CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

What do you read?

-Hamlet, William Shakespeare

"Isn't that your uncle?" Charlotte Montague held up the Daily Prophet, showing Delphini the picture on the front page. "The caption says 'Hogwarts Board of Governors' Chair Lucius Malfoy Twice Punches Former Hogwarts Headmaster and War Hero Severus Snape in Hogsmeade on Thursday Afternoon'!"

"Severus Snape?" Delphini's stomach flip-flopped. It was breakfast time on Friday. She was, of course, dining in the Great Hall, quite possibly in the very spot her mother had been murdered by Molly Weasley. She'd so far been spending the meal shooting daggers with her eyes at the back of Victoire Weasley's head. She tore her eyes from the girl's waist-length platinum hair and focused on the paper in front of her. Over and over again she watched as her (secret) father punched her uncle, only to receive two punches in return, while her aunt, that Granger Mud... er... Muggle-born, and her three children were watching. "What happened?"

"Don't know! The article has lots of nonsense details we already know, how Snape was a double-agent turned recluse and how your uncle went to Azkaban for being a Death Eater 'but has dedicated himself to restitution in the decade since,' but nothing about why they were fighting except maybe because they used to be friends until Snape betrayed You-Know-Who. See?" Charlotte passed the paper to Delphini, who read the article, but it offered no clues beyond what the other girl had already revealed, though it did erroneously identify the youngest Granger offspring as Delphini's cousin's son, Scorpius.

"Weird..." Delphini handed the paper back to Charlotte and returned to her porridge, trying to act like this news didn't matter to her at all... but it did. Though she had absolutely no reason to think so, she couldn't help wondering if the fight between her uncle and her father had been about her.

-0-0-0-

"You've made the Daily Prophet," said Hermione, passing the paper to Severus on Friday morning. She and the children had stayed over at his home again, but only after she made it clear to them (and to Severus) that they would be returning home to the London flat over the weekend "So as not to overstay our welcome."

"Do I want to see?" Severus set down his coffee beside his breakfast plate. He had done this cooking this morning: black pudding, toast, baked beans, and eggs. Helena refused the black pudding (Hermione insisted the girl try a bite of the blood sausage before declaring she hated it), Henry wanted nothing but baked beans and Chocolate Frogs (Hermione served him eggs and vetoed the Frogs), and Hero was making a mess of her toast (Hermione kept the rest of the toddler's food out of her reach, giving only a little at a time).

"The good news is, they got your punch in the picture. But the bad news is, Lucius landed his better." She slid the paper across the table to him. He sighed upon sight of the black and white moving photograph which did indeed show him punching first, blackening Malfoy's eye, only to get it back two-fold, as Lucius hit him in the nose and stomach. To the corner of the frame, Hermione looked shocked and Narcissa annoyed. Even the children had made in into the shot.

"Excellent," said Severus dryly. "Now all the wizarding world knows I am indeed alive and well and not at all mentally-infested with Wrackspurts."

"I'm glad you're amused," said Hermione. She flipped the paper over to keep curious Helena, who was craning her neck across the table, from seeing the image.

"Pofessah hit the bad man!" shouted Henry, up on his knees in his chair. He punched the air as if fighting an invisible monster. "Bam! Bam! Bam! Pofessah wins!"

"Henry! Fighting is no way to solve our problems," Hermione chastised. "We use our words, not our hands."

"Pofessah use hands," argued Henry. "Fuck words!"

"Henry!" Hermione slapped the table, shaking her coffee cup. "What have I told you about that word?"

"Henry," said Severus, using what he hoped was a firm but not too intimidating tone. "What I did yesterday was wrong. I lost my head. Your mother is correct. When you have a... a disagreement... with someone else, you use your words. But not bad words. Appropriate words. No fists. No punches. No f-word. Understand, young man?"

Henry's face fell. He settled back on his bottom on the chair, staring at his plate, and did not speak, his little lower lip trembling. Severus immediately felt guilty – though it was for all the wrong reasons, he had momentarily been the boy's hero, and he wanted that back. Thus he waved his wand, summoning over something he knew would return the smile to the boy's face.

