Chapter Text
The door to Severus Snape's Diagon Alley office was solid oak, chosen for its protective qualities as much as its ability to muffle sound, and fastened with cold iron, which absorbed offensive spells like a sponge. However, it was still a door, and one design flaw that had never been remedied was its vulnerability to being banged upon insistently, as it was at that particular moment.
Severus had been absorbed in watching the cursor on his laptop screen blip in and out of existence, so the interruption was slightly more welcome than it might otherwise have been, but he wasn't about to let his caller know that.
“Uncle Severus!” yelled a familiar voice. “I know you're in there!”
Severus uttered an oath that was just loud enough to be heard outside the door, but not so loud as to be mistaken for raving. He closed his laptop, slid it into a desk drawer, seized the sheaf of unanswered correspondence that he had quarantined to the far corner of his desk, and spread it haphazardly about, hoping that it would appear to his godson that he was interrupting something important.
There was another volley of banging from the door. “Uncle Severus!”
Rising, Severus tapped his toe on a low button disguised as a knot in the floorboard, which released a cascade of clicks and clunks as the cold iron cogs and works turned to release the lock.
“Enter if you must,” he said, aiming for gruff rather than forbidding.
The door opened to admit Draco Malfoy, resplendent in slim-cut robes in emerald and black houndstooth. He paused in the late morning sun that streamed in from the window, his artistically coiffed hair gleaming like corn silk in the late morning light, and he pulled out his instaspell wand.
“Hang on a tick,” he said, raising his arm and pointing the tip of the wand down at himself. He lowered his chin and let a cheeky smirk spread slowly across his face. There was a pleasant ping, and Draco flicked his wand to cast the moving photo of himself into the air. He made quick, sure adjustments to the frame and colours.
“Are you on JellyTin?” asked Draco. “I can tag you if you are. Or come up with a terribly witty magtag for you.”
“'Why, hello, Uncle Severus,'” Severus said sarcastically. “'So kind of you to see me unannounced! I do hope I'm not interrupting your very important work close to a deadline.”
“I'll take that as a no, then,” said Draco, who muttered a soft spell to cast the image into the ether.
“I trust you didn't come here for the benefit of your tinhats.”
“Jellyheads,” corrected Draco. “Specifically, Draconites. That's what they call themselves now, isn't that clever?”
“If they ever were clever, I'm sure their wits have since dulled from staring at fatuous self-portraits of you all day.”
Draco laughed as he scrolled through messages that flashed across the handle of his wand. “Never change, Uncle. But I am on a serious errand. Have you—“ he stopped abruptly and seized one of the envelopes that had been scattered artistically over Severus's desk.“That utter cow!” he exclaimed, tossing the envelope dramatically back on the desk.
Severus took the envelope—ivory, expensive cotton blend, engraved, and bearing a white and gold narcissus seal, rimmed with black wax. Cissy. Odd, she hadn't used that seal in decades.
“Surely you don't mean your mother,” said Severus in his most forbidding voice.
“I very much mean my mother!” said Draco. “She asked me to help promote her stupid House Elf charity event on JellyTin, which, in a show of flawless filial devotion, I did. But am I invited? Apparently not! And that's not the worst of it. I've been served notice that she's cutting off my allowance, and now she's ignoring my owls. I asked Mr. Fromme if he could help me, but the old turncoat says he's representing my mother and that I should retain my own solicitor! Can you believe the nerve of her, disappearing off the face of the earth when I need her?”
“It seems to be something of a family trait.”
Draco paused mid-whine. “You don't know where Father's gone, either.”
“It's not the first time he's ignored my correspondence when he owes me comments on a draft. However, this bout of silence has gone on significantly longer than any other.”
Draco was fiddling with the handle of his wand once more. “Hang on a mo'. Must reply to St. Elmo's Firewhisky, they want permission to use the image I just took. They're the right brand profile.”
“Are they any good?”
“Never had the stuff. But they're sending me a case. If you can tell me anything about where Father is, I'll share.” The planes of Draco's face were cast into deeper contrast by the light emitting from his wand. Severus considered telling him that squinting was going to exacerbate his frown lines, but he knew he had little room to talk on that subject.
