Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty-Three (Easter Break)

(A/N: For those who wondered, the love potion was first brought up in 'I, Too, Shall Follow', chapter 32)

"You were practically shagging on the lawn!" Ron bellowed.

"Oh!" gasped Hermione, white-faced with fury. "Is that what Harry said or merely your depraved interpretation?"

"He saw you hugging and kissing Krum!" insisted Ron. "Do you deny it?"

"Would it make a difference?" she shrilled back, not caring that neither of them had bothered to put up a silencing charm and all of the Burrow was being treated to their 'discussion'. "Obviously you've made up your mind without the nuisance of pesky facts to hinder you, and frankly I'm appalled at your insane jealousy! After all the years you've known me, you still don't trust me. That about says it all."

"I can trust you without trusting him," Ron shot back. "And you never answered the bloody question!"

Hermione, her face set in what might look to the casual observer a fit of homicidal rage, drew herself to her full height. Tears of helpless anger welled in her eyes. "And I don't intend to answer it. You've made your position crystal clear; I don't have to stand for such asinine accusations." She pushed past Ron, ran out the door, and began clomping down the numerous flights of stairs.

Unable to let it go or change tactics, the redhead leaned over the banister and called out, "Where're you going, 'Mione? To see Krum?"

"Shove it, Ron!" she screamed up at him.

By the time she'd reached the kitchen she was sobbing openly. Spying Harry and Ginny sitting at the table looking incredibly awkward she snarled, "Thanks for coming to me first, Harry! You might've learned the truth!" Then she flung open the door and rushed outside.

Ginny was on her feet and outside a bare second later, hoping to catch the young woman before she apparated. "Hermione, wait!"

Hermione turned to look at her, tears streaming down her face.

"Where are you going?" asked Ginny.

"Home to my parents," sniffed Hermione. "Would you send my things?"

Tempted to ask if that's what she really wanted, Ginny held her tongue. Harry was known for jumping to conclusions, she wouldn't be surprised if Hermione was totally in the right. And no matter how she looked at it, Ron was an imbecile, so it was only natural he'd go along with any insane, wild scenario. Despite the fact that she loved her brother, in all honesty she'd never understood how Ron had managed to snare Hermione to begin with.

"Sure, I'll send your things. You will come back, won't you?"

"I don't know, Ginny. I need to think, and I can't do that here." She tried to smile, which came out as more of a pathetic frown.

"Whatever happens with you and Ron, we'll still be friends, Hermione. Don't be too mad at Harry, okay?" Ginny's eyes pleaded with the other.

"I'll try," said Hermione, nodding. "I have to go." She disapparated moments before Ron burst out into the yard.

Ginny kicked him in the shin on her way to the house, making him yelp. "Dork," she hissed. Harry cringed at the sight of her advancing on him. "Harry Potter, when are you going to learn to be sure of your facts before spreading stories?"

"I saw what I saw," Harry retorted, shrinking a little before her.

"Would it have killed you to ask Hermione what was going on?" replied Ginny, hands on hips. "If she doesn't forgive you and Ron, I wouldn't blame her. No one likes to be accused of cheating, and I think you know her better than that."

Chagrined, Harry shrugged one shoulder and grinned stupidly. "I guess I should've asked her—but he kissed her, I saw it!"

"And did she kiss him back?" Good grief, it was like extracting teeth with a slippery glove to get sensible answers!

Harry thought for a moment. Krum planted a smooch, Hermione jerked away…. "Uh, no. But she hugged him!"

Ginny sighed. Beneath this seeming idiocy, Harry really was smart, but why did he have to be so blasted impulsive and dense at times? "Maybe you should try to talk to Ron—no, on second thought, you've talked enough. Let's go flying, you can't do any damage that way."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

As guilty as Bayly felt for thinking it, he was glad to get away from his mother for Easter holidays. Livonia had been invited to the Krum estate along with Bayly, but had declined on the grounds that the family didn't speak English and she didn't speak Bulgarian. He loved his mother dearly, but he needed time to sort things out, which he couldn't do with her fussing over him and bursting into tears periodically whenever she thought of the hideous things her 'Toni' had done to him. His own pain was all he could handle right now.

