Avery was indeed on holiday, and apparently Severus owed Avery one – and not in the 'I'll get you back as soon as I can you bastard' sort of way – so it was decided that the plan would be put into effect on the Thursday. This would give Harry less time to mess things up by discovering independent thought. It was also most convenient for Lucius, who had a Ministry engagement that evening, and therefore wouldn't have to come up with an excuse to slip away from Narcissa.
There were tactical reasons as well.
His Lordship was as regular as clockwork in summoning his Minions on a Friday, so Thursday was a bit of a quiet day. Much as they wanted to take out all of the Inner Circle, Severus preferred not to do it all at once. They could always track them down one by one later, he'd said; His Lordship was the crucial target, and it was more important to take him at a disadvantage.
There were only seven of them after all.
Severus made it very clear that he would prefer it to be six, but got nowhere. He didn't really expect to. He'd been incredibly persistent though, and Hermione's patience snapped when he referred to 'putting her life at risk for Bloody Potter' just once too often. "Don't be so bloody stupid," she'd snapped. "I'm going along to make sure you're safe, not him. Neville and Ron will look after Harry perfectly fine, but who's going to watch your back? Certainly not them, after all those years in Potions, they think you're invincible."
He hadn't said anything, just wrapped her in a fierce hug, but that was the last she heard on the subject.
They managed to find her some Death Eater robes quite easily, though it made her feel uneasy to be wearing them until Severus quietly pointed out that they were Smudger's second best robes, and hadn't been worn out and about.
Finding Robes for Smudger proved to be much more difficult. There was a small moment of consternation when Smudger sent a note saying he couldn't get hold of anything like the Malfoy special, not without breaking the bank, anyway. The price the tailor had quoted was enough to make Severus wince, and he should have been used to the prices as he had all his robes handmade.
"Well, you've got two choice," Hermione said. "Get Minerva to transfigure you some or ask to borrow Malfoy's robes. He's bound to have a spare set."
Minerva, when asked, expressed her concern that she would be unable to Transfigure something into something else, when she didn't know what that something else looked like. Severus and Smudger attempted to draw a likeness of the Robes to provide a guide, but it was clear from Minerva's wrinkled nose that she was unimpressed by their efforts.
It was an expression that rested on Hermione's face shortly afterwards when she surveyed latest attempt, which no Malfoy would give to a House Elf to use to scrub floors let alone wear.
"I'll just have to sneer, and hope that his reputation for being a vicious bastard carries me through," said Smudger doubtfully as he examined the robes. "I suppose I can always say my robes were in the wash."
"Bloody house elves and all that," said Severus, embellishing the theme. "He's always complaining about the poor service house elves give these days, and how much better it was in the old days when you could skin them alive and nail the hide to the door frame to encourage the others."
"That's true." Smudger brightened. "He's almost as obnoxious about house elves as he is about Mud-ggleborns. And it is going to be gloomy," he said, trying to convince himself as well as the others. "We might be able to get away with it."
"Do you really want to risk your life on that?" asked Hermione.
"Not, really no," Smudger replied.
"So we're going to have to ask Lucius," Severus said.
"He's not going to like it," confirmed Severus. "Not one little bit."
"I think we ought to have a Plan B then," said Hermione.
"And C," Smudger replied. "At the very least. Although I have had an idea………"
As it turned out Lucius managed to convey every impression of being wholly delighted to see Hermione and Severus when they arrived at Malfoy Manor without warning, but then he'd had a lifetime to practice his dissembling. Smudger had elected to stay behind on the basis that a secret weapon isn't very secret when it tips up to Malfoy Manor for a fitting.
There was something of a delay after the House Elf Butler escorted them into what Severus referred to as the Second-Best Waiting room, whilst he went to see if the Master was At Home. Hermione was fairly certain that Lucius had spent several minutes spitting tacks that he hadn't had the sense to tell the Elf not to admit visitors, especially awkward visitors who might be wanting favours, and then another couple of minutes brushing his hair until it shone.
