Severus lost no time in carrying out Hermione's suggestion.
He'd left Cesar and Beatriz to babysit Draco while meeting Hermione and the children at the lake – he hadn't been stupid enough to leave his enforced guest alone in a house with a fully functioning laboratory containing a number of addictive ingredients, protective spells be damned. It had meant that with the guest quarters already taken, he'd had to sacrifice his bed to his friends and kip on the sofa. However, it had also had the advantage that he stayed upstairs the following morning to linger with them over a prolonged and pleasant breakfast.
Which meant that, when they said goodbye and apparated home, Draco was just emerging from his room. He gave Severus a startled look before making his usual heavy way over to his armchair in the sitting room.
"You're not sitting there all day."
The younger man's thin shoulders stiffened in surprise and he looked up. "What?"
Severus leaned against the doorway leading to the kitchen, his arms folded, giving Draco a meaningful look. It occurred to him that he'd probably never spoken to Lucius Malfoy's son quite so firmly in his life.
"You. Sitting. There. Not today, I think. It's time you did something to earn your accommodation."
He jerked his head and Draco seemed to rise to his feet without thinking much about it, either out of sheer surprise or as an automatic response to the note of authority in Severus's voice. A second later, two little red spots of indignation appeared in his pale cheeks and he opened his mouth – ah, there it was, that Malfoy sense of entitlement - but Severus beat him to it.
"You're not going to get better just sitting there. You've got too much time to think. Believe me. I know."
I've been there was the subtext to this, and Severus saw a glimmer of astonished realisation in those pale grey Malfoy eyes. He expected Draco to call him out on it, but the man seemed to swallow down his questions with a curt nod.
"What do you expect me to do? Work in your garden?"
He couldn't disguise the horror in his voice at the prospect and Severus had to bite his lip to hide his smirk at the thought of Draco Malfoy reduced to digging over a patch of dusty ground. The little brat had always been lazy – more so even than his father. Although, if Hermione was right, he'd had to do his fair share of menial labour at Hogwarts – perhaps it was the memories of that humiliation that were currently turning his already pale face even whiter.
It was a realisation that gave him pause; he'd have to be careful not to remind Draco of his drug-addled past and what led to it if he were ever to get rid of his unwelcome guest.
"I think not." Not now, at any rate. "I have an occasional assistant in the laboratory and, temporarily at least, you've taken her away from me. So you'll need to take her place. You were an able student in the laboratory, as I recall – able enough for what I have in mind, anyway."
The pale eyes narrowed. "You're serious? A potions laboratory? With my history?"
Severus sighed. "I'm not quite that stupid, Draco. You'll be working with non-addictive ingredients. And, believe me, I've made sure you can't get anywhere near the more … toxic elements. I'm telling you this in the spirit of fairness – just pointing out that if you try anything, you'll get a nasty surprise."
He fixed Draco with a hard look. "Look at it this way. You have nothing to lose – there's nothing else occupying your time and – who knows? Maybe you'll actually learn something." His tone of voice seemed to suggest a contrary expectation.
"OK." Draco shrugged, seemingly resigned. "What did you have in mind?"
The tone was off-hand, with undertones of the familiar Malfoy arrogance, but Severus didn't miss the tiniest glimmer of interest in the younger man's eyes.
Interesting, he thought, as he turned to lead his guest to his laboratory, schooling his face into blank professionalism.
Of course, it was never going to be that easy.
Severus reacted quickly to the sight of the ominously bubbling potion that was about to explode, threatening to take most of the laboratory with it. It would have been hard to explain to the honest people of Valenzuela why a good proportion of his land had suddenly surged sky-high, so it was just as well he'd been alert. He cast a quick evanesco.
Draco flushed angrily, picking up the now-empty smoking cauldron in disgust. "It's not doing what it's supposed to do. I swear I followed the instructions."
"Hmm?" Severus kept his voice lightly nonchalant. "Well, at a wild guess, I would say you may have forgotten to add one counter-clockwise stir to every nine clockwise stirs while chanting the incantation."
"Damnit! I should have known that. Why is it so bloody hard?"
Draco relieved his sore feelings by flinging the cauldron into the air and disintegrating it into dust with a rather neat hand gesture before reaching for a new one to start all over again. Severus carefully hid his grin, impressed by this demonstration of wand-less magic. His guest was starting to regain some of his magical abilities, which was a good sign – it suggested his body was beginning to recover its equilibrium.
He'd never been able to understand wizards or witches who deliberately went out of their way to sabotage the magical gifts they'd been born with. He'd seen enough of that during the Voldemort years – the drinking, the narcotic potions, the substances that addled the brain and dulled the ability, usually temporarily but sometimes permanently. Having seen and experienced the joys of Voldemort's tender methods first hand, he'd had some sympathy with the need to relieve the stress of prolonged proximity to the Dark Lord and his followers. However, he'd been careful to seek less harmful methods of forgetting.
The temporary loss of his magical strength after Nagini had been a terrible blow to him, more so than he'd ever revealed to Hermione, and he never lost his sense of gratitude that he'd managed to regain it. The very notion of deliberately abusing his body with drugs, depriving it of magical power once more, was now complete anathema to him; yes, he'd fallen into bad habits after Hermione left him, but he hadn't been in his right mind back then. Thanks to his good friends, he'd clawed his way back from the brink.
So he took a lot of secret pleasure from seeing the visible evidence that the harmful substances were finally departing from Draco's system. As little as a week ago, Severus reckoned that the younger man would have been lucky to have been able to perform that spell with his wand.
