A law to herself

Hermione excused herself from the cabal as soon as was possible without being rude. She’d got what she’d come for – probably – and now wanted to get out before she said something to put the fragile détente at risk. Severus remained behind to soak up as much of the presumably excellent brandy– it tasted like paint stripper to her, though she wouldn’t dream of saying so –and catch up on the news and gossip about the wider Wizarding World.

It didn’t take long to get ready for bed, but once she was there she found that she couldn’t get to sleep. Her mind was leaping ahead and trying to make plans and fit them into neat categories, colour-coded for ease of reference, and indexed alphabetically.

She knew from bitter experience that she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she’d sorted everything out in her own mind, so she got some paper out of her case and sat at the dressing table to write up her notes.

She was eventually disturbed by sounds of movement in the adjoining room. She stared at her reflection for several minutes, considering the wisdom of trying to talk to Severus. On the one hand, if she talked things through with him she might be able to get to sleep. On the other hand, it would involve knocking on the connecting door, which might lead to an argument, and he might refuse to discuss things where they might be overheard.

Oh sod it, if he wasn’t prepared to put her mind at rest, he might at least be able to get her a nice, hot milky drink which might help her sleep.

She tapped on the door, which opened a crack. “What do you want?” he hissed.

“I can’t sleep.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to sing you a lullaby,” he said, putting his head round the door. “I’m not … what on earth are you wearing?”

“Nothing.”

“I can see that.” His dispassionate gaze raked her from head to foot, taking in the cream satin nightgown and matching wrap. “Did you intend to make the ultimate sacrifice and seduce Lucius?”

Hermione flushed bright red, and wrapped her dressing gown round her more firmly. “Don’t be absurd. Anyone would think I was wearing something tarty in leopard skin print with red lace trim and a slit up to the thigh. You can’t see anything.”

Hermione was mortified. She’d bought the ensemble – something with that amount of lace had to be an ensemble, especially when you considered the price – so that she’d feel grown-up and sophisticated and hopefully a little less out of her depth. All she felt now was irritated, which was better than feeling juvenile, but only marginally.

“No”, he continued, still staring at her chest in horrified fascination, “but it is being hinted at in a way that your normal night attire doesn’t do, and there aren’t any fluffy sheep in sight. I just wondered who was supposed to get the benefit?”

“The House Elves,” she snapped. “I didn’t want them running off to tell Narcissa that I wore flannel pyjamas and a pink fluffy dressing gown with a rabbit on the pocket that my parents got me for Christmas three years ago. She seemed just the sort of woman who would wear nothing but silk, and patronise lesser mortals who didn’t make an effort.”

“Women do worry about the oddest things,” he said, leaning to one side, with his shoulder against the doorway. “Why should you care what Narcissa thinks about clothes that she’ll never see personally?”

“Says the man wearing his new dressing gown I got him for Christmas – does this mean that you were going to model it for her?” she snapped back.

“Don’t even joke about something like that,” he said, eyes wide in horror. “If Lucius even thought… Christ, he’d go potty. I really don’t fancy being found distributed over Diagon Alley in several bloody pieces. And that’s assuming that they’d find them all.”

“Is that part of the Pureblood code then?”

“I don’t know about the Pureblood code,” he said seriously. “But it’s certainly part of the Malfoy code.”

“Men do worry about the oddest things,” she replied, mocking his earlier words. “It does look good though; I was worried it wouldn’t fit properly and had to guess your size.” She put a hand out to stroke the sleeve. “The velvet is nice and soft as well.”

He was looking at her with a very strange expression: half gratified, and half uncertain. It was rare for them to spend time together in close proximity, and he was still uneasy about the prospect. “It’s nice and warm,” he said eventually, “which is more than can be said for your outfit. Are you going to put something else on?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! If it will make you happier, I’ll put on a cardigan.” She went to the wardrobe and rummaged around, trying to find the big cardigan she’d brought in case they’d decided to go for a walk in the gardens. “Have you been drinking?” she asked, her head still in the wardrobe.

