Chapter 25: Jealousy

"... were it not for his fortunate, if peculiar, habit of carrying a bezoar with his spare quill and pencils, Mr Potter might not have reached the hospital wing in time to be treated." Harry drifted into dizzy wakefulness to the sound of Snape's voice. Hateful, yes, but reassuring to anyone who'd been poisoned and was now conscious again. "Miss Quirke's choices of simple and untraceable poisons were apparently designed to minimize her chances of being caught. She was clearly holding her most dangerous weapon in reserve in case of exposure."

"Anyone have any idea why she'd want to kill Harry?" That was Ron, sounding close. Probably beside the bed. Good old Ron.

"Not as yet. Professor Flitwick is looking into it."

"Another murderous Ravenclaw," Ron said, as Harry pried his eyes open and stared at the big blur that was the world without his glasses. There was an orange blur quite close to him, which was probably Ron's head. "I never would have suspected even one of them of cracking up, let alone two."

"Neither'd I," Harry said weakly. "Ron, where're my glasses?"

The orange blur moved away, then leaned over him and took his hand, putting his glasses into it. "There you go, mate... how do you feel?"

Harry considered the question for a moment as he fumbled his glasses into place. "Stoned."

For some reason, that actually made Snape laugh, albeit a bit sourly. "That's because you are, slightly. The bezoar cancelled the poison, but not the non-harmful side-effects. Since I can't give you the antidote with the poison partially cancelled out, you'll just have to wait for it to wear off. You will be restricted to bed rest for the next day or two."

"Oh. Good." Harry said vaguely. The bed was very comfortable, and the idea of spending a day or two recovering from being knifed was quite appealing. "She stabbed me."

"We know, mate, we saw." Ron smiled encouragingly at him. "Don't worry, she's been caught now. No more murder attempts... we hope."

"That's good. I was tired of getting up so early." Harry shifted experimentally. His stomach didn't hurt anymore, so presumably Madam Pomfrey had fixed him up. Good. Seeing your own intestines was always disturbing. "Who was she?"

"Orla Quirke, a fourth-year Ravenclaw." Snape was pouring something into a glass. Harry realised with some surprise that Snape looked tired. Where was all that vitriolic energy he usually had?

And why wasn't Hermione here, fussing at him for being careless? "Where's Hermione?"

"She was here for a bit, but Martin started crying and she thought she'd better take him away so he wouldn't wake you up." Ron patted his arm. "She'll be back in a bit."

Harry scowled. Surely Martin could have waited just until Harry woke up. "Oh."

Snape loomed over him, offering a glass full of something bright yellow and transparent. "Madam Pomfrey suggested that you take this. It will alleviate some of the symptoms of the poisoning and help you sleep."

"Harry wants to see Hermione before he goes back to sleep." Ron frowned. "He can drink it later."

"No, I'll drink it now." Harry took the glass and gulped down the contents. It wasn't nearly as vile as potions usually were... sort of lemon-and-honey-ish. "She's busy, anyway. I'll see her later."

Ron looked puzzled, but Harry ignored it, taking off his glasses and reducing Ron to an orange and pink blur. The potion took some of the dizziness away, and he slid gratefully into sleep.

"Hermione?" The soft call accompanied a quiet tap on her door. "Are you busy?"

"No, hold on just a minute!" Hermione laid Martin in his cradle, hastily buttoning her robes as she headed for the door. She didn't mind feeding Martin in front of Harry or Ron, who were family, but Draco... no. Definitely not. Just the thought made her face get hot.

Draco hadn't visited after Martin was born, and Hermione had been a little hurt. She was glad that he was getting on with his Slytherin friends again, but not so much so that she didn't mind being ignored. But when she opened the door, he smiled at her. "I'm sorry if this is a bad time - I heard that Potter finally caught his would-be assassin and got injured. Is he all right?"

"He's going to be fine, Madam Pomfrey says, although he'll have to stay in the hospital wing for a day or two." Hermione frowned. "If he hadn't insisted on apprehending her all alone, he'd have been perfectly all right."

"Well, that's Harry Potter. More courage than sense." Draco shook his head, grinning, and offered her a neatly wrapped package. "A gift for the baby."

"I... thank you. Come in." She smiled tentatively at him. "Would you like to see him?"

"Very much." Draco returned her smile. "I didn't want to intrude in his first week or so - that's traditionally a time for family, at least among pure-bloods. But now that you've had time to get used to each other, I thought you wouldn't mind having a friend or two drop in."

