Hermione:

We're at Mum and Dad's through Tuesday morning. If you could make it Monday afternoon, that would work -- I have to travel later this week. Most everyone will be there, have been off and on all holiday.

Yeah, you've got some explaining to do.

Ron

Hermione stared at the letter for another moment, and then folded it and burnt it over the kitchen basin. It didn't look any better or worse than it had when she'd received it last night, and she still couldn't get a feel for Ron's likely reaction.

But at least he hadn't told her to sod off. She'd half-expected that.

She fiddled with the breakfast things, keeping an ear out for any movement from the bedroom: she heard none. Severus was still out like a light, having quite inconsiderately woken her for sex and then dropped back off to sleep himself immediately afterward. (She'd heard stories about men's tendency to do that, but hadn't quite believed it until the last week.)

Just thinking about what Severus had managed to put where he had, before she'd woken enough to realise it, was intensely embarrassing. So was the fact that by the time she'd worked out what was going on, she'd found herself clinging to him.

She felt her cheeks redden.

She supposed she was lucky, though: she'd thought he was going in that direction last night, and had been damned happy when he'd left off mucking about with her legs and had gone to sleep.

He hadn't just slopped it on, either. He'd been careful and thorough, and had paid attention to whether it was hurting or not.... And then he hadn't expected anything in return, apparently, even though she suspected he was taking a bit too much time: judging by the way he'd shifted frequently on the bed, he'd been staring at her bum rather than her legs for a good part of the incident.

Note to self: do the wash -- need the long granny gowns.... Well, why the bloody hell didn't he take the advantage, then? Nothing's stopped him before now.

She pondered that for a while, and then irritably dismissed it with Oh, give over, Hermione -- he was probably too tired. The bloody man fell asleep while you were talking to him.

Breakfast was nearly done at any rate, and she needed him awake before she left: so she tiptoed into the bedroom -- mindful that, as usual, his wand was on the bed-table and he tended to reach for it first thing if startled -- and gently prodded at his shoulder.

"Huuuunnnnnh?" was the only response she got.

"Tea's getting cold," she wheedled.

"Oh. Bloody.... Whatimezit?"

"Forty-five minutes after you last woke up."

"Can't be -- took longer than that."

"No, you didn't. I've almost finished cooking breakfast."

He peered up at her through the stringy mess that was his morning-hair, and glared. "Is that a complaint? I bloody well made certain you --"

"No, I'm complaining that the tea's getting cold."

"Start without me," he mumbled. "Be out in a moment."

Right, then, I shall.

And she did, though he didn't make her wait long: he stumbled out of the bedroom five minutes later, dressed to shirt-sleeves and trousers, and hair marginally tidied. He plunked two bottles on the counter, one of Pepper-Up, and the other of....

"Is that contraceptive?" Hermione blurted out indignantly when the colour registered. "Good God, Severus, do you expect me to stay on the damned stuff during Term?"

"Probably wise," he muttered as he sat at the table. "I intend to ask Hooch if she would take my House duties every few week-ends -- she's got little to do this time of year, it'll make her earn her pay. And you will visit on the week-ends in between."

"That wasn't agreed to," Hermione said decisively and pushed her plate away, appetite fleeing.

"I don't care what was.... Firstly, as I recall one of the terms was 'at my pleasure.' Secondly, given what was in that bloody box, it's even more important that we give the impression of a marriage for the right reason. Which, I think you'll have to agree, requires proximity on a fairly regular basis regardless of any scare tactics about sex that Pomfrey and McGonagall may have inflicted on you lot." He poured himself tea, and added, "And as I shall be going to the trouble of taking time off during Term -- and as you'll be there on the other week-ends, anyway -- I have no intention of abstaining."

"That's not fair. It's one thing for you to show up here, and another to make me change my plans and present myself --"

"You plans are what, precisely?" he shot back crossly. "To keep impressing Corcoran with your dedication to your job and your vigilance? I'd advise you become a bit more careless toward your duties, Hermioine -- remember, your priorities should have changed a bit --"

He stopped himself, took a deep breath, and moderated his tone. "I am asking you to because I cannot possibly leave the school every week-end, and part of the responsibility for maintaining this charade is yours. I am also concerned for your... ...because the closer they come to implementing the plan the greater their risk of discovery, and consequently yours. I'm quite certain they don't trust you in the least, but can't yet dispense with you. So the appearance of other interests and priorities beyond your work may allay some suspicion."

Hermione buried her face in her hands.

"All right," she mumbled. "It's sensible."

"I'm sure it's distressing, for someone who takes pride in doing their job well, to appear to slack off," Snape added, and helped himself to the scrambled eggs. "In this instance, pride will have to take second place to the mission. We have no idea if others are working on this, and if we're caught --"

"Yes, yes, I understand." She dropped her hands and stared at the potion. "That's a bloody big bottle."

"You'll have to make it last. I oughtn't brew it regularly at school."

"But won't it go bad? Pre-brewed's only got a shelf-life of a few weeks."

"Watch the colour and the taste. If it starts to go cloudy and bitter, it's off. But that lot shouldn't for a while -- Bluett brewed it."

"Bluett?"

Snape grimaced. "Yes. He's an excellent brewer despite his age, possibly the best living, and that's better than anything you could get at an apothecary. He's been doing so for a while, for women who can't afford the legal stuff. Which may not be legal for much longer. I should conceal it, if I were you, in case the flat's searched while you're out."

"All right, I shall."

He tucked into his eggs -- no problem with his appetite -- and Hermione reluctantly pulled her plate closer and picked at hers.

"Shall I wait for you?" Snape asked. "I don't fancy not knowing who has the thing."

"Yes, you might as well, if you can afford to take the time.... I'd thought you'd planned to go back today, though. I could always tell you later --"

"No," he said firmly. "I'll stay through tonight. If for some reason we can't communicate later --"

"All right," she said quickly, to mollify him, and poured him more tea -- though she had to stop in mid-pour to sneeze.

"Take the Pepper-Up now," Snape muttered.

"No, I'm going to wait a bit. I thought," Hermione said, "that I'd go in this morning -- late -- and act a bit pathetic and ill, and then skive off. I have that meeting this afternoon, and it might do to make an appearance and have a witnessed excuse for the absence."

Snape's eyebrows shot up. "How do you intend to fake a full-blown cold?"

"That's why you're awake," Hermione said. "I think I've cornered that bloody perfume-flask, but I need you to help me shift the refrigerator so I can grab it...."

*****

Hermione couldn't have felt much worse if she'd actually had a cold: the damned perfume worked wonders when it came to sneezing and watery eyes, and it was a good thing she'd brought clean handkerchiefs other than the one she'd drenched with the awful stuff. A few sniffs at intervals of the tainted one soon had her sneezing almost continually, and a quick check in her makeup mirror proved that yes, her nose was distinctly red, and her eyes were catching up fast.

She made a few trips to various offices with paperwork, sniffling through the resultant conversations, and casually mentioned to Corcoran's secretary -- a notorious blabbermouth -- that she thought she'd take a half-day and go home to bed; and then she holed up in her office and waited.

It didn't take long. Corcoran summoned her not a half-hour later with a terse request for the draft of a report, scanned it while she stood in front of his desk (she wasn't invited to sit), and then tossed it to the desk-top and glared at her.

"How am I supposed to interpret that?" he snarled. "It's disgracefully imcomplete."

"The preliminary isn't due for another two weeks," Hermione said indignantly, and swiped at her dripping nose. "It's only a draft, and I haven't yet integrated the latest numbers from St. Mungo's. If you'd wanted it earlier, you should have said."

"I expect you to be better prepared -- you never know when I might need the information. Been too concerned with personal matters to actually do your work, I suppose."

"I'm entitled to the same holiday as everyone else. I was out of town for some of it, in fact, and I wasn't about to take classified documents out of the building," she shot back.

"Mucking about with your new family, were you?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, like most people on holiday," she said, and managed a lovely wet sneeze: Corcoran winced in disgust, and then glared at her. "Sorry," she said weakly, wiped her nose, and then mopped at the edge of Corcoran's desk with the sodden hanky. "Severus wanted to go out on New Year's Eve, and I've picked up a cold."

"Well you've had your holiday, and I expect you back and at top form, not whinging about being ill," Corcoran said, voice laden with spite. "I want this bloody thing in two days' time. If you can be bothered."

