Ch. 4— The Boys of Company 'B'
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Hermione was as good as her word, after consulting the muggle gym she frequented for times, she discovered a beginner's lyrics dance class early enough that she could take and still feel like it wasn't impeding her day of study. On the days before she had class, she wouldn't be able to cook her meals as she'd need to go to bed earlier to make up her sleep, so she'd have to plan for that accordingly.
But her first lesson had been wonderful!
With the house still asleep, Hermione left at the gray light of dawn and had apparated in her drab gray witch's robes to the gym, arriving there Disillusioned. Seeing how the other muggles were dressed, she dug in her beaded bag until she found some black leggings, a pink sports bra and a purple tank top Ginny had gotten her for her birthday last year that said, 'Look like a Beauty, Train like a Beast', and then she went to the bathroom to change. She didn't have any shoes—ballet or otherwise that would protect her feet other than her trainers.
But her plan was to go and observe, and if she needed anything special, then she would know better for next time.
She hadn't needed anything but her two bare feet and boundless amounts of energy.
Madam T'sara, the instructor, told them in a thick New York accent to 'Dance the shit out it!' and put on a song Hermione vaguely remembered being covered by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, letting them have the floor.
The others guided her through the steps, teaching her what she needed to do. No one was 'performance ready', but everyone was having a wonderful time, and practically no one was self-conscious of the way they looked. One of the girls even twirled herself into a mirror, bumping her head in the process. But did the girl stop dancing?
No way!
It was… an experience Hermione couldn't wait to repeat again.
But dear God! She was sticky and sweaty and positively foul-smelling. Her hair had come undone halfway through class, and in exasperation, Hermione let it flow free while she danced.
And just the thought of having to put back on those damned robes again set her to cringing.
After finishing tying the laces on her trainers and checking the time on her watch, she figured she had just enough time to apparate back to Grimmauld, chug a glass of juice and perhaps eat a slice of toast and take a short bath before the rest of the house awoke.
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Severus had watched her leave earlier in the morning.
He didn't like it when she left—especially as she just did, without telling anyone where she was going, or giving anyone notice as to her leaving. But Hermione Granger was a grown witch able to aptly fend for herself and free to do as she pleased.
Still, that didn't stop him from worrying.
He looked out the front window of the dining room to the darkened street below. It was still the hour of pre-dawn, and perhaps, she wouldn't be back this time.
But no, Miss Granger had given her word, and if there was a witch of whom he never had to question her integrity, it was her.
She would be back. Even as Severus had the thought, he saw her round the corner… or, at least, a woman that looked like her round the corner.
But the woman's hair was wild with curl, the volume standing out well above her head and looking hoydenish, and she was scarcely dressed—not like what his Miss Granger had been wearing at all when she left the house.
As she grew closer, Severus observed her from the tips of her muggle trainers to the loose-fitting sleeveless top that said, 'Look like a beauty, train like a beast.' That was over-boastful, surely… but as the woman drew closer and appeared under a streetlamp, Severus realized she was, indeed, quite beautiful.
For she was, indeed, Miss Hermione Granger: a very flushed Miss Granger who took a moment to stop right below the window where he stood and stretch herself beside the stoop outside the front door.
And sweet Hera, mother of the gods! By the light of the street-lamps, Severus could see straight down the loose-fitting purple top she wore to the tight, pink muggle corset she had on underneath it, binding her breasts.
Ah, gods, but her nipples were erect!
He clutched at the sill to keep himself upright as he looked down, the blood suddenly rushing to other, more important parts of his anatomy than his head, making him feel lethargic and weak. It also made him feel every bit the lecherous, dirty-minded old man he was as he eagerly absorbed every inch of his former student's shapely, delectable frame from the plump, firm curve of her backside defined in the tight, form-fitting muggle breeches, to the low-cut, bosom-exposing top that showed her chest still heaving with exertion, the two twin peaks of her breasts standing out diamond-hard, even though she was almost fully recovered—at least from being out of breath.
She suddenly looked up at the window, and Severus jerked backing away.
Had she seen him? Dear gods, had she seen him?
He quickly walked to the kitchen and sat in the far corner, a long-time favorite haunt of his whenever he frequented the house for Order meetings as the far corner lay in shadow. For the most part, he could remain quiet and unobserved; which was how he preferred things, truly, especially now when he could barely speak.
She would go straightway to the bath, and once she did that, he would go to the closet and put his ear to the—what was wrong with him?! He had to practically slap himself, metaphorically-speaking of course, for his inappropriate thoughts.
Voyeurism was not the conduct of an honorable wizard, and damn it! He would behave the way Miss Granger expected him to behave. He would leave her alone to live her life, and she would be all the better for it without him in it.
The front door opened and closed with a soft click, and then her trainer-shod footsteps fell gently upon the floor. She was being even lighter of step than usual which meant she was trying to be cautious, perhaps trying not to awaken the rest of the household? Severus expected to hear her walk past the kitchen any moment now towards the lavatory.
She didn't.
She came right into the space he occupied, within mere feet of him.
And Severus watched as she opened the larder, and summoning a glass from the dish drainer by the sink, poured herself a tall glass of pumpkin juice, and drank nearly half in one go. The other half, she held up to her forehead and then her still flushed cheeks.
Severus groaned soundlessly.
