Chapter 02

"Madam? Excuse me, but Master Dursley sends me. He asks you to get ready for the party."

Hastily, Petunia wiped away the tears from her eyes before she turned round and looked up. She hadn't heard her lady's maid enter the room, too absorbed had she been in her thoughts. She hadn't even noticed time fly by – could it already be that late?

"What time is it?"

"It's almost seven, Madam," the girl replied, approaching her mistress, who was sitting on a chair by the window. "Master Dursley says the guests will arrive in an hour. I have already lit the lamps in the dressing room."

Petunia sighed. "Thank you, Ginevra. I shall come in an instant."

Her maid nodded, but worry was lacing her voice as she hesitantly continued. "Excuse me, Madam, are you not feeling well?"

Sighing again, Petunia turned to the cradle she had been staring at before in the flickering light of the candle she had lit when daylight had begun to fade. "It's nothing," she said, but it sounded unconvincing even to her own ears.

"Is it...because of the baby?"

Petunia turned and looked sharply at the maid, whose eyes had followed hers to the cradle. It was out of place for her servant to investigate her employers' personal affairs, and during the five months she had been working for them, Ginevra Weasley had never shown any signs of impudence. Under her mistress's sharp gaze, she now looked down at her hands, which were folded before her lap.

"I'm sorry, Madam, I had no right to pry."

After a few seconds, Petunia shook her head. The girl had apparently not meant to overstep – she had simply been worried for her mistress. Petunia surveyed the comely seventeen-year-old for some more moments: the neat black wool gown and white apron, the thick red hair, welling out under the white bonnet despite being forced into a bun, the worried freckled face, the bright brown eyes.

She was longing for someone to talk to, especially today. She didn't have any true friends, and to pour her heart out to Vernon was entirely out of the question. But the lady's maid? The first woman occupying this position after their move to London had died from consumption eleven months ago. She had been a colourless, apathetic twenty-five-year-old by the name of Eloise, and certainly not someone with whom you would discuss anything personal, social gap let aside. Her successor, a handsome girl named Marietta, had been convicted of thievery a few months after she had taken up the employment, and Petunia had never liked or trusted her very much in the first place. Ginevra Weasley, though…

"It's been a year today," she finally murmured softly, giving in to the urge to get her sorrow off her chest.

Ginevra looked up at her, surprised, partially because of her mistress's sudden confidence in her, and partly because of the information she had received.

"I hadn't known that it was today." Her gaze wandered to the empty cradle again. "Perchance...Master Dursley could excuse you from the party?"

Petunia shook her head. "He doesn't like it when his wife indulges in self-pity. And," she added sadly, "I doubt he even remembers that it was today. He...he chose to forget it quickly, I think." The crisp fabric of her grey gown rustled as she hectically searched it for a handkerchief to wipe off the tears which again had begun to fall.

"Oh, Madam, I'm so very sorry," Ginevra exclaimed, sympathy clearly shining through in her voice. "But...you mustn't be so sad about it anymore, you'll make yourself sick with grief." She hesitated for some seconds before she went on. "My mother had a stillborn child, too, but she had five more healthy children afterwards."

Petunia had managed to compose herself and rewarded the girl's attempt to comfort her with a weak smile. "How old was your mother when she had her last child?"

"She was thirty-one when she had me. I'm the youngest."

"I am thirty-four now. It's not very likely that I will get pregnant again." Absently, Petunia reached out and brushed her fingers over the soft blanket in the cradle. "And if so...I doubt that I could keep the child."

"But Madam..."

"No!" Petunia felt her chest narrow painfully. Since she had no one to talk to, she had hardly ever spoken about this subject. It was nothing she could discuss with the wives of her husband's business contacts. "I fell pregnant for the first time when I was eighteen, shortly after I had married. I lost the child after five months, despite my youth and health. It took almost two years until I got pregnant again. This time, the child survived. It was a boy, and we named him Dudley, after his grandfather."

Her hands clenched tightly around the handkerchief she was still holding in her lap. "He died from an accident when he was eight. I was with child three more times, and I lost all of them before five months had gone by." It hurt to talk about it, and Petunia suddenly asked herself what exactly she was doing. Sharing her deepest feelings with a servant? It was more than a little inappropriate. Still, she couldn't help herself – now that she had begun, she couldn't stop talking.

"I didn't think I would get pregnant again; it had been five years since the last time. When I noticed, I was afraid I would lose the child again, like all the others. But then I was almost eight months along, and I hoped that this time…" She trailed off, her eyes once again drawn to the unused cradle. When she spoke again, she sounded tired, resigned. "God hasn't granted me with the blessing of seeing my children grow up, and I must not complain about his decision."

There was an embarrassed silence before she spoke again. "Did the other servants not tell you?"

The girl shook her head. "They don't talk with me too much." She seemed unsure of whether she should go on, but eventually took heart. "They're jealous because my work is not as hard as theirs. But it's normal," she added hastily, as if to dispel any indication that she might be complaining. "I'm used to it, and I care little about it."

