An Englishman’s Castle

Author’s Notes: Well, it’s been a while! Sorry about the delay. I will try and update regularly from now, in between long essays, communication placements and the ever-nagging tutors.



“Yes, a complete change of heart,” the Headmistress said into the floo connection as Hermione took a seat in front of the desk, “He completely understands how important this law is now. In fact, he’s requesting a difficult child – Yes, yes, he’s of the opinion that he’s seen so much in this war that he may be able to, well, help a child through any emotional difficulties.”

There was a pause.

“Of course. And Minister, if you could arrange a, well, it will sound so noble and self-sacrificing, but a child particularly prone to coughs and colds as well – well, I think he believes that he could come up with some sort of potion to help. A modified Pepper-up perhaps? We’ll leave that to him.”

There was another pause while the Minister blathered away for a few minutes.

“Indeed, we’ll be looking forward to seeing you soon Arthur. Do give my love to Molly and those children. Goodbye!”

Minerva rocked back on her knees and lurched to her feet slowly, gripping the fireplace for extra support. Her lips were twisted up into a small smirk of self-satisfaction as she transfigured a cup and saucer for Hermione from a small paper-weight of Hogwarts perched on her desk, and then fetched the green tin of biscuits from a shelf.

“Ginger Snap, dear?” she asked genially, “the tea will be here in a moment.”

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Hermione answered as a teapot appeared on the desk, complete with a small jug of milk and a pot of sugar cubes, “was that the Minister you were speaking to? How’s Arthur?”

“He’s fine; in fact, he’s enjoying general approval with this new law. Unlike Severus,” her face darkened in consternation, “many witches and wizards believe his law to be important and worthwhile, myself amongst them.”

“Of course,” Hermione answered politely, resolving to check the library for back-issues of the Daily Prophet to lessen her ignorance, “shall I pour?”

She had barely finished her question when the teapot rose into the air and began pouring a thin stream of amber liquid into each cup, the milk jug floating over and adding milk to the brew.

“Sugar?” McGonagall asked, “One lump or two?”

“One please,” a lump flew over to her cup and immersed itself into the liquid, “thank you. I don’t think that years raised in a muggle environment ever really wear off – I find myself doing so much the muggle way without even thinking of magic.”

“But it brings many benefits, dear. Now tell me, how’s your research going?”

“Very well, Professor. However, your note indicated that you weren’t so much interested in my research, as in my mentor. You mentioned you had concerns about Professor Snape?”

“Indeed.”

Minerva sighed and angled her body forward across the desk, pursing her lips and pushing her fingers into the shape of a steeple just below her wrinkled chin.

“This law has affected him badly, I’m afraid. He’s pointedly refusing to consider adopting a child, despite the repercussions for failing to adhere to the adoption process, and I confess I cannot see why. It is my belief that the poor man appears to have become unstable as a result of the pressures of the war, and I would like you to watch him for me. I’m worried he might try to harm himself.”

Hermione drew her eyebrows together in a frown and tapped her fingers thoughtfully on her teacup as she chewed a mouthful of biscuit.

“I’ll inform you if I notice him acting in a manner I think could be construed as damaging,” she offered, “but I haven’t noticed any particularly strange behaviour. Now, if he was actually pleasant to me, then I would think we had a problem.”

“Thank you, Hermione. I knew I could count on you. Now, tell me all about the news from Harry and Ginny. Pomona informs me that Ginny is pregnant?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders a little and told the Headmistress about the letter and her confusion about which children Harry was writing about. Minerva’s eyes kept drifting back to her teacup as a small frown crossed her face; she seemed preoccupied with the though of Snape and adoption, and Hermione swallowed her biscuit hastily.

“I really have to go now, I’m afraid. Professor Snape is expecting me back as quickly as possible to go over next week’s lessons plans and talk about research.”

“Oh,” McGonagall looked surprised, “he always seems so reluctant to allow you to do anything.”

Hermione smiled with a little strain and nodded her agreement.