"Of course not." She closed the door and led him over to the cradle to admire. Martin was, thankfully, sleeping peacefully - he was adorable when he was happy or sleeping, but tended to look like a distraught beetroot when he cried. "There," she said proudly. "Isn't he beautiful?"

Draco nodded, gazing at the baby with an oddly wistful expression. "Very." He reached out to touch one of Martin's closed fists very gently. "What's it like, being a parent?"

Hermione considered the question. Draco was the first person to actually ask, and since he'd said 'parent' not 'mother', he was probably thinking about what it might be like to have one of his own. "Scary," she said, smoothing Martin's blanket gently. "It's such an incredible responsibility, having a baby. He's dependent on me for everything, and will be for years and years. And not just physically - I somehow have to raise him to be a stable, well-rounded human being, who's emotionally secure and socially functional. If he was always going to be small it'd be - well, I'd never sleep through the night again, but it would still be less frightening, in a way."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose it would be. How do you raise someone to be healthy and well-balanced and all that?"

"Nobody really knows. There are dozens of different theories - boosting self-esteem is big just now, but my parents still think that encouraging the child's natural talents in early life is the best way. You wouldn't believe how many classes I took when I was young. Dancing, music, singing, drawing... they were really hoping to find some sort of gift that would give me direction in later life. Then it turned out that I had magic and they were thrilled."

Draco laughed at that. "I always thought Muggle parents must be... I don't know... shocked and frightened when they found out."

"Oh, I'm sure some are. But mine were just delighted to have found my True Calling early enough for me to be properly trained for it." Hermione smiled fondly at the memory. "Honestly, though, there have been hundreds of theories on the proper way to raise children. They all go in and out of fashion, and it all boils down to the fact that nobody really knows... they just do their best and hope it all works out."

He nodded slowly. "That's not terribly reassuring. I'm not sure how good my best is going to be."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Hermione said, wanting to be encouraging. "The fact that you're thinking about it at all is a good sign. I mean, Ron talks about wanting to have some, too, and I know for a fact that he's never given the slightest thought to how he's going to go about turning them into well-rounded little individuals."

Draco snickered. "I'm sure he hasn't. He never does think about things before he does them, anyone who's seen him play Quidditch knows that."

"If you say so." Hermione had never grasped the deep intricacies of Good Quidditch, and didn't care to try. "But I think you'd do quite well... although you'd probably spoil them dreadfully."

"Just like my mother, yes. I've been warned about that." Draco smiled fondly. "She's going to be even worse. Once she gets over feeling horribly old because she's a grandmother, she'll bury them up to their necks in gifts and then stuff them with sweets until they're spherical."

"It could be worse. Mine are already suggesting that when I finish my exams I really should get Martin involved in a Baby Yoga class, and start playing classical music to him to help expand his little mind." Hermione shook her head at Draco's bewildered look. "They're Muggle things, never mind. But I really don't think he's going to benefit from any classes until he learns to roll over on his own, at least."

"No, neither do I." Draco touched Martin's fist again, and Martin's eyes blinked open. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake him..."

"It's all right... he drifts in and out a lot. He'll be off again in a minute." Hermione leaned over to gather her son up in her arms. "Would you like to hold him?"

Draco looked down at his maimed arm and winced. "I'm not sure I could."

"Of course you can. Sit down on that chair." Draco sat, and Hermione dropped a large pillow on his lap. "This is how children do it - he's small enough that I think you could manage quite well, but this will be easier for a first attempt." She settled Martin on the pillow, resting against Draco's chest, and curled Draco's intact arm around him. "There."

Draco looked down at Martin with a startled expression. "Oh..." he said very quietly, cuddling the baby tentatively. Martin looked at him with interest, waving his fists aimlessly, and Draco swallowed hard. Hermione was startled to realise that he almost looked ready to burst into tears. "Hello," he whispered. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Martin made the little chirping noise that Hermione thought meant 'oh, look, the big face in the sky makes noises', and Draco hugged him gently. "It's not going to be easy for you," Draco observed, clearing his throat quietly. Hermione pretended not to notice. "Trying to raise him alone, I mean."

"No, it's not. But lots of women do it. Men, too, sometimes. Being a single parent is hard, but it's not fighting Voldemort. It's... doable." Hermione smiled, trying to look optimistic. "And I'll have help from my family."

Draco nodded, looking up and meeting her eyes with an odd, unreadable expression. "If there's ever anything I can do," he said softly. "Anything at all. You have only to ask."