Hermione wouldn't be. The draft was actually done, save for the final proofread: she'd simply taken out a few chunks of data earlier that morning, mindful of Severus' concern. She didn't mind having to rush the final proof, but she certainly minded the "whinging" portion of Corcoran's tirade, for entirely personal reasons.

She briefly considered the wisdom of loosing her temper on Corcoran, and then decided what the hell. It neatly addressed Severus' worry, in any case.

"In three years," she growled, leaning on the edge of desk and toward Corcoran, taking advantage of his attempt to make her feel like a servant, "I have not taken a single day of the sick leave to which I'm legally entitled. Not one, which is more than I can say for some people who've weaseled out of attending important conferences because they were 'ill' with something that Tittifer's Tummy Tonic would have cured in an instant. Nor have I taken my holiday leave, enjoyed two-hour lunches, warded myself up in my office to play with items lifted from the Muggle artifacts lock-up, or hung about the scribes' lounge chatting up the prettier ones and implying that I'm Merlin's gift to witches. I am ill and I am going home at noon -- where Severus will probably have a tonic waiting for me -- and going to bed for the rest of the day. And you'll have the completed draft in two days' time anyway."

Corcoran's face turned a violent shade of purple-red, though Hermione couldn't tell whether it was from her insolence, her mention of Severus, or the fact that she seemed to know how he usually wasted a great portion of his workday.

"You may think that the fact that your position and appointment were required by the ICW gives you the licence to insult me --" he began to bluster.

"I'm not insulting anyone, I'm merely giving examples of the way some people might take advantage."

"-- but I'm telling you otherwise. I'm filing a complaint with Staff Discipinary Board, and there shall be a demerit placed in your employment file. How dare you --"

"I'm entitled a rebuttal to both, and you may be certain I shall provide them," Hermione said triumphantly, and ignored a drop of mucus that hung tenuously at the tip of her nose: Corcoran fixated on it, and watched it in horrified fascination. Drip, damn you, go on. (It didn't, blast it. She probably needed another whiff of the bad hanky.) "And I shall be happy to point out, by Pensieve if necessary, that you have not only attempted to bully me into working while ill -- a clear violation of workplace regulations, and utterly ridiculous given my exemplary attendance record -- but that I believe much of your current animosity is directed toward the fact that I've recently married. Given that your attitude is discriminatory and directly contradicts one of the missions of this department, not to mention your total lack of concern for my health when my husband and I are attempting to do our duty as good citizens, I rather doubt your complaint will carry much weight."

Corcoran went paper-white: Hermione assumed it was the threat of a Pensieve memory of the whole conversation, including her enumeration of his favourite time-wasters. The head of the Disciplinary Board, a rather fussy and rules-obsessed wizard, was not noted for passing up hints about wasting Ministry time and resources, and was no respecter of one's standing: department head or scribe, all were fair game. (Corcoran had already been censured for "irregularities" when he'd exceeded his conference per diem on at least two occasions -- both involving, Hermione knew, ladies whom he'd claimed had been "potential employees," but whom further investigation had proved had absolutely no qualifications whatsoever for Ministry jobs, and who were already well-established members of the Oldest Profession.)

"Two days," Corcoran hissed through gritted teeth, and shoved the report back across the desk.

"You'll have it," she said as she daintily blotted her nose, and then picked up the draft and headed for the door.

"And if you ever dare repeat such scurrilous claptrap about me, I shall have you sacked," Corcoran threw after her.

"I would never do such a thing," Hermione said, shocked, at the doorway. "Can you imagine the uproar that would cause? The havoc it would wreak on the department? The Board might be forced to waste a great deal of time and money on investigating totally idiotic things. Why you're known among the scribal pool as 'Creepy Corcoran,' for example."

She didn't wait to see if he went red again, but spun on her heels and left his office.

That was a rather alarming thought, on the whole. Not to mention that Corcoran's transparency was, in this instance, a decided advantage for Hermione, one for which she ought to be grateful.

Probably shouldn't have yanked his chain that much -- he really wants to be rid of me now, she thought as she tidied up her desk. On the other hand, perhaps he'll stay clear for a while....

She probably ought to invest in a Pensieve, just to be safe -- a small one, the kind that would only hold a few memories. Or a sphere, which would be more portable and more easily hidden. And she ought be very careful indeed of the type of thing that might "accidentally" turn up in her office.

She left the incomplete draft quite prominently in the centre of her desk, locked up (taking care to leaves signs that something might have been disturbed, should anyone enter), and left the Ministry at noon precisely.

*****

Getting home proved a bit problematic: she decided for once to Apparate directly, given that she was supposedly feeling lousy. But when she tried to pop into the hallway, she got a blinding smack to the front of her body, bounced off what felt like a brick wall, and landed on her arse.

It was a brick wall -- the wall of the house, to be exact, and she was sprawled on the flagstone walkway that led back to the mews. After a half-minute of stunned silence, she let loose with a string of obscenities that would have done Severus or Mad-Eye Moody proud.

"Madam Snape?" a timid voice queried from above her, and she glanced upward to find a very apologetic young man in a bowler hat leaning down to help her up. "So terribly sorry, but we didn't know you would be Apparating back home."

"What in bloody hell is going on?" Hermione demanded, struggling to her feet.

"The warding. Your husb--"

"Warding?"

"Yes, Madam Snape, your husband said you normally walked from the Hanged Hag, you see, so we'd got a head start...." The man trailed off, apparently alarmed by what must be a murderous look on her face. "Oh, dear. It was meant to be a surprise, I see."

"Yes, it's certainly that," Hermione retorted, rubbing at her bruised elbow, and glared at him.

"I am sorry, really -- as I said, we shouldn't have proceeded this far if we'd known you were popping in. However," he said more brightly, "this means we can set your initial password right now, and be out of your way in another instant. Your husband has already chosen his, he elected for Residential Deluxe with separate passwords. This way, please -- given the, ah, proximity of Muggle neighbors, we thought it best to work at the back. Residential Deluxe automatically adjusts to all ingresses, no matter which the warding is worked upon."

He grasped her by the elbow -- the bunged-up one, blast it -- and steered her further down the walk, through the garden gate, and up to the back door.

"This is Alf," he said of a wizened and dour-looking goblin who waited for them there, "best Wardsman we have on staff. Now, if you'll just place your wand against -- Oh, very good, madam, very quick thinking," he said when Hermione whipped out said wand before he'd got the words out. "Now, when Alf performs the incantaion, he'll pause and I will nod to you. I want you to choose a word or short phrase, anything at all you like, and that will become your password until you wish to change it.... Ready? Right then, here we go."

Alf gabbled an incantation: Hermione felt the ward yield just a bit, and she spit out the first thing that came to mind before the young man had a chance to nod.

"Utter bollocks."

The young man's eyebrows shot up.

Alf finished the remainder of the incantation flawlessly: Hermione heard the tell-tale little ping that announced the ward had taken, and Alf picked up his workbag, respectfully tugged the tip of his right ear, and popped away.

"Wonderful, very nicely done, madam! Now," the young wizard said, and pulled an alarmingly thick manual from his satchel, "when you are ready to change the password -- and I should advise doing it soon, though of course all such matters are kept confidential -- you'll find the instructions on page three hundred ninety-four. Let's go over the procedure just in case, though, I 'll explain a bit about the --"

"Mr.... What is your name?" Hermione asked wearily, and sneezed.

"Harrison, madam. Wilberforce Harrison, junior. Of Harrison, Harrison, and Harrison Warding and Booby-Traps," he said, pulled a card from his jacket-pocket, and presented it to her.

"Thank you, Mr Harrison. However, I'm well aware how one changes a ward. Moreover," Hermione said, trying desperately to keep her temper, "I had the second-highest NEWTs in Arithmancy in twenty-five years and apprenticed with Verity Hawking, so I fancy I could explain exactly how it works in far more detail than you. It simply isn't necessary."

Harrison's eyes nearly popped from his head. "Second-highest.... Not Miss Granger?"

"Yes," she said sourly.

