Chapter Text
Severus awoke the next morning at Spinner's End to the aroma of cooking bacon and the sound of an owl tapping at the spotlessly clean window. He groaned, mostly out of habit, since his half-remembered dreams had been unusually pleasant, hauled himself out of bed with slightly fewer creaks than usual, and went to the window. Any lingering sleepiness evaporated when he saw that the familiar-looking owl bore a manuscript-sized package that had been retied with twine.
At last!
He hurriedly pulled open the window, distracted the owl with a pile of treats on the sill, and relieved the owl of its burden.
The twine gave up its knots with relative ease, the enchanted paperboard lid slid off easily, and there was his manuscript, generously marked with Lucius's flamboyant script in his favourite emerald ink. Severus flipped through the pages, which were no more or less marked than every other manuscript he had received from Lucius, with no note, or anything else to indicate why comments that usually took him a few weeks had taken nearly six months.
Not that it mattered. Lucius was still alive and well, wherever he was, and Severus finally had his manuscript.
There was a soft pop from the corner of his room as a House Elf appeared.
“Breakfast is ready, Master Severus,” said the House Elf, an elderly male whose left ear had seen better days.
“Thank you,” he said, putting the manuscript back into the bottom of the box. There was no time to waste. First, washing and dressing, then to his Diagon Alley office to integrate Lucius's comments, then get them off to his publisher as soon as possible. The House Elves had already cleaned everything in his office that could be cleaned, so he could simply leave a note on the door for the cleaners not to disturb him. If he was very lucky, he could integrate the edits in a day or two.
“Mistress Hermione and Master Draco are downstairs,” said the Elf. “They is asking to see you.”
“Ah,” said Severus, whose imagined stretches of uninterrupted editing time were evaporating.
After going through an abbreviated version of his morning ablutions, which were made all the more efficient by his new self-appointed valet, who seemed well-accustomed to helping grumpy masters prepare for the day, he brought his manuscript downstairs and found Hermione's belongings folded up on the sofa with a pillow and some old linens, which appeared to have been slept on. The woman herself, back in her usual black robes and blue jeans, was breakfasting at the kitchen table with his godson, who was reading The Daily Prophet whilst wearing an artistically rumpled pair of linen pyjamas.
“Do make yourselves at home,” said Severus.
Hermione had the grace to look slightly abashed. “I'm so sorry to have imposed on you like this,” she said. “But the House Elves informed me that Magical Law Enforcement is camped outside my flat. Fortunately, I always keep a spare cupboard's worth of clothing in my bag, so I don't need to go back for some time.”
“The Manor is equally besieged,” said Draco. “Not that they can do much to get in, bless them. However, the Manor Elves are in an uproar over what happened last night, and I'd just as soon give them some space to settle things. You should read what they wrote about us in The Prophet!”
“I'd rather not,” said Severus, holding the manuscript box to his chest. “And it doesn't matter to me whether you come or go, as I'll be in my office for the foreseeable future.”
“Is that what I think it is?” asked Hermione, brightening.
“I should have something for you to review in the next few days,” he said. “That is, if you haven't been sacked from the Ministry by then.”
“They can't sack me,” said Hermione. “I already quit. But I'm happy to take a crack at your book for old times' sake.”
“Well, if you're looking to downsize, I'm looking to share a cheap flat now that my allowance has been cut off,” said Draco.
This was a tear too far for Severus. “For Merlin's sake, boy, you have a bloody manor house to live in!”
“The Manor belongs to my father,” said Draco. “And I wouldn't live there if you paid me.”
“Advertisers might,” said Hermione. “Do you honestly mean you haven't leveraged any of the companies who use your Jellies to promote their brands for compensation?”
“That just seems so tawdry,” said Draco, wrinkling his nose. “I've seen sponsored Jellies and they're the epitome of bad taste.”
“You accepted a case of whisky just last week in exchange for using one,” said Severus.
“That's different. That's bartering. Isn't it?”
“Don't pretend to know anything about earning a living. It doesn't suit you,” said Severus.
There was a quiet cough, and Severus turned to see the wonky-eared Elf standing next to his kitchen counter, where a full English breakfast had been laid out, along with his great-grandmother's flowery china that he swore he'd buried so far in the cellar that it'd never see the light of day.