No one, she thought bitterly, could have hair that looked that neat and tidy and not spend every spare minute of every day teasing it into place. She wondered whether Maurice took on female – and Mudblood – customers, because she could certainly do with his help.
She made a mental note to have a word with Lucius about the issue at a later date.
"Severus," Lucius said, with every sign of pleasure as he advanced into the room in a flurry of robes that was just a shade less dramatic than Severus could have achieved. "How very kind of you to drop in like this."
"And how very kind of you to receive us at such short notice," Severus replied, with only the faintest hint of a smirk.
Lucius offered them a drink, which was politely refused, and then sent the anxiously helpful House Elf from the room.
"So what can I do for you?" Lucius asked. "I assume you do want me to do something for you."
"Isn't it sad when one so young is so cynical?" Severus said to Hermione, not entirely sotto voce, and very definitely applying flattery like with a trowel. What Slytherin could resist being called cynical, and what middle-aged man – no matter how lovely his hair - could resist being called young.
"Surely there should be more dancing around the issue," Hermione replied. "If you ask a direct question like that, don't you get reported to some sort of committee that upholds Slytherin values. Won't he get into awful trouble? I'd hate to see him get into awful trouble."
"I think he's worried about Narcissa finding out we're here." Severus detected the infinitesimal flinch that showed that shot had hit home.
"The question still remains," Lucius said, a trifle impatiently. "What do you want?"
"I think I'd like to see your bedroom," Hermione replied, causing Lucius's magnificent sang froid to fracture completely.
"What?" he spluttered. "What on earth do you want to do that for?" There was a fractional pause, whilst his eyes slithered over her body and made an assessment of her attractiveness, Severus' propensity for sharing, his desire to enter into a threesome where he might show to disadvantage, and the likelihood of being found out bearing in mind Narcissa was in the same house, if not the same wing of Malfoy Manor.
The answer he came up with: passable; nil; also nil: he'd heard rumours about Severus and his ahem wand; and bloody guaranteed and he liked his bollocks in their present location and not in a jar above the fireplace, thank you very much. Though, bearing in mind the legendary vindictiveness of his wife, he thought it unlikely that the suggestion the Mudblood wanted to see his bedroom should be taken at face value. He may be attractive, but it was unlikely that Hermione would be prepared to take on Narcissa face to face rather than sneaking around behind her back.
She was very clearly up to something. It was probably a diversionary tactic, so that he would be daft enough to agree to anything else, but he was too bright to fall for that little trick. She would have to work a lot harder to fool Lucius Malfoy.
He was just on the point of risking a leer and a lascivious comment to call her bluff – whilst keeping a weather eye on Severus, who was bound to go for his wand – when his wife burst into the drawing room with all the tact and grace of a Gryffindor.
"Lucius," she snarled. "What have I told you about bringing your women here? I won't stand for it. Get this filthy Mudblood out of here."
For one bright moment Lucius, seeing Severus hand twitch towards his wand, hoped that he was about to see the back of Narcissa – permanently, and preferably painfully – but Hermione had seen the same movement and attached herself to his wand arm like a limpet.
His disappointment was ameliorated to some extent by the expression on his wife's face when Hermione announced airily that, " I'm afraid there's been some sort of misunderstanding, Mrs Malfoy. I'm not one of Lucius's women at all. I'm Severus' Pet Mudblood, you know."
Narcissa deflated abruptly. "Oh. Oh, erm, I'm sorry." Narcissa had always prided herself on impeccable manners – when she wasn't behaving like a shrew – but there was no Death Eater etiquette for dealing with someone's Mudblood Pet. Obviously, under general principles a Mudblood should be sneered at and insulted, but when they were someone's property that was out of the question. On the other hand, you wouldn't want to shake their hand.
