For the Potions Master's Amusement

Chapter 53: Incidents and Information

Winter deepened, and time passed slowly. Hermione put aside her studies, save for the new text her professor had brought to her, and she immersed herself in the unfamiliar material. Reading the text was laborious, as it had been written in Middle English. It was bizarre to think that the book dated back a mere seven hundred years, but the Elder Futhark runic language had been in use in the first century, nearly two thousand years ago.

Struggling over the book gave her frequent headaches, but plunging into its study kept her too busy to dwell on the thought of Severus—yes, Severus—in an undisclosed location, in frequent danger, separated from her by more than mere miles. Though she wasn't perfect in her ability to push thoughts of him out of her mind, she was fairly successful and managed to put off her immersion in him until she was in her bed each night, opening her journal with trembling hands, praying with all her might that she would find his spiky writing there.

Other times of weakness were when she spent time alone with t. Taffy had stood up well to her time away from Rafe when he had been in prison, but having him go away from her again after such a short reunion seemed, somehow, doubly hard for her. Hermione sat with her sympathetically on those nights when the house-elf, Pitty, came and asked Hermione to go up to Rafe and Taffy's rooms. Taffy's decline seemed quite obvious to Hermione, and she wondered that no one else at Roissy House seemed as concerned as she felt. Taffy's usually sunny mien had become morose, and her lovely rose complexion had become wan. Frequently, Hermione had held her tearful friend, murmuring comforting words as t had cried, 'I'm sorry! I don't know what's wrong with me!'

'You miss him,' Hermione had answered simply.

The somewhat obvious answer came to them two weeks after the departure of Masters Maximus and Severus. By then, t's appetite had diminished to the point that she had become far too thin. Pitty came for Hermione one morning, and entering the Lestranges' bedroom, Hermione was concerned to find t lying listlessly upon her bed, her face the colour of the white bed sheets.

'Fetch your mistress, please, Pitty,' Hermione said worriedly. 'We may need a Healer.'

'No!' Taffy protested weakly. 'I don't want to be mauled about. I just want to be left alone!'

Hermione advanced to the bedside, her brow puckered with concern. 'I know you do,' she said soothingly, 'but think of what Rafe would want.'

This brought about a wave of tears, and Hermione was sitting on the side of the bed patting her friend and feeling ineffectual when Elinore glided in.

'What's this?' the older witch said bracingly. 'Tell me what's wrong with you, t.'

'I f-feel horrid,' Taffy sobbed miserably. 'I can't keep anything down and even lifting my head from the pillow makes me dizzy and sick.'

'Bring a cool face flannel for her throat,' Elinore said to Hermione, lifting her wand. 'That always helped me to feel less nauseous.'

Hermione stood, ready to assist, but doubtful. 'Wouldn't it be better to give her an antiemetic potion?' she asked.

Elinore did not answer, but lifted her wand, executing an elaborate figure eight over t's prone body. Hermione watched, fascinated, for she had never seen such a spell before, although it resembled in some ways the diagnostic magic she had seen used by the Hogwarts matron, Madam Pomfrey.

'Look!' Elinore said, and the tone of her voice caused t to raise her head, her blue eyes wide.

A glowing, pear-shaped image glimmered in the air above t's abdomen, and within the ghostly pear there burned a fiery red spark, pulsating and visceral.

'Oh!' Taffy gasped, and she reached toward the hologram-like image, as if she could grasp it in her hand.

Hermione, her errand forgotten, moved closer to the bed. 'What is it?' she whispered, as if to speak too loudly would cause the image to wink out of sight.

'That,' Elinore said, her voice thick with the tears which glistened on her lashes, 'is Taffy and Rafe's baby.'

Hermione looked quickly at t, whose previously wan face was flushed with colour. Taffy had wanted this—had told Hermione she and Rafe were trying for a baby—why hadn't it occurred to Hermione that her friend might be pregnant? She shook her head ruefully; it had never crossed her mind.

'Hermione,' Taffy said, and Hermione sat beside her, taking the hand t extended to her. 'When you write to Severus in your journal tonight, ask him to tell Rafe about the baby.'