"Chocwat Fwog!" shouted Henry, eagerly taking it.

"Severus Snape!" Now he was on the receiving end of Hermione's scolding. "You cannot reprimand the boy then hand him candy! Besides, he hasn't finished his breakfast."

"I finish," said Henry, pushing away his plate. He held the Frog back out toward Severus, grinning. "Open?"

-0-0-0-

"Well, you made the Daily Prophet's front fucking page, you great twat." Narcissa slapped Lucius in the chest with the newspaper as he prepared to take his seat at the dining room table for breakfast. "Are you bloody proud of yourself?"

"Do you have to use those words?" asked Lucius derisively. "Fucking? Twat? Bloody? You sound like you should be working on a dock somewhere, or selling your wares in a rundown pub."

"You're the one all over the news for having roughed up an injured war hero, and you're lecturing me about my conduct? At least I'm using these words in the privacy of our own home and not in Hogsmeade, surrounded by reporters."

"We were not 'surrounded by reporters.'" Lucius sat and rubbed his temples, elbows resting on the table, wishing he had a hangover solution on hand. "Let me see the paper."

He looked it over, first the picture, then the article, which he merely skimmed.

"Look," said Narcissa, pointing to the corner of the frame. "They even managed to get your bastard child in the frame. They wrongfully identified her as..."

"'Scorpius Malfoy, grandson of Lucius and Narcissa (Black) Malfoy, son of Draco and Astoria (Greengrass) Malfoy.' Lovely. Has Draco seen this?"

"How should I know? He hasn't come down yet. I'm certain Delphini has, though, and she'll know straight away that girl isn't Scorpius. What do you reckon she'll think?"

"I don't much care what your niece thinks, frankly. I'm more concerned with the reaction of the Hogwarts Board of Governors." It suddenly dawned on him that this would look terrible in front of the Ministry, should he attempt to take custody of the child away from her mother. "Oh, fuck."

"Such language, Lucius! Shouldn't you be working on a dock or selling yourself in a pub with a mouth like that?"

"You're awfully bold this morning, for a self-proclaimed 'battered wife.'" During an argument upon returning from Hogsmeade the previous afternoon, Narcissa had lit into Lucius about his 'anger issues' and 'lack of self-control,' and he'd responded by grabbing her roughly by the arm and threatening to show her what true anger looks like, to which she'd replied, 'Trust me, as a battered wife, I know what true anger looks like.' This led, not to the increasingly damaging physical violence she'd come to expect from him over the last twelve or so years, but to the release of her arm and retreat into his own bedroom, where he'd spent the night getting pissed and wondering when and how his perfect life had gone so very wrong.

"If you were afraid of me, Narcissa, you wouldn't purposely make me angry."

"If you could get angry without hitting me..." she began, but he cut her off.

"You bring it on yourself, witch."

She shook her head. "Someday, Lucius, I will reach the end of my rope, so to speak, and I'll leave. I'll leave you and you'll be all alone, because no other pureblood, dignified, reasonably attractive, self-respecting woman would be willing to put up with you. I swear, I'll do it."

"You've been saying that for over a decade, Mother. If you meant it, you'd have gone already."

Narcissa cringed and Lucius sighed, as they turned to spot Draco entering the dining room, Scorpius in his arms. Narcissa hated for her son or grandson to witness their fights, whether verbal or physical.

The young man kissed his mother good morning, placed the toddler in his seat, and nodded at his father. "Astoria is not feeling up to eating this morning. She insisted Scorpius and I come down anyway. No sense in all of us going hungry. I'll have one of the elves bring her up a croissant and some fruit in an hour or so, maybe tea or pumpkin juice. She needs to keep her strength up."

"Nana!" said Scorpius, reaching out toward Narcissa. She lifted him from the seat on which Draco had just placed him, kissed his cheeks, and snuggled him. He giggled delightedly.