"Oh, my. I beg you pardon, Miss -- Madam Snape, I'd no idea. I say," he wibbled, and shook her hand vigorously, "that thesis you submitted to the Guild journal -- that was absolutely spiffing. 'The Problem of Time-Turners: An Historic Survey of Temporal Paradoxes and Potential Errors in Wizarding Timelines, and How to Avoid, Track, and Fix Them.' Just lovely, especially all that information about how Muggle Twine Theo--"

"String Theory --"

"String Theory, yes, how that might explain the odd unsolvable Paradox. I'm only an amateur in Advanced Temporal Arithmancy, of course, but --"

"Mr Harrison, it's already been a long day," Hermione said, and sneezed again. "And as you can see, I've got a cold. I appreciate the work you've done, but I really must get inside."

"Oh, of course, I'm terribly sorry, Madam Snape. If you need anything in future, simply Floo or flame us," Harrison said, took the card back from her and tucked it into the manual, and handed it all over. "I so hope you're feeling better soon. Good afternoon." And he tipped his bowler to her, stepped back, and Apparated out with a pop.

Hermione, mentally cursing Severus, dumped the manual into her bookbag and lowered the ward with a very ill-tempered "Utter bollocks"; the ward dropped and the Muggle security bolts automatically shot back, and she pushed the door open and stepped into the flat.

"Snape!" she bawled as she closed the door, and had another sneezing fit before she could continue moving toward the sitting-room. "What the bloody hell have you done to my flat?"

"I should think that blindingly obvious," she heard him call back levelly.

When she looked into the room he was lounging on the sofa, feet up, and with the Prophet spread open in front of him.

"What gives you the bloody right to --"

"The entire bloody situation," he said coolly, never lifting his eyes from the paper. "Particularly since you're careless about checking the locks before you go to bed."

"It's my flat, damn it, not yours. If I'd wanted warding, I'd have done it myself -- I'm perfectly capable."

"But you hadn't. Moreover, Harrison offers an additional security measure. If anyone attempts to break in, the company is alerted and sends a representative over to check up on the occupants."

"You ordered the whole bloody package?" Hermione said, horrified. "Severus, I can't possibly afford the contract on that."

"You don't have to, it's taken care of."

"You --? No. No, I will not allow you to walk into my home and do th- this," she said, and sneezed again. "I don't care if you're paying for it. I don't want you paying for it --"

"It's done," he snapped, and glared at her as he folded the newspaper up. "I shall be here occasionally as well, and I'd prefer to feel more secure.... Oh, go take the bloody Pepper-Up," he added irritably. "You look disgustingly ill."

He was right about one thing, though: she felt like absolute shit, so she dropped her bags in the hallway and shrugged out of her coat, and stomped back to the kitchen for the Pepper-Up. (He'd made it nearly double-strength, damn him: she could feel the hair at her temples and above her ears wilt and then spring into their usual unmanagable tendrils as more than usual steam shot out of her ears.)

When she returned to the sitting-room, Residential Deluxe manual in hand, Snape was crouched in front of the fireplace: his back was to her, and he was rooting about above the damper for Flaherty's box.

"You might have warned me," she sulked as she sat on the sofa -- and jumped when something poked her in the back: she reached behind the cushion and discovered the heating-pad. It must have just been shoved there, because it was still quite warm. She quietly tucked it back down, and added, "I tried to Apparate in and bounced off."

"Unfortunate," he grunted, withdrew the box. "Had I known you'd change your habits, I should have told them to wait."

"Oh, never mind," she said, and sighed. "Though I notice you took the liberty of setting your own password."

"Of course I did. Don't worry, I shall make certain you know when to expect me anyway," he muttered, brushing a bit of ancient soot from the box. "Do you intend to Transfigure this?"

"No. I'm going to Apparate directly to the B- ...to the meeting location, so there shouldn't be any problems."

Snape's more sardonic eyebrow -- the right one -- went up a bit, but he managed not to comment on what he must think was more carelessness. "I should change your password before you leave," he did say as he placed the box in front of her.

"Bloody right. Not to mention seeing if there's a --"

"Yes, you may drop the ward long enough to Apparate out. Page four hundred twenty-six. It automatically resets once you've popped out."

Hermione leafed through the idiotic manual -- half of the text was fulsome, self-congratulatory praise for the company, and blatant attempts to interest the user in the company's other products -- and found the section: there was nothing to the procedure that she wouldn't have guessed.

"Massive waste of money," she muttered. "Utterly ridiculous, given that anyone with half a brain and a decent amount of talent can do the same thing, with a bit of work."

"Most are too lazy," Snape said, a sneer curling his upper lip. "Or busy, or careless," he added with a glance at her. "Do you require any lunch before you go?"

"No," Hermione said, intent on the manual, and then noted her own brusqueness and added, "Thank you, no. I probably shan't be long, anyway."

"Very well," he murmured, and went off to the kitchen, presumably to make his own.

"Severus?"

"Yes?" he called from the kitchen.

"Don't get any brilliant ideas about purchasing a House-Elf."

She heard him let out a muffled snort, and he said, "No point -- you'd hand the blasted thing clothing straight off. Simply throwing money away." He added something else in a monotone, but she couldn't catch it.

The password change came first, and after a few minutes' deliberation during which she discarded several possibilities (fucking arrogant bastard being too obscene and cumbersome for daily use, and greasy git being too odd and not at all nice of her, not to mention embarrassing if he happened to be with her), she settled for the time being on home again, jiggity-jig as being marginally less objectionable than the saccharine home sweet home (which she suspected far too many people used, anyway). Hers was predictable as well, but for the time being it would do.

Once the password was reset she pulled on her coat, tucked Flaherty's box into her bookbag, dropped the ward, and Apparated to Ottery St. Catchpole.

*****

Visiting the Burrow was not high on Hermione's list of undilutedly pleasant things to do, mostly because of Molly Weasley. It wasn't that Molly made her feel unwelcome or uncared-for, precisely -- though there were times she had, like the year the boys had got massive sweetie-filled eggs while hers had been pathetic. The problem was now rather the opposite one: Molly tended to smother her. (It had taken her a while to get over Hermione's refusal of Ron's proposal -- those were some tricky months; but once he'd married Laura, that had all blown over.) Molly's concern tended to take the form of fussing and implicit criticism, which drove Hermione mad.

She suspected there would be a great deal of fussing this visit, as she hadn't been to the Burrow for over two years.

Arthur was happy to see her, at least: he smiled when he opened the door, and pulled her inside immediately.

"Hullo, my girl! I haven't seen you much at work -- how are you?"

"Fine, Arthur, fine. Bit of a cold, but I just took some Pepper-Up."

"Let's get that coat off you -- I say, it that one of those Muggle synthetasmatic fabrics?" he asked. "Waterproof, is it? You haven't charmed it that way?"

"Nearly waterproof, and no, I haven't," Hermione said, greatly amused with the covetous way Arthur was stroking the coat as he hung it on a hook.

"What's the occasion, Arthur? Ron didn't say."

"Bill's home," Arthur confided. "Brought the whole lot of 'em with him, first time ever -- thought we'd make one long party of the holiday, and by gum I took a half-day off today, it's been so much fun. Well, come along, into the kitchen -- I've got a pot of cider on, that'll warm you up."

She trotted along after him through the little, low-ceilinged warren of front rooms -- oddly empty -- and into the kitchen: Arthur shooed her over to the far end, where Laura (baby in lap) and George's wife, Hannah, were speaking quietly with a quite beautiful and exotic woman Hermione recognised from pictures as Bill's wife, though she couldn't for the life of her remember the woman's name. There were surprisingly few children in the house, and a quick glance out the window proved why: there were masses of them out in the back garden with Bill and Ron, all bundled snugly against the cold, and they were intent on building a tipsy-looking snow-homage to Hogwarts.

"Hermione!" Hannah said, surprised. "Dad didn't say you were coming --"

"I'm not certain he knew -- I wasn't invited until yesterday," Hermione said, and glanced at Laura, who gave her a knowing and tired smile. (Laura didn't look at all well, really, but Hermione supposed with a new baby in the house that was the norm.)

"Well don't stand there, come have a look," Laura said, and Hermione crossed the room and peeked into the blanket at Little Arthur: he was sleeping, and still looked much like any other generic infant, but his hair was already as dark as Laura's. (They'd finally had one that missed out on the Weasley red hair, then.)

"He's beautiful, Laura. Five months or so?"