Severus swore without real anger, set his manuscript on the table, took a plate and began to fill it. “Am I to be thus afflicted with help?”
The Elf grinned toothily at him. “Pugey is happy to serve.”
“Not without some sort of compensation, I hope?” said Hermione.
“We is in talks to form a union,” said Pugey.
“That'll go over like a lead Snidget with the Manor elves,” muttered Draco. “Still, it'll do you good to have Elves helping maintain the place. There's not a single Jelly-worthy location in this whole rotten house.”
“The garden's lovely,” said Hermione.
Severus's heart lifted with the compliment to the one part of the house he lavished attention on, even as he shoved it ruthlessly back down into place. There was no need to look like a lovesick fool, even if he was, a bit.
“Yes, but it's outside. That's not at all my thing. If I pose myself amongst the plants and whatnot, I might as well start farming. Perhaps oats. Do people still farm oats?”
Hermione giggled. “You are absolutely useless.”
Draco grinned. “Thank you. I try.”
Severus took a large bite of sausage and hoped his glower wasn't too obvious.
“Speaking of farming,” said Hermione. “I'm going to France today to follow up on something. Do you think you'll be back by supper, Severus?”
“An invitation to dinner in my own home. How could I refuse?”
Hermione blinked at his bitter tone, then shrugged. “Sorry. I'll give you some space. Do owl when you have something for me to read.” she said briskly.
Bollocks. He'd put his foot in it. ”Don't be absurd. Here's the safest place for you.”
“I do actually possess friends who aren't connected with the Ministry,” she said. “Besides, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself.”
“Of course you are,” said Severus, impatiently. “But that doesn't mean you have to all the time.” He took a deep breath, hoping she wouldn't see right through him. “Stay here. If you like.”
She gave him a small smile. “All right, then.”
“I'll stop for dinner at eight,” he said, accepting a gingham-wrapped bundle of food and flask of tea from Pugey.
“See you then,” said Hermione, smiling.
Severus felt a bit of panic rise in his throat as her luminous brown eyes met his his. He momentarily forgot how to breathe, and his heart began to hammer, protesting the lack of oxygen intake.
He cleared his throat, pulled himself up to his full height, and nodded. “Hermione. Draco,” he said, then spun on his heel and Disapparated.
As the echo of Disapparation faded in the small kitchen, Hermione looked at Draco. “Is he always so pleasant in the morning?”
“No,” said Draco. “I think Uncle Severus is sweet on you. What a horrid thought.”
Hermione swatted his arm with the newspaper. “Don't.”
“All right, he's not completely hopeless as prospects go, if you can get past the personality, the tendency towards self-neglect, and the nose.”
Hermione stifled a snort. “You're awful.”
Draco narrowed his eyes in thought. “Actually, the more I think about it, the more sense it makes. You've got a lot in common, and he obviously thinks well enough of you—he wouldn't let you read his unpublished work, else. You even dress similarly. Between that and practically drowning in one another's eyes this morning, I expect things could turn serious quickly.”
Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. “Are we really having this conversation?”
Draco held up his hand to forestall her protest. “I have to say my bit as a family member. He hasn't got anyone else to say it for him.”
Hermione sighed. “Fine.”
“All right. Granger: if you decide to pursue Uncle Severus, you had better ensure your intentions are honourable.” Draco continued, ignoring Hermione's strangled sound of protest. “I mean, for someone who loves creative problem solving as much as you do, he's a pretty impressive knot that I suspect you're itching to untie. But then what? The man is a hopeless romantic, for all that he'd sooner drink poison than admit it. Just don't accept his heart if you have any doubts that could lead to you breaking it. That's all I'm saying. That, and please encourage him to let the House Elves redecorate. His mother may have had an impressive pedigree, but that particular chintz is never coming back.”
“You can tell him that yourself momentarily,” said Hermione, standing up and brushing the breakfast crumbs from her robe. “I've got to go.”
“That's all the response I get for that wonderful speech?” asked Draco with exaggerated hurt.
Hermione gave him a slow round of sarcastic applause.
