Orpheus

Chapter 15

By Pigwidgeon37

Harry remained remarkably silent during the rest of the dinner and drank an unusual quantity of wine. He listened to Severus and Hermione’s account with interest, though, and even smiled faintly when they described their break-in at St. Dogmaels.

The elves cleared away the plates and serving dishes from the main course; upon Hermione’s whispered command, they disappeared and left the three tablemates alone—not only had they eaten a lot, so that dessert could wait for half an hour, this was also the most important moment of the whole evening. Up till now, the Snapes had only told the story of their discovery. What they intended to do with it had not yet been said explicitly.

Severus glanced at their guest, who had slumped down a little in his chair. His usual impeccable pose abandoned, eyelids drooping, he didn’t exactly convey a sense of eagerness and curiosity. “I suppose,” Severus began while refilling Harry’s wineglass, “that you are wondering why we told you this rather long story.”

Sitting up a bit straighter, Harry gave him a tired smile. “Not really. Why should I? I mean, this is about my mother, and I think you just did the decent thing by telling me instead of merely sending me the finished manuscript. Or—” he took a sip of wine and eyed them curiously “—is there an additional reason?”

At this point, Hermione had almost convinced herself to just forget her project. Now that she was happy with her life, her view of Harry had definitely changed. Instead of hating him, she pitied him, and his more boyish—or childish—side had always appealed to her in a strange way. Her feelings for him had become almost motherly; there was a strange urge to protect him, especially now that he seemed so vulnerable. To use him and lie to him, when he was totally unaware of being used and lied to, suddenly seemed like a monstrous crime. She looked up from her wineglass she had been toying with, and into Severus’s eyes. Would telling Harry that, no, there was no additional reason, that they had invited him solely to make the news a little more palatable to him, would that mean she was being disloyal to her husband? Or would he welcome her decision? Then again, they had already gone so far, betrayed the trust of so many friends. And they wouldn’t really lie to Harry. A half-truth was not the same thing as a lie.

She realized that she had already been silent for too long. If she answered his question with 'no' now, even Harry, tired as he was, would never believe her. While she thought that the dice were still in her hand, waiting to be cast, they had already fallen. “Yes,” she said, her heart suddenly heavy, “Yes, there is another reason. We want to recreate the Visvita Potion.”

“Nice name,” Harry observed absentmindedly. Then his head snapped up. “You want to—But why ask me? Why don’t you just go ahead and brew it?”

“The problem is,” Severus said, “that the ingredients are both rare and illegal. At least part of them. So we need a special permit. We would also like to experiment a little. After all, we don’t know how long the effect lasts, so maybe we could improve the formula. All we know is that it lasted for two hours, but you were a small child then, so we have no idea if the dosage of ingredients was already perfect.”

Harry nodded. “I understand. And you don’t want to be pressured or constantly pestered by the Experimental Potions Department. Or worse—” he smirked “—by the Aurors.”

“That would be the general idea,” Severus agreed dryly. “Of course we are going to put the final result at the disposal of both Aurors and Law Enforcers, especially if we manage to find some cheaper ingredients with which to replace the really rare and expensive ones. Although I’m afraid that this will never be a potion apt for mass production. But it might be useful for dangerous missions.”

The gold-rimmed spectacles had been sitting, abandoned, on the tablecloth next to Harry’s cutlery. Now he put them back on and regarded Severus and Hermione with narrowed eyes. “I suppose,” he said, his tone suddenly sober and businesslike, “that you would also need some financial support?”

“We wouldn’t say no if it was offered,” Hermione replied. “Because those substances are very costly, and we might need quite a lot of them.”

“Department of Mysteries, then,” Harry muttered. Seeing the other two frown in incomprehension, he explained, “The Unspeakables are very generously funded, and the Minister has direct access to their budget. The only portion of the ministerial finances that doesn’t need to be accounted for, for obvious reasons. Would fifty thousand galleons be sufficient, at least for the beginning?”

It wasn’t easy to make Severus stare in wide-eyed surprise, but this offer had done the trick. “I suppose… yes, of course,” he croaked.