Lucius was even more amused when Hermione raised the social stakes, by holding her hand out to Narcissa. "I'm Hermione Granger; pleased to meet you at last Mrs Malfoy. I've heard so much about you."
Narcissa, perforce, took her hand in as limp a grip as possible for as short a time as possible. "If you'll excuse us for a moment, Severus, Hermione, I need to have a little word with my husband."
Narcissa's hands were like claws digging into Lucius' arms as he was almost dragged into the corner. There were very strong similarities to the last time Severus had seen an Auror wanting to have a Quiet Word with one of The Lads, although it was unlikely that Lucius would Stupefy Narcissa and make a spirited break for freedom.
"What the hell are those two doing here?" hissed Narcissa.
"I was in the process of determining that, when you interrupted us dear," Lucius replied with careful patience, uncomfortably aware that Severus was immensely entertained by his situation.
Severus crossed the room to join them, leaving Hermione to admire the potraiture which was grimacing at the thought of a Mudblood under their roof. "Narcissa," he said pleasantly. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid Lucius and I need to be Elsewhere." Severus rubbed his left arm meaningfully.
"Why?" she snapped back, suspicious as ever. "The Meeting isn't until tomorrow."
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. It's strictly need to know. For your own safety you know." Narcissa looked mutinous.
"Absolutely, my dear," Lucius agreed. " I could never forgive myself if something were to happen to you." – and I wasn't there to see it – "I know you're dedicated to the cause" – of buying shoes – "but I can't allow you to take the risk."
"Why does she get to go then?" Narcissa asked spitefully.
"Cannon fodder," Lucius said succinctly.
"Oh, well that's alright then." Narcissa felt marginally more gruntled. It was one thing to take a Mudblood out for fun and frolics, but quite another to use her as something to hide behind when the hexes started flying.
"You don't think she heard, do you?" muttered Severus. "Otherwise I'll have to Obliviate her again. At this rate she'll end up with a mind with more holes than Swiss Cheese."
"I shouldn't think so, or she'd have run out of the room screaming."
Lucius' callous comment had the effect of soothing Narcissa's remaining concerns, and she kissed her husband on the cheek by way of silent apology. "Well, you'd better hurry up and get changed, dear. You wouldn't want to keep Him waiting."
"Yes, dear," replied Lucius meekly, which would have blown the whole scam if Narcissa hadn't been distracted by the sight of Hermione poking her tongue out at Great-Uncle Bernard. He might indeed be an obnoxious and uncouth individual, but he was Family.
Lucius disappeared to change, as Narcissa descended on Hermione like a tigress ready to protect her cubs.
"Ah, Miss Granger. I see you've been admiring Bernard Malfoy. He is a bit of a character."
"Oh indeed. It's a real privilege to be able to put a face to a name."
Narcissa looked faintly puzzled. She made it a rule never to display strong emotions, in case it caused wrinkles; there was only so much potions could do. "Oh," she said vaguely. "How would you have heard about him?"
"Professor Binns mentioned his name in class one day, and I did some extra research. He was so brave and determined."
The portrait stood a little straighter and began to smoothe down his robes to ensure he looked his best.
"Brave?" Narcissa asked.
"Oh yes. He stood up against Grindelwald, and fought for the rights of Muggleborns to be accepted in society."
It was hard to tell whether Uncle Bernard or Narcissa was the more shocked by the news. Unfortunately, shock kept him silent, and that was tantamount to an admission of guilt.
"Really?" Narcissa said, throwing a suspicious glance at the traitor in their midst. "I had no idea."
"Well, it had to be kept a secret at the time," Hermione replied. "If any of Grindlewald's followers had ever found out what he'd been up to, well, it wouldn't have been pretty. It must be terrible, to be forced to do good by stealth, and never get the credit for it. A bit like poor Severus and Lucius here."
"It's a lie," spluttered the little man. "I murdered Muggles in their bed. I raped, I tortured, I practised the Dark Arts. Crucio Malfoy they used to call me."