"No, only three and a half -- he's so long and podgy that it's hard to tell. Still wakes me up at least three times a night, the greedy little beggar," Laura said fondly, and gently stroked Little Arthur's fat cheeks. "You've never met Youssra, have you?"

"No, I haven't," Hermione said, and turned to shake hands with Bill's wife. "First trip to England?"

"Yes, unfortunately. They keep Bill quite busy, and the school holidays never seemed to match up with his until this year," Youssra said in a lovely, barely-accented voice.

"Got used to the cold yet?"

"No," Youssra said quickly, and shivered despite several layers of jumpers. "They have, obviously," she added, and inclined her head toward the window overlooking the garden.

Arthur placed a chair behind Hermione, urged her down into it, and handed her a mug of cider.

"I'll just pop up and see what's keeping Molly," he said, sounding a bit worried. "She'll be livid she missed you at the door," and then hurried off.

"Everything all right?"

"Nothing major, just an upset. One of mine I'm afraid," Hannah said with a laugh. "Katie, the drama queen -- she will make the biggest fuss out of anything at all. Too much sugar over the holiday, and too much sympathy from Grandmum and Pa. She had a bad turn about an hour ago, and Mum took her upstairs for a lie-down."

Hermione wasn't sure the 'drama queen' title was justified -- at least, not totally. George's middle child had always had a strange tendency to unnerve her: the last time she'd seen Katie, the girl -- all of six, then -- had demanded that Hermione read to her, and then had gone a bit queer, snuggled close to her, and confided softly in her ear, "You must be very careful not to step on the Nadder." When Hermione had retorted (admittedly quite patronisingly), "Well, it's never wise to tread on any snake, is it?" the child had shook her head and stated emphatically, "Some serpents are very useful, and we shouldn't hurt them because it's not kind. But the Nadder isn't useful. The Nadder will hurt you if you don't watch out. I thought you ought to know." And she'd plucked her storybook from Hermione's hands and trotted off.

Hermione was rather glad the child was out of the way: she didn't feel up to any more strangeness, not at the moment. She wasn't willing to write Katie off as simply odd, not any longer -- it was a strangeness more along the lines of a Luna Lovegood, rather than a Sybill Trelawney. (By the end, Hermione had learned to respect Luna rather more than she ever had the Divination teacher.)

They chatted quietly for a minute or two about classmates they'd seen recently or lost touch with (and then, when they realised they were leaving Youssra out, about the wizarding school in Aswam), until Molly rushed into the room and promptly smothered Hermione with a hug and an exasperated "There you are! -- Oh, dear, Hermione, you're looking quite thin --"

"No more than last time, really --"

"-- and what have you been doing to your face?"

Laura, behind Molly's back, rolled her eyes -- and Hannah gave her a 'behave yourself' nudge.

"Getting over a cold, Molly," Hermione said firmly. "I'm prefectly fine, really."

"Oh. You really ought take better care of yourself, especially now that.... Well, I'm sure it's just overwork, isn't it? Arthur says he hardly ever sees you about any more, you keep such long hours now...."

Molly settled herself in her rocker, pulled her knitting into her lap -- she was perfectly capable of charming it to knit automatically, Hermione knew, but she tended to do it manually when something was upsetting her -- and steered the conversation toward babies, which House each Weasley grandchild was likely to be Sorted to (overwhelmingly Gryffindor), and whether Gringotts would ever reassign Bill to work in England. (Youssra responded politely, but Hermione thought she wasn't particularly thrilled with the possibility.)

Something was off, though. By now, Molly had usually launched into what a shame it was Hermione hadn't married yet, how she ought to get out more and find a nice young man (Molly's friend Letitia had three unmarried sons, all healers, did Hermione know that?), and after that litany was done, she usually started in on housekeeping or politics, and how things were going with Hermione's work.

But she didn't. And while that wasn't terribly odd considering that half of the "advice" was no longer necessary, she wasn't even really addressing Hermione at all, other than shooting a comment or two her way. There was absolutely no difference in the way everyone else treated her.... But it wasn't quite right.

It might be the awkwardness of the situation with Ron, but she didn't think so. There was no need for anyone to censor themselves at the moment, not with Ron out in the garden.

It was as if Severus didn't exist, or they didn't know she'd married.... And she knew that was bollocks, because even if they'd missed her wedding-band, Arthur had poked his head into her office one morning early in November and had babbled, "Just heard, Hermione, congratulations, lovely, just.... Well, must rush!" and had fled before she'd even had a chance to thank him.

For some reason, Molly's deliberate ommission and everyone's general lack of interest got Hermione's goat. Not only got it, but pulled at its metaphoric beard and ears, and Hermione had the nearly irresistible urge to kick out at them, to bring Severus up deliberately just to see what would happen.

By the time she'd sorted through her thoughts, Hermione was nearly livid: and she decided it was best if she removed herself before she said something cruel or stupid.

"I think I'll go out and say hello to the boys," she murmured, rising.

"-- and I told him, Young man, if you think I won't jinx you for a comment like.... What, dear?" Molly said with a start.

"Ron and Bill. I'm going out to say hello -- please excuse me."

"Oh, of course, dear, certainly. I said, if you think I won't jinx you for such an impertinent comment, well, you've got another thing coming, you have. Where they find these insolent clerks these days I'm sure I don't know...."

Hermione left her mug on the counter, nipped back to the hallway for her coat and bag, and went back through the kitchen -- where Molly was still going on at full steam -- and slipped through the back door.

She nearly went down when one of the kids flung himself at her and wrapped himself about her middle, and she wasn't certain whom or whose until a bright, freckled face looked up at her -- Ron's eldest, predictably named Harry -- and the boy chirped, "Hi, Aunt 'Mione!"

"Hullo, Harry! I'm surprised you remember me."

" 'Course I do," he said with a scowl, and then ran off to re-join the group; Bill, preoccupied with the rest, barely had a chance to turn and wave at her before one of George's boys threw a quite accurately-aimed snowball that hit him in the back of the head and knocked his hat off.

"Good God, Bill, there's nearly a foot out here and only a few inches out front!"

"My fault," he shouted back with a grin. "A little Transfiguration that I tweaked. We conflate the sand around the more dangerous tombs to cover them -- don't have to actually move the blasted stuff, then."

Another snowball went sailing toward Bill, and he had to turn his attention back to the kids.

Ron was halfway across the garden, chasing after one of the toddlers. (Hermione couldn't tell which: the poor mite looked like nothing so much as a ball waddling about on legs, there was so much coat and muffler.) She followed them, wincing as snow worked into her shoes, and finally caught up with them.

"Can we have a moment, Ron? Privately?"

Ron glanced up at her, shaggy, flaming hair sticking out from under the edge of his cap: he looked down at the child clinging to his hands, and said tersely, "Dad's put a Warming Charm on the bench. Bill," he flung over his shoulder, "can you handle the horde alone for a few minutes?"

"Sure, no problem --!" Bill called back, just as he was hit with a flying tackle by two of his own, dark-haired kids that sent them all into the snow-castle, utterly demolishing it.

"Come on," Ron said, and hefted the toddler up into his arms.

"Are you sure? He's got his hands full," Hermione said uncertainly as the rest of the children jumped into the fray, with Bill floundering at the bottom of the dogpile.

"He's fine. His lot's going a bit berserk, that's all -- first time they've played in snow."

Ron loped ahead of her over to the bench -- which was warm, practically steaming in the chilly air -- and sat, settling the toddler on his knee.

"Which one is this?" Hermione asked as she sat beside them, and reached over to tickle the child's chin. (Chin, pert nose, a wisp of the patented Weasley hair, and two little bright blue eyes were the only things visible, given how warmly wrapped the little sprog was. She -- Hermione assumed it was, as she knew they'd had a girl last, before Little Arthur -- could barely move for all the padding.)

"Molly," Ron said, and then smiled wryly and admitted, "But Bill's got one too, beat us to it, so we've settled on Lee."

"Ah. Twoish?"

"Close to. Next month, I think. I can't keep all the birthdays straight," Ron muttered, and grinned when Lee giggled at Hermione's tickling and flung herself backward and nearly over his arm to try to escape.

Well, no point in trying to sidestep everything, Hermione thought, tucked Lee's muffler back up where it belonged, and plunged in.

"So you've heard?" she asked.

"Yeah," Ron said, grin fading. "Bit of a shock, to say the least. Come on, Hermione, Snape?"

