Master of Enchantment

Book 3

Nobody Told Me There'd Be Days Like These

i: The Wedding Gifts

Hermione Jane Granger Snape lounged in the bath of her marital home, covered in scented bubbles and staring into space.

Today was The Day. The dreaded day when her honeymoon switched down a notch and her bridegroom returned to work for part of the day. It was not yet time to retire from their home – which they had agreed to dub Enchanté – but her constant companion of the last several weeks would be spending part of his days away from her, and she was finding the emotional adjustment a bit difficult. She realized that she was reacting a bit like a ... well, like a girl, and she really hated it when that happened to her.

Reaching up with her foot, she used her toes to twist the faucet and bring more water into the ancient tub. It rushed in, warming her moisture-wrinkled skin. She was not unhappy – no! – simply in a contemplative mood. She had known when she left the university that finding a way to break through the self-imposed seclusion of Severus Snape was her first goal. She had not known that her successful accomplishment of this task would plunge her into the whirlpool of the Enchantment, usurping all other drives, urges, and rational thought beneath the overwhelming impact of its imperative. She had willingly and eagerly succumbed to the wildfire passions and exquisite agitation of the senses brought on by the elemental magic that existed between her and the man who had become her husband – and she had known, in her heart of hearts, that she would only be able to immerse herself in the enthrallment for a short time. Yet even so, with all the intellectual knowledge in the world at her fingertips, that traitorous vulnerability laid bare by her love for Severus made her feel weak – she was terrified of being found wanting, in his eyes, because she was sick at heart to think of spending hours a day out of his presence.

With an impatient utterance, Hermione sat up in her bath, splashing the floor with cooled water. She set about washing herself in an efficient way; it was time to finish up her soaking and her sulking – her husband was soon to leave for work, and it was her wifely duty to make sure he was fed before he left their home.

Severus sat on the edge of his marital bed, glaring at the perfectly unexceptional clothing laid out for him to don before setting out for Hogwarts. It was more than a week before the students would arrive, on September 1, but there were chores to be performed, and it was his duty to attend to them.

Today was The Day – the dreaded day when his honeymoon switched down a notch, and he abandoned his bride to go to work for part of the day.

Thank Merlin – he was exhausted.

He was physically tired, as only a 41 year old man married to a passionate 22 year old woman can be tired – but also emotionally exhausted from the last month of entirely unfamiliar emotional intimacy with another person. The idea of being able to walk into his rooms at Hogwarts, his home for the last twenty years, and being able to sit for a quiet half hour over a cup of coffee, with a book in his lap and his cat purring at his side, was comforting. He would need the quiet time to transition from Severus, bridegroom to Hermione and eager recipient of the fruits of the Enchantment, to Professor Snape, Potions master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Severus knew his marriage had wrought changes in him, had allowed parts of his personality which had not seen the light of day since he was a child, to emerge and flourish. These differences would be abundantly obvious to his co-workers, as well as to his students. In the broadest sense, Severus really did not give a damn about what other people thought of him – but it had been his habit, for years out of mind, to carefully guard all personal details of his life from the prying eyes of other people. Being a happily married man was not the type of change he would be able to hide from the people around him. He was proud of his lovely young wife and proud of the obvious verification of his virility that her happiness and blatant adoration affirmed – yet there was an intensely private side of him that quailed from parading these things before the amused commentary of his nosy fellow teachers and his insolent students.

Furthermore, he was entirely conscious of Hermione's slight withdrawal from him this morning. He could not be unaware of her feelings regarding his return to work; it made him impatient, though. He had done exactly as she wished – rushed the wedding, spent their entire honeymoon here, alone – she had known it would have to end, that he would have to return to work. It was unreasonable for her to be moping about. He would have to be firm with her.

With a growl, he began to dress himself, and to inwardly prepare for the imminent assault on his fiercely protected self-image.

Hermione was setting a plate of buttered toast on the table when Severus approached the small kitchen. She saw, with a pang, that he was dressed in full bat-mode. She checked for a moment when he paused on the threshold, pulled himself up to his full height, folded his arms across his chest, and glared down his nose at her. In a flash, she was a second-year student with ill-gotten potions ingredients hidden about her person; before she could stop herself, she had averted her eyes and fallen back a step from the table.