Not that he had a wand anymore; it had been confiscated by the Ministry until such time as Draco could prove he was a 'responsible' citizen once more… and there was no guarantee that he'd ever get it back, even if he passed the Ministry's rigorous tests. Hermione might have to call in favours from Harry and Kingsley once more – and from what he'd gathered at their last meeting, he wondered how much longer she'd have any influence at all at the Ministry.
Actually, he had to admit that Draco wasn't that bad an assistant, even if he'd had to destroy rather more cauldrons than he'd ever had to with Hermione. OK, so this latest mishap had been a basic mistake, but in general Draco was more of a risk-taker than Hermione. That did tend to make life in the laboratory more 'interesting', but it also meant that Draco sometimes took leaps in understanding that would have taken Hermione far longer and would probably have involved a certain degree of note-scribbling and sleepless nights. Draco possessed the rare instinct of a genuine potioneer. In that, he was very much his father's son – Lucius had been skilled in Potions during his school days, although the older Malfoy had considered it beneath his dignity to pursue the profession after graduation.
When he'd first invited Draco down into the laboratory, several weeks' ago, Severus had been prepared to have to start with the basics once more, having assumed that Draco would have forgotten everything he'd taught him at Hogwarts. He'd had no assistance apart from Hermione's for years and he was used to working with her – they understood each other's body language and moved smoothly around sometimes cramped spaces. For that reason, he'd prepared himself to be irritated by his new assistant's slowness. He'd actually been pleasantly surprised – Draco moved quickly through the basics of ingredient preparation and cauldron maintenance as if the last ten years had never happened. Very soon, Severus was happy to leave him to the preparation of some of the basic potions that he produced and sold locally as a side-line to his more important work.
He always kept a careful eye on Draco, of course. The man wasn't allowed to use the laboratory alone and could not take any substance with him whenever he left. There were strong spells in place that would have made Draco very sorry if he'd tried to break that rule. The fact that none of them had had to be employed might mean that Draco hadn't even tried… but Severus equally suspected that his guest, no fool after all, had probably detected the protective spells and decided not to risk a nasty surprise.
Severus didn't know if Draco was aware of his constant vigilance. He rather thought he was aware – there was something about the half-embarrassed half-resigned look that the 'boy' occasionally gave him.
It was funny to think of a man of nearly thirty years as a 'boy' – and yet, to Severus, there was something of a boy about him. Not in his eyes of course – there Draco had lost his innocence a very, very long time ago – but there was something gauche and awkwardly teenage about his tall, lanky body, currently adorned in Weasley's scruffy old jeans and one of Severus's own t-shirts. His hair, which had been cropped short during his detoxification, was beginning to grow back in dirty blonde spikes. He looked nothing like the well-groomed boy that Severus remembered, with slicked-back hair and expensive clothes.
Draco's work was actually quite good once he'd got into the routine of producing the basic potions. Severus rarely had to discard a batch. He'd always had a natural flair in the laboratory for all his posturing, which had admittedly made it easier for Severus to favour him as his godson and a fellow Slytherin during the Hogwarts years.
He also found, much to his surprise, that he enjoyed his former student's company. Draco was largely silent in the laboratory, only interrupting to ask pertinent questions, which Severus appreciated. And when he took the younger man out, on brief walks to collect samples from the nearby hills and on a couple of longer trips over to Caesar and Beatriz to pick up some supplies, Draco showed a surprising level of interest in his surroundings. He even charmed the Martinez family with his old-fashioned aristocratic manners, bowing politely over Beatriz's hand with an automatic grace that reminded Severus that this young man was, after all, from one of the oldest established wizarding families.
He was currently trying to teach his new assistant the slightly more challenging Revivio – the potion was still one of his most popular ones and he often struggled to keep up with demand. He hadn't yet decided whether or not he wanted to move the production of it elsewhere. That would mean sharing the potion's instructions with others, and although Bill had got it patented for him, he was wary of rival potions firms producing similar products of a lower quality.
It had begun to occur to him that, if Draco could be prevailed upon to stay for a while, he might be able to open some kind of production plant himself. They could train up a few of the local young wizards and witches – with unemployment so high in the region, there'd be no shortage of applicants - and he could put Draco in charge. Severus himself was not the 'manager' type – he disliked having to delegate and give instructions, preferring instead to do everything himself. Draco, however, was another matter. With his Malfoy sense of superiority restored, he might be just the person to run such an operation. Bill might advise him on what would be involved in the employment and day-to-day running…
"Fuck!"
Severus sighed and gestured another evanesco over his shoulder in the direction of the minor explosion, without bothering to look. The downside was that Draco, for all his natural skill, was nowhere near ready and might not be for some time. Revivio was one of his trickier potions, admittedly. Hermione had never even attempted it.
Talking of which… Hermione was the big stumbling point. He couldn't imagine her wanting to visit in her usual manner while Draco was still around – or, at least, she wouldn't want to bring the children. Draco, through no fault of his own, had somehow intruded on their 'family' time. There'd be no more mornings in the lab spent answering Rose's eclectic questions or afternoons in the garden with Hugo trailing behind; no more teas in the shade of the terrace or evening walks by the river or snowball fights in the winter mountains… at least, not while he was still hosting a recovering drug addict. And, call him selfish, but he was not prepared to give up his time with Hermione for anyone. If they weren't able to come to some kind of arrangement, the 'boy' would have to go.
He shook his morbid thoughts away. "You know," he pointed out, mildly. "It might not be a bad idea to perform the steepifugo on the asphodel leaves before you start the next stage. That way, you don't have to worry about doing it too quickly when you're about to start the final incantation."
"But, if I do that in advance, doesn't it only give me eight and a half minutes to get it into the potion?"
"That's long enough, as long as you make sure the heat is turned up to boiling point just before … and as long as you've prepared all the other ingredients in advance. It's all in the timing, like most potions. It's much easier if you think the entire process through first. Look for the loopholes and work out how you can simplify the process, step by step."