How easy it would be, if she wanted and was aware of him, for him to reach out and pull her over onto his knee, and fondle her pink and purple-clad breasts through the revealing layers of the muggle tops she wore, experiencing first-hand the racing of her heart. Perhaps she'd even let him dip his hand into her tight, black muggle breeches—for they could not be called 'trousers' not by any stretch of the imagination— and let him feel her moisture and the gathering heat.
She would lean so trustingly against him, the dear weight of her head falling on his shoulder, and he would caress her little bead of nerved flesh, palming and fingering her until she arched back moaning, shattering to pieces in his arms.
He blinked, realizing he'd been day-dreaming, and had quite lost himself in thought while the witch busied herself preparing a piece of toast and hurriedly gobbling it up along with the remainder of her juice.
And then turning, she left him and went to the lav.
Did she honestly think that constituted breakfast after the callisthenic rigors she'd clearly put her body through?
Severus rolled his eyes.
The witch knew better… at least, he hoped she did.
Rising from his corner nook, he went to the larder and checked its contents: eggs, cheese, a smattering assortment of vegetables.
Nothing too complicated or rich; her body wouldn't appreciate a greasy, fat-laden meal after such exercise. An egg-white scramble, perhaps with mushrooms, a few of the other vegetables and some cheese would do nicely. Protein from the white of the egg, fat from the cheese, and simple sugar from the vegetables should give her system the nice, gentle lift it needed to set her on course for the rest of her day, provided she kept up the momentum with a mid-day meal.
She was finished bathing long before he was even finished sweating the vegetables, and Severus saw a pale gray blur of witch's robes and a head of gleaming damp curls flash by before she was gone once more up the stairs.
She hadn't even noticed him.
"Kreacher," Severus croaked. And it was a full five minutes before the damned elf appeared, looking surly, half-asleep, and very much put-upon. Severus scowled down at the damned thing. "Take this directly to Miss Granger and make sure she eats it." He gestured to the tray he was preparing.
The house-elf shook his head. "Cannot, Mr. Snape, Mud-bl—" the elf's eyes went wide, and he stepped back, panicked, clutching at his neck where Severus's handprint was still clearly visible. "Kreacher cannot go into Miss' room," he reported fearfully.
"Oh, and why not?" Severus asked, his tone lethal as he plated the scramble and set apart a slice of fresh, chilled cantaloupe, covering the plate with a warming lid and wandless stasis charm.
"Mr. Malfoy told me not to, sir. Instructed me not to touch the Mu-" the elf flinched at Severus's hostile stare, "—uggle-born miss's things. Said he'd hurt Kreacher if he did."
"And what do you think," Severus turned to face the elf and leaned down menacingly, looking down his hooked nose at the elf's, "Lucius is doing in her room then?"
The elf began to back away, shaking his head. "Kreacher knows not, Master Snape. Only that Mr. Malfoy enjoys going into the mu—ggle-born miss' room at times, carrying his bed-linens. Kreacher does not understand why."
Severus's eyes narrowed at this. What would the primpy blond bastard want to do with his sheets in Miss Granger's bed?
Unless…
Oh, Lucius was playing at the long game, was he not? A very desperate and perverse game as well. Hmm, well two could definitely play there….
"Kreacher. That will be all," Severus dismissed in a fare imitation of the elf's own rasping drawl.
In hearing the similarity, it actually gave him an idea, and putting a goblet of ice-cold water on the tray as well as utensils and a linen napkin, Severus quit the kitchen and began climbing the stairs up to her room. He scratched on the door as any house-elf was wont to do, and rasped in the elf's grouchy, surly tones, "Breakfast!"
"Thank you, Kreacher, but I've already eaten," Severus heard from inside her room.
After weeks of observing the two's interaction, he had this down to a fine art in a matter of seconds. "Miss needs to eat," he said in a truculent whisper. "Kreacher cooked Miss breakfast, and Miss has to eat it!" His voice broke on the last couple of words, but Severus thought she heard him. He gave another impatient scratching on the door for good measure.
And setting the tray down with a rattle, careful not to actually disturb its contents too much, Severus stepped to the other side of the hall and peaked out from within a darkened doorway.
A moment later her door opened wide, "Do you have a cold... Kreach… errm?" The once more drab and dowdily-dressed witch looked around the empty hallway, blinking and mystified at the little elf's absence, and Severus smirked. She looked down at the tray on the floor before her and shook her head, stooping to lift the warming lid.
And then she smiled, delighted with what she found. "Well, that's very thoughtful!" She scooped up the tray and went back to her room, a smile still on her face before she closed the door once more.
And Severus stood up taller, feeling bolstered by this small success.
Even if she didn't yet know it, he, Severus Snape, was taking care of her.
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Lucius pointed the resonance crystal at the journal yet again and tried to get the blasted thing to yield.
Her agenda was there to be viewed by anyone who picked it up, but there was another enchantment placed on it, a 'mine eyes only' charm that he was having a deuce of a time dismantling with the crystal as his concentrated source.
Well, even with his wand, he would have found it fiendishly difficult. The witch knew her security charms, he'd give her that. Charms, however, had been a field of study of which Lucius had aptly excelled, and he had kept up pursuit after his schooling was complete, more of a hobby than anything approaching academic.
