Over the following week of last-minute party planning, Narcissa drove herself nearly to her wits' end, all the while grumbling under her breath: "I love my son, but I do think I hate him sometimes" … "To invite the Parkinsons, even though they have legally separated, or to only invite one or the other, or to not invite the Parkinsons at all? That is the question" … "Live music or self-playing instruments? How does one get in contact with the Weird Sisters tribute band?"

Left much to herself and to Severus's mercy, Hermione spent her time alternating between keeping a sharp eye on Teddy—"Don't scratch, darling, even though the scars do remind me of your daddy"—and sparring with Severus—"Do not cross me on the subject of Muggle literature, Severus, or you might find yourself surrounded by a flock of very angry canaries."

Unable to control the situation as was her wont, Narcissa dedicated her admittedly limited leisure time to getting rid of Hermione. Her primary strategy was to coax Severus into disliking the unforeseen guest.

"When you and Miss Granger marry," she teased one unseasonably warm morning as she and Severus took a stroll in the garden, "you do realize that you will have to cut back on your little bride's cherished time with Molly Weasley and her tribe of boys. And you might wish to curb that absurd self-confidence that your young miss has before it drives you to madness."

"Any other recommendations for achieving conjugal bliss?

"Why, yes, I'm sure she'll want to place some of those nonsensical non-moving Muggle photographs alongside that grand portrait of your grandmother Prince. And she'll probably want to do up the house in Gryffindor colors. Of course, they would go well with her 'passionate nature.'"

"As would Slytherin colors, I am sure."

Hermione and Teddy, who was pulling on his beloved auntie's sleeve, suddenly appeared on the path behind them. Narcissa began to speak rapidly, afraid that Hermione had heard her jibes.

"Oh, Miss Granger, I had no idea that Teddy was well enough to take a walk! How lovely! How are you feeling, Teddy love?"

Teddy scampered up to Narcissa and Severus, impishly grabbing Severus's hand and swinging it. "Teddy fly!" he cried. Hermione watched Teddy's daring with bated breath. Severus sighed but made no move to remove the child from his person. "Consider this your belated Christmas gift," he said sternly to the child, hoisting Teddy onto his back before zooming up into the air and performing graceful aerial maneuvers, never letting go of the child's hands around his neck.

"Severus is so good with children," Narcissa cooed contentedly. Hermione was struck by a long-suppressed memory.

She crouched on the edge of the standard-issue infirmary bed, desperately resisting a newfound urge to lick at the fine hairs on her arms. She whimpered piteously.

"What could possibly be so urgent that I must stop the brewing that, need I remind you, you asked for?" Professor Snape, gliding smoothly into the room, inquired of the school nurse.

"I've never seen anything like it, Severus," Madam Pomfrey said in a hushed voice. "An accident with Polyjuice Potion, apparently." She gestured to Hermione's bed. Severus followed the motion of her hands. Hermione moaned in pain, but it emerged as a plaintive "mrow."

"Miss Granger?" Severus said in disbelief. He approached her bed cautiously, and she reared back in fright. Don't be mean, please …

"I take it that you will not experiment with dangerous potions in an uncontrolled environment ever again, Miss Granger?" Snape perched on the edge of her bed, his voice surprisingly soothing for once.

"Mrow," she replied, hoping that he would recognize it for the assent that it was. In the first hour of her transformation, she had been capable of human—if hypernasal—speech, but the situation had rapidly deteriorated since. She was becoming more cat-like by the minute. Severus gaped at her, rendered speechless for the first time since Harry had snatched the Snitch from right under his nose the year before.

"Here, kitty," he positively purred, hoping to assuage her fear while simultaneously racking his brain for an antidote that would rectify the situation. Hermione ignored her human instincts and crawled onto his lap.

"I think I like you better as a cat, Miss Granger," he chuckled, rocking the terrified cat-child. "Poppy, I have some ideas for a potion that might help. Can you write these ingredients down as I list them?"

"I'm not sure that many of his former students would agree with you, but his heart is in the right place," Hermione conceded, smiling slightly and leaving Narcissa to ponder what Hermione Granger could possibly know of Severus Snape's heart.

/

Andromeda would be arriving the next morning to relieve Hermione of Teddy-sitting duties, and not a moment too soon, if one were to ask Hermione. She sat quietly in the Malfoys' enormous but rather bare library, her legs crossed a few feet away from the crackling fire. Narcissa hovered nearby over Severus, who was penning a letter. Draco found his entertainment in the form of Teddy, who was showing off his spattergroit scars to a gratifyingly interested Nori.