Draco nodded grandly before pausing. “Wait, what do you mean momentarily? He said he'd be back at eight.”
“Yes,” said Hermione. “But he's left his manuscript on the table. If there's any truth at all to your speculations, the only reason he hasn't come back for it already is to give me time to leave.”
“Oh,” said Draco, rising. “Fair point.”
Hermione pulled out her instaspell wand, consulted a mApp, then turned on her heel and Disapparated.
“Bloody drama queens, the pair of them,” muttered Draco, filling his plate. “Pugey, what say you and I discuss the state of the place, man to Elf?”
“Pugey serves Master Serverus's family, and Master Draco is family,” he said, bowing.
Draco grinned. “Today might not be quite so boring after all.”
Hermione was grateful she'd had the foresight to get her International Apparation License years ago. Standard Floo travel was very well and good, but it was messy and the smell of smoke clung to her hair for hours afterwards. The village restaurant in the Auvergne that comprised the nearest international Apparation point didn't open until the afternoon, which gave her the chance to cast a quick mapping charm with her instaspell wand and chart her course for the morning.
The farm she sought was pretty much due south, so she set off walking past a medieval turret in a park where small children were playing, stopping for cafe au lait and a croissant at a small cafe on the way out of town. It was a pleasant late spring day, the sunshine warmed the damp air, and the surrounding fields looked and smelled vibrantly green. Even if her hunch was wrong, wandering the French countryside wasn't a bad way to spend a morning when you were wanted for questioning by the Ministry. Undoubtedly, Harry and Ron would have a few none-too-flattering things to say about her jaunt to France, but she had plenty of other things to occupy her mind, not least of which was Draco's absurd notion that Severus was romantically interested in her.
She tutted. She'd given up on dating some time ago when it became clear that men, by and large, weren't so much interested in her as the idea of her. Well, at least those who didn't merit a hasty exit partway through the first course, anyway. Those tended to be only interested in the not inconsiderable sums she'd made from instaspell wands and her better-known mApps. Severus had made a mint on his own, so she doubted his interest, if it actually existed, was financial. His debut book, Diligence for Dunderheads, had even been made into a romantic comedy, much to his chagrin.
She couldn't hold back a smile, remembering his exasperated dismay upon viewing the screener copy of the film that the studio had sent. He hadn't the means to watch, so he consented to dinner and a screening at her flat, which was mere blocks from his Diagon Alley office. That was in the early days of her work with hybrid technology, and she'd been so pleased that she'd been able to make the Muggle disc play on the machine she'd engineered to run on a circuit powered by unicorn hair.
At the time, it hadn't felt anything like a date, despite the take-away curry and romantic comedy, largely because the latter was accompanied by a profane running commentary that made her nearly snort the lager he'd brought out of her nose. But in retrospect, it seemed a bit daft that neither of them, or so she had presumed, had seen it in that light. Nor any of their other not-strictly-professional get-togethers over the years, like the handful of Muggle book awards ceremonies in London. Or the time he'd begged her to take him shopping for Muggle clothes when ordered by his publisher to attend one of the press junket events in Los Angeles promoting the film.
They were certainly good friends. She certainly felt closer to him than she did to many of her old schoolmates. But were they more than that? And could they be more?
Her reverie was interrupted by her arrival at a small sign for Bonheur de Vache emblazoned with an arrow that pointed in the direction of a gravel road that wound around the side of a hill. A handsome old house perched on its zenith was surrounded by green fields dotted with grazing red-and-white cattle. As Hermione followed the curving road, she soon found that she could make out the picturesque stone barn that featured in many of the dairy's Jellies behind the house, as well as a more modern structure that she assumed was used for the actual cheesemaking.
As she approached a paddock near the house, she received a jolt of surprise to see Juliette the cow bedecked in grapes, flowers and wearing what appeared to be a cow-sized toga, staring good-naturedly at the wizard who had his wand pointed at her.
Even from the back, it was clear that the wizard in question was Lucius Malfoy, the man she sought. He was wearing some kind of linen smock, dark trousers, and heavy leather boots, and his long hair had been intricately plaited, but its flaxen colour was unmistakable, as was the low, supple voice he was using to coax Juliette into posing.
