Desperate Measures

29 June, 2007

My Dearest Minerva,

So here it is: My first owl since you so cruelly left Hogwarts – and its doddering Headmaster – to embrace the joys of retirement. Alas, you are probably relaxing on the coast somewhere, surrounded by handsome admirers, while I toil away here, trying to find someone to fill your position. (Notice that I do not say, “take your place,” for of course, no one ever could.) Are you sure, Minerva, that I cannot add a listing for my own position next to the one for yours and join you on that coast? 

Ah, well. I’ll not continue to embarrass us both but shall instead endeavour to bring you up to date on the happenings around here. There isn’t much, as you might expect with so many on holiday just now. I heard from Alastor that Constance Frump is off to a strong start in Auror training – I always said she’d be a late bloomer - but young Darius Wimp is having a difficult time of it. I confess I had my concerns about him pursuing that particular line, but time will tell.

Charlie moved into your old rooms with little Jack, but that arrangement only lasted a day or so before Charlie took the child to stay with Molly and Arthur. I spoke with Molly recently. She’s managing Jack without much trouble but is terribly worried about Charlie. He seems fine when I see him, but I’m sure Molly sees more than I do. I continue to tell him that I’ll be happy to provide a listening ear, should he have need of one, but he seems to prefer Hermione’s company. (They both, of course, assume that I’m much too old to remember anything about the affairs of the heart. You know better, I hope.)

Speaking of Hermione…she and Severus had a rough time of it last week when Curt surprised them by coming into his powers rather earlier than most children. It was dreadful, I gather, though they do seem to have come through it admirably. Severus surprised us all with his attentiveness during the crisis, and it appears that Hermione took notice of it as well. I begin to have some hope that they will be able to live together companionably, even if they are never quite able to live together affectionately. There can be no doubt that they both love the child very much. Yes, Severus, too – though I doubt there’s anyone more surprised by that fact than he is.

With the Bloody Baron away, Peeves has been a particular trial. He attacked Mrs Norris with dung bombs twice last week, and since she refuses to allow anyone to attend to her grooming but herself, she remains quite unpleasant to be around. More so than usual, I should say - but please don’t repeat that to Argus.

Rosa and Poppy are both planning to go on holiday next week, and Irma will leave soon afterwards, I believe. I doubt I will be able to get away for long, other than to attend the International Confederation of Wizards meeting in July. As always, I look forward to the start of term. With both you and the children gone, the castle this summer is a desolate place indeed.

Marry me, please. We will live out our days together in glorious indolence.

Yours,

Albus

§ §§§

The Headmaster was just setting aside his quill when Snape entered the staff room with Curt on one arm. Snape raised an eyebrow when he saw Albus hasten to roll the parchment, but he didn’t comment.

“Just finishing some correspondence,” Albus said with a smile.

“Don’t you have an office for that?” Snape reached for a plate and helped himself to sausages and toast from the nearby sideboard. “Tea?” he demanded, looking around the room.

“Here.” Albus waved a hand and a steaming cup appeared on the table beside him. “I think Rosa took the pot with her when she left. And I’m tired of my office. I spent most of the day there yesterday sifting through applications for Minerva’s position.”

Snape made a disinterested sound as he sat down next to Albus at the breakfast table and settled Curt in his lap. He moved his plate away just in time to keep Curt from grabbing one of his sausages.

“Allow me,” Albus said, reaching for the baby. Curt seemed on the verge of protest, leaning back toward his father, but then he got distracted by the gaudy purple and silver pattern on Albus’s robes. Albus conjured a matching set for Curt, complete with pointed wizard’s cap, and then laughed at the look on Snape’s face. “Is this better?” he asked, and with a wave of his hand, the tiny robes changed to severe black broadcloth.

Snape sighed. “I knew breakfasting here was a mistake.”

Albus chuckled again and restored Curt to the blue sun suit he’d been wearing when he arrived. “Where is Hermione this morning?”

“She had some letters to write. She says it’s getting harder to get anything done when Curt’s awake.”

“I can see why,” Albus said, wincing as Curt grabbed two hands-full of his beard and attempted to pull himself to a standing position. “He seems fully recovered, at least. And very busy.” This last as Curt made a grab for his spectacles, knocking them at an odd angle. “I think…” He clutched Curt tightly with one hand and used the other to wave a high chair into existence.

Snape snorted. “Good thinking.”

“An act of desperation, I assure you.” He handed Curt to Snape, who settled him into the high chair experimentally, keeping his hands close in case the baby slid down. When he was sure Curt was sitting comfortably, he handed him a spoon to play with and resumed his breakfast.

“You’re getting quite good at this,” Albus noted.

Snape reached for his tea.

“So how are…things?”

Over his teacup, Snape gave the headmaster what he hoped was a quelling glare. “Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“I should think ‘fine’ would be a considerable improvement on your expectations.”

“True enough,” Albus conceded. “But are you enjoyingfatherhood, Severus?”

“Absolutely. I’m considering composing a poem about it.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Thank you.”

§ §§§

29 June, 2007

Dear Mrs Fletcher,

My name is Hermione Granger, and I’m writing to you at Professor Dumbledore’s suggestion to see if Curt and I might visit sometime at your convenience.  I realize that our situation is terribly awkward: I’m a complete stranger to you, and I’m offering to introduce you to your own grandchild. I only wish I knew how to make this more comfortable for all of us.

I don’t know if you will like me at all, nor do I know exactly what your feelings are for Curt’s father. I am fairly certain that you would not have chosen either of us for Curt, had it been in your power to choose. I want to assure you that we both love Curt dearly, and he is happy and healthy in our care. He will never lack for anything that it is in our power to give him, and that includes a relationship with you. Though he has his father’s eyes and colouring, I am told he really favours your daughter. She must have been a lovely girl. I am enclosing several photographs so that you can see for yourself what a darling Curt is.

Please let me know by return owl if there is a day and time when it would be convenient for us to meet.

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger

§ §§§

29 June, 2007

Dear Mum and Dad,

I am sorry for not writing to you before this. I had planned to, and then Curt got sick in the middle of the night and I lost track of everything for a solid week, until he finally was better again. I can remember as a small child waking up in the middle of the night, sick or frightened, and how grateful I was that all I had to do was call out and one of you would be there. But until now, I never appreciated what you went through when you heard that cry. How much you must have wanted to be able to make whatever was wrong better. How willingly you’d have taken on my pain and fear for your own, if only you could have. I understand all that now that I’m a mum myself.

And I am a mum. However hasty my decisions might seem to you, they were not made lightly. It was wrong of me not to tell you sooner, and I’m sorry for keeping you out of such an important part of my life, but I can’t apologize for the decisions I’ve made. One that I might be able to explain a little better, the next time I see you, is my marriage to Severus. He has given me permission to share some private information that you might find reassuring. He has also offered to meet you - though I’m not honestly sure that’s a good idea just yet. Maybe later, when we’re all more comfortable with the situation.