Narcissa said, "We will have to seal off this room during the ball. It would never do for the Minister to discover how few books we have." Severus did not look up from his writing. Mrs. Malfoy started to pace the length of the spacious environs, but she still did not succeed in drawing the potions master's eye.

"Miss Granger, you must be tired of reading! Why don't you join me for a tour of this space?" Narcissa called.

If Hermione was surprised by this unusual offer on the last night of her stay, she did not voice her confusion. She obediently rose from the floor, stretching in a cat-like manner. As she regained her full height, her eyes, unbidden, sought Severus's. He was watching her silently, his expression unfathomable. Her cheeks burned. Probably from sitting so close to the fire.

"Won't you join us, Severus?" Narcissa asked, innocently enough.

"I would much rather watch the show from where I'm sitting," Severus said lazily, leaning back in his armchair.

"Show? Whatever can he mean, Miss Granger?" Narcissa tucked her arm confidingly into Hermione's.

"No idea, but it cannot reflect well upon us," Hermione responded. "The best way to frustrate him is to refuse to ask him about it."

"Nonsense! Severus, do explain."

"I see this playing out in one of two ways, and I am most intrigued to see which route it takes," Severus said. "Either you shall attempting to ingratiate yourself with Hermione in a last-ditch effort at true hospitality, or you are going to plumb her brain for information about the ball's guests for your own nefarious purposes. If it is the first, then let me by no means get in your way. And if it is the second, then nothing could entice me less into joining your little party."

"Sweet baby Potter!" Narcissa exclaimed. "I have never heard anything so crude. I thought better of you, Severus. How shall I punish him for such cruel conjecture, Miss Granger?"

"The easiest thing would be to laugh at him. Don't take him as seriously as he takes himself."

"Laugh at Severus Snape! I wouldn't dream of it."

"That is a great pity indeed," Hermione said, "for Merlin knows he loves to laugh at us."

"I have given you ladies no reason to laugh at me," Severus said mildly. "It has been one of the few triumphs of my adulthood that I have avoided situations that would lead to public ridicule."

"So you've never had any public displays of vanity or pride?" Hermione challenged.

"Vanity? Certainly not. But pride—pride is something to, well, be proud of."

Hermione could not mask her noise of disagreement.

"You may not agree with me now, Miss Granger, but life will make you come around to my way of thinking. I may not be an understanding or a particularly nice-tempered man, but I will not apologize for my self-esteem. It was bought at a high cost to myself."

"And at an even higher cost to others, unless you've forgotten," she snapped. "You win, sir; you are impossible to laugh at."

"No one is perfect, so forgo the sanctimoniousness, if you please," he said coldly.

"You and your need to always have the last word! How can you possibly like yourself?"

"And what of your propensity to willfully misinterpret the words of others? How can you possibly have any friends?"

"I've had enough of this conversation," Narcissa sighed. "Teddy, time for bed!"

"But Nori hasn't seen the spot on my bum!"

/

Yes, Hermione was not sorry to see the back of the old Bagshot manor. Rising early the next morning, she bathed quickly and wolfed down an omelet, courtesy of Nori, at Teddy's bedside. Nuzzling a sleepy Teddy's cheek, she whispered, "I'll see you at the ball, my fine sir. Will you do me the honor of being my escort?"

"What's a 'scort, Auntie Minnie?"

"An escort is a boy who agrees to be my friend and play with me at the ball."

"Okay! But I want a 'scort, too. Can cousin Draco be my 'scort?"

"You'll have to ask him," Hermione replied solemnly as she blew the toddler a kiss and tiptoed to the door, hoping not to awaken the rest of the household. She crept down the grand staircase and padded to the front door, so exultant in her quiet escape that she did not notice the dark figure pacing in the shadows.

"Miss Granger." Hermione startled, whirling towards the source of the noise and whipping out her wand.

"Oh, it's you." She tucked her wand back into the inside pocket of her outer robe, glaring at Severus Snape. His eyes were bloodshot and he did not look like he had gotten a wink of sleep. Hermione felt a brief pang of pity, which she determinedly flicked away as though it were a pesky garden gnome.

"Let's part as friends, shall we?" Severus said, extending a pale, artistic hand to her. Hermione waited a beat, eyeing him balefully. "Tut tut, I didn't have you pegged as someone who holds a grudge."

"I don't think I can quite call you a friend yet, Severus," she said. "In any case, I am your superior now, and you would do well to remember it."

It was Severus's turn to cast a threatening glance. "My, how the tables have turned," he said in a bored tone. "Where are you off to at such an ungodly hour?"

"Work, if you must know. I've had an owl from our newest collaborator, fresh from the Americas."