"Easy for you to say," Draco muttered, under his breath as he fetched another jar of dried asphodel leaves.
"Yes, it is," Severus agreed, mildly. "But that's because I've been doing this for almost forty years, thirty of them in a professional capacity. You don't think I've struggled to work it out? Have you any idea how many cauldrons I've destroyed in my career?"
"Hundreds, I should think," Draco replied, absently. He was frowning as he carefully measured the asphodel into a scale. He reapplied the stopper on the jar and placed it back on the correct shelf.
Severus, watching carefully, noted the way the pale thin hand lingered for an infinitesimal period by a bottle of henbane leaves on the next shelf down before dropping back to Draco's side. A hallucinogenic - and a dangerous one. Did Draco know that? Or was it just coincidence that his hand appeared to linger? Was he, Severus, starting to see things that weren't there?
He suppressed a sigh and continued, keeping his voice light and conversational. "More like thousands. Particularly since I came here, strangely enough. I never mentioned it to you before but I lost my magic after Nagini's attack – did you know that? I regained it, but it took a while. I still knew how to brew, of course – I hadn't lost my memory – but in the early days, my incantations were as ineffective as any first year's. It was more difficult than you can imagine," he added, ruefully.
Draco hesitated in his preparation, looking up at his old mentor for a moment. "I didn't know that," he said, quietly.
Severus regarded him. "No reason why you would. I don't suppose you know much about what happened to me during the Battle, do you?"
Draco flushed slightly – they both knew exactly how he'd been occupied during the last Battle. "No, I – no. Not really," he admitted.
The men stared at one another for a moment, and then Severus smiled. "Tell you what – why don't you finish crushing those leaves, put them under a stasis charm and come upstairs. Don't apply the steepifugo yet. I'll make coffee and we'll talk."
And he turned and walked deliberately from the room without a second glance.
"I can hardly believe it." Draco clutched his empty mug in his hands and stared out over the landscape.
There was a chill wind cutting across the garden, directly from the snow-capped mountains behind; it was November and winter had descended upon southern Spain with its usual abruptness. Severus shivered and automatically cast a barrier charm around the terrace. He leaned back in his chair, saying nothing.
"I mean, how could we not have known? How could my father not have seen what you were doing – all that time?"
"Perhaps he did know – in some way," Severus suggested, delicately. He had wondered about that over the years. "After all, towards the end, he certainly knew that some of my activities, while they didn't actually undermine the Dark Lord, were not particularly supportive either. Your father knew a fair amount about potions and he must have known about the times I dosed prisoners to finish them off humanely. You're like him, you know," he added. "He was a promising potioneer too – he could have become a Master if he'd wanted to."
Draco glowered at this discussion of his estranged father, and Severus was reminded once more of a sulky teenager. OK, clearly the time wasn't right to raise the topic of Lucius's rapidly declining health, which had been confirmed by Hermione's owl earlier that morning.
"You weren't supposed to know, Draco - that was the point," he went on, patiently. "No one did – no one but a select few in the Order. And when I killed Dumbledore, even they turned against me. Even Potter didn't guess until the end."
"And yet, Granger did." Draco's eyes were suspiciously shrewd. "Didn't she?"
"Yes. Yes, she did, that's true – but how did you know –?"
Draco sneered. "I never recall a situation where Hermione Granger didn't find out the truth. She was always one step ahead of the rest of us – I'll give her that."
Severus laughed, drily, repressing his instinctive anger. "You always hated her. I can see that hasn't changed."
Draco looked a little startled by the suggestion. "Oh, I wouldn't go that far. She's an irritating, interfering woman…and I sometimes wish she'd just left me alone to – to…"
"To what? Die?" Severus asked, mildly.
Draco's mouth curved in resigned amusement. "Well, when you put it like that…"
They sat in silence for a while.
"All the same." Draco broke the peace. "All those years, working for both sides, and nobody even guessing. I don't know how you did it – and I don't understand why you didn't go mad."
Severus smirked. "Who says I didn't? To some extent, anyway. You were there – you saw me during that last year, when I visited the Manor. Did I look like a sane, stable individual to you?"
"In retrospect, no. But then, I wasn't all there myself. It wasn't much fun being shut up at home with Mother and Father and Aunt Bella, what with the Dark Lord's minions coming and going."
"I imagine not," Severus replied, drily. "On the plus side, at least you weren't tortured to the point of death."
Draco glanced at him. "You knew about that? Well, I guess you would. It's just that – I didn't think she'd tell anyone what happened. She's always been proud, Granger. I suppose it's one of the reasons I've always found her hard to like."
"You were there, when Bella…?" Severus felt a sudden coldness in the pit of his stomach. It hadn't occurred to him that Draco might be involved, but of course, it would have made sense…
Draco gave him an uneasy look, perhaps sensing a change in atmosphere. "Yeah…for some of it, anyway. I was sent out of the room at one point."
Not trusting himself to speak, Severus got up abruptly and crossed to the railing.
"I'm… I'm sorry for what happened. I never liked Granger much, but I wouldn't have wished that on anyone." Draco's voice was very quiet. "If it's – if it's any consolation, she was very brave."
"No," Severus snapped. "No, actually, it's not a consolation."
Vision suddenly foggy, he felt, rather than saw, the movement as Draco appeared next to him at the rail. "She was, though. I wouldn't have stood it anywhere near as long as her."
"She had something worth fighting for," Severus muttered. It was true - she'd had Harry Potter. He remembered her words when she'd described Bella's torture: it wouldn't have mattered if I'd died, just as long as he survived. Had Draco ever felt that strongly about something – or someone? Had he - Severus?
