The night is cool against the Manor's walls. The human beings it protects are warming it from the inside with their complex emotions, which are as many-layered and intricate as the bodies in which they live. Love, an emotion the Manor can perceive but not feel, is a complicated filigree, its subtle variations infinite. A pulsing, ever-shifting spider's web, it hovers between those who sleep and dream and love, and the Manor draws strength from it, feeds it into the magic that thrums in its foundations.

The Manor has not had such a feast in a long time, so it gorges itself on love, lets it seep into every brick, every tiniest crevice, lets it fill every empty space. The Manor feels itself solidify; it reaches down into the bedrock, rooting itself more firmly to the ground.

oooo

The Amor Brujo, a full-rigged Spanish merchant, was listing badly; solid but heavy and slow, she'd stood no chance against the pirates' sleek, deadly fast sloop. Her cannons were useless, her sails shot to tatters, and a fire had broken out on the front deck.

"That's not fair!" Hermione protested. "You should've told me that there was lamp oil in that barrel!" She kicked Severus' shin; the ensuing wave caused the sloop to capsize.

Watching them fondly, Lucius chuckled. "You'll get the hang of it soon enough. In the meantime, just lean back and enjoy our new, improved bathtub. The Manor has been most obliging, I must say."

"I hope it has soundproofed the walls," Severus said. "This young lady" – he made a grab for Hermione's waist and pulled her close – "has been surprisingly vocal."

"This young lady is glad to be in the water, because her legs would probably not be able to carry her if she tried to walk. Don't smirk, Lucius – I was on my own, while the two of you could share the work between you. If we continue like this, you'll probably outlive me, despite the age difference." She yawned, slightly cross-eyed. "I don't know how I'm going to survive today. We can't have slept more than, what, two hours total."

Severus Banished the ships to a shelf on which more of Scorpius' toys were neatly aligned and manoeuvred a feebly struggling Hermione so that she ended up straddling him. His left arm slid around her waist and his right hand between her legs. "When in the throes of a bad hangover," he murmured into her ear, "hardened drinkers often find that some hair of the dog that bit them, as the saying goes, makes them feel much better."

"I wouldn't refer to myself as hardened… Oh!"

"Unlike some of us," Severus pointed out, perfectly happy for once to be stating the obvious.

"Severus, I really don't think-"

"That's right, darling," Lucius said, moving in behind her. "Thinking is so passé – at moments like this, just feeling is much, much more satisfactory."

A long while later, the two wizards were fondly watching their exhausted witch's slumber and having a very late breakfast in bed, clad only in pyjama bottoms.

"That Earmuff Charm is quite clever," Lucius remarked, while topping a piece of muffin with a spoonful of jam.

"I created it for Narcissa's sake – she's such a light sleeper."

"I know," Lucius said. "She used to be my wife, you see. I ought to have thought of inventing this charm myself. It would have spared me many a tiresome argument."

"Precisely my point." Severus grinned and snatched another croissant. "You know, looking back from where we are now, I can't believe I actually proposed to her."

"Something else we have in common, old chap. To be perfectly honest, though-"

"Careful, Lucius. Unaccustomed activity of any kind may be dangerous at your age."

"Oh, ha-ha. Fancy a carrot, Snape?"

Severus stared pointedly at the waistband of Lucius' trousers. "Come to think of it, why not?" He had the pleasure of seeing Lucius blush ever so slightly.

"All this male bonding brings out an unexpectedly infantile side of your character, Severus. I would suggest, however, that we discuss the arrangements regarding sex à deux with Hermione before indulging in them."

They looked fondly at the sleeping witch and then at each other; both opened their mouths to comment on the other's completely besotted expression, thought better of it and pretended nothing had happened, both filing the information away for later use.

"So, Narcissa and Longbottom, huh?" Lucius said after a while.

"So it seems. They mean to travel, and later on settle down and have a bunch of children."

"She will be a good mother to them," Lucius said. "She would've been a good mother to Draco, as a matter of fact, if only I had let her have her way." His expression suddenly sombre, he intently studied the gold-and-green pattern running along the rim of his cup.