"And who might this international dunderhead be?"

"Read for yourself." She dug out a rather battered piece of parchment from her pocket, smoothing it out for him to peruse.

"Nazca, 29th December

Dear Madam Granger,

I consider it a great shame that the ministries of the Americas and Great Britain have not collaborated on any significant venture since the great schism of 1776, when Theobald Jefferson, much like his Muggle cousin, acted upon the nascent American love of independence and sought to distance the newly formed magical government from yours. I have long wished to unite our nations in the realm of magical research, but I was kept back by my fears of governmental backlash."

Severus snorted. "More likely he was kept back by the outright war occurring on our soil. Who is this pompous coward?"

"I have recently stumbled upon some coordinates that hold great promise in my area of study, and having heard interesting things about your new department, my mind is resolved. I am fortunate to have been given the blessing of my grandfather, whom you will have heard of: Mr. Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, Order of Merlin Second Class, Emeritus Chair of the Beasts Division at your own Ministry of Magic. As a Magizoologist in the vein of my grandfather, I aspire to nothing less than to offer my particular brand of academic acumen to a department that is sadly lacking in such expertise—"Hmph!"—and I must say that I believe you will find my patronage highly desirable. I hope you will not worry your pretty head over the admittedly intimidating task of joining forces with a name like Scamander. I will be arriving by transatlantic portkey on the morning of the 30th to hash out our research arrangement, with apologies for arriving in the midst of the holiday season. As you well know, there is always time for a good project.

Yours,

Rolf Scamander"

"So I am off to greet Mr. Scamander at his earliest convenience," Hermione said, a glimmer of amusement shining in her impish brown eyes. "He writes a polite letter, does he not?"

Severus groaned. "Yes, quite polite to offer all of a few hours' notice regarding his plans. He is thought to hold great promise within the naturalists' circle, though, so this—endeavor—might be worth your while."

"I've been racking my brain for ideas of what he could possibly want to work on with us, but I confess I'm at a loss. He certainly has a flair for intrigue. Do you think he can be a very serious academic, sir?"

"Despite his famous relative, I expect he'll be quite the opposite, madam," Severus replied. "I think I shall look forward to meeting him." He cracked a sinister grin. Hermione was uncomfortably reminded of just how menacing Severus Snape could be.

/

Rolf Scamander was a lithe, blithe young man who could not have been much older than Hermione herself, yet he carried himself with a confidence that would rank 10 out of 10 on the Lockhart scale, Hermione noted. His defining feature appeared to be his wide, gummy mouth that recalled Neville's old toad, Trevor. Having sized Rolf up in the instant that he barged into her office, Hermione thought it was unfortunate that such an obviously harmless blighter shared his facial structure with the most dangerous woman she knew. As Rolf croaked on about his journey to London, Hermione watched his extremely mobile lips in fascination, contemplating the outrageous possibility that someone in the Scamander lineage might have interbred with an Umbridge ancestor. She inwardly recoiled.

"And so that dreadful Knight Bus dropped me off at this disgusting restroom. Did you know that the entrance to your Ministry is a toilet?"

"Stan didn't leave you at the public entrance, then? It's a telephone booth," Hermione said sweetly.

"Well, that would have been much preferred! I can't imagine why no one informed me."

"I would have informed you if I had been given earlier notice of your impending arrival," Hermione said calmly.

Rolf had the grace to look momentarily ashamed. "Well, your office is beautiful, at any rate. I have heard great things about you, Miss Granger, but they pale in comparison to the real thing. I suppose you will leave a wonderful legacy behind here when you decide to leave."

"Leave? I wasn't aware that I would be leaving."

"A talent such as yours is wasted in a startup with minimal resources, subject to the whims of what is known around the world to be an erratic, fumbling Ministry of Magic."

"A Ministry that is extending its hospitality to you in the interim, Mr. Scamander."

"No need to go on the defensive, Miss Granger. Your pride in your Ministry does you credit, I'm sure. The fact remains that you could do so much more good in a place like the Centers for Wizarding Disease Control in the States, especially when you consider the status of the funds for your department here."

"What could you possibly know about my funding?"

"Didn't you know, Miss Granger, that the National Institute of Wizarding Innovation grant that enabled you to open and run this department is administered by my grandfather, Newt Scamander?"

"But that means …" she gasped.

"Yes, in the event that my beloved grandfather passes on, I will control your funding. And I see little purpose in encouraging innovation in this isolated department when it would be much more fruitful to combine your considerable talents with your American peers."

Perhaps Rolf Scamander wasn't as harmless as he looked.