Orpheus

Chapter 12

By Pigwidgeon37

16 January 1981

After many arguments, James agreed that we both go to the funeral. Long-distance Apparition is terribly exhausting. But I’d gladly do it again, if only I could make the scene with Petunia un-happen.

We’ve never been too close, especially after I turned out to be a witch. From then on, she feared and despised me. Now she hates me. She blamed mum and dad’s death on me, and, what is worse, I partly agree with her. Had it not been for me, and for my involvement with the Order, our parents could have stayed in England. They wouldn’t have died in a road accident near Oslo. I’m not responsible for the accident, but they had to leave the country because of me. Frankly, I don’t think that Petunia loved mum and dad very deeply, but maybe that’s the reason why she was so desperate about their death.

James stood up for me. Vernon, P.’s husband, just stood there, terribly embarrassed but obviously afraid to start brawling with a wizard.

Peter stayed with Harry while we were gone. I’m glad to be back, for many reasons. One of them being that I feel uncomfortable with the thought of Peter watching my child.

19 January 1981

Harry is teething. The potions help a little, but he suffers a lot.

3 March 1981

We’re stuck with our research. Completely stuck. The giants are all on Voldemort’s side, so it’s impossible to get blood samples. And Hagrid’s blood doesn’t work. Yes, I know, I shouldn’t write this down. But I’ve become strangely unconcerned with minor safety issues. I’m even wondering what to do with our results (those we’ve got so far, anyway) in case something should happen to us. We have begun to meddle with something that should be left untouched. Life and death aren’t for us humans to decide. Delving into this kind of magic has never done people any good. And all the same, it would be such a waste if the results were lost forever. Not that I’m having premonitions of my own death, but in a situation as this, the probabilities of James and me dying are higher than those of our survival. I have to find a hiding place. I know, of course, that absolute safety doesn’t exist. But it must be possible to devise a way to hide our notes where the Death Eaters can’t find them.

On a completely different note: Harry has sprouted magnificent incisors, and I think I’ll have to wean him soon. My nipples are sore all the time. He’s quite adept at crawling now. Nothing is safe anymore. And he’s evidently very dissatisfied with himself—he wants to reach higher up but can’t. So sweet! And he’s smiling a lot at me and James. His favourite pastime seems to be blowing spit-bubbles.

11 May 1981

It seems we might get a substantial quantity of giants’ blood in a few weeks' time. I don’t know who worked the miracle and how, but this is good news.

I think I have found the perfect way of hiding the documentation of our work. I won’t tell anybody. Only two persons, who know me quite well, will be able to tell where I put the notes. I’ll have to go there only once, because I created a magical replica of our notebook that will register whichever additions are made. Doing this feels a bit like putting a letter into an empty bottle and throwing it out into the ocean. Fate will decide. How very, very dramatic.

*

Severus and Hermione looked at each other in the sputtering light of the candles, whose flames were being ruffled by a strong breeze.

“Two people who knew her very well…” Hermione murmured. “This seems almost impossible, unless she meant Sirius or Remus.”

“I don’t think so,” Severus replied, equally pensive. “They were both members of the Order, so she wouldn’t have taken the risk. She was all too aware that they might be caught.”

Hermione nodded. “I agree. But—” she twisted a lock of hair around her forefinger “—that as good as excludes all her schoolmates. It would have been too easy for the Death Eaters to get to them.”

“Muggles, then,” Severus observed with a sigh.

“I think so, yes. Only she says ‘two persons’—do you think one of them might be her sister?”

“I doubt that. They weren’t close, she says so herself, and I suppose Petunia didn’t know her very well.”

“Probably not.” Hermione shook her head. “This is going to be terribly difficult. Are there more entries?”

“Only two,” he answered, after perusing the diary. “Only two, and one of them is very short, written in June. It confirms that the giants’ blood is on its way.”

“And the last one?”

“Halloween 1981. The day she was killed. It’s very short, shall I—” At Hermione’s nod, he read, “It seems that we’ve finally been successful. Another series of tests, and there might be a possibility to resist the Killing Curse. Bad news, though: it seems that Voldemort has caught wind of the transaction that got us the giants’ blood. God help us. If he really knows, he also knows that the Draught is as good as ready. This explains why so many members of the Order have been abducted and killed lately. I hope and pray… It’s almost too terrible to write down. But what if Peter decides that our lives aren’t worth the lives of dozens of others? In a way, he’d even be right.” Severus swallowed and looked at his wife, who was biting her lip. Her eyes were suspiciously bright.