Draco shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing against Severus and bringing him out of his reverie. "So…why here, then?" He gestured around him, at the house, the land and beyond. There was no disdain in his voice; just genuine curiosity.
Severus shrugged. "Why not? It's a good place. I like it. Despite evident appearances, I never actually liked cold, grey, damp places. They reminded me of home far too much." He shuddered at the memory of Spinner's End; long-since demolished and replaced with an anonymous block of council flats, according to Bill.
"It's scenic. I'll give it that." Draco leaned on the rail, his pale eyes turned upwards towards the top of the mountains. The snowline glittered in the pale winter sun. Less snow than in previous years, Severus mused, automatically, as his eyes followed his guest's, but then it's early in the season.
He reflected, in sudden surprise, that with the exception of Hogwarts, he'd now spent more of his life here than anywhere else, even his childhood home (which he'd avoided as much as possible once he'd gone to school). It hardly seemed possible. Back when he'd first come across this little patch of dusty Spanish land and had formed a vague plan, he'd still been in the service of the Dark Lord and had expected nothing more than an inglorious death, his true aims buried with him and his name blackened forever. In all his dreams, he could never have imagined this…his land. His business. His home. His life.
He wondered what life meant to someone like Draco. His former student was thirty now, and had pretty much squandered the last third of his life. Hardly what the eleven year old Draco Malfoy would have expected when he first arrived at Hogwarts, full of his own importance. He should have had a glittering career, assisted by his powerful father. A career in politics, or some other sphere of magical influence. He should have had a beautiful, equally rich wife, probably selected for him from the close-knit aristocratic community within which he moved. At one stage, an alliance with the powerful Malfoy family would have been highly desirable – and the young Draco was not without his charms, and didn't lack for casual female companionship at Hogwarts.
And now…well. His family name was anathema within the wizarding world, and he had little to recommend him; a recovering drug addict with no money, no job prospects, estranged from his only surviving relative in a world where family and connections were all-important. It was little surprise that one of the only people prepared to associate with him was Hermione, something of an outcast in wizarding Britain herself.
"I was wondering," he began, rather tentatively, "what you want, Draco? Out of life, I mean? Career, and all that."
He had tried for a light, casual tone, but it came out rather forced and he winced.
Draco turned his pale face towards Severus, seeming a little startled by the question. He thought for a moment before responding, slowly: "You know, I think that might actually be the first time anyone's ever asked me that. I mean, ever. It wasn't a question that occurred to my parents, at any rate." He smiled, rather grimly. "It was just assumed that I would go into the family business of running – or should that be ruining – the wizarding world… well, you know. You know what they were like."
Severus nodded; he did know, and even back then, he'd felt some minor sympathy for the Malfoy boy. It had helped immensely that Draco was so unlikeable back then – Severus had been able to maintain his official role of mentor to his godson without getting too emotionally involved.
Draco was silent for a moment, and Severus forbore to interrupt, letting the young man sort his thoughts out.
"It hadn't occurred to me until now that… that's over… I mean, there are no expectations of me. I'm no longer someone's son, someone's heir, someone's role model. Who'd look up to me now? Who'd want to be me? Who'd want to associate with me; who'd want to even marry me?"
There was no bitterness in his voice; wonder, rather, and he shook his head in something like disbelief. "You know, I used to look around at the girls at school and wonder who they'd make me marry, because of course I knew, even when I was eleven, that my life was mapped out for me. Whichever family was in favour with my father at any given time – there'd be a first-born daughter selected to marry me; to give me a son – carry on the line. And I knew that it wasn't worth being interested in anything at school. What was the point? I wouldn't have been able to pursue any kind of career – gods forbid that I should do anything so middle-class as train for a profession. And if I'd failed anything, my father would have used his influence, probably would've talked to you, got my marks changed or something. I'd never be allowed to fail. That wasn't in the plan. Not for me."
Now the bitterness was there in his voice. He drew a shaky breath and dragged his hand through his hair. Severus, glancing towards him, saw the tense set of his jaw, the stiff shoulders – and was reminded once more of the miserable, desperately frightened seventeen-year-old, given an almost impossible task by the Dark Lord to redeem his father's blackened name. Draco had feared Severus then; had resented him, possibly even hated him – and yet, Severus had kept his bond with Narcissa and had stepped in to protect the boy – to stop him from becoming a murderer.
"But you were good at school," Severus pointed out mildly, trying to relieve the tension. "I didn't have to doctor any marks in potions. You were always one of my better pupils."
The shoulders relaxed very slightly as Draco snorted. "What, as good as Granger?" He didn't bother to hide his sneer.
"Better," Severus replied, calmly.
Draco glanced up at his old teacher's face. "I find that a little hard to believe – even if you did mark her down most of the time. How does she feel about that these days?"
The pale eyes were a little too knowing for Severus's liking, and he glanced away, down the path towards the village and the familiar sight of Jose moving his goats and sheep, their bells ringing, down the hill and through the village to the lemon groves where he would halt and eat his lunch.
"She understands why I had to do that. She knows that I couldn't be seen to have a favourite outside of Slytherin – particularly not a close friend of Harry Potter's. But, in any case, I was not lying. You were – you are – better at potions than Hermione. You have the skill; it's in your family."
Draco hunched his shoulders a little, apparently against the cold, but almost certainly to ward off this subtle mention of his father.
"I did enjoy potions," he admitted. "I could – sometimes, when we were working on experiments, when we had to concentrate, I could forget things – if you understand what I mean."
