Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me but my own OCs and imagination, and a DNA clone of Severus if the scientists can manage that so that I can have my very own Severus Snape.

By all that was revered by mankind, did the girl have any idea of how close he'd come to kissing her—to doing a hell lot more than kiss her? He'd been prepared for the game of seduction, the subtle play of words and the give-and-take of woman and man, ready to rescue her persona if need be. He had not been prepared for either the Veela of a witch Hermione had found to impersonate, nor the sudden confidence and wickedness she'd suddenly acquired.

Severus, having escorted "Milena" to the door, watched her Apparate to an unknown location to (he hoped) throw off the trail before Flooing or flying back to the Order and her safe house, and glared sufficiently at all the insipient panting men (and woman) back in the receiving room, had retreated to his quarters again. He was pacing the floor of his bedroom, the thwish thwish of his robes demonstrating just how agitated he was. Shit, Severus, stop acting like a hormonal dunderhead!

It had been a combination of that body and the realization that Hermione had really the ability to…act? Seem? Talk?—that way. That she did have a sensual, sexual side to her personality, that she had been able to reduce him to the last shreds of control with a few words and a flirt of those ludicrous gold-hued shoes that exposed more than it covered of her slim ankle and moonlit path of skin running up from there…

Severus groaned aloud. "Not her body, even," he reprimanded himself. "That's not even her own form. Just how doubly disgusted and hurt Hermione would be if she knew or guessed…both from the insult of my fantasizing about her in someone else's body?"

The last, spoken out loud, brought him back to his senses. For it wasn't Hermione's true appearance he had overreacted to. It wasn't Hermione's body that had taunted him with the unsatisfactory urges he now suppressed. The only evidence of Hermione in that was her formidable mind—and damned if he was going to disrespect what he held in importance above any merely physical fleeting beauty. He would suppress this absurd hormonal surge once and for all—for the good and overall happiness of all concerned!

Still, the way she'd instantly responded to his touch, pliable and warm to his palms, so trusting…

Severus swore, and threw himself onto the edge of his bed to begin meditating with ferocity. It looked as if he would have to manually force his mind to separate Milena from Hermione, a process that should have taken place just about automatically from long practice.

--break--

Hermione accosted Ginny the moment the girl stepped through the Floo. Heedless of Harry's and Ron's indignation and of Li's bemusement, she practically dragged the shorter girl to her room and ensured their privacy.

"So…what's got your cat birthing kittens, Hermione?" Ginny inquired in amusement, settling cross-legged on Hermione's bed. Even in her agitation, Hermione noticed that Ginny had definitely dressed up today—her robes were simple but skillfully transfigured (indeed Hermione would never have noticed the spellwork if she hadn't recognized the particular cut of the robes, which were Ginny's favorite "always look's good no matter what" outfit) into a shadowed forest green that complemented her pale coppery hair. She raised an appraising eyebrow at Ginny, teasingly and obnoxiously giving her the traditional boy's stare—traveling up and down. Ginny blushed but stuck her chin out and muttered, "Well I'm not above using my feminine charms to get Harry out of his funk, that's all."

Shaking her head at Ginny, Hermione plopped herself down on her bed across from Ginny. The springs squeaked a little as the mattress gave obligingly before her, and Hermione sighed. She still hadn't gotten around to figuring which spring was uttering the noise so she could fix it. "Two things, Ginny. First is a request slash demand. Second is some advice I need from you—you know, girl things. I just can't talk about it to any of the older Order members. Not even Hestia Jones, and she's really open. But she's older than me by at least a decade, and she's not my best girl friend." Well, if I could I'd talk to Sofi and Julia but that's another headache altogether…

"Why then, spill," Ginny grinned and leaned closer confidentially. "My lips are seal—Mother of Merlin!" She interrupted herself, jumping up in shock and tripping over herself in uncharacteristic clumsiness as she lunged for the side of the dresser where—oh. Where Hermione's gold stilettos still sprawled decadent and arrogantly gleaming, taunting her with their polished sheen. "Where in the seven hells did get the most gorgeous shoes I have ever seen?!"