"Before either of you ask, yes, I saw the Prophet this morning. Father, what were you thinking? You bloodied the nose of a war hero who's famously still in recovery from his near-fatal injuries, in front of three children and a dozen shoppers! None of whom happened to be my son, contrary to the belief of that reporter."

"That's Hermione Granger's youngest," said Narcissa, tapping her mug with her wand to warm up her tea. "A girl, Hero. Over a year old, but under two. Cute, isn't she? Odd that they assumed she was Scorpius, though. Must be the hair. And the eyes. And the nose. And the..."

"Yes, well," Draco interjected. He glanced at his father. "I won't deny the resemblance to my son. Or to me at that age. I don't suppose her ex-husband had white-blond hair and..." He picked up the paper to re-read the description of the child, though he knew quite well what it said. "And steel grey eyes?"

"I don't suppose he did," said Narcissa coolly. She returned Scorpius to his own seat.

"No comment, Father?"

"What do you want me to say, Draco?" asked Lucius. He snapped his fingers, annoyed that the house-elf still hadn't come to take their breakfast order. "It was a one-time lapse in judgment, I assure you."

Narcissa, unable to help herself, sniggered at this. "You mean one time with her specifically, not one time in all the years since we've been married, correct?"

"Narcissa..." said Lucius in a warning tone. Before he could go on, Draco spoke again, not trying to conceal the contempt in his voice.

"For all I know, you've got blond-haired, grey-eyed illegitimate children scattered all over Europe, Father. Growing up, I always wanted a sibling. I never considered I might have one. Or more. If people find out about this, how will it look? I have worked countless hours, given away a considerable amount of gold, and volunteered my time, time I could be spending with my wife and son, all in an attempt to restore our family name, to keep it from being the mud it was worth after the Final Battle, and this is how you've spent your time? Fathering a child with a member of the Golden Trio? A woman less than half your age? What was she thinking? More importantly, what were you thinking?!"

"Draco, darling," said Narcissa, reaching across the table to pat his arm. "I had no idea you'd be so upset about this. You're more bothered by your father's indiscretion than by his penchant for beating me. I'm shocked to learn I raised a son with such misplaced priorities."

"You've chosen to remain married to a man who beats you, Mother," said Draco, unwilling to let her manipulate how he should feel about the situation. "You've spent a dozen years threatening to leave but we all know you won't, no matter how bad it gets, and that's your choice. I'm past trying to reason with you, either of you. But this baby? This little girl, no older than Scorpius? What choices does she have? She didn't ask to be born to... him."

"I cannot discern whether you mean to insult me more as a husband, or as a father, Draco," said Lucius, his voice silky and smooth and almost-bored, as if discussing business or the weather.

"A bit of both, I suppose, Father."

"You've never forgiven me for having failed at the Ministry, have you, son?"

"Since then, Father, you've done so many equally unforgivable things, the fiasco at the Ministry and all that resulted hardly register anymore."

"Pity," said Lucius. He snapped again for the elf. "I was once your hero."

"That was before your actions sent you to prison and nearly made me a murderer, before I spent two years wondering whether the Dark Lord would kill me or Mother first as punishment for your failings, and before I started to worry that you might actually be the one to end up killing Mother. That's before I knew who you were, and, more importantly, before I knew who I wanted to be."

"You wanted to be me," Lucius pointed out. "Remember?"

"I have no desire to someday beat my wife to death as I assume you do. You are cruel, and she's complacent."

"Don't let's be melodramatic, Draco!" said Narcissa. "No one is getting beaten to death."

"I'm simply saying, the first fourteen years of my life have had little in common with the last fourteen. Of course..." Draco picked up the paper. "Substitute out Snape here for Arthur Weasley and Hogsmeade for Diagon Alley and I suppose not much has actually changed."

Finally, with a POP, a house-elf appeared. Her ears were drooping, her eyes were puffy, her nose was running, and it was clear she was quite ill. She bowed low and apologized for her tardiness, knowing being sick would get her punished.