Hermione was surprised. 'But don't you want to tell Rafe yourself?' she asked.

'We're not allowed to send owls,' Taffy pointed out. 'I want him to know now—I don't want to wait.' Her lips trembled for a moment. 'If it will make him more careful, I want him to know as soon as possible.'

And Hermione was confronted once again with a crying t. Helplessly, she looked to Elinore, who moved closer to the bedside and took t's other hand, speaking in a calm, firm voice. 'All right, Taffy; your pregnancy hormones are making your moods very changeable, but you have to try to stay calm, for the baby's sake.'

Taffy hiccoughed and nodded, accepting the handkerchief Elinore passed her. Elinore caught Hermione's eye.

'Please go find Vi,' she said quietly. 'She trained as a medi-witch after school and worked with expectant mothers at St Mungo's. She'll know just what to do.'

With a final squeeze of t's hand, Hermione left her with Elinore and struck off in search of Vi, wondering if she, one day, would be as tremblingly thankful to be pregnant with her Master's baby.

The notion was both electrifying and terrifying.


At dinner the next evening, Taffy was the centre of attention. The mood at the table was celebratory, and toasts were drunk with sparkling cider, in deference to the pregnant woman. Hermione felt happier than she'd done since her Master had left, and she realised as she smiled at the teasing t endured from their friends that she had finally begun to feel at home at Roissy House.

Over pudding, Claudius cleared his throat. 'Not to take away from t's news, but our family has news, as well.'

Taffy looked excitedly at Vi. 'You too?' she cried.

Vi laughed, somewhat self-consciously, and said, 'No! It's not news about me—it's about Kelly.' Vi nodded her blond head toward Kell.

'Kell has satisfactorily completed her training with us,' Claudius announced, placing an arm around Vi even as he raised his glass again, with a nod to Kell. 'We will begin sending out enquiries on her behalf this week, and we'll begin screening potential Masters for her at the next play weekend.'

Hermione took up her glass of sparkling cider and turned to Kell, a smile of happiness on her lips for her friend. She was somewhat taken aback to see that Kell looked … well, she looked ambivalent, at best. Kell lifted her glass and smiled around the table, accepting the congratulations of all those seated around her, but Hermione couldn't help but notice that she avoided everyone's eyes—particularly Reg.

As for Reg, he bore an expression of determined good cheer. 'Excellent news!' he said a bit too loudly. 'Claudius will find a good Dom for you, Kay.'

A sudden, uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Hermione looked from Reg, who looked embarrassed, to Claudius, who looked angry, to Hadrian, who looked disapproving, to Kell, who looked … devastated.

What had just happened?

Abruptly, Hadrian stood. 'I don't know about the rest of you,' he said jovially, 'but I could use a glass of cognac and one of those new cigars I ordered from Ecuador. What do you say?'

Reg stood and stalked out of the room, presumably to the Dominant's Study, to be followed by Hadrian and Claudius. Hermione wanted to know why everyone was behaving so strangely, but she didn't want to risk making things worse by asking.

'Shall we go to the sitting room?' Elinore said, just as she did every evening when the Dominants retired to their study.

Vi and t murmured their agreement, and Hermione stood, noticing how t waited for Kell to rise from her chair. Taffy folded Kell in a hug. Kell accepted the embrace before saying quietly, 'I have a bit of a headache. I'm going to make an early night of it.'

The dark-haired girl turned away from them and slipped into the corridor, and Hermione looked to t with some distress. 'What happened?' she asked. 'I don't understand.'

Taffy came forward and linked her arm with Hermione's, leading her toward the sitting room in the wake of Elinore and Vi. 'Reg said something tactless,' she said baldly. 'I honestly don't know how he manages in his job—he's the most awkward git I've ever known!'

Hermione blinked at t's vehement tone. Taffy was usually the most accepting girl imaginable. 'Do you think Kell's happy that her training is over?' she asked hesitantly.

Taffy looked into Hermione's eyes, a frown marring her smooth forehead. 'I hope so,' she said fervently.


That night, Hermione was very happy to curl up with her journal. As ever, she hoped to have a new message from her Master, but at the least, she could pour the evening's events out to him and ask what it all meant.