Severus was watching the exchange with amusement. Bernard Malfoy was the Death Eater's Death Eater. Even Grindlewald had thought that he was a bit of a nutter, and if the Evil Overlord of the day thought you were a bit of a nutter, then it was time for you to be locked away with the jackets with long sleeves and attached mittens that fastened at the back. He had been, however, a rich and useful nutter, dedicated to furthering the cause of the extinction of Mudbloods.
"Oh dear," Hermione said, sadly shaking her head. "I had no idea that it would still upset him so badly. He had to do so many terrible things to preserve his cover as a spy, and the guilt must be eating him up."
Bernard glared at her. "I do not feel guilt about anything."
"Of course not," Hermione replied soothingly. "After all, why should you? In war, terrible things happen, and sacrifices have to be made so that others can be free."
Bernard was staring at her in bewildered horror. "What do you mean, sacrifices have to be made? There's no excuse for killing people."
Narcissa had a similar expression of horror, though much muted, and for different reasons. One of her great childhood heroes was being exposed as a fraud. He'd actually been a good person, with moral standards. Whatever would the neighbours say?
"That's a fine moral principle in theory," Hermione replied. "But surely you can see that in practice, in the hard, real world, that that just doesn't work. After all, you're allowed to kill people in self-defence; that's what you were doing really, wasn't it? You had to kill or be killed."
Bernard was lost for words, but then rallied. "I used Unforgivables you know."
"Who hasn't?" she returned coolly.
"There's a reason they're called Unforgivables, you know. That's what they are: unforgivable."
"Ah, I see what the problem is," Hermione said. "You think that what you did was unforgivable, despite all the good you accomplished. I'm sure that, in time, you can come to find the peace you need."
"Forgiven? Forgiven?" he shrieked. "How can I be forgiven? Do you think that those Mudbloods I killed would forgive me?"
Hermione just sighed. "Poor thing."
Bernard realised, too late that his speech had confirmed Narcissa's worst suspicions, and his transfer to the attic or cellar was now guaranteed. Incensed beyond all reason, he drew his wand and shrieked, "Avada Kedavra!" A small, green cloud formed at the tip of his wand, drifted across the picture, but could go no further than the frame.
"You dare," hissed Narcissa, drawing her own wand with commendable speed and uttering that one word that chilled the non-existent blood of Wizarding portraits. "Turpentine."
"I was aiming at the Mudblood," he whined, and then retired to the chair in the corner of his picture, where he could clearly be heard muttering about the iniquities of Mudbloods and Blacks. Even he wasn't prepared to push his luck in the face of that threat.
Narcissa glared at him, then her calm mask descended again as she remembered that this would lead to frown lines. "If you will excuse me, Severus, I'll have to find out where that errant husband of mine is, and I have a number of household chores to see to."
"Of course, Narcissa. I'm sure you have many important things you should be doing", Severus replied.
She turned on her impeccable heel, left the room in a flutter of robes, and could be heard calling for her husband in a tone of strangulated gentility.
Lucius was impeccably turned out, as ever, when he eventually joined them. His hair had been carefully arranged in a queue, and his Death Eater robes were pristine and starched to perfection. Hermione examined them carefully. It was her job to fix them in her mind, so that her memories could be transferred to a Pensieve for Minerva's benefit.
Her inspection made Lucius feel nervous. Obviously, the girl was impressed, who wouldn't be, but couldn't she be a little less obvious with Severus and Narcissa around? He pulled his Robes more tightly around himself, entirely coincidentally giving Hermione a better view of his arse, and said, "I don't know what you came here for, Severus, but, whatever it was, the answer is no."
"It could have been very much to your advantage," replied Severus, giving Hermione more time to complete her survey.
"I doubt it. It would have involved me in financial expense, personal danger, or a combination of the two. That answer is still no."
"Very well," Severus said. "But you'll come to regret being so hasty."