“That's my good girl,” he said, tenderly stroking her forehead with his thumb and running his other hand gently down her neck. “Now if you could just move a bit this way, we'll be able to see your pretty dress.”
To Hermione's surprise, Juliette moved along with his guiding hand, her eyes closing in bliss as he scratched her forehead with his fingertips. “That's it,” he said, nearly too quietly for Hermione to hear. “Now, just stay there for one moment...”
He withdrew from her, and she opened her long-lashed eyes to see where he'd gone, and Lucius gave a satisfied “Ah-hah,” as he tapped the handle of his instaspell wand and swept back from Juliette, then around her in a graceful curve.
“That's it, you good, clever girl!” he exclaimed, plucking the flower garland and red grapes from Juliette's neck and offering them to her as he rubbed her neck.
Juliette munched delightedly on her erstwhile adornments as Lucius unwrapped the carefully-arranged yards of toga from her. It wasn't until the toga was nearly removed that he realised he wasn't alone.
“Oh,” he said flatly. “It's you.”
As Hermione met his eyes, she had the sudden urge to laugh as she tried to reconcile the man gently unwrapping a toga from a cow with the desperate figure he'd been the last time he saw him, lurking hungrily in the shadows as Bellatrix Lestrange tortured her.
“Yes,” she said. “I'm glad you got my message.”
“I ought to have realised it was too obvious to have been from my son,” said Lucius. “You two seem terribly chummy now. I trust he's well?”
“He misses you,” said Hermione.
“He misses his allowance, more like,” said Lucius.
“As does Severus.”
“All he cares about is his next book advance.”
“You know that's not true.”
“No, Miss Granger, I don't,” he said, crumpling the fine white wool viciously in his arms. “Which is why, I presume, they've sent you to test the waters.”
“They don't know I'm here,” said Hermione. “They don't even know that you're here.”
“Am I meant to be impressed with your discretion?”
“Not at all,” said Hermione, giving what she hoped was a winning smile. “It just that I'm passionately fond of cheese.”
“I suggest you avoid that style of misdirection in the future,” said Lucius. “You're not nearly attractive or charming enough to carry it off.”
Hermione's smile thinned. “I'm delighted you feel that way. But being rude isn't going to make me leave in a huff.”
“I should be so fortunate,” said Lucius. “I don't suppose you might consider leaving me in peace if I remind you that none of this is any of your concern.”
“Draco and Severus made it my concern when they asked for my help in finding you. As I'm sure you gleaned from Draco's Jelly, neither of them has actually sided with your wife in any of this, despite her impressive attempts to convince you otherwise. You don't owe me any answers, of course, but you do owe them.”
“Severus has his bloody manuscript now, hasn't he?”
“Yes, but he's still missing his best friend.”
“He's got you now, hasn't he?” said Lucius, who turned away from her, his tone savage.
Merlin and Circe, did all the Malfoys think Severus was pining for her? “Irrelevant,” said Hermione, hoping it actually was. “Look, you're right. This isn't any of my business. But if I sussed out that you were the first person who followed him on JellyTin, Severus won't be far behind, he's certain to tell Draco, and both of them will be very cross that I didn't share this information with them. So you can either reach out to them by eight o'clock tonight, or I'm telling them where you are. I don't particularly care why you ended up here of all places, but I suggest that you get your head out of your arse and stop playing the bloody martyr. Severus is much better at that than you are, anyway.”
Red spots appeared on Lucius's cheeks, and his knuckles tightened around his instaspell wand.“I strongly suggest that you leave of your own accord while you still can.”
Hermione's heart began to pound, despite knowing perfectly well that instaspell wands couldn't be used to cast Unforgivable curses or any of the nastier hexes. And Lucius was savvy enough to know that hexing her would cause an international incident and would most certainly end badly for him. But the fact that the odious man could make her feel mortal fear all over again was infuriating, and Hermione found herself shaking with anger, her own wand clutched tightly in her hand.
“And here I thought spending time with gentle creatures like cows might be good for you,” said Hermione coldly, feeling her body still, her reflexes primed for the least flicker of movement.