She was delighted to see that she was in luck tonight, for her professor's inimitable handwriting scrawled over the page when she opened the green leather tome.

Little one,

As you may imagine, the news you asked me to pass on was well received. I will not attempt to convey all the words spoken by the recipient, but you may tell our mutual friend that the intelligence was received with great gladness. No doubt further communication will be forthcoming; ask her to be patient.

I would urge you to involve yourself in amusing our mutual friend and looking out for her well-being. It is probable that her spirits will require some support during this time, and it will help to occupy your nurturing instincts, in the absence of your two former charges. Kindly continue to report upon her condition, so that I might satisfy the rapacious curiosity of her husband.

I am pleased to hear that your studies continue apace. I have lately heard from your erstwhile classmates that a most promising lead has surfaced. Even I am not unhopeful of a positive outcome of their current quest.

In more personal matters, I agree that it would be prudent for you to visit your parents' home to apprise them of your situation. I urge you to prevail upon them to permit you to remain in residence at Roissy House. It is the safest possible place for you to be, and I'm sure if you convey that information to them, they will not insist upon your removal to their home.

Lastly, I assure you that our current circumstances are as unpalatable to me as they are to you. I will continue to manage my affairs with the care which has allowed me to live to this old age (yes, that was intended to make you smile), and in return, I must insist that you safeguard yourself with all the attention to detail that my absence prevents me from exercising on your behalf. Guard with all the cunning at your command that which is most precious to me, and I will return the favour.

Your Master,

SS

Hermione sat with a fatuous smile on her face, her fingertip tracing the outline of the letters he had penned. Had he truly unbent enough to make a joke? Was she really 'that which is most precious' to him? Did he love her as she loved him? Why did he not say so?

Uncapping her bottle of ink, she began to record the day's happenings, all the while rolling his words about in her mind like fine wine upon the tongue, breathing the bouquet of his care and concern.


After a quick visit to her parents the next day, she made a side trip to Diagon Alley. It was hard to believe that she had hated 'Miss Smith' for so long, believing her to be Professor Snape's village squeeze, and now she was willingly participating in coddling the wench. Grinning, she walked along the mostly deserted street of the wizarding shopping district, stepping into Fortescue's. She asked for a box of frozen chocolate coated sweets for her pregnant friend—not that Hermione would mind eating a few of them, as well. The proprietor took her gold and handed over the box. Hermione returned her coin purse to her cloak pocket and walked out again into the pale sunlight.

'Look who it is,' a snarling voice said, and too late, all of Hermione's alarm bells went off.

She turned, the box of frozen confections tucked under her arm, and trained her wand on the figure of Simon Curtis, lately of the Sussex D/s community.

'Too good to say "hello"?' Simon taunted. 'You weren't so shy with a big audience.'

His face was twisted in an unpleasant expression, his wand hand fisted in the pocket of his cloak.

'Step aside and let me pass,' Hermione said steadily, her wand unwavering.

'Where's your big, ugly Master?' Simon asked, making a show of glancing about. 'Did he let you out all on your own?' He took a menacing step towards her, his voice low, his foul breath causing her nostrils to flare in distaste. 'Between the two of you, you got my privileges revoked.'

Hermione backed up a step. 'You're the only one responsible for having your privileges revoked,' she answered levelly. Her mind was whirling. Even now, in the middle of the day, Simon's breath reeked of drink, and the street was too quiet for her to trust that a bystander might interrupt their unwelcome tête-à-tête. Was she steady enough to Disapparate without splinching?

'Looks like the Mudblood has an admirer,' a familiar voice chortled from the side, and Hermione's attention was drawn from Simon to Vincent Crabbe, who stood in the middle of the road like a misplaced gargoyle.

Draco Malfoy walked up to stand next to Crabbe, his face, like that of an avenging angel, a stark contrast to his companion's. Cold grey eyes swept over Hermione and Simon before he spoke in a bored, drawling voice.

'He doesn't look admiring to me,' he said. 'He looks disgusted, as he ought.' Malfoy turned to Crabbe. 'Why don't you buy our friend a pint?' He inclined his white-blond head toward the Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione frowned in confusion. What was Malfoy up to?