Severus nodded. He did understand. Losing himself in the complex arts of advanced potion making had been one of his outlets during the Voldemort era. He felt a sudden rush of sympathy for this young man, who'd spent most of that last year holed up in his family house with nothing to distract him, under the Dark Lord's constant vigilance and with his insane aunt for company. And then, in the immediate aftermath, he'd had to endure the shame of imprisonment and poverty, and had ended up begging for menial work from the very people that he'd once dismissed as unworthy to share the same air as him. Small wonder he'd sought the hollow comfort of recreational drugs.
"And now?" he prompted Draco.
"Now?" The young man shrugged. "No idea. Not a clue. No one wants me back in Britain, anyway. I'm too old to go back to school. I didn't graduate – never went back after the war, so I've got no qualifications. McGonagall offered me the chance to retake my exams when I was working there, but I just couldn't face it. I – I couldn't bear it; all those faces staring at me, the great Draco Malfoy, the traitor, crawling back to finish his education." He clenched the rail with both hands. "Bad enough I had to work there… and anyway, even if I did have the qualifications, who'd want to employ me?"
Severus held up a hand. "Wait a minute. Try, just for a moment, not to think about the realities. Forget what's already happened. If you could start out again – if you could go back ten years – no, let's say fifteen, what would you want to do? If you could do anything in the world, train for any profession. What would it be?" He'd summoned up his best 'teacher' voice – it seemed to him rather ironic that he was finally having the 'career talk' with his old student. Only twelve years too late.
"My father –"
"No. Forget your father. Try to imagine that he can't influence you now." In fact, if Hermione was right, that would be literally the case – and sooner than Draco might realise. "What do you want to do? Come on, Draco, you're pretty bright – God knows why, after so many years of trying to scramble your brain. There must be something that you want to do?"
Draco hesitated before turning to his former mentor. "Uh…well, I… well, as a matter of fact… I know it's pretty stupid, but… I suppose I'd rather hoped to do what – what you do. If I could have chosen, of course. I mean, I know it's a crazy idea; after all, you've spent years training under one of the Potions Masters, and I could never hope to emulate… There's only eight Masters left, anyway, and half of them are too old to take anyone on, and the others probably hate me and well… you did ask."
Severus struggled to hide his smirk. He didn't think he'd ever seen his former student quite so discomforted – blushing with embarrassment and stumbling over his words.
"So, you don't think it would be possible to take that path now?"
Draco looked away; his pale cheeks flushed. "There's my lack of formal qualifications. I haven't spent years studying the subject. And what Master would want to take me on as apprentice? Doesn't sound promising, does it?"
Severus turned towards Draco, leaning his hip against the railing as he counted the points off on his fingers. "Firstly, the lack of qualifications is not that important. It's merely a stepping stone to the next stage in your career and it helps you to get that first position – ask anyone. All you'd need is a qualified individual to confirm that you'd reached a certain level of competence – well, I would suggest that, as your former potions teacher, I might reasonably be considered a suitably-qualified individual. Secondly, there's no reason why you can't find enough time to catch up with your advanced studies. Let's face it – I managed, and that was while teaching full time and acting as Dumbledore's spy. And thirdly…you're missing the main point."
Draco gave him an inquiring look. "Which is?"
Severus rolled his eyes. "I'm one of the Eight."
"You mean, you're a…"
"Yes, I'm a Potions Master, you complete idiot. How else do you think I got into my elevated position?"
Draco stared at him for a moment, his mouth falling open. And then his face lit up with the most natural smile that Severus had even seen gracing the expression of a Malfoy.
The Quarter Boys were striking 11.45 as they strolled along Watchbell Street. It was a cool but mercifully dry day in Rye, a pale late-autumn sun shimmering on the wet cobbles. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Harry and Luna had been blown out of the house by the antics of five over-lively children – James and Rose being the usual ring leaders.
Hermione could just see the back of Rose's pea green coat flying out behind her as she darted after her tousle-headed cousin around the corner of St Mary's. Lily ran after them, dragging a reluctant Hugo after her. The much more sedate Albus walked alongside his father, pointing out interesting features on the facade of the 12th century parish church.
Hermione smiled at the sight. She had a soft spot for the middle Potter child – and not just because Harry had named him for Severus. The dark-haired, dark-eyed sensitive little boy made her imagine a younger Severus … perhaps as he would have been - should have been - had he been lucky enough to have had gentle Harry Potter as his father.
And perhaps so much that happened wouldn't have happened after all. But it was useless to speculate and doing so only reinforced the utterly unfair notion that James and Lily's deaths and the rise of Voldemort – all of it - had been entirely Severus's doing…
"I've always thought that myself." Luna's voice was startlingly loud in the peaceful street.
She was shocked out of her musings. Ron and Ginny had moved ahead, arguing in that usual aimless and amiable manner that she associated with the adult Weasley siblings – whenever two or three of them were in company, there were always arguments, but they never seemed that serious these days.
Hermione turned and grimaced at her friend. "I will never understand how you do that. How did you know what I was thinking?"
Luna's face was as vaguely good-humoured as ever, but Hermione had learned to see beyond the apparent absent-mindedness. The woman hadn't made it into Ravenclaw for no good reason.
She shrugged, cheerfully. "Quite obvious, really. You were gazing at Albus – Albus Severus – with a thoughtful expression. And you've told me before that he reminds you of that other individual." Hermione noted that Luna was still careful not to mention names; it was an old habit that they all maintained. Just because Severus's name had been cleared, it didn't mean they shouldn't respect their old Potions master's desire for continued anonymity.
Luna went on, quietly: "At first your expression was soft, affectionate and slightly amused – that of an adult in relation to a slightly unusual but much loved child. Comparing, perhaps, with quite another child. Then your face darkened, and I could tell that you were thinking of the past. Your jaw stiffened in that way it always does whenever you think of the lack of justice shown to your friend. And there was pain in your eyes … and shame. You were wondering what might have happened if certain events had turned out differently, and it occurred to you that you might never have met him … and then you felt guilty for being glad that you had met him."