"They're…uh, they're just transfigured, Ginny. They're just my house slippers a little glammed up with magic."

"No effing way! Why haven't you done this before? What was the occasion, cherie? How did you know what to transfigure them into? I've never seen shoes as sexy and showy as these around town." Ginny babbled excitedly, reverently picking up one gold heel and staring at it as if it were some sort of minor idol.

A little bemused, Hermione raised her eyebrow at Ginny but accompanied it with a lopsided grin. She'd forgotten that other girls actually worshipped these kinds of things. It was easier to forget when she was in the Magical realm, where everyone either wore plain draping robes or…well, plain draping robes. "One of my Muggle girl friends owns a pair like them. She doesn't wear them often, but when she does, she looks like a goddess. I didn't have time to find another design to transfigure my shoes into that I remembered well enough, and that would fit…the occasion. Which was a job and nothing more, which is one of the things I need to talk to you about, later."

Reluctantly, Ginny set the shoe down carefully, moving both sides to the best aesthetic arrangement she could think of, and then came back to plop down on Hermione's bed once more. "Damn, Hermione, I'd bet you a galleon that if you went into the business of designing shoes for the Wizarding world, you'd be richer than Harry and the Malfoys combined in no time. Why don't wizards and witches ever design decent shoes that don't look like they're meant for my old crotchety flabby aunt or some staid house-wife? Even Mum would love a pair of shoes like these, she's told me more than once that she wished some witch would take it into her head to design something flattering for the human body and not meant to cover it up. Say, can you find me a design and transfigure me a pair? For my birthday…or Harry's belated birthday?"

"I most certainly will not participate in your pursuit of Harry's, uh, innocence," Hermione uttered primly, pulling herself ramrod straight and looking down her nose at Ginny. Then she winked. "But I certainly will transfigure you a pair of torture devices if you want for your birthday. That's coming up, isn't it?"

"Yup, exactly six days." Ginny clapped her hands in elation. "You're the most wonderful friend ever!"

"That's great, Ginny. So, you'll do my favor right?"

Ginny immediately nodded vigorously, straight hair bouncing with the force. "Whatever you want, it's yours. Except Harry," she added as an afterthought.

"Ew, Gin, he's basically my brother!"

"Just joking, relax. Now, what's your favor?"

Hermione took a breath recollecting her thoughts before Gin had been distracted by the shoes, and then exploded, "You had better hope your feminine wiles or something works, because I am bloody sick of feeling like my stomach is a washing machine!"

At Ginny's confused look, Hermione waved her hand impatiently. "Muggle thing. To wash clothes—never mind. What I'm saying is that a stomachache for a couple days I can take. I'm Muggle-born. I've lived through the flu and food poisoning without the effective potions you have. I cannot deal with a stomachache on top of everything else, and not a stomachache I know would be gone in an instant if the asinine dolt called Harry Potter simply faced his own damn issues and grew up. I love that boy like a brother, Ginny, but I would willingly strangle him if that's what it took to beat the sense into him. He's learning how to defend himself and how to attack, to take preemptive strikes, to stay ahead of the enemy, and he's not acclimating it at all. I see it, Ron sees it, the damn Order sees it, but we can't do a bloody thing about it. He just nods his head, masters the spell or move, recites it back to us and performs it if he has to, and all the while looks at me and Hestia with some superior sort of distaste because we're violent and we aim to deliberately wound, maim, or kill rather than sending a simpering little Stunner—like the Death Eaters will really be subdued by that. Harry's becoming a pacifist and at the same time, he keeps harboring this stupid obsession with Bellatrix Lestrange, and he's avoiding the two opposites, which just exacerbates our queasiness, and I have important things I have to accomplish where the uncertainty of my stomach's reliability under stress is not particularly welcome and quite distracting."