However, he was far better-read in the field than the average academic, that was… up until his conviction and subsequent sentencing ten years ago. And obviously, more stringent security charms had been invented during that time. He felt out-dated, ancient, and clumsy next to the sleek, streamlined example of spell-work revealed before him. Merciful Merlin, there had to be some little thread, some little tendril out of place.
The girl couldn't have caught all the tricks in the book… could she have done?
He flipped through page after secured tighter-than-Gringott's page in disbelief.
The magically expansive journal went back years… over a decade, in fact.
In point of fact, he was certain that the hunt for horcruxes was in this journal, perhaps even her girl-hood schoolwork and timetable. And perhaps, her thoughts were written in these very pages!
Oh, what a treasure, what a gem!
If he could find a way to open it that was…
Well, perhaps he didn't need to open it… perhaps… all he needed to do… was replicate it?
Lucius grinned, his thoughts unfurling. The 'Duplio' charm. Yes, that was it. The 'Duplio' charm in conjunction with the journal, and the charm to make two-way mirrors. As she wrote in the thing, he would be able to see it. And once she unlocked it, he would be able to read the entirety of its contents via his copy at his leisure… provided he changed the password on his copy.
It was going to take a week at least, using the crystal, for him to manufacture such a thing, but… Lucius closed his eyes in thought and grinned.
Oh, my little minx. My beautiful, little minx, do I have you now.
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Severus conducted surveillance from the shadows of the courtyard as Miss Granger once more prepared her meals, and he was assessing whether or not she would notice him if he hid in his shadowed spot in the kitchen while she did so.
So far, all indicators were she would not, if she didn't notice him upon first entry.
It had been only a couple days since he had seen her leaving so early and returning so spent. She had yet to do so again, but that didn't stop Severus from being on his watch for her just in case. Earlier, he had observed Lucius steal in and out of her rooms while the witch was in the kitchen preparing her meals, the blond wizard exchanging his bed-linens for her own.
But, Severus smirked, he too could imprint upon the delectable Miss Granger his scent, accustom the witch to it in order to get nearer her.
It was an old Slytherin ploy used by puerile young wizards to 'mark' the witch they intended to have as their own. Used at Hogwarts through amenable house-elves sympathetic to a wizard's aims, it was subtle as a sigh, and yet, worked like a charm to condition and make the witch more receptive to her wizard's particular redolent aura. The muggles liked to call it 'pheromones', Severus called it for what it was: a primal marking of territory.
Severus looked at the sheets he had slept in for the last fortnight, barely used at all. He didn't sleep but a few hours at most and only rarely, but sometimes, he did come up here and lay his head upon the pillow to think, and it was the pillow he exchanged for Lucius's own.
He was appalling at cleaning and freshening charms, and so, couldn't dispel all the wizard's scent from the damn thing. But the pillow now upon his bed smelled of Miss Granger too, because Lucius had been exchanging their pillows every time the witch prepared a meal.
It was a co-mingling of their two scents, and Severus was suddenly glad of his cleaning charms deficiency, for perhaps after Miss Granger had gone to bed tonight, he would find sleep's embrace with the aid of her citrus-spice bouquet to lead him into dreaming.
Once he got back his wand, he would put a gentle charm upon her pillow so that, when she did seek her rest, it would be peaceful and deep. Begrudgingly he would be doing so for Lucius as well.
Ah, well… Severus truly didn't mind it, but he was loathed to give Lucius yet another advantage in the pursuit of her if he could help it.
The blond wizard already had enough a head start as is.
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Hermione's next dance class wasn't until tomorrow, and it was with much anticipation she was looking forward to it. She had been hard at work reviewing arguments both for and against more stringent guidelines for were-wolf registration with the Ministry.
As it was, in this post-Voldemort world, each were-wolf was required to report every day for one week of each month leading up to the full moon to the Ministry of Magic's creature division in order to receive their mandatory dosing of Wolfsbane.
Any were-wolf to skip a dosing, was automatically sent to Azkaban to await trial, and more often than not euthanasia.
It was awful.
"Mu—ggle-born Miss," Kreacher scratched on her door, and curious, Hermione put down the book and went to answer his summons. He hadn't called her 'mud-blood'.
Now that was strange…
Kreacher bowed his head in deference to her, and he never did that. Alright, just what the hell was going on?! "Master Harry wishes to speak to Miss in the study if Miss is willing."
She smiled, "Of course, I'm willing, silly elf!" and she tugged his ear affectionately as she moved past him down the hall.
Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy were already there, seated on the sofa and talking quietly with him. She had thought from the location it would be a 'floo' call, but Harry was there, seated in a chair before the two men.
She came into the room and conversation ceased.
"Hermione," Harry smiled up at her sunnily and stood. Both Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape did so as well.
She bounded up to Harry and embraced him in a warm hug and then pushed back, drinking in the sight of him. He was dressed in muggle jeans and a t-shirt, but both were rumpled and dirty-looking.
He looked exhausted.
He, too, was surveying her from head to toe and then looking at her questioningly. "What are you wearing? You look like Ginny's Aunt Muriel."
She cleared her throat and rejoined dryly, "Yes, well naturally, you're looking your best as well." She pointed her wand at him and dispelled the snot, bogies, wrinkles, and stains from his clothes as well as repairing his cracked and broken glasses once more.
He felt them. "How'd you—?" Seeming to remember who he was speaking to, he grinned. "Ginny and I both tried… it was Albus throwing a magical tantrum."