Hermione made a strangled sound, something between a laugh and a groan and rubbed her forehead, distractedly. "Is it that obvious? Just to you – or to others too?"
She forced herself to sound casual, but Luna didn't miss the emphasis.
"You know that I have a reputation for seeing things that others don't – and for saying things that others do know but either don't - or won't - admit." There was a gentle humour in Luna's usual flat tone but also a touch of steel.
Hermione sighed, her eyes on Ron's back. "Well, it's not as if I don't know that, I guess… I mean, he may not know exactly who, but he almost certainly knows that there's someone on my mind."
Luna gazed towards the small group currently walking around the church, strands of her dirty long blonde hair blowing out from underneath a rather ratty knitted hat. Ron and Ginny disappeared from sight – they had followed Harry and the children around to the left and were probably heading down into the little town.
"Shall we go on to the Gun Garden?" Luna suggested, brightly. "There should be a good view today."
This suggestion, which involved walking straight on rather than turning left, meant that she wanted to talk to Hermione privately. And if Luna wanted to talk without interruption, it usually meant she had something important – and not necessarily all that pleasant - to say.
Hermione eyed her curiously. Luna was broadly unchanged since Hogwarts days. The last ten years seemed to have had no effect on her, either physically or mentally. But then, she'd always been mature in comparison with her fellow students – Hermione often had to remind herself that her friend was, in fact, almost two years younger than herself.
Luna lived a solitary life, having lost her father not long after the Final Battle. He had survived against the odds, but had been a broken shadow of his former slightly batty self and had died less than two years later. His daughter had taken over the editing of the Quibbler, which had assumed heroic status due to its stand against Voldemort and now had no shortage of eager correspondents. It was still a slightly wacky publication but fared better under Luna's surprisingly business-like leadership.
However she'd taken a back seat from the Quibbler for the last couple of years, and appeared to be abroad more than she was in Britain nowadays. Whenever Hermione asked, she would just allude mysteriously to 'research' and volunteer no further information. Whenever she was in the country, she lived in a ramshackle little cottage on the bleak shingled wasteland of Romney Marsh, within the shadow of the Dungeness nuclear power station. It seemed an odd location, but Luna may have been attracted by the low price, the seclusion and the presence of a fairly liberal wizarding population in the vicinity. The cottage itself was filled to the brim with fascinating objects, many of which even Luna didn't seem to be able to identify.
It had now become a habit for Hermione and Luna to meet at the magical bookshop/cafe hidden around the back of the normal-looking second-hand bookshop whenever they were both in town. There, they would linger over tea and catch up on the latest medical theories and discoveries. Luna hadn't been the strongest Potions student, but she had a natural interest in anything to do with the magical properties of herbs. They would reminisce about the past and their former school friends – Luna often knew more about the lives and families of old DA comrades, particularly those from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.
They passed in front of the looming Ypres Tower and stepped down into the sunken Gun garden with its panoramic view of the salt marshes stretching out towards the sea. The two women paused briefly by the low wall, taking in the scene.
Hermione sighed again. "It's a view I never get tired of. There's something so beautiful and so old about it. Even as a child, I sensed that. It's so unchanging…well, these days, anyway. Hard to imagine that this was one of the great Cinque ports and that the sea used to be right down there at the base of this wall…"
"Don't you think that there may be someone else that he thinks of?"
"What?" Hermione was stumped by this non-sequitur.
"Ron," Luna clarified in her dreamy manner. "Don't you think that you're a little self-absorbed sometimes, Hermione?"
Hermione stared at her friend, momentarily speechless. The pale eyes looked back at her, not judgmental but not especially sympathetic either. If anything, Luna looked a little amused.
"Is there – is there… Is there someone else, do you know?" Hermione managed to stutter out, eventually.
"Nothing that I can confirm. Or, rather, nothing that you shouldn't be able to spot yourself … if you paid enough attention." Again, the words were harsh but delivered in a gentle, unassuming manner.
"Oh!" Hermione frowned, trying for a moment to recall occasions where a name might have been mentioned more than usually frequently, before giving up. She felt strangely frozen, unsure of how to react. She gave Luna a nervous smile.
"Well, I couldn't blame him, could I?"
"Indeed not," Luna replied, quietly. "After all, there is more than one kind of infidelity, isn't there? Thoughts, feelings…even if you choose not to act on them."
"But you think that he does? Act on his feelings, I mean?" Who? Where? When?
Luna hesitated. "I think that…like you, he may wish that he can be with someone else. I don't say that he necessarily is – not yet, at any rate."
Hermione felt...well she didn't know exactly what she felt on hearing this revelation. Confused, mostly. Not at the notion of Ron falling for someone – she knew from her own experience that he was a normal male, and perhaps more emotional and warm-hearted than most. In fact, he was precisely the type of man to fall passionately in love, particularly if love was missing at home. He'd always been emotionally needy – growing up in such a big family had made him insecure from childhood about his worth and place in other people's hearts. It saddened her that she'd never really been able to provide the emotional comfort that he'd always craved.
It wasn't just about sex - actually, when was the last time that they'd done anything in bed apart from fall asleep? It was more than that. Companionship. Fellow-feeling. Tenderness. And that wonderful sensation that caught you in the gut and made your heart beat faster – that indefinable awareness of a person's presence. That emotion that no one and nothing could ever dislodge.
The very same feeling that she had associated with Severus for the last fifteen years of her life.
Oh, God... She groaned with sudden realisation. Ron… how could she not have seen…?
"I've been a bit of a fool, haven't I?" she said, quietly.
