About A Potions Master - Xenion

By Pigwidgeon37

The miniature cow in the lush, Flemish landscape uttered an angry roar and charged—unsurprisingly so, for a hand five times as large as the surprised bovine was certainly a very frightening sight to behold, even though it just hovered and didn't appear to harbour any hostile intentions.

“Ouch!” Hermione, looking half-indignant, half-enthusiastic, held out her forefinger for her husband to examine.

Two days ago, he had finally become her husband, a few months after Margaret’s birth had so brusquely interrupted their first attempt at a wedding. This time the ceremony had been rather quiet, held at Hogwarts during the Christmas holidays. They had both decided that this was the best way to spend a few quiet days in each other's company, without the trouble of taking their daughter along on a honeymoon that wouldn't be very different from their usual everyday life, considering the baby’s presence.

Not that this—final, and finally successful—joining of their hands, hearts and lives had been entirely undisturbed—Margaret had seen to that. The young lady possessed a pair of extraordinarily strong lungs she didn't hesitate to use whenever life, the universe and everything didn’t agree with her. Severus's students had had to re-accustom themselves to a snarling, ill-tempered and highly irascible Potions teacher in the past few months, as he took his fatherly duties very seriously and was accordingly exhausted. Even if he hadn’t been such a devoted father, his daughter would have woken him up several times every night anyway, with her enraged howls that peremptorily demanded food, love, or a simple change of her diapers.

Said daughter was now peacefully resting in his arms, sucking her thumb and looking at her mother in large-eyed wonderment.

“So it worked,” he said, smiling, “congratulations, my love.” As both his hands were occupied, he bent his head to capture Hermione's finger between his lips and lick off the tiny drop of blood that had formed at the tip.

Hermione snorted. “Trying to cauterise the wound by means of your acid tongue?”

“No, just trying to give you ideas.”

Due to stress, breast-feeding and a severe post-partum hormonal hangover, the couple’s sex life had been non-existent since Margaret’s birth, and Severus had borne this yoke with more understanding than Hermione would ever have given him credit for—if anything, she’d have expected dignified resignation. This was indeed the first hint he had ever uttered, and by no means an unwelcome one. On the contrary, she thought and smiled back at him with what she hoped was a sufficiently wanton expression.

Severus, who had regretted his words the moment they had left his mouth, was pleasantly surprised, although he felt unaccountably embarrassed at having this conversation with their baby daughter in his arms.

“You shouldn't belittle your own merit,” Hermione said, after a silent pause that was filled with innuendo-laden looks, “after all, this is the result of our joint efforts, not only mine.”

“Yes, you too!” Severus addressed Margaret, who had started squirming—whether she craved food or merely attention wasn’t easy to determine at this early stage of discontent. “So,” he continued, handing the baby to Hermione, “we might continue and try the next step, don't you think so? It shouldn’t take more than two or three days.”

**°°**°°**

The sight of Snape Manor in mid-winter was breathtaking. The ground and surrounding hills were covered in a still-unbroken layer of recently-fallen snow, a sight both inviting and forbidding by its resplendent perfection. But it was cold and rather windy, and although Margaret was swathed in a thick blanket Severus had spelled to keep her warm and cosy, they couldn't stay outside forever. With a little sigh of disappointment, Hermione made the first step, thus destroying the impeccable evenness of fluffy white. Shaking his head slightly but smiling at his wife’s reluctance, Severus followed her towards the entrance, which was being opened while they were approaching. Unlike the first time Hermione had arrived at the Snapes’ ancestral home, no House Elf was waiting for them, but Cassandra Snape herself stepped forward to greet them.

“Happy New Year!” she said, embracing her daughter-in-law, careful not to squeeze Margaret, whose body was trapped between them. “Come in, come in! Happy New Year, Severus!”

When the family had peeled off multiple layers of cloaks, blankets and scarves, Margaret was handed to her grandmother, who was obviously eager to hold her. The last budding blossom on the Snape family tree was, indeed, a child almost everybody wanted to hold and cuddle. In the beginning, Severus had tried to object, but after a few lectures about jealousy in general and fathers overprotective of their daughters in particular he had admitted defeat. Besides, he had rather quickly seen the benefit of having some additional pairs of arms ready to soothe his black-haired, quick-tempered daughter. Right now, he thought, nobody would believe what furies lay dormant under the placid surface—evidently, she hadn’t only inherited his hair but also his temperament. Her eyes, round like her mother’s, were a deep brown, lighter than his but darker than Hermione's, her face was pleasantly rounded and plump-cheeked, and her nose and mouth seemed to stem from a fortuitous encounter of Hadrian and Hermione's genetic heritage.

Amidst amiable chat they had arrived in the library, where everything was already set for an early afternoon tea. Grandmother and granddaughter were comfortably nestling in an armchair, both watching Severus and Hermione, who definitely exuded excitement.

