The Sybil's Oracle: Book Three

Chapter 3

By Pigwidgeon37

Deafening silence followed the bombshell Severus had just dropped.

“Adopted?” Now her voice was hysterical. “That’s a lie, that’s a fucking lie, you… you bastards!” Her face looked ridiculous, displaying a mix of childish refusal, absolute and total negation of what must not be, and teenaged fury. And there was a rather tangible feel of power in the room, not entirely due to the three men. She started crying, in wild, racked sobs; not for the first time, Severus cursed her parents for not having explained earlier, for having failed at this most crucial moment. It would have been their duty to break this news to her; the rest would have been difficult enough to tell her.

So they waited, more exasperated than patient, until she had calmed down somewhat. After a while, it appeared that, once again, her mind was gaining the upper hand over her emotions. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?” she said flatly, fishing in her pockets for a handkerchief.

Severus nodded. “Yes,” he said, handing her his own, starched and pristine and impeccably white, “It’s the truth. But not the whole truth yet.”

Suddenly, her eyes went wide. “I’m not… I’m not your daughter?” Her gaze swept from Owen to Lucius to Severus, and it was not difficult to read in her face the anxiety and uncertainty as to what would be worse: being a McNair, a Malfoy or a Snape.

“No.” Owen managed something like a grin. “Not of one of us. But… Miss Granger, how much do you know about Voldemort’s first rise to power?”

Quite a lot, as it turned out. After Potter’s adventure in Dumbledore’s pensieve, and after Karkaroff had so incautiously embarrassed his enemy of old in the Potions classroom—of course, Potter had immediately babbled about it to his friends, no surprises there—she had done as much research as she could. The Hogwarts library was not too well-equipped with literature on the subject; not that that came as a big surprise to anybody, for Fudge had done his best to wipe as many traces as possible from History’s blackboard. Unfortunately, Severus thought, history was by no means an agglomerate of truths carved in stone. It was a blackboard at best, and whoever was quick enough to grab chalk and sponge could make their eager disciples believe whatever they wanted.

He brusquely interrupted Hermione’s account, although he was aware that this preposterous simulation of an exam was probably helping her keep her countenance. “Does the name of Lestrange mean anything to you?”

Her expression, which had been rather cross when he cut off her speech, went back to shocked. “They… yes, they were in the Headmaster’s pensieve, I mean, Harry told us they were tried together with Crouch, and… and they were the ones who tortured Neville’s parents…”

“The very ones,” Lucius remarked dryly. “St. John Lestrange, now almost fifty, used to be our Head of House at Hogwarts. A powerful wizard, not to mention very good-looking, and one of the first and most ardent followers of Voldemort. His wife Tabitha was in the same year as we.”

“You are… the same age?” Hermione looked from one to the other, with such an expression of dazzled surprise that Owen started laughing.

“Yes, we are peers. No comments, please, they would certainly be most unpleasant.”

Severus glared at him and resumed the thread where Lucius had left it. “As you might already have guessed, St. John and Tabitha Lestrange are your parents.”

Apparently, she had still been to puzzled to make the connection. “They are… but they’re in Azkaban!”

“Yes, they are in Azkaban.” Severus eyed her warily, waiting for the next outburst. It did not come, though. From the intense expression on her face, he assumed she was trying to resolve what to her still had to appear as an inextricable, and not less terrible, conundrum.

“And where exactly do you come in?”

Lucius sighed. “We, Miss Granger—by the way, Hermione is only your middle name, as your parents—” she flinched and shot him an indignant stare “—yes, your parents, and you had better acquaint yourself with the thought. As I was saying, they named you Nimue. Nimue Hermione Lestrange. When your parents had been caught at the Longbottoms’ house, we did not want you to suffer more than necessary, and more or less imitated what Dumbledore had done with the Potter boy. We left you at a Muggle orphanage, with a piece of parchment, on which we had written your middle name and birthday, tucked into your blanket.” A very… well, generous interpretation of the truth. After all, Lucius had not wanted her in his house in the first place.

“Why didn’t…” Her voice faltered, and for a while, she just stared at the opposite wall, shaking her head.

“Why didn’t we what, Miss Granger?” Severus prompted.

Her gaze returned to him. “Why didn’t you let me grow up in the wizarding world? There are magical orphanages, too, I suppose?”