In the meantime, I hope you’ll see me again. I’d like to bring Curt this time so that he can meet his grandparents and so that you can see first-hand that I have not ‘thrown my life away’ but have actually enriched it immensely.

I love you both and hope to see you soon.

Hermione

§ §§§

Hermione put down her quill, feeling quite exhausted by her morning’s efforts. The nearby bin was filled with crumpled parchment, each letter having undergone several re-writes before she managed something she was satisfied with. She looked forward to the walk up to the Owlery as it would give her the chance to clear her head.

Their rooms were so quiet with Severus and Curt both gone, and she realized how thoroughly she had gotten out of the habit of living alone. Curt was five months old now and his noise and activity seemed to fill their rooms. Severus, while neither noisy nor particularly active, was more frequently present in the flat since Curt’s illness. He still spent many hours in his dungeon, but he made a point of eating at least one meal a day with them and tried to help with Curt’s bath time each night. Winky, too, was often there, and Hermione realized how seldom she had been completely alone since Curt had come. The silence seemed to press upon her, now she was done with her task, and she hoped that Severus and Curt would return soon. Perhaps Severus would have time to take another walk with them. She’d felt guilty that Charlie had interrupted the last one, particularly as it had been Severus’s birthday, but hadn’t known what to do about it at the time.

She sighed just thinking about it and tied her letters. Her task wouldn’t be finished until they were actually on their way.

§ §§§

Charlie was coming out of the Owlery just as she was going in, and though he smiled as he greeted her, she could tell immediately that something was bothering him.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing.Everything.The usual.”

“Is that supposed to make some sort of sense?” she teased.

Charlie sighed, all trace of the smile gone. “I just had to send an owl to Elspeth. She’s spitting tacks since she found out I sent Jack to Mum and Dad’s, and now I’ve had to tell her that I’ve lost the  papers her solicitor sent me.”

“Oh,Charlie.” Hermione regretted her reproving tone the instant she saw the look on his face. “Sorry,” she added.

“They must’ve gotten lost in the move,” he said defensively. “And I suppose she’d rather Jack be miserable.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean that.”

“So you’re taking her side then. You think I was wrong to send him to the Burrow?”

“I didn’t say that! And I’m not taking anyone’s side. It’s none of my business. I just meant that Elspeth wouldn’t want Jack to be miserable any more than you do.”

Charlie glared at her. “You hardly know her – and you’re supposed to be my friend.”

“I am your friend,” she said wearily. “But that doesn’t make me Elspeth’s enemy. Friends aren’t something to be divided up…anymore than children are.”

For a second, Charlie’s mouth compressed in a hard line of anger, but then he relented. “You’re right,” he admitted. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. Um, I’ll see you later, okay?” She waved her scrolls at him and moved towards the Owlery.

“Hermione.”

“Yes?”

“It’s none of my business, but…”

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“You and Snape. Um…do you really think you’ll stay…together?”

She stared at him, wondering at the genesis of his question and wondering how to give him an honest answer without breaking her promise to Severus.

“Er, I suppose no one ever really knows for sure, do they?”

“I guess not,” Charlie agreed, letting her off the hook, but he gave her a knowing look that made her want to squirm. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you,” she said faintly, hurrying into the Owlery. She picked two reliable owls and ignored the odd feeling in the pit of her stomach as she sent the two letters on their way.

§ §§§

1 July, 2007

Dear Miss Granger,

Yes, this is quite awkward. Somehow we shall have to muddle through, however, because now that you’ve opened the door, I have every intention of knowing my grandson in whatever time I have left. I do thank you for contacting me. I’ve picked up my quill more times than I can count and once even went so far as to write the letter inviting you to come, but somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to post it. My owl stood looking at me curiously, wondering why his silly mistress had called him only to toss the parchment into the fire.

The pictures were…what can I say? They filled my heart and broke it all at once. I can so easily remember holding Diana when she was that age, and he does look remarkably like her. I can see his father in him as well – what little I remember from a picture Diana showed me once – but I fear that I shall have to love the child in spite of that rather than because of it. I hope you are being truthful when you say that Severus Snape cares for the child; my brother-in-law was not at all convinced of it.

There is no day that would be inconvenient for me to meet my grandson, but to simplify things, I will issue a specific invitation: Tuesday at 1 p.m., here at my home. If this is inconvenient for you, let me know and we’ll find another time that suits. I look forward to meeting you and to holding my dear grandson in my arms.

Sincerely,

Sylvia Fletcher

§ §§§

“It’s from her.”

“Which her is that?” Severus asked, sounding bored.

Hermione wasn’t fooled. “Mrs Fletcher. That her. She wants me to come to her house tomorrow. She’s very gracious, actually, under the circumstances.”

“May I?” Severus reached out for the letter.

“Er…”

He raised an eyebrow and withdrew the hand. “My apologies. I hadn’t expected you to be exchanging confidences just yet.”

“We’re not,” Hermione said. “It’s just - well, she mentions you and it’s not exactly…complimentary.”

“Your concern for my feelings is touching, Hermione, but I hardly imagined she’d be singing my praises. Anything short of a storm of Unforgivables is an improvement on my expectations.”

She laughed a little and handed over the letter. “Here then.”

He skimmed the letter quickly. “You sent her pictures?”

She nodded.“From about a month ago. He was smiling well by then, and you could see his dimple. You’d said…”

“He got that from Diana. Yes. Hers was even more pronounced.”

“He’s favouring you more as he gets older, I think. I tried him on some porridge this morning, and he gave me a look that was just like the one you give your students when they botch a potion. And then he spit it all over me.”

Severus’s mouth twitched. “I’m sorry I missed that.”

“You can feed him next time - tomorrow night, in fact. I read in one of my books that giving him some solid food in the evening might help him sleep through the night, so I thought I’d give it a try. Oh! I forgot!”

Severus raised the eyebrow again. “Yes?”

“He did his first bit of magic today! Summoned a toy that was a few feet away.”

“Really?” Severus looked pleased.

“Really. Poppy said we’ll really need to watch out that he doesn’t summon something that could hurt him. Most parents don’t have to worry about random magic until their children are past the age where they’re likely to choke…and he’s going to be crawling soon. We’re going to have to watch him even more carefully then.”

“Well, at least he won’t bump his head on the floor.” Severus said dryly, nudging the cushioned floor with his foot.

Hermione giggled. “No, thanks to Albus, that’s one less thing we’ll have to worry about.”  She paused and glanced at the letter again. “I think I’ll leave early tomorrow and do some shopping in London. Diagon Alley, for sure, and maybe a Muggle baby store or two. Is there anything you need while I’m there?”