His snort as the black robes billowed past her recalled her to her own kitchen. With narrowed eyes and a soul full of indignation, she watched him seat himself at the table and begin to serve himself from the dish of eggs and bacon.

"I can't believe you'd DO that to me!" she said, sitting down across from him and snatching a piece of toast from his plate.

Severus quirked an eyebrow at her, taking a second slice of toast from the serving plate to replace the one she had stolen from him. "No doubt the food from my plate tastes better than the food from the actual serving dishes?" he inquired snidely.

Preserving a dignified silence, Hermione spread her toast with jam and began to eat it. Severus let her chew for several minutes before interposing, with wry self-deprecation, "Well, I had to see if I still have the intimidation factor working in my favour."

Hermione was saved the necessity of answering by the arrival of the morning post. The tawny barn owl dropped the Daily Prophet by Severus's plate, while an elderly eagle owl settled by Hermione. The eagle owl had a missive on dark green parchment, written in silver ink. Intrigued, Hermione untied the unusual letter from the eagle owl's leg and offered him a piece of bacon from the serving dish. The owl accepted the slice of bacon and soared out the open kitchen window with it dangling from his cruel beak.

Hermione broke the silver wax seal on the letter and spread it open, checking first for the signature. "It's from your Great Aunt Seraphina," she said. "Why is she writing to me?"

Severus looked up from scanning the newspaper headlines. "Perhaps you'll tell me after you read her letter," he suggested.

Hermione's face drained of colour. "She's coming to pay a morning visit. Today!"

"And I have to go to work. Pity." Though his face was carefully deadpan, there was a certain malicious glee in his black eyes.

"You can't go off and leave me alone with your dreadful aunt!" she protested in horror.

The parchment drifted to the table top; Severus picked it up and read through it as he finished drinking his coffee. "She's bringing our wedding gift. I see nothing dreadful in that."

He stood, and Hermione launched herself at him, pressing her face into his chest. "She terrified me at the wedding," her muffled voice explained.

A softening expression stole across his features as one hand came up to smooth an errant curl. "She is a daunting old fright, Pet, but she was kind to me when I was a child. You will be gracious to her, I'm sure."

A resigned sigh floated up from the region below his chin. "Oh, all right. But you'll OWE me."

Severus peeled her clutching hands from his robes and gave her a somewhat taunting look. "I was previously unaware of these badger-like tendencies. You never mentioned the Sorting Hat considering you for Hufflepuff."

Hermione thrust herself away from him, incensed. "There's no need to be insulting, Severus. I'm not afraid of your horrid old aunt."

Severus pinched her obstinately raised chin. "That's my girl," he said softly, his voice caressing. Then without further ado, he was gone, and Hermione was on her own in her new home for the first time since her marriage.

Hermione surveyed herself critically in the mirror. The bronze coloured robes were flattering to her complexion, her make up was neatly done, and her hair was cooperating with her. "This is my home. I am the witch of this house," she muttered to herself as she turned to leave the bedroom.

"Of course you are, dear," the mirror answered encouragingly.

Hermione went into the kitchen to look over the tea tray she had arranged and made one last circuit through the sitting room to make sure the tables were dust-free. The Sweet William and carnations she had cut from the garden and hastily arranged in a vase she had transfigured from a water glass lent the room a homey touch.

"I am a married woman. This is my home," she muttered to herself under her breath as she straightened the cushions on the sofa.

The bell rang, and she took a deep breath before walking to the door and opening it with the appearance of calm.

Seraphina Susannah Snape stood upon the doorstep in a forest green travelling cloak. An extremely ugly hat adorned with feathers sat upon her iron grey hair, and a huge black hand bag dangled from one scrawny forearm. On her aristocratic face was the patented Snape sneer, thin lips curled beneath the large hooked nose and imperious black eyes peculiar to her family. Hermione quelled the urge to curtsy, instead extending a hand in welcome.

"Please, come in. I'm so happy you could come to visit." Proper home training carried her through the beginning of her ordeal as the tiny, stooped figure swept past her into the entrance hall.