Petunia nodded. As the lady's maid, Ginevra attended to her mistress's appearance. She assisted Petunia in dressing and undressing and arranged her hair, she was responsible for her jewellery and wardrobe, including repairing and washing the more delicate clothes like laces and fine linens, and also kept her mistress's room in order. It was much lighter work than that of most other servants like the cook, housemaids, and footmen, and in addition, she was required to have good manners and be able to read and write. Her social status, like the butler's and the housekeeper's, was somewhere in between her employers and the other servants, and it seemed logical that they should regard her with envy and not let her participate in their usual tattle.

Moreover, since they hadn't brought any of their old servants from Plymouth when they had moved to London after Dudley's death, it was unlikely that any of those who worked for them knew much about it anyway. Petunia had had one stillborn child half a year after their arriving, but they had never talked about the others or their dead son.

Or Harry.

Of course, they all knew that there was a boy, an idiot, and they also knew that they mustn't speak of him to anyone, but during the almost six years they had now been living here, Harry hadn't left his prison once, and neither had any of the servants entered it. Only Petunia, Vernon, and Harry's guard, Peter Pettigrew, had ever seen him.

Thinking of Pettigrew, she scrunched up her nose in disgust. Until today she did not know what had possessed Vernon to employ a man of such dubious character. She had no doubts that Pettigrew had been some kind of hoodlum before he had entered their service. But then, it was probably exactly that which had recommended him to Vernon. Who else would take such a gruesome task upon himself voluntarily?

The incident from a week ago still fresh in mind, tears threatened again to fall, and Petunia pressed her lips tightly together. Vernon would call her pathetic if he saw her, and to a certain extent, he was right. Why was it that she couldn't resign herself to what she could not change?

"Madam?" Ginevra's voice tore her out of her musings. "Are you sure that you don't want to lie down?"

Petunia nodded, drawing a deep breath to calm herself down. "Enough of this brooding! I think it would be best if I changed clothes now," she announced, getting up from her chair and putting away the handkerchief.

She didn't want to think about all this anymore, especially since she had to act as a pleasant hostess tonight. Vernon would be most displeased should she show any signs of indisposition in front of his guests, and she couldn't afford to anger him. He had been harsher than usual during the last week, and all that she could do was try to please him as much as possible and pray that he might not exercise his wrath upon Harry.

She took the candle from the window sill, and Ginevra followed her silently as she approached the door and opened it. After she had graced the never used nursery in which she had spent the afternoon with a last glance, Petunia turned and headed for the dressing room.

In another part of London, Severus Snape had just entered his house and taken off his gloves in the entrance hall as he was approached by his butler. The man was a little shorter than average, and this impression was increased by his slightly curved spine. His left arm was adorned with splints and resting in a sling before his abdomen.

"You're late," he greeted unceremoniously.

Severus only glared.

"You haven't forgotten that you are supposed to make an appearance at Monsieur Dursley's dinner party in an hour, have you?" The butler spoke with a thick French accent.

"No, Lupin, I have not," Severus snapped, taking off his black hat and cloak and handing them to his servant along with the gloves. "But I nourished the ridiculous hope that you might have forgotten it." He made an effort to speak louder and more clearly than he would to another person, knowing that Lupin wouldn't understand him otherwise.

Lupin smiled benignly, easily holding the clothes he had been handed as though he was used to being limited in the use of his hands. "No such luck, I'm afraid, Milord. Have I ever forgotten any of your appointments?"

"No," Severus grumbled as he began to walk towards the stairs leading up to the first floor. "You're a slave driver. You could make a good living over in the former colonies on a cotton plantation."

As Lupin, who had hung up his master's clothes, now hurried to follow him, the slight limp in his walk became more prominent. When he had arrived at Severus's side, Severus nodded in direction of the damaged arm.

"If I remember correctly, this arm was out of the sling only three days ago," he commented. "What happened?"

The answer was as short as meaningful. "Dora."

Severus snorted. He had expected this. "How did she do it?"

"Well, her wish to exit the kitchen collided with my wish to enter – and therefore the door with my arm. Rather violently, as I may say."

They had now arrived at the study on the first floor, and Severus halted, glancing down at Lupin as he spoke.

"Mayhap we should look for another housemaid. It seems that Miss Tonks fails to comprehend the importance of carefulness in my house. This is the second time in only a year, not to forget the two broken ribs six months ago!"

Lupin shook his head. "She's a little clumsy, but a good housemaid and cook. I would keep her. Moreover," he added dryly, "she is the first who hasn't fled from you after a few weeks."

Again, Severus glared at him. "Mayhap I should look for a new butler as well." There was no force behind the words, however, and Lupin's unimpressed face clearly showed that he knew that he did not have to fear for his position.

Severus opened the door, and they entered the study. The room was large and flanked by crammed bookshelves on all four sides, interrupted only by the fireplace, the door on one and a small window behind the bulky oaken desk on the opposite wall. A green armchair was standing in front of the lit fireplace, and Severus slumped into it, scowling at the flickering flames. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He had felt a headache approaching when he had left the apothecary, and now it had arrived with all its might.

"Fine, let her stay," he agreed. "But tomorrow, I'll have another talk with her!"