"I doubt it. Now, I'm sure you'll understand when I say, charming though your company is, I could well do without it."
As he watched Severus and Hermione leave, ostensibly chagrined, he couldn't help but feel that he'd been stitched up somewhere along the line. He would have given the matter some thought, but he had a Mudblood pet to see, and the chance of spending the evening in comfort. Narcissa simply wouldn't accept that these wretched spindly chairs might be very pretty, but they were damned uncomfortable, even with the benefit of cushioning charms. He'd very nearly suggested that they be used as a form of torture to His Lordship, but he wasn't an Evil Overlord noted for his sense of humour.
Besides, though he'd kill anyone rather than admit it, Lucius had discovered something of a taste for Muggle Fellytision. It appeared to contain lots of women in advanced states of undress, which was something he found that he approved of. What was even better, he could admire the young ladies, without his Mudblood expressing a forcible opinion about his morals. He couldn't understand what Narcissa was complaining about: he a Death Eater, he was supposed to leer at scantily clad young ladies. It was in the job description.
He sighed wistfully. Even if Severus were successful in defeating His Lordship, there was no chance that he would ever be able to shack up with his Mudblood openly. He wondered what he'd done in a previous life to deserve Narcissa; he only hoped he had enjoyed it.
He transfigured his robes into something more acceptable and apparated away with a sharp crack. At least he had tonight……….
Hermione was feeling very pleased with herself. She had accomplished their mission, and she had also had the immense pleasure of winding up the portrait of one of the nastiest supporters of Grindelwald. It would have taken a better woman than Hermione not to gloat.
"I think that went rather well, all things considered," she said as they made their way up from the apparition point.
Severus just grunted.
"I'm sure Minerva will be able to put together a much better set of robes with my memories." Hermione was beginning to feel a bit peeved that he wasn't being a little more supportive.
Severus humphed.
"What on earth is up with you?" she asked in exasperation. "I thought you'd be pleased it had gone well."
"You were looking at Lucius' bum," mumbled Severus.
"What?" Hermione stopped abruptly and stared at him.
"You were looking at Lucius' bum," he repeated, more loudly this time, but not quite meeting her eyes.
"Don't be bloody silly. I was looking at his robes, I grant you, and they were in the vicinity of his bum, but at no time was I actually looking at his bum per se."
"Lucius thought you were," he replied sulkily.
"The disgusting, foul, horrible little man. Why on earth would he think that? Why on earth would anyone want to?" she said, horrified.
"He's good looking."
"Is he?" Hermione shrugged ostentatiously.
"He's blond."
"Insipid, I'd say."
"Charming."
Hermione spluttered with amusement. "To people he wants something from, perhaps, not to insignificant little Mudbloods."
"He's taller."
"Well, I'll give you that, but I think he's wearing lifts in his shoes to make him look taller. Anyway you're the perfect height for kissing, which is much more important, don't you think?"
"I suppose so," he replied, sounding like a three year old being told that he had to eat his greens before he could have his pudding.
"For heaven's sake, Severus," she sighed. "You can look at my memories in a Pensieve tomorrow and see whether I was looking at his bum. Besides yours is nicer."
They continued walking up to the castle a little way. "I did like the way you dealt with Bernard," he offered tentatively. "I met him when I was a toddler. He was a nasty piece of work."
"Narcissa is a bit of a nightmare as well," Hermione replied, letting him off the hook a bit.
"God yes. It must be like clambering into bed with an iceberg."
"And you think about what she's like in bed often do you?" Hermione asked blandly.
"I may have done, in the past, when I was very young, before I developed taste, and certainly never since I met you," Severus replied equally blandly.
Hermione gurgled with laughter, and allowed herself to be pulled against him for a kiss.
They only broke apart when Minerva gently coughed to draw their attention to where she was standing in the shadow of Hagrid's hut. "I suppose this means that you've been successful," she said.