"I'm sure you're wishing me at the devil, my dear girl. You're well brought up; that's something. Where are we going to sit? I'm too old to be standing about in drafty hallways. I hope you mean to offer me tea."

Hermione hurried to show the old lady into the sitting room, ensconcing her in the most comfortable chair before excusing herself to fetch the tea tray. In the kitchen, she filled the tea pot with boiling water, murmuring a warming spell for the muffins.

"I am a married woman. This is my home," she reminded herself as she carried the tray into the sitting room and placed it on a table before the sofa. She seated herself, then offered a warm muffin to the formidable old lady across from her.

Great Aunt Seraphina waved the proffered muffin away from her. "Thank you, no. Just plain strong tea for me at this time of the day." She glanced Hermione up and down shrewdly before saying, "If I were you, young lady, I wouldn't indulge in cakes in the morning, else you'll be fat before you know it."

Hermione pressed her lips together to keep from uttering the retort on the tip of her tongue, simply handing a cup of tea to the old dragon. She then poured a cup of tea for herself and sat back to regard Great Aunt Seraphina with wide, innocent eyes, letting the silence stretch on between them. The mean old cow could give her the stupid wedding present and go away again; damn if she'd keep on setting herself up for snubs from Severus's aunt.

Great Aunt Seraphina drank her tea in majestic silence, unabashedly staring at the defiant young witch before her. When she had finished the tea, she set the cup on the table before her and opened her bag, removing an elegant cigarette holder, carved in jade, and a Muggle cigarette package. Without seeking permission, she fitted the fag into the holder, lit it with her wand, and inhaled the nicotine deeply into her lungs.

"Don't think I don't know you'd like to tell me off," she said in a reasonable voice, tapping ash into an unusual ashtray she had removed from the ugly handbag; the ashtray promptly caused the ashes to disappear. "I don't blame you. I would have wanted to do the same, at your age. Severus told me you were fit to be a Snape, Muggle-born or not. I had my doubts, but you handle yourself well. You'll do."

Hermione's lips were now but a thin line across her face as she restrained herself from hexing her husband's favourite family member. She was entirely unconscious of her near-perfect mimicry of Severus's best sneer as she inclined her head in acceptance of the old bag's grudging encomium.

Great Aunt Seraphina's sudden bark of laughter startled her. "You've even got the look of him, already. Good girl. You'll have to develop dragon hide if you're going to live with a Snape man." The old lady stubbed out her fag and the cigarette accoutrements disappeared into the hand bag again. "Come, come, child. Don't pout, it's not becoming."

Hermione found her mouth relaxing into a small smile. "What would you have me say, ma'am?"

"Tell me you love the boy and that you'll be a good wife. He's had a terrible life, that one."

"I love him with all my heart. I will work at being exactly the wife he wants and needs."

The old lady snorted. "Leave off worrying about the kind of wife he wants, and be the wife he deserves." She stood abruptly. "Will you show me about the house? I've never been to this place before; Severus inherited it from his mother's side of the family."

Hermione willingly showed her around the house, then returned to the sitting room and bore with equanimity the many strictures Great Aunt Seraphina voiced regarding the deficiencies of the old house. "All the rooms need painting and papering, the carpets need to be replaced, the draperies are faded and old fashioned, the chairs need to be recovered, and the nursery must be furnished."

Hermione gaped at her. "We don't need to have the nursery furnished."

Great Aunt Seraphina gave her a flat stare. "Don't be foolish. Of course you do. The Snape family must have an heir." Her eyes flicked down to Hermione's hips again. "Look at you. You're made for it."

Hermione's chin came up a fraction. "Severus and I have no immediate plans to begin our family, ma'am."

The old woman shrugged. "Whether sooner or later, you will need to have the nursery furnished. You may as well be prepared." From the ugly hand bag, she removed a list scrawled on a piece of parchment. "You will also, of course, need household help."

"Oh, no, ma'am, we won't be making our home here at present. We'll be residing most of the year at Hogwarts."

Great Aunt Seraphina wagged a finger at her. "Mark my words, child, you'll be glad of a place to retreat to, once you get settled at that inconvenient old castle. You'll get this house fit for a family to live in, so that when the children come, you'll have a home for them. You'll see."