Hermione took a deep breath. Ginny blinked once, and then slowly a smile began to creep over her petite face. "Why Hermione, who'd have ever thought you'd admit yourself human?"

"What?"

Ginny shrugged. "You've always been so perfect—always on top of things. Your grades are the highest in all your classes without you putting any effort into them but you do anyway. You respect all your teachers, even—well. Mum keeps saying how well-brought up and polite you are. You've always been able to keep the boys in check—I doubt either of them could manage to survive or fend for themselves if you weren't there to remind them about a coming exam or prod them into being responsible or at least thinking about consequences before acting impulsively. Not to mention you're quite beautiful too. It's just nice and a little unexpected to hear you ranting like any normal person and not being perfect all the time."

"Whatever gave you the impression I was perfect? I'm no where near what you seem to think I am, Ginny," Hermione frowned. "I get better grades because I work my tush off, and my Muggle school before I came here taught us good study habits that I use—I've noticed no one here seems to have any concept of managing time or organizing work or priorities—not a conscious knowledge of it anyway, its either instinctive or not there at all. Any of my politeness is thanks to my parents, and certainly I slip up all the time—you've never seen me telling my teacher that he was wrong and looking it up in an encyclopedia to prove it, which I did when I was ten. When I first arrived here, I was so bossy and talkative that Harry and Ron hated me, as did virtually everyone who knew me. The only reason they listen to me sometimes now is out of force of habit, or because I won't stop nagging until they do. And Ginny, I'm certainly not…beautiful. Nice looking, maybe. Pleasant enough. But I am certainly not like…" Not like Milena. "…not like you, or Lavender, or many of the girls out there."

Ginny grasped Hermione's hand impulsively. Even their hands when compared brought no comfort to the girl. Ginny's hands were thin and elegantly shaped, soft and naturally warm. Hermione's were small, there was that—and it was the only good thing she could find about them. They were callused with years of grasping pens, pencils, and quills, rough with use, and no amount of lotions had changed the texture of her hands. Even her mother had commented on the unnatural roughness of her skin in that particular area.

"Don't think that, Hermione! You're gorgeous, and you should never think that you're not!" Fiercely, Ginny continued, "You have the neatest ankles and daintiest feet I've ever seen—Merlin, you would be killer with those gold heels on! You've got the curves, and the day we went shopping early last summer and you tried on the really nice purple-black dress, I noticed that you have this sexy line dipping down your back that I wish I had. Your eyes are so changeable—one minute you've got this dreamy misty look, and the next they're bright and focused and intense. And your hair…"

"My hair is frizzy and dull brown," Hermione muttered.

Ginny shook her head stubbornly. "Your hair is voluptuous and it's caramel-coloured."

"I'm rather flattered, Ginevra—it's a good thing I know you like men, or I'd be backing away right about now," Hermione joked, a little uneasy with the vast compliments Ginny was bestowing on her.

"Oh, you—" Ginny swatted at Hermione's arm, and then settled back again. "So, beat Harry if I have to but make him grow up? Looks like I have my work—and wiles—cut out for me. What was the second thing you wanted to talk about?"

Hermione fidgeted a little nervously. Should I be talking to Ginny about this? She's not even in the Order!

Only because she's not of age yet, and they didn't need her as desperately as they did you, or else they did and didn't ask because she has an entire army in her family bent on keeping their little sister or only daughter safe. The Weasleys are no easy foe to content against!

Still, this is violating Order rules by breaking silence, even as little as I am planning.

But you need her support and advice. She's in the same generation and your friend.

I could always ask to talk to Tonks, or talk to Hestia or Danielle like I contemplated doing…

They're much older, and have been out of school for a while. They've already settled into a comfortable place with themselves and their sexuality.

They're in the Order.

But Ginny is the only one here in the Magical World I really feel comfortable with spilling all my secrets.

