Chapter Two – Wherein Snape and Potter are the victims of too much information.

It all belongs to Rowling, except for what you don't recognize.

"Potter, follow me!"  Snape led the way down into the basement, which housed the kitchen.  The kitchen looked as if it hadn't been remodeled in about 100 years.  "Winquella, Winquella?  Fiend seize it!  Where is that demned gel?"  Snape was looking all around him in the dark, cavernous space.

"Here, wait a moment," said Harry as he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Winky, OY, WINKY." There was a sound of footsteps on some stairs and a door from the subbasement creaked open.

"Ere, Arry, why you're shoutin' fit to wake the dead?" The slovenly wench who took care of the house in London year round came up the stairs.  "I was down in the root cellar.  We's run out of turnips." She said with all the importance of having announced the birth of a monarch.

Snape turned to Potter with a raised brow, "Winky?"

"That's right, Lord Snape.  LAWKS, it's LORD SNAPE."  Winky turned around like she was going to hightail it right out and then mastered her panic.  "I'm sorry, sorry, your Lordship.  I didn't expect to see you 'ere."  She gave a small mincing curtsy.

Snape took a good hard look at her.  Number one, she smelled god awful, number two, her hair was in even worse condition than his own.  Number three, at which point he stopped counting and sneered.  The woman, if one chose to designate her as such, was a walking disaster.

"Winky, my dear loyal girl."  He said silkily, as she wiped her hands nervously on her filthy dress.  "How do you enjoy being in my service?  Have I been good to you since you left the Crouches?"

She looked at Harry as if he held the answer to the meaning of life.  When it became obvious that he was going to keep it a secret, she then ducked her head and stared at her feet.  "Well, I couldn't right sleep the first two years because I was wonderin' about the dwot de senior."

Snape looked at Potter with ill-disguised expectation.  Potter stared right back at him and scratched his head.  Snape gave Potter a tiny nod of his head towards Winky.  Potter looked at the drudge. "We don't understand."

She looked from one to the other.  "Dwot de senior. You know rights of his lordship to take what's 'is.  Well, the elder Crouch was in his eighties and the younger Crouch only liked women with arbor vitae on 'em.  And I went to work for 'em when I was twelve and here I am now all o' 38 and I've never even been kissed."

Snape looked stricken.  Droit de seigneur.  What faradiddles had been told to her!  Not to say that women in service hadn't been taken advantage of, but…  Winky?  Potter seemed ready to bolt.  They both coughed nervously.  Who knew the chit would turn out to be such a gabster?

Suddenly, Winky collapsed onto the earthen floor and started crying. 

"Do something, Potter," Snape hissed.

"Like what?" asked Potter with horror.  "Perhaps we should just quietly leave?"

"Useless, you are a useless beetlehead!" muttered Snape as he stalked over to the wine rack, uncorked a bottle and handed it to her.  "Now drink up and be a good girl," he said brusquely.  "I am a married man and there will be nothing of that sort under my roof."  Winky looked up at Snape, wiped her nose on her sleeve and took a long snort of the wine.

"What about my wife?  Has she been treating you well?"  Snape tapped his foot.

"An angel, your worship, an angel straight from 'eaven."  She took another swig.  "The second day she was 'ere, she went to my room.  She bought me a new mattress, and I've got a pillow and sheets and," here the slattern broke down again, "blankets for the winter.  And pantaloons, I ain't had a pair of drawers to my name in over 15 years."  Winky went into a long series of hiccups.  Both men colored up, and Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I need to know where your loyalties lie.  If you had to choose between us," Snape looked down his very large, hooked nose at her, "who would you choose."

Winky looked up as if Snape had just turned into a raptor and she were a field mouse. "Why, I couldn't choose, milord.  You've both been very good to me."

"So I couldn't trust you to spy on Lady Snape.  I couldn't expect you to come to me, if she should start," Snape hesitated just a fraction, "to become convenient, frail?"

Winky shakily stood up and her eyes nearly popped out of her head.  "You know me mum turned lady bird on me dad and I could never forgive 'er that.  You don't worry none," Winky swayed and jutted out her chin, "I'm all yours."

"Very well, then. You shall be receiving a promotion in rank.  You are now Lady Snape's maid.  You shall be given new clothes, a complete wardrobe in fact, and you are expected, no, required to take baths on a regular basis."

"'ere, that could be unhealthy, un, un sanitizing, and dangerous.  A person could catch their death of cold."  Winky would do so much for Snape but here he was crossing the line of reason.

"Banbury stories girl!  If you need to I will assign Potter here to show you how to bathe safely."  Now it was Potter's turn to panic.  He made a short gurgling sound, deep in his throat.  Winky licked her lips and took another swig.