The older witch scratched a note to herself on the list in her hand, muttering about upholstering. Hermione felt as if she were being swept along in the wake of a steam engine. "We don't plan to invest on redecorating at present – perhaps when I begin working ..."

Great Aunt Seraphina glanced up at her, surprise on her heavily lined face. "Didn't I tell you I was bringing a wedding gift?" she demanded in some exasperation.

At that moment, the door bell chimed again. Hermione jumped at the unaccustomed sound; who in the world would be calling on her now? She stood to go to the door, only to have Great Aunt Seraphina bustle out of the sitting room ahead of her.

"That will be them now," she said with satisfaction as she passed Hermione.

"Who?" Hermione asked blankly as the stooped figure wrenched the door open.

The sight of the visitors on the doorstep caused her a moment of disorientation, as well as incipient panic. Standing before her, casting one another looks of mistrust and loathing, were a house-elf and her former Professor, Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Your household help and your interior decorator, girl, aren't you attending to me at all?" the old lady demanded peevishly.

Severus walked into his rooms for the first time in a month with a feeling of homecoming. The door had scarcely closed behind him before Bast leapt onto the bookcase by the door. From her perch, nearly on eye level with him, she surveyed him with wounded disdain.

A smile tugged at Severus's mouth. "Is there nowhere I can go without being plagued by feminine distempered freaks?" he demanded, holding one long-fingered hand out to the elegant little black Siamese cat. Bast delicately sniffed his fingers before rubbing the side of her face against his hand. When he obligingly scratched behind her ear, she relented and stepped onto his shoulder, her claws gripping his robes, and butted his face with her head.

That reunion attended to, Severus moved into his study, where he found the lesson plans for the coming term neatly filed in a drawer. He busied himself double-checking the list of ingredients for the classroom store cupboard and was soon lost in the familiar tasks he had performed over and again for twenty years. Bast demanded access to his lap, which he granted her, and two hours were comfortably filled with the purring of the cat and the scratching of the quill on parchment.

The rumbling of his stomach alerted him to the time. For a moment he considered scrounging in the tiny kitchen for something for lunch, then condemned the impulse as cowardly. His first post-nuptial meeting with the staff had to occur sometime; better sooner than later. Squaring his shoulders, Severus strode through the dungeons to the steps leading up to the Great Hall.

His entrance caused no small stir; the entire teaching staff stood to greet him, an unprecedented event, and his hand was shaken by every single one of them, until he reached Albus Dumbledore, who seated Severus between himself and Remus Lupin.

Lupin gave him a lop-sided grin. "How does it feel to return as the conquering hero?"

Severus paused in the act of pouring water into a goblet. "Do you know, I believe that I received less attention when I was awarded the Order of Merlin than I did after marrying Hermione Granger?"

Lupin, who was swallowing a mouthful of pumpkin juice, inhaled it instead. Minerva McGonagall patted Lupin helpfully on the back as Severus went back to eating his lunch as if Lupin were not choking in his ear. When he recovered his breath, Lupin rasped, "It would be ungentlemanly of me to draw the inevitable comparison between risking one's life for one's country and marrying Hermione."

The rest of teachers were then treated to the novel sight of Severus Snape indulging in an unrestrained laugh with a co-worker, which ended only when Remus Lupin pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his streaming face. Albus caught Minerva's eye over the heads of the two men – boys again, in this moment – and they exchanged very pleased, rather self-satisfied, smiles.

Replete from his meal and triumphant from his first encounter with the staff, Severus took his ingredients list and entered the storeroom, checking off each ingredient and making a note of the amounts needed. As he moved from shelf to shelf, he had a nagging feeling, as of some task left undone. He pushed on with his inventory, for several more minutes, until it dawned on him.

He was missing Hermione. He wanted to share with her, to tell her about lunch and how the other professors had behaved, and what Remus had said, and how Bast had received him ... Severus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted to Floo his wife, and if they had not deliberately blocked the Floo at Enchanté, he would stop right now and talk to her. He had been absent from her for all of five hours, and he wanted nothing so much as to see her beloved face and speak to her. Had he actually thought that marrying her would be the end of it, that he would stop viewing his predilection for her society as a weakness? What kind of man could not make it through one workday without wanting to talk to his wife?