Severus's eye fell on Cissy's invitation, and he picked it up, running his fingertips over the seal before cracking it and sliding out the contents. The envelope began to squeak out a feeble rendition of a Schubert string quartet. Severus crumpled it and tossed it into the bin, where it continued its tinny offering.
Draco rolled his eyes, a considerable feat of coordination while his eyes were still fixed on his wand.
After tossing aside the extraneous layers of tissue paper between each piece of the invitation, the RSVP card, the RSVP envelope, the donation card, and the menu, Severus finally located the information that told him what on earth he was invited to.
“Please tell me your mother doesn't actually expect me to attend this.”
“You can tell she really wants you to attend if she added a handwritten note on the RSVP card,” said Draco, still not looking up.
It took Severus a moment to locate the RSVP card he'd cast aside, and he kicked the dustbin in hopes that it would silence the string quartet. However, no note was forthcoming, and the envelope kept sawing away.
“No note. What does that mean?”
“Isn't this more your area than mine? Social advancement and whatnot?” asked Draco, finally looking up from his wand with a cross expression.
“I write professional advice books for Muggles, not encyclopaedias of the tedious minutiae of Wizarding toffs. I'm not Millicent bloody Manners.”
Draco took the scattered pieces of disembowelled invitation and assembled them neatly in front of him. “The invitation is aspirational. She would be delighted for you to attend but doesn't believe anything she can say could tempt you to put in an appearance.”
“She's got that right,” grumbled Severus. He took the event information card and was about to use it as kindling to set fire to the contents of the dustbin, but something on the card caught his eye. “How on earth did she get Potter to let her use Grimmauld Place?”
“Didn't you hear? She bought it off him,” said Draco. “As one of the few Black relations in good standing, she always felt the place should have gone to her and not that... well, it's unseemly to speak ill of the dead.”
A few well-chosen ill words about Sirius Black would have cheered Severus considerably. “I can't imagine Potter reacted well to that argument.”
“Mother can be quite persuasive when there's something she wants.”
Severus's mind unwillingly revisited the vermin-infested house of horrors, with its ghastly wall of House Elf heads. “Charming spot for a charity do.”
“Say what you will about Mother's family,” said Draco, “but they were sincere in following the old ways of honouring their retainers. By the time Mother's had her way with the place, you'll hardly recognise it.”
“If I never set eye on it again, it'll be too soon.”
“I can take the invitation off your hands, if you like,” said Draco. “If I went in your stead, I might be able to discover something. Father's whereabouts, why my own mother's avoiding me, what awful thing Pansy Parkinson's wearing. The opportunities are endless.”
“Someone might as well get some use out of it.”
Draco grinned. “I'll post the invitation on JellyTin. She won't be able to rescind it without losing face.”
“Try to imagine the depth of my interest,” said Severus.
Draco laughed. “It was good to see you, Uncle. I'll let you know what I find out. And you will let me know if you hear from Father? I do need to speak with him rather urgently.”
“I daresay you'll be the fourth or fifth to know.”
Draco paused once more in the sunbeam to smile cheekily at JellyTin, this time flashing the invitation at his wand, with certain details artfully obscured by his fingers.
There was a knock at the door.
“One minute,” called Draco, frowning at the moving photo hanging in the air before him and repositioning himself slightly.
Severus glanced at his calendar and felt like kicking himself for forgetting that he'd scheduled a visit from Granger today. Perfect. He steeled his resolve and his posture and pressed the door button with his foot.
The door swung open to reveal Hermione Granger, dressed in her usual black robes over blue jeans. She blinked behind her horn-rimmed spectacles at the sight of Draco finishing his revised shot.
“I do hope I'm not interrupting,” said Hermione.
Draco fumbled his wand. “I... erm...” He finally managed to slip his wand into his waistcoat and smoothed a few non-existent flyaway strands of hair
“Draco was just leaving,” said Severus.
“Yes! I was! I mean, thank you, Uncle,” he said, giving a small formal half-bow. “I'll call again when I have more news.” He nodded at Hermione. “Granger.”
“Malfoy,” she said neutrally as he passed, her eyes amused.
Draco paused behind her and made a flailing gesture in Hermione's direction. He mouthed words that appeared to be “Jammy bastard” before the door swung closed.