The smug smile on Harry’s face broadened. “The money comes with a few conditions, though. Firstly, absolute secrecy—not that that will pose a problem.” Both Severus and Hermione shook their heads. “Good. Secondly, once you have perfected the formula, I assume you will submit it to the International Warlocks’ Confederation for patenting, correct?” The couple nodded mutely. “Just as I thought. In that case, I request that the patent bear the names of both you and my parents. That seems only just, doesn’t it?” Another nod from his still-speechless hosts. “Thirdly, there will be a joint press conference. I will break the news to the media, and you are going to answer their questions.”

"The elections," Severus commented sardonically, smirking at Harry.

"Of course. That's how politics are and, frankly, I don't see any harm it might possibly do. Fourthly, and lastly, the patent must be sold to the Ministry. We may agree on a generous sum beforehand, but I will not allow for the potion to be brewed by anybody except the Ministry, for the use of Aurors and Law Enforcement.”

“That… seems reasonable,” Hermione agreed, almost crying with relief at this solution. If the use of the Draught was going to be so strictly regulated right from the beginning, merely for defence purposes, there was next to no danger of people experimenting with it.

Severus seemed to think along the same lines, as his face was lit up by a smile. “Excellent,” he said. “And—merely to satisfy my curiosity—how is this, er, agreement going to be sanctioned? Because anything written would—”

“Of course not,” Harry interrupted him. “The moment a written contract is signed, a magical copy appears in the Ministry archives. No, no. This would be too risky. I think—” he adjusted his glasses and looked first at Hermione, then Severus “—a blood contract would be more secret and more efficient as well. Any reservations?”

“N-no,” Hermione said. “I don’t think so.” She did a quick mental inventory of any part of the contract they might be breaking by having told him only half the truth. The consequences of breaking magical contracts, especially the ancient forms sealed with blood, were pretty dire, to say the least. But she couldn’t think of anything, and a quick glance at Severus ascertained that he, too, appeared quite serene.

There was a minute of heavy silence after this momentous decision.

“Dessert, anybody?” Hermione asked finally. Her question was met with relieved sighs and nods from both wizards.

*

The next days—the last of the summer holidays—were quite hectic; both Severus and Hermione had to make diverse preparations for the beginning of a new school year, and when they weren't busy with their respective administrative tasks, they were poring over Lily's notes, debating and calculating. Most of the listed ingredients were not only illegal and expensive, they were also obsolete. The Mesopotamian Triplecrest, for example, was a now-extinct dragon species—in Lily and James Potter's times, there had been one tatty, old specimen (triple-crest-fallen, as Severus called it; Hermione rolled her eyes) in Baghdad's magical zoo, but it had died some years ago. By now, its artfully prepared, stuffed and mounted body was one of the most prized possessions of the Museum of Magical History of the Arabian World in Petra, and it seemed more than doubtful that the local conservator would give his consent to the apple of his eye being robbed of a substantial amount of scales. And this was only one of the ingredients-related problems they had to solve.

Two days after their meeting with Harry, Hermione received a nondescript brown envelope by owl post. It contained the key to an anonymous vault at Gringott's. The money had arrived. Harry had kept his promise. And they were now free to order whichever substance they needed once they had the list ready.

It was almost with a sense of relief that Hermione took her seat next to Severus in the Great Hall on 1 September. The start of a new term meant less time for other occupations, but it also forced her and Severus to not become too involved with their project, which was a good thing, because they had both remarked, on various occasions, that it was turning into an obsession. So both welcomed the return of a regular schedule that was going to distract their minds from the Draught of Life.

The door opened, and the students flooded the room, immediately filling it with noise; many of them were tanned, their hair and eyebrows bleached by sunlight, and Hermione saw quite a lot of boys whose hair had obviously been cut only a few days ago—the white skin framing the freshly-cropped fluff on their necks told as much. Many of the girls—most noticeably among the fifth- and sixth-years—had turned into young women over the holidays, with sophisticated new haircuts, robes of a somewhat more feminine style and shoes with higher heels. This made Hermione think of the Malfoy girl, and she briefly nudged Severus's elbow, asking him whether he'd received any news as to Lucertola being detained or not arriving.

Severus shook his head. "No," he said, briefly detaching his eyes from the hordes of students to look at his wife, "I instructed Hagrid to take her across the lake together with the first-years."

Hermione's eyebrows rose. "An exercise in humility?"

"No," he replied, smiling. "No, I merely thought that everybody ought to have this first impression, regardless of their age."

"She won't like it at all. In fact, I daresay she'll detest you for it."