“Because it would have been impossible to hide your identity, and the name of Lestrange might not have granted you the best of treatments,” Severus responded. “Think of what happened to Black, just to give you an example. Nobody was much inclined towards showing mercy to anybody or anything to do with Voldemort or his Death Eaters.”

“I see.” She started chewing on her already short thumbnail. “Does that mean I don’t have any relatives? Like Harry?”

Lucius and Severus exchanged a quick glance. The latter shrugged. It was probably better to tell her the whole truth now—at least that might allow her to gain a semblance of trust in them, which might grow with time. Without that confidence, none of them would stand a chance.

“You… do have a family, and quite a numerous one at that.” When her swollen-eyed, flushed face showed something like a smile, Lucius raised his eyebrows. “Do not cheer prematurely, my dear. My wife Narcissa is your cousin, which makes you Draco’s second aunt.”

“My cousin?” she gasped. “That…arrogant, haughty—”

“Careful what you say.” Lucius leaned forward, practically spearing her with his stare.

“Sorry, I… it’s just that I saw her at the Quidditch World Cup, and she… I mean you all…”

“Society, my dear,” he cut her off, before she could continue, “Society demands that we play certain roles, as you will become aware all too soon. So you’d better not judge people from fleeting impressions.”

“What about you, then?” she asked bluntly. “I have seen more of you than of your wife, and I couldn’t say that you have given me a more favourable impression. You gave Ginny that diary…”

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Do we have to go through your entire past now? Just so you know, I did not give Miss Weasley anything. Draco took it, while Sev—Professor Snape and I were sorting through the more interesting items at the Manor, and slipped it into the girl’s cauldron. Partly to get rid of it, because he was afraid of my reaction, had I found out that he had filched it, and partly because he thought it would be an immensely funny joke to give something obviously Dark and forbidden to a Weasley, of all people.”

“Draco gave… but you had Hagrid taken to Azkaban, and you also made the Governors remove Headmaster Dumble—”

“Use that brain, girl, for Merlin’s sake!” Owen snapped. “What would you do if your child were at a school where students are petrified by the dozen? By the Heir of Slytherin, no less—or do you think we didn’t know exactly who the Heir of Slytherin is? None of us was overly keen on seeing him return, believe me.”

“Does that mean that you all…” She swallowed and looked from one to the other, incredulous.

“Yes, that means that we all, Miss Granger. All three of us were instrumental in Voldemort’s defeat. Now he is back, and we must try to get rid of him as soon as possible. The Minister’s unwillingness to acknowledge his return is not likely to make this task any easier. Moreover, we will have to deal with you.”

“B-but, nobody knows who I am…”

“We know.” Lucius got up and started pacing. “We know, and whereas it was relatively easy to hold back that information where others were concerned—after all, none of us was accused or tried—it will not take Voldemort long to put two and two together. You were little more than a year old, when you vanished from the wizarding world without a trace. You couldn’t have done that by yourself, and thus we are more than likely to have had a hand in it. Right now, Voldemort is still too busy planning and scheming, and regaining strength. But believe me, he will remember you before long.”

“And you…” She looked at Severus, comprehension dawning on her face. “You are going to buy your way back into his good graces by bringing me to him?”

He frowned at her, shaking his head. “Kindly stop those Gryffindor histrionics. At this very moment, we don’t even know what he wants with you. Considering that your parents won’t be of much use to him after almost fourteen years at Azkaban—”

“How were they?”

All three men looked at her in surprise. “I beg your pardon?” Lucius drawled.

“How were they? My parents, I mean. You must know them pretty well.”

Lucius sat down again. He was clearly exasperated. “What kind of silly question is that? Do you expect us to—”

“Yes!” Fairly amused, Severus watched as she shot up from her chair and marched over to Lucius. She was almost standing on his toes, glowering down at him, fists firmly pressed against her hips. “It’s not a silly question, Mr.—Cousin Lucius. And don’t you think you can waltz into my parents’ house, tell me the most terrible truths—and I’m still too much in shock to realize what exactly all this means for my life. So don’t you think you can just sit here as if the world belonged to you, and patronize me at your will. You just told me that the people I love, the people I’ve been thinking of as my mother and father…” The tears welled up again, and she furiously wiped them off with the back of her hand. “And then you have the nerve to say that I’m asking silly questions, when I want to know what kind of people my… my biological parents were?”