"You are having breakfast?" she asked, her voice high and squeaky and stuffed up.

"No," said Draco. He stood, lifted Scorpius, and shot a look of disgust at his parents before heading toward the exit. "I've lost my appetite."

"Children," said Narcissa dismissively, rolling her eyes. "They hit twenty-eight and they think they know everything."

-0-0-0-

After breakfast, Delphini's letter to Severus finally arrived, delivered by a fat, wheezy, tawny Hogwarts owl who reminded Severus of a winged Horace Slughorn.

"What does it say?" asked Hermione, peering over his shoulder nosily. He smiled.

"She's having fun, making friends, enjoying her classes... I don't see why Narcissa was worried. Perhaps she was simply looking for an excuse to go to Hogsmeade?"

"I told you!" said Hermione. She kissed his cheek. "Not even there a week and already settling in quite nicely. Aren't you glad you didn't rush up to the school and embarrass her in front of her new friends?"

"You were right," he said, folding the letter and placing it in his breast pocket. Delphini was doing fine. Better than fine. This was, to put it mildly, a relief.

-0-0-0-

He placed the last piece of Lucius' Malfoy's wand in a leather pouch, wrapped in another note, and tied it to the leg of the owl. Phase One of his plan was complete.

He'd nearly made a massive mistake the other day, grabbing the girl from the playground like that. He'd lost his head. It wouldn't happen again. He saw what happened last time he let impulse take control. It had lost him his hold on Malfoy, nearly lost him everything.

No, he had to remain patient. Rushing would gain him nothing and could cost him everything.

He opened the window and watched the bird fly out into the late afternoon air. His only regret was that he would not see the look on Narcissa Malfoy's face when she opened this one.

-0-0-0-

Hermione and the children did indeed return to their own home on Friday evening. Severus stayed for dinner, helped put the children to bed, then kissed his girlfriend (juvenile as it seemed, he liked mentally referring to her by that title rather than her name, as it was still new). He was prepared to return home promptly to sleep, but one kiss turned into another, and another, and another, and before they knew it they were having a quick shag on the couch, careful not to wake the little ones, since the flat provided much less of a barrier between them than the house did. He returned for dinner on Saturday and again on Sunday, then she brought the children back to Spinner's End with her on Monday, but, despite how much she wanted to, they did not stay over.

"Pwease stay?" asked Henry when it was time to say goodbye. "I want my woom at Pofessah house. I want my twains. I want Chocwat Fwogs. I want my Pofessah's bedtime stowy."

"I could tell you a story before you go," said Severus, also wishing to prolong their visit. He sat on the couch with Helena and Henry to either side of him and told them, from memory, an abridged child-friendly version of Shakespeare's King Lear, about a king who lived long ago with his three daughters, one of whom truly loved him, and two who only pretended to in order to suit their own means, and the mistake the king made by believing the two daughters who lied and not the one who refused to. When the tale was told, he received enthusiastic hugs from both children, which still felt a bit foreign to him, but not unwelcome, ticked Hero's tummy, and kissed Hermione carefully on the cheek.

The following day was Tuesday, the ninth of September, Hermione's twenty-ninth birthday. True to their word, Rolf and Luna were willing to babysit. They did so at her flat as Hermione figured there was a lot less trouble for the kids to get into there (plus Helena knew how to work the VCR) than at Severus' home. Silly as it seemed, considering she'd spent half the summer leaving the trio with a twelve-year-old, Hermione was nervous about releasing them to the care of the oddball Ravenclaw and her husband-to-be, but both Severus and the couple assured her there was nothing to worry about.

"I've never had children, obviously," said Luna, "But I raised a small flock of Golden Snidgets after Hogwarts and most of them survived to adulthood."

"Aren't they birds?" asked Hermione, suddenly looking uneasy again. "Wait, what do you mean most of them survived?"

"Time to go!" said Severus, steering her toward the door.