“What was that about?” asked Severus as Hermione seated herself across from him.
“We were on a JellyTin panel at the HybridTech trade show a few months ago. He may be one of our most popular accounts, but I don't think he'd given much thought as to who actually created it. It was a bit weird, to be honest.”
Severus snorted. “I haven't seen anyone shut him up so effectively in years.”
“I'm still getting used to it,” she said. “I worked on instaspell wands for years in an office that used to get mistaken for a broom cupboard when I wasn't in, and suddenly I have a staff of forty people due to the insatiable demand for instaspell wands, new mApps, and networks. It's completely mad!”
“Yet you still take time out of your busy schedule for basic matters of ensuring compliance with the International Statute of Secrecy.”
She gave a winsome half smile. “Would you accept revisions from anyone other than me?”
“Doubtful.”
“All right,” she said, sitting forward. “Let's see what you've got.”
“I'm still awaiting a final version from Lucius,” said Severus. “I confess, our meeting slipped my mind. Sorry for not saving you the trip.”
“I could offer suggestions on what you have now. I doubt Lucius will suggest anything that will run afoul of the Statute. I daresay after fourteen books you're reasonably familiar with the sorts of things I flag for changes.”
“I'd rather you didn't,” said Severus. “Lucius's suggestions usually result in substantial rewrites, and I simply do not know when I'll hear from him. Again, I'm sorry to have wasted your time.”
“Suit yourself,” said Hermione.
She paused, which was odd. Hermione rarely had to work to put together precisely what she wanted to say. “Severus, I have a favour to ask you.”
Ahah. That explained the overly-generous offer to streamline the approval process.
He sighed. “What is it?”
“I want to leave the Ministry.”
“Delighted to hear it. But you ought to tell that to them rather than me,” said Severus.
“Well, yes. Obviously. But what do I tell them?”
“'I quit' is traditional. Also succinct.”
“That's not quite what I meant.”
“People quit their jobs all the time, Hermione. Everyone is replaceable, and loyalty is for Hufflepuffs.”
“Or 'the Diligent,'” said Hermione, alluding to the euphemism he used for Hufflepuffs in his books. “Don't worry, I did manage to retain some of Ambition for the Diligent when I cleared it for Muggle consumption. It's one of the things that got me to this point.”
“I'm gratified to hear that, but it really doesn't explain what you want from me.”
“I know I want to leave,” said Hermione. “What I don't know is what I want to do next.”
“Go on holiday, get very drunk, read all the novels you haven't had time to read for the past decade, and then think about it.”
“Seriously, Severus.”
“I'm being perfectly serious. That's precisely what I did after I resigned my post at Hogwarts. After convalescing from my considerable injuries, of course.”
Hermione frowned. “That's how you decided to go from teaching potions and saving the world to writing books for Muggles?”
Severus gazed at the woman seated across from him, her fingers tightly laced to keep her hands from shaking, and looking both hopeful and slightly terrified. For the past eight years, she had done the tedious job of reviewing his work for compliance with the International Statute of Secrecy, and she'd done so fairly and professionally. She'd also been quite decent to him, despite his frequent needling, long after she became successful enough to delegate the work to someone else. While this hardly put him in her debt, competent allies were difficult to come by.
It beggared belief to think that Hermione and Draco were the same age. And frankly, talking to anyone but Draco was better than staring as his blank document and brooding over Draco's whining and Lucius's silence.
He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I had a Floo connection in Newark, and as usual, there were unexpected fireplace malfunctions. I ended up having several hours to entertain myself, and I saw a book shop just across the Muggle barrier. I'd read most of the fiction section, so I was browsing the magazines when I spied a magazine called <i>Cosmopolitan<i> whose cover proclaimed that the issue contained a quiz, which piqued my interest.”
“Cosmopolitan? Did it recommend a fragrance based on the colour of your favourite knickers?”
Severus waved his hand. “Are you or aren't you under fifty, Granger? It was 'What's Your Anal Sex Style?'”
Hermione made a choking noise and blushed, which made Severus smirk inwardly, even as he continued in a lofty tone.