Severus rose and went to stand behind her. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he said, as soothingly as possible, “Miss Granger, we are all under a lot of stress here, not least yourself. So kindly sit down.”

She sniffed and turned her head to look up at him. “You are… being nice,” she remarked.

“Not really.” He smirked at her and guided her back to her chair. “Let me explain something to you, before we continue talking. Your parents and aunt will have to go into hiding immediately. Fortunately, Voldemort’s rebirth didn’t catch us completely unawares, because all of us have been feeling that something was afoot during the entire school year. Therefore we are prepared, at least to a certain degree. So are your parents. Tomorrow, you, your parents and your aunt will depart to Cyprus, from where the three of us will retrieve you immediately after your arrival, staging the others’ death in the process. They will be well hidden, until all this is over. You will be brought to Malfoy Manor for the time being, where you, too, will be safe. And there, we will have all the time we need to discuss the past, present and future—the latter depending on Voldemort’s next decisions.”

“You mean I’ll have to spend the summer with… with him?” She pointed accusingly at Lucius.

“Yes, my dear,” Lucius said with a smirk, “And you might want to get used to the thought that we are the only family you have, except for a bunch of morons living in France, who would regard you as the devil’s spawn and treat you accordingly. But,” he added, and is face took on a rather malicious expression, “there will also be some familiar faces. Draco, for one, and of course also Severus.”

“And I won’t see my parents until You-Know… I mean until Voldemort has been defeated?” The question was directed at Severus, and Lucius turned to exchange a few whispered words with Owen.

“Probably not,” Severus said. No use giving the girl illusions; the sooner she accepted that truth, the better.

Instead of another onslaught of tears, her face suddenly took on an expression of extreme stubbornness. She raised her chin defiantly and crossed her arms. Her feet, which had hitherto been crossed at the ankles, slid apart and sought solid support on the floor. Nimue Lestrange was preparing to gain leverage and use it, throwing in all her weight, obviously. “I won’t go anywhere unless I can bring Crooks.”

Severus was opening his mouth to answer, sure that Lucius would not see that as a problem, but Lucius, who had interrupted his private conversation with Owen and abruptly turned back towards her when she spoke, was quicker. “Absolutely not,” he snarled.

Caught completely unawares by the unexpected reaction, Severus stared at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl flush scarlet. If this altercation continued like he assumed it would, the windows of the Grangers’ house were not going to remain intact for long. So he reached over and put a soothing hand on her forearm, which she jerked away. Fortunately, the rage seemed to have made her momentarily speechless. “Lucius,” he said, “I know it is your house, but—”

The telltale red blotches appeared on Lucius’s neck. If the whole summer was going to be like that… Severus got hold of the girl’s arm again. This time, he held her in a death grip.

“Are you out of your mind, Severus?” Lucius hissed. “He’s lucky that they didn’t throw him straight into Azkaban—why should I welcome that creature in my house?”

There was a short, stunned silence. Then she said, her voice very small, “Azkaban? But… but he’s only a cat…”

Despite all the tension and nervousness, Severus felt laughter bubble up within him, irresistible, and more than just laughter in a way. A tidal wave of hilarity, made more powerful by the constant strain he and others had been putting on himself for so long… One look at Lucius’s very embarrassed expression, and his self-restraint was gone. Both he and Owen were howling with laughter, looked upon by a puzzled Lucius, on whom the misunderstanding seemed to slowly dawn, and by the girl, whose mouth started twitching ominously.

“Well, er…” Lucius began, after the other two had calmed down a little. He pulled himself very upright and straightened his shoulders. When the girl grinned at him, he frowned.

“So I can bring him, can’t I?”