"Have a nice time!" called Rolf. Hermione turned back just in time to see Henry, a devilish grin on his face, swipe Rolf's wand from his pocket, but Helena, standing behind her brother, took it from his hand and returned it without the man being any the wiser. Severus hurried her away before she could see anything more.

They were dressed up, but not overly so. He was in a moss green button down Muggle shirt and black trousers, the most color she'd ever seen him in, while she wore a silky maroon blouse, black pencil skirt, and gold jewelry, and both had thrown on their fall coats, as it was a chilly evening. Hermione also wore a touch of eye-make up and a natural lip stain, with her hair down but magically tamed, and Severus' hair was pulled back into a low ponytail.

They walked with arms linked, which she liked.

"Do you realize we're representing our House colors?" she asked. "All you need is a touch of silver to complete the look."

"I could charm my shoes to make them silver," he said. "What do you think?"

"I think that would be hideous."

"Excellent." Ensuring no Muggles were watching, he pulled out his wand, pointing it toward his feet. She grabbed his wrist.

"Don't you dare!"

Smirking, he returned the wand to his coat pocket and again took her arm.

"Are we apparating to Poor Yorick's?"

"No. We're traveling like Muggles to a Muggle establishment that I hope you will enjoy. And if you don't enjoy it, well, I will, so at least the evening won't be a total loss. For me."

"You're an awful man," she said, but she was smiling. "Where is this Muggle place?"

"A football match," he said. Her jaw dropped as disappointment swept across her face, but she quickly forced the smile back, trying to hide it.

"I'm sure I'll enjoy it," she said, wondering if his natural skills as a Legilimens would reveal this to be a lie. He chuckled.

"No, you wouldn't. And that's not where we are headed."

"Oh, thank goodness."

"It's your birthday, Hermione, not mine. You shouldn't have to settle for something you wouldn't enjoy. If I were really planning to take you to see two teams of Muggles play football, that would be remarkably daft on my part, but rather than pretending to be happy, I'd prefer you tell me how you really feel."

"I really feel that I would absolutely hate spending my birthday – or, quite honestly, any other day – sitting in an uncomfortable seat surrounded by sports fanatics cheering for a bunch of grown men kicking a ball around. Quidditch is trying enough and that's, at least, played on broomsticks, which ups both the danger and the stakes significantly. Where are we really headed?"

"We are headed to the theatre, to the West End production of Hamlet. It's still in previews but one of my former students – one of the precious few who did not loathe me – is involved in the production and was therefore able to secure us tickets. But do not let that pressure you into pretending to enjoy it. If you'd rather not spend the start of your twenty-ninth year watching an incredibly long production about a man who spends a third of his time consulting the ghost of his dead father, a third of his time contemplating vengeance, and a third of his time being nasty to his mother for having married his uncle, I will completely understand and we shall do something else."

"Severus, I would love to accompany you to an incredibly long production of Hamlet at a Muggle theatre in the West End, though I am not certain he could divide his time in the ways you've listed because, as I recall, he also had time left over to torment his poor put-upon girlfriend, Ophelia, to the point of madness."

"Ah, that's right. How could I forget?"

They were, as he'd hoped, early in arriving to the theatre. Since they'd eaten dinner with the children, he asked if she wanted to grab a drink before the show, gesturing toward a nearby establishment. She said yes.

Though the place was more bar than restaurant, it was not the pub type – no drunken university students or sulky unsuccessful businessmen or lonely women hoping to find someone with whom to spend the night. It was mostly quiet couples, like them, at tiny round tables or on high stools with hard backs at the bar. The entire place was candlelit, giving it a magical impression most Muggle places lacked. They chose the last remaining round table over stools and ordered – a Kit's Coty Estate chardonnay for her, a Chivas Regal scotch for him.

"I know I tell you this regularly and I hope that doesn't make what I'm saying lose value, but you're beautiful," said Severus, looking at Hermione so discerningly, as if appraising a fine work of art, that she blushed.

"Thank you," she said. "You look handsome."

"I don't."

"You do. You always do. Especially when your hair is back like this, so I can better see your face."