"Ron --"

"If you'd wanted a Pureblood that badly, any one of us would have done, even if not me," Ron said, managing to sound immensely hurt. "Percy's obviously not a great choice and Bill and George are out of the running, but Fred didn't get married until last summer. He would've been a good sport and given it a go, always did like you."

"Ron, I.... That wasn't the point, Ron," she protested, actutely aware of the lie: it was precisely why she'd married Severus, that and not having any messy complications.

"I suppose it's intelligence. I'll give him that," Ron was saying, totally oblivious to her indignance. "I can see how you'd find intelligence attractive. Don't try to tell me you love him."

"I -- Look, you don't know a thing about him. Not really. I'm not going to justify my choice to you, either, because it had nothing to do with you, or with us."

"It was just a bit of a shock, that's all," Ron mumbled. "To find out you'd prefer someone like him over one of us."

This was far worse than Hermione had imagined. She could deal with an angry and impetuous Ron: hurt Ron was something she'd always had difficulty with, because he always tried to excuse his feelings by making it into a matter of pride. She'd had a hell of a time convincing him all those years ago that her refusal had nothing to do with money and status.

"I told you," she said, doing her best to sound patient (even if she was longing to smack the back of his head), "I wasn't ready to be married straight out of school, and I didn't think we'd suit. I don't love you, Ron, not the way I should, and you deserve someone who does."

"Might've learned," Ron muttered, and stared bleakly ahead of him.

"Or not. And in the meantime I'd have driven you mad insisting on my apprenticeship and a career, when all you wanted to do was settle down. I just wasn't willing to put us through that. Isn't it better, this way?" she asked desperately. "You don't have all the baggage with Laura that we should have done. You certainly look happy to me. At least you did before I came out here."

"We are happy!" Ron retorted, indignant. "Bloody hell, I adore Laura. And the kids are the best."

"There you are, then. You know I don't go funny over children, but even I'll admit they look very sweet." And rowdy -- ye Gods, she thought, watching as Bill took another good pummelling from the assorted ebony, red, and brunette heads. "You've a lovely family, Ron. That's more than many people have. Can you be happy with that, and let the rest go? Admit that it's worked out for the best?"

Ron kept staring down the long length of his nose, absolutely obstinate, and she sighed.

"I suppose Arthur told you."

"No, Laura saw it in the Prophet. He only admitted it when I asked afterwards."

"Oh. I should have.... Well, no, it didn't occur to me at all to write earlier. I didn't think you'd care for the news, at any rate."

"Don't, but it doesn't matter. You haven't bothered to write or flame for years, 'Mione. I think that sums up your opinion nicely."

She bit back a wounded retort at that, and resisted the urge to snap at the ridiculous nickname.

"All right, I deserved that," she admitted. "It doesn't have a bloody thing to do with my opinion, though, I'm just careless about keeping in touch... and the last few times I'd seen all of you weren't exactly comfortable."

"D'you think it might have helped to talk about it rather than just skiving off?" Ron said bluntly.

"No, Ron, it wouldn't have helped. You know I adore your mum, but she will -- would always cluck over me like I was the runty chick of the brood. She'd actually started bringing 'nice young wizards' to my attention, had you noticed that?"

"Of course she did. She'd always wanted another girl, and you were the closest she could get," Ron explained earnestly, totally missing the implication of his misphrasing. "After Ginny married you were all she had left to sort out, then, 'cause Fred told her to let him alone. There's Charlie too, but... well, I don't think he's getting sorted anytime soon. Not sure if he's just hopeless with women or if he bats for the home team, but either way --"

"Too much information," Hermione said, wincing.

"I don't care, he's my brother. He could bugger dragons for all I know or care, I'm just saying," Ron said defensively. "Anyway, he's still in Romania, so of course she fussed over you -- you're here. Sort of. Might as well be on the other side of the world, the way things have been."

"Well, I couldn't take it. And I couldn't be rude and tell her to mind her own business, even nicely." Hermoine shot back. "She wouldn't understand."

"I could've said something if I'd known it was bothering you that much," Ron said, and twitched a bit as Lee tried to flap her arms (as best she could) and nearly smacked him in the face.

"Oh, right. No thank you, Ron, won't marry you, and by the way will you tell your mum to stop shoving other men at me now that she's given up on us?"

"Well, yeah. That's how you have to do it in this family -- come right out and say it. Everybody gets worked up, there's a bloody great lot of squalling, and then we get over it and care for each other anyway. That's what a family does, 'Mione. It sticks together." Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Except for Percy, but he made his choice. I expect we'll do exactly the same when he gets out, if he's changed his mind. I thought you knew we felt that way about you whether you married in or not."

Hermione snorted. "Not sure I like being put in the same black-sheep class as Percy."

"I don't mean that."

"When is he due to be released, anyway?' Hermione asked.

"Another year or two."

"And he's.... He's still all right? Have you heard anything?"

"Dad's heard that he's put on weight from lack of exercise -- probably looks good, considering what a beanpole he was, anyway -- but other than that, top-notch. Too bloody insensitive to be depressed, fucking Dementors don't seem to be able to make a dent in him." Ron peered down at Lee. "Don't tell Mummy I said that word."

Lee gurgled.

Percy was not a great topic of conversation. Ron had been absolutely humiliated by the whole business, and Hermione was quite surprised that he could say Percy's name without spitting; he hadn't been able to, for a long time.

It was kinder to drop the subject altogether.

They watched the kids beating up on Bill for a while, and the little huddle of sprogs -- the tweenies, too old to be toddlers, but not old enough to handle the rougher play -- over on the other side of the garden: they were batting a very odd-looking balloon back and forth, and it took Hermione a moment to work through what it actually resembled.

"Ron," she said cautiously, "what's Reggie playing with?"

"Huh? Oh, some kind of Muggle balloon, 's called a Playtex, I think. Dad brought some home from work this morning -- said they got boxes and boxes of 'em, so a few wouldn't be missed. Dunno why they confiscated them, they're not charmed. Harmless enough."

Hermione decided not to tell Ron that Muggle balloons didn't generally have reservoir ends. (Or that, in her opinion, the Weasley clan might put them to far better use than as toys.)

Then she decided to 'fess up.

"It wasn't just your mum," Hermione admitted. "It was everything. I felt awkward around you and Laura to begin with, and when the sprogs started coming...."

"That's stupid," Ron said bluntly. "She knows, and she doesn't care."

"Ron, you told her you'd asked me?"

" 'Course I did, right away. And why you'd turned me down."

"And she doesn't care?"

"No." He looked uncomfortable. "Actually, she said she thought you'd been very sensible. Wouldn't mind having you about more -- says she needs a good dose of Sensible once in a while, since I'm useless at it."

After a moment's shock, Hermione laughed.

"All right, don't rub it in," he muttered, and glared at Lee when she started giggling too: and then his shoulders slumped, he groped for Hermione's hand, squeezed it, and wouldn't let go.

Hermione knew she was... well, not forgiven, precisely, but that Ron still cared for her anyway. She should have guessed that: they'd always had absolutely horrid flare-ups, like the proverbial cat and dog, and then once the air had cleared they'd been fine. Ron had never seemed able to hold a grudge too terribly long... with a few notable exceptions.

If truth be told, she was the one who'd chosen to stay offended after that last row, and had never given him a chance to make it up. It had been a very convenient excuse to avoid this whole bloody thing: the bizarre little house bursting at the joins with noisy, happy people who tended to see things in a quite uncomplicated way, and who'd often insisted on nearly smothering Hermione with attention when all she'd wanted to do was fade into the woodwork.

"Does Molly meddle?" she asked him.

"Gave it a go, at first," Ron admitted. "Laura set her straight, and Dad and I backed her up. Mum leaves well enough alone now."

Hermoine tried very hard not to snigger, and then gave up when Ron did so himself.

"She's a lovely mum, really," he protested amidst the chortling. "She just doesn't know when to stop."

"Yes, I know, I think she's lovely too. But you see, I'm not like Laura -- I should have kept it all bottled up, and everything would have festered. It would have made things awkward for you. No matter how you whinge about the family, you're really not very happy away from them."

" 'Spose not," he admitted, and grinned when Bill was hit with another tackle, this time from Harry.

"Where is everyone else?"