The Krum family proved to be a very genial bunch; Mrs. Krum had welcomed him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek; Mr. Krum, who wore a habitually sullen expression like his son, had shook his hand and welcomed him warmly. Viktor's older sister Marina and her husband Kamen were both very friendly. The only one he was leery of was the scarcely fifteen-year-old Varbina—affectionately called Binka—who was three years his junior and had made no bones about having a serious crush on him when he attended Durmstrang.

For several days Bayly had assiduously avoided being near the clever, resourceful Binka unless others were around. Telling her he had a girlfriend did as much good as talking to a brick wall, except the brick wall wasn't stalking him like a lioness on the hunt.

All his precautions came to naught in the most compromising of positions. He'd hardly got out of the shower, wrapped a towel round his waist, and looked up. "Shit!" he gasped, instinctively lurching backwards, his heart racing from the shock. He slipped in a tiny puddle of water and had to steady himself on the shower rod. "What are you doing?"

Binka smiled at him as she hopped off the sink where she'd been lounging and struck a pose she assumed to be sexy while her eyes meandered hungrily over his body. To Bayly she looked merely like a female version of Viktor, which conjured no seductive image whatsoever. "Looking for you. It appears I found you."

"Varbina, get out!"

"Make me," she smirked, crossing her arms and stepping in to block the doorway into the bedroom. "Or better yet, stop being a tease and let me see what you're hiding under there."

"Don't be stupid. You're acting like a slut!"

That was probably not the wisest choice of words, given the circumstances. The girl screwed up her face in an incensed scowl, then stretched out her hand and accio'd the towel off his body. "Take that!"

"Give it back!" he howled in mortification, lunging at her to grab it. Laughing at his discomfort, she whipped the towel behind her back with Bayly swiping fiercely for it.

As was to be expected when the young man stood dripping wet and buck naked, pinning the young lady to a wall, Viktor walked in. The pair noticed him in the same instant; the girl dropped the towel and scurried out from under Bayly's arm to run to the security of her brother. Bayly snatched the cloth off the floor and threw it around his lower half, blushing and stammering incoherently.

"Viktor, he attacked me!" cried the girl innocently, clinging to her older brother's waist and projecting venomous glares at Young.

"That's a lie! She came in and stole my towel," Bayly argued, gulping.

Viktor glanced solemnly back and forth between them, his lips set tight. All at once he grasped his sister's arm and pried her off of him, whirled her around, and whacked her on the rump with his open hand, five fast, hard smacks with the girl writhing and squealing. "Binka, if I catch you or hear of you pulling a stunt like this again, I'll tell Mama and Papa and you'll get a whole lot worse than that!"

"But he's the pervert," she insisted in a wail, trying to sway him with her pitiful face. She even managed a few crocodile tears.

"What were you doing in here?" demanded Viktor, raising his eyebrows. Startled into silence, Binka made no attempt at an answer. "Don't bother trying to lie, I saw you come in and I followed you. I heard everything."

Caught in her own trap, the girl stamped her foot and shrieked, "I hate you!" She wrenched free of his grip and ran out.

"Good!" he shouted after her, then turned back to his friend with an apologetic air. "Sorry about that. She won't bother you again."

Bayly nodded, head down in embarrassment. "Thanks."

"Hurry up and get dressed, I'll see you at breakfast." Viktor's sulky brow deepened as he left the room.

