, even for a Muggle-born. Your parents, while they were wary of your burgeoning powers, were relatively unperturbed by the idea that their child could perform magic."

"My parents were very patient," she said wryly. "I wasn't chastised when I accidentally turned our dog into a potato in a fit of pique." At Severus' snort, she gave him a crooked smile. "They only asked that I return him to his original shape—but I had no clue how I'd changed him in the first place, so I was a bit distraught. That's when Professor McGonagall began her visits, to educate my family on what was going on and what it all meant."

"As with most of your Muggle-born peers," Shacklebolt agreed.

"Has Miss Tenpenny accidentally harmed someone?" Granger asked.

Shacklebolt grew uneasy. "We're unsure. Something must have happened to cause her power to spike, but she may have had run-ins with others and they just don't remember it."

Severus leaned back in his chair and stared at the Minister. "You want me and Granger to ascertain whether she is a threat."

Shacklebolt didn't have to confirm it out loud. "Severus, you and Miss Granger are among the few members of the Ministry that I trust implicitly. Desperate or threatening circumstances are a catalyst for subconscious and untrained magic to manifest. Children, Muggle-born or otherwise, are prone to tantrums, fears or anger, leading to uncontrolled bursts of magic. Miss Granger's example proves this point. This child has exhibited increasing amounts of wild magic, even though she's quite young. I don't want another Riddle on our hands because no one thought to channel her impulses into something non-destructive. I'm asking you to evaluate her situation, to introduce the idea of magical training to her parents."

Granger frowned and stared at the name on the parchment. "Do you truly think she could be as powerful as Voldemort? She's only eight."

"I shouldn't need to remind you, Miss Granger, but on one occasion, Tom Riddle took two orphans into a cave, where he performed an act so horrifying that they were traumatised into silence. He was five at the time."

"But she's—"

"Riddle was sixteen when he created his first Horcrux," Shacklebolt added. "Youth doesn't necessarily denote innocence, Hermione."

Granger turned to Severus. "You knew the Dark Lord better than anyone, knew the far-reaching effects of his power. Do you think this girl could be a danger to herself or those around her?"

"I am… unsure," he answered hesitantly. "I would need to have direct contact with her, observer her interactions with others to determine the strength of any possibly latent powers."

"My thoughts exactly," Shacklebolt agreed. "Hence the assignment for you both to visit Miss Tenpenny."

"I have sensitive potions that need my constant—"

"I've almost harnessed worm-hole technology for use in—"

Shacklebolt gave them both a hard glare. "Not to be too dramatic, but this girl could be the next Dark Lord in the making. I want the threat neutralised if she is. I will not suffer through another war where I'm rendered helpless to our people!" He slammed his fist down on his desk for good measure. "I will not watch as my friends and loved ones are slaughtered, not while I can prevent it!"

After several minutes of thick, cloying silence, Granger cleared her throat. "When would you like us to leave?"

Shacklebolt glanced at Severus. "And you?"

Severus gave him a wicked smile full of crooked teeth. "As ever, I do as I'm told."

The Minister huffed in frustration and stood. "What would you have me do, Severus?"

"Nothing that would sully your hands, of course," Severus spat. "That's why you're sending me, because I'll do what no one else seems capable of doing."

"Severus," Granger whispered, tugging on his arm. "We're not going to harm Adair, just-"

He whirled on her. "And if she's more powerful than Riddle and decides that we're flies to be swatted, then what? Hmm? It's not like we could drag her before the Wizengamot. The illegal we do immediately. The unconstitutional takes a little longer, and our world may not survive the trial!"

Severus jerked his arm from Granger's grasp and headed for the door, pausing on the threshold to look at her. "There is one person who knew the Dark Lord better, Miss Granger. Perhaps you should ask Potter about his intimate knowledge of the serpent."

The door slammed in his wake.

The autumn morning broke crisp and cold, the colourful, brittle leaves scattering along the pavement. Standing in a secluded area near the Muggle entrance to the Ministry, Severus scanned his surroundings impatiently. Granger was late for their rendezvous. He was about to leave when he felt the shift in atmospheric pressure that preceded someone Apparating. A loud snap and Granger was walking towards him, holding two cups.

"You're late," Severus muttered.

"I was getting us coffee," she retorted. "Now I think I'll keep them both."

He held out his hand. "Not if you value your sanity."

She waited until he'd taken his first gulp before saying, "I doubt I have any left. That's why I get along with you so well."

"Pardon…" He coughed as the liquid seared his throat.

"Nothing to get choked up about, Severus," she continued, smirk firmly in place. "It's all part and parcel of our job as Unspeakables. You study in obscurity, rarely speak to those not in your inner sphere, hardly see the sun, then slowly forget who you are as your mind is consumed by the subject you dedicated your life to. Tragic, isn't it?"

"Positively Shakespearean," he drawled.