She smirked, "You're the one who named him after—" and then blushed as she remembered the man himself was in the room.
Harry sighed, "Yes, yes. I have only myself to blame there," and the both of them looked over at Professor Snape who scowled at them in return.
Mr. Malfoy merely grinned, obviously amused.
The 'floo' crackled and flared, and the very desperate and harassed face of Ginny Potter appeared before them.
" 'Mione," she said tiredly, her eyes baggy and bloodshot. " 'm so glad to see you back home and settled." Her eyes opened wide as the witch examined her from head to toe, "Gads! What are you wearing? You look like Aunt Muriel!"
She heard three distinct male snorts behind her, and shook her head, "Everyone's a critic. What's the matter with you? Do you need anything?"
"A vat of 'Wide-eye potion' would do me wonders right about now…" the red-headed witch closed her eyes on a sigh, "or a nice fishbowl margarita with an umbrella poking out from the salted rim. And a white, sandy beach… and a cute, little cabana boy wearing nothing but a banana hammock and a smile…" she trailed off, smiling slightly.
"Um… Ginny?" both Harry and Hermione asked uncertainly.
The young mother shook her head, not even bothering to open her eyes. "Sorry. 'm sorry. I'm just so tired, I'm punchy, y' know?" Wearily, she opened her eyes and met Hermione's. "It's Dragonpox. All three of the little monsters contracted it at once," she bemoaned succinctly, and Hermione winced.
There was nothing for it but to endure.
"Have you asked them yet?" Ginny looked over Hermione's shoulder towards Harry.
Harry shook his head. "No, but I will now." He acknowledged the three of them standing in the room beside him. "One of the reasons I'm here is to see if we could 'borrow' Kreacher for a bit. Just until the hoard gets back on its feet?"
"Of course," Hermione immediately agreed, Mr. Malfoy seconding her. Professor Snape nodded once.
Ginny nodded, obviously relieved, and then weakly waved goodbye. 'Kreacher!' they all heard Ginny bellow at the top of her lungs before disconnecting the 'floo', and a cracking 'BOOM' that shook the house was heard by all.
Harry winced. "Well, since I have some time on my hands before my meeting at the Ministry, how's about the four of us catch up with the Boys at Company 'B'? I'm starved, and Ginny, gods bless her, hasn't had time to cook in days with the hoard being ill and all."
Hermione raised her eyebrow as arm to her back, Harry began ushering her out of the study. "You could learn to fix for yourself, you know?" she rejoined smartly looking over her shoulder at him.
He shook his head. "I know how to burn toast. You remember. That's about the extent of my cooking abilities." He looked behind him at Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy as they followed them out into the hall. "It's a good thing Ginny inherited her cooking charms from Molly, otherwise the five of us would starve."
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"You did starve once upon a time if I remember correctly?" Lucius asked the bespectacled wizard watching the byplay between Potter and Miss Granger.
"I'm afraid that was my doing," Miss Granger smiled deprecatingly up at Potter. "I'm horrid with cooking charms."
Lucius looked at her curiously, but he saw Severus's eyes widen slightly in realization as if he knew something Lucius didn't.
Not wanting to waste a moment talking to the witch, he said smoothly, "It seems to me, as you've just stated, Potter could have learned to 'do for himself'. His stomach was not your responsibility to fill."
"And yet, she made it her responsibility," Severus rejoined in a whisper, never one to be outdone, "As well as seeing to the well-being of two adolescent wizards that had no idea how to care for themselves."
Lucius watched her blush delicately under their regard, and he smiled to himself.
Lovely.
Potter grinned and gave her a nudge, "Yeah, Hermione saved our lives. We would have starved or gotten caught long before without her."
Potter and the girl were familiar—loving—and as closely connected as family. Potter had his hand on her back, and she had her arm linked through his. With the travails he had let slip over the years of their hellish journey together that year spent searching for horcruxes in the tent, Lucius could see the bond of love and familial devotion clearly—as brother to sister. As it stood, Potter would make a formidable foe or an invaluable asset in Lucius's pursuit of her.
"Care to jot down that ingredient list for that potion we discussed while we wait, Professor?" Potter asked Severus, walking to the hall bureau and grabbing a self-inking quill and parchment.
"Wait? Why would we need to wait?" Miss Granger asked him curiously. "I just need to grab my bag, and we can go..."
Potter shook his head and pointed at her, giving her a level look. "I'm not going out with you looking like that." His lips twitched. "Go change!"
"Prat," she scoffed, laughingly swatting at him.
"Aunt Muriel," he replied succinctly, easily fending her off. "And wear something nice. You know Emiel will want you to sing," he called after her, obviously goading her on.
"Not gonna happen, Harry," she called back, closing her bedroom door.
"Miss Granger sings?" Severus asked offhandedly.
"Hermione does and very well too; I've been meaning to ask… have you both noticed anything strange concerning her? Is she doing alright?"
"We barely see her at all actually," Lucius said, "Miss Granger stays in her room much of the time."
Potter shook his head, "Yes, I just bet she does. Look, I hate to ask this of you both, and I know I've been leaning on you a bit much where Hermione's concerned, but she needs to get out the house every once and a while. She has a tendency towards single-minded pursuit bordering on—"
"—obsession?" Severus interjected, with a slight raise of his eyebrow. Lucius caught his eyes for just a moment. Gods, but this was too easy.
