Severus retook his seat across from Minerva, wondering what the hell to say next. It had been a grand gesture for his son, sweeping into Hogwarts and laying claim, uncomfortable truths be damned. And, yes, it had been fun to see the look on Filius's face. But now…

"Do you think he'll figure it out?" Severus asked, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, eventually. He'll probably ply me with his best wine and want to spend a few hours guessing after things."

"He doesn't know that you know."

"Of course not."

They sat in silence. Severus could feel the portraits watching him. It was more obnoxious than anything else.

"How is Hermione? Could she truly not make it?"

"She really is in Sicily," he said. "It would've been interesting if she were the one to have come."

"Filius would've taken it better, I think," Minerva said, smirking at him. "He wouldn't have hesitated to interrogate her about her husband and just what she's been up to all this time."

"She would've dodged him easily enough."

"I know, I know." Minerva's smirk turned into a proper smile.

"How are they doing, besides the dueling in the corridors?"

"They're good children, Severus. You know that. Loyal to each other, despite how 'uncool' it is to be familial in school." She picked up the letter he'd sent her telling her he was on his way, and crumpled it before tossing it in the bin. "I'm fairly certain he went after the Parkinson boy because he was trying to do it before Stella did. Incidentally, that is where Filius went. Mr. Parkinson waddled himself into the hospital wing just after the last class of the day."

"Oh?"

"Stinging Hex to the, ahem, groin."

Severus barked a laugh, and Minerva grinned back at him. He was perfectly aware that the portraits around the room had given up on feigning sleep and were gaping at him instead.

"Do you need anything from me?" Severus asked. "Or has my presence sufficiently punished Simon with his own embarrassment?"

"His sister was involved. You know these things smooth out faster when it's families if the parents come in and do their own disapproving. Especially since he's a Prefect."

"I know, Min." They settled into a moment's quiet silence. He hadn't seen her since early the last summer, and he missed their chats. They owled one another regularly enough, but it just wasn't the same. His shop could run itself on most days, he had a good staff, and Hermione was out of the country.

"Now, what is your wife up to in Sicily?" Minerva asked. She had picked up on his inclination to stay, and she twirled her wand to bring her tea set to the desk.

"She was asked to join a think tank for the week. I'm sure she's drinking delightful wines and indulging in carbohydrates, talking through the buzz of a roomful of Translation Charms."

"But…?"

"But what?"

"You're nervous about something, laddie." She held the tin of ginger biscuits out to him.

"The topic under discussion," he said slowly, taking a bite of the biscuit, "is a marriage law."