“At the Muggle baby store?”

“Don’t be difficult.”

“If you have time to stop by the Apothecary, I need three packages of powdered boars’ tusk and a large bottle of Bundimun secretion. You can have them put it on my account.”

“All right.” Hermione crossed to her desk and jotted the items down. “Cleaning something?”

“Cleaning everything.Getting my classroom ready for next term. Care to help?”

“Not bloody likely. I’ve cleaned your classroom enough for one lifetime.” She glared at him, a series of unfair detentions marching through her memory.

“Ah, but now you’re my wife, my helpmate…”

Hermione gave an unladylike snort.

“How eloquent,” he said, turning back to his book, but not before she saw his mouth curve in a smile.

She reached for a second sheet of parchment and wrote a quick note to Mrs Fletcher, accepting the invitation, and then she beckoned to the small brown owl, which came quickly and extended it’s leg. She tied the note to the owl’s leg and stroked his soft feathers briefly. “I’m sorry I don’t haven anything for you,” she murmured. The owl cocked his head at her and gave her what she would have sworn was an understanding look. She remembered her plan to get Severus an owl for his birthday and mentally added that to her list of things to do the next day. It would be her first day away from Hogwarts with the baby, and she found herself feeling rather nervous about it.

Briefly, as she sent the little owl on his way, she thought of contacting Ginny and asking her if they could meet in Diagon Alley. It would be nice to do her shopping with another young mother, someone who would want to go into the same stores and talk about the same things. But that situation – like practically every other just then – was complicated, and when it came down to it Hermione decided she didn’t have the energy to deal with her school friends and Mrs Fletcher all in the same day. Ginny was just one friend, of course, but she was representative of the combined Weasley/Potter clan. Just thinking about it made Hermione’s head hurt.

She heard the first fussy sounds of complaint that meant Curt was waking up from his nap, and she turned from the window and glanced at Severus, still buried in his book.

“I’ll get him,” she said, with just a touch of sarcasm.

He didn’t even glance up. “Mmm.”

She rolled her eyes and went to collect Curt.

§ §§§

She Disapparated from Hogsmeade, Curt clutched tightly in her arms, and within seconds they were standing outside Flourish and Blotts. She smiled at the covers of the books in the display window, and the subjects waved a welcome to her.

She kissed Curt exuberantly on the cheek and held him up so he could see properly. “This,” she said, “is a bookstore.”

If Curt seemed unenthusiastic, she refused to acknowledge it. They pushed into the shop, and she browsed contentedly while Curt dozed on her shoulder. Browsing turned to buying, as it usually did, and she left quite a bit later with books under one arm and Curt held securely in the other. She remembered Severus’s request and headed for the Apothecary next, and of course it was then that Curt decided to wake up and take a curious look around. “It figures,” she said.

“Excuse me, Madam?” A gaunt wizard with leathery skin and pale blue eyes peered at her from behind the counter.

“Oh, nothing. I mean, I was just talking to…never mind. Er, I need a large bottle of Bundimun secretion and…” she put the books down awkwardly and reached into the pocket of her robes for her list. “That’s it. Some powdered boar’s tusk. Three packets, please.” She noticed Curt reaching for a long stalk of something wrinkled and black and moved him out of reach.

The proprietor gave them both a mistrustful look and seemed reluctant to turn his back on them long enough to get the things she had requested. He returned quickly. “Will that be all, Madam?”

“Yes, thank you. Please just charge it to Professor Snape’s account.”

“Professor Snape?”

“Er, yes. Professor Severus Snape, of HogwartsSchool. I assumed you’d know of him.”

“I know Professor Snape quite well, Madam. I do not, however, know you. Professor Snape has always come in here personally or owled me with his lists.”

“Well this time he didn’t,” she snapped, disliking the man’s tone. Had she already made her stop at Gringotts, she’d have just paid for the blasted ingredients herself.

He looked at her coldly, and she wondered if there was something about being around potions ingredients that automatically made men prickly and unpleasant.“Your name please?”

“Professor Hermione Granger…Snape,” she added at the last minute, smirking at the surprise on the man’s face. His gaze flashed to Curt and then back to Hermione again.

“I see.” He packaged the ingredients without further comment and then nodded slightly as he handed them to her. “Good day, Madam.”

“And to you,” she said, giving him an insincere smile.

She giggled to herself as the door closed behind her and she emerged into the sunlight of Diagon Alley. “Well, little man, where should we go next?”

She spent another pleasant hour in and out of the shops of Diagon Alley. Her visits to London had been rare since she’d taken the position at Hogwarts, but ever since she’d been a schoolgirl, she’d enjoyed the energy and endless variety of Diagon Alley. Hogsmeade was pleasant, and she could generally find what she needed there, but she didn’t enjoy it the same way.

She made sure that her final stop was Eeylops Owl Emporium. She’d charmed her packages into a manageable size and weight, but she wouldn’t be able to do that with an owl.

“Professor Granger!” A young woman stood up quickly and peered out from behind a cage as Hermione entered. “Hi!”

“Hi, Anne,” Hermione said. “I didn’t know you were working here.”

“Well, it’s just ‘till I can find something permanent,” the girl said. “My uncle owns the store – bought it last year you know – and, well, my N.E.W.T.’s weren’t all that brilliant…” She shrugged.

“I’m sure you’ll find something soon,” Hermione said kindly. “In the meantime, it’s nice that your uncle needed some extra help.”

“Your baby’s really grown,” Anne said, gesturing to Curt.

“Yes, he has,” Hermione agreed. “As a matter of fact, my back is breaking from carrying him around all morning. This is our last stop in Diagon Alley.”

“Were you interested in an owl then?”

“Yes, but I’ve never actually bought one before. Should I just look around a bit?”

“Well, it might help if you told me what kind of owl you needed. Will it be making frequent deliveries? Does it need to be able to travel long distances? Carry heavy loads – that sort of thing?”

“Hmm. I suppose I hadn’t really thought of all that. It probably won’t be travelling that frequently – not every day, certainly. And I doubt we’d send it outside of the UK, but it would be nice to have one that could carry small packages now and again.”

“So this will be your personal owl?”

“Uh…sort of. A gift for a friend, I guess you’d say. But I’m sure I’ll use it some.”

“Oh, I see,” Anne said, giving her former instructor a quizzical look. “Well, we have Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy owls.” She ticked each one off on her fingers. “Do you like one of those in particular?”

“Snowy owls are beautiful,” she said, thinking of Hedwig fondly.

“Good. They’re over this way.” Anne led her to the corner of the store where three Snowy owls were perched. “We have one male and two females just now. All perfectly trained, of course. You wouldn’t be disappointed.”