"I wear my hair down to spare both you and the general public from having to look upon my face," he said, only half-joking.

"You have lovely eyes and a strong jaw and nice lips and I like the shape of your eyebrows," she said. "I even like your nose, and I know you hate your nose."

"I do indeed hate my nose." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Do you really like the shape of my eyebrows? What an odd compliment. I don't believe anyone has ever mentioned my eyebrows before – positively or negatively – and I'm not sure what to make of that."

"You have a nice natural arch. I pay for my arch. I get them waxed, the Muggle way. It hurts, but otherwise I would have one long fuzzy unshaped caterpillar stretching across my forehead."

"I would think you're beautiful even if you had one long fuzzy caterpillar stretching across your forehead. So... waxing them... what is that like?"

She described the process, he nodded, their drinks were delivered, they thanked the waitress, and then they stared at each other for several moments, wondering where to go from here. Finally, Severus said, "It's odd, isn't it? What happens when we go out, alone, on... on a date? We can talk for hours on your couch..."

"Or in your bed..."

"Or while brewing potions..."

"Or in the garden..."

"Or in my sitting room..."

"Or while neglecting the children on the playground..."

"I must say, we're improving," he said. "Last date, we talked extensively about the weather."

"Is eyebrow shape really an improvement?"

"I can't say. What do normal people typically discuss on dates?"

"Who knows?"

"Don't you? You've..." he cleared his throat. "You've been on more dates than I have. I'd been sleeping with Charity a year before we went out to dinner the first time, and as I recall, we spent the bulk of the time complaining about our students."

"Well, that's romantic."

"It was," Severus insisted. "As a Hufflepuff, she found my love of unfairly deducting House Points from Gryffindors utterly charming."

"Or she was just pretending to like whatever you like with the hope of getting you into bed later."

"I thought only men did that."

"Are you serious? I did that not an hour ago, pretending to be excited about football."

"Oh? I'd assumed you were trying not to hurt my feelings. Had I known you were actually trying to get me into bed I might have made a reservation at an inn instead of a theatre."

She rolled her eyes, but chuckled.

"So, what sorts of things did you do on dates?"

"It's hard to say. Ronald and I didn't exactly date. We spent time with Harry and Ginny, mostly. Once we were married... it didn't take long before one of us realized we didn't have much to talk about, so we went out all the time, mostly with other people, or to Quidditch matches, because that's what he liked – though I wasn't trying to get him into bed – or we spent time at the Burrow, where his parents live. With Reginald..." Her stomach contorted painfully. She'd loved every date with Reginald, so much so it still hurt to think about... not only because of what he'd done to her and how it had ended, but because it had ended, and thinking about him then, about the man she'd dated and fallen fast in love with, still had her heartbroken and confused. "Let's talk more about your relationship with Professor Burbage. Where did you go on holiday together?"

"Let's not spend your birthday, our second date, discussing my ex who was murdered after begging me to help her." His expression had darkened, as he was suddenly unable to get the image of her hovering above the Malfoy's dining room table out of his mind.

"I'm so sorry!" Hermione clapped a horrified hand over her mouth. Severus reached out, took her wrist, and gently pulled her hand down, holding it between both of us.

"Don't be sorry. I brought her up. Let's talk about something else though... How about... literature?"

She brightened. "Very well! What's the best book you've ever read, the one you could read a thousand times and never grow bored of?"

"It just so happens I read several books a thousand times over during my solitary convalescence," he said. "And though picking one favorite is not easy, I'd have to say..."

-0-0-0-

Long after curfew, Delphini sneaked out of Slytherin common room and all the way up to the Astronomy tower. She leaned on the opening of the window, letting the cool breeze blow back her uncombed hair, staring out of the dark grounds of Hogwarts castle.

Here, in this very tower, her father had used the Killing Curse to end the life of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, in part by request to save the old man his dignity, and in part to avoid the splintering of her cousin Draco's soul, to keep him from turning into a murderer... like her mother.