“Goodbye Headmistress,” she trailed off as she put down her cup, “see you at breakfast.”

McGonagall didn’t answer, drawing a hefty looking books towards her she began running her finger down the index to check for anything to do with affirming genuine human life. Hermione left.



-*-



Professor Snape paused with his fingers clenched around a pinch of floo-powder. Looking at the thin tongues of flame licking up the sides of the chimney he sneered.

“Professor Snape?”

He let out an exasperated sigh and dropped the floo powder back into the squat pot, pivoting slowly on one foot to glare at the apprentice currently crowding his doorway.

“I wanted to speak to you about this,” she gestured towards a folded copy of a newspaper she had dropped on his desk, “quite urgently.”

“Well, Granger, what can I tell you about it? It’s made of paper and is fit for no more than wiping up spilt potions -”

“Wouldn’t that affect the qualities of the potion adversely?” she interrupted.

“- and letting a cat shit on. Yes, it would affect potions containing gelatine.”

“It’s not the actual newspaper, sir,” she ground out, “but rather than ministry law contained within the pages. The Headmistress seems rather concerned that you fulfil the various conditions.”

Snape sank to his chair and sneered at her in, she considered, a rather melodramatic fashion.

“Can a man have no peace,” he snarled.

“Not if a child invades the dungeons,” she retorted, quite calmly.

He blinked and stared at her.

“What I’m trying to say, Professor,” she rolled her eyes and advanced two steps into the office lined with dark bookshelves and jars of eyeballs, “is that having a child around would not be conducive to research.”

Snape had to restrain himself from leaping to his feet and seizing her arm to haul her up to the Headmistress’ office. She was watching him with narrowed eyes, tapping her fingers against her thigh in agitation; he was seized by an urge to hug her.

“What a foul thought,” he whispered to himself in reprimand.

“Sorry?” She was starting to turn pink.

“What you claim is what I have been trying to tell that monster upstairs since she shoved the application form under my nose and threatened my budget.”

“She threatened your budget?” Hermione squeaked, now an unattractive shade of violet.

“Indeed.”

The apprentice smoothed the article over the desk and pursed her lips while Snape tapped his long fingers on the edge of his desk. A pair of purple eyes in a long container swivelled around to glare balefully at him; the tapping was causing their pickling water to slosh gently in the jar.

“Well, what are we going to do?” she asked finally, “roll over?”

Snape almost choked on nothing:

“I am most certainly NOT rolling over with you, Granger!” he yelped, loosing his immaculate control for a brief second as horror overtook his features.

“That’s not what I meant!” she barked back, the violet deepening to indigo, “I meant that we can’t give up and allow a child to interfere with my – our – research!”

“Ah-ha!” Snape pronounced with a satisfied grin, “so that’s what you want – unhindered research. I can count on your,” he paused meaningfully, “compliance then, Granger?”

“Indeed. Now what are we going to do?”

He had only just begun to bemoan the total lack of Gryffindor subtlety that meant he had to loose his oily powers of persuasion when the fire within the tall surround flickered murky green and then emerald. The floo bell rang madly.

A tall young man with narrow limbs, well-dressed though they were, and long blonde hair lying sleekly on his head toppled through, carrying two china cups on thin saucers; a strong smell of whiskey and bodily odour followed him through as he gazed around the room with bleary eyes.

“Sev-rus,” he slurred, making for the shelf of eyeballs, “they’sh poishinin’ me, me poishin’.”

Granger whipped out her wand and directed a chair to slide beneath him, prompting the visitor onto its uncomfortable seat.

“I think,” she said slowly, calculating wildly behind her eyes, “that passing up such a convenient, uh, asset would be detrimental.”

“Indeed,” Snape assented, fingers still against the desk.

Drace Malfoy’s chin dropped forward onto his chest, creating an unattractive roll of flesh around his jowls, and he began to snore and hiccup alternately.

“The Abyssinian Shrivelfig is in stock, is it not?”

“I’ll go and start peeling, sir.”