“I might have,” he said, sounding just like Harry and Ron at their sulkiest. “Why?”

She found the long, thick, warm and utterly sexless cardigan – at least it was black, which could pass for some attempt at sophistication if you didn’t look at it too closely - and shrugged into it. It covered her from shoulder to knee, and the sleeves dropped over her hands and had to be folded back several times to form thick cuffs. “You’re taking an inordinate interest in my nightie,” she said, “and you seem to be leaning from the vertical.”

He pushed himself off the door with his shoulder and stood up more or less straight. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I may have had the odd drink with Lucius, purely in the interests of furthering your…our plans. There’s no need to go on about it.”

Hermione grinned at him. “I’m your wife; I’m sure it’s in the job description. If your husband comes home a little squiffy, you’re supposed to nag and make his life a misery, and confiscate his hangover potion so he learns his lesson.”

“I don’t get hangovers,” he said smugly. “I never have and I never will.”

“I expect it would make you very happy to know that Harry gets terrible hangovers, even after half a shandy. It took him a full week to recover after the getting his Order of Merlin, and all he had was two Firewhiskeys.”

He gazed off into the middle distance with a broad smile. It was almost the happiest she’d ever seen him, she reflected wryly.

It was going to be interesting trying to get Harry and Severus to work together – communication by Owl with as few actual meetings as possible seemed the best course – even before you mentioned the Malfoy connection. She sighed. It all seemed so very difficult suddenly: a ragtag assemblage of people who couldn’t stand to be in the same room with each other were supposed to band together to get the Marriage Law overturned. It was going to take nothing short of a miracle; either that, or several compromising pictures of people in a state of undress with donkeys, and could she bring herself to be that cruel to donkeys? She was too soft-hearted for her own good.

“Do you think that this is really going to work?” she asked.

“Who can say? I think we’ve made a good start, but whether we’ll succeed or not?” He shrugged.

“I was looking for a little more reassurance than that,” she said waspishly. “Couldn’t you pat me on the head and tell me it’s all going to be alright?”

“Ah, you mean lie to you, just like Dumbledore used to do. I could do, if that’s what you want.” He moved closer to her, and placed a heavy hand on the top of her head. It felt strangely comforting. She could feel the warmth of his body, and smell the faint tang of brandy on his breath, mixed with some minty smell that was probably toothpaste of some sort.

“Don’t worry, Hermione,” he said, patting her a little awkwardly. “It’ll all be fine. Lucius is a fine upstanding member of Wizarding Society, Fudge is merely a misguided but fundamentally well-meaning man, and will see the error of his ways. We will be able to get a divorce before you finish school. You will go on to run the Wizarding World before you’re thirty, and I will take up with a succession of friendly and buxom wenches who will pander to my every whim.”

Hermione snorted. “Lucius is a shifty sod, and Fudge is a fu-fool, and I can’t see any witch – no matter how friendly – being prepared to pander to anyone’s whims. No matter how much you might deserve it.”

“You really ought not to insult your host.” He reached out and tugged at one of her curls, before tucking it behind her ear. “I notice you don’t deny that you’ll be running the Wizarding World by 30.”

“Someone has to sort this mess out,” she replied, unconsciously leaning a little closer.

“It doesn’t have to be you though,” he said, his voice rumbling above her head.

“I can’t see how else I’m going to get out of this mess.”

“You might find that, if you create enough of a fuss that Fudge is prepared to do a deal with you and find some technicality that means that the Marriage Law doesn’t apply to bushy-haired brunettes with dentists for parents whose names begin with H.”

“I couldn’t do that – just give up because I’d got what I wanted. I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.” Hermione paused, struck by the realisation that Severus might want to be free of her as soon as possible. “You wouldn’t want me to, would you?” She looked up at him anxiously.

“I certainly wouldn’t expect you to,” he said wryly. “You’ve never been sensible at any point in the previous seven years; I see no reason why you would start being so now. It’s the terrible burden of having a conscience. I’d recommend that you give it up as soon as possible. It’ll make you feel a lot better.” Severus hands stilled mid-way through another pat, and he disengaged himself from her, before moving over to the dressing table and flipping absent-mindedly through her notes.