“It’s terrible,” she whispered. “Terrible. She knew…”

“No. She didn’t know. She had a premonition. And unfortunately, she was right. If for the wrong reasons—we know now that Pettigrew's motives were far from noble. There’s more, by the way, almost illegible.” Severus tilted the book, so as to have more light for deciphering Lily’s scrawl. “James is in for a major tongue-lashing,” he read, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “He didn’t lock the laboratory properly. Harry managed to get in and downed an entire vial of the Draught. I’ve been monitoring him for the past two hours—nothing seems to be wrong, but—”

“But?” Hermione asked.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice flat. “It ends here. I suppose she was disturbed by…” He didn’t finish the sentence and sighed heavily.

For a while, Hermione allowed the silence to persist—he had to grapple with his memories, and she wanted to give him some time. “So now we know why,” she said finally. “Now we know why Voldemort failed, and why James and Lily weren't protected against the curse. I suppose their notebook, the original I mean, was self-destroying or something like that. Or maybe they destroyed it the instant they heard somebody at the door…”

The wind was becoming stronger; now there was a certain chill to it, and a sharpness that spoke of clouds and rain to come, maybe even a thunderstorm. Severus rose and, without bothering to put on a dressing gown, went over to the window and closed it. “I hate to admit it,” he said, slowly turning to face Hermione, “but I have a very… unpleasant feeling about this business. Are you aware that we’ll have to lie to all our friends? More than we already have? We cannot tell them the truth, it’s impossible. But I think—” he eyed her with a weary half-smile “—it would be too much to ask you not to pursue the matter any further, wouldn’t it?”

Their eyes met, and Hermione held his gaze while pondering her answer. “If,” she finally replied, slowly as if she wasn’t sure he’d understand her, “I had hit a dead end before the connection with the Potters came up, I think you might have persuaded me to just abandon this project. But now, after reading Lily’s diary… I just can’t. I don’t know why I’m suddenly feeling such a strong connection with her, all I can tell you is that I’ve seldom been so touched by an other person’s words. It’s as if she had spoken to me directly, I can almost see her. If she didn’t think it was better to just let the results be lost, if the worst came to the worst, who am I—”

“You are yourself,” he interrupted her, returning to the bed and sitting down on the edge. “You are Hermione, not Lily, and you have to make your own decisions, instead of allowing your choices to be determined by her.”

“I know. And all the same, I can’t give up. I simply can’t.”

“That’s what I expected, but it was worth a try,” Severus said, while sliding under the covers. “Shall we wait until tomorrow, to decide the best way of finding the two people she’s alluding to?”

“Till tomorrow, yes.”

Both shivered slightly and moved close together for comfort and warmth.

*

“My letter from Hogwarts arrived today,” said Lucertola into the silence. There was always silence now, during their meals; her parents had given up their attempts at poking around in her mind, as if it were a heap of rubbish they hoped to find a gold coin in. They didn’t seem to have much to say to each other, either, and so the meals passed almost without a word. It was strange to hear the sound of her voice ring through the quiet, Lucertola thought.

Obviously her parents found it strange too, for both their heads shot up. Lucy looked away—she still couldn’t stand the sight of her mother’s short hair, although she’d never seen it in its spiky, filthy state like Draco had.

They didn’t comment, and so she continued, “There’s a booklist enclosed. My textbooks. How am I going to get them?”

Cho looked at Draco, who frowned at the flower arrangement in the centre of the table. He said nothing, though.

“Well?” Lucertola asked, impatiently.

“I…” Draco put down his knife and fork and picked up his wine glass; he swirled it around between his thumb and index finger and absentmindedly inhaled the aroma. “You would like to get them in advance, I suppose?”

“Yes, I’d like to see whether I’m terribly behind or not. And study a bit—I suppose my English terminology might need a little brushing-up.”

“Yes,” Draco said pensively, “Yes… Well, I suppose we don’t have another choice than to write to the… Headmaster—” he spat out the word as if it were a bite of apple with a worm in it “—and ask him to send somebody who can do the shopping with you. And get you a portkey to Diagon Alley.”

Trying to dissimulate her emotion at the mention of Snape (although she was pretty sure that none of her parents was going to notice anyway) Lucertola said, “Do you think he’ll agree? Or maybe—” she took a sip from her water glass, letting the curtain of black hair sweep forward so as to hide her face “—he won’t even be there? I read about his wedding, about ten days ago, won’t he and his wife have gone on their honeymoon?”