"Thank you." Hermione nodded, and Draco looked down at Martin again. He looked sad and sort of yearning, as if he was looking at something he wanted desperately and couldn't have. He'd talked about having children, so it wasn't that he couldn't, and anyway magic could do a lot for infertility, so why...

Oh. Hermione bit her lip, realizing belatedly what it must be. Draco, like Severus, was a former Death Eater. He probably thought he shouldn't have children, because they'd be tainted by association; or maybe he thought nobody would ever want to have children with him, for that reason. And holding Martin and thinking he might never have that himself... She perched on the arm of the other chair, determined to let Draco have as long as he wanted with the baby.

It was a long time before Draco looked up, and gave her a wry little smile. "Thank you for being so patient. I've never actually held a baby before. It's been... nice."

"You're welcome." Hermione accepted the return of her son, cuddling him protectively. "And you are welcome, any time. I'm... we're friends, now, aren't we?"

"Yes. We're friends now." He rested a hand on her shoulder, looking into her eyes for a long moment. "Thank you, Hermione."

He went away, and Hermione found herself crying quietly as she rocked her son. There had been something inexplicably tragic in the way Draco had looked at her before he left, and she didn't know what to do to make it better, or even if it could be made better.

When she finally remembered his gift and opened it, she found a pretty enamelled music-box that played a chiming lullaby.

Severus scrawled a 'D' on a fifth-year essay, but his heart wasn't really in it. He wanted to be down in his office with Hermione and a chessboard. And Martin. Instead, Poppy had coaxed him into working at her desk in the hospital wing, so he could keep an eye on Potter while she was gone. There was no telling where he might wander off to if he woke up in his current state of happy intoxication, and Severus was the only person besides herself who Poppy trusted to choose what potion to give him next.

He heard a rustle and looked up. Potter was sitting up in bed, pushing his glasses onto his face. That done, he looked around with a vague expression that really was rather amusing. He looked at the walls, the candles, the ceiling, Severus, the floor, his own feet, Severus, the ceiling again, and then he frowned. "Where's Madam Pomfrey?" he asked. For once, the boy didn't sound unpleasant or accusing when he spoke to Severus... just mildly curious.

"She's at St Mungo's with Miss Quirke." Severus found that he'd lost a lot of his own usual edge, as well. It was somehow more difficult to unleash his habitual vitriol on Potter when he was sitting there in his mauve pyjamas, blinking owlishly and looking as stoned as he obviously felt. "She asked me to watch you until she could return, just in case you took it into your head to wander off."

"I won't wander off." Potter lifted up his blanket and peered under it. "I mean, I can see that my knees are right here, but they don't feel like they're here. I shouldn't try going anywhere without them."

"No. That probably wouldn't be wise." Severus stifled a snicker. He really should hang about at the next Order gathering for longer than his usual brief appearance, just to see if Potter was as funny when drunk as he was when otherwise intoxicated.

"No, I didn't think so." Potter tucked his blanket back around him. "So why'd Quirke go to St Mungo's?"

"She attempted to poison herself after she was apprehended. She is out of danger, but her mental state is precarious and she will require constant supervision for some time." If he hadn't had his antidote kit actually in his pocket thanks to his dash to rescue Potter from his own stupid heroics - again - the girl might have succeeded. He had been relieved when Poppy had insisted on taking her to St Mungo's - if she'd wound up in Auror hands, she wouldn't have survived the week.

Potter blinked, appearing to be making some effort to think that all the way through. "Oh." More seemingly difficult thought. "Did she say why she was trying to kill me?"

"Yes. Shorn of adolescent dramatics, it was simple enough." Severus frowned at the parchment in front of him without really seeing it. The story was, unfortunately, not an uncommon one on either side. "Her family had served the Dark Lord as part of his spy network. Both her parents were pressed into active service for the final battle, when his forces became depleted, and were killed almost immediately. Her older sister, her only other immediate family, died when the Aurors stormed the house where the families of the Death Eaters were sheltered." He hadn't known that the parents had died, but Aurelia Quirke had fallen only a few feet from Gregory Goyle. He'd remembered the girl, and been grieved to see that shining potential sprawled empty-eyed on a soot-stained floor.

Potter winced. "Oh. I see." He sighed deeply. "Wow. I wasn't really expecting her to have a good reason. I mean, I thought it'd be something less... reasonable. You know?"