“Make sure he has no fleas!”

~~~~*~~~~

The Draught of the Living Dead had taken effect, and the Granger couple was now sprawled across the couch, Cecily Forrester draped across Mrs. Granger’s feet on the floor, all of them perfectly dead to any but a wizard’s eye. They would remain in this state for ninety hours—enough for them to be buried and un-buried again by Owen. In Southern Europe, funerals were usually performed one or two days after the death had occurred, merely for reasons of hygiene.

“Are you sure you got the dose right?” the girl asked, maybe for the tenth time. Severus merely rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s understandable that I’m worried, isn’t it?”

Apparently, he thought, her innate stubbornness was already returning. All the better for them, as they had plenty of work to do during the next weeks. “Go call the police,” he merely said, giving her a none-too-gentle push towards the telephone. It earned him an angry stare.

But she obediently did as he had told her, picked up the receiver and dialled 112, the all-European emergency number. “Hallo?” Her voice was squeaky with excitement—fortunately, because the policemen might have become suspicious, had she sounded too tranquil. “Do you speak English? I’m calling from the Pinewood Residence… yes, Pinewood…” Now she started sobbing. Lucius, who had just entered the room, nodded in satisfaction. “My parents and my aunt… I think they’re dead… Yes, dead!” she yelled. At the sight of the hectic red marks beginning to cover her face and throat, the two men exchanged an uneasy look. “Yes, I checked their pulse. No… no… they don't breathe. I tried with a mirror. A mirror, looking-glass, you stupid bugger!” Lucius turned away to hide a grin. “Yes, of course you should come! Yes, Pinewood. Yes, I will be waiting for you.”

She hung up and looked at them. “Satisfied?”

“More than words can express. Come now!” Lucius grabbed her elbow. “We have to Disapparate.”

Reluctantly, she let herself be shoved outside, where Owen was waiting. “Will he—” she shot a sinister glare in Owen’s direction “—will he take care of them properly?”

“Of course I will,” he snapped. “If only because, if I judge you correctly, you wouldn’t stop until you had found Voldemort, so you could run to him and tell him, you stubborn, obnoxious brat!”

“You bet!” she muttered.

“Which one of us would you care to embrace for Apparating?” Lucius asked mockingly.

“Professor Snape,” she answered, after a short pause. “At least I know him!”

“Charming as always, I see,” Severus said, as silkily as possible, and encircled her with his arms. “Don’t forget the cat, Lucius!”

~~~~*~~~~

Malfoy Manor was looming, black and imposing, against the background of rich green and a slowly discolouring sky. The sight was almost identical with the one that had greeted thirteen-year-old Severus when he had first come here, twenty-three years ago.

He looked down at the girl, who was still holding his waist in a grip that reminded him of steel bands. Fighting the urge to just push her away, so as to put an end to the unwelcome physical contact, he looked down. She was deadly pale, her forehead moist with perspiration. “Miss Granger?”

She slowly opened her eyes, lids fluttering, and swayed slightly. “That—” she croaked, then cleared her throat. “That was awful!”

“It’s like that only the first time. And joint Apparition is always worse. Can you stand on your own?” She nodded. “If that is so, would you mind loosening your grip? I am not sure whether my ribs are up to the pressure.”

With a half-guilty, half-irritated stare, she let go of him immediately and staggered backwards by a few steps. Then she turned round and saw the Manor. Her jaw fell. Quite literally. “That… that…” Her right arm rose, forefinger pointing at the huge edifice.

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor,” said Lucius, who had materialized near them a moment ago.

She slowly turned her head. “You live here?”

“Yes. I have even been born here. St. Mungo's wasn’t much of a choice back in the old days.” From the wicker basket he was holding— as far away from him as possible, and just pinching the handle with his thumb and forefinger, to Severus's well-hidden amusement—came the sound of furious hissing and spitting. At least, it jerked her out of her silent awe.

“Give him to me!” she demanded brusquely, and Lucius obliged her instantly, sketching a mock-bow. Then he fished her trunk, shrunk to miniature dimensions, from his pocket and thrust it into her other hand. After checking his watch, he remarked, “Narcissa and Draco should be here any minute now.” The girl’s face fell, and he smirked at her. “Eager to meet your family?” he drawled, turned on his heel and marched up the gravel path leading to the entrance.