With a chuckle, he went back to marking his list, reflecting to himself that he would be home in time to eat supper with her.

Hermione watched in horror as the unknown house-elf and the former Professor Lockhart were welcomed into her home by her husband's terrifying great aunt.

"Hermione, this is Gilderoy Lockhart, a well-known interior designer. He did the redecoration for my friend Cordelia Malfoy's London townhouse." Hermione held out her hand wordlessly, feeling as if she were taking part in some sort of farce. "Gilderoy, this is my great nephew's bride, Hermione Snape." Lockhart gave Hermione a glittering smile and bowed over her hand in the grand manner.

Gilderoy Lockhart had spent six years on the locked ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, suffering from an Obliviate Spell which had backfired and hit him rather than his intended victims, Ron and Harry. The general consensus among the law enforcement community had been that his own personality disintegration had been enough punishment, and no action was ever taken against him for his attempt to obliterate Ron's and Harry's memories. To everyone's surprise, after five years of hospitalization, a new treatment, based largely on Muggle psychiatric technique, had helped Lockhart regain a large part of his personality. His memories of his former life would never be recovered, but he remembered enough about how to be a functioning adult wizard that he was judged to be well enough to leave hospital. Within six months, he had a new career, in interior design and party planning. He had also published two new books.

Oddly enough, Lockhart's appearance had scarcely changed in the nine years since Hermione had endured a painful schoolgirl crush on him when he was her second-year Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. His golden hair was carefully coiffed, his forget-me-not-blue eyes sparkled, and his toothy smile was blindingly white. His lavender robes were carefully colour-coordinated with the bag he carried, which appeared to contain paint chips and fabric samples – and to be otherwise stuffed to the bursting point with copies of his books and signed photographs. Hermione simply nodded to him politely; she dared not think of what Severus would say to the idea of Gilderoy Lockhart in their home at all, much less with some bizarre carte blanche to decorate it.

"Gilderoy," Great Aunt Seraphina said, "I would like for you to begin in the nursery, upstairs – you'll find the room at the top of the stairs, on the left. I will join you directly."

"Of course, dear lady," Lockhart said, smiling engagingly at both witches, before bounding up to the first floor.

The old woman transferred her attention to the silent house-elf, who waited patiently before her, his eyes averted. "Elf, please come with me into the sitting room," she said and went back to the chair where she had been sitting earlier. The house-elf followed at a respectful distance, stopping before Great Aunt Seraphina's chair and standing once again with eyes averted deferentially.

Hermione followed the elf. Did the old lady mean to leave the elf there to give the house a thorough cleaning?

"Come here, child," Great Aunt Seraphina said to Hermione, stretching out an imperious hand. Hermione went to her.

"Hermione, this is Quirk. He is a house-elf, who has been trained in my home, by my own house-elves, and I am giving him to you and Severus as a wedding gift, to be bound to this home and to your family."

To her dismay and amazement, Quirk was bowing to her now, murmuring, "Quirk is honoured to meet Mistress."

"But ma'am!" Hermione said desperately. "This is too much – you cannot..."

"Pish!" exclaimed Great Aunt Seraphina. "I can, and I have."

Hermione flashed back to S.P.E.W., and to all she had done – well, all she had wanted to do – for the house-elves, how ever little they wished for her to "help" them. The very idea of owning another sentient being was repugnant to her. And now, here at her feet, the little creature was waiting to be greeted – to be accepted.

Without warning, her mantra of the morning floated into her mind: I am the witch of this house; this is my home.

It became a simple question, then: What would Severus have her do?

She had been born graced with the magic that flowed through her body; the wizarding community had reached out to her, in the letter that invited her to Hogwarts, and she had made the decision to embrace that world and to live within its confines and its culture. House-elves were as much a part of the world she had adopted as the goblins who ran Gringotts Bank and the centaurs that roamed the Forbidden Forest. It was not up to her to pick and choose amongst the components of the wizarding world and to decide what she would and would not allow. It was, however, up to her to honour her husband and the name he had bestowed upon her.