“Seeing that inanely provocative quiz, clearly aimed at a very different audience than myself, and nonetheless feeling compelled to pick up the magazine and flip to it made me realise the degree to which all people, myself included, worry that someone else, even a magazine that overuses words like 'bae' and 'inspo,' can tell them something about themselves that they didn't already know. A glance at the self-help section revealed endless books purporting to tell people who they are and how to compensate for it, all with varying degrees of rigour in their methodologies. If any Muggle with few to no credentials can design a personality test that's used for hiring for decades, surely my years of observing the Sorting Hat, to which one cannot lie or hide one's personality, qualified me to offer my own spin on the same.”
She blinked. “I wasn't expecting that.”
“What, that I admit to knowing my anal sex style?”
This startled a laugh out of her. “That you'd be, well, so candid. And that deciding on a new career might be simpler than I'm trying to make it.”
“The point of the story is not that the decision was simple. The point is that I might never have had the idea, which seems simple in retrospect, if I hadn't removed myself from my previous situation and indulged my idle curiosity.”
“What if you'd been bad at writing?” asked Hermione.
“Then I'd have been bad at it and continued writing anyway because it amused me. Only Lucius would have been the wiser, but we both have enough on one another from our youthful forays into hair metal that I needn't worry about being blackmailed.”
That made her laugh. “All right. So I'll quit the Ministry, go on holiday, and wait for the hand of fate.”
“Don't forget the alcohol,” said Severus. “I doubt I'd have picked up Cosmopolitan if I hadn't first imbibed a few of their namesake cocktails in the bar across the way.”
Hermione's eyes twinkled. “You drink cosmopolitans?”
“Only for the vitamin C. And the vodka.”
“Note to self: vitamin C and vodka,” said Hermione.
There was another knock at the door.
“Uncle Severus, it's me again!” shouted Draco from the corridor.
Severus sighed. “If you've no more questions?”
“No, you've given me plenty to think about.”
Severus toed open the door once more, and Draco came fluttering in bearing a long white gift box with a dreadfully familiar silver instaspell logo on it.
Merlin preserve him.
“Sorry, I forgot to give this to you before.” he said, setting it on Severus's desk. “You'll thank me for it one day.”
“Nice. Is that the X3 model?” asked Hermione.
“The X4. I took the liberty of curating a selection of spells. All you need to do is touch the base to the handle of your wand to set the magical resonance to what you're used to with your wand.”
Severus scowled. “You don't actually expect me to use this toy for serious spell casting.”
“It's not a tool for serious spell casting, it's intended for easing everyday use and for connecting with other witches and wizards,” said Hermione, her voice smooth as one who'd delivered the statement a thousand times. It was probable she had.
“What if one thinks most witches and wizards are utter twats?”
Draco snorted, but Hermione smiled. “That's why you have the ability to curate your experience. Here, I'll show you.”
She expertly popped the box open on hidden hinges and accepted Severus's reluctantly offered wand. There was a pleasant chime as she pressed the handles of the wands together, and the instaspell wand released a swirl of mauve sparks that formed the instaspell logo before disappearing.
“All yours,” she said, handing both wands back to Severus.
Severus held the instsapell wand gingerly in two fingers. It was heavier than his wand, and the glass surface of the wand felt unnaturally slick compared to the wood of his wand.
Draco tutted. “Not like that. Just hold it like you would your regular wand.”
Severus glared at him. “When I want your advice, I'll ask for it.”
Hermione had retrieved her own instaspell wand, whose handle she had covered with a thin layer of wood. “See this symbol?” she said, pointing to a symbol that resembled an old-fashioned camera. “This is JellyTin. You only see content from people whose content you want to see.”
“I don't want to see anyone's content,” grumbled Severus, tapping the symbol. The air in front of him lit up with dozens of inane images of wizards and witches, including Draco pouting.
“Not even Pliny Amberdown's?” asked Hermione, using a fingertip to scroll down the images to an image of the largest death cap mushroom Severus had seen in his life. “He posts the most beautiful things from ingredient hunts all over the world.”
“Can I see that and nothing else?”
Hermione smiled. “Press 'subscribe,' down here,” she said.
A message printed in friendly letters congratulated him on following his first account, which made him roll his eyes.
“What's this?” he asked, as a small green bubble popped up in the corner of the projection.