"Yeah…" Potter ruffled his own hair, "I know I'm asking a lot here, but just… try and get her away from the books, won't you? Hermione needs—"
This was becoming painfully tedious. "Say no more, Potter; we're on top of it," Lucius smiled tightly, cutting him short. Thank the gods he heard the girl coming back.
His lips quirked up when he saw what she was wearing.
Dressed as a muggle, and yet, not… no, the clothes were old… at least, old-fashioned. She wore a black dress that covered her modestly to her well-toned mid-calf, and yet was form-fitting to emphasize her feminine shape and beautifully sculpted curves, the collar of the dress was raised high and russet colored to perfectly play off her features and coloring.
On her feet were heels the type his ex-wife would have worn… no, they were actually higher than Narcissa would have worn them, and if Lucius looked closely, he observed a stabilizing as well as cushioning charm placed on them as well.
A small black pillbox hat with a small veil perched rakishly upon her head at an angle to emphasize the curve of her jaw and large golden-hued eyes.
It was an outfit his ex-wife would have both admired and loathed—never being able to pull such an ensemble off with the grace and panache Miss Granger was doing.
And she looked positively stunning.
"Well, does this meet with your oh-so-expert approval?" She studiously ignored both Lucius and Severus's gaze, focusing on Potter solely. Slippery little minx; not even giving them a chance. Oh, but Lucius would set her veneer of indifference to crumbling and soon.
"M'eh," Potter shrugged and grinned, "I guess you'll do. Come on, I've been dreaming of Emiel's roasted potatoes for days. Remind me to tell you about the monsters' experience at the petting zoo in Darfur."
"Wow," she shook her head, "that's quite the segue."
"Oh, trust me. They're related." Potter took her arm in his and began escorting her down the stairs but stopped suddenly and looked back behind him up at them. "You both can't go out into the muggle world dressed like that."
"What are you now, the muggle fashion briggade?" Miss Granger asked, but Potter pointed his wand at them, and Lucius had a moment of slight panic. Anyone who had seen the things he'd seen, would've felt that way. But then he felt a wave of Potter's cool, impersonal magic sweep over him and his clothes transfigured themselves to muggle jeans and a t-shirt. Lucius looked down and grimaced in distaste.
Not satisfied, the wizard kept changing and changing his shirt, morphing the color and the style.
"Oh, Harry! Honestly, just stop!" Miss Granger pointed her wand at him, and Lucius felt the gentle sweeping of her magic trickle over him like a warm breeze. He looked down. His dated wizard's robes were now dated muggle togs of brown and cream. He wore a muggle suit minus the vest. Catching his reflection from the clock in the hall, he looked deucedly sharp.
She next pointed her wand at Severus and had his robes transforming themselves to a suit as well. Black of course, except he still kept his vest. Lucius's lips twitched as he watched Severus's hair being magically gathered back into a queue at his nape and magically tied with a transfigured black strip of leather.
He looked over to gauge the dark wizard's response, but Severus's face was carefully blank with only the slightest look of resignation in his eyes.
He was occluding strongly.
Finally, she turned her wand on her friend, and Potter held up his hands. "Hey, easy. I'm just here for the food. Consider me the designer and you three the talent."
"Ginny's had you watching 'Project Runway' again has she?" she asked as she flicked her wand, transfiguring Potter's jeans into tan slacks and his open-faced button-down shirt to a brown tweed suit-jacket, his plain t-shirt now a white button-down shirt opened at the neck.
For whatever strange reason known only to the two of them, she left his trainers exposed, lending him an incongruent and boyish appearance.
All-in-all, the witch had cast very fine spell-work over their motley gathering. And upon gaining the front stoop, Potter took Severus's arm, and apparated them away. Lucius smirked to himself.
"Shall we?" Miss Granger held out her arm for him to take, studiously not looking up at him.
"We shall in a moment, Miss Granger," Lucius began, "I would like to, however, offer my compliments on how exquisitely fetching you look, my dear."
She crossed her arms in front of her and shook her head. "You don't get to do that. Not when every word, every look you've ever given me is a direct insult, Mr. Malfoy. I still remember how you treated me when I first returned to Grimmauld."
He turned to face her. "Oh, but you have me judged incorrectly there, Miss Granger. I was and am genuinely in earnest."
He reached for her lowered chin to raise it, and suddenly her hands were clamped on his arm before he could even touch her face, and she was apparating them. Lucius prayed to Merlin he wasn't about to be splinched, and if he was, the girl would, no doubt, see it as his just desserts.
Perhaps, she would be correct.
They arrived in the alley with a 'CRACK', Lucius stumbling a bit, his proximity breaking hold due to shear momentum.
He did a quick scan: all fingers and all toes present and accounted for, nose and other protruding, dangly bits as well. Looking over, he spied both Potter and Severus had nearly identical looks of astonishment on their faces, but even as he watched, Severus's morphed to a smirk only Lucius could see.
Miss Granger was staring fixedly at the brick wall, her jaw clenched tight.
"All alright then, Hermione?" Potter asked uncertainly.
She nodded tersely.
Potter gallantly offered her his arm, and she took it, Severus and Lucius falling in step behind the younger man and witch.
'You tried something, didn't you, and she showed you your place but neatly, did she not?' Severus asked him amusedly via Legilimency as they trailed behind them.
'A small setback, that is all,' Lucius admitted, 'I still have every confidence she will come around in time.'