Hermione studied the owls – beautiful, all three – and reached out to stroke one gently before shaking her head. “No. They’re not quite right. I’m sure they’re wonderful, mind, but just not…for the person I’m shopping for.” The truth was that thinking of Hedwig put her in mind of Harry, and it seemed wrong somehow to give Severus the same kind of owl Harry had always had.

“Perhaps a Barn owl then?Nothing more reliable.”

“All right. Let’s see those.” Once again she followed Anne, and once again she looked over the owls and shook her head. They just didn’t look like owls that would be owned by Severus.

Anne appeared confused. “I’m sorry, Professor Granger. I guess I’m just not sure what you’re looking for.”

Hermione laughed. “Neither am I. It’s certainly not your fault. I think I’ll just know the right one when I see it.”

“Um, all right, then. We have some nice Tawny’s over here. Do you want to look at those?”

“Sure.” She was following Anne toward the next group of owls when she saw it – a densely freckled Eagle owl perched in a corner behind the counter. Most of the owls in the store had been sleeping, but the Eagle owl seemed to glare down at her, daring her to approach. “That’s it!” she exclaimed, pointing.

“Oh, that one’s not for sale,” Anne said quickly. “My uncle took it in trade, but it hasn’t been checked to make sure it’s properly trained. All the other birds here were trained by the same wizard and come with a guarantee.”

“Well, he’s a wizarding bird, isn’t he?” Hermione said, drawing closer to examine the owl, but not quite daring to reach out her hand.

“She,” Anne corrected. “And yes, she’s a wizarding bird. But like I said…”

“Why did the owner trade her in?” Hermione did reach up then, and the bird shifted and ruffled her feathers. Hermione withdrew her hand.

“No idea. He went with a Barn owl, I think, but really Professor Granger, you don’t want…”

“I’ll take her.” Hermione beamed at her student.

“She’s not for sale! We can’t offer a guarantee on a bird we didn’t breed and train. Really, Professor…”

“I don’t need a guarantee. I promise. Whatever happens, I won’t bring her back or complain. But this is the bird I want to buy.” She gave Anne her sternest look, the one she usually reserved for students who hadn’t done their homework.

For a moment, Anne looked as though she would continue protesting, but then she nodded. “All right, Professor. But I’m not even sure what to charge you!”

“Just charge me whatever you think is a fair price, and if your uncle thinks I owe him more, he can let me know. It’s not like you don’t know where to find me.”

“All right,” Anne moved behind the counter and began looking at receipts and muttering to herself. Hermione caught the words “strong flyer” and “long lifespan” and then finally, Anne said, “Er, how about 12 galleons?”

“Done.” She shifted Curt awkwardly so that she could get to her money and handed over the proper amount. Anne handed her a receipt and then reached into a drawer and drew on a thick pair of dragon-hide gloves.

“I’m going to have to cage her,” she said, noting Hermione’s look. “And she hasn’t taken that well the last couple of times we tried it.”

This proved to be an understatement, and after an epic battle that left a flurry of feathers drifting through the small shop, the bird had to be stunned before she could be put in the cage. When Hermione walked out of Eeylops, it looked as though she had purchased a dead owl. She hoped she’d be able to awaken the bird without her going crazy again. Her marriage to Severus had hardly been the stuff of romance novels, but neither had it been the nightmare she’d anticipated. She thought the least she could do was to acknowledge his birthday with something more than an inanimate heap of feathers.

She stopped for a drink at Fortescue’s and fed Curt while she watched the shoppers go by, and when both she and Curt were refreshed, she Apparated to a baby store in Muggle London, where she spent two hours and an obscene amount of money. She’d had no idea there was so much fun baby paraphernalia to be had. Even using the shrinking charm, she had quite a large bag full of purchases when she left, and their weight plus the owl’s plus Curt’s had her limping with fatigue. It took all of her concentration to Apparate to Mrs Fletcher’s estate without splinching them all into a thousand pieces.

§ §§§

Tired.

The Fletcher house looked as tired as Hermione felt just then, seeming to sag into the overgrown garden that surrounded it. Weeds choked the walkway and the nearby trees had gone un-pruned for so long that their limbs scraped the sides and roof of the house and seemed to be conspiring to hide its shame.

Her nervousness over the meeting, which had been pushed to the back of her mind while she shopped, returned in full measure. She also realized what a sight she must be; she’d had to put Curt in the sling to manage her purchases, and with a huge shopping bag in one hand, a stunned owl in the other, and a baby strapped to her chest, she surely looked more like a nomadic tribeswoman than a responsible young professor. She’d probably been foolish to do all her shopping first, but it was too late to do anything about that. She put the shopping bag down and lifted the huge iron door knocker, tensing at the thunderous sound it made as it fell.

Once was all it took. The door was opened almost immediately by a tiny House-elf, and Hermione forced a bright smile. “Hi,” she said. “Is Mrs Fletcher…”

“Oh, yes, Miss,” the Elf said, seeming over-excited, even for an elf. “Mistress is expecting you. Please come in, Miss. Please.” The final ‘please’ ended with such a squeak that Hermione winced, but she followed the House-elf into the house.

“Miss Granger.” The woman’s voice came from a dimly lit hallway just off the foyer, and Hermione turned and caught her first glimpse of her hostess. From the descriptions of the woman’s health she had imagined someone small and frail, but Sylvia Fletcher was actually a large woman, several inches taller than Hermione and generously proportioned. Her hair was a stiff-looking grey and cut in a short, masculine style. Her voice, however, was weak and slightly raspy, as though from disuse.

“Mrs Fletcher,” Hermione returned with a smile. She put the shopping bag down and extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Mrs Fletcher touched Hermione’s fingertips briefly but then turned her attention to Curt, who was nestled in the sling, sound asleep. “Oh my,” she whispered, one hand hovering over Curt’s face.  “My sweet baby…”

Hermione wasn’t sure if she meant Curt or Diana or perhaps both of them, but she was touched by the emotion she could hear in the older woman’s voice.

“He’s been asleep a while,” she said. “I can wake him up for you.”

“No,” Mrs Fletcher said, drawing her hand away and then clearing her throat. “I…just seeing him is enough at present. Don’t wake him. Come in and sit down, Miss Granger, and I’ll attempt to be a decent hostess.”

“I don’t expect you to entertain me,” Hermione said quickly. “I came so that you could see Curt.”

“And so I shall, but that doesn’t mean I can’t offer you a cup of tea while he finishes his nap. This way, Miss Granger.”

Mrs Fletcher led the way into a small lounge, and Hermione followed, leaving her shopping bag in the foyer but still clutching the owl under one arm.