"Fred and George had some investor's meeting or something, they'll be by later. Patrice -- that's Fred's wife, went to Beauxbatons, I don't think you know her -- had to go back to work today, won't be in until this evening. Ginny... won't be here. Some family thing, I guess," Ron said, and shot Hermione a pensive look.

"Does that happen often?"

"Yeah, does. And I don't think it's all his doing, either. She... I get the feeling she's ashamed of us, in a way. Not giving herself airs, or anything -- Mum wouldn't let her get away with that. She's just got really standoffish."

"Maybe it's all the kids, Ron," Hermione said. "They've only got the one, don't they?"

"She lost the second one, and they haven't managed another yet."

"Hurts to see the little ones about here, perhaps?"

"I suppose," Ron said, and sighed. "But they're her nieces and nephews, damn it."

"I doubt that matters," Hermione said softly, and reached over to tweak Lee's nose; the baby squealed and bounced up and down on Ron's lap, pulling at his jacket, and he had to take his hand from Hermione's, stand Lee upright, and let her bounce some more. "It's got to hurt like hell if you want them and can't have them."

" 's funny, though," he mused. "I always thought she was more like you. You know, more ambitious. She didn't seem at all concerned about having kids until she married."

"Well, people change, Ron," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "You thought I'd end up in academia, and look what happened."

"Yeah. Sorry about that," he muttered. "I shouldn't have ticked you off about it. It's just that I've seen what a Ministry job can do to someone. Didn't want that for you."

"I have to agree with you, now. But I had my reasons, and I can't say I'm sorry. It's worked out for the best."

They were quiet for a while -- except for Lee, who was still bouncing vigorously -- and Hermione was finally brave enough to ask, "How've you been?"

"Tired," he said. "We still have to practise through winter -- if we're out of shape come spring they'll cut us, it's a contractual thing -- but there's no pay, so I've two jobs right now as well as that."

"No pay, but you have to do it? That's criminal!"

"That's professional Quidditch for you. 'S all right, I'll be fine. Just stretched a bit thin, but the holiday's helped."

He looked 'stretched thin,' too. Hermione couldn't recall him ever looking that skinny -- even with the thick jacket he was wearing -- since he'd had a huge growth spurt Sixth Year; and she hoped the trousers he was wearing were his fourth-best or so, because they were patched at the knees and showed the wear, despite careful mending on Laura or Molly's part.

Lee squealed directly in his ear, and he winced. "I think she ought to go in soon. What was this thing you wanted to see me about, then?"

"There's something I need you to keep for me. Hide, actually, if you've a good place -- not here, because it could get your dad in a great deal of trouble. I can't tell you anything about it, and you'll have to promise me that you won't try to open it."

Ron sat up very straight and stared at her.

"Are you in some kind of trouble? Is Snape being an arsehole? -- No. With the Ministry?"

"Not yet. Potentially, yes. A bloody great shitload, in fact. There's something terribly wrong, and that's all I can tell you."

"Hermione, for Merlin's sake --"

"No, Ron, don't. Don't tell me I can't, or shouldn't -- it's far too important, for everyone. And I need you to keep this thing safe for me until it's needed, until I ask for it. Or Severus, you may give it to him if I can't come."

"Snape's helping you? Is that why you --"

"No, Ron. I mean, yes, he's helping me, no, it's not why I married him. He's.... It's not been easy working with him, you can imagine, but he's been wonderful about it, really," Hermione said, surprised to hear the words coming out of her mouth -- and that they were true. "He's taking a huge risk, and he's kept me out of a lot of trouble. I owe him a great deal for that. And before you ask, no, that's not why I married him, either. If we're right and if we're successful, a great many people will owe him, as far as I'm concerned."

"No, I can see that," Ron muttered. "He, uh, he really came through, that last bit, especially after Dumbledore was.... I'd expected him to turn, you know."

"Yes, you made that clear at the time. Why didn't you tell me about Firenze?"

"What about him?"

"That he'd fallen on Severus and smashed his leg to bits, what else? ...You didn't know?"

"No," Ron said, shaking his head. "No, I stayed inside with Neville and Huh- Harry. Didn't even go back out -- the Aurors took us straight to the Infirmary after they broke the Anti-Apparition wards. Didn't even notice Snape was hurt, until he limped into class with a cane. I was surprised he'd got hit with something -- last I'd seen, he only had a scratch or two on him. Quick bloody bastard when all the hexes were flying."

"Yes, well, I didn't notice either, and he's not any longer. Not when he's tired."

Ron peered at her. "Is he nice to you? I'm not being an idiot, here, 'Mione. I mean seriously. The truth."

Hermione snorted. "Nice? Severus? No, I don't think you'd call him nice, not politeness and tact and that sort of thing. But he's not cruel, not the way he was at school, and he's not horrid. At least, not now that we've got used to each other, and when he makes an effort."

"And are you really.... I mean, come on," he stuttered, blushing furiously; and for a split second Hermoine could see Ron beneath the veneer of fatherhood and maturity -- the old Ron, the boy who'd nearly passed out from the nervous heebie-jeebies when he'd given her perfume for Christmas. (He and Severus had equally awful taste in perfume, in Hermione's opinion -- possibly the only thing they had in common.) "You're really married?"

"Are you asking if we have sex?" Hermione asked levelly.

"Yeah."

"Do you really want to know that? Has your squick tolerance improved that much?"

"I can change nappies without puking, now," he said quickly, and then after a moment's consideration admitted, "No, I.... Forget I asked."

"I shall. Cheeky."

They sat silent for a bit, and then Ron guffawed. "So tell me, Hermione, is it true what everyone said about Slytherins like Snape?"

"What?"

" 'Cause Dean and I had a wager going that we could never settle, and I reckon he owes me a packet by now, just from the interest."

"What, Ron?"

"That the really Slytherin ones are just like snakes. Forked tongue, forked --"

"Ron!"

He grinned and shifted Lee onto his shoulder. "C'mon, give over. I could use the dosh, new baby and all."

"If you're wrong, you'll lose the bet and have to pay up."

"Bet I'm not. He was always more gullible than me, Dean. Had him thinking for a good two years that Trelawney was McGonagall and Dumbledore's love child."

"You didn't."

"Did."

"I refuse to answer. It's none of your business."

"'Mione --"

"No, absolutely not. Violation of his privacy, even if I don't mind. And I do."

"Oh, all right. Spoilsport," Ron said, and sighed. "I reckon you're in good hands, anyway." He winced. "Not that way. Sneaky bastard'll keep you out of trouble, I mean. So what's the bloody thing, anyway?"

"You'll do it?"

"Yes, I'll do it -- you need to ask that?"

"It is dangerous, Ron. I really hate to ask, what with the family, but --"

"Sod 'em," he said decisively. "The Ministry, I mean. We'll just have to make sure they don't suspect, that's all."

"That's what I'd thought, too, since we haven't talked for a while. Bad blood, all that."

Lee whimpered a bit and began to squirm.

"Let's have it -- she's on the brink of a major fit, I can tell," Ron moaned.

Hermione pulled her bag into her lap and drew her wand.

"Isn't she talking, yet?" she asked, trying to keep up a semblance of conversation to cover her activity. "I remember Harry running off about the mouth constantly at that age."

Ron went very quiet. "Both boys did," he finally said. "Recognisable words. She isn't, at all."

"Oh, Christ, Ron, I'm sorry," Hermione said, horrified. I didn't mean to --"

"No, it's not anything awful. Not yet. She might just be a bit slow that way, that's all -- she's damned bright at everything else, especially at getting into trouble. Doesn't matter anyway," he said, and peered down at Lee (who was intent on burrowing into his jacket-front, face sulky): he tipped her face up, dropped a kiss on her nose, and gravely informed her, "Our particular cabbage patch doesn't take returns, and we wouldn't even if we could." He glanced at Hermione. "She's ours and she's stuck with us, I'm afraid."

"Wouldn't expect less, from you lot," Hermione said gently, and then charmed Flaherty's box into a stuffed pink rabbit, pulled it from her bag, and dangled it in front of Lee -- who grabbed for it and promptly stuffed its left ear into her mouth.

"That was a mistake," Ron said, wry. "She'll bawl her head off when I take it from her."

"Sorry. Spur of the moment. It's wrapped in oilcloth, but I shouldn't let her drool on it too much...."