Hermione became aware that the autocratic old witch was watching her with a calculating air, while the poor little house-elf was still in his deep bow. She cleared her throat and said, "Welcome to Enchanté, Quirk. Professor Snape and I will be honoured to accept your service."

She had no idea from whence the words had come, but apparently they were the correct ones; the house-elf rose from his bow with a pleased flush in his cheeks, and Great Aunt Seraphina rewarded her with an approving nod.

The old lady rose from her chair, saying, "I will leave you to begin instructing Quirk as to his duties, Hermione; Gilderoy is waiting for me above stairs. He and I will chat about the renovations before I go, and then you can have a nice long discussion with him about how you wish to proceed." She firmly propelled Hermione into the vacated seat before Quirk and hurried out of the room.

Hermione found herself alone in the room with Quirk, who regarded her deferentially, though with some obvious curiosity. As she looked at his bat-like ears and his huge green eyes, she was reminded forcefully of Dobby, who now was the paid house-elf in the employ of Harry Potter at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. For a moment, she wondered what it must be like to be taken from your home and thrust into a brand new environment as the property of people about whom you knew nothing.

"Right," she said. "Quirk, I want you to know that I have never lived in a home with a house-elf before, and I will depend upon you to let me know what your duties were at your last home." Quirk watched her with anxious eyes, nodding at her words as if he wished to carve them into his brain. "Professor Snape and I were just married a month ago, so being a married lady is still new to me, and I have much to learn about making a home. Do you think you can help me?"

Nothing could have been more apt to endear her to the creature before her. "Quirk will help Mistress make a nice home for the Master-Professor," he proclaimed in his squeaky voice.

"Did Madame Seraphina Snape tell you anything about Professor Snape and me?" Hermione asked him.

Quirk recited, as if repeating a lesson well learned, "Master and Mistress were heroes in the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Master is the Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mistress is the best friend of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Quirk is very, very lucky to serve in the home of such famous and honoured wizards and witches." And the house-elf bowed again, his long nose nearly brushing the carpet.

"Yes, well, Quirk, you should know that Master is quite particular about his personal belongings. It is very, very important for you not to move any of Master's things from where he has placed them without his permission. Do you understand?"

Quirk nodded to her, his large eyes wide with fear at the concept of a wrathful master. Hermione smiled at him, which was apparently a novel experience for the house-elf, because he nervously looked over his shoulder, as if to see at whom she might be smiling.

"That's all for now, Quirk. Why don't you look around the house and get familiar with it, then later on we can decide what to prepare for dinner, okay?"

As the house-elf exited the room in great excitement, to survey his new domain, Hermione took a deep breath and began to climb the stairs to meet her next challenge of the day – how to curb the combined creative energies of Great Aunt Seraphina and Gilderoy Lockhart.

Severus Apparated into the foyer at Enchanté and was delighted to find his bride waiting to welcome him. He took a moment to appreciate how pretty she looked, in the bronze robes, with her curls falling about her face and down her back. Then she flung herself at him, laughing and hugging and saying how much she had missed him all the long, long day. Her impetuous demonstrations of affection, as much an anything else, had helped to break down the physical barriers he had erected and used all his life to keep people away from him. Hermione simply ignored his carefully constructed defences, sure of her welcome into his arms. As a tool of positive reinforcement, he bent his head to capture her lips in a time-stopping kiss.

When he lifted his face from hers, prepared to say something charmingly wicked, he was shocked to find huge green eyes peering at him from half-way up the staircase. With a startled oath, he shoved Hermione behind him and reached for his wand.

Her cry of, "No! Severus!" coincided with the creature, whom he now recognized as a house-elf, throwing itself face-down at his feet, moaning and wailing its apologies for upsetting him.

"What the hell is that?" he demanded angrily, nudging the heap of house-elf with the toe of his boot.

"HE is our gift from your Great Aunt Seraphina," Hermione retorted, pushing Severus away and crouching protectively over the house-elf, one hand upon its quivering back.

"Oh, Merlin's bloody BEARD," Severus swore, throwing his hands up in his best Slytherin Drama Queen fashion. "What next?"