The chair Mrs Fletcher offered her wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it was an immense improvement over standing, and Hermione sank into it gratefully, lowering the owl to the floor with a thud. She didn’t care about the tea, but she had begun to think she’d drop if she weren’t given the opportunity to sit down. “I’m afraid I overdid it a bit today,” she said. “It’s my first trip to London since…well, in months, and I tried to do too much. I’m all in.”

“It’s been rather hard on your owl, too, if you don’t mind my saying so.” Mrs Fletcher peered critically into the cage.

Hermione laughed. “She’s stunned. I just bought her this morning, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be caged, so…” she gestured to the owl, “this just seemed the easiest way to get her home.”

“I see.”

Silence fell between them then, and they both looked relieved when the twittering House-elf came in with a tea tray. She slopped tea over the sides of the first cup as she poured, and Mrs Fletcher dismissed her sharply and then served the second cup herself.

“Utterly worthless,” she said, gesturing to the door behind which the House-elf had just disappeared. “I miss dear old Moxy more than I can say.”

“Well then why did you…I’m sorry,” Hermione said, feeling herself blush. “It’s none of my business.”

“You know perfectly well why I did it,” Mrs Fletcher said. “I won’t pretend I haven’t regretted it since, but at the time…well, we all do things in anger that we later wish we hadn’t.”

Hermione nodded, thinking briefly of her recent conversation with her parents. She still hadn’t heard from them. “I understand.”

Another awkward silence.

 
Hermione sipped at the weak tea and declined Mrs Fletcher’s offer of biscuits. She glanced around the shabby loungeroom, hoping to find something she could comment on, but it was as depressing as the outside of the house had been and she doubted she could say anything complimentary about it with any degree of sincerity.If you can’t say anything nice…Her mum’s voice echoed in her memory, and it occurred to her that insincerity might occasionally have its place. It seemed a better option than pinching Curt to awaken him and get this uncomfortable visit over with, but she was actually considering doing just that when Mrs Fletcher finally broke the silence.

“So…Curt. Whose idea was that?”

Hermione was startled. “I’m sorry – I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The name. Whose idea was it to name him Curt?”

“Oh…um, it was his…father’s idea.” She stumbled a bit over the word ‘father’ but then went on. It wasn’t like they could just ignore the fact that Severus existed. “Well, sort of mine and his. Severus named him Marcus Curtius, and I thought that was…well…I haven’t cared for the name Marcus ever since I knew a boy at school by that name and Curtius just seemed like so much name for such a little baby. I thought Curt suited him better.”

“Marcus Curtius.” Mrs Fletcher wrinkled her nose as she repeated the name. “I think it’s safe to say that that isn’t the name my daughter would have chosen for him.”

“It’s probably not the name I’d have chosen either,” Hermione admitted, “but it’s grown on me.”

“Then perhaps it will grow on me as well.” Mrs. Fletcher’s expression softened as she looked at the sleeping baby. “Tell me about him, please,” she said, almost shyly. “Tell me about my grandson.”

So Hermione did, beginning with the difficult early days and telling the older woman every detail she could think of – every milestone, every adorable moment that had etched itself in her memory. She’d never enjoyed such an audience; anyone else would have found her tedious, but Sylvia Fletcher hung on every word. She talked and talked and still had things to say, but Curt began to awaken, protesting when he couldn’t stretch out in the confines of the sling.

She extricated him as quickly as she could and pulled the sling over her head. “Shhh, shhh,” she murmured as he continued to fuss. “He’s hungry,” she said apologetically. “I need to feed him, and then I promise you can hold him all you want.”

“Of course,” Mrs Fletcher said, but her voice was tight and her eyes seemed to feast on the cranky baby as Hermione rearranged her clothing and put him to the breast. Once Curt was suckling greedily, Mrs Fletcher seemed to realize that she was staring and averted her eyes.

“Diana used to want to eat the moment she woke up, too,” she said, her voice hoarse once again. “She never did have the least bit of patience. And the temper! She used to stamp her little foot if she didn’t get her way, and sometimes she’d throw such a wobbler I thought she’d bring the house down. She outgrew the worst of it, of course, but she kept the temper. She was a quiet girl, for the most part, but if you made her angry…well, watch out. She got that from me, I’m afraid, so you can imagine some of the battles we had as she got older.”

“My mum and I had a few memorable fights as well. I think that’s normal.”

“I suppose it is, but that doesn’t make it any easier when you’re in the middle of it,” Mrs Fletcher sighed. “Can I ask you something, Miss Granger?”

“Of course.”

“Curt’s father. What is he really like? Does he care for the boy?”

“Yes, he cares. He’s not…the warmest of men,” she nearly choked on the understatement, “but he definitely cares about his son.”

“And you married him, is that right?”

“I married him. We wanted to give Curt a proper family.”

“And do you think you’ve done that?”

“We’re…trying. I told you about Curt getting his magic, but I didn’t tell you what a help Severus was during that time. He was so patient. He practically never left the flat until Curt was better. I wish you could have seen him, Mrs Fletcher. If I’d ever had doubts about how he felt about Curt, they were gone by the end of that week. He loves his son.”

“Did he love my daughter?” the older woman asked quietly.

“I…think so,” Hermione said. “He and I haven’t talked about Diana much, but I think he loved her. They were so young though…”

“Young and foolish, yes,” Mrs Fletcher said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Like all adolescents. Only for my daughter, the consequence of that foolishness was death.”

“There’s been so much death,” Hermione said softly.

“You’re the one who was friends with the Potter boy, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Yes. She was the one. And she knew that defined her for most of the magical world. Whatever else she did, she’d be remembered as Harry Potter’s friend, and being Harry’s friend meant that she had become all too acquainted with death and with life in death’s long shadow. Death was horrible when viewed at close range, when the vitality was gone and all that was left was cold flesh and a blank unseeing stare, but perhaps most terrible was its ability to keep its power even over the years. A past generation of deaths had loomed large over her entire adolescence –  had shaped her, had shaped her friends. Now it was shaping her family.

She didn’t know how to articulate what she was feeling to the woman who sat before her, waiting with obvious impatience to hold her grandson for the first time. Her own experiences gave her a deep understanding of the dangers Diana Fletcher had faced, of the legacy Curt might have inherited had he grown up in his own time – in Hermione’s time. He might have been one of the friends she’d seen die on theQuidditch pitch in the final battle. He might have been one of the classmates she’d seen taken to Azkaban.

She understood now what it was that drove Diana Fletcher to cast the Somnostasis spell on her newborn son: It was hope.

She wanted to tell Mrs Fletcher that more than anything, she wanted to help Curt grow up outside the shadow of his mother’s death and his father’s mistakes, but she wasn’t sure how her words would be received. Instead she said, “Mrs Fletcher, I was wondering if you had a picture of Diana I could see.”