Severus's only reply was a disdainful snort.
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They stepped up to a building that read, 'The Boys of Company 'B' ' in large calligraphic lettering, and Mr. Potter opened the door for them. Immediately, loud and boisterous brassy music could be heard, and Severus looked around, the place was an authentic throw-back to the time of muggle 1940's World War II.
Severus's father had been obsessed with the era, a collector of memorabilia from his time spent fighting defending Crown and Country from Nazi Occupation. He hadn't amounted to more than a Gunner in the Royal Artillery, but according to him, those were the best years of the old sot's life, and it was the time when he had been his most dashing; his pure-blooded mother having been taken with a man in uniform.
Potter told the woman seating them, "Tell Emiel Hermione's back." These words caused color to blossom on Miss Granger's face. Just who was this Emiel, and why in Merlin's name would this cause such a reaction in the witch? Severus watched as she buried her blushing head in her hands.
"Hermione's back! Hey, fellas, Hermione's back!" a voice suddenly shouted from the back of the restaurant. The band—the type of 'Big Band' era Swing— struck up a lively tune, and a group of muggle men all dressed in replicated WWII army-green outfits of the Crown began piling out of the kitchen, craning their necks to spot her, holding their hands to their eyes against the glare of the stage lamps.
They did, and as one, the group descended on their table singing loudly and boisterously a very suggestive song about, 'Polishing their rifles, and thinking of the girl they loved'. After kissing her cheek, one singer knelt before her and crooned, while two more surrounded her from behind, and then in a move of practiced ease, they drew the blushing witch by the arms and feet from behind the table and onto their shoulders, the rest of the diners now looking on with avid interest as they carried her away to place her on the bar top, all continuing to sing.
So many muggle men surrounded her, each of them giving her some kind of token—a kiss to the cheek, a pat to the shoulder, a hug. Severus felt a jealous pang hit him, but the witch, although embarrassed and blushing profusely, took it all in stride, and not for one moment, Severus could see, was she affected by the muggle men's flattering attentions, only shaking her head at their over-the-top antics.
He looked over to find Lucius watching her, his jaw clenched tight. Severus raised his eyebrows, and Lucius said mentally, 'It's not the girl I find disagreeable but the muggles pawing and salivating over her.'
The song ended to a rousing, shrill-whistling round of applause, especially led by the bespectacled wizard to Severus's right as the fellows escorted her back to her seat.
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It had been so long, so very long since she'd been back.
For seven years, she had worked here, putting herself through school, 'singing for her supper' as Emiel had said. Emiel, the loud, boisterous Italian-American immigrant to Britain had come out of the kitchen himself to take their order.
"Just soup and salad, Emiel," she told the man who was dressed in his fine muggle business suit. He'd always reminded her of her father: strict, sharp military-grade haircut and bearing, a no-nonsense attitude, the man ran a tight ship, save for those he considered his family.
And he considered her to be the daughter he never had.
"Okay, little bird. I'll bring you the lamb," his warm brown eyes twinkled down at her. "That is if you can tell me two wines that would pair well with it?"
She shook her head and laughed. This was a running gag between the two of them. For a year, soup and salad had been what she'd ordered. However, once Emiel had surmised her situation… well, not that she was a witch, but that she was a student working her way through school and could sing passably in his club, he'd made it his mission to see her educated in the finer things of life—good food, good friends, and good song. And he knew the lamb was her favorite dish on his more than passably scrumptious menu. She answered readily enough, "The Cataldi Madonna or the Borgo Scopeto Chianti would pair just as well."
He nodded his head in approval. "Glad you still remember to what your first education disposed you. The Cataldi it shall be; I believe I have a fine 2004 I've been saving for just such a special occasion as my prodigal daughter's returning." He looked at her askance. "But you know, little bird, you are going to have to sing for this supper, yes? It's been too long since last you visited us, and you are very overdue."
"Oh, naturally," Harry piped in beside her, and she rolled her eyes at him, "We wouldn't have it any other way."
"And you, Mr. Harry," Emiel pointed his finger at him and waggled it, "you have not been by with that merry wife of yours and children in so long," he shook his head, "I believe they've all grown up and flew the nest by now."
"Not quite, Emiel; Lily's still in diapers," Harry answered dryly.
"And there you have it; I've yet to meet her. For shame on you. I should have you on stage performing with my little bird as well."
Hermione was gratified to see Harry pale slightly. "Not unless you want your customers to run screaming from the place, clutching at their bleeding ears," he answered with a self-deprecating smile.
For a moment, the Italian looked thoughtful, and then said, "You're right. It would be bad for business. Anyone else at the table I can wrangle into performing?" Hermione watched as he assessed both Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy considering, and then shook his head, "No, these two are far too stuffy and English. No soul for the softer things whatsoever," Emiel quickly dismissed them and looked back at her, and Harry gave a snort. "You'll be on, performing the anthem with the others in fifteen. I expect an encore to follow. So, be thinking, hmm?"
Once more, his warm, brown eyes twinkled down at her, and she nodded.
A moment after Emiel had left them, her drink arrived: a cosmopolitan, and she knocked it back.
"A little liquid courage?" Harry whispered to her, and she nodded, gaining her feet, and studiously not looking at the other two wizards in their party, she made her way backstage.