"I'm sure we all wish you'd done a better job being his father, most of all Draco." Severus put a soothing hand on Lucius' shoulder. "I know it sounds horribly callous, but it is water under the bridge. He's forgiven you – not that that lessens your regrets, I know. But at least he allowed you, well us, to take in Scorpius, so that's your chance to make up for past mistakes. Short of actually undoing what you've done, that's the best you can ask for."

Lucius frowned. "Don't you want to have children with Hermione? I know that I do."

"Isn't it a bit early for that kind of discussion?"

"I think not. While I agree that it's a bit early for actually having them, it is only fair to declare our intentions, all three of us."

"What if Hermione says no?"

"If she does, I'll have to accept it, but I sincerely hope she'll consider it. This house" – Lucius gestured with the butter knife – "is made for a large family. My fortune, or now I should rather say our fortune, is sufficient for ten heirs, even though the Manor will go to Draco and, after him, to Scorpius. You're being strangely reticent on the topic, though."

It was silent for a while; then an indignant peacock took screeching flight down on the front lawn – Bella had a knack for ambushing them – and Severus flinched.

"Sickle for them?" Lucius said, nudging him with his elbow.

Turning to face him, Severus smiled and shook his head. "Not even you could afford the price, my friend. I was thinking that, for the first time in my life, I feel that I'm home. Here with you, with Hermione, I've found my place, and when you ask me whether I want to have a child, or children, I don't feel the need to bite your head off, but find myself actually contemplating the possibility. It's really quite staggering."

Lucius nodded. "If you ask me, it's nothing short of a miracle. I mean, two days ago there were eight more or less unhappy people in this house, and now…" He sighed. "I wish things had worked out better between Draco and Astoria, much though I dislike the woman. That would have been…" He let the sentence hang unfinished and stared out of the window.

"The perfect ending you only get in fairy tales. Eight people – one happy couple, one happy family, one happy ménage à trois. Like three scoops of vanilla ice cream, perfectly arranged in a bowl, never melting. As things are, we've at least got one happy couple, one happy threesome and one very happy little boy. Or he will be, once we tell him."

"Speaking of scoops," Lucius said, "it seems that my hopefully soon-to-be-ex daughter-in-law has already contacted Rita – there has been a suspicious dearth of owls bearing badly concealed attempts at blackmail."

"She was very smug last night at dinner," Severus said, "Not that you would've noticed, busy as you were casting highly illegal charms at the lady of our hearts."

"I did notice, and interpret her smugness correctly, I'll have you know. Besides, the Cunnilingus Charm is definitely not illegal."

"But highly effective." Both men snickered. "I don't think that there has ever been a worse attempt at faking a cough in the whole history of mankind."

"Except maybe the time when Voldemort told you that Pettigrew was to stay at Spinner's End. I don't know about him, but I distinctly heard the 'Oh, fuck!' under that cough."

"I daresay he didn't, or I wouldn't be sitting here with you. It's late, by the way. We ought to go and see what Scorpius is up to – not that I expect it to be anything he's actually allowed to do – and then get ready for our big night."

They both moved off the bed carefully, so as not to wake Hermione.

"This is… rather domestic," Lucius observed.

"Very. But I wouldn't go as far as claiming that the thought of an infinite number of such days evokes any feelings of revulsion."

"Now who's the Hufflepuff," Lucius said, and deftly ducked a muffin that hit the mirror instead of his head and promptly exploded into myriad greasy crumbs.

oooo

Everything had been planned, choreographed and rehearsed to within an inch of its life; Hermione was fretting slightly, but mostly out of habit. She couldn't help remembering how badly wrong another carefully planned action had gone about ten years ago – not that there actually was any comparison between her, Ron and Harry sneaking into the Ministry of Magic under the disguise of Polyjuice, and the intrigue she'd devised for tonight together with Severus and Lucius; the blind terror she'd felt back then had left its indelible traces, though.