"Yes, quite," Luna commented, her eyes suddenly very knowing. "The news confuses you because you weren't expecting it – and now you feel stupid for not realising. Part of you knew that he was unhappy, and that he knew you were…well, distracted by someone else at the very least … but at the same time, you can't believe that he may have looked somewhere else for affection. And yet, now you know, you can understand why. You know him better than anyone – and you know that Ron needs to feel loved and wanted… perhaps more so than most of us."
Her voice dropped slightly at this last comment, and Hermione briefly wondered, as she so often did, about Luna's personal life. Was there someone in her life – someone abroad somewhere, perhaps?
Her friend continued, with a slight smile on her face. "If I thought you might be offended – angry at his 'infidelity' - I'd be disappointed in you. But I know you, Hermione. I know that another part of you - perhaps the most important part of the Hermione that I remember – is still his best friend and wants him to be happy. You're not selfish, well, not by nature, anyway, although you've made some selfish decisions in the last ten years. Before that, you gave up a good part of your adolescence to fight in a war and a battle almost to the death. And then, while the rest of us celebrated, you had to hide away and nurse back to health a man that others despised as a presumed traitor. You supported that man's escape, financed him, helped him out and protected him by your silence, while others were still cursing his name. Those were not the acts of a selfish woman."
"You don't think so?" Hermione was startled by the calmness of her own voice. "Perhaps even then I was selfish. After all, I had ulterior motives, didn't I? I wanted to save him, because I loved him."
"Yes – and then you let him go," Luna pointed out. "He wanted to leave Britain, but he wouldn't have got very far without your help - not in his weakened state. You stayed away, you didn't interfere. You let him lead his own life."
"And then I left him again." It's a bitter, hard statement of fact.
"Yes, you did," Luna agreed, equably. "Do you remember what I said to you back then? You wanted to know what I thought of him. You had started to doubt him. And I told you that my impressions of him shouldn't influence your decision, because no individual is perceived in exactly the same way by more than one person."
"But you – you asked me to consider whether I could take a risk! You warned me!"
Luna looked at Hermione carefully. "Yes, I did, because I wanted you to be absolutely sure. I didn't know the full circumstances then, but I knew that his situation was very dangerous. I knew that you might face years of isolation, cut off from friends and family – and from the wizarding world that you love so much, with all its politics and magical discoveries. You've always been stubborn. Once you've decided on a path, you'll stick to it, no matter what. I knew that if you took that leap of faith I mentioned back then, you wouldn't turn back … but that it might make you very unhappy in the end."
She turned, gazing down at the recreation ground at the bottom of the cliff. Hermione could see the children running across the grass with Ron, Harry and Ginny following on behind.
"Consider what you've got." Luna's voice was very quiet now. "Two intelligent, beautiful children who love you. A husband who is an excellent father – and is still a good friend to you, if nothing else. Friends, family. The satisfaction of knowing that you were responsible for overturning an unfair verdict and clearing a hero's name. And the added satisfaction of a job that actively seeks to make the wizarding world a far fairer place for minority species."
Hermione gave an ironic cough. "As to that… I may have made a difference once. These days, it's just writing legislation amendment proposals and getting them knocked back on a regular basis."
Luna gave her the steely look that so few others had ever encountered from the mild Ravenclaw. "Then leave."
"What – leave the Ministry?"
"If you're really not doing any good, then why not? If you want to do something worthwhile, then do it. It doesn't have to be big or important or famous. The trouble is, you've always thought big. You've always had an ambition to make a notable difference – to do something that will change the world forever. That's why you held back from taking that leap – and I can't entirely say that you made the wrong decision at that time… You were young and bright and burning with a sense of injustice. And look at you now. You've done what you set out to do. Thanks to you, conditions are much kinder and far more just for house elves. There's more you could do at the Ministry, I'm sure, but it's time to move on."
Hermione sat down suddenly and inelegantly on the low wall. It was damp, but she didn't care – she had suddenly felt that her legs could no longer hold her.
"Hermione? Are you feeling alright?" Luna crouched in front of her, looking intently into her face.
"Yes," Hermione waved her hand vaguely. "Just … you know. All of it, just a bit…" She stopped, hoping that Luna would understand without further explanation.
She did; her eyes softening as she patted Hermione's hand comfortingly before standing up again. "Do you understand why I told you about Ron?"
"To warn me, I suppose - about what was happening to my marriage – what would happen if I didn't sort it out."
Luna smiled. "Actually, no. It was because - and I want you to understand that I'm very fond of you, Hermione, and I don't mean to offend you, but …," she took a deep breath before continuing, "you really are a fool sometimes and you are currently driving me up the wall."
Hermione's head shot up in shock at her friend's tone. The two women stared at each other for a moment… and then Hermione began to laugh, shaking her head.
"No offence taken, Luna … but what do you mean?"
Luna gestured slightly wildly. "Look at you! Universally acknowledged to be the brightest witch of your generation – possibly of any generation for all I know. The status of a hero, a reasonably successful career, a loving family and good friends. On top of that, the unbending love of an equally intelligent man who might have moved on from you years ago and found love somewhere else – and, frankly, who's to say he shouldn't have, but for some reason, he didn't… But I digress. The point is - what are you doing with your life? You just drift along with your regrets about the past and some kind of vague and utterly ridiculous notion that you have to stand by the vows you made ten years ago, when you were hardly in your right mind. You're not happy, Ron's not happy – what's the point?"
"But I – but, but the children…"
Luna turned and walked a few restless steps. "What about the children? Look at them down there – just look. Do you see two children who are neglected in any way; who are not getting their basic needs met? I see two happy, well-adjusted children who are the product of loving parents and have the added comfort of an extended family that adores them. Do you really think that having divorced parents who are able to stay friends and put on a united front, as opposed to having miserable parents who force themselves to stay together, will change their sense of security?" She turned back to Hermione and gazed at her, very seriously. "You can't carry on using Rose and Hugo as some kind of pathetic excuse for hiding from life."