They both enjoyed Lee's facial contortions for a moment -- the rabbit apparently tasted interesting, but not quite pleasant -- and then Ron said, "It's all the stupidity over the Mixed marriage laws, isn't it?"

"Ron, I can't tell you."

"That's a yes, then."

"It's even worse, this bit. And I swear that if you open that bloody thing and snoop, I'll hex you six ways to Sunday."

"All right, all right," he grumbled. "Look, can you stay for a while? Mum went a bit wild, when I said you might stop by."

"I'll bet she did," Hermione said, and glanced up at the darkening sky. "I wish I could, but I'd best get back -- we have some things to straighten out before Severus goes back for beginning of Term."

Ron's face went bilious. "He's been staying with you over holiday?"

"I refer you back to your low squick tolerance. Don't ask."

"All right. That's why you married him, isn't it? The bloody laws?"

"Partly," Hermione admitted with a sigh. "There's... there's a lottery in the works. I haven't been able to find out how they're setting it up, because it's been assigned to another department entirely, but --"

"Oh, Merlin's balls."

"Right. And we both sort of figured that we could... do worse."

Ron still looked a bit sick, but said, "Probably could. Mum and Dad've always thought pretty highly of him." He shrugged. "Don't see it myself, of course, but...."

"No, I doubt that they feel that," Hermione muttered. "What he did for the Order, perhaps, but not about him."

"What d'you mean?"

"Oh, just.... Everyone's side-stepping my being married, that's all. Didn't even ask after him, so they can't think that highly of him. Got up my nose a bit."

"They haven't? Well, it ought to get up your nose," Ron said indignantly. "I mean, you marrying the git's a shocker, but still...."

Hermione sputtered a bit, and then laughed.

"What? You don't ignore someone's family even if you don't like them -- it's really, really rude." Ron said. "And it's not like you needed their bloody approval, though they'd probably have liked the chance to talk you out of it. I'd have done, too."

"Oh, Ron," she finally said when she could speak, "I have missed you. Only you would be disgusted with someone's choice and make no bones about it, but still defend it...."

"Yeah, I've... I've missed you, too, you stubborn twit. Go on, then. Get going."

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said. "And I am sorry, truly. I just.... I don't deal with some things at all well, so I try to avoid them. That wasn't fair to you."

"No, it wasn't.... Oh, just bugger off, you," Ron muttered, face going red again. "And don't worry about the thing, we'll keep it safe."

Hermione stood and made for the back door -- and froze when Ron suddenly barked out, "People change, all right, and not for the bloody better. Merlin's balls, but I got out of a bad thing, didn't I? Suppose I ought to thank you for being such a stuck-up cow."

He'd made it good and loud: even Bill had heard, all the way across the garden, and shook off three of the kids to pay attention to her and Ron.

"Ron," Hermione said, turning back to him, "what the hell is --"

"Just go on, get back to your bloody husband," he sneered -- and winked at her. "It's not my house, of course --"

"Ron?" Bill called.

"-- Shut up, Bill, it's not your concern. 'S not my house, of course, but do me a bloody favour and don't grace it with your presence when I'm here, all right?"

The sudden change in Ron was too much for Lee: she dropped the rabbit, started to wail, and twisted in his arms, trying to get away.

"I can do that," Hermione spat back. "Why you think I'd want to after the way you've treated me is.... You'll never change, so stuck in the past. He died, Ron," she added maliciously, and felt a pang when Ron's face went pale. "He's dead, and you can't change it, and I bloody well don't want reminders of it, even if you're happy to torture yourself."

"You bloody -- Get out. Just get out," Ron yelled, struggling with the frantic toddler.

Hermione stomped off to the back door, ignoring Bill's muttered, "Hermione --" and the stares of the kids, and tried to ignore that half of the people inside the house had their faces plastered to the windows.

"Hermione, what --" Laura said when Hermione entered the kitchen; Molly shot off up the stairs.

"Sorry," she muttered, not bothering to stop. "Sorry to spoil the get-together."

She'd made it all the way out the front door -- past the frankly amazed Fred and George, who where just wiping their shoes on the mat -- before Molly burst out after her, a parcel in her hands, and bawled, "Hermione Gr -- Snape, you get right back here!"

She didn't, but at least she stopped and waited for Molly to catch up. "I'm sorry, Molly. I really thought.... I thought I'd give it a go, but he still hates me, I know it."

"No, he -- Oh, Hermione, he doesn't. Never has. You know him, you know he'll get over it," Molly pleaded as Arthur lumbered out the door, past the twins -- who were still staring -- and over to them. "Give him a chance to calm down, love, you'll see."

"No, I don't think he will. I think this is the last straw, as far as he's concerned -- and I think it is for me as well. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have picked today. I've spoilt everything."

"Nonsense," Arthur said. "The hot-head did," and he jumped when Molly elbowed him and glared.

"Just give him some time," Molly urged, and shoved the package into Hermione's hands. "That's just a little present. It's not much, but I didn't want you to think we'd forgot."

"Thanks," Hermione muttered, eyes stinging, and clutched the package tight before bending to kiss Molly's cheek. "I'll see you about," she added to Arthur, and gave him one too.

"Take care, my girl," Arthur said -- a bit too anxiously than the situation warranted, Hermione thought -- and pulled her in for a quick squidge before she had a chance to step away.

Hermione was intensely aware of their eyes on her as she pushed through the gate, muttered the charm and password to drop the new ward on the flat, and then Apparated home.

*****

Severus was sprawled out in the chair when she stormed into the sitting-room (no heating-pad in evidence now): she tossed the package on the table, and then backtracked to the hall to pull off her coat and wet shoes.

"Unsuccessful?" he called after her.

"No, very. I don't know what that it is, actually. Go ahead and open it," she said, and stomped back into the room, throwing herself on the sofa. She put her feet up, and scrubbed at her face as though that might erase the whole bloody incident and her rage over everyone's deliberate, squeamish 'tact.'

She heard Snape sit upright, and the crinkling of the butcher's paper as he unwrapped it: and then after a long silence he said, "These look suspiciously like Weasley knitting."

"How can you tell?"

"Eighteen years of staring at Weasley jumpers, how could I not?"

"What are they?"

"I've no idea."

She glanced over: Severus was holding between his thumb and forefinger, by a loop at one corner, a garish knitted square.

There was an intertwined "S" and "H" worked into the pattern.

That was all it took. Hermione lost it and howled.

"What?" Severus said.

"Pot-holders," she finally gasped. "Personalised, hand-knitted pot-holders."

He pulled out another odd bit -- it looked rather like a child's cap, with an gay little tassle on the top -- and they both stared and blurted out simultaneously, "Tea cozy."

Hermione lost it again.

"Why?"

"Be- belated wedding present, I'd guess."

"Ah," Severus said with a frisson of revulsion, and dropped the pot-holder and cozy back into the wrapping. "You didn't give the thing to Arthur, did you?"

"Bloody hell, no. Ron. And he knows he can hand it over to you, if need be. They're in Dewberry Lane, Chudleigh."

"Marginally better, but are you certain it's wise?"

"Yes. We haven't spoken for years, literally years, and we'd had a great bloody row last time. And did again."

"He behaved wretchedly toward you, but took the bloody box?"

"No, we patched things up. He started another fight intentionally, just in case anyone thought of him. You would have been proud of him."

"That's far too incredible to believe. I shall have to take your word for it."

"You know, I think," Hermione said, ignoring the jab at Ron, "that Arthur might suspect something."

"What do you mean?"

"I got the usual squidge when I left, but he told me to take care as well. And I got the impression he wasn't speaking of generalities."

Snape considered that a moment. "Possible. Weasley always coordinated the more subversive element in the Ministry. I'm not certain I appreciate that at the moment, however -- it might mean others know what you're about. You and Shacklebolt have spoken, for example. And Tonks."

"But no-one's approached me directly about anything. I know there is someone doing mischief -- those names for the flight list that went missing early on, for example. I get the impression that it's very disorganised, though."

"Weasley trademark, the appearance of disorganisation. Very similar to Death Eater structure, in fact. One or two people in the Inner Circle knew all the operatives involved, and no-one further down had more than one or two contacts that they could turn in if they were caught."

"But why has no-one contacted me?"