Hermione grimaced at her internal struggle. Oh Hermione, just get on with it already! Ginny was already starting to give her that you're holding out on me look, and Harry and Ron would be impatient for the long delay, not to mention her lessons with Li were supposed to be taking place right now and she was wasting his time very rudely.

"Um…so…I'm not supposed to tell you this," she began awkwardly.

Ginny pounced on her disclaimer. "Is this Order stuff or personal stuff?"

"Well, sort of both."

"Even better. I swear I won't tell a soul—not even the empty field. Your ass' ears won't get out," Ginny stated, giggling a little at the end.

Hermione eyed Ginny skeptically, but knew that Ginny wouldn't do what she said she wouldn't. Discretion, a tendency to be scarily omniscient, and an ability to be Slytherin in wit and word, not to mention thought, were her strengths. Possibly half-nurtured by the fact of living in a family of so many, where secrets were almost non-existent and privacy therefore cherished and the ability to read people extraordinarily well was a skill to develop in order to deal with so many siblings all the time. The Slytherin side Hermione guessed was half from having to outwit so many older siblings to stay on the top and not get squished or lost, and half from her unfortunate experience with Tom Riddle's diary…

"I didn't know you were in the Order. Your birthday's not till September," Ginny commented.

"Always sharp, aren't you? Yes, they made a special exception. And, well, they've already assigned me a job," Hermione confessed.

"Already? I thought they wouldn't let newbies near any sort of independent task!"

"Yeah, well…" Hermione shrugged, unwilling to tell Ginny that not only had she been inducted much earlier than this summer, but that she had, in much less time than it took most Order members, risen out of trainee status to official member. "I'm doing something top secret—not even Harry and Ron know what it is. Only Li and one or two really high up people I haven't met know the full details. Harry and Ron only know that I'm doing a favor for Li that relates to our lessons and research."

"It'll stay that way," Ginny promised, more seriously this time.

Hermione smiled gratefully, stretching a little and shifting position as she felt the first pricks of numbness in her limbs from staying too long in one position. "I'm meeting with someone who gives me information that I pass on to Li," she told Ginny quietly.

"You're a spy's contact?" Ginny exclaimed.

"Not really…well. Um. Don't assume." Hermione tried to discourage Ginny from guessing the rest. "I can't tell you anything much. Just that I collect information and pass it on, like part of a link in a chain of links."

"Cool," Ginny said, and the glint in her eyes told Hermione that Ginny wasn't going to give up the romantic idea of her being a spy's handler—which in fact, she was, but it would not do for Ginny to find out!

"Recently, the circumstances changed and I had to…use polyjuice to be able to meet with him."

"Him?"

"Yes, him," Hermione said irately. "No, I am not interested in any way, shape, or form in him, and no, he is not in me either. We're just…people working together," she concluded.

"Then why are you bringing this up and asking for advice—asking me for advice on girl things?" Ginny questioned cheekily.

"Merlin, Ginny, curiosity killed the cat you know," Hermione grumbled.

"And satisfaction brought it back," Ginny retorted, unfolding her legs to stretch them out as well.

"Not if this is your ninth life."

"Way past that already. I'm immortal," Ginny quipped cheerfully.

"Anyway," Hermione emphasized, unable to think up another retort, "anyway, this person that I borrowed hair from is…very attractive."

"Ah."

"He's usually the image of professionalism, but my unorthodox appearance threw him off," Hermione said gloomily. "He reacted like any guy would confronted with a gorgeous mug, and it was awful—knowing that he wouldn't be acting this way if not for the damn polyjuice."

"I see. And…between you two, not withstanding your body, you're…good friends?"

Hermione huffed out a breath, blowing some wisps of hair out of her eyes. "I would venture to say so, although as I said, it's strictly professional and for the Order."

"But he was a drooling dog when he saw you polyjuiced?"