Her smirk bloomed into a genuine smile. "Quite. I mean, you are dressed as an undertaker. Puts one in the mood."

His eyes narrowed. "This attire is perfectly suitable for visiting the Muggle world." Though looking over Granger's appearance made him feel every one of his fifty years.

She was adorned in whimsical Muggle clothing that suited her, allowing her to blend in, yet stand out to the more discerning observer. The gauzy, flowing top had an empire waist that defined her chest, while the heart-shaped neckline hugged her breasts. The teal, almost emerald, colouring was accented by deep red and gold, and complemented her complexion. It was neither obscene nor demure, a style that fitted Granger's character. Beneath, she wore Muggle denim jeans that rode low on her hips and flaunted her curves. He swallowed thickly and shifted his gaze to her feet, clad in dark brown leather boots that spoke of comfort over fashion.

"Well, do you approve?"

Severus raised his eyes to see hers twinkling. Oh, he approved. Too much. He straightened and muttered, "Passable."

He ignored her huff of exasperation. "I could change yours… if you want."

"No."

"I don't mean to be rude, but you look like Mr Creakle, the headmaster from David Copperfield. Not exactly suitable when trying to observe in a non-threatening way."

She had a point, damn it. "Fine." He raised a finger just before she raised her wand. "Nothing posh."

"Spoilsport," she grumbled.

Wand poised, she whispered under her breath and Severus felt the fabric shifting on his body. He assessed his appearance, and found he was… quite pleased. For the most part, his look remained unaltered. His boots were the same, but his trousers had loosened and became slate-coloured dress slacks. He retained the starched white shirt, but over it was a charcoal jumper vest and a black suit jacket. Severus supposed he looked…

"Nice," Granger said appreciatively. His eyes shot to hers and she winked. "Not so many buttons, you'll notice."

He took stock of the clothing and found, indeed, there were few buttons. For a moment he felt he might panic, feeling so exposed in front of Muggles (not to mention Granger), but her pleasant behaviour went far towards soothing his fears.

Stowing her wand in a handbag the same hue as her top, Granger held out her hand. "Kingsley wanted me to remind you of our usual timeframe: twenty-four hours, and if no response or update from us, he'll send someone to find us."

Severus tsk'd and placed his calloused palm against hers. "I feel safer already," he drolled, and they disappeared amid the fog of London.

The slate grey door of 1 Calaman Cottage of the Belyars in St Ives was anything but menacing.

"You're sure we're in the right place?" Granger whispered.

Severus gave her a confused look. "Why are you whispering?"

"Not sure. Dramatic effect?"

He rolled his eyes and tugged her forward to press the doorbell. To his surprise the door was opened by a petite girl instead of an adult.

The girl's looks were striking. Dark auburn hair, so wild and curly it had a life of its own. Severus wondered if Granger had looked like this as a child. The cornflower blue eyes framed by sable lashes were made even more prominent by the girl's flawless café au lait complexion. She wore an emerald green corduroy sundress with an ecru knit cardigan, and her feet were bare. In the hand not holding the door, she clutched what looked like a remote control for a Muggle telly.

She stared at them for a moment. "Yes?" she asked sweetly.

Severus looked to Granger. "Erm, hello. Is your mum or dad home?"

The girl grimaced. "My mum died. Who are you?"

Granger, clearly taken aback by the information, held out her hand. "My name is Hermione Granger, and this is Mr Snape. I'm sorry about your mum."

The girl shrugged. "She died when I was born." She shook Granger's hand. "Why are you here?"

"Well, we'd like to speak to—"

"Where is your father, Miss Tenpenny?" Severus cut in, not wanting to beat about the bush. "And why are you not in school?"

The girl narrowed her eyes at Severus, apparently unafraid of his gruff demeanour. "School is stupid, full of bloody idiots. Why should I go?"

"Adair!" a voice called from within the home.

The girl froze for a moment, gripping the remote tightly, then turned away from them to run down the hallway. They heard footsteps and then a man stepped into the doorway and opened the door wider. "Sorry about that. She's ill at the moment, bit temperamental." He looked between Granger and Severus. "Can I help you with something?"

Granger smiled. "I think we may be able to help you, Mr Tenpenny. May we come in?"

The man paused for a moment, then gestured them inside. Severus quickly scanned the area, noting Adair's absence. He became uneasy, however, as he studied the interior of the house.

Bright light spilled into the lounge from wide windows in the back of the cottage, and since it was a typical overcast day, Severus had to wonder about the source that was giving the room an almost unearthly glow. There was a wild riot of colours adorning every surface and piece of furniture: red and blue sofas with wild patterns, parquet wood flooring, green wall accents, and Persian rugs in multiple hues. Upon the walls were all manner of fanciful shapes, created in a rainbow of shades. It was as if a child had been given free rein to use whatever they deemed worthy and sod the consequences. The cornucopia of images and tints gave Severus the beginnings of a headache.