“Someone's subscribed to your stream,” said Draco. “Probably an Inferius account.”
Severus snorted. “Naturally, the cursed dead joined JellyTin before I did.”
“That's what we call accounts that don't actually have a person behind them,” explained Hermione. “Someone's done some arithmantical algorithms that automatically follow new accounts, assuming new users will subscribe to them as well, and then inundate your stream with advertisements for sexual potency potions of dubious efficacy. We have a small team dedicated to stamping them out as soon as they're reported, but we can't stop people setting them up, at least not yet.”
Severus poked the green dot, which expanded into a stream of images of rolling green fields ringed by ancient stone buildings, magnificent-looking cheeses, and more than a few images of an absurdly healthy-looking cow, frequently bedecked with flowers, and occasionally costumes.
“Bonheur de Vache,” read Draco. “Unfortunate name, but decent images, though I'm not sure the cow looks well in velvet.”
Severus quite liked cheese, especially posh French cheese, and the cow pictures were charming, so he followed the cheesemaker back.
“I'll leave you two to it then,” said Hermione. “Severus, do let me know when you have something for me to read.”
“Hang on, Granger,” said Draco, pulling his attention away from Severus's scrolling. “Mother's throwing a fundraiser for her stupid House Elf relocation charity. Want to gate-crash it with me? She'll be terribly annoyed, but you're too well-known for her to do anything about it.”
An interesting play of emotions washed across Hermione's face. Severus was about to tell his godson to piss off, when Draco raised a placating hand.
“Before you refuse. Yes, I have an ulterior motive, but not the one you think. Father's gone missing and Mother won't answer my owls. She keeps Grimmauld Place locked up like a mokeskin purse, and this party may be the only chance I get to talk to her before she cuts off my allowance, plus it'll allow me the chance to look for any sign of Father. You lived there for a while, didn't you?”
“One miserable summer,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Perfect. If there are any secrets hidden behind the new walls and floors, we'll find them. You can't say no.”
“I could,” said Hermione, glancing from Draco to Severus and back. “But I don't think I will.”
Draco grinned. “Fantastic. I'll pick you up on Friday at eight. I'll drop some hints on JellyTin for the Draconites. Also, I'll send over something for you to wear. I'm not particular, but Mother's set is.”
“That won't be necessary,” said Hermione.
“No offence, Granger, but your look, while iconic, is not exactly the sort of thing one wears to a party.”
“I know perfectly well how to dress for a party,” snapped Hermione. “But more to the point, if we're going to be breaking into spaces where we're not welcome, I'd just as soon come prepared, and that means altering things to accommodate discreet tools and supplies.”
“Oh,” said Draco, who clearly hadn't thought of that.
“If you're finished with your flirtatious banter?” said Severus, glaring at them both.
Hermione flushed deeply. “Right, I'll see you Friday.”
She scurried out the door as soon as Severus unlatched it.
Draco nodded to himself. “Right, that'll settle Mother. But on to important matters: here are the JellyTin accounts you simply must follow.”
Severus sent up a silent prayer to whatever gods might be able to deliver him from Draco's enthusiastic, jargon-filled rambling. Alas, they remained silent.
Hermione Granger's brain was a force to be reckoned with when she set it to accomplishing a task, no matter how important or how frivolous the task. Thus, when invited to a charity event during which she would likely be doing a spot of some breaking, entering, and concealment, naturally her first stop was Flourish and Blotts, which not only had a small section devoted to magical fashion, but also had very large front windows through which Hermione could watch well-heeled passersby and see what they were wearing and where they were buying.
She soon identified a small storefront several doors down through which fashionable women were disappearing and reappearing with plain garment bags and parcels wrapped in brown paper. That had to be the place. After purchasing a book on infamous robberies, she squared her shoulders and made her way through the crowded alleyway to the store, whose front window proclaimed it to be Lavender. Several bouquets of the namesake flower wafted fragrance from vases mounted on either side of the door.
She'd heard about this place. Not from the fashionable set it served, of course, but because it was founded by her former housemate Parvati Patil, who had named her bespoke boutique for their late housemate. She felt a sudden wash of shame for having thought that the decision to do so was a bit tacky. What better way to honour the memory of Lavender Brown than with beauty and style?