Fortunately, her instincts had been correct: Lucius was still more bark then bite. He lowered his wand with a hiss and shoved it into his pocket. “Cows are not gentle,” he hissed. “They are obstinate, filthy, deeply stupid brutes.”
Juliette chose this moment to nudge Lucius's hand with her nose. He whirled on her, his wand raised. But when he met her calm eyes, lowered his hand, and his entire posture deflated.
“You are a horrible creature,” he informed her, and began to scratch under her chin, and she closed her eyes. Then, to Hermione's amazement, Juliette began to make a guttural noise.
Was she purring? Could cows purr?
“Lucius! Avez-vous fini de photographier notre jolie fille?”
Hermione turned to see the approach of an elderly witch whose wand was stuck into work trousers similar to Lucius's, wiping her hands on a rag and smiling at Juliette's obvious bliss.
“Oui. J'ai aidé cette femme. Elle est perdue,” he said, jerking his head at Hermione.
Hermione frowned. She wasn't lost, and Lucius certainly wasn't helping her.
“Eh bien,” said the witch, opening the paddock where Lucius and Juliette were standing. “Je vais lui montrer. Elle pourrait acheter du fromage. Sauf si elle est l'un de ces végétaliens. Non, je ne maigres pas. Viens! Viens!"
At the mention of purchasing cheese, Hermione was suddenly seized with a wonderful idea.
“Sorry, I don't speak French,” she lied to Lucius. “What is she saying?”
“She says to go with her. She'll give you a tour.”
The witch waved dismissively at Lucius, who was still rubbing the cow's chin. “Laissez paître Juliette, et viens traduis pour moi!”
Hermione resolved not to laugh at the look of dismay that crossed Lucius's face as he realised that he was trapped into translating. Reluctantly, he gently shooed Juliette out into the pasture.
The witch smiled at Lucius fondly. “Je suis ravie que Juliette vous ait trouvé saoul dans le pâturage ce soir-là. Vous avez été un bon ami avec elle et je ne sais pas ce que je ferais sans vous."
Hermione hadn't expected her resolve to be tested so sorely so soon. Juliette had found Lucius drunk in a field? She schooled her features to stillness and looked at Lucius with what she hoped was mild inquisitiveness.
“She's thanking me for my help,” said Lucius.
“Je suis Mathilde,” she said, holding out a hand for Hermione to shake.
“Je m'appelle Hermione,” said Hermione, summoning her most atrocious schoolgirl accent.
Mathilde's face made it clear what she thought of Hermione's attempt at French. “Mon Dieu, que leur enseignent-ils à l'école?" she muttered. "Lucuis, quel est le mot anglais pour grange?"
Hermione sent silent thanks to her summer French tutor and followed Lucius and Mathilde towards the barn.
In the past, Severus would have powered through Lucius's comments in one sitting. And while a small part of him was irritated with himself for agreeing to take a break for dinner, by the time eight o'clock rolled around, he had to admit that his brain had reached the point of diminishing returns, and he was hungry. Not for the first time, he marvelled at Hermione Granger's good sense. And then he marvelled that Hermione Granger possessed anything like sense and had still come to him for advice. He was a right old fraud, holding himself up as an example of a successful career transition when he was currently miserable and couldn't wait to be free of his contract once he'd delivered his final book. Not that he couldn't pay back the advance if he had to, since almost all of his earnings were gathering dust in his Gringotts vault. But it was the principle of the thing.
The first thing he thought upon Apparating back home was that he was going to kill Draco, soon to be followed by any House Elves that had aided and abetted him. Not only had the bookshelves in the living room been rearranged according to the colour of the cover instead of by subject and author name, but the awful cushions his mother had hand-sewed in an attempt to please her mercurial husband were no longer in evidence. If they had actually been Banished, there would be blood.
Fortunately for Draco and the House Elves, he was soon distracted by a heavenly smell emanating from the kitchen and the sight of Hermione Granger pouring a glass of wine. She was wearing something black and short enough to reveal her knees. Blast the woman, even her knees were charming.
She turned and smiled at him. “How's the book?”
“Incrementally improved,” said Severus, scowling as he set his manuscript and laptop on the new coffee table, which was obnoxiously sleek.