Secretly, Severus had to admit that Lupin was right: they had been in London for sixteen months now, and during the first four months, he had scared away five housemaids. And even before that, in Paris, none had ever lasted longer than two months at the most. Nymphadora Tonks, however, had been working for him for almost a year now, and she showed no signs of being intimidated or annoyed by her master's harsh and grumpy behaviour. She was, as Severus thought surly, outright disgustingly cheerful. And exceptionally clumsy, too. She would have to take more care in the future! Lupin had had more broken bones in the course of the last year than during the five preceding ones.

"Lupin, get me…" he began, but broke off the sentence as a glass filled with an amber liquid appeared in his field of vision. He grabbed it and downed the scotch at once. "I should get drunk right now," he grumbled. "At least I wouldn't mind that bloody dinner party so much. And perchance even Weasley's voice would disappear from my head."

An amused sound could be heard from his butler. "So, it was young Monsieur Weasley who gave you that headache," Lupin observed. "I had figured as much."

Severus chose not to glare at the man this time, knowing that it was of no use. "You find that funny only because you didn't have to listen to him for two solid hours. Swap places with me, and your head will be close to exploding in no time, I'll warrant that." He held out the glass to indicate that he wished it to be refilled, but Lupin simply carried it over to the cabinet and returned without a second drink.

"I remember you saying that he was an exceptionally gifted young man," he commented.

"He is! If only he could keep his mouth shut once in a while. He would convince me of his qualities also without that constant chatter of his!"

It was true: Percival Weasley was an astoundingly able organiser as well as an accurate book-keeper, and he showed much interest and ability in the field of pharmacy. Therefore, Severus had made him the chief clerk of his apothecary not too long ago. Weasley hadn't had the opportunity to study medicine as Severus had done, but his employer thought that such a talent must not be wasted and now tutored him personally once a week. The young man's only annoying trait was his immense desire to please his superiors, which manifested itself in him agreeing to every word Severus uttered, whatever nonsense it might be, and the enervating tendency to hold monologues showing off his knowledge in order to make a good impression.

"So, I take it that you miss Monsieur Bonnet, then?"

Severus grunted angrily. "The last thing that I miss about Paris is Davide Bonnet!"

The mere thought of his former chief clerk, who had turned out to be unreliable and a thief, was enough to raise his ire. During their late time in Paris, there had been more and more discrepancies in the apothecary's monthly accountings. Bonnet had disavowed any involvement, of course, but Severus had finally managed to prove that he had not only misappropriated a considerable sum, but also that it was he who'd been stealing constantly from the pharmaceutical stock. In the end, Bonnet had been forced to admit that he had taken the missing amounts himself, being a laudanum addict, as well as selling them for exorbitant prices.

"Suddenly, Monsieur Weasley seems not so bad anymore, does he?" Lupin's eyes twinkled with amusement, the odd purple tinge to the white of his eyes being more obvious as he was standing close to the flickering fire.

"You're a plague!"

Lupin only smiled. "I've prepared your clothes for the evening, Milord. If you want to be on time, I suggest you change now."

Unwilling, yet without contradicting, Severus hoisted himself out of the armchair and, followed by his butler, left the study to head for the dressing room that was situated with the bedrooms on the second floor.

"Did you order Finnigan to unharness the horses when you arrived?"

"Of course not," Severus snapped back, climbing the last few stairs. "I perfectly knew that you'd make me attend that accursed party! Do you honestly believe I'm naïve enough to think that I could escape you today, when I haven't managed that for the last ten years?" Not waiting for an answer, he entered the dressing room and closed the door behind him.

When some time later he exited the room again, his appearance had changed, subtly, yet noticeably. While he was still completely clad in black, the garments were finer, nobler. Instead of the normal, loose fitting trousers he preferred, Lupin had recently decided it necessary for him to wear tight pantaloons, at least at festivities. Severus greatly disliked them, since they made him look silly – he was thirty-four, not twenty anymore! The woollen fabric of the frock coat was more delicate than the ones he usually wore, and the lapels were of fine silk. A fitting silken cravat rounded off the picture, and the shoulder-length black hair was now tied up to a ponytail instead of dangling loosely around his face.

As he hurried down the stairs to the ground floor, a crash could be heard from somewhere in the rear of the house, probably the kitchen, followed by a loud shriek uttered by a female voice. Severus suppressed an annoyed groan. Whatever Dora had broken now, he didn't want to know. He only hoped that it was dishes and not another of Lupin's bones. If it was the latter, he'd fire her no matter what Lupin had to say about it.

Just when he had put on his long black cloak, the butler emerged from a corridor that led to the kitchen.

"A tea set," he stated unasked as he approached. "Good that I have bought several reserve sets."

Severus stayed silent, closing the many buttons on the cloak. His household was, as he mused, certainly the oddest in all of London's aristocracy.

"Well, then." Lupin held out his hat and gloves for Severus to take. "I wish you a pleasant evening, Milord."

"Exceedingly funny," was the only comment Severus spared him before he left the house to get to his carriage waiting outside.