“But… being married to me isn’t that horrible is it?” she asked, ignoring his comments in favour of pursuing what seemed to her to be the real point of concern. “I’ll be out of your hair soon, and you can have your rooms back, so it won’t make much difference to you anyway…” Hermione didn’t know why she felt so worried about the subject. Surely she wasn’t upset at the thought of being divorced? It was what they were aiming for, wasn’t it?

“Don’t be silly,” he said acidly, and that tone – the one that said you were being so stupid that being able to walk and talk at the same time was probably beyond you, and shouldn’t you have been sorted into Hufflepuff - made her feel immeasurably better. “I’m just pointing out that you don’t have to be noble and put the interests of others before your own.”

“Which is why you spent so much time trying to bring down Voldemort I suppose?” she scoffed. “Because you were looking out for number one?”

“If I wanted to be free of him, then the only way that could happen was if one of us died. I preferred it to be him. There was nothing noble about what I was doing. If there’d been another way I might have taken it.” He dropped the notes back down on the dressing table. clearly uncomfortable about the suggestion that he wasn’t entirely selfish in his motives.

“Nonsense,” she said crisply. “You spent far too much time and effort in trying to bring down Voldemort to be able to pass that off as mere self-interest.”

Severus looked as if he’d been offered the Defence Against the Dark Arts position: a combination of shock, pleasure and resentment at praise which had been so long overdue. “I… whatever my reasons were, they aren’t important. What is important is the way that you seem to feel bound to sort out other people’s problems for them. Fudge isn’t Voldemort, so you needn’t feel guilty if you take the easy way out. If people aren’t prepared to fight for their own freedom, then they probably don’t deserve it, but I expect you’ll insist on helping them anyway.”

“So you don’t mind being married to me?” It seemed important to Hermione to make absolutely sure that this was the case.

“I find it… tolerable. Your conversation is nowhere near as irritating as I had expected, you do your best to be as unobtrusive as possible, and your cat is reasonably well behaved. There are worse people that I could be sharing a living space with.”

It was hardly a glowing recommendation, but Severus had never been one for fulsome praise. If you made a mistake in potions, he made sure you knew about it, together with the whole class. If you got it right, absolutely right – the perfect colour, the perfect consistency, and it did exactly what it said on the vial – then your work was received in silence.

“Good. Then you’ll have to put up with me until this bloody law is overturned and if I have to become the Minister for Magic to get it sorted out, then I will.” She felt immensely relieved – she’d counted on Severus to support her, and had felt very nervous at the thought of dealing with the Malfoys on her own, and now she didn’t have to. “I wish you wouldn’t worry me like that,” she said. “I don’t want to find myself divorced and out on my ear if you decide I’m too much trouble.”

“You’ve always been too much trouble, Hermione, from the moment you crossed the threshold of Hogwarts to the moment you decided to take on the Ministry. If you can polish off a dark Lord in seven years, I have every faith you’ll have this all sorted out in no time at all.” He paused beside her as he moved towards the door. \"In fact, I might not divorce you after all. I think I’d rather like being the Minister’s consort. There’s quite a nice official residence, somewhere in Hampshire I believe, and a very generous shoe allowance.”

“You can never have too many shoes,” she said gravely.

“That certainly seems to be Narcissa’s approach to life.” He walked through the door, and then turned back to her. “Now, go to bed. We both need our sleep if we’re to deal with Lucius tomorrow.”

“Yes, Professor,” she said, and he shut the door firmly behind him.

She settled herself into bed listening to the sounds of Severus bumping around in the next room, with the occasional muffled curse as a button proved recalcitrant. In many ways, she thought, he was immensely irritating. But, and it was a big but, it was nice to have someone she could rely on for once, instead of having to constantly order around.

And if only one good thing had come out of this trip to Malfoy Manor it was the knowledge that, if bribery with cockroach clusters failed, using her feminine wiles was always a possibility. It was a little depressing that her feminine wiles consisted of wearing advanced lingerie because it unnerved rather than attracted her husband, but you worked with what you had.