Harry and Ginny loved coming here—the anonymity of it, and Hermione loved it as well. Here, she was known by the moniker 'little bird', and not 'the Ice Queen' the Wizarding Press had dubbed , she was treated with kindness, dignity, and respect for who she was and for what she was capable.
It was jarring to think Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape were getting a glimpse of this part of her. She hadn't the best voice in the world, but Emiel loved it when she sang. With a decent dance partner, she could move, twirl and even 'swing' as it were, for the Boys of Company 'B' had insisted she learn how.
She made her way backstage, already seeing the three girls dressed in WWII women's dress greens complete with pencil skirt, and jacket including the stiff green caps and gold rankings on their lapels, warming up to prepare to sing the 'anthem' the club was named after, the American war-time rag by the Andrews sisters: 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' which the lyrics had been slightly altered to fit the British Crown.
Hugs, kisses, and greetings soon followed all around; the vetted performer Giselle immediately wrangling her to the mirror and changing her rather sedate lipstick of nude to that of 'Company 'B'-approved garish red to match the other girls. Hermione joined in with their warm-up, automatically singing the descant as the girls then sat upon her to change her rather sedate and tamed bun at her nape to 'victory rolls'; the hairstyle that made glamour for the 1940's so legendary.
Six years of preparing herself for the footlights, six years of routine and stage makeup. How Lavender and Parvati would be surprised if they saw her now. She had developed an appreciation for looking nice and garnering an appreciative glance from the male of the species. She had learned from these very muggle girls how to primp and curl—without the use of magic— how to take care of herself, and keep up her appearance.
And as if her absence had never been, four sets of hands primped, prodded, straightened, re-curled, and sprayed her curly locks into place, all the while still singing their warm-up, and she took a moment to study her reflection once they were done.
A 1940's fashion-plate stared back at her almost unrecognizable to herself. It had been thusly each and every time she had taken to the stage. She looked every bit as pin-up worthy glamorous as the three uniformed ladies beside her.
The band stopped playing, and she heard Emiel announce them, and taking a deep breath for courage, Hermione gathered her composure to face the waiting crowd.
And then she was on.
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Thus far, Lucius was moderately impressed with his surroundings.
The atmosphere of this… club was festive and its tone uplifting and hopeful. He could definitely do with more of this type of entertainment in his life… even if he was surrounded by a cluster of muggles. However, that was comforting in its own right. Severus and he had talked about, once they got their wands and stipends, going to leave the United Kingdom for the world beyond.
Even though they were exonerated, wizarding sentiment was still against them, and both wizards thought it best to adopt a life of anonymity. It had occurred to Severus but not to him to turn to the muggle world for anonymity's grace. And truthfully, Lucius was comforted by still remaining in the country of his birth but being unknown. Yes, there was definitely something appealing to this… this muggle side of things.
He took a sip of his truly delicious scotch served neat, and waited with anticipation for the moment when Miss Granger would take the stage.
He didn't care for being labeled as 'too stuffy and English' by the Italian, but he definitely supposed the moniker could apply. At least, the man he'd been forced to become over the last three decades or so. Not that he could see himself on stage, dancing for these muggles' entertainment. Good gods, no! But, there was something to the music and festive air, and he liked it considerably.
Lucius watched, intrigued, as the man that had been so familiar with Miss Granger, this Emiel muggle fellow, took the stage after the brass band finished its number. There was a yellow bond of love linking the two of them. This Emiel-fellow had adopted her; Lucius could tell.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to proudly present the Company 'B' female officers performing our anthem with special guest, our very own little song bird, Hermione Granger who has agreed to graciously lend her considerable talent to us for a song or two. And so, without further ado, ladies take it away."
The curtain raised right as a bugle began playing.
This wasn't the muggle 'God Save the Queen' that Lucius had been expecting but a jauntier number. Four girls stepped forward at once and crowded around the muggle sound amplifying device, each in uniform dress save one, and all four looked alluringly fetching. But it was easy to pick Miss Granger out from the four of them, and not because she was the only one not in costume.
No, she was the most ravishing one of them all.
She had let down her hair, and it fell in soft, gentle waves around her face and upraised collar. And her lipstick, though matching the other girls, Lucius decided then and there, there wasn't a more tempting shade of red in all the world.
And then she began to sing:
'He was a famous trumpet-man from out of Wexford way…'
Her sweet voice blending in harmoniously with the other three, their small dance movements, syncopated with one another—it was easy to see she had done this ever so many times before, and yet, she was enjoying herself immensely, her joy spreading throughout the crowd was as palpable for him to see as it was contagious to the other patrons to watch.
The rousing, patriotic song ended with a salute, and the four girls hugged one another tightly, laughing and taking their bows. The three girls pushed Miss Granger forward on the stage, and the applause magnified, Severus and Lucius adding to its volume considerably as she took another bow, this time by herself.
"Encore!" a voice shouted from the bar and was seconded by several more in the room; the applause again renewing. The other three ladies kissed her airily on the cheeks, and returned behind the stage, as Miss Granger, again taking another bow, nodded to the audience and made her way over to where the piano stood.
She leaned over the piano to whisper in the piano players' ear, and Lucius felt a spark of jealousy again ignite within him. No one, not one of the men he had encountered tonight had slept with her, but many were attracted to her… a few even loved her…unrequited, but still… woe be to the poor muggle whom he did find that crossed him in his pursuit of her… after all, their little lives were so very fragile.