“What is the matter with you two?” Cassandra Snape asked, glancing from one to the other. “Are you aware that you are looking like two cats who have just emptied the cream pot?”

The couple exchanged a look of complicity, and Severus slightly tilted his chin, motioning for Hermione to speak. She cleared her throat and began, her voice slightly wavering. “I suppose you are familiar with the meaning of the word Xenion?”

Cassandra frowned and nodded. “Well, of course. It is a gift the guests used to present to their host or hostess, both in Ancient Greece and Rome.”

“Exactly.” Hermione nodded in evident satisfaction. “Now, you certainly remember that I didn't bring such a thing when I first came here. A grave omission, I have to say.”

“Well, I…” For once, Cassandra Snape seemed quite speechless. Severus was gratified. “I certainly did not expect anything, my dear,” she said finally.

“All the same, I’d like to make up for that now,” Hermione said. With a nod at her husband, she plunged her hand into a pocket of her robes and produced a medium-sized vial. It contained a rather insignificant-looking, creamy-white liquid of watery consistence. “I’m aware that you are a very accomplished potions-brewer yourself, but this is a little invention of Severus and myself.” She leaned forward and put the vial on the table, within Mrs. Snape’s reach.

“As usual,” Severus remarked, “my wife does not emphasize her own merits. Firstly, this was her idea, and secondly, she did more than half of the research.”

“And—” Mrs. Snape shifted Margaret on her lap, so that she could pick up the vial “—what exactly is it?” Fascinated by the play of the candlelight on the glass, which now seemed to contain liquid gold, the child reached out for it. “No, no, my darling, somehow I think that this is not for you,” her grandmother said. “Although I would be most grateful to your parents if they stopped being secretive and just told me what they have concocted.”

Severus rose and went over to retrieve the baby. “Take a sip,” he said nonchalantly, “And then go over there and touch the Raffael.”

Raising her eyebrows, Mrs. Snape uncorked the vial and said, “I hope this is not a rather clumsy attempt to come into your inheritance a little earlier? Or are you trying to play some sort of April-fool’s-day prank on me?”

Hermione, who had risen as well, giggled. “No, of course not. Although you might be… well, absent for quite some time.”

“Oh, I wish you had not taken on my son’s annoying habit of speaking in riddles,” Cassandra snapped, although without much conviction, and walked across the room towards a magnificent portrait of Pope Leo X with two of his cardinals—the two gentlemen flanking His Holiness didn't look very saintly, to say the truth. It was sufficient to imagine them in slightly crumpled, pin-striped suits, with cigars dangling from the corners of their mouths, and everybody in possession of healthy reflexes would have run away, screaming for help, in case they met the two eminences at night in an ill-lit street.

“I wouldn't let her try with those,” Hermione muttered into Severus's ear.

“They won’t do anything,” he whispered back, “Father has his wand, after all.”

The Pope, who had been reading in a very large tome, using a magnifying glass, looked up, and Messieurs Giulio de’ Medici and Luigi de’ Rossi gave her identical grins, while they straightened their robes.

“What cans I do for you, bella signora?” the pope asked.

Cassandra turned round to her guests. “They learned English from the House Elves,” she said, rolling her eyes. Her daughter-in-law burst into a fit of giggles. “I am not sure, Your Holiness,” she replied, again addressing the painting. “I am as clueless as you are.”

Severus and Hermione were now standing behind her, and following her every movement with rapt attention. Mrs. Snape uncorked the vial, gave them a last, doubtful look, and took a sip. Nothing happened.

“And… er, what—” she said, but Severus interrupted her.

“Now touch the painting. Cautiously, mind you.”

Cassandra gently scraped a fingernail across the pope’s bulging stomach, and Leo X giggled. “Now really, madama, you is being naughty!”

Severus, whose eyes were shining with mirth, admonished, “Indeed, mother. A little respect for His Holiness. Try the shoulder, but with your fingertip.”

Open-mouthed and shaking her head, Mrs. Snape did as he had told her. And pulled back her hand as if it had been burned. “Severus!” she whirled round. “Severus, I can feel—”

“That was exactly the point of our invention,” Hermione said. “But that’s not all there is to it.” She pulled a small piece of parchment from her pocket and put it into the older witch’s hand. “Touch your wand to your chest and pronounce this incantation, and you will be transported right into the painting. Although maybe you might want to try another one…”

Mrs. Snape’s eyes went wide and, forgetting her age, her manners, and pretty much everything around her, she turned and raced towards the door.

“Be careful around Isaiah!” Severus called after her retreating form.

“Isaiah?” Hermione frowned at him.

“Just an old acquaintance,” he said nonchalantly, sitting down and fishing for another chocolate chip biscuit, “Just an old acquaintance…”

T H E   E N D