Delphini had been four months old in June, 1997. Her mother hadn't gone to Hogwarts that night. The Dark Lord had sent other followers. Her mother had stayed home, presumably with her, to nurse her, to care for her. To mother her.

"Why couldn't you stay home during the Final Battle, too?" Delphini asked into the wind. "Why couldn't you have cared enough to stay with me then?"

It occurred to her for the first time that, had her father succumbed to the snake's bite on that fateful night, she would've been made an orphan. She would have lost both of her parents in the same short span, parents who were fighting on opposite sides of a destructive, ugly war.

What if her aunt Narcissa had died then, too? Who would've taken care of her? Would she have been raised by Euphemia Rowle, a woman who hated her so much she barely fed her and regularly spanked her and called her a bad omen? After all, that's where she'd languished until finally Auntie returned to take her home, months after letting her stepfather decree she be sent there. Thankfully, Delphini had little memory of that place, save for the cry of the woman's ugly old bird, an Augury. She sniffled.

"He didn't even love you and you died for him. I loved you, I still love you, but you chose to die for him over living for me. Sometimes... sometimes, Mummy, I think I hate you!" Tears were forming. "And my father, he was ready to die for Harry Potter. If he'd known about me, would he have still been willing to die? Do I have two parents who would rather die for people who didn't love them than live for me?" She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. "Will he even write back?"

Delphini had lied in her letter to Severus. Save for the first sentence – "I was sorted into Slytherin," the letter was naught but lies.

"I love school."

"I'm making friends."

"My teachers like me."

"My classes are interesting."

"No one has mentioned my mother."

"I might want to stay over Christmas holiday!"

She wasn't sure why she lied to him. She'd been much more candid in her letter to Aunt Narcissa. Perhaps she wasn't ready to confide in him yet.

Or perhaps she was afraid he wouldn't like her much if he knew the truth.

"I hate school."

"I have no friends."

"My teachers ignore me."

"My classes are mostly dull."

"Everyone has mentioned my mother."

"I don't think I'll last until Christmas holiday."

She leaned further out the window, staring straight down, wondering if Dumbledore had been afraid to die.

In her head, she could hear the cry of the Augury.

-0-0-0-

Conversation flowed easily over wine and scotch and by the time Severus and Hermione headed, hand-in-hand, back to the theatre for the show, the initial awkwardness had dissipated.

The show was indeed long, but well directed, well acted, well lit, and well costumed. Aside from the fact that the man playing Polonius had a rather pronounced lisp that occasionally took them out of the moment, they hadn't a single complaint about the production.

They returned home to her flat and were amused to find Rolf and Luna the way they had Professor McGonagall the night of their first date: completely engrossed in an animated Disney movie.

"I have never seen this magic box before," said Luna dreamily. "It is like a book, with photographs, and music, and color, and though I haven't spotted a single Nargle or Wrackspurt or Crumple-horned Snorkack, it's undeniably fascinating!"

"I saw a movie in a cinema once," said Rolf, "But it had real people, not these... funny ones."

"It's a cartoon, drawn by artists," explained Hermione. "How were Helena, Henry, and Hero?"

"Who?" asked Luna distractedly, still staring at the screen over Hermione's shoulder.

"Why are they singing again?" asked Rolf, also staring. "They sing their speeches!"

"I thought I needed a job in order to pay my bills," said Hermione, glancing at Severus. "Instead I should've put an ad about my television in the Daily Prophet and charged purebloods money to come over and watch it!"

The movie ended finally, so Hermione waved her wand, shutting it off, which seemed to break Luna and Rolf from their trance. She and Severus thanked the couple again for babysitting and reaffirmed their promise to meet for lunch at the former Hog's Head on Sunday before Luna and Rolf were off to Greece.

Not half an hour later, with a silencing charm placed around the room and a ward on the bedroom door so the children could not exit without sounding an alarm, Hermione was on her back on the couch Severus transfigured into a bed. He was on top of her, thrusting, grunting, filling her, fucking her... making love to her... as she, over and over again, cried out his name.