He'd learned from the newspaper of the vicious beatings Dolohov had administered to his son; why hadn't it occurred to him that Bayly had been physically scarred by it? The proof stared him in the face in the form of various weals—some ropy and thick and deep pink, others thin and white, emblazoning Bayly's chest, back, and stomach. Never in his life had he felt such a rabid malevolence toward another human being as he felt for Dolohov, yet it was a wholly unproductive malice. The man was dead, there was no more vengeance to be had; all that remained was the hardest part—the healing…and Viktor had no idea how to help with that.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius didn't have to call in any favors to procure an audience with Minister Shacklebolt this time around—in fact, the Minister had sent two of his highest deputies to request the wizard's presence in his office the following day, with instructions not to take 'no' for an answer. Were it not for the delicious irony of the way the tables had turned, Lucius would have sent them packing nonetheless; however, he rather fancied the idea of confronting Shacklebolt now that the wizarding world had become enlightened about the goblins at their doors.

Shacklebolt held an outdated edition of the Daily Prophet in his massive hand as he ranted on, every so often giving it a shake for emphasis. "And I quote, 'Had I not sent my family away at the behest of my uncle, I shudder to think what gruesome fate may have befallen them. I warned the Minister that goblins were robbing and murdering wizards, yet several weeks later I'm at a loss to see any action that was taken'."

Lucius cocked his head, blinking and smiling politely. He loved how it drove people mad, thereby making him glad. All in all a fair trade. "Yes, what of it?"

"You can't go around saying things like this!" exploded Shacklebolt.

"Really? What part of the article was inaccurate?" Malfoy leaned forward in mock interest tinged with feigned concern.

Shacklebolt's angry white eyeballs stood out starkly against his dark skin. Seriously, he looked like he'd blow an artery soon. "The fact that you are not privy to the workings of my office does not mean no action was taken! I'd have let this go except it's been causing major unrest among the citizens."

"That's hardly my fault," drawled Lucius, relaxing back in his chair and crossing his legs, his cane laid across his lap. "Did I lie? The citizens have every right to know of the danger on their doorsteps, and I dare say the overwhelming majority do not have vampires to guard them."

Kingsley ducked his head as he fumed in silence. The most irritating, exasperating part of the whole thing was that he couldn't really pin anything on Malfoy. The statements and innuendoes, while inflammatory, weren't illegal…and most of them were, unfortunately, true. Nevertheless, the people were worried and making it known; Kingsley was worried, too. They'd not been able to locate a single goblin on the list Malfoy had given him, though according to goblins Shacklebolt trusted, those on the list were actual living goblins they either knew or had heard of. The only beneficial effect of this whole situation was that the goblins had gone deep into hiding and the burglaries and killings had stopped for now.

He rattled the newspaper again. "Mr. Malfoy, I didn't call you here to listen to you gloat. I'm asking you to recant, or at the least say you overreacted."

"Moi? Overreacted?" Lucius inquired, hand to breast, giving the innocent-yet-hurt expression, capped with a little laugh. "I think not."

Shacklebolt gritted his teeth and read, " 'When the Ministry of Magic is involved in a cover-up of this magnitude, we must wonder what else they're keeping from us, what else is going on behind the scenes. How safe are we from the Ministry itself?'"

"That is Mr. Tolman's quote, not mine. Perhaps you ought to take this up with him," said Lucius pleasantly, smiling genuinely at the Minister's vexation. He slipped a pocket watch from his robe, snapped it open, and made a disturbed hum in the back of his throat. Dryly he intoned, "Well, this has been…riveting, but I have elsewhere to be. If you'll excuse me."

Lucius got up, smoothed his robe, and nodded to the man before strolling from the office in high spirits. In truth he had no immediate plans, but that was none of Shacklebolt's business. The plans he had prepared to set in motion in a few days' time—those would certainly concern Shacklebolt, which was one reason Lucius had no intention of broadcasting them about. He hadn't gotten where he was by being a fool.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The Prince estate, like most pureblood holdings, consisted of a moderately large home with a sprawling yard surrounding it; upon the death of his grandparents, Severus had inherited the place according to his status as eldest male. He rarely came here, it reminded him of a time when his mother was alive and life was simpler—not much simpler, but a little. Cluttered, hovel-like Spinner's End had suited his mood for most of his life.