Hermione handed him the glass she'd just poured. “Draco said Pugey wouldn't let him throw anything away, so if you hate everything they did, it can be restored.”
“That's fortunate for both of them.”
“Come with me,” she said, smiling. “There's a surprise for you in the garden.”
Severus growled, imagining that his valuable native specimens might have been pulled up as weeds to make way for useless ornamental planting.
“Don't worry,” she said, opening the door to admit him. “Draco and Pugey limited their efforts to inside the house.”
A lovely supper for four had been set up at the far end of the garden, lit with hovering orbs of light. The brick walls separating his garden from his neighbours' had been made twice as tall for privacy, and there, in the glow of the orbs, was Lucius Malfoy chatting with his son.
Severus stared at his friend and felt a complicated mixture of relief and anger, with an unwelcome surge of joy at seeing him after all these months. Lucius was wearing the same black velvet robes he'd been wearing the last time Severus had seen him, and an imperious expression, which he only bothered to do when he was feeling wrong-footed.
Draco turned and saw Severus first, grinned, and steered his father towards Severus.
“Look what the Kneazle dragged in!” he said, grinning. “I knew asking Granger for help would do the trick!”
“Yes, frightfully clever of you,” said Lucius, sounding sulky.
“It's good to see you well,” said Severus, who was a touch disappointed to find that it actually was. Lucius looked annoyingly hale—his skin was positively golden, and there was even a touch of pink in his cheeks.
“You, on the other hand, look terrible,” said Lucius. “You haven't been holed up in that horrid little office of yours all this time?”
“I have a publisher to satisfy,” said Severus stiffly. “I trust Draco has filled you in on what's occurred in your absence?”
“He has,” said Lucius. “We've come to an arrangement of sorts for his potentially commercial use of the Manor for sponsored Jellies.”
Severus hoped his surprise at learning that Lucius knew what sponsored Jellies were wasn't apparent.
“You'll hardly know I'm there,” said Draco. “It takes much less time to pose oneself than to pose an entire cow.”
It took a moment for Severus to understand what Draco had intimated with the cow comment, but when he did, he was certain his surprise was obvious.
Hermione cleared her throat. “I believe the House Elves are ready to serve the first course. Lucius can tell us all about his work. And I have a proposal that I think you'll all be interested in.”
As potentially interested as he was in any proposal of Hermione's, Severus's brain was still attempting to wrap itself around her use of the words “Lucius” and “work” in the same sentence.
Severus took a fortifying sip of wine and sat down, grateful that there were a number of bottles of wine on the table.
Lucius's narrative could be fairly described as surreal.
Lucius had quite sensibly gone on a month-long bender in France after Narcissa announced that she was expecting a Weasley and, upon Severus's suggestion, wanted him to trigger the common law divorce clause in their marriage contract in exchange for making no claim on his assets. However, the bender came to an abrupt end the morning after he'd awoken in a field being tended, perhaps even cuddled, by a cow named Juliette. Having befriended Mathilde's cow, he began visiting Bonheur de Vache to see her, first learning the skills of a cowhand, then an apprentice dairyman, and ultimately de facto JellyTin expert. When Draco had promoted Narcissa's House Elf event on JellyTin, Lucius assumed Draco had also chosen Narcissa over him and vowed not to respond to any subsequent owls.
Severus reflected that it was a sign of how subtly the House Elves had refilled their wine glasses that Lucius formally apologised to them both for his error and thanked Hermione for helping him realise he’d made one. For the first time since Lucius had disappeared, he felt the ever-present knot of anxiety in his stomach relax slightly, which was superb timing, as the House Elves’ main course was a succulent bit of beef.
Draco, who was trying and failing not to look too gleeful at the prospect of having his allowance restored, chose this moment to praise Hermione's cleverness in solving the mystery, and admitted that helping to rescue the House Elves had awakened his ambition to become more than a style icon, though he hadn't yet decided precisely what. The little lickspittle even said he hoped he could count on Hermione for advice in the future.
Before he realised what he was doing, Severus had caught Lucius's eye and rolled his own in response to Draco's fatuous flattery, exactly as he would have done before Lucius had left.