She mumbled something unintelligible but probably very offensive under her breath and stalked after him. With a sigh, Severus sauntered off in their wake.

~~~~*~~~~

At Malfoy Manor, dinner was served at a later and more fashionable hour than at Hogwarts. If Severus had believed, though, that after returning from their successful mission in Cyprus he might enjoy a quiet hour of reading, or maybe just relaxing, he had been wrong. Had he given the situation more thought—so he chided himself—he might even have foreseen it. True, the girl had reacted better than any of them would have expected, although he was pretty sure that the worst was yet to come; but it was unrealistic to assume she might simply be left to herself, merely in the company of that disgusting orange furball, to agonize over her past, present and future without a shoulder to cry on. Not that Severus had any intention of literally offering her his shoulder. However, when he saw her look of insecurity and her trembling lower lip, he decided not to abandon her at the entrance to her rooms.

“Would you like me to show you the house?” he asked, for lack of anything better to say.

She glanced around the room, looking quite lost and miserable. “I think…” Her voice quavered and then faded. She took a deep breath and continued, “Maybe I should unpack first. Would you please unshrink my trunk?” She held it out to him on the palm of her hand.

“You can do that yourself. Surely that spell is not beyond your reach.”

“No, but…” She frowned up at him. “We aren’t allowed to—”

“This is Malfoy Manor,” he cut off her objection—tedious girl, really, too obsessed with rules for her own good. “Who do you think will come to punish you? The Minister?”

Her mouth twisted into a reluctant smile. “Probably not. But I thought that maybe Mr. Malfoy himself…” She stopped talking, a look of mingled concentration and incredulity passing over her face, and then stammered, “Does that mean… I mean, can I practise…Will I be allowed to revise…”

Overzealous little brat. Severus emitted a long-suffering sigh. “You may use your wand here, and you even will have to use it a lot, as the major part of your holidays will be dedicated to learning and studying.” It was difficult not to roll his eyes at her squeak of delight. The sound was followed by wild scratching and hissing from the wicker basket she had deposited on the floor. It was wobbling slightly.

“Do you think I might let him out?” she said, chewing her much-tried thumbnail and shooting him a doubtful glance.

“No, you have to keep him in there for the whole duration of the summer break.” Severus raised his hands in exasperation. “Please, Miss Granger, for the sake of the mental health of all those living at Malfoy Manor, do stop asking this kind of silly questions. You may live, you may breathe, and you may do as you please. If you infract the rules, you will realize it soon enough. Now release that poor creature, for Merlin’s sake.”

She crouched down and fumbled with the clasps of the leather straps holding the lid in place. Finally, they yielded to her efforts, and a large amount of fur, claws and fury shot out of it, straight to the bedroom door and under the bed. Surprisingly, this was the last straw. Severus watched, torn between helplessness and irrational anger, as the girl, still kneeling on the floor, doubled up, face buried in her hands, and started crying hysterically. His deliberations as to whether it was preferable to leave her alone, slap her or pour cold water over her head were interrupted by soft knocking on the door.

“Enter!” he called, hoping it was not Draco. The last thing he needed right now was a bodily fight between the two youngsters.

It was Yelena, though, and he gave a sigh of relief at the sight of her. “Severus,” she said, “what have you done to the girl? You haven’t told her—” She stopped talking abruptly and shot him a sideways glance, which he was too irritated to notice.

“I have done nothing. Apparently, her cat’s vile desertion was too much for her,” he answered, more sharply than he had intended. “Maybe you could…” he added, in a more conciliatory tone of voice, gesturing at the sobbing heap on the floor.

Yelena smiled her lopsided smile and shook her head. “Men…” was all she said, while walking over and kneeling down beside the girl. “Nimue?” There was no response, but probably, Severus thought, the girl had not even heard her. A slim, white hand came to rest on her shaking shoulders and rubbed gentle circles. The desperate sobs became hiccoughs and finally stopped. “Nimue?” she repeated, “Come on, raise your head and look at me.”

Slowly the girl did as she had been told. “Who… who a-are you?” she choked out.

“I am Yelena Malfoy, Lucius’s mother. Welcome to Malfoy Manor, my dear. I thought you might need some assistance… female assistance, that is,” she said, casting Severus a rather malicious look over her shoulder. Severus scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “I heard you brought your cat?”

Tears welled up again. “Y-yes, I d-did. Only he… h-he just…”

Yelena rose to her feet and pulled the girl up with her. “Then I suggest that we try and lure him out of there. Is he neutered?”

“Of c-course not!” was the indignant reply.

“Ah, well, then maybe we should cast an infertility charm on him. I think Draco would be less than pleased if Mina got pregnant…”

Apparently, that bit of information had sparked her interest sufficiently to make her talk without stammering. “Mina? Who is Mina?”

“Draco’s cat, of course, and she is female.”

“Draco has a cat?”

Severus was sure he had heard Yelena snort. However, it seemed that the girl was being taken care of appropriately—once more, Lucius’s assumption that crying females were best looked after by females was proven true—and so he felt free to move on to his own rooms, where Elias was waiting for him. His raven, who understood every word he said but did not talk back…

~~~~*~~~~

“I think a pre-dinner lecture is in order,” Lucius said, as he and Severus were descending the stairs. “Care to participate?”