"Absolutely," said Hermione. "I got a very good view of Lucius' robes, and you should be able to copy them relatively easily."
"Shall we get on with it now then, or do you have something more pressing to do?" Minerva asked, making Severus flush bright red. "Smudger is waiting for us, up at the castle."
Severus nervously smoothed down his robes, and followed the women up to the castle. The sooner that this damned coup was sorted out, the sooner he would be able to concentrate on the important things in life.
Smudger was waiting for them in Minerva's sitting room, and nodded at Severus and Hermione by way of greeting. "I take it all went well then?"
"I'm not sure that plan C wasn't better," said Severus, mindful of the unhealthy interest Hermione had taken in Lucius' arse.
"What, waiting until he'd got down to business with his Mudblood and then accio-ing his robes?" asked Smudger.
"Yes," said Severus.
"Leaving him to walk home in the nud – or worse, in Muggle clothes – would have been bloody funny," he said. "But then he'd have known what we were up to, and I definitely don't trust him. Not one little bit."
"Besides, we'd have had to hang around for ages," Hermione said absently.
Severus smirked and Smudger grinned at the implication.
"What are you two grinning at," Minerva said.
"Just the thought of dear old Lucius worrying what we're up to. It can't be conducive to … er … romance," Severus said smoothly.
"Hmmm," Minerva replied, giving the pair of them a hard look that reduced them to errant schoolboys. "Shall we crack on then?"
Hermione felt a little nervous about using a Pensieve. She worked so hard to acquire knowledge, it seemed unnatural at the very least to reverse the process, and what if she muffed the charm and ended up transferring the wrong information? She could end up a gibbering wreck.
She knew that Albus regularly used a Pensieve and she had strong concerns that this could explain his less than firm grip on reality: after eighty years he probably had a mind like Swiss cheese.
She could end up wholly unable to remember the twelve uses of dragon's blood, or the correct angle to hold your wand to perform a levitation charm. And they were certainly some very interesting memories she'd acquired recently that she was rather keen to keep hold of.
So there was a faint tremor in her hand when she raised her want to her temple and started drawing out the particular memories of their trip to Malfoy Manor. The pensieve turned cloudy as the silvery trail fell into the bowl, showing that something had been transferred. She poked around in her mind after the transfer to find that there was indeed a gap where the memories once were, and all that remained was a dull impression of having been in the house, but the details were fuzzy.
She ran through some complicated mental arithmancy to check that things were still in working order, and then ran through the finer details of last evening's events. She noticed that Minerva was looking at her oddly and realised that she had a wide smile on her face, which could be misinterpreted, especially by jealous lovers. "I was just checking my memories were still in place," she said.
"Oh." Minerva didn't pursue the subject, which was probably for the best, and moved the basic robes they were transfiguring closer to the pensieve so that she could keep one eye on both of them and make the necessary adjustments.
When Minerva completed the transfiguration she stood back and admired the robes with pursed lips; they seemed to have passed inspection and she put them on the table for wider scrutiny.
Smudger examined the Robes for defects, paying particular attention to the finework on the hems. It was his life that was at risk after all. "A fine job, Minerva," he said eventually. "I can't find fault with them. Even Lucius himself couldn't tell the difference, and he's a connysoor."
"He's pretentious as well," said Severus. "I mean, what Death Eater with any self-respect would wear poncy robes like this, so that you could be more easily identified by any survivors. It's daft, that's what it is."
"Well, he never intended to get his hands dirty," said Smudger. "He always leaves that to the Minions, doesn't he? Just sort out a bit of light torture for me, there's a good fellow, and I'll nip outside and cast the Mosmordre. Tricky bit of magic that, and can't be left to a mere underling. It has to be just right. Artistic even."
"Good job really," Severus said.