Hermione stared back at her friend, shocked. "Do you think that's what I'm doing?"
"Truthfully? Yes. I think that they have become your reason for not making a decision about what you really want from life. You know what I think?" she added, suddenly. "I look at you and I see someone whose life has been – been… interrupted, if I can put it like that. It's as if you're always thinking 'just one more year, just one more thing to do, and then I can decide', instead of just getting on with it and making a decision."
She gazed over at the view again. "Ten years ago, when I asked you to consider carefully, I could tell that you weren't sure – not then. You could have stepped back, taken a couple of years to sort your feelings out before making a decision, but you didn't. Instead, you took it as a reason for 'moving on' – for finding someone else and trying to live a different kind of life. You were too young – all of you. Barely out of school, and getting married and having children when you were little more than children yourselves.
"But you're not a child anymore, Hermione. It's not too late to live the life you want. If you are sure, this time around, you need to – to get on with it. Sort out this situation with Ron – sit down with him and be completely honest with him; you owe him that much. Work out what to do about the children – joint custody seems reasonable. I think you'll find that the Weasley clan will be supportive – in fact, you might be surprised by Molly's reaction; she's a lot more worldly-wise than you think. Hand in your resignation at the Ministry and work out what career you really want. And that's what I think you should do – the question now is… will you?"
There was a silence, which Hermione broke by laughing shakily.
"One of the many things I love about you, Luna, is that you always speak your mind – and I mean always. I'm not sure many people would have had the nerve to tell me all that."
She considered her hands, folded in her lap, and sighed. "You are right, of course. When it comes to people and their stupid complicated relationships, you always are. And you know me so well – probably better than I know myself. I… I don't know what I'm going to do about Ron, but I will think about what you've said – and what you haven't said, too. I've neglected him in all this – I've been so busy thinking about myself and Severus… But Ron – if anyone deserves to be happy, it's him… I will think about it. I promise."
Luna gave her an affectionate smile. "Well, that's a start, at least. After all, Hermione Weasley is never going to do anything without considering all the options first. From you, that's a definite declaration of action."
Hermione grinned. "And it was exactly the response you expected from me… As for the job – oh, I don't know, Luna. What else would I do? It's too late to go into most professions – all the years of training involved… And then there's my reputation. Who would be prepared to take me on as an apprentice? Hogwarts?" she considered, and then shook her head, firmly. "No. I know Minerva would have me back like a shot, especially as she's thinking of retiring, but teaching isn't for me. And no one else would be as accepting as her."
Luna shrugged. "The worthwhile deeds are not always the visible ones. When were you happiest, Hermione? I don't mean in your private life necessarily, but when did you feel most satisfied with your work?"
Hermione frowned. "I suppose… when Severus started to get better. It was satisfying because I'd finally worked out how to treat his wound – and I'd had to do it alone, too. I was pleased for his sake, yes, but also proud of my own abilities."
Luna nodded, not seeming particularly surprised. "Because it involved pure research. You've always been good at that – taking a problem, working out its component parts, putting them back together logically. And you were doing something good, too - something worthwhile, even if no one else but Severus knew about it. Didn't he take your research notes with him? Hasn't he used them since to develop his own products?"
"Yes, he used my results as part of the process of developing Scar-accio." Hermione laughed, in sudden realisation. "That's quite funny, when you think of it. I was grateful that he developed that product because it made such a difference to my own scars, and yet I was a part of its development! And I didn't even realise until he told me, years later."
"Well, there you go, then," Luna replied, rather cryptically.
Hermione smiled, amused despite herself. "And from that, I'm supposed to assume… what?"
"Go into Healing, Hermione."
"Healing? But I've never - ."
"It's not too late. You're still young. You'd have some catching up to do, but then you've never refused a challenge yet."
Hermione shook her head. "To be honest, I've never thought of myself as the healing type, Luna. I'm far too impatient with people. I mean, I know I did a lot for Severus, but that was different."
"There are different types of Healers, though. I can't see you working at the bedside for the rest of your life, that's true," Luna conceded with an ironic smile. "But working in pure medical research – that I can see. And you'd need to go through the basic training to get there. It's quite a rigorous process. Look," abruptly, she turned serious, "I've got to know you quite well over the last few years. I've watched you poring over the science journals. There's nothing – nothing – that inspires you as much as reading about some new development, some new breakthrough, particularly in the medical world. You're not a natural potioneer, but you do have a scientific mind. You can make theoretical connections far more quickly than anyone I know."
Hermione gazed out over the recreation field. Far below, Hugo turned and looked up at her, and she waved automatically. It was tempting; there was no doubt about it. She was stale at the Ministry; her work lacked the precision and the passion of the early days, and her colleagues knew it too. They wouldn't be sorry to see her go.
But it would also mean a lot of work…
"I'll have to think about it," she murmured.
"Do that," Luna replied, her dreamy eyes suddenly as sharp as a kestrel's. "It would be hard work; you're right about that. And you'd have to start at the bottom – get your hands dirty. If you can get over the embarrassment of training alongside kids more than ten years younger than you, you'll get through. They'd probably fast –track you. I know who you should speak to – Susan Bones. She's a senior Healer at St Mungo's now. She'd be able to advise you."
Her pale cheek twitched very slightly as she said Susan's name.
Later, much later, when Hermione looked back at this conversation, she would wonder about Luna's odd response to the mention of Susan Bones ... but at that moment, she was too deep in thought, gazing down at her children and estranged husband, to pay it any attention.