“Oh, my, yes.” The older woman rose from her chair, and as Hermione moved Curt to the other breast, she opened a cupboard and pulled out a stack of albums. Curt, whose initial hunger had been sated, turned and watched his grandmother, and when she approached with the albums, he refused to nurse and instead reached to grab at the nearest one.

“Here,” Hermione said, rearranging her clothing. “I’ll trade you.” She took the albums in her lap and handed Curt into his grandmother’s waiting arms.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Sylvia Fletcher breathed, cuddling Curt close. “Let me look at you…”

Curt, neither sleepy nor hungry now, resisted being cuddled. He strained to sit up in her lap and then grabbed at her robes.

“Here,” Hermione said, reaching for a toy. “This might help.”

Curt accepted the toy and immediately stuffed it into his mouth. Soon both the toy and his chubby hand were covered in drool.

“You might need this too.” Hermione handed over a flannel.

She turned to the albums then, and as Sylvia Fletcher got to know her grandson, drool and all, Hermione got to know Diana. She traced her finger over the baby photographs, examining each feature for those that looked familiar. She watched Diana crawl in and out of the pictures, take her first toddling steps, and wave her first wand. She saw her board the Hogwarts Express for the first time, looking frankly terrified.

She stared a long time at the pictures of Diana in adolescence. This was the Diana Severus Snape had loved. This was the Diana who had given birth in secret and hidden her son away. She wore her hair long and straight, as was the style at that time, and her brown eyes were wide behind her glasses. There were few pictures of her really smiling, but in most, Hermione could see the dimple Severus had told her about. She stared at one picture for so long that its subject finally glared at her and turned away, but in the next picture she offered Hermione a shy wave.

“Could I…keep one of these?” Hermione asked. “I’d like for Curt to have one in his room.”

“Of course.” Sylvia Fletcher sounded surprised. “I have a nice one framed in my room. Remind me before you go and I’ll give it to you.”

§ §§§

She left an hour later with the snapshot of Diana Fletcher tucked into her shopping bag. Mrs Fletcher had tears in her eyes as she kissed Curt and then handed him over. “All those years,” she said, “and he was right here in my own backyard. If only Diana would have trusted me. You know, that’s the thing I’ll never be able to forgive myself for. My own daughter didn’t trust me to take care of her child – to even tell me that she’d had a child. We had our disagreements, Miss Granger, but I can’t think of anything I ever did that would make Diana hide this child from me.”

“Oh, Mrs Fletcher – I’m sure it wasn’t like that. Diana was hiding Curt from Voldemort,” she saw the older woman flinch at the name, “not from you. And sometimes…”

“Sometimes what?”

“Once she’d joined the Order, she probably just felt like she was in a different place – a place you wouldn’t understand.”

“I would have tried,” Mrs Fletcher said quietly. “She never gave me a  chance.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, though the woman to whom she was really apologizing was in a dental office many miles away.

“Thank you for bringing him. I – I hope you’ll come again.”

“I will,” Hermione promised. “And you can come see us anytime – at Hogwarts, or maybe we could meet in Diagon Alley sometime.”

“No, child,” Mrs Flecher said sadly. “I don’t go out anymore.”

“You don’t…? I’m sorry – I don’t understand.”

“I haven’t left this house in twenty years. I just…can’t manage it somehow.”

“Oh.” She remembered then all the comments about Mrs Fletcher being sick. She’d wondered at the time what kind of illness the woman had that couldn’t be cured by the staff of St Mungo’s. Now she was beginning to understand. “We’ll come to you then,” she said. “As often as we can.”

“Thank you, Miss Granger.” The older woman bent down to kiss Curt’s soft head once more, and then stood back as Hermione wished her goodbye and Disapparated.

§ §§§

Severus was in their rooms when she arrived home, and he rose as she came through the door. He approached quickly when he saw her heavy load and took Curt from her arms as she dropped the shopping bag.  “Happy birthday,” she said tiredly, holding up the owl cage for his inspection. “It’s an owl.”

He gave the bird a critical look. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“We had to stun her to get her into the cage. But I’m sure she’ll do fine once she’s settled in.” Hermione pointed her wand to the owl cage. “Ennervate.”

The bird came to life with a screech and such a flapping of her wings that Hermione feared she’d do herself an injury. She charmed the cage door open and then ducked as the owl darted out and swooped back and forth through the room.

“You really shouldn’t have,” Severus said dryly.

“She was very calm in the shop.” The owl landed on the mantelpiece, ruffled her feathers twice, and then settled down into herself with a huff. “See?” Hermione said. “She just needed to find a place where she was comfortable.”

She reached out to stroke the owl’s freckled feathers, and in a flash the back of her hand was torn open by the owl’s sharp beak.

“Ouch!” she cried out, pulling her hand back quickly as it started to bleed. “Bloody stupid owl. Have you heard of biting the hand that feeds you?”

“Let me see.” Severus put Curt down on his blanket on the floor and took Hermione’s hand in his. “It needs healing. Do you trust me, or do you want to go see Poppy?”

“That depends,” Hermione said, gritting her teeth as her hand throbbed painfully. “Do you actually know what you’re doing?”

“We’ll soon find out.” With those less-than-reassuring words, he reached for his wand and summoned a clean flannel to clean the wound. “Hold still.”

A moment later the wound was healed, and Hermione nodded her satisfaction. “Thank you,” she said, as Curt began to scream. “Now if you can take care of your son long enough for me to get a bath, you’ll officially be my hero.”

“Ah. That’s long been a goal of mine. However, I was hoping to hear about your day,” he said pointedly.

“It was good,” she sighed. “And I promise to tell you all about it. I just need a few minutes to myself right now.”

“Very well.” He stooped to pick up Curt, and the screaming subsided. “You might check your desk before you go. You received several owls today.”

“Thank you.” She crossed to her desk and glanced at the first of the two scrolls: an advertisement from a textbook publisher. It landed in the dustbin with a satisfying thunk. She picked up the other one and her heart beat faster when she recognized her mother’s handwriting. She rolled it back up; she’d read it in the privacy of her bath.

§ §§§

2 July, 2007

Dear Hermione,

It was good to hear from you. Your father and I both regretted the way things ended the night you were here, though I think that everything that was said really needed to be said, however unpleasant it might have been for all of us. Perhaps now that you’re a mother you can do a better job of putting yourself in our shoes – imagining what it would be like to go months with virtually no contact from your child, with no idea that he was making major, life-altering decisions without so much as a note to let you know. I hope that you never know the feeling of sitting across the dinner table from your son and realizing you don’t really know him at all. I won’t lie to you; it will take some time for your father and me to forget that.