“So long as I’m on the side of the lecturing and not of the lectured,” Severus replied, “with the greatest pleasure.”

“Has mother given you a dressing-down?”

“I would refrain from calling it thus, but she certainly lectured me. Hence my reservation.”

They entered the salon adjacent to the dining room, where Draco was already waiting. He was looking positively sulky. His expression lightened up a little at the sight of his father, whom he rose to greet immediately.

“Draco, my son,” Lucius said, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder, “I trust your day went well?” He held the boy at arm’s length. “No traces left?”

“No,” Draco said gruffly. “Not physical, anyway.”

“You merely got what you deserved,” Lucius said lightly. “Much as I basically agree with what you said to your schoolmates, you will have to learn that insults are better delivered wrapped up in compliments. It might take people longer to understand them, but they are less likely to retort with curses.”

Draco disengaged himself from his father’s hands and shot the two older wizards a dark look. “You could have told me!” he said, “About Granger, I mean. I’m sure she’ll rub that in for ages!”

Severus silently agreed with Lucius on behalf of the pre-dinner lecture. Although he was pretty sure that the antagonism between the two adolescents was going to decrease once the girl understood that most of Draco’s scathing remarks—though certainly not all of them, and certainly not those directed against whichever Weasley—were made out of necessity rather than of conviction, it might be wise to give them both a push in the right direction. After all, both were quite powerful, and Draco’s repertoire of nasty hexes was impressive. And there were more important things to do, for all of them, than to constantly cast counter-jinxes.

While he was still pondering this, the door opened again, and Yelena entered with the girl, whom she was dragging rather than guiding into the room. Obviously she knew about Lucius’s plans, for she merely gave them a short nod and disappeared.

“Good evening, Nimue,” Lucius said smoothly, deliberately ignoring the girl’s obvious discomfort at the name, “have a seat, please.”

Obediently, she trotted over and sat down.

“You too, Draco, if you please.”

Draco plopped into the armchair next to her. Severus watched their exchange of fiendish stares. Evidently unperturbed by the hostile silence, Lucius walked towards the opposite side of the salon, where a fragile-looking side table, placed between the two French doors, offered an impressive choice of bottles.

“A whiskey, Severus?” He nodded acceptance, all the while keeping an eye on the two youngsters.

“Well then,” Lucius said, returning and handing Severus a tumbler, “there are some matters I wish to bring to your attention. And I expect both of you to listen. Attentively!” The last word cut the dense atmosphere like a whip’s crack, and, as if drawn by an invisible string, one blonde and one brown head shot up. Lucius took a sip of his drink and smiled at them. At that, the girl seemed to be shrinking right into the backrest of her chair. “Over the past four years,” Lucius began, pacing back and forth between the fireplace and the door leading to the dining room, “a certain… enmity has been growing between the two of you. These… resentments were partly due to your affiliation to… let us say opposed, houses, partly also to prejudice on both sides. As far as the inter-house hostilities are concerned, there is not much any of us can do. There are differences between Gryffindor and Slytherin that cannot be overcome, and maybe it would not even be wise to try and overcome them. Mutual respect—” he paused to take another sip “—cannot be achieved by glossing over the differences. I advise you to recognize each other for what you are, each in their own right, and try to coexist as peacefully as possible.

“I am aware—” he was now addressing Draco “—that things between you might have gone much more smoothly, had you known that she is your mother’s long-missed cousin. Just as you—” he turned towards the girl “—would have been less shocked at being actually related to us, had you been raised in the wizarding world and under your real name. However, the decisions we made back then were justified by the situation. We cannot make the past un-happen, and you will have to cope with the situation as best you can.”

He placed the empty glass on the mantelpiece with a soft clinking noise and continued, “It is fairly obvious that you, Nimue, will have difficulties adjusting. During your sojourn at this house, you will be treated as the family member you are. You may or may not be aware of the importance of a wizard’s name, but believe me, it is important, and therefore you will be called by the name your parents have chosen for you. You will have to respect the same rules as Draco, of which there are few—all the more reason for you to observe them strictly. You are not to enter my study without my explicit permission. You must not read or even touch the books in the library unless in company of an adult. House Elves are not considered adults.”