A glass of champagne would probably work wonders for her frazzled nerves, she thought longingly, but she needed her wits about her. The champagne would come later, and there would be lots of it, and as much chocolate as she wanted. And more sex. She absentmindedly massaged her sore inner-thigh muscles, smiling in spite of the dull ache. She'd paid higher prices for much less pleasurable experiences…

Reminiscing about last night had the distinct advantage of pushing away the bad memories, but it almost made her late. Hermione gave her reflection in the floor-length mirror one last look, firmly told herself that she didn't mind not being as beautiful as Narcissa, and made sure that her miniaturized, Disillusioned wand was safely attached to her right pinkie finger. The charmed Galleon was reassuringly cool against her fingertips; barring any unforeseeable occurrences, everything would be going exactly according to plan. Hermione left to collect Scorpius from the nursery.

There was a short delay – Kneazle hair was extremely difficult to get off velvet, but fortunately Hermione remembered the spell she'd found in her third year at Hogwarts for dealing with Crookshanks' copious shedding – and then the two of them made their way towards the stairs.

"You do remember what we told you this afternoon, don't you?" Hermione had been a little doubtful of letting Scorpius participate in the festivities tonight of all nights; both Lucius and Severus had assured her, though, that the boy was well able to follow instructions and would certainly do so on this momentous occasion, provided they impressed on him the importance of being discreet for once.

"I'm not to answer any questions, except from you, Granddad and Uncle Severus. If somebody asks me how I am, I should only tell them unimportant things, like that I'm enjoying the holidays but looking forward to school starting again. Whippy will be taking me back to my room at eight, and that's final." He stopped and looked up at Hermione. "Will you really come and talk to me later? I know you have more important things to do, but…" He shuffled his feet. "It would be nice."

"Of course I will," Hermione said and squeezed his hand. "I promised, didn't I? I'll come and see you around half-nine, and we'll have Cissy bring us a late-night snack, and then you'll brush your teeth and go to bed."

Scorpius nodded, and they started to descend the stairs. "I don't think anybody will be talking to me anyway," he remarked. "The grown-ups aren't very interested in children, mostly. I mean, Mum and Dad aren't, so why would anybody else be?"

"Maybe the guests aren't so very interested in you as a person," Hermione pointed out, "But they might be very curious about things you could tell them, things not meant for them. That's why you shouldn't tell them anything." She didn't feel like defending his parents – neither of them deserved it, in her opinion. "Oh, look, the first guests have arrived already."

Scorpius' grip around her left hand tightened. "Could I… could I stay with you?"

"If you like – won't you be bored? I'll have to talk to people, you know, and it's mostly going to be small talk and work-related things."

"Did Granddad and Uncle Severus have a very important talk with you, too? About being discreet and not telling people things?"

"No," Hermione said laughing, "it's just what grown-ups do at parties. I don't like it very much, either. Oh, hello Luna!"

"Hi, Hermione. Your aura is looking very good today – lots of pink. Are you happy? I thought you'd be quite sad tonight. Or did things work out between you and Neville?"

Biting back a comment on Luna's misguided attempts at matchmaking – why hadn't she realized right away that this was what her friend had in mind? – Hermione merely replied, "No, not really. But don't worry, I'm feeling quite chipper tonight. This is Scorpius, by the way. Scorpius, this is Luna Lovegood, owner and editor-in-chief of The Quibbler and a very dear friend of mine."

Scorpius released her hand to shake Luna's and sketched a bow. "How do you do." With a sideways glance up at Hermione, he added, "I like your earrings. It's okay to say that, right?" His hand darted back between Hermione's fingers.

"Perfectly," Hermione reassured him. "And you're right, Luna's earrings are very… interesting. What are they made of, Luna?" She peered at the white discs dangling from Luna's earlobes.

"These? They protect me from Invisible Blinkbusters." Scorpius opened his mouth, but Hermione gave his hand a warning squeeze, so he remained silent and looked expectantly up at Luna. "I tried putting butter in my ears," Luna continued, "but that's a little unpleasant, especially when it starts to leak out and on your shoulders. So I decided that using the bottoms of Muggle-made yoghurt pots would be almost as effective – they don't like lactose, you see. Oh, there's Professor Flitwick! I have to go and talk to him."