She was perfectly aware that her father didn’t know any more about the goings-on at Hogwarts, including the Headmaster’s honeymoon plans, than she did; but she wished fervently, desperately, that he answer her question in the negative—maybe he had heard something, after all? News travelled fast in the wizarding world…

To her disappointment, Draco nodded. “Yes, that is possible. But there is always somebody at Hogwarts—if not Snape, then his deputy or another Head of House. I’ll write immediately after dinner.” He looked at his daughter and smiled. “We want you to have a head start, don’t we?”

Lucertola would almost have smiled back, because when their eyes met, and when he gave her that smile, it seemed for a fleeting instant that everything was again as it had always been. But Draco averted his eyes all too quickly, and his face took on its now-usual, shuttered expression. Lucy’s hands clenched around the handles of her cutlery. A brief look at her mother was enough to make her lower her eyes to her plate again and retreat into herself.

She would never have thought it possible. But she was now looking forward to the day she’d leave this house.

*

“Muggle friends?” Sirius raised his eyebrows. “No, I don’t know about any Muggle friends Lily might have had.”

Hermione sighed. In spite of having kept her expectations at a reasonable level, she was disappointed all the same. Yes, it would have been too easy—and what was easy for her now would have been a piece of cake for the Death Eaters back then—but she had hoped all the same that he might give her some useful hint. “Pity,” she said. “It would have been interesting to know a bit more about her Muggle background. I mean, you and Remus knew her, but I’m sure you didn’t spend lots of time together with her during your first years here.”

“Not really. That’s simply not what boys that age do, you know? Girls are… well, I suppose you might call it an acquired taste.”

“Thoroughly acquired, in your case,” Hermione replied, grinning.

“Very,” he confirmed with a conspiratorial wink. “But try to ask Remus. He was always the more attentive type.”

“Meaning you were the Let’s-Go-Straight-For-Their-Panties type?”

“In the beginning I used to be that type, yes. Later on, I realized of course that listening to a woman is probably the best and quickest way into her panties. But Remus had that down to an art long before me.”

“Uh-huh.” Hermione didn’t know whether to be amused or outraged, but finally opted for the former. This was just how Sirius was—plain irresistible, even when he said the most impossible things. “Um, Sirius… May I ask you a personal question?”

He shoved the picnic basket (Hermione still couldn’t fathom how it had been emptied so quickly) off the blanket they were sharing and lay back, staring up into the canopy of hand-shaped leaves of the chestnut tree they had chosen to sit under. “About Lily?”

“Well… yes, if you don’t mind.”

Sirius chest rose with a deep sigh. “No, I don’t think I mind,” he finally said, turning his head and smiling at her. It was a forced smile, though, and it didn’t chase the sadness from his eyes.

“All right.” Hermione briefly pondered how to ask her question. She would have to mention the diaries, of course. She and Severus had agreed to make magical copies, from which they would erase the allusions to James and Lily’s research and then give them to Sirius. They hadn’t yet found the time to duplicate them, though. “I was just wondering—I’ll give you her diaries tomorrow, by the way—whether there ever was anything between you and Lily.”

Upon hearing her promise, Sirius’s face lit up briefly, then darkened again. “You mean if she slept with me?”

“Not necessarily. No, I had the impression… I mean it seems as if…” Mentally kicking herself for having brought up this topic, Hermione shot him a desperate look. But he merely raised a quizzical eyebrow. “It was one-sided, wasn’t it? You… you were in love with her but it was unrequited.”

"In love… I don't know. Probably. But I thought it was better not to examine my feelings too closely. It… might have hurt."

"So she never thought of you that way?"

"I doubt she ever thought of me, but I'm sure if she did, it wasn't that way. Why?" He rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow. "Was there something in the diaries?"

"Not really. She just mentioned a rather nasty scene between you and James, when she'd been visiting at your place."

"Oh, that." He gave a short, barking laugh and rolled back into his supine position. "Yes, James was jealous as hell. But that had nothing to do with me."

"She didn't love him, did she?"

"No," he confirmed, shaking his head, "I think she didn't. Harry, yes. But James was an altogether different story."

"A wartime story," Hermione muttered, more to herself than to him.

"I suppose you could call it that. You know quite a bit about wartime stories, don't you?"

"Enough to be sure that it's hardly ever love. Fear, and loneliness, and sadness, yes. But love? I don't think so. Poor Lily," she added.

"And poor James. He did love her, you know."

Hermione smiled but felt that it was more of a grimace. "So did Harry, at least that was what he believed." She shook off her sandals and lay down as well, looking at the swaying green leaves and trying to imagine who might be the two people who had known Lily quite well.