The door swung open to admit an older woman in purple robes trimmed elaborately with gold, and Hermione stepped into the shop. It was brighter than expected, with skylights pouring light on gorgeously-clad mannequins, which swished fluidly around their raised plinths, striking elegant poses.
Hermione wandered over to a wall of sumptuous fabrics, her fingertips whispering along a sample of dark blue iridescent silk, which winked with lights that looked like stars in the evening sky.
“Can I help you?” asked a voice at her elbow, and Hermione turned to find a shop girl in her early twenties, impeccably tailored in cobalt lace, regarding her curiously.
Hermione tried not to look down at herself in dismay. “I'm just looking, thanks.”
“Was there anything in particular you were looking for?”
“I've just been invited to an event on Friday, but I know there's not enough time to have something made, but—“
The girl squealed. “You're going to the House Elf benefit? Oh, how thrilling! Did you know Draco Malfoy is going to be there?”
“Erm, yes,” said Hermione. “I'd heard.”
“We must find you something,” said the girl, practically dragging Hermione into a curtained-off cupboard that was piled from floor to ceiling with shoes of every colour and style. “First things first.”
She held up a magnificent pair of emerald stilettos, and Hermione reluctantly shook her head. It wouldn't do to be clunking about Grimmauld Place in those, especially if she needed to beat a hasty retreat.
“Do you have anything without a heel?”
The girl frowned. “For a party?”
“I just want something with a bit more support, that's all. I've, erm, weak ankles.”
“Don't worry about that,” said the girl. “All of our shoes are charmed with anti-gravity and balance charms. You'll barely know you're wearing them.”
Hermione allowed herself to be seated on a stool and her well-worn Oxfords traded for the emerald shoes, which moulded to her feet like a second skin.
“Go on,” said the girl. “Walk in them.”
Hermione did as she was bade and was shocked to find that the girl had been telling the truth. She shifted her balance from foot to foot, but the smooth-looking soles of the shoes gripped the wooden floor well, and despite being pushed forward onto her toes, there was none of the expected pressure on the ball of her foot. She even hopped up and down a few times on one foot to test her balance and the structural integrity of the shoe, and found herself deeply impressed.
The girl grinned. “Are those the ones?”
Hermione was about to say yes, but paused. “They're the same colour as the suit Draco had on today.”
“Merlin, you're right!” she gasped. “You're a Draconite, too?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, that settles that. We've got to put you in a complimentary colour. Platinum, perhaps?”
“Persephone!” called a voice from outside the cupboard. “I need you to wrap up Mrs. Broadmoor's cape. And have you owled out the tweed macintosh to France yet?”
“Coming!” called Persephone. “I'll just be a moment. Let me know if any of the metallics strike your fancy?”
“Ta,” said Hermione, who had already seized a pair of gold sandals and hoped they would be as comfortable as the first pair. She hadn't imagined how much fun this type of research could be.
After deciding against two pairs of sandals and a silver mule, Hermione heard the click of court shoes approach. “What do you think of these?” she asked, holding up a pair of rose gold gladiator sandals.
There was a soft snort from behind her. “With denim trousers?”
Hermione spun around to find herself face to face with Parvati Patil. She was resplendent in orange shantung silk, and her generous mouth was twisted into a wry smirk.
Hermione paused, uncertain what to do until Parvati swept her up into a fragrant, expensive-smelling hug.
“Circe, it's been a long time,” said Parvati.
Hermione swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Too long,” she whispered hoarsely.
“And what's all this I hear about you going to Narcissa Malfoy's benefit? How on earth did you wrangle an invitation?”
“It rather fell into my lap,” said Hermione weakly.
“I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you'd find a way in, with S.P.E.W. and all,” said Parvati, crinkling her nose. “I've sent Persephone on a few final fittings. She said she had someone who was planning to seduce Draco Malfoy at the benefit, so I had to see for myself. She's rather drawn the wrong conclusion, hasn't she?”
Hermione snorted. “Yeah, a bit.”
“Well, there isn't time to do anything completely bespoke,” said Parvati. “But if we can find a sample you like, we can alter it for you. Are those your shoes?”