Severus turned his chair, fully facing the boy for the first time. "Nor did I expect you to acknowledge the validity of her reasoning." In his experience, Harry Potter's world was defined into two sides - his, the side of good, and evil, which was everyone who disagreed with or opposed him. Severus would have been willing to bet good money, until now, that the boy was incapable of thinking that anyone who was 'against' him was anything other than fundamentally evil.

Potter shrugged. "Well, that's why I killed Voldemort," he pointed out. "And I thought it was a pretty damn good reason. Of course, he killed my mum and dad personally, and I didn't actually kill Quirke's parents... I mean, I don't think I did. There was a lot of fighting, I suppose I could have hit them by mistake or something. But it's sort of fundamentally the same, isn't it?"

It was, of course. But Severus never would have expected him to see it. "Yes, it is. Fundamentally." He looked Potter over, noting the slight tilt to the left and the vague smile. "You're completely off your face, aren't you?"

Potter grinned. "I am not. I'm just feeling... sort of relaxed about everything. It all makes so much sense. You know?"

Ah. A secrets-of-the-universe type. Those were always entertaining. "If I'd known that poisoning you was the way to render you pleasantly reasonable, I'd have done it years ago." He was a little startled, then, to realise that he'd actually said that aloud.

Potter clearly found the statement highly amusing. "Well, it's not your fault," he said solemnly, when the giggling fit had passed. "You did try. People just kept interrupting you."

"Yes, I did try. You don't usually find the thought amusing, though." Potter was still smiling, and it made him look less like his father. The same features, still, but James Potter's smile had always been a little one-sided - charming, he'd heard it called, although he'd always thought it looked insincere. That wide, unselfconscious grin was all Lily, and it brightened her son's eyes the way it had hers.

"No. But it seems funny now. You could have done it any time you wanted, really, but you only really tried in class where nothing bad would really happen to me." Potter shrugged. "Hermione kept telling me that, but I didn't pay attention because I don't like you."

"In vino veritas," Severus murmured. "And in other forms of intoxication too, apparently. I am well aware that you don't like me, Mr Potter. Our mutual dislike is one of the few things we have in common."

"Yeah." Potter nodded thoughtfully. "You started it, though. So I don't know why Hermione keeps telling me to be nicer to you. She should tell you."

"Hermione tells you to be nicer to me, does she?" He'd wondered what she told Potter about him, about the time they'd spent together. It warmed him, just a little, to know that she'd spoken in his defence.

"Yes." Potter scowled, looking away. "She used to. Now all she talks about is the baby. She doesn't pay attention to anyone else anymore."

Interesting. While Potter was feeling so communicative, he should find out more. "New mothers generally do, or so I am told."

"It's not fair." Potter actually pouted, looking even younger than usual. "She never pays any attention to me anymore. She's always fussing over him."

Severus had to force his eyebrows back down as they attempted to climb into his hairline. Potter was jealous. Of the baby. He hadn't anticipated that - probably nobody had. Perhaps even Potter himself didn't realise it. "Well, he is her son. It's only natural that she should put him first."

Potter sighed deeply, looking forlorn. "She likes him more than me," he said childishly, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. "Everyone has someone else except me."

It had never occurred to Severus that the boy might be lonely. He was always being fussed over by so many people, pandered to and fawned over... "There was a student in Bill Weasley's year at school," he said slowly. "Her parents had died when she was very young - not as young as you were, but young enough that she didn't remember them very well. She was brought up by her sister, who was much older. When she was in her third year, she started behaving... oddly."

"Really?" His pouting forgotten, Potter seemed absorbed in the story. "Why? What happened?"

"She had always been quiet. Suddenly she started getting into fights, sulking, that sort of thing. It took Pomona - she was a Hufflepuff - some time to work out what was wrong. Her sister had married when she was a first-year, and the girl had seemed quite happy about it at the time. But in her third year, the sister had a baby, and the girl was jealous."

Harry nodded slowly. "Because the baby was the sister's real baby. Being a sister isn't the same. She knew the baby was more important."

"Precisely. She no longer came first with her sister - or, as she saw it, with anyone." Severus had heard the story in the staff-room, and had pretended not to be at all interested at the time. He had, however, been slightly less hard on the girl for a while. "She would, no doubt, have been delighted to be an aunt had her parents still been alive."

"But her sister was all she had." Potter looked thoughtful, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Hermione's sort of like that, for me," he said, clearly not expecting Severus to be able to make the connection on his own. "I mean, she's not my sister, and she didn't bring me up. But she's always looked after me. She's older than me, you know."