Besides, she wouldn’t want him to think of her like that, would she?



Breakfast the next morning was a subdued affair.

Severus might not get hangovers, but it appeared that Lucius did, and he looked moderately awful. He didn’t have eyes that looked like wee-holes in the snow, he didn’t have visibly shaking hands, and he was clean-shaven and impeccably turned out. However, he was moving very, very carefully, which was suggestive rather more of someone who was finding life a little overwhelming, than carefully reigned in power.

Severus was being extremely polite and offering to pass Lucius the chafing dishes of fried eggs, the fried sausages, the fried bacon, and the scrambled eggs, all of which were declined without the faintest hint of distaste.

You had to admire that kind of strength of character.

“You really ought to have some of the eggs, father. They’re delicious,” Draco said, waving a fork for emphasis.

“You really ought to be nicer to your dear old papa,” Lucius replied. “I don’t think Pansy has seen your baby photographs, has she?”

Draco winced. “Erm, no, she hasn’t.”

“I expect you’d like to keep it that way. As I recall there’s a very good one of you at about three years of age, on your first broomstick.”

Draco turned bright red. “You wouldn’t!”

“I remember that,” Narcissa said fondly. “You were so proud of your new toy that you didn’t wait to get dressed properly before trying it out. “You looked so sweet.”

Hermione was struck by a vision of a naked Draco – aged three, she didn’t want her eyeballs to melt – swooping round the Drawing Room on his new toy. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on her plate. It wouldn’t do to start giggling.

“Muuuum,” Draco protested. “Not in front of Granger, please.”

“Oh, I’m sure she doesn’t mind,” Narcissa replied.

“She might not, but I do,” Draco protested. “If she tells Potter and Weasley I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Hermione carefully spread butter on her toast and considered the matter. “I think,” she said, “that if I were to tell Harry and Ron that there was a photo of you naked on a broomstick, their first, and let’s be honest, their only question would be what make it was. If they ever found out that you’d been given a broomstick when you were three, they would do nothing but whinge for hours about how spoiled you were. It’s not worth it.”

Draco looked a relieved, if a little doubtful.

“Besides, it would be terribly rude of me to betray a confidence, now that we are on the same side,” she said. “Wouldn’t it?”

Severus snorted. “You’ve certainly got a lot to learn about politics, my girl, if that’s the way you think it’s played. Confidences are supposed to be betrayed. It’s practically mandatory.”

“That’s not entirely accurate,” Lucius said, his hands wrapped round his teacup in a death grip. “Sometimes confidences are to be kept so that your confidant will continue to pass on more interesting items of information.”

“Only so you can save it up for a really big betrayal,” Severus replied.

“That is true,” Lucius nodded. “Which does raise the interesting question of what you are intending to tell Mr Potter and Mr Weasley about your visit here, Miss Granger.”

Hermione wasn’t about to suggest that he should call her Hermione. She was perfectly happy with Mr and Mrs Malfoy, and she suspected that they preferred it that way as well. It was one thing to ask a potential political ally to cross their threshold – the rooms could be Scourgified afterwards – but quite another to be on first name terms.

“The truth, of course,” she replied. “They are my best friends and I will not lie to them. Ever.”

“It’s a novel approach, certainly,” Lucius said. “Though are you sure it’s wise to tax their limited understanding – according to Severus – with all the complexities?”

“There’s no point keeping things back from them,” she said, deciding to take the point about ‘limited understanding’ up with Severus later. It could be Lucius’ attempt to sow dissension between them, either on the general principle of divide and rule, or petty revenge for the teasing over breakfast. “It doesn’t work: they always find out, and usually the hard way, and it leads to nothing but trouble. If we want them to support Professor McGonagall, I will have to tell what the deal is, and why I think we should go along with it. I won’t mislead them in anyway about what we’re doing or why we’re doing it.”

“Yes, Severus said that would be your attitude. That may be a little awkward.” Lucius drained the cup of its tea, and then reached for the teapot.