"Finally, I have a question on her Ladyship's menses."  Snape started to pace so as to avoid the two sets of eyes gawking at him.

"I ain't touched anything that done belongs to her ladyship." Winky said mulishly.

"No, no, her 'time of the month,' you know that 'special time'."  Snape knitted together both his brows as he attempted to communicate something that he had no idea of what it was called.

"Oooh, her bleedin'.  You too delicate to ask her, aren't you?  Don't want to kill the gentile feelin's."  Her eyes were filled with deep understanding.  "Nasty stuff we women are."

Potter put his fingers in his ears, shut his eyes and started to hum crazily under his breath.

"She just finished."  Winky got a conspiratorial gleam in her eye.  "You don't worry, I'll let you know, whenever she's 'on'."

"Actually, you can report to Potter, here."  Snape said with an evil glance to his young servant.

Potter opened his eyes and gaped at Snape, "'Pon rep, your Lordship?"

"I'm putting you in charge of Winky," he said with a certain sadistic glee.  "You are a gentleman's gentleman now, I feel you can handle it."

Potter opened his mouth again, praying to come up with something, anything to disprove Snape's theory of his readiness.

Just then there was a great clattering on the stairs.  The coachman, Filch, showed up in a state of great agitation. "She wants to take a drive through Hyde Park!  What should I do?"

"Potter, you go with her.  Make careful note of whom she speaks to and who even so much as approaches her.  Be especially careful of Malfoy.  Filch will drive the barouche."  Snape turned to go upstairs and then clapped his hands,  "Well, what are you all waiting for?"

&&&

Hermione knew something very odd was happening in the household.  She didn't know what, but suddenly the entire staff of Lord Snape's London house were looking at her like she'd sprouted spots while humming La Marseillaise.  She was seriously considering her husband's sanity, for since her ride in the park that day, indeed her first since her marriage, he'd been giving her an extra special sort of look.  She didn't quite know how to decipher it.  It seemed to be somewhere between 'I have you now' and 'you are not going to get away with it'.  Hermione wondered if her husband suspected that Malfoy and she had had 'dealings'.  But that was impossible.  She hadn't heard a word from Malfoy since before her wedding when he came to her and showed her proof that he was in the position to ruin her first cousin, Remus Lupin.  Fortunately, he had made no demands of her at the time, so she had a clear conscious, almost.

Snape's behavior had been so strange.  Running off before their wedding night, his complete avoidance of their nuptial duties, his downright nastiness to her at times.  She had hoped to come up with a plan of action that afternoon, but had failed to think of anything at all.  If only Potter hadn't prattled on so. 

Her husband was a complete and total mystery to her.  She looked at him from across the dinner table and wondered if she should tell him about Malfoy.  How would he react?  Well, things couldn't get any more bizarre, or could they?  It was so odd to be sitting there eating dinner in total silence night after night.  However, when she did try to start a conversation, he always ended it quickly with just a sarcastic word or two.  It was all so thoroughly tiresome!

Snape observed his wife.  He felt inordinately pleased with himself.  He was getting his house in order.  He'd been upset about her affair with Malfoy, but it did happen before their marriage and now that he was quite certain that she was not carrying Malfoy's bastard, he felt perhaps there was hope for the marriage.  In spite of Hermione's bookishness, perhaps she was merely an innocent who had been seduced by the good-looking rake.  Malfoy did have somewhat of a reputation that way.  Snape, knowing that his servants could be relied on to tirelessly guard her virtue, was in a forgiving mood.  In fact, he planned to consummate their relationship as soon as possible.  Of course, he could hardly just sweep her off her feet and bed her, could he?  Some sort of conversation would be necessary first. 

Snape was about to start speaking when his wife said, "I was wondering what your plans were, and if you would be willing to share them with me."

"My plans?" Snape sincerely hoped that the young woman's talents did not extend themselves to mind reading.

"Yes, will we be staying in London for the upcoming season or do you wish us to retire to your estate?"  Hermione hoped that this question was not going to be answered with a simple yes or no.

Snape looked at Hermione and felt another wave of desire crash over him.  The peach crepe dress she was wearing quite suited her, complementing the warmth of her brown eyes and brown locks. 

"I felt that we should stay the season here.  I want to show you off." Snape quickly applied himself to the last few bits of the roast beef and potatoes on his plate. 

Hermione frowned.  It would be best not to become too much like Mary Wollstonecraft and take offense at the thought of being paraded about like some new bauble. However... "We are not really set up for entertainment.  You have a skeleton staff here."