"Please have a seat," Mr Tenpenny said, pointing to a red sofa. "Would you like some tea?"

Granger waved him off as she sat. "No, this won't take long." Severus remained standing and, after a curious look, she returned to her attention to Adair's father. "We represent a…special educational organisation, geared towards children who are rather exceptional. We'd heard that Adair was showing extraordinary talent in her classes, and wondered if you'd like to enroll her in our program."

Mr Tenpenny frowned. "I was just made redundant last week, so I can't afford anything posh. What sort of talent are you talking about?"

"Well, the kind that may be dismissed as—"

"Mr Tenpenny, has anything unusual happened while Adair was in the room?" Severus interrupted, not wanting to sit through Granger's awkward attempt at subtlety. "Any unexplained breaking of glass, perhaps, or a plate shattering against a wall?"

"Not that I can recall," the man answered, clearly confused.

"No parting the water in her bath, or being caught stirring a pot on the cooker?"

Tenpenny snorted. "Certainly not. Adair knows not to touch the cooker; she's a most obedient child." His eyes narrowed. "It sounds like this 'special education' organisation is nothing more than a school for wayward youth, and my daughter is not in the least troubled."

Granger bit her bottom lip. "Mr Tenpenny, we're not accusing Adair of any wrong-doing; we just want to make sure she gets the best education available."

"Not with a bunch of delinquents, she won't."

Severus studied the irritated man. "Your daughter is thought to be exceptionally gifted. We are here to evaluate that possibility."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Look, I'm not sure what sort of 'gifted' students you lot are interested in, but I think we'll pass. It's time for you both to leave."

"Mr Tenpenny, if you would just—"

"Dad? Why are you angry?" Adair asked. Severus startled—as, he noticed, did Granger. Neither of them had noticed the girl return to stand at the threshold to the other room.

Her father kept his gaze on Severus. "No reason, love. Go back to watching your program."

Adair didn't obey, despite her father's characterization of her as obedient. Instead, she slowly made her way to stand next to him and grasped his hand. "Dad, you should go to sleep."

As if on command, Mr Tenpenny's eyes rolled back and he dropped to the sofa, sound asleep.

"You made my dad upset," the girl said.

Judging by the look on her face, Granger was totally flummoxed. Severus, on the other hand, was at full alert. "Granger," he warned, tugging her to stand next to him and withdrawing his wand.

A mischievous smile curled Adair's mouth. "You shouldn't be here." She pointed the remote control at them, pressed the OK button and gave them a cheeky, "Goodbye!"

There was no time to react, and Severus didn't realise the severity of the danger until too late. The sensation was akin to Disapparating, but without the buffering magic that comes with skilled use. It was raw power, pure and simple. The squeezing pull made Severus feel as though his ribs were slowly being crushed, and in blind panic he reached for Granger's hand. Thank Merlin, she grabbed it, and then they were both hurtling through a black tunnel. Just as Severus thought he might pass out from lack of oxygen, they landed abruptly in the middle of a muddy field, knocking the wind out of them.

"Oh… oh, that… hurt," Granger wheezed. She rolled to the side and promptly was sick.

Severus nearly did the same, but he didn't think his pride would recover if he allowed her to see him vomit. Instead, he remained lying in the muck and took slow, deep breaths until he felt he could stand without embarrassing himself. And that's when he noticed their surroundings.

He raised himself onto one elbow and looked around. "What the devil...?"

Granger stumbled to her feet and grabbed hold of the red fleece jacket he was now wearing.

"Oh, gods," she muttered. "It's a good thing you weren't in Gryffindor. You look ghastly in red!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, well that particular shade doesn't do you any favours, either."

She glanced down and frowned. "This isn't what I was wearing."

They both jumped as loud classical music started playing from no discernible source, and a voice announced, "Today we're in Derbyshire, spoiled for choice. Beautiful grounds, stunning views, loads of stalls, and of course… that lot." The sounds of a cheering crowd returned a greeting.

"Let's go Bargain Hunting!" the voice swelled triumphantly.

"Oh, no…" Granger panted, still trying to catch her breath.

Severus looked across the field to dozens of white tents with people milling about them, a large hall in the background. "What?"

Granger pointed to a man who was traipsing across the muddy ground, talking to a man holding what looked like a Muggle video recorder. He wore a light blue blazer with a dark blue jumper vest, a dodgy hat to go along with his dodgy moustache and spectacles sitting on the bridge of his nose.

"Kedleston Hall is an 18th century mansion house set in over eight hundred acres of spectacularly muddy ground. So there's no time to get stuck in the mud today. Our teams are gearing up, because they've only got £300 and an hour to shop—and hopefully dig out those bargains!"

The speaker changed course, heading towards Severus and Granger.

"Granger! Explain this!" Severus hissed.

She groaned. "Sorry, but we're about to be on Muggle telly, Severus."