Crabbe suffered from no such disadvantage; he never questioned Malfoy's orders. Stepping up to Simon Curtis, Crabbe took him by the arm and frog-marched him away. Simon recognised he was out-manned, but he did not leave without a parting shot at Hermione.

'This isn't over!' he bellowed at her over his shoulder as Crabbe dragged him away. 'I'll get my own back!'

Hermione turned to face Malfoy, her heart still beating erratically in her chest. 'What are you doing?' she demanded shrilly.

Malfoy shifted his weight from one leg to the other, continuing to look bored, and stared pointedly at her wand, which was now trained on him. Hermione looked down and realised she hadn't put her weapon away—but Harry would never face Malfoy unarmed, would he? Still, she lowered her wand, and she thought Malfoy looked slightly relieved.

'Why did you do that?' she repeated, darting a nervous look up and down Diagon Alley and seeing that she and Malfoy were the only people in sight.

'Why are you still here?' Malfoy responded flatly.

Hermione gritted her teeth in frustration, but she recognised a reprieve when she saw one. Malfoy had his own reasons for doing what he had done, and Hermione might never know what those reasons were—but for now, she had best go home and be glad of the help she had received, however doubtful she was of the provenance.

'Right,' she muttered, and turning on the spot, she was gone.

Hermione went straight to Hadrian when she arrived at Roissy House. He seated her in a leather wingback chair in the Dominant's Study and pushed a glass of cognac into her hands, murmuring calming nonsense until she swallowed it. On any other day, Hermione might have enjoyed looking around the dark, masculine room, with its leather chairs and lingering aroma of expensive cigars. Just now, however, she was too rattled to pay much mind to her surroundings. Claudius hurried into the room as she was draining the last bit of the warm liquid from the heavy crystal goblet, and she set the glass aside and told the story to the two Dominants, who stood over her with frowns on their faces.

'Reg and I will go to the Leaky Cauldron,' Claudius assured Hadrian, when Hermione had answered all their questions.

'And I'll owl Master Thorne in Sussex, just to keep him current,' Hadrian said, moving over to the heavy mahogany desk in the corner and taking up a quill.

'But what will I do?' Hermione said, feeling aggravated.

Hadrian looked up at her with sober blue eyes. 'You'll go upstairs immediately and write in your journal,' he said with finality. 'Tell Severus what happened.'

But she didn't—not straightaway. She went along to Taffy's rooms with the box of frozen treats, and the two girls ate the ice cream and discussed the incident in depth.

'So, Draco Malfoy sent Simon off with one of his friends?' t asked.

'Yes,' Hermione answered. 'And both of their fathers are Death Eaters. For all I know, Draco and Crabbe might be Death Eaters, too. I just don't know what it means.'

Taffy picked up another chocolate covered bon bon and bit into it. 'Maybe Simon's a Death Eater too,' she suggested.

Hermione frowned. 'No, Severus and Rafe would know him if he were,' she pointed out.

Taffy laughed at herself. 'I'm not cut out for intrigue,' she said. 'I'll leave the skulduggery to you, Hermione—you're so clever!'

Hermione looked up sharply, expecting satire, but t was looking at her with wide, sincere eyes. She meant what she said.

'Thanks,' Hermione said, rising to her feet. 'Hadrian told me to write to Severus immediately, and I haven't done it yet, so I'd best get to it.'

Taffy sat forward a bit, reaching out to touch Hermione tentatively on the arm. 'I've noticed that you've begun referring to him by his name,' she said gently. 'I take it he gave you permission?'

Hermione smiled brightly. 'Not in so many words,' she admitted, 'but I said it, and he ordered me to repeat it and kissed me, so I am taking that as permission.'

Taffy matched her smile. 'I think I would, too,' she said. 'Now, go write to him—you don't want him to hear the news from someone else, first.'

Hermione blanched at the very thought. 'Oh, no, I don't!' she agreed and hurried down to her room.

The journal lay upon her bedside table, and she settled cross-legged on the bed with a quill, ready to record the events of the day. She flipped through to the next empty page, and her heart turned over at the sight of his slashing script.

He already knew—and he wasn't happy.