"Protecting you, perhaps, as well as themselves. You're very visible, given how closely you work with Corcoran. Better not to have any of the old crowd associate with you."

"Oh."

Hermione stared up at the ceiling for a while, and then said, "He doesn't look very well."

"Arthur?"

"Ron. Very... threadbare. Awful, actually."

"Well, he would, wouldn't he?" Snape said, idly paging through a book. "Second-string Beater for Chudley Cannons can't pay a great deal."

Hermione snorted, and Snape glanced up and retorted, "That's not a judgement, it's the truth. He is, and it mustn't."

"I suppose you're right," Hermione said, unable to keep up indignation for once. "In fact, I know you are. Did you know they make them practise through winter, without pay? He's working two bloody jobs to make ends meet and practising, as well. He looks ready to drop."

"I'm not surprised," Snape murmured. "I can't tell you how many students I've seen pin their hopes on Quidditch, only to find that excellence on the Hogwarts pitch is mere mediocrity in the professional venue."

"He's not mediocre."

"I'm not saying he is overall, but he joined the wrong team at the wrong time. He probably should have done well, had they not managed to sign Ngase. The man single-handedly pulled the team up to second place, last year."

Hermione rolled onto her side and stared at Snape. "How do you know that?" she demanded, suspicious. "You don't impress me as a Qudditch fan unless Slytherin is playing. In fact, you've sneered at it."

Snape looked exceedingly self-conscious. "At least one idiot attempts to smuggle the Quidditch Quotidian Quiz into class at the beginning of the year.... I might page through before binning it. And I don't sneer at the game, I sneer at idiots who revere it above all else."

She rolled over onto her back and tried desperately not to giggle, but it was almost impossible. They (everyone in Gryffindor, that is) had always imagined Severus Snape spending his free time -- when they could bring themselves to imagine it -- in his dark, dank private rooms, hunched over a well-thumbed Dark Arts grimoire (although Dean Thomas had always bet it was the centre-fold Witch of the Week in The Quibbler, and made nasty comments about what Snape was probably doing with his free hand while perusing), when all along it was just as likely a grubby, confiscated copy of the Q³....

"What?" Snape asked querrellously.

"Nothing, I'm just tired."

"You seem prone to hilarity nonetheless. I take it it wasn't an unpleasant visit."

"Not exactly. But it wasn't fun, either," she said quietly, sobering.

"How so?"

She thought through it for a while, trying to find the most diplomatic phrasing, and then said, "Some topics were avoided, that's all. I wasn't particularly comfortable. But then I seldom am when most of the family's there -- too crowded."

"Ah. Had I known where you were going, I should have warned you of that."

"Of --?" She glanced over at him: he was staring at her gravely, giving her an 'I know what you meant, and you know precisely what I'm saying' look, and returned to his reading.

"No, I don't see why you should have warned me," she said. "And I didn't appreciate it. Even Ron thought it very rude of them. I didn't expect that of him, bless his heart." She sat upright and stretched, and moaned, "I've no idea what's left in the fridge. And I'm sick of tinned soup."

"S--"

"Don't suggest sausages, or I shall throw something at you."

"My first thought had been Indian curry, as we deserve a bit of sloth after last week-end," he said mildly. "But I've no pounds."

"Oh. Well, I do. I usually order take-out far more than I have been, in fact. And you're right, we deserve a treat in any case."

She heaved herself off the sofa, retrieved the take-out menu and phone, and called in the order; and while they waited, she carefully asked -- for she had nothing to occupy herself with, and now that the box was out of their hands there was nothing at all to talk about, really -- "Did you go to the club today?"

"No," he murmured.

"Oh. Oh, well, you wouldn't -- Harrison had to be let in, didn't he."

"Correct," Snape said, eyes still glued to the book.

"So you just...?"

"I just stayed in reading," he said. "I've lost a day of putting the new stores in order, so I shall be quite busy the rest of the week, and might as well relax now. Not that I'm particularly anxious to return anyway, given the weather up there."

"Ummmm. There's got to be something that would make you more comfortable, short of taking analgesics constantly...." Hermione mused, and ignored the irritated glance he threw her way -- but she dropped the subject, since it bothered him so. (She didn't stop thinking about the problem, though.)

"Of course, you might help with the stores and inventory if I'm still behind come the week-end," he said after three minutes' silence and the turning of two pages.

"Yes, I could.... Oh, bugger. Hang on."

She scrambled to her feet and checked her desk-calendar.

"I already looked, and you've nothing --" Severus began to say.

"Snooper. Did you see the little tick next to the date?"

"Yes. And?"

"And I may not be in any condition to.... Oh, bloody hell, it's a fact of life and you'll have to get used to it. I'll have my period. Or at least I'd better, or we have more problems than we think. I don't suppose you'll want to deal with it, so I'll only be a distraction and a nuisance, won't I?"

He looked immensely irritated at that, and opened his mouth to protest: and then he struggled for a bit, irritation turned to resignation, and he admitted, "Can't be avoided, I suppose. Put the visit down for the week-end after."

The rest of the evening passed quietly, between the take-out and the lack of topics for conversation: and Snape actually set aside his book and watched the telly when Hermione resorted to turning it on. (He wasn't terribly impressed on the whole, but seemed a bit intrigued with an old episode of Cracker.)

"Rather pointless," was his only remark about television in general when he rose after declaring his intention to go to bed.

"Mindless entertainment, mostly -- some people need that, I guess. I do occasionally. Although there are some educational programmes as well."

He snorted disbelievingly, muttered a "Good-night," and left for the bedroom.

*****

Snape was sleeping soundly when Hermione finally went to bed herself: she wasn't really sleepy, given the afternoon's upsets -- and she was still upset over the idiocy, despite Molly's parting gesture. (She had absolutely no intention of using the silly pot-holders, much less the tea-cozy, but supposed she ought to put them away as a souvenir of the whole mess: they were the only wedding-present she'd got.)

Unfortunately, pushing aside the thought of the adults' childish behavior brought other things to mind. She kept hearing Katie Weasley's solemn advice Some serpents are very useful and we shouldn't hurt them because it's not kind, and couldn't help applying it to the man in her bed.

That didn't mean there wasn't some truth in it nevertheless, whether one was speaking of a wild serpent or her particular, semi-domesticated Slytherin (emphasis definitely on semi-domesticated: he certainly cleaned up after himself in the kitchen and bath, and he didn't leave the toilet seat up, but that was as far as even the most charitable interpretation could be stretched).

She hadn't been kind to him at all, not really. She was trying, but that was more to assuage her own guilt than for his benefit. (She ought to have been willing to go to Hogwarts this week-end, for example -- if only to help him with the stores should he need it, since running about all week had set his schedule back -- but the thought that he might insist on sex while she had her period.... It was simply too squicky a thought. She'd be irritable and moody anyway even if he didn't insist, and it was probably kinder not to take her temper and hormonal fluctuations out on him.)

She got to sleep eventually, though her dreams were filled with snakes and serpents of all kinds and permutations, from nadder to basilisk: but they didn't quite undo her resolution to be kinder to Severus Snape, if she could. In fact they probably reinforced it, for when he reached for her quite early the next morning, she did try to be accepting, if not enthusiastic. She even tried not to be irritated after the sleepy encounter when he wriggled further down her body, used her shoulder as a pillow, and dropped back off, snoring gently just below her ear, his weight pinning her to the bed.

We'll have nearly two weeks away from each other, she reasoned. And we'll only be together once a week rather than a week at a time, after that. Surely I can manage to be more tolerant if that's the case.

Motivated by what she could only describe as a kind of maternal pity -- and as he was out like a light and wouldn't be able to construe it as anything like interest or encouragement -- Hermione consciously and momentarily divorced her opinions about Severus Snape and her disgust for the whole situation from the man who lay sleeping in her arms, and stroked at his tangled hair.

She could see, now, how this might be pleasant. To have someone about who, even if he didn't really need you, wanted you -- if only on the most basic, and in some ways, primitive, level. It probably should be pleasant, if they'd chosen each other for the right reasons....

She lay quiet for a very long time, stopping her absent-minded petting of his hair once when he snorted a bit and stirred, and only resumed when he settled down again; and she only dragged herself out from under him when her need to use the loo became too great to ignore.

*****

Chapter 11 Footnotes.

Link to Chapter 12