"I know that," he said smoothly, "and I am already in the process of changing everything.  I have reassigned Winky—er, Winquella to work upstairs as your maid.  I will bring down my butler and cook from the Yorkshire estate.  My butler, Peeves, will take care of hiring whatever additional servants we need."  Snape attempted a warm, sincere smile.  He hoped it was not too upsetting to her, as he had often been told his smile usually made him look like a shark breaking wind.

Hermione returned the smile.  "That should do quite well."

"You don't mind having Winquella as your maid?"

"No, she will be fine.  She should clean up admirably."

Snape wasn't sure if that was a literal swipe at the woman's leeriness of water or a complement on her cleaning abilities; it was probably the former.  At which point he realized that he had run out of conversation.  "Would you like some Madeira?"

"Thank you."  Hermione was about to stand up to head to the parlor where the after dinner drinks were kept.  Suddenly Snape was there behind her, pulling out her chair for her.  She felt her cheeks flush and her heart speed, just like it had while he was courting her.  His power over her had not diminished, not even with the two weeks of his insufferable bad moods.  He took her hand and led her out of the room.

She found herself moments later holding a glass of Madeira and looking deeply into his black eyes.  She took a sip and then he removed the glass from her hand.  He leaned into her and she felt his breath on her face.  She was suddenly afraid of him, afraid of the feelings he was invoking in both her heart and her body.  She wanted to run away.  No man had ever so conquered her rational mind and left her helplessly swooning like this.  She felt his lips touch hers and then she tasted the port still on him as he kissed her with open mouth, pressing his tongue through her lips and into her, something that he had never done before.  She started to go weak in the knees and he held her close to him.  If she had feared that he was planning an annulment, the heat radiating from his body stilled any such anxiety.  She knew for certain that tonight he'd make her his wife.

"Begging your Lordship's pardon," came Potter's voice in extreme emotional turmoil.

"What IS it Potter?"  He rounded on the young man with eyes blazing and the devil's own temper.

Potter shifted from foot to foot as he realized what he had interrupted.  "The Ministry wants you right away."

"WHAT?" There was a look of  'you've really made a mull of it' on the Lord's face and Potter remembered that his wife still wasn't in on the spying business.

'I—I mean, the minister, the parish minister needs you right away.  It's that really, really, urgent matter you were supposed to take care of right away.  They need you right away: they sent a coach."  Harry wasn't sure if he was doing it too brown or not. It didn't matter, since Snape was white with fury anyhow.

Hermione was looking from her husband to his valet with disbelief.  The whole household was quite thoroughly mad. 

Snape bent over his wife's hand and kissed it.  "Tomorrow perhaps?"  He turned around, straightened his clothing and left.

"I don't know why I keep you around, Potter." He growled under his breath.

"And who else would give Winky a bath then?" Potter whispered back.

A/N:  Well, I did more research than you could shake a stick at or waggle an arbor vitae at either.  Did you know that before the 1800s wearing panties, knickers, what-have-you was considered unhealthy and risqué?  They only came into style because Regency wear tended to be a little on the chilly side.  And the full popularity of bloomers came in with Queen Victoria who recommended them as a sort of virtuous type of thing to wear.  So before the 1800s we were all going commando. Whoa!  Even a thong is better than nothing, JMHO.

Thank you everyone for your support in this really offbeat Harry Potter story.  I hope that you are enjoying it as much as I am writing it!

A special thanks to my reviewers: Queenie, Semi-charmed, Lana Riddle and Jackie.  Your support is much appreciated.

I've included a glossary at the end of this chapter.  Stylistically speaking, I don't get into doing a lot of descriptions of period clothing and décor, which rather leaves me with the language.  La!

BTW, Droit de seigneur is a medieval term  — the right of a noble to take a manservant's place on his wedding night. It probably didn't happen very much even in medieval times, but Winky sure bought into a variation of the idea.  Smirk

Winky's term 'arbor vitae' means penis.  Live wood!  Cool.

Fiend seize it: Damn it

Lawks: Vulgar exclamation

Faradiddles: Lies

Gabster: Person who talks a lot

Beetlehead: A stupid fellow, blockhead

Colored Up: Blushed

Convenients:  Woman of easy virtue

Frail (Barque of Frailty): Woman of easy virtue

Lady Bird: Woman of easy virtue

Banbury stories: Falsehoods

'Pon Rep: Polite exclamation

Barouche: A four-wheeled carriage with a collapsible top, two double seats inside opposite each other, and a box seat outside in front for the driver.

Rake: A man who has all the vices and has attracted and perhaps 'ruined' many women

Make a Mull of something: To make a mess of it

Doing it too Brown: Overdoing something so that it is not credible