"Not quite a drooling animal," Hermione muttered in defense of Severus. Honestly, Severus as a drooling beast—I'm not sure what would kill me first, the absurdity of it or Severus himself! "No, more like a polite but voraciously hungry guest who is trying to restrain himself out of politeness and manner's sake while grace is being said—um, Muggle religious tradition of blessing the food before eating each meal—while a feast is laid before him."

"Very poetic," Ginny murmured. "So, he looked as if he wanted to devour you?"

"No! Well…I don't know. Sometimes it looked like he wanted to…I don't know, I would sometimes startle an expression of something, but it was always gone too fast, and sometimes he'd be distracted by my shifting or something."

Thoughtfully, Ginny nibbled on the skin next to the nail of her thumb. "Hmm. Interesting…did you wear the shoes?"

"Yeah."

"Ah."

"I don't know how to make everything go back to normal!" Hermione wailed.

Ginny sympathetically spoke. "You can't use someone else's hair?"

"No, it's impossible."

"Then…" Ginny furrowed her brow. "It must be frustrating to have the guy start liking you because of someone else's appearance on you. I think you have three options here. One is to go with it completely and just have fun with the guy…?"

"No!" Hermione shouted, disgusted. "I'm not- he's not- it isn't- just, no!" First of all, it isn't me Severus is attracted to, it's Milena. Second, it's Severus! He's my mentor, and he'd never be interested in me as me at all. I may have wormed my way into friendship, but that's as far as we're getting.

"I didn't think you'd go for that option," Ginny confirmed. "Next option. You can pretend like nothing ever happened. Act as much as yourself as you can, even with the other girl's face on. Maybe the hormones and the awkwardness will wear off after a while."

Hermione had thought of that, but she regarded it with trepidation—how was she supposed to just keep meeting Severus like this, flaunting her body at the other Death Eaters, putting on an act for them, knowing Severus was struggling to control his own libido and she was testing him? The man would be miserable and his valued dignity and control would not allow him to let it pass unnoticed. Not to mention you enjoyed it far too much. You liked having all that attention positively turned on you as the object of desire for once, admit it. You liked when Severus touched you…oh gods…Hermione had blocked out the memory of Severus' hands on her cheek, on her back, on her neck, fierce in their gentility, fiery in their cool texture. She'd left in a whirl of fuzzy sensation, and when it had cleared enough for her to actually think, the entire episode had left Hermione both unsatisfactorily wanting in some way, and disgusted with herself at how fast she'd become a puddle in his hands. Not to mention the wrongness of the entire thing—he was her former professor, for goodness sakes—twenty years or so older than her, and a spy in a precarious position for whom she was wholly responsible for. In all the books and shows she'd read or watched, it had never been a good idea for the handler to fall in love with the spy, or vice versa. It only ended up in a lot of late night worrying and an emotional rollercoaster ride, and almost inevitably, heartbreak or death or both. Relationship? I shouldn't even be thinking that far, Hermione shrieked to herself. He's Severus Snape. I'm Hermione Granger. It just isn't, that's all. And if he heard your thoughts right now, he'd call you a right silly chit and threaten to remove you from your job right now because it's interfering with your effectiveness to the Order and to himself. He's not even attracted to you, he's attracted to the physical beauty of Milena—well, Faina. Same difference. He did apologize in advance for the playacting. It was just playacting, nothing to be ashamed of. Just like being in theatre and kissing someone onstage.

Resolved, Hermione tightened her lips. "I don't know, Ginny, it's a possibility but…it might not smooth out and the Order depends on us being clear-headed to be able to pass on the information impartially."

"Well then, you have the third option left," Ginny replied with a flourish. "You can confront him next time you see him and have a good chat with him, a long, honest talk to hammer out everything and resolve it to both of your likings."

"What? Ginny, I- I can't possibly…" Hermione stuttered, horrified and paralyzed with fear at the idea of facing Severus and talking about his hormonal reactions…to describe it as uncomfortable would be to say the least—Hermione could consider it almost suicidal!