“I don’t see why,” Hermione replied.

“There may be things we don’t want to tell two hotheads,” Lucius said. “I gather that they are a trifle over-excitable and have a tendency to leap in head first. That could be disastrous.”

“I think you underestimate them both. Ron has a sharp, tactical brain and Harry, for all his tendency to rush into things, has a knack of getting things done. He’s also very likeable. You really shouldn’t underestimate that,” Hermione replied.

“I rather think we were counting on Potter’s erm likeability,” Lucius said. “But that doesn’t mean that I would feel comfortable taking him fully into my confidence. He’s far too naïve, sorry, moral to accept certain political realities.”

“All it means is that you’ll have to tell me lies,” Hermione said patiently. “You were planning on doing that anyway, weren’t you?”

Lucius froze in the act of pouring the tea and Severus made a peculiar spluttering noise, which he turned into a coughing fit. It fooled no one.

“The possibility had crossed my mind.” Lucius smiled faintly, and resumed pouring his tea.

“I think you’d be better advised not to.” Hermione shrugged. “At least meet Harry before jumping to any conclusions as to what he’s like – an exchange of hexes across a crowded room isn’t the best way to get to know someone.” It wasn’t entirely wise to make the same point to Severus, especially in front of the Malfoys, but it might save a lot of difficulties later. “Nor is teaching them.”

Severus scowled at her, and showed no hesitation in quarrelling about the subject in public. “Seven years of teaching the little s…” – Severus realised that Draco was watching with interest and substituted another word for the one he’d first thought of – “…wine is more than enough to provide me with all the information I need on Mr Potter.”

“So, there isn’t more to you than a bad-tempered teacher, who hates Harry, and is biased in favour of his own House, even though I keep telling Harry that there is?” Hermione asked, determined not to back down.

“Of course there is! And I’m not biased – not any more than Minerva is, anyway!” And then his brain caught up with what his mouth had said, and realised he had effectively admitted that she was right. Well, he wasn’t going to let a little thing like that get in the way of winning an argument, and swiftly changed his line of attack. “Are you telling me that you discuss me with the Dopy Duo?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course I don’t.”

Severus, mouth open and poised to say something dismissive, snapped it shut again. “Well, what do you say if they ask about …erm, anything.”

The Malfoys were watching the byplay with intense interest, in the same way that lions can watch zebra for hours to spot the weakest member of the herd. Even Lucius’ hangover seemed to have faded when faced with the prospect of seeing Severus squirm.

“Severus, they very carefully don’t ask in case I might tell them something, because then they might realise that you don’t hang upside down from a pole at night, or hang around in dark places sucking the necks of innocent victims, and then their heads might explode.”

“And this would be a bad thing?” he asked. “It’s a prospect I view with complete equanimity.”

“It’d make a dreadful mess, and the House Elves would have to clear it up,” Hermione replied.

“I suppose you have a point,” Severus replied. “Though we could kill two birds with one stone – as it were – and give the cleaning up to some Gryffindor to do in detention.”

“Without magic?”

“Of course.”

Hermione thought it was a shame that he didn’t smile more often. He was never going to be a handsome man, but a smile did make him much more approachable, pleasant, even. He had nice eyes, when he wasn’t scowling.

“You do have some funny ideas about House Elves, Granger,” Draco said, and the moment was gone. Lucius, realising that the topic of House Elves was likely to be contentious, and that Hermione wasn’t going to be tactful, turned the conversation to the roses in the conservatory and breakfast continued peacefully enough.

The meal having been successfully negotiated without further incident, Lucius suggested that Severus show Hermione the conservatory.

“These,” Severus said, “are roses, as I am sure you are aware. That is a chair, and I suggest you sit down and make yourself comfortable. I think Lucius may need a little time alone to recover himself.” He took his own advice.