"By nearly a year." And several decades worth of maturity.

"Yeah. And she tries to keep me out of trouble. She always has." Potter sighed. "She's... always put me first, you know? Ron's family are more important to him than me, and they should be, really. And Ginny, too. And Mrs Weasley tries to look out for me, but she has seven real children of her own, and they do come first. And Professor Dumbledore had the whole wizarding world to worry about, and everything. Except for Sirius, Hermione is the only person who's always seemed to put me first... she even cut visits to her parents short so she could keep an eye on me because she thinks I'm stupid and I'll get into trouble if she doesn't watch me. And now she's got a real baby of her own and I'm not as important to her." He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "I never really thought about it like that before."

Severus nodded slowly, feeling rather foolish. He'd always simply assumed that Hermione had followed Potter around for the same reasons Weasley did - and now that he thought about it, he'd never really known what those were, either. Harry looked like James, and he'd assumed that the boy had attracted sycophants and trouble-makers in the same way his father had. But of course little girls did get ridiculously maternal at times, especially the fussy, managing ones like Hermione Granger. The much younger, orphaned Harry Potter must have been irresistible. "She's very like your mother, you know," he said abruptly, uncomfortable with the feeling that he owed Potter some sort of apology.

"Hermione is? Really?" Potter brightened suddenly. "I didn't know that."

"Oh, yes. Very much so. Stubborn, brave, clever..." Severus grinned just a little. "Shrill."

Potter blinked. "My mum was shrill?"

"She could have out-shrieked a harpy. Especially during a Quidditch match. She always got terribly over-excited at the Quidditch and screamed herself hoarse."

Potter hugged his knees, looking down at his feet. "I didn't know that. I don't know much about her. Mostly Remus and Sirius just talked about my dad."

"Did you ever ask about your mother?"

"No." Potter shrugged. "I just... I don't know. It's harder to talk about her."

Like every other adolescent boy in creation, apparently, the great Harry Potter got embarrassed over being fond of his mother. "She was pretty, of course, and popular. Hermione isn't. But otherwise they were very much alike. Very bossy. Very kind-hearted, underneath the fussing. Convinced that they're always right - and usually being right, which makes it all the more irritating."

Potter smiled. "It does, doesn't it? It's nice, though, underneath. What else?"

"I didn't know Lily Evans well, you understand," Severus warned him. "I speak purely from observation. But she was as keen on homework as Hermione is, everyone knew that. She used to hit people with her pencil-case for disrupting classes. Once, when the pencil-case wasn't working, she threw an inkwell at your father and hit him on the ear. It was purple for a week."

Potter laughed. "He mucked around a lot in classes, didn't he?"

"Constantly. Mostly to get your mother's attention - he seemed to think that Lily Evans throwing things and swearing at him was better than Lily Evans unaware of his existence." Like most adolescent boys, Potter had been a total idiot when it came to girls. Severus hadn't exactly been a juvenile Lothario himself, but he'd at least worked out that annoying them wasn't a good start.

"Even Sirius said he was a total idiot when Mum was around." Potter nodded, and sighed a little. "I wish I remembered her. But... thanks. For telling me she was like Hermione. I sort of know how to imagine her now."

"I'm surprised Lupin never mentioned it." Of course, Lupin had never gotten along well with Lily. She'd been too bossy and strong-minded for the were-doormat's taste. "There's no physical resemblance, of course, but anyone who knew Lily Evans even in passing should be able to see the likeness in other respects."

"I never asked, really." Potter frowned, and gave Severus a rather accusing look. "And Hermione is too pretty."

Severus blinked. He hadn't expected that. "Do you think so?"

"She is. Especially when she smiles. She's not as beautiful as my mum was, but she is pretty." For the first time, Potter actually managed to sound very firm, despite his befuddled state. "So don't you say she isn't, because she is."

"Very well." The boy was full of surprises, this evening.

Potter yawned. "Can I have some more of that yellow potion? I think I should go back to sleep. I want to go talk to Hermione, and I can't do that at night."

"You will go nowhere until you are reacquainted with your knees." Severus poured the potion.

"Yeah, I know." Potter drank the potion and yawned again, pulling his glasses off. "But I think Hermione's been worried about me not liking Martin, 'cause I'm supposed to be his godfather and everything. I really should explain everything to her, now that I've got it all worked out."

"You're going to be his what?" All the self-control learned in years of spying couldn't keep that shocked exclamation back. Potter was already asleep, looking younger than ever and annoyingly serene.