"Bloody right," Smudger agreed. "That way we can start squealing like a pig on its honeymoon as soon as he's out of the door, and by the time he's done his little bit – and he never rushes back, bless him – we've sprayed a bit of animal blood round the room, and knocked the offending Muggle or Muggleborn unconscious. He returns to a vision of savage butchery that would put His Lordship off his tea, and we're all happy."
"And we can always rely on Skeeter and her kind to sensationalise the story so it sounds much, much worse," Severus said smugly.
"Don't any of the victims ever tell the truth about what happened to them?" Minerva asked in amazement.
Smudger snorted. "What, and ruin a perfectly good gig as a poor, unfortunate victim, where everyone's giving them sympathy and understanding. I should think not."
"Even if they did tell the truth, what good would it do? It'll just be put down to having a stiff upper lip and being brave, or covering up some deep, deep trauma. People want to believe the worst. Before you know it, a simple raid where someone got a black eye and a bit of a bloody nose, before sensibly deciding that heroism can be left to someone who isn't being held at wandpoint by people in funny clothes, turns into a sodding blood bath. The public don't want the truth, they want scandal."
"That can't be right," said Minerva. "Surely there's some truth to all these stories.
"Last month, some silly sod fainted before we'd even got started, and the next day he's telling the Prophet about his harrowing ordeal and hinting at unspeakable torments," Severus said.
"I remember him," Smudger said indignantly. "He clipped his head on the coffee table on the way down, and swore blind that a burly Death Eater had hit him across the face whilst he was held back by three others. I still say we should have nipped back and had a Quiet Word about the situation."
"You can't spend your time exacting revenge for every little slight," Severus said.
"Says the man who deducted 70 points from Gryffindor last week," Hermione muttered to Minerva.
"Besides," he continued, pointedly ignoring the comment. "You know how stroppy His Lordship gets about unauthorised visits."
"True. True. And it's a bugger getting all the saliva off your robes." Hermione looked puzzled, and Smudger enlightened her. "He spits when he's angry. You don't want to go to a meeting when you've crossed His Lordship, without casting a couple of water-repelling charms. It's disgusting, that's what it is."
"I thought poor old Avery was going to drown last time," Severus smirked.
"He should know better than to turn up late. Very particular on timekeeping is His Lordship. At least when he's being kept waiting." Hogwarts clock chiming the hour interrupted them. "Speaking of which, I'd better be getting back. There's a decent programme on the Wireless tonight."
"And I've got lots of marking to see to," Severus said, lying through his teeth. His plans for the evening did not include marking, or hanging around in Minerva's rooms going over plans for the umpteenth time. What was the point? It wasn't as if Potter was going to stick to it anyway.
"When shall we three meet again?" Smudger asked with a grin.
"Next Thursday, as you very well know," Severus replied. "And there are four of us you know."
"I was being literary," Smudger replied, "in honour of the seriousness of the occasion. It's artistic licence, that's what it is. When we come to write our memoirs, we want to sound a bit posh, don't you think?"
"Quite right," Minerva said, amused.
Severus gave her an irritated glance, before returning to his point. "You won't sound very posh if it's obvious you can't count, will you?"
Hermione, seeing that the whole discussion could continue for hours, hours that could be better spent doing other things – like, ahem, marking – decided to help things along. "Severus is right, Smudger, but there is a solution. If we step out into the corridor, and Minerva stays here, then you can ask the question again, and you'll be both posh and accurate and you'll both be happy."
"She is a clever one, isn't she?" Smudger said, nudging Severus in the ribs.
"She is," he agreed. "And I'll thank you to keep your elbows to yourself."
Smudger attempted to look repentant, and they dutifully trailed outside to repeat the scene. When Severus said, "How about Thursday, 6.30 for 7.00?" she had the feeling she'd heard it somewhere before, but she couldn't place it.
Their place in history assured, the three of them went their separate ways: Smudger to his Wireless, and Severus and Hermione to their marking. It wasn't strictly a lie: Hermione did give him an Outstanding, but then that was nothing less than his due.