The chairs were big and soft and blowsy, just like the roses; Hermione could imagine sinking down and down in them until they ate her alive. They were very comfortable though. She and Severus were sitting side by side, looking out into the garden, and it reminded her that barely four months ago they’d been sitting in her parents’ conservatory trying to come to some agreement about getting married. The Malfoy Conservatory was several times larger than her parents’ one, and the lawn stretched on to the edge of the next county. It was so pristine, it looked like the House Elves had ironed it.

Silence descended, almost as cosy as the chairs themselves.

She turned to ask Severus a question, to find that he’d fallen into a doze and appeared far too comfortable to wake. She’d never seen him so defenceless: it didn’t make him look younger, or better looking – no one looks good with their mouth half open and faintly snoring – but he did look more like a Severus and less like a Professor Snape.

Professor Snape was a bit of a bully.

Severus was the one with the nice eyes, and the rumbling bass voice. He had a wicked sense of humour, and could be very kind. Severus blushed. Severus liked people. Severus had friends, even if they were the Malfoys.

She quite liked Severus.

She could quite see Severus married and settled down with some kiddies. He’d be a hopeless father, indulgent and over-protective by turns, but he’d slice anyone who dared hurt his family into little pieces, feed them to dragons, and then dance over the resulting mess.

He’d need someone very sensible and practical to be the mother of his children. Someone who’d make sure that they were properly fed, and went to bed at the right time, and weren’t allowed to play with dangerous potions’ ingredients. She’d definitely have to make sure that the second Mrs Snape was chosen for rather more prosaic qualities than blonde hair and a pneumatic chest.

The room was warm, the heady scent of the roses was overwhelming, and it was so easy to lean back and close her eyes whilst she considered the topic.

Perhaps a nice Hufflepuff, though he might be bored…

And then she was dozing off herself.



Something, some noise, far off in the depths of the house, jerked her awake with a snort. She felt no urge to move – it was probably a house elf dropping something, or some guest visiting the Manor – but Severus shot upright, with his wand drawn before he was fully awake.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, and she blinked at him in surprise. She’d never heard him swear like that before. A loud banging could then be heard coming from the front door – apparently they had visitors, and unwelcome ones at that since the door wasn’t being opened. “Lucius!” he bellowed. “What’s going on?”

The Malfoys appeared in the hallway. Lucius came towards them, whilst Narcissa and Draco went in the direction of the library.

“I’m afraid that the Ministry have decided that today would be perfect to make an informal visit,” he said, utterly unperturbed by the events. “I do apologise for the inconvenience, but they will take it into their heads to drop by at the most inappropriate times.”

Severus’ wand vanished back into his robes. “Do you think they know what we’re here for?”

Lucius shook his head. “I don’t think so. They like to remind me of the terms of my parole from time to time, just to remind me not to get involved with anything illicit I’m sure that their visit is entirely providential.”

“What, like trying to take over the Wizarding World and install a puppet Minister to your taste,” Severus said sardonically.

“Something like that, yes.” Lucius smiled.

The banging continued, getting louder and more frequent; their visitors were getting impatient.

“Are you going to let them in,” Hermione asked.

“In a minute or two,” Lucius replied. “I’ve sent for Murbles, but we need to give him some time to get here. He’ll soon send them about their business, though we may be in for some interesting times until then.”

“If you don’t open the door,” came a voice, “then we’ll have to blast our way in.”

“Tsk. Aurors today have no patience. If they carry on like that, they’ll scuff the door.” Lucius waved peremptorily at the House Elf standing by the door waiting for orders. “Let them in then.”

The House Elf was nearly crushed as the door was pushed violently open. Two men rushed in with wands drawn, and took up positions on either side of the hallway. A third man, determined to make a dramatic entrance, or perhaps not prepared to risk being turned into a red smear on the wall, waited until they were in place and then strolled into the Manor.

Hermione wondered if he’d ever seen Muggle films.

“You took your time, Malfoy. Got something to hide?” he scoffed. Hermione wasn’t impressed. He hadn’t really mastered the art of sneering, as demonstrated by her husband almost daily, and merely looked as if he’d swallowed a wasp. He was a short wizard, probably in his 30’s, with robes that were slightly too big for him, and his hair was parted on the side and combed over to hide his balding spot.