*

After another fruitless expedition, Hermione Apparated home, eager to share her frustration with Severus. It had abated a little during the walk from the gates to the castle, but there was still enough left to justify a peremptory demand to be held and cuddled.

To her surprise, Severus wasn't in their quarters. Feeling her frustration growing again, she went down to the greenhouses. They were empty, and she swore softly to herself, suddenly conscious of being hot and sweaty. Her underwear was clinging to her skin, and small rivulets of sweat tickled her neck on their way down to soaking her collar. So she decided that her frustration had to wait, for she definitely needed a shower.

The tepid water made her feel a lot better, and when she emerged from her bathroom, she heard Severus's footsteps on the stairs.

"Here you are!" she said, leaning over the banister. "I've been searching for you. Everything all right?" Obviously not, she thought, for there was a crease between his brows that—unlike in former times—only appeared when he was really upset.

"Yes, more or less." He had reached the landing and bent down to kiss her. "Hmm… you smell lovely." His tongue found her earlobe and played with it.

"Why more or less?"

"Because—" he straightened up and followed her into their bedroom "—I received a letter from Malfoy."

"Draco? Why did he write to you? I mean, why now? It's the summer holidays—"

"And we sent out the letters some days ago. So Miss Lucertola Malfoy received her booklist and is understandably anxious to get her textbooks."

"So wha—Oh, I see. They can't accompany her, of course. Don't tell me—" she took off her bathrobe and flung it on the bed "—that he wants you to accompany her."

"Not even Draco would be arrogant enough to order the Headmaster of Hogwarts around like an errand boy. No, but he asks whether a member of the faculty might—"

"No!" Hermione interrupted him, her tone half-pleading, half-outraged. "Not me, Severus, please! I'm frustrated enough as it is. The last thing I need is having to baby-sit a recalcitrant teenager!"

"Frustrated? Why—Of course! So Lupin didn't know anything?"

"No," she said gruffly, holding up two summer robes and shooting him an inquiring look.

"Hmmm…" Severus tilted his head. "The light blue one."

"You only chose it because it's semi-transparent!"

He snorted. "I wish you'd tell me what you'd have said if I had chosen the other one."

"I'm not sure, but I would have thought of something. What about 'You know yellow isn't my colour'? Anyway—" she wiggled into the garment "—you know what this means, don't you? We'll have to pay a visit to the Dursleys." Severus groaned. "Don't be such a drama queen. It's quid pro quo, come to think of it. I'll go book-shopping with the Malfoy chit, and you'll accompany me to the Dursleys. Deal?"

"Deal," he said, taking her outstretched hand with a lopsided smile.

*

"This is uncanny," Severus whispered when they had Apparated to a narrow alleyway near the Dursleys' house in Little Whinging, Surrey. It was the same place where Harry had first seen his godfather in the shape of a black dog, and where, two years later, he and his cousin had had a run-in with a Dementor. And also the place where Harry had first kissed Hermione—probably, she mused, because he felt he had an odd kind of home advantage there.

"What is uncanny?" she asked, while directing him towards Magnolia Crescent.

"The houses. They're all the same."

"Typical well-to-do suburban surroundings. There's worse."

"I doubt it," he muttered.

Ten minutes of leisurely walking later, they stood at the door of number 4, Privet Drive.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Ready?" As Severus merely shrugged, a long-suffering expression on his face, she snorted, nudged him in the ribs and then pressed the brass button of the doorbell. While listening for voices or footsteps, she noticed that her finger had left a slightly smudgy print on the shiny metal. Petunia Dursley wouldn't like that at all, she thought. Fortunately she didn't give in to the urge to giggle, for the door was abruptly flung open by a very bony, horse-faced woman.

"I'm not interested!" she snapped and slammed the door shut. Probably, Hermione thought, she had opened it only to obtain this effect.

His hand already at his left cuff, Severus asked, "Shall I?"

"Better not. They hate wizards. It would spoil our chances. I'll simply try again."

This time, the door opened only a few inches, so that Mrs. Dursley could send her unwelcome visitors a furious stare. "Go away, or I'll call the police!" she hissed.

"We don't want to convert you or sell anything," Hermione said quickly. "We just wanted to ask you a few questions, really. You don't even need to let us into your house."

The beady eyes narrowed by a fraction. "Who are you?" Petunia Dursley asked. "Are you doing market research?"

"No, we… actually, I'm Harry Potters ex-wife and—"

"Ex-wife?" The door swung back, and Mrs. Dursley looked at the younger woman with something Hermione could have sworn was a smile. "Ex-wife?" she repeated, "I had no idea he was married! So you couldn't stand living with him either, could you? Vernon!" she called over her shoulder, "Vernon, come down for a moment! Harry's ex-wife is here!"