A ghost of a smirk hovered at the corner of Lucius's lips before he covered his mouth and gave a quiet cough.
This subtle but unmistakable sign that Lucius truly had forgiven him for his perceived wrongs, and undoubtedly the delicious wine and food, relaxed Severus to the point that the story of his writer's block came tumbling out of him while they ate their pudding: that he had thus far miserably failed to write the one book left on his contract, how much he had grown to hate the idea of writing it, and even admitting that he didn't even know if he wanted to continue writing books in the future.
It felt good to say the words, even if he was feeling a bit soft around the edges, due in no small part to the bewitching woman who sat opposite him. He couldn't help but drink in her smiles, even though he had no idea why she'd brought them all together. He supposed he ought to follow his own advice and be open to the whims of fate on that front.
During a lull in the conversation mid-posh-cheese course, courtesy of Lucius and Bonheur de Vache, Hermione rose and cleared her throat.
“Last week, a wise friend of mine suggested that the best way to determine what I wanted to do after leaving the Ministry was to go on holiday, get drunk, and read. Having taken a jaunt to rural France, imbibed more than my share of wine this evening, and read more magtags on JellyTin than I thought ever existed, a solution has indeed presented itself, and I'd like to hear your thoughts.”
Draco blew a raspberry. “That wasn't a wise friend. You said it was Uncle Severus.”
“Gracious boy, I know cows with better manners than you,” said Lucius.
“And better dressed,” said Severus, doing his best to stifle what was probably a giggle.
“As I was saying,” said Hermione, swaying before Severus's eyes like a glorious mermaid in warm Mediterranean waters, “I looked at the lot of us and realised that we're none of us particularly happy right now.”
“I am,” said Draco.
“No, dear boy. You are intoxicated,” said Lucius.
“You'd know,” said Draco.
“I thought that since we're all a bit miserable, we might try to make the world a bit less miserable and cheer ourselves in the process.”
“Does that sort of thing actually work?” asked Lucius in a stage whisper.
“It does, in an odd way,” said Hermione. “Which is why I propose that we form a charitable trust together for the purpose of democratising magical education.”
Severus, Lucius, and Draco blinked at one another with varying levels of incomprehension.
“Why on earth would I want to be part of such a thing?” asked Lucius.
“Firstly, because cheesemaking, while an honourable and I daresay enjoyable pursuit, isn't the sort of thing to satisfy a consummate Slytherin in the long run.”
“And you're an expert on satisfying Slytherins?” asked Lucius, though without real venom.
Hermione shrugged. “I've had no complaints thus far. Besides, being involved with this trust would absolutely infuriate Narcissa.”
Draco giggled. “She's right.”
Lucius narrowed his eyes. “Do go on.”
“Secondly, you believe in the importance of education. I don't for an instant believe that you joined the Hogwarts Board of Governors for the prestige of the position.”
This made both Lucius and Severus snort.
“And finally, forgive me my candour, but the last time you were involved in an exclusive social movement, it didn't go well for you and your family. This would give you the opportunity to remake your reputation into something inclusive. Making Narcissa look old-fashioned would be the icing on the cake.”
“And I don't suppose the Malfoy family fortune factors into this invitation to join your little club at all?” asked Lucius archly.
Draco cackled. “Father, have you any idea how much Hermione is worth from the invention of instaspell wands alone? Uncle Severus isn't exactly hurting, either, not with fourteen best-sellers in print, plus a blockbuster film.”
Lucius frowned at his friend. “You're always moaning about your advances.”
“Well, if I've accepted money to do something, I should fulfil my obligation,” said Severus, feeling discomfited and pleased all at the same time.
“But what's Draco to do with it, then?” asked Lucius, his cheeks flushing. “He hasn't any assets.”
“No thanks to you,” muttered Draco.
“Draco has more JellyTin followers than any other account in existence,” said Hermione. “What's more, if you look at trending subjects, his Draconites are amplifying the House Elf freedom magtags he used last night. They're even pestering Ministry officials to call off their witch-hunt and leave Draco, and by extension, me, in peace. Your photos of Juliette are wonderful, and you've a splendid eye for composition, and if Draco is willing to use his ethernet clout on our behalf, we'd be fools not to take advantage.”