“I do apologise,” Lucius replied. “I’m afraid I was in the Library and didn’t hear you knocking. You know how it is with these big, old houses – sound doesn’t travel.”

“I’m sure that was very useful in the past,” the Auror said. His second sneer was a little more successful.

“It has served to keep the riff-raff at bay,” Lucius replied. There was something magnificently offensive about the blandness of his manner. He was all lofty condescension, almost as if he was dealing with a dotty aunt or an uncle with a tendency to steal the silver, rather than someone who had any authority over him. “I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name?”

“Absolom Beaglehole.”

Hermione bit her lip; sniggering would be a very bad idea.

“Any relation to Rufus Beaglehole?” Lucius asked, as if he were at the Minister’s annual garden party. “He was a couple of years ahead of me at school as I recall.”

“My father. He remembers you as well,” Auror Beaglehole replied grimly.

“How nice.”

“This isn’t a social call, Mr Malfoy. We’re here to make sure that you’re not misbehaving. And I’ll need to know who your guests are.” He gestured at Hermione and Severus.

“Surely you recognise Professor and Mrs Snape? What is it, an Order of Merlin apiece? And the thanks of a grateful Minister for all your hard work in bringing down the Dark Lord?” Lucius was openly smirking now.

“Oh yes, we know all about Professor Snape. An old friend of yours, isn’t he?” Beaglehole replied. “But I don’t recognise his charming wife.”

“Really, how very odd. Surely you’ve heard of Hermione Granger?” Lucius was on a roll now, and determined to aggravate the Ministry officials as much as possible.

“Hermione Granger?” Beaglehole said blankly.

“Severus, didn’t you announce your nuptials in the Daily Prophet?” Lucius said, feigning reproach. “You must correct that oversight as soon as possible, and let everyone know your glad news. There’s no need to be shy.”

“I didn’t think it was necessary. The way that gossip spreads round the Ministry, I expected half the world to know of it the day after it took place, and the other half to know the day after,” he replied.

“You married a Death Eater?” Beaglehole asked, his voice rising. “What were you thinking woman?”

Hermione didn’t like being called woman in that snotty tone of voice, as if it were an insult, and she certainly didn’t like some Ministry official questioning her choice of husband when it had put her in the position of needing to marry Snape in the first place. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and concentrated on the pattern in the carpet.

Beaglehole didn’t have the sense to leave well enough alone. “How could you betray all those who died to bring down He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named?”

“Me?” Hermione asked, very calmly. “Me, betray them?”

Severus didn’t have the same experience as the boys of the danger signals, but you ‘d have to be a complete idiot not to realise that Hermione was on the brink of losing her temper.

Beaglehole was an idiot.

“What else can you call it when you take up with his supporters? Don’t you have any idea what Malfoy was up to during the War?”

“More than you do, probably,” Hermione snapped. “And yet it didn’t stop the Ministry passing that stupid bloody law did it? They were quite content to hand me over into the clutches of the Malfoys, and they didn’t give a rat’s arse whether I spent my time tied up in the dungeons or chained to the bed as long as I was breeding lots of little Witches and Wizards.”

She took a step closer to the Auror, and started poking him in the chest to punctuate her words. The other two Aurors exchanged glances but made no move to interfere. “You – poke – are the ones – poke poke – who betrayed us – poke. Where were you – poke – when we faced down Voldemort? – poke - What did you – poke - do in the War? Sit around on your – poke - fat – poke poke - arse all day, drinking tea and filing – poke - reports on cauldron thefts whilst Harry – poke - and Ron – poke - and I went out and did your bloody – poke poke poke - job for you. And then you have the – poke - cheek to stand there and talk about betrayal?”

Beaglehole was retreating before the force of her prodding and was gradually being backed up towards the door. “But… but…”

“But what? You were only obeying orders?” Hermione snarled.

“But what can I do about it?” he wailed.

“That, Mr Beaglehole is a very good question,” Lucius said from behind her. “Perhaps, if Miss Granger would allow, we could all sit down and have a cup of tea and discuss the matter.”