"Y-yes. And this—" Hermione shoved a very reluctant Severus a little closer to the door "—is my husband, Severus Snape."

Mrs. Dursley's already long neck seemed to further elongate, as she tilted her head to the right until it almost touched her shoulder. "Snape? Snape… that does ring some bell… Weren't you one of Harry's teachers back at that… school?"

"Indeed." Severus made the smallest of bows. "I am now the Headmaster."

"So you're… Never mind. I think I remember you used to give Harry a terrible time, didn't you? Come in, I was just preparing tea. Vernon will be—" She was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. Red-faced, no-necked (Hermione sent a mental thank-you to Tennessee Williams for having coined the term) and bushy-moustached, Vernon Dursley's bulk appeared behind the rod-thin form of his wife.

"Ex-wife?" He grinned broadly, like a hyper-satisfied walrus. Hermione looked at him and his wife and thought, The Walrus and the Carpenter, and had to stifle another literature-inspired giggle. "Come in, come in. We were just about to have tea."

So they went to sit in the parlour, and for a good fifteen minutes Hermione tried to answer Mrs. Dursley's gleeful questions, which made her feel horribly guilty, for even though her marriage with Harry had been dreadful, it hadn't been so for the reasons the gloating couple was trying to make her confess. When she had had enough of answering their questions and thought that they seemed quite smug and satisfied, she decided to spill the beans. "Uh, Mrs. Dursley, do you think I might ask you a few questions about your sister?"

The couple froze. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Severus stiffen, and put her hand over his.

"I know this isn't something you like to talk about," she said, "But… you see, I'm planning to write Harry's biography, and it wouldn't be complete without a few chapters about his parents. And the handful of survivors—wizards, I mean—who knew her at Hogwarts only can tell me about her as she was in later years." She swallowed and told herself to let go of her scruples. Lily Potter was dead; what mattered now was to solve the conundrum. "What they told me about her sounds a little too… well, perfect. I thought that maybe…" She deliberately stopped talking and shot the Dursleys a pleading look. "There must be something," she added, avoiding everybody's eyes, even Severus's. She knew she was going to have trouble looking at herself in the mirror that night.

"A biography?" For some reason unknown to Hermione, this seemed to please Mrs. Dursley. "You mean… an unauthorized biography? Like that guy did with Princess Diana—remember?"

"Er, yes, something like that. Do you think you might help me out with some information about your sister?"

"Well…" Petunia Dursley glanced at her husband, and Severus and Hermione exchanged an amused look. The woman was clearly tempted to say yes, but used to asking for authorization.

"I would of course mention the invaluable help I received from you," Hermione added with a smile, the hypocrisy of which made Severus snort softly. "After all, you are my only source for Lily's childhood years."

"Vernon?" The woman's voice now had a definitely pleading inflexion.

Mr. Walrus stroked his moustache. The small, shrewd eyes seemed to measure the couple seated opposite him, carefully weighing one against the other. In the end, traditional patriarchy won out. "Do you think," he asked, addressing Severus, "that—in case the book sells satisfyingly, of course—there might be something like a, er, financial benefit?"

Without batting an eyelid or even glancing at Hermione, Severus replied, "I think this won't be a problem. But—" he made a careful pause and smiled at the eager couple "—maybe there is a better way of settling this business. I know you are not overly fond of the wizarding world, and if we had to sign a contract, it would probably have to be with wizarding lawyers. Seeing as we are already stealing enough of your time, would you agree to receive a… sum we both deem satisfactory in advance, so we may avoid those, er, tiresome arrangements?"

Hermione, who had been listening to his speech with increasing bewilderment, would have liked to strangle him after he had finished. Was he mad? He was ruining everything! He had just displayed a tactlessness she would never have thought him capable of, practically offering to buy the information in a most unacceptable way—after all, Mrs. Dursley wasn't just anybody, she was Lily's sister and—

"Yes, I think that would be a most acceptable arrangement," Vernon Dursley's voice droned through her thoughts. She had to put her hand over her mouth to keep her jaw from dropping, both because of Dursley's reaction and the sum Severus was naming. And certainly also because she'd had no idea that Severus possessed a Muggle bank account.

Speechless, she observed her husband as he wrote out a cheque, watched the two men getting up and shaking hands, saw a radiant smile light up Mrs. Dursley's bony features… She still felt as if she was in the midst of a very strange, not to say surreal, dream when she dug into her handbag for a notepad and pen, ready to write down whatever Petunia Dursley had to say about her dead sister.