Severus shrugged. "Honestly, I couldn't care less."

By now, all the students had taken their seats at the house tables, and the noise had diminished to a more bearable level. Many of them were overtly looking at Severus and Hermione. Their wedding had been all over the papers; fortunately, Hermione thought, it wasn't likely to cause too much gossip now that six weeks had gone by, but many a glance was directed at their wedding bands. A few girls even gave her looks of envy. She bowed her head to hide a smile and caught an amused wink from Poppy Pomfrey, who had evidently noticed as well.

Envious looks from a handful of starry-eyed girls were one thing, but what Hermione saw in the eyes of Lucertola Malfoy, when she entered the Great Hall together with the first-years, made a shiver run down her spine. This wasn't envy, nor was it merely jealousy. It was hate, the same cold, focused hate she'd seen in the eyes of the girl's father and grandfather more than once. What really unsettled her, though, so much that she didn't catch a single word of the Sorting Hat's song, was Lucertola's expression of smugness whenever her eyes came to rest on Severus. What on earth was going on in the girl's mind? Had she come to Hogwarts—or, worse, been sent to Hogwarts—for some ulterior motive than that of receiving a first-rate magical education? There was an aura of coldness and determination about her that made the first-years next to her recoil by a few steps and regard her with something very akin to fear. Like father, like daughter, Hermione mused, but immediately chided herself for being biased. Maybe the girl was just terribly insecure, and this was her way of hiding it. She was a teacher, she must not let herself be guided by prejudice of any kind, whether favourable or negative.

When the Sorting Hat pronounced Lucertola to be a Ravenclaw, Hermione exchanged a brief glance with Valerian Vector, her former Arithmancy teacher and now Head of Ravenclaw. He shook his head imperceptibly and shrugged. So he had noticed it as well. In any case, Hermione thought, drawn back to her ponderings in spite of herself, it was probably a blessing that the girl hadn't been sorted into Slytherin. True, what had been flat-out hostility between Slytherin and the other three Houses during her own school days had mellowed considerably over the years; with no major conflicts in the magical world outside Hogwarts, the students didn't have to choose sides at a too young age anymore. There was no need, in these peaceful times, for parents to indoctrinate their children, for their own safety, with black-and-white views of the world. Enmity had turned into more or less good-natured rivalry. But the arrival in Slytherin of a girl like Lucertola, who whether she wanted it or not was carrying the heavy burden of her family's alliance to the Dark Lord, might have caused some ripples in the calm waters of everyday life at Hogwarts. It seemed that there was going to be less potential for trouble if the girl belonged to Ravenclaw, a House that had always been renowned for its indifference—even though some called it contempt—to politics and petty conflicts. To them, even the two Voldemort wars had been petty conflicts, and only very few of them had fought actively (Vector among them, which had caused a wave of objections when he was appointed Head of House). Whether they preferred to stay safely in their ivory tower—as their detractors formulated it—or simply had a different perspective (as they themselves preferred to call it) on life, the hard facts and numbers confirmed that Ravenclaw was the house that lost points for infractions such as unauthorized experimenting, trying to sneak books out of the library or the occasional midnight excursion to the greenhouses, but only very seldom for pranks, hexing members of other houses or snogging in dark corners. Their inner rivalries, too, were of a different sort than those causing conflicts in Slytherin.

Not that Hermione envied her colleague the task of disciplining a student like Lucertola. But it was probably going to be easier for both him and the girl in the quiet, studious atmosphere of Ravenclaw.

Although still deep in thought, Hermione felt something like relief. After careful deliberation, she had given only the briefest of accounts about her and Lucertola's shopping trip to Severus, because she knew that he had plenty of reservations concerning the girl as it was. No need to give him one more reason to dislike her. When Hermione had seen the look of pure loathing on the girl's face, she had been tempted to change her mind and tell him more about that afternoon. Now, however, she didn't deem it necessary anymore, at least not for the time being. If Vector or other teachers reported they had trouble handling the girl, she might still throw in her own opinion.