Beaglehole nodded, grateful to be rescued from the awful harridan, and took the chance to dip beneath Hermione’s outstretched arm. Lucius used his outstretched arm to usher him off into the depths of Malfoy Manor to recuperate.

Severus stood by Hermione and put a hand on her shoulder – whether to comfort her or hold her back, she did not know - and said, “And to think that Lucius was congratulating me on having you under control.”

“Was he indeed?” she said, vaguely amused, now that her temper had cooled a little.

“The exact phrase was wrapped round my little finger. Little does he know.”

“I prefer to think of it as a partnership – two people with one aim,” she replied.

“I’m sure you do, though it does seem as if an awful lot of the time I end up doing exactly what you want? Now, why is that?”

“Because you’re a sensible person, and you can see that what I’m suggesting is a sensible thing to do?” she said. “Could that be it?”

His hand tightened briefly on her shoulder. “Perhaps that’s it.”

A bustle at the door attracted their attention. Mr Murbles had arrived, with a clerk in attendance trailing behind him to carry his bag.

“Who is in charge here,” he asked, peering over his half moon glasses. “And who has the warrant to enter these premises?”

“That would be Auror Beaglehole, sir,” muttered one of the Aurors, eyes fixed on the wall ahead.

“And where will I find this Auror Beaglehole?”

“Dunno, sir.”

Mr Murbles beckoned to his clerk, removed his cloak and folded it very carefully, before handing it to the young man. “You don’t know? Good heavens, what is the world coming to. You don’t know where your superior is? This had better not turn out to be some sort of delaying tactic, or you will be in very hot water, young man. I will not be paltered with.”

“No, sir.”

“Where is Mr Maloy then? I presume you know that much?”

“No, sir.”

Mr Murbles tutted, and looked pityingly at the Aurors.

“Ah, Professor Snape, how nice to see you again.” Mr Murbles advanced on the Snapes with his hand outstretched and shook their hands firmly in turn. “And you, Miss Granger, delighted. Do either of you know where I can find Mr Malfoy, or even this mysterious invisible Auror?”

“Lucius is in the Library with the Auror, who is visible but rather shocked,” Severus said.

“Oh? I had rather anticipated finding him ransacking the Manor, which always makes Mr Malfoy irritated as they have a nasty habit of leaving fingerprints on the objets d’art.” Murbles smiled faintly.

“Miss Granger has been keeping the powers of the Ministry at bay,” Severus replied, “by the simple expedient of shouting at them. She has been so effective that tea is being applied to the young man in the hope that he may recover his wits.”

“If he had any to recover,” Hermione muttered, flushing a little.

“Indeed. What a very resourceful young lady. I’ve never tried shouting at Aurors before; perhaps I should try it more often.” Hermione didn’t like the way that the lawyer was looking at her – looking through her, in that odd way that Mr Ollivander had – as if he could see into her mind. Perhaps he used Legilimency too? That would be a useful skill for a lawyer.

“He annoyed me,” she said, fully aware that she sounded like a three year old deprived of its toys.

She was sure that Mr Murbles was laughing at her; it was irritating, but she couldn’t really shout at him. “Then we shall have to ensure that he doesn’t annoy you again,” he said and bustled off in the direction of the library.

“I suppose we should see what they’re up to,” Hermione said.

“I’m sure we can leave it in Lucius’ capable hands, although I’m sure that he’s impressed with your new strategy for dealing with the Ministry. All we have to do is make sure that you shout at all of them, and we’ll be divorced in six months.”

“Very funny, I’m sure.”

“I thought so,” he said, and smiled. It wasn’t quite his usual ‘you’re too stupid to breathe’ smile, but rather warmer and softer. So she smiled back and allowed herself to be escorted back to the conservatory whilst the rest of the conspiracy plotted behind her back.

It was probably a mistake, but the conservatory was warm and sunny, and it was a particularly sweet smile.

She only hoped he didn’t turn it on her too often, though perhaps repeated exposure would render her immune.