"Of course you can. You faced so many things in your years at Hogwarts—surely you can have an embarrassing discussion with someone you consider a friend," Ginny teased.

"Ginny…"

"Well you wanted my advice. If I were you I'd choose the third option and get it all out into the open," Ginny stated matter-of-factly. "Either that or wear the purple dress I was talking about that you bought that you still haven't worn, and those sex-me-now shoes and jump him."

"Ginny!"

"Never mind," Ginny smirked, holding up her hands in surrender at Hermione's outrage. "Come on, Harry probably thinks you've murdered me and hidden my remains under your bed or something. Let's go beat some sense into that lackwit, shall we? I swear, I cannot comprehend how a boy so sexy has so little brains to grasp the concept of dealing with emotions."

--break--

"I'm pleased that you could make it, Lucius," Severus said smoothly to his guest. The blond aristocrat inclined his head graciously.

"I am very pleased to finally be able to view your new abode, Severus. You have done much to deserve this place, and it is quite exquisite."

"Thank you. Would you like a short tour?"

"I would be delighted."

The two men briefly visited each floor, conversing at length with the other Death Eaters inhabiting Prince Manor. Severus noted that Bellatrix looked put out when she saw Lucius, and that Lucius seemed even more superior than normal when he caught sight of Bella. Dolohov was particularly overjoyed to see Lucius again—they'd been particular friends in the past. The others were mainly indifferent, drifting away soon from Severus and Lucius, and Severus was careful to make sure that he directed their steps to the library to sit in the dark leather armchairs to talk rather than to his own quarters. Their footsteps here were muffled as they entered, the clack of shoes on the marble of the first floor changing to the padded thsh on the rich blue carpeting. Lucius immediately lit a cigar and the heavy-sweet scent was soon wafting among the staid books and assaulting Severus' nose. It was not a smell he was fond of, but he'd gotten used to it spending time in the company of the richer set of Death Eaters who could afford the luxury.

"Would you like a glass of Firewhisky, or wine perhaps?" Severus offered.

"Some Old Odgen's would not be amiss," Lucius allowed, waving away some smoke that curled in front of his face.

"Of course. Mippy!"

The elf appeared, sullen and subservient. He glanced apprehensively at Lucius, but accepted Severus' direct order and immediately vanished. Lucius' face tightened a little, but he did not utter a word and Severus relaxed a little, thankful that at least Lucius would leave it alone for now.

When the bottle of firewhisky had been fetched and poured into two small, squat glasses, sparking dark amber now and then in the fire-lit library, Severus leaned back and regarded Lucius. The man did the same, and they sat in companionable—more or less—in silence for a while.

Finally, the elegant pureblood blew out a small puff of cigar smoke and commented blandly, "You seem to have fallen on good times, Severus."

"Better off than when I first started," Severus said softly. He knew that Lucius would know what he was talking about—better than the gangly, dirt-poor halfblood with revenge and vendetta on his mind when he took an oath for life to someone and something he barely knew about. Better than the vulnerable and emotionally devastated youth Lucius had played and plunged into the depths of corruptness and darkness."

"I did promise you that wealth and power would be yours, as well as proper appreciation from your peers, did I not?" Lucius mused, sipping the alcohol in a long, slow burn down his throat.

"You did. I enjoyed the appreciation, but the other two promises were many years in coming," Severus replied—just a touch reprovingly.