In the past few weeks so much had changed. He'd begun dating an attractive, intelligent witch who seemed to reciprocate his sentiments, and he'd been freed of a suffocating love potion. At times he almost convinced himself it had to be a trick or a dream; good things didn't happen to Severus Snape. If it was a dream he didn't want to wake up, and would do his damndest to hold onto it.

For the first time since he'd sent the twins to live in Wales because of Voldemort, he felt secure enough to invite them for the Easter holidays. There was no more need to fear anyone finding out he had relatives, no need to fear for their lives because of his precarious spy work. As Spinner's End was basically a cramped dump, the Prince property was the logical choice for meeting. There was room enough for his brother and sister with their spouses, plus plenty of room for their children.

Jacinta had come for the day without Jack and Glenna, who felt it an invasion of Severus' family time for them to intrude. In a huge leap of faith Severus had invited Aline, who had resisted a bit at first by citing the 'family affair' argument, only to be countered by his assertion that since she had no family here in England it was his duty to entertain her.

He smiled to think it hadn't taken much coaxing, and here she was sitting beside him after supper on the loveseat in the huge parlor, surrounded by chairs and a sofa, all of them occupied with people gawping at the couple like specimens in a zoo. He'd begun a tad late to rethink his ludicrous idea of asking her to come…it didn't seem fair to subject her to the Inquisition so soon.

Thus far Aline had revealed family ties, career advancement, and a smattering of her lifetime triumphs and tribulations; if it weren't so obviously making her uncomfortable to be the subject of interest—if that's what being studied like a bug under a microscope was called—Severus would have enjoyed learning more about her. He had to say he reveled in hearing her talk, regardless of the topic.

"Alright, that's enough," Severus said gruffly, staring into a pair of eyes very like his own, those belonging to his brother. "Aline is a guest, she's not under interrogation."

Aline put a hand on his arm and smiled. "It's okay, Severus. They're only curious."

"Can you blame us?" piped up Jacinta, grinning at her father. "Papa hasn't had a lady friend since my mum—it's quite novel."

Severus' scowl turned her way and she smiled all the more broadly. "I love you, Papa."

"I love you, too, but that's not the point," growled the man.

His sister Tina gave a withering look. She'd grown up with Severus' death-promising glares and menacing glowers, and was no more alarmed by them than Jacinta was. "Aline, don't be intimidated by us. We're all absolutely thrilled to see Severus happy; he so deserves to be happy."

"I wholeheartedly agree," said Aline, feeling embarrassed and on the spot.

Justina resumed talking in a soft voice, her black eyes wistful and proud. "Ever since I can remember Severus has been my big brother, my protector. He's sacrificed his own desires for others, me and Julius included. When he was working for Lucius Malfoy to create a fertility potion, he didn't spend the money he earned on himself even though he wore second hand robes and used old books. He spent it on us, paying bills and buying us new clothes so we didn't have to wear hand me downs from the church collections."

"Tina," Severus started quietly, only to be interrupted by Julius.

"And he spent most of his life working for Dumbledore to take down Voldemort, yet he gets little credit for it; he's never bragged or boasted, he just does what has to be done. The wizarding world owes him so much—and Severus, I mean it. You make us proud." Julius lifted his glass of ale in Severus' direction; the others followed suit.

Cheeks burning in a wholly unfamiliar way, Severus dropped his head so none could see his eyes. In a subdued voice to correspond with the sudden solemnity he said, "How about we discuss something other than Aline or myself? Has anyone checked on the children recently?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus and Aline came through the floo together, leaving the rest to toddle off to bed at Prince Manor. As they stepped out of the fireplace into the room, he smiled sidelong at her. "You were wonderful with my family. I know they can be nosy, so thank you."

"They're an incredibly sweet bunch, I like them," she answered plainly. "Thank you for inviting me, I had a very good time."

Tempted to ask 'how good', Snape surmised he'd rather find out firsthand. Putting his arms around her waist, he pulled her close and bent down to taste her lips.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Lucius, we need to talk."