Draco snorted softly—he had tried that subterfuge when he was eight years old. Without lasting success, of course.

“You are free to move in the house and on the grounds, so long as you keep both feet firmly on the ground. If you want to fly, you have to ask the permission of an adult. Yes, Nimue? Is there something you want to share with us?”

She blushed and muttered, “Not really, no. I’m just not… well, I certainly don’t want to fly.”

“I am pleased to hear it. One more rule: you may use your wands, because I am convinced that two months without practising do far more damage to a young wizard’s skills than a spell gone amiss. However, you should do so only if at least one adult is available, to intervene should it be necessary. In case you disregard this rule, you will have to face the consequences, which, I assure you, will be less than pleasant.”

“But Mr. Malfoy, the—”

“Ah, yes, one more thing: you will address all family members by their first names. Severus?”

Severus observed the girl, swirling the remainders of whiskey around in his glass. “Considering that Draco has permission to call me Uncle Severus in private, although we are not related, there is no reason why you should not use my first name while we are here. If you think you are more comfortable calling me Professor Snape, feel free to do so.” She merely nodded, wide-eyed and apparently speechless. “Now to our plans for the holidays: You both know that Voldemort has returned. At this very moment, none of us knows what he is planning. We should, however, be as well-prepared as possible. Neither Lucius nor I harbour any doubts as to Voldemort’s interest in you, both of you. We will, of course, try to protect you as best we can, but you might also have to protect yourselves. After the failure of the duelling club in your second year—” both youngsters smirked “—it seems that your duelling and fighting skills have been sadly neglected. Lucius and I will do our best to remedy that. Besides, you will have to get a first idea of the Dark Arts. Crouch might have been an impostor, but he was certainly right about one thing: in order to defend yourselves, you have to know what you are defending yourselves against.” The two nodded in unison. “I think that two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon will be sufficient. Lucius and I will share the teaching duties. Despite these lessons and your holiday assignments, you will have enough time at your disposal to enjoy yourselves. Any questions? Nimue, we are not at school, there is no need for you to raise your hand!”

The girl turned beet-red and squeaked, “Can I make suggestions? I mean, if there’s something I’d like to study…”

“Of course. The last thing I want is for either of you to be a mere recipient of information. You may ask questions and make suggestions.”