Next to her, Severus was thinking thoughts very similar to those of his wife. The expression on Lucertola's face had not escaped him, and neither had he any doubts about who they'd been directed at. He had seen the deep loathing when the girl regarded his wife, and something else, something he couldn't quite identify, when her eyes met his own. Such violent onslaught of negative emotion when she had only just stepped over the school's threshold made him feel very uneasy, because it meant that those feelings couldn't very well stem from something she had heard, seen or otherwise experienced here. No, they had to run deeper and—not that this came as a particular surprise—they had probably been implanted into her mind by her family. By her father, to be exact. And if that was the case, her presence at his school might lead to some big trouble.

He had wanted to concentrate on his welcoming speech—something which, even after more than ten years, still gave him performance anxiety, even though he would never admit it—but instead found himself drawn to very unwelcome thoughts about the Malfoys and what they might possibly have told their daughter to make her literally glow with hate. Hate directed at his wife, to boot. Was it possible, was it thinkable that Draco had crammed his anti-Muggle-born ideology into the girl's head? Considering everything he knew about the boy—no, man, he corrected himself, this was certainly a possibility. Hermione, however, wasn't the only Muggle-born teacher. If Lucertola showed those racist tendencies, she'd probably do so towards other faculty members as well. The question was: how to handle the problem?

Severus had had many talks with Dumbledore during the former Headmaster's stay at Hogwarts, after the wedding. They had both come to the conclusion that it would be best to merely observe Lucertola Malfoy for some time, to see how she was adjusting, but without giving any special warnings or instructions to the faculty. After all, everybody knew who the Malfoys were, and therefore there was no need to give a semblance of justification or authorization to any prejudice the teachers might already harbour. On the contrary, it was necessary to keep an eye on the staff as well—if they discriminated the girl in any way, she might be reluctant to denounce such behaviour, whether she was too frightened or too proud to do so. Although, Severus thought, lack of courage didn't seem to be one of young Miss Malfoy's problems.

When she was sorted into Ravenclaw, he let out a silent sigh of relief. This was better, much better than Slytherin. And Valerian Vector was one of the most sensible people he knew; a brief talk with him would be enough to ensure that everything went well.

Severus was just debating with himself whether he should bring up the subject with Hermione, when the last student was sorted and Minerva snatched stool and Hat to carry them back to his office. Chasing thoughts of Lucertola Malfoy from his mind, he rose from his seat, cleared his throat and, after a brief glance at his wife, began his speech.

*

Despite Albus Dumbledore's best efforts, Muggle Studies had never counted as a really important subject in all the forty-six years of his tenure at Hogwarts. He had tried, again and again, to convince both the Minister of Magic and the Board of Governors that it should be made compulsory at least for whomever intended to choose the career of Auror or Law Enforcer—they had to deal with Muggles on a rather regular basis—but his arguments had always been ignored. During the two wars against Voldemort, he had even been explicitly threatened with immediate removal from his position in case he continued to 'harass' the authorities with 'further inane requests'.

After Voldemort's defeat, Arthur Weasley had become Minister of Magic. His interest in all things Muggle was well-known—not to say notorious—and Dumbledore, who was still Headmaster of Hogwarts during the first three years of this new era, had hoped that the hitherto neglected subject of Muggle Studies would finally receive the recognition it deserved. He had not reckoned with the Board of Governors, though. The twelve seats in this august council had been in the hands of the same pureblood patriarchs for dozens of generations. Except for Malfoy, none of them had been Death Eaters, but it was an open secret that many, if not all of them had more or less strongly sympathized with the Dark Lord's ideology. They perceived Arthur Weasley's rise to the highest position in the wizarding part of Great Britain as an outrage, a slap in the face. The way he treated the Malfoys (whom they had feared, but nonetheless admired, and who after all belonged to the highest pureblood aristocracy) had turned the Governors' head-wagging doubt into flat-out hostility. There wasn't much they could do, but they could politely refuse to acknowledge each and every proposal, suggestion and advice he submitted to their consideration. The Minister's request to give more room and importance to the subject of Muggle Studies was therefore declined with particular glee.

Only when Harry Potter took over from Arthur Weasley did the situation change. During his years as ambassador in Paris and Washington he had honed his diplomatic skills, and so it took the assembled Governors ten minutes to peel the layers of flattering rhetoric off the simple fact that Potter had just informed them that neither bribes nor donations nor petitions would get their sons and daughters a job at the Ministry unless they scored an A in Muggle Studies at their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Grinding their teeth but recognizing the inevitability of complying to his request, they took the necessary steps. Their pride was partly restored when they succeeded at least in drawing out the decision process for as long as possible. Besides, they knew exactly that the current Muggle Studies teacher, Konrad Darwin, was quite susceptible to invitations to family mansions for prolonged stays over the holidays, as well as to small 'gifts'. A serene outlook on the future was as good as guaranteed to their offspring.