At the same time, we recognize that what’s done is done. It is inappropriate for us to place the blame for your thoughtlessness on your child or your husband (how strange it seems to write those words…) and the only thing to be gained from refusing to see them is a deepening of the chasm that we’ve allowed to form between us. We will be happy to meet either or both of them, as you deem appropriate. We cannot promise to treat them as family just yet, but we will do our best to receive them civilly. That is all we can do, I’m afraid. Anything more will have to come with time.

I am glad to hear that Curt has recovered from his recent illness and hope that you are enjoying your time with him.

Love,

Mum

§ §§§

Hermione put the scroll to one side of the bath and subsided into the warm water. She was crying, and she wasn’t even sure why.

§ §§§

She stayed in the tub for more than an hour, and she felt refreshed when she finally emerged. She found Severus stretched out on the floor playing with Curt, who had been bathed and dressed in his pyjamas.

“Oh, I could just kiss you!” she exclaimed.

“I beg your pardon?”

Severus looked so alarmed that she giggled. “Sorry. I’m just so grateful that you got Curt ready for bed. The bath helped, but I’m exhausted. Tried to cram too much into one day, I suppose.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“No. Just some poor tea at Mrs Fletcher’s.”

He nodded and then sat up. “Winky!”

Winky appeared instantly. “Yes, Sir.”

“We’d like some dinner please.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said again, bobbing once before she disappeared. Seconds later, the table was covered with steaming dishes and Winky appeared once again. “Is there anything else, Sir?”

Severus glanced at the table and nodded his approval. “That will do for now, Winky.”

It was on the tip of Hermione’s tongue to point out that he hadn’t said thank you, but she stifled the impulse and just offered the House-elf her own thanks. Winky beamed at her before once again disappearing and leaving the three of them alone.

Severus scooped Curt up. “Albus conjured a high chair for him this morning,” he said. “He did fairly well in it. It certainly made eating easier.”

“Oh! I bought one today. Look!” Hermione went to her bag and rummaged around, extracting a tiny high chair and then placing it before the table before she restored it to its normal size. “How’s that?”

“Fine,” Severus said, giving the bag a suspicious glance. “But dare I ask what else you have in there?”

“Oh, just a few other things. I spent some time at the Muggle baby store. You’d be amazed at what the Muggles have thought of for babies.”

Severus rolled his eyes as he seated first Curt and then himself at the table. “You were going to tell me about your day. Could we start with the non-shopping portions?”

Hermione chuckled. “Of course. Though I did pick up the things you wanted at the Apothecary. Remind me to give them to you later.”

“Thank you.”

He looked at her expectantly, and she took a deep breath. “The visit with Mrs Fletcher went well, I think. She wasn’t at all what I’d expected – I thought she’d be frail and ill, but I think her illness is, um, less physical and more mental, if you know what I mean.”

“No, in fact I don’t know,” Severus said. “And if my son is going to visit her, I’d like very much for you to elaborate on that point.”

“Oh, I don’t think she’s dangerous. She’s just…sad and really lonely. She said she doesn’t leave her house. Ever. Can you imagine?”

“I think I can, actually.”

“Really?” Hermione considered pursuing that point further and then decided against it. At an expectant look from Severus, she resumed her story. “Well, Curt was sleeping when I got there, so we had tea and talked a bit. Mostly I talked and told her everything I could think of about Curt. She seemed to really be interested in every single detail. And then he woke up, and Mrs Fletcher held him for a bit. While she played with Curt, I, uh, looked at pictures of Curt’s mother. I was…interested.”

She paused a moment, but Severus didn’t say anything. “I brought back a picture of her for Curt. Do you mind?”

She saw his jaw tighten briefly, but he said, “No, of course not.”

“You know, the pictures of her – particularly the later ones – they seemed so familiar. Like she was someone I’d actually known once but just hadn’t seen in a great long while. Does that sound strange to you?”

“It must have just been the resemblance to Curt.”

“I suppose.” She paused and then spoke softly. “Will you tell me what she was like? It doesn’t have to be tonight,” she hastened to add, “but someday?”

For a moment he looked angry, and she was afraid that she had upset the shaky truce that had formed between them since Curt’s illness. But then he glanced at Curt and his face softened slightly. “Not tonight,” he said. “But someday.”

“Thank you.” For a moment, she had the ridiculous urge to reach out and squeeze his hand, and she quickly busied herself with her meal to keep herself from doing anything so foolish. “So how was your day?”

His day had been dull, as it turned out, and he didn’t seem particularly inclined to talk about it. Hermione filled the gaps in the conversation with talk of her shopping trip and gradually divulged the true quantity of her purchases at the baby store. He rolled his eyes.

“That reminds me!” she said hopping up. “You were going to give him some porridge.”

“I was?”

“Of course. We talked about it yesterday.”

“So we did,” he said, sounding bored. “I was hoping you’d forgotten.”

“You don’t want to?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been counting the minutes.”

“Why are you always so sarcastic?”

“You seem to bring it out in me.”

“Fine.” She put her hands on her hips and faced him. “I’ll give him the porridge.”

“Don’t pout. I find it tedious.”

“You seem to bring it out in me,” she returned.

“Get the porridge, please, and let’s get on with this.”

“Fine.”

She stomped into the small kitchen, not nearly as annoyed as she seemed. She’d gradually realized that Severus needed to be pushed into the business of parenting. He put up at least a token protest to everything she asked him to do, but when she watched him with Curt, she could tell that his objections either hadn’t been as serious as they’d sounded or else were quickly overcome. The only time he’d stepped in voluntarily was when Curt had been sick and she’d been at the end of her patience; other than that, he’d waited for her to tell him what to do, complained about it, and then appeared (mostly) to enjoy it. She remembered what Charlie had told her – it seemed like ages ago – about new fathers being unsure of themselves around their children, and she recognized that Severus Snape did not enjoy appearing unsure of himself. So she pushed and he groused and she gradually realized that in their little corner of Hogwarts, at least, Severus Snape wasn’t nearly as bad as he seemed. She doubted his charity extended much past his own front door, but that was enough for her; the students would simply have to look out for themselves.

She mixed dried baby rice with warm water, per the package instructions, and fished around in her shopping bag for a baby spoon and one of the bibs she’d bought. She washed the spoon and then returned to Snape and Curt, snapping the bib around the baby’s neck.

“Here you go,” she said, handing the cereal to Severus. “The books said to make it extra thin.”

Severus lifted out a spoonful of the baby rice, sniffed it, and let it run back into the bowl. “He’s only five months old, Hermione. What could he possibly have done to deserve this?”

“It’s baby food. It’s good for him.”

“It’s disgusting. Prisoners at Azkaban eat better than this.”

Hermione laughed. “Just give him a bite.”

“This was her idea,” he said to Curt as he held the spoon to the baby’s lips. Curt accepted it but then thrust his tongue and pushed the porridge out and down his own chin. “Well, that went well,” Severus said, putting down the bowl.