Of all the people Hermione could have asked! What had she been thinking? Potter might be resigned to Martin's presence now, but when he found out Martin's true parentage he would...

If he found out.

Of course. Hermione had never expected Potter to find out, that was why she had asked him. She'd believed Severus when he'd said he didn't want anything to do with raising his son, and was taking steps to ensure that she could manage without him.

It was all very sensible. Just what he should have expected.

Severus pried an eye open and looked at the clock. Five-thirty in the morning. Four and a half luxurious hours of sleep between crawling into bed after Poppy had finally come back to relieve him, and the faint whistle that had just woken him.

He slid out of bed, careful not to jostle Akilah too much. The Kneazle opened her eyes briefly, gave him a disdainful look, and rolled over into the warm spot he'd left on the sheet. Pulling on his dressing gown, Severus stalked over to the door into his sitting room and yanked it open. "Draco, what are you doing here at this ungodly hour?"

"Making tea." Draco looked awful - even paler than usual, and with dark circles under his eyes. "I couldn't sleep."

"That's no reason to wake me up." Severus resigned himself to wakefulness and conjured a second teapot for his black Ceylon. Delicate blends did nothing for him first thing in the morning. "What is it? You look like death warmed over."

"I went to see Hermione yesterday," Draco said, filling his mug with a particularly flowery-smelling tea. "She let me hold the baby."

"That was stupid." Severus knew from experience that it was stupid. He had held Martin only once, and had come within a hair of begging Hermione to let him take care of both of them forever. And unlike Draco, he didn't particularly like babies.

"I know." Draco sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "I just... I don't know. I love her. Even knowing she doesn't love me, I can't just... stop feeling it."

Severus nodded, carefully schooling his own expression to show only weariness and understanding. "It tends not to go away, once present."

"Yeah." Draco added milk to his tea and sipped it. "And this is going to be so hard for her. Trying to take care of a baby while supporting them both - and I could help, I could make it all easy for her if she'd let me."

"You would ride in like a knight on a white horse and carry her off to luxury and freedom from care?" Severus frowned, swirling his own pot absently. He could do no such thing for her... he wasn't penniless, but he would be shortly if he wasn't working, and he could never in a dozen lifetimes command the kind of wealth and luxury that Draco could shower on her and on Martin.

"Except she doesn't want me to." Draco exhaled sharply, in what was almost a laugh. "Why am I doing this to myself? I knew it was hopeless right from the start, or I would have if I'd been thinking clearly. As soon as I found out about Martin, I should have known."

"Should have known what?" Severus asked sharply. He should never have let his guard down around the boy, he surely suspected...

Draco looked up from his contemplation of his tea, grey eyes sharp as they met black. "That someone else had taken her heart first."

Severus glared. "There is nothing between us, and never has been," he said sharply. "An error in judgement caused by too much mead, that is all."

"And if she hadn't thought it was an... error in judgement? Would you want her, if she cared for you?"

Severus looked away. Yes. Oh, yes. "No."

Seconds ticked by silently, then Draco exhale-laughed again. "I meant Martin. I should have known that, having decided to have the child, she would be devoted to him to the exclusion of all else."

Severus looked up, to find Draco watching him with unreadable eyes and a faint, sardonic smile. "Sometimes you remind me very much of your father."

"Sometimes I remind myself of him," Draco said, looking away in turn and setting his mug down. "I should go."

"Draco..." Severus already regretted the hurtful words.

"It's all right. I'm just... cranky. Lack of sleep, I suppose." Draco mustered up a half-convincing smile. "Same for you?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll go." Draco walked to the door, and then he turned, leaning against it. "Severus... when the year's over, and you get a couple of months away from the dunderheads, let's go somewhere. Travel for fun, instead of fleeing from everyone like we did before."

Taken aback by the sudden change of tack, Severus considered that suggestion. "Travel to where?"

"I don't know. Somewhere quiet. A little village in the mountains, somewhere where they've never heard of Voldemort. Where we can just be away from it all for a while."

Severus nodded slowly. "That sounds... tempting." He would have to leave the school, when Hermione was gone - memories of her filled every room, now, from his office to his classroom to the hospital wing. Travelling with Draco again would be far better than being alone. "Somewhere in Switzerland, maybe."

Draco laughed. "I should have known you'd want to go there. All those rare herbs and flowers."

"And quiet."

"Yes. And quiet." Draco rubbed his hand over his face again. "I could use some quiet."