“Well then,” Lucius said, “I suggest that we have dinner. Nimue has to meet the rest of the family.”

~~~~*~~~~

Considering how absurd the whole situation seemed to himself, Severus was wondering how it might appear to the girl. During the last twenty-four hours, she had constantly been on the receiving end of a series of emotional blows, a single of which would have been difficult enough to get over. Not that he pitied her. He was merely pondering, on a more scientific than empathic level, when she was finally going to crack. True, there had been that outburst after her arrival. He just did not believe that it was going to remain the only one.

Right now—he watched her unobtrusively across the table, where she was sitting between Lucius at her left and Draco at her right—she seemed pretty calm. Maybe Lucius’s lecture had done her some good. The girl adored rules, and had probably entertained the most outlandish fantasies as to what life at the Malfoys’ might be like; what with her Gryffindor sense for dramatic effects, he suspected she had been ready to see blood pouring out from under closed iron doors, underscored by the screams of innocent victims. Hence, the effect of the speech had most likely sobered her up a little.

Severus inclined his head to hide a smile—her expression of incredulity, when she had seen Lucius pick up his little daughter Selene, had been priceless. And she had looked very embarrassed indeed at Narcissa’s friendly welcome. All the better for her, Severus thought. It was time for the girl to learn that not everything was as it seemed to be. A very useful lesson, all in all.

But the scenery was absurd, a deceptively harmonious picture of peaceful family life, which might be shattered by a single wave of a skeletal, reptilian hand. Every single of them knew that, and all the same, each of them played their role, played mother and father and obedient son, played friend of the family and loving grandmother, played awed young relative. Voldemort would probably find it very amusing. Not as amusing, though, as ruining the picture, just as Black had ruined the portrait guarding the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

And the picture was not perfect. From time to time, a crack opened to show the canvas under the colour… the fear behind the façade. Like a few minutes ago, when little Selene, perching atop a high stool between her parents, had let her spoon drop, splattering soup all over herself and over Lucius’s left sleeve. Shaking his head, he had drawn his wand, only to have his right arm snatched by the girl, who shrieked, “Don’t! She didn’t do it deliberately!”

Narcissa had bitten her lower lip, more hurt than amused, and Yelena had calmly explained that her son had meant to perform a cleaning spell, not to cast Cruciatus on his daughter. Then, of course, the girl’s eyes had again filled with tears, and she had muttered her apologies… No, this was not going to be an easy time, for none of them.

By the time dessert was served, the black outline of the hills surrounding the house had merged into the inky night sky. Even from inside the dining room, which was lit by the low-hanging chandelier over the table, the stars were visible, glowing softly. They seemed less cold and glittering tonight, and the air, too, that came in through the open French doors felt more like a caress than an invasion of chill. Before dinner had even started, the House Elves had already put a long row of pots filled with carnivorous magical plants in front of the doors, so as to prevent moths and other insects from entering and disturbing the meal.

One rather large specimen, though, had obviously withstood the lure of their pheromones and tumbled more than it flew into the dining room and towards the light. Draco whipped out his wand and cast a precisely aimed stunning spell at the creature, which landed on his mother’s plate with a soft ‘splat’.

“Draco, please!” Narcissa said, “This is disgusting!”

One of the House Elves scuttled towards her end of the table and levitated away the plate, before Selene, squealing with delight, could get hold of the insect. A second later, a fresh portion of crêpes with strawberries materialized on the table.

Severus, who had been rather listlessly toying with his own dessert—he still did not like sweets, and preferred having fruit for breakfast rather than later on in the day—looked up and noticed that the girl was sitting like petrified, clutching her fork and spoon with white-knuckled hands. “Nimue,” he said, “it was merely a beetle! What’s the matter now?”

Eyebrows raised, Lucius turned his head to look at her.

“I…” Her cutlery clattered down on her plate, and she rose so abruptly and clumsily that her wineglass toppled over. “I’ll be right back!” And she ran from the room.

The others looked at each other in speechless astonishment.

“Wonderful!” Lucius snarled, depositing his fork on his plate with an angry ‘clink’, “That’s just what we needed! A hysterical teenager!” Draco snickered.

“It’s just nerves, Lucius,” his mother said. “The poor thing has been through so much. Give her some time, will you?”

“I don’t see what else we could do. But if her nerves don’t get better soon, our perspectives for the future are dire, to put it mildly.”

“I’ll give her a calming draught tonight,” Severus said, “And you’ll see that after a good night’s sleep—what is this?”

The girl was already back, flushed and panting from her run. And she was holding up a glass jar containing some grass.

“Hey, Gran—I mean Nimue,” Draco drawled, “I didn’t know you’d got yourself another pet—”

“Oh, shut up!” she snapped—apparently, Severus thought, she had regained control of her frazzled nerves faster than they had expected.

She sat down and put the jar beside Lucius’s plate. He frowned, examined the object more closely, the glared at her and said, in a voice that seemed calm but vibrated with barely contained anger, “Nimue, I do not appreciate this kind of show. And pets are not allowed at the table, whether in glass jars or not.”

She merely smiled—a rather sly smile, Severus thought, and he saw Lucius’s right hand twitch and then clench into a fist. “Guess who that is,” she said, an odd note of triumph to her voice.

Narcissa shot Severus an alarmed glance at Lucius’s deep intake of breath. He had never reacted too well to blatant disobedience. “I said take that jar—”

“It’s Rita Skeeter!” Her grin became broader, and she added, “You should know her, shouldn’t you?”

If she had expected guilty looks or ‘Oh!’s and ‘Ah!’s, she was not going to get them. Severus saw her disappointment with satisfaction.

“Interesting,” was all Lucius said. “And how, pray, did you get hold of her?”

“She was in the Hospital Wing, after the Tournament, and listening to everything you—” she tilted her chin towards Severus “—and the others were saying. She saw your Dark Mark, and Sirius as well. So what else could I do but catch her?”

Severus smirked. “Ten points to Gryffindor for quick thinking.”

“I wish I’d hear you say that at school sometimes,” she said gruffly, shooting him a wistful look.