Scorpius stood rooted to the spot, staring after her with wide blue eyes. "Is she… is she crazy?"

"Not crazy, no. She merely perceives reality in a slightly different way than the others. You'd be surprised at how tough she can be if she puts her mind to it."

"I guess I would," he said. "Where are Grandma and Uncle Severus?"

"Let's go find them, shall we? And I suppose we could both do with a drink."

"Can I have a cocktail?" Scorpius asked hopefully.

"I don't think so, young man. But we're both going to have some of Cissy's fabulous iced lemonade." She waved a floating tray towards them. "Here you are. And now we'll roam the gardens for a bit – most people are out there, I guess."

"Who's the big black man Granddad is talking to?"

They were standing at the top of the front staircase, and Hermione did a quick scan of the gardens – there was Rita Skeeter all right, speaking to Andromeda Tonks behind one of the seven-feet-high hedges Lucius had had the foresight to conjure and position in strategic places (pretending not to see Skeeter on an unadorned front lawn would have been a little difficult). Neville was discreetly taking pictures, and Severus and Narcissa were standing next to the spot where the guests were being deposited every five seconds by the Portkeys they'd received together with their invitations; House Elves swiftly guided them to greet the Happy Couple after they'd handed over their wands. Skeeter's photographer was conducting an intense dialogue with a glass of whisky; to judge by his slight swaying, he'd already had a lot of similar conversations.

"That's Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic," Hermione explained. "And the witch over there, in the dark green tartan robes, that's Minerva McGonagall, the Headmistress of Hogwarts. The man she's talking to is Junius Whitcomb, the Supreme Mugwump."

"The Headmistress of Hogwarts?" Scorpius stood on tiptoes. "She looks very strict."

"Well she is. But she's also very nice. She used to be my favourite teacher."

"What? Why wasn't Uncle Severus your favourite teacher? He can be strict, too, but he's very, very nice, really."

"Not back when he used to teach Potions, believe me. Oh, look, the musicians have arrived – would you like to go and have a look?"

But Scorpius wasn't that easily distracted. "What do you mean, he wasn't nice back when he used to teach Potions? Maybe you were a dunderhead – he doesn't like dunderheads, you know."

A scathing retort was on the tip of Hermione's tongue, but she stopped herself just in time. For all his precocious cleverness, he was just a little boy; also, this wasn't the right moment for discussing the past, and she had no idea how much Scorpius did or didn't know. So she merely said, "I don't think he regarded me as a dunderhead, no. Would you like me to introduce you to Headmistress McGonagall?"

"I don't know – do you think she'll like me?"

"I'm sure she will. She used to be my Transfiguration teacher, so why don't you tell her about Lucius' letter opener?"

"Do I have to tell her about filching Dad's spare wand? Because, if the Mugwump hears about that, he'll probably send me to Azkaban."

How threatening the world must be looking to a child of eight years – Hermione crouched down in front of Scorpius and took both his hands in hers. "Nobody's going to send you to Azkaban, Scorpius. And if they did, don't you think your granddad would come and get you out of there? Not to mention me and Severus – we'd go there immediately, stun all the guards, and take you back to the Manor. Honestly."

"I'm glad you'd come and rescue me. Mum and Dad wouldn't; they'd probably be relieved if I went to Azkaban."

Lucius had treated her and Severus to a short overview of Astoria's misdeeds – without mentioning his sources, but Hermione had her suspicions – and she'd barely been able to believe the amounts of money the woman had been squandering on clothes, shoes, beauty treatments and jewellery. Some of it had come out of Lucius' vault, by way of badly faked signatures on payment orders for Gringotts. (Both Severus and Lucius had been rather amused when she converted the presumable sum total into books and almost fainted with exasperation) There was nothing she could think of to say in the woman's defence, and not much in favour of Draco – sure, he'd had more than his fair share of distress; to see their son, however, calmly taking it for granted that they'd be glad to be shot of him…

She smiled down at Scorpius. "I'm sure they'd come, too. There are lots of guards in Azkaban, you see, and we'd need all the help we could get."