Hermione, however, was ignoring him. Instead, she was addressing the house-elf, whom she had assisted to stand, and to whom she was speaking in a kind, calming voice. "I beg your pardon, Quirk; I guess I forgot a very important rule. Master used to be a spy and he is very much on his guard at all times. Never, ever, creep up on Master. Always approach him from the front or speak to him so that he knows you are there. All right?"

The house-elf, obviously traumatized, nodded feverishly. Hermione, glaring at Severus in a warning fashion, said, "Severus, I would like for you to meet Quirk. Your great aunt has given him to us, to be the house-elf at Enchanté, as our wedding gift." Then she spoke again to the house-elf. "Quirk, this is your Master, Professor Snape."

Severus watched in morbid fascination as the house-elf bowed to him, saying in its shaking, squeaky voice, "Quirk is honoured to meet his Master."

Severus turned his fulminating gaze on his wife, who gave him a tight-lipped nod in the house-elf's direction.

Bugger.

Straightening himself up, Severus looked down at the tiny magical creature in front of him, reflecting that the obligations of marriage simply continued to mount. "Welcome to the Snape home, Quirk. I am honoured to accept your service."

He was rewarded with a warm, loving smile from Hermione as well as the wet-faced sniffles of the house-elf. Ah, there was nothing like the uncomplicated comforts of home, after a long day at work.

Bugger.

After they dined, Severus and Hermione retired to the sitting room, where she curled up in the circle of his arm and told him the story of her visit from his great aunt. She had carefully considered how she would excuse to Severus the presence of the despised Lockhart in his home. She had come to the conclusion that she would simply present the redecoration to him as a fait accompli, and perhaps relate, at some future date, the author of the decorating changes as a good joke. She would have Lockhart redecorate the rooms they never used first, doing the sitting room and master bedroom last, so that it would all be finished before Severus knew it had begun. She had only been married for a little while, but it was long enough to realize that as long as neither his books, his clothes, nor his wand were disturbed, Severus Snape would be unlikely to notice if the colour of the walls or the fabric of the armchairs changed.

In return, Severus related the story of his reunion with Bast, the receiving line of professors at lunch, and the joke he had shared with Remus. As he spoke, she gazed at his face, stroking his raven's-wing hair, shot through with strands of silver. When he reached the end of his story, he cocked his head to one side, looking down at her, the arm circling her shoulders tightening to pull her closer.

"What are you looking at?" he asked lazily, letting his own gaze wander down to appreciate the small bit of cleavage revealed by the v-neck of the robes and the swell beneath.

"I'm looking at my gorgeous husband," she replied huskily, leaning into him and pressing her breasts to his chest as her small teeth grazed the sharp angle of his jaw.

Severus had long ceased to argue with her or question her pronouncements regarding his physical attractiveness. He supposed it was possible, in one's forties, to outgrow a lifetime of ugliness, but it was really a moot point. If his wife believed him to be gorgeous, it was his duty to indulge her in this delusion. The results were, after all, favourable from his point of view, and if she were, in years to come, to outgrow this misapprehension, he could depend upon her love and loyalty to keep her by his side.

Hungrily, he pulled her into his lap, burying one hand in the hair at the very back of her head, just as she liked, and pulling her head slightly back, to lay a trail of kisses down her throat. She squirmed, her bottom provocatively surfing the swells of his emerging interest, and spoke his name in a breathy gasp. The Enchantment answered the call of their surging passion, pulling them beneath the wave of power, and they clung together, their hearts synchronizing and beating as one, ecstatic to be in its thrall once again.

Congratulating himself on having the foresight not to ward against Apparation within his home, Severus clasped his prize firmly against him and Apparated straight to their bed.

Severus was completely bemused, the next morning, to find that not only was Hermione not sulking about his going to work that day, but she was practically shoving him out the door. Since classes had not yet begun, he did not have to arrive at his office by a specific time, and because she had been a demanding little vixen the night before, he thought he might have a bit of lie-in – but, no! She cheerfully prodded him out of bed, into the shower, and lured him down to the kitchen with promises of kippers for breakfast, before he was properly awake.