A tinkling of the keys as the pianist began to play, and she began to sing.
Lucius heard Severus beside him softly gasp. And perhaps his brother was holding his breath just as Lucius was doing in order not to miss a single, sultry note. The song was of a couple parted—probably due to war-time as that seemed to be the running theme at this establishment— and Miss Granger was composing a letter to her absentee husband, the words, 'P.S. I love you,' reiterated throughout.
She was dutifully reporting news on the home front and garnered a chuckle or two when she, wide-eyed, confessed she 'burned a hole in the dining-room table', as well as an endearing smile when she said she was going to have to 'buy a new set of dishes, or else wash the ones piled up in the sink'.
With an admission that every day her husband was away felt like a year, and a confession that she dreamt of him nightly, the song concluded. Ms. Granger ended by once more singing, 'P.S. I love you'. And the moment the last note finished, there was resounding applause.
Clapping, Potter screamed over the noise towards them, continuing to watch Miss Granger as she took her bows, "She's incredible, isn't she?"
If Severus was in any state like him, he knew the both of them had thunder-stricken expressions on their faces. Blinking, Severus looked to him and said via legilimency,"Incredible doesn't begin... Exquisite, enchanting."
Lucius nodded once in agreement, and whispered in Severus' ear, "Captivating, alluring. Yes, brother, I quite agree."
Once more, the muggle Emiel took to the stage, and kissing Miss Granger on both cheeks, sent her off backstage; the audience still clapping for her.
She gave a small wave, and to their cheering, departed.
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Hermione's pulse still thundered as she walked back to her seat; all three wizards stood to their feet when she approached. Intermission had been called while she'd been backstage, and the pianist of the band quietly continued to play, the lights brought up just slightly.
"Where, Miss Granger, did you learn to do that?" Lucius Malfoy asked her once she had regained her seat.
She toyed with the stem of her wine glass and contemplated how much she wanted to say.
Harry proudly answered for her, "Hermione knows how to play the piano, but she didn't start singing until she started working here at the club." He leaned over and jostled her with his shoulder, "You want to tell them, or should I?"
"Please, let Miss Granger," Professor Snape grated, and she looked up questioningly, meeting his dark eyes. "It is your story after all," he ended on a whisper.
She quickly looked back down at her lap, uncertain as to just what she had seen in her professor's eyes. She gave a small smile and said dryly, "I do believe this is the first time you've ever prompted me to voluntarily speak, sir." She shrugged, "Incidentally, there's not much to tell. After the war, when I decided to pursue my law degree, I got a job waitressing here to put myself through university. A waitress was all I was at first. For the first year or so, but then Emiel heard me singing softly along with one of the songs the other girls were performing when I was backstage, and he immediately brought me onstage and made me sing it right then and there." She smiled softly at the memory and looked up at them. "And the rest is history."
"Complements of Mr. Fendon at the bar, 'Mi," Felicia, the club's bartender, came up to them bearing a tray with a single cosmopolitan. "I told him you weren't to be bothered, but he insisted on 'rewarding his song bird'." Felicia rolled her eyes and grinned at her, "His corny words, not mine."
Hermione looked from Felicia to the very handsome salt and pepper-haired man at the bar and smiled widely. He was one of her regulars from her time spent serving. Taking the drink from Felicia, she saluted him with it and took a sip. He nodded and turned back around. The owner of a leading architectural firm in London, Mr. Fendon and she'd had many an intelligent conversation.
And in fact, there had been a time when she'd considered taking him as her lover once long ago.
She considered, but ultimately, decided against it; if anything had developed, then she would've had to tell him she was a witch, and that was a secret she'd vowed never to share with a muggle.
"And just who was that?" Mr. Malfoy asked tightly, his tone causing her to look up startled. He had an affable smile on his lips, his face devoid of any other expression, but his eyes were cold and hard as he looked at her. There was a sudden thud from underneath that jostled the table, and Mr. Malfoy grimaced as if in pain. "I am, after all, just curious, my dear."
"A regular at the club," she heard herself defend. "He knew me back during my serving days. He's very knowledgeable on neo-classic sculpture and contemporary architecture," she ended weakly as she looked around. Just where the hell was their food? All she wanted was to eat and then go back to Grimmauld.
Thank God she saw their server come bearing a tray towards them.
"And do these things interest you?" Mr. Malfoy asked solicitously, with a bit more warmth to his voice. "Muggle sculpture and architecture?"
She still refused to look at him.
"There's not a subject under the sun that doesn't interest Hermione, Lucius… well, besides Quidditch," Harry related, cutting into his rack of lamb; it seemed the entire table had unanimously ordered it with various different sides. "What was it your Chinese fortune said once, 'you are incurably curious and insatiable of appetite."
Taking a sip of the wine she had chosen to pair with the lamb, Professor Snape nodded to her in appreciation for the pairing, and said softly, "That is dangerous. Very dangerous, Miss Granger. The old parable of Pandora and her box springs to mind."
She felt herself blush not only under his regard but Mr. Malfoy's as well, and not liking the turn the conversation had taken, especially centered as it was on herself, she decided a change of subject was in order.
Taking a sip of wine, she smiled cheerfully up at Harry, and said, "So tell me all about your adventures abroad."
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A/N: Psst! Reviews are a 'P.S. I love you' to the authoress.