"Through no fault of yours or mine, but the Potter brat," Lucius drawled. Lucius never did anything hastily. It was always with purpose, with dignified slowness. Even killing. The only time Severus had ever seen him actually worked up was when he was exchanging words with Arthur Weasley, his personal archnemesis (rather the way Potter was the Dark Lord's, Black his own—there was always one person who could inspire an all-consuming fury in everyone). At least it wasn't Black that married Lily, Severus thought bitterly. Bad enough Potter the brave heroic Gryffindor married Lily. It would have been worse if it had been Black, the true black sheep of his family—the one who proved that one can escape one's family and the influence of the dark if one tries…the one who's very existence reminded me that I failed and he did not, that he was able to remain constantly loyal to his friends. I was the happiest man in the world when he was condemned for having betrayed his friends, for having failed…the only light in the whirling chaos of losing Lily to Death…

"I suppose," Severus responded, pulling himself back to the conversation. "But enough of reminiscing. How have you been keeping, old friend?"

"Well," Lucius answered.

"Is Narcissa recovered from her shock of Draco's...actions?" Severus asked cautiously. It was a sensitive subject.

"She is…doing better," Lucius allowed grimly. "We have yet to find a lead on his whereabouts, but I cannot believe that my son would stray as far as to run to the Order of the Phoenix for protection. He is a Malfoy!"

And the history of Malfoys are full of family betrayals and murdering each other, Severus' inner voice commented. Out loud, he murmured his condolences and the requisite assurances that Draco would be found soon. Hopefully not. Merlin and Morganna, protect my godson with all your protection. Let him be faring well…

"The Dark Lord has seen it fit for me to remain here for the time being, so as you see I have little news of the outside. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

"Mayhem, turmoil, and general quiet unease," Lucius replied in a disinterested tone. Severus knew better than to think that Lucius was bored. He waited. "The Ministry is still running around like headless chickens after the escape from Azkaban of our brothers. The Aurors must be bone-weary by now, or likely to be in a week or so—they've been employed at full force to patrol the area and search for clues as well as being posted at various places of dubious repute, such as Knockturn Alley. It might be prudent to allow them a brief respite, just to make them think we've stopped, and then strike a devastating blow. I think perhaps an attack on Hogwarts, within the first week of starting, might be ideal."

So, Lucius was left in charge of battle-plans. Thank Merlin for his boastful nature, he simply can't pass up an opportunity to flaunt any one-up he has on me, and considers me a non-threat because I am immobilized here in Prince Manor. That can only be good.

"An idea indeed, it would echo memories of the recent year's closing events," Severus observed neutrally.

"My very thought, and perhaps this time someone else will win the honor of killing a highly placed Order member as you have accomplished."

"Indeed. I am sure you would have killed the old man just as easily as I, but it was not you who was under his thumb for so many years, to use and abuse and manipulate as he liked." To forgive and love despite my awful mistakes. Forgive me, Albus, for having to sully your memory each and every day. "They will be extremely careful, no doubt. They will probably have fixed the loophole young Miss Cain discovered last time. What do you plan to carry off victory once more?"

"Ah, it is a grand secret, Severus," Lucius laughed delightedly, the Malfoy crest on the gold ring winking obnoxiously as he gestured with his pungent cigar. "I cannot tell you and spoil the surprise now, can I?"

"I shall most probably still be ensconced here at the Dark Lord's request and favor," Severus announced, "so it would be preferable to know what you plan since I must live vicariously through my brothers this time."

"All in good time, but I promise you it shall be a lively tale," Lucius smirked smugly. "All in good time."

And with that, Severus had to content himself.

A.N.: The ass' ears referred to by Ginny are part of the tale of foolish Midas written by Ovid in Metamorphases, who was given a pair of ass' ears by Apollo in anger for Midas having judged Pan the better musician of the two gods. His barber being the only one who knew the secret of Midas' ass' ears, couldn't keep the secret and so went to a field and told the ground, and when the crops grew and the wind blew through them, the entire field whispered the secret so everyone knew.

Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to read!

A warning for next week—it is likely that the chapter for next week will either be abbreviated or delayed. Real Life has kicked in with a vengeance, and my Muse has bowed out for a more temperate weather location like Hawaii to go surfing and sunbathing rather than face the cold subzero winter I'm going to be in for. Hopefully the temp Muse will pick up the slack and I'll actually have enough time to write…