“Try it again. He’s still learning.”

Severus gave her a glare, but he complied. This time, Curt tried to grab the spoon and splattered the cereal all over his high chair. He immediately smeared one hand in the mess.

Five minutes later, both Curt and Severus were covered in baby rice, and Hermione was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Curt was fussing and Severus was glowering at both of them. He put the bowl down carefully and stood with as much dignity as a man covered with globs of baby porridge could muster. “I am going to change,” he said, his voice deadly. “You can clean him up and put him to bed. I sincerely hope he wakes you up twice as often as usual tonight.”

“He probably will,” Hermione gasped, “but it will be worth it.”

Severus swept out of the room, and Hermione continued to giggle as she wiped Curt and got him out of the high chair. A quick sponge bath and change of clothing took care of the mess, and then she nursed him and tucked him in as usual. Severus was pouring himself a drink when she emerged.

“I’m jealous,” she said with a sigh, curling up into her usual chair. “After a day like today, I could use something stronger than pumpkin juice.”

“I thought you said the day went well.”

“It did, but it was still stressful – and tiring. It’s good to be home.” She realized as she said the words that they were actually true. It had only been a few weeks, but their rooms had become home, and she was glad to be there.

Severus settled across from her and crossed his long legs in front of him, a posture that had become familiar to her.

“So what will you name her?” Hermione’s eyes settled on the owl, who was still glaring at them from the mantel.

Severus followed the direction of her gaze. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Do you want me to come up with something?”

“I think not.”

“You don’t trust me?”

He looked at the owl again. “I think you’ve done enough damage for one day.”

“Hmm. You could be right.” She changed the subject. “So would you like to take Curt for a walk tomorrow? It’s supposed to be a nice day.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, staring into his glass. “I suppose I could, if we do it just after breakfast.”

“Good.” She paused a moment and then said, a bit nervously, “It looks like I’ll be making another trip into town soon. One of the owls I got today was from my mum. I’d written her and…well, anyway, she and Dad say they’ll meet you and Curt.”

“Is that…what you want?” Though he tried to hide it, she could tell that Severus was horrified at the prospect.

“I’d like for them to meet Curt, of course,” she said carefully, “but you don’t have to go along unless you just want to.”

“I think it would probably be best if I didn’t.” His mouth quirked in a smile that was probably at least half relief. “I’m told I make a better impression when I’m absent.”

She chuckled. “I don’t think you’re so bad,” she said, “but I can understand why you’d rather not go. I’ll just take Curt this time, and if it looks like this” she gestured between them “is going to actually…work out, you can meet them some other time.”

Severus raised his eyebrows at her. “And do you think this is going to actually work out?”

“Well, um, it hasn’t been so bad so far, has it? And with us and then Mrs Fletcher and now Mum and Dad…well, Curt will have a real family, won’t he? Isn’t that what we both wanted?” She bit her lip. Maybe Severus was counting the days until he’d met his commitment and could be rid of her.

“Of course,” he said dryly. “I’m glad it hasn’t been as dreadful for you as you’d anticipated.”

“That’s not what I said and you know it,” she protested, though in truth it was very close to what she had been thinking. Severus gave her a knowing smirk, and she laughed. “You’re very tiresome. I think I’m going to go to bed early. It’s been a long day.”

He nodded. “Good night then.”

“Good night.” She rose and stretched and headed for her room. As she passed by Severus’s chair, she paused. “I told Mrs Fletcher today that you were a wonderful father. I just wanted you to know that…well…that I meant it. You really are.”

He stared at her, obviously astonished, and she smiled at him and then reached down and brushed his shoulder with the backs of her fingers. “’Night,” she said again.

She was almost to her door when he cleared his throat and spoke the words, his voice so low that she barely heard him: “Thank you, Hermione.”

§ §§§

They met Albus in the Entrance Hall the next morning as they were putting Curt in the pram and preparing to set off on their morning walk. Hermione tried to tell him a bit about her visit with Mrs Fletcher, but it was obvious that the Headmaster was in a hurry to get somewhere.

“That’s wonderful, Hermione, but could we talk about it later? Perhaps we can catch up over lunch?”

“Of…course,” she said, flashing Severus a curious look.

“Wonderful, wonderful!” Albus exclaimed. “You children enjoy your walk. I’ll see you later.” He hurried away, a scroll of parchment clutched in one hand.

“What was thatabout?” Hermione asked, staring after him.

Severus shrugged. “It’s Albus.”

Hermione nodded. “I see your point.”

§ §§§

Albus Dumbledore dropped onto the first bench he came to and hurried to open the letter he’d just received by owl post.

2 July, 2007

Dear Albus,

No, I’m sorry. Not at this time.

It was wonderful to hear from you, however, and to hear a bit about the goings-on at Hogwarts. I’m not surprised about Mr Wimp either, I’m afraid. I tried to guide him toward other pursuits, but he was determined. As you say, time will tell, but I suspect he’ll find his niche in accounting or some similar field. You’ll shout ‘heresy,’ I’m certain, but I rather wonder if the Hat was having an off-day when that boy was sorted. A less likely Gryffindor I can’t imagine.

Oh my! How wonderful it is to be able to say things like that freely! I shall become as big a gossip as Rosa and Irma if I’m not careful. I’ve had owls from each of them, incidentally, so yours was the third account I had of little Curt’s illness. I understand that Hermione and Severus pelted headlong to Poppy’s quarters in the middle of the night, both nearly out of their minds with worry. I suppose it’s dreadful of me to find that mental image encouraging, so I’ll only confess it to you. Rosa says she saw the two of them out walking together after Curt recovered, and that seems more encouraging still. Of course, Rosa is intent on turning one walk into the Romance of the Century, but like you, I’m satisfied just to learn that they’re being civil to one another. I haven’t heard from Hermione. I shall write to her next, I think, just to let her know I’m missing her. And if she should write back and tell me first-hand how things are going with Severus…well, I wouldn’t be disappointed.

I’m sorry to hear about Peeves’s misbehaviour but am not at all surprised. Where does a ghost go on vacation anyway?

I am not on the coast, surrounded by admirers or otherwise, but am instead still at my sister’s in Edinburgh. We have enjoyed our time together immensely, but I begin to feel that I’ve overstayed my welcome and am trying to decide where I’ll go next. Any suggestions? On second thought, never mind – I’m not sure I want to give you that kind of an opening.

I do miss you, dear Albus, and hope to see you soon. Dinner perhaps, rather than a lifetime commitment.

Fondly,

Minerva

Albus sighed and smiled to himself as he re-rolled the parchment, tucked it into one of the many pockets in his voluminous robes, and headed slowly back up to his office.