These words coming from Narcissa would have set his mind on high alert, bells and whistles blaring; coming from Mateo they were sort of… peculiar. "Talk about what?" He hoped the sangristas weren't restless, he had no desire to clean up gore in the cellar again.

Mateo gestured toward the front parlor with his head. Taking his cue, Lucius went in ahead of him, then cast a silencing spell about them. Merlin's beard, what if they'd already made a mess? What if they'd kidnapped humans and sucked them dry in the cellars? Damn it all, he was tired of disposing of bodies!

He snapped back to reality with Mateo snapping his fingers in front of the wizard's face. "Are you quite well, Lucius? I've noticed you occasionally lapse into a trance-like state."

"I have a lot on my mind," retorted Lucius, scowling. "What is so important we have to sneak about the house to discuss it?"

"It's Draco. I'm concerned about him."

"Has he done something?" asked Lucius, a hard edge coloring his voice.

The vampire shook his head, eyeing his nephew sadly. No wonder Draco was acting out if this was the typical response he got from his father! "He's had a very tough time in the past few years with you going to Azkaban, him becoming a Death Eater, all the evil under Voldemort. I believe the way you've been neglecting him since Ladon was born has deeply impacted him—"

"Neglect?" echoed Lucius in astonishment. He waved an agitated hand at the contents of the room. "Does this manor look like the way to neglect a boy? Maybe you mean his expensive designer clothes. Does he appear to be starving?" Now he was just abusing sarcasm.

Mateo would not fall for the bait, he would not sink to hurling insults or losing his composure as Lucius evidently hoped he would. While he may dress like a modern young British man, his core values originated in a time and place far removed from here, a place where the elders of the family held sway with dignity and strength of character; to be deserving of such respect he must fulfill his duty as an elder, and that included reprimanding his nephew if necessary.

"Emotional neglect, Lucius," Mateo replied evenly.

The icy glower Lucius cast at him was overshadowed only by the flaming cheeks that made him look apoplectic. "How dare you make such a presumptuous claim? Any fool can see I love my son, and Draco is unquestionably no fool!"

"No, he isn't. But he has been through a lot more than most people ever experience, he's fragile right now. He's jealous of the attention lavished on Ladon, and now that another child is on the way he fears he may lose your love entirely."

Gobsmacked, Lucius gaped at the vampire. "That is asinine! Has he said this to you?"

"Of course not," scoffed Mateo, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice took on a sober, heavy, fatherly tone. "I've been observing human nature for over three hundred years, I've gotten pretty good at it. Draco is moody, withdrawn, getting into trouble…and I've seen how he looks at you sometimes, as if he wished you'd pay him the interest you pay Ladon. If you don't step in, I'm afraid you may lose him."

If the very prospect of losing his son hadn't rattled and terrified him, Lucius would have shot back a flippant reply. Now wasn't the time, not if Draco was in trouble. It made no sense! What had Draco to be jealous of? Naturally he and Narcissa adored Ladon, but they adored Draco, too! They may have been less diligent of late in showing it, but Draco understood…didn't he?

Swallowing his fear and putting on a blank face, Lucius said, "What do you propose I do? Punishing him doesn't seem to be helping."

Ah, the old Malfoy standby: punishment. The remedy for everything from disobedience to warts! Mateo rolled his eyes. "Try spending time with him when you're not lecturing him or tending the baby," Mateo advised. "Perhaps even talking to him—like a real person."

"You needn't be snide," Lucius sniffed. All at once his face brightened and a devilish smile crept over his features. "I know the perfect way to facilitate our father/son bonding experience—I'll take Draco with us on our adventure!"

Mateo's head jerked up and he peered sharply at his nephew. It was so like Lucius to have the last word, especially if the last word made a filthy hand gesture at the other person. "Do you think it wise?"

"If we're being soul-baringly honest, I doubt the whole escapade is wise," smirked Lucius, reveling in his one-upmanship. "Besides, I'll need Draco's blood, we may as well bring it along in his body."