Draco looked downright smug, and Lucius's expression was thoughtful and didn't comment further.
Hermione turned to look at Severus and smiled. “Severus, of course, has an even stronger educational background than any of us,” she said. “His knowledge will be invaluable assessing what proposals may or may not have merit. And of course, I cut my teeth fighting for the rights of beasts and beings at the Ministry. And with Draco's help, the plight of House Elves is once more in the public eye.”
“Wait, we're going to educate beasts and beings?” asked Draco. “Like Centaurs and Goblins and House Elves?”
“If they can do magic, why not?” asked Hermione.
“Huh,” said Draco. “Like with wands and everything?”
“If they can wield them, why not?” said Severus, who was starting to feel downright giddy, especially when Hermione smiled at him like that.
“Huh!” said Draco. “Well, I'm in as long as I get to name the trust.”
“Given your expertise in branding, I'd be willing to trust your instincts,” said Hermione.
“Good. We'll be Trusty McTrustface.”
“I'll have to sleep on it,” said Lucius, hiccuping tiredly. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be up at dawn to see to the ladies.”
“If you don't mind, Father, I'd like to come with you.”
“Don't be absurd, you wouldn't have the least idea what to do.”
“Like you did six months ago?”
This brought Lucius up short, and for a moment, Severus feared that Lucius was about to shout at his son, when he snorted softly. “If you feel that you must come, you may. But I don't wish to hear a single whinge about the sleeping conditions. And you're not allowed to take any Jellies of Juliette. She is my muse, and I don't share.”
Draco held out his hand, which Lucius accepted and squeezed before they both Disapparated with a loud crack.
Severus hadn't realised how much noise there was in his garden at night until conversation died: the breeze shushing in the leaves, a nearby nightjar. But it all gradually faded as the sound of his heart pounding grew louder, watching the muscles of Hermione's throat as she swallowed her last mouthful of wine.
“That went well, I think,” she said, rising and joining him on his side of the table. He could feel the heat of her leg through the fabric of his robes.
“Better than I'd have expected,” said Severus, grateful his tongue and lips appeared to be functional. Hermione seemed to be testing hers as well, gently trapping her lower lip between her teeth. “For all that I doubt both of them will consent to take part in this harebrained scheme.”
“If we're considering diversity of blood status, we really only need one of them,” said Hermione. “Though I think you and I would make a fairly formidable team, even if neither Malfoy wishes to be involved.”
Severus suddenly realised that her hand was coming to rest on his.
“Thank you,” she said, gently gripping his hand. “I'm not sure I said that before.”
“Unnecessary,” he said gruffly, pleased nonetheless. He wasn't sure what to do. Should he move his hand and take hers? Even if it meant dislodging her hand from where it rested atop his.
“It isn't to me,” she said. “You told me to be open to possibility, and you were right. None of this ever could have happened if it weren't for you.”
Severus was pleased to hear it, but had a very difficult time saying so, because Hermione pressed her lips to his and was kissing him, seemingly with every intention to continue doing so. He considered voicing an observation about the softness of her mouth and the warmth of her hands, which caressed his face, but he ultimately decided that he would much rather keep kissing her back.
The next morning, as he toyed with a stray curl that kept tickling his nose when he embraced her, he reflected that perhaps Contentment for the Ambitious might be a better title for his final book than his previous working title, Cash Cows for Charlatans.
And later that day, as he, Lucius, and Draco took Jellies of Hermione surrendering her wands peacefully to her old boyfriend, who was rather unnecessarily surrounded by his chums from Magical Law Enforcement, Severus couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for Narcissa and Weasley, who clearly had no idea what the Draconites, armed with the new Trusty McTrustface magtags, would have in store for them once news of the scandal broke. He doubted Lucius harboured any such sympathies, and, since Severus nursed hopes of receiving more cheese in the future, he kept his to himself.
And when Hermione returned to Spinner's End the next day, looking a bit tired and dishevelled from her night spent at the courtesy of Magical Law Enforcement, he had a number of other ideas about things he would be keeping to himself, at least until he had the opportunity to discuss them with Hermione.
Thankfully, Hermione had a few ideas of her own, as well.
The End