Glaring at her suspiciously over his third cup of coffee (say what you will about the little berks, but house-elves made damn good coffee), he wondered what she was up to. He was distracted from his musings by the arrival of the owl post.

While Severus glanced idly through the Daily Prophet, Hermione broke the seal on the official looking letter she had received. Her squeal a moment later caused Severus to look up sharply, and it brought Quirk running as if the hounds of hell were on his tail.

"Yes, Mistress?" Quirk asked nervously, no doubt wondering how long it would take him to begin to understand how his new master and mistress communicated with him.

Hermione ignored him, saying excitedly to Severus, "It's from the Ministry of Magic! The Office of Experimental Magical Solutions! Listen to this:

Dear Madame Snape,

Pursuant to our receipt of the copy of your treatise,

The Uses of Experimental Potions in the Treatment of Trauma-Induced Injury to the Nerves, Muscles, and Tissues, we would like to speak with you regarding a current opening on our Research Staff. This position requires the desire to pursue self-directed independent research in your own lab, to be funded by this office, under the supervision of the OEMS Head.

If you would be interested in discussing this possibility with us, please let us know by return owl if you are available to meet with us on Wednesday, 22nd August, at 11 A.M.

Sincerely yours,

Percy I. Weasley
Assistant Head
Office of Experimental Magical Solutions
Ministry of Magic
London

Severus kept his features carefully schooled to polite interest. "I take it you find the offer of interest?" he inquired neutrally.

"Yes!" Hermione answered excitedly. "Self-directed independent research? Severus, they want to pay me to devise and run my own experiments in my own lab! Can you imagine?"

"That would make you happy?"

She was up out of her chair, dancing around the table to deliver a hug, which he stood to receive properly.

"Yes, yes, yes! Oh, I have to send an owl immediately!" She whirled around, relieved to see that the Ministry owl was still there, munching on the Owl Treat thoughtfully provided to it by Quirk. "Have a wonderful day at work!" she said to him, rushing out of the kitchen in search of parchment and a quill.

"Thanks for the good-bye kiss," he muttered grumpily, looking at the spot from which his bride had just disappeared. He noted, with a great deal of amusement, the alarm on Quirk's face as he regarded his master fearfully. "Don't worry, Quirk; kissing me good-bye in the mornings will never form any part of your duties."

And with that bit of reassurance, he collected his brief case and Apparated to work, wondering how long it would take his Hermione to wonder just who had sent a copy of her course thesis to the Ministry of Magic.

Hermione tied her acceptance of the invitation to come in and speak with the Office of Experimental Magical Solutions to the extended leg of the Ministry owl and sent it on its way. Leaving Quirk to deal with the breakfast washing up, she went into the sitting room and sat down on the sofa to await Lockhart. It had been a near-run thing, getting Severus moving this morning so that he would be gone before Lockhart showed up. If she did not manage to keep them apart while the redecorating was underway, she did not want to imagine the results.

Lockhart had managed to get up the nose of every professor on the staff at Hogwarts during his short tenure as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It was bad enough that they all recognized him as a complete fraud, without him constantly being on about every subject under the sun. He had had the unmitigated gall to lecture Hagrid about the care of magical creatures, Sprout about the care of magical plants, McGonagall about the proper way to teach Transfiguration – he had even tried to best Severus in a duel before the entire student body! No, Lockhart had not endeared himself to anyone during his time at Hogwarts – and Severus simply did not suffer fools gladly. He was forced to deal with the "dunderheads" in his classes; he would not willingly do so on his own time – much less in his own home.

Hermione was not fond of Lockhart herself. She had not really forgiven him for trying to Obliviate Harry and Ron in the Chamber of Secrets, and she felt he had gotten exactly what he deserved. She had felt pity for him when she saw him at St. Mungo's, but that didn't mean she wanted him running tame in her house. She did not, however, know how to refuse Great Aunt Seraphina's gift. She certainly did not wish to offend the old lady. And it would be nice to have the old house made new inside.

With the eternal optimism of youth, she decided it would all work out in the end.

A/N: The name of this story comes from a song of the same title by the immortal John Lennon.