Poor Konrad Darwin, whose knowledge about Muggles was merely theoretical (apart from a field excursion to Manchester during his university studies; but whenever the subject came up he grew very quiet and shifty) had been anything but happy when his calm teaching routine—seven single units per week, and homework that barely deserved being called symbolic—had been so rudely interrupted. And when, after less than two years of toiling (fourteen units per week and more substantial homework) Headmaster Snape had offered him a sabbatical, not without hinting that it might just as well become a permanent solution, he had been grateful rather than hurt.

Hermione, who had taken over halfway through the term, took her duties a lot more seriously. But in spite of fourteen units per week, extended office hours and the three feet of parchment she expected from her students every week, she wasn't a very busy teacher. In the beginning, she'd had difficulties coming to terms with this status she deemed inferior, but by now she had accepted it and even enjoyed it. The fact that her salary was definitely lower than that of Avanessian or Sinistra, not to mention Heads of Houses and the Deputy Headmistress, had never particularly irked her; none of her colleagues were treating her in an even remotely condescending fashion, and so she had gradually begun to see the advantages of having more free periods than the others. She used them for strolls through Muggle London and spent more time with old friends like Remus Lupin, Hagrid or Mad-Eye Moody.

A beautiful autumn afternoon in late October, all blues and golds and intense reds, found her sitting in the office of the Rector of the Aurors' Academy, a late tea—or early dinner—spread out before them on a tea table near the open windows. Moody had invited her to drop by, to listen to a conference a foreign expert was holding on Advanced Combat Curses. The foreign expert had had to leave right after lunch, and Hermione had accompanied her friend back to the Academy for a cosy chat.

"How's Sirius, by the way?" Moody asked, pouring more tea for both of them and lacing his own with a generous splash of Firewhiskey from his hip flask. "Still pining for the Wilcox girl?"

"I don't think so." Hermione grinned at the idea of a pining Sirius. "Don't tell Severus, but I'm pretty sure he has set his eyes on Miss Filmore—you know, the new assistant librarian."

"Well, that would be a first. Better, if you ask me. Messing around with students may be fun but…" He shrugged. "He's always been lucky, but there's a first time for everything. Imagine the trouble Severus'd be in if anybody found out. And… how is she? The librarian, I mean."

Hermione took a thoughtful bite from an almond biscuit. "Different. Not what Sirius usually goes for. She's bright, and nice, and also quite pretty. But nowhere near as sensational as Agrippina Wilcox."

"Hmm…" Moody wagged his head and splashed more Firewhiskey into his tea. Then he looked at Hermione, frowning. "Do you think he's serious about this one? How old is she?"

"I'm not sure—twenty-five or twenty-six, I think."

"That old?"

Hermione snorted. "Thanks a bunch, Alastor."

The impatient wave of his right hand almost upset his teacup. "Nah, don't be silly, lass. You know what I meant. That's almost ten years older than his usual target group."

"That's true. What about your target group then, Alastor? Any news from the girlfriends-front?" Despite his wooden leg and mutilated face, Moody scored surprising successes with women. Together with McGonagall and Madams Pomfrey and Hooch, Hermione had pondered many times what exactly made him attractive, but all they had come up with were giggly and rather farfetched hypotheses.

"Er…" Moody shot her a slightly uneasy look and fell silent. Then, he said "Uh…" and then some more embarrassed monosyllables until, evidently encouraged by Hermione's smile, he managed, "I thought you'd figured that out…"

It took Hermione several minutes to figure it out, and when the coin had dropped, she was sure her jaw must have smashed the teacup in her hands. "Mu-Mum?" she asked, resisting the urge to close her eyes.

"If you went to see your mother more often," Moody declared sternly, "you'd have found out earlier. Your fault, really."

Now she did close her eyes, torn between the desire to giggle uncontrollably and the sudden impulse to get up and run. "Alastor…" Her voice was quivering, and she cleared her throat. "Alastor, do you think we might switch topic?"

"Here, lass," he said, "That'll help." And emptied his hip flask into her cup of tea.