They'd arrived at the spot where McGonagall was standing, and while Hermione was talking to Whitcomb, she overheard snippets of Scorpius' conversation with her former teacher, who was suitably impressed by his prowess with a wand but, after exchanging a look with Hermione, didn't ask how exactly he'd got his hands on it.

Scorpius clung to her for the remainder of the hour he'd been allowed to participate in the festivities and seemed relieved, rather than disappointed, when Whippy arrived to whisk him off to the nursery.

Now she had to find Skeeter, in order to initiate the next stage of their plan; Cissy had reported back already that pictures of Narcissa and Severus had been taken and a lengthy interview conducted before the arrival of the guests, in a secluded corner of the gardens, so that part was taken care of.

With three hundred gaudily dressed people milling around among the hedges and flowerbeds, spotting the witch was no easy task, and not for the first time Hermione cursed her moderate five feet three that allowed her interesting views of shoulders and backs, but made it hard to espy someone in a crowd. Besides, she'd already seen at least three witches decked out in turquoise, so the colour of Rita's dress robes didn't help much, either, since it was beginning to get dark. In the end, she simply pretended to be examining something on the back of her right hand and cast a Point-Me Spell.

Skeeter obviously meant to give the impression that she was just a guest like any other; the infamous Dictoquill was conspicuously absent. When Hermione emerged from behind a hedge, the reporter was talking to Horace Slughorn, whom she abandoned with unseemly haste to make a beeline for Hermione.

Hermione felt eerily reminded of a vulture homing in on a carcass.

"Miss Granger," she said genially and apparently not offended in the least, when Hermione didn't shake her hand but merely stared at the lime-green nails pointing at her like so many poisoned arrows. "What a surprise! I wouldn't have expected to find you among the guests." At least she had the good sense to keep her normally strident voice to a tolerable level; less out of regard for Lucius' wineglasses, Hermione assumed, than for the sake of acoustic camouflage.

"I could say the same, Miss Skeeter. I was under the impression that there wasn't going to be any press coverage." She surreptitiously inserted her right hand into her pocket and tapped the coin with her miniaturized wand, while using her left to guide Skeeter to a more isolated spot a few yards away. The fewer guests witnessed Lucius ejecting her, the better.

Skeeter smiled a sickeningly glutinous smile and moved closer. "Oh, I'm here as a friend of the family – such a relief, really, to be able to enjoy a few hours of carefree pleasure without having to write down everything people say."

Had her eyes not briefly darted left, Hermione wouldn't have noticed the slight distortion in the air above Skeeter's left shoulder. So she'd Disillusioned the ubiquitous quill. Hermione smiled, and Skeeter seemed to take it as encouragement. "What about you, then, my dear," she asked in saccharine tones, "You seem to be holding up very well. That's quite admirable I must say, considering…" She patted Hermione's arm.

"I am doing my best, but thank you for your sympathy. It's hard, really" – she dabbed the corner of her eye, hoping that she wasn't putting it on too thick – "having to witness the love of my life binding himself to another woman, but I'm glad to see him happy. He's gone through so much – he really deserves it."

She needn't have worried; Skeeter was lapping it up. "There are other men out there, my dear, who are worthier of your affections. Or" – she leaned a little closer, making Hermione wish she had gills, so she wouldn't have to breathe the woman's nauseatingly pungent perfume through her nose – "have you perhaps already set your eyes on some eligible wizard? Maybe… Lucius Malfoy is quite the catch, just saying."

Hermione didn't need to fake a blush; the embarrassed giggle wasn't too bad, either. "Oh, I wouldn't presume…"

"And you seem to have made friends already with his grandson Scorpius – very clever, I must say. I hear that the boy is the apple of his-"

"Miss Skeeter." Lucius was standing behind her, looking ravishing – though probably not to the petrified reporter – in anthracite grey dress robes and doing a very convincing impression of an avenging angel swooping down on a demon.

Hermione took a step back.

Neville's camera clicked.

It seemed they'd got themselves an excellent cover photo for The Quibbler's special edition.

oooo