Parvati's inquiry was neutral, but Hermione felt a bit wrong-footed all the same. “Do you think they're formal enough?”
“That's not important,” said Parvati. “How do they make you feel?”
“Like slaying something,” said Hermione.
“Then those are your shoes,” said Parvati, whisking them out of Hermione's hands and leading her into a side room that was perhaps less grand than the show room but was filled to bursting with racks and racks of robes, gowns, skirts, blouses, and capes of every description except “tacky” or “cheap.”
Parvati bustled amongst the racks, plucking items seemingly at random and levitating them behind her with practised efficiency.
“This will set off your hair and skin well, and it's a warm enough platinum not to clash with the rose gold. The silver may be a tad cool, but I want to see it on you before striking that entire family from the list of possibilities. I don't know how you feel about showing a bit of leg, but a split skirt will look phenomenal with the sandals.”
Hermione quite liked the idea of flashing some leg but worried that anything secreted in her garter might be revealed. She glanced at her former classmate, whose seemingly effortless charms were every bit as splendid as they had been during their Dumbledore's Army days in the Room of Requirement.
With that, Hermione made a decision.
“One second, Parvati,” she said. “I have some particular requirements for Friday, besides looking amazing, which I'm certain I will.”
“What sort of requirements?”
“I need to be able to move easily, and I need loads of concealed storage,” said Hermione.
“Don't you still have that bag with the Undetectable Expansion Charm on it? Oh!” she said, interrupting herself. “Everyone knows about that, and given the notoriety of the family, I'm sure Narcissa will be asking all the guests to check their bags and wands.”
“Besides, it's seen better days,” said Hermione, retrieving the well-loved bag from a pocket of her robe.
Parvati accepted the threadbare purse, from which most of the beads had long since fallen, and ran her fingertips around the opening. “You did a good day's work on that bag,” she said. “It's only the outside that's falling apart.”
“A good month's work, you mean,” said Hermione, pleased nonetheless. “There's a reason you don't come across that charm very often.”
“I could make you a decoy,” said Parvati. “A clutch with a bog standard Expansion Charm on it to make them think they've got the genuine article. And I could sew this one into a pocket.”
Hermione grinned. “That would be brilliant! I could fit an Erumpent into that if I needed it.”
Parvati giggled. “You are planning an interesting evening, aren't you? In any event, I'd recommend a few more concealed places, just in case. Mokeskin décolleté wallets are popular, as are gauntlet bracelets for instaspell wands, and you are entering enemy territory.”
“You don't think the bag pocket will be too obvious?”
“Merlin, no,” said Parvati, grinning. “Nobody will expect a witch's formal robes to have pockets at all, much less undetectable expanded ones. But bearing that in mind, I'm going to have to look for something with a different silhouette.” She cast her previous selections back to the racks with a quick whip of her wand.
Hermione walked along the racks, letting her fingertips trail along the sumptuous fabrics when she stopped at a gown made of oddly textured black fabric, which was shot through with silver. “What's this?”
Parvati paused to look after taking a white gown trimmed with black off the rack. “Silver shine polyether, but it won't work at all with your sandals,” said Parvati.
“I know, I just haven't seen anything like it, and it feels, well, a bit weird.”
“It's Charmed to appear a different size than it actually is,” said Parvati. “Some witches swear by it, others feel it's cheating. Me? I just stock the newest fabrics so nobody will know for certain that it's polyether, and emphasise natural silhouettes. Actually, now you've given me an idea. What do you say to a polyether bag? Not in silvershine, of course. Possibly antique gold, depending on what we end up choosing for your dress.”
Hermione poked her finger into the polyether and was satisfied that not only did the finger disappear into the stretchy fabric, her entire hand did as well. “Perfect.”
Parvati made a satisfied sound, and Hermione looked up to see her holding up a set of robes whose overlayer was the light-studded dark blue silk that she'd admired earlier. She couldn't hold back a gasp.
“I believe we've found your gown,” said Parvati, grinning. “Now, let's get it on you and kit you out with a few more secret weapons. One can't be too careful with Malfoys, even the ones that look decorative.”
Much to Severus's consternation, it was getting late, and the manuscript for the final book of his contract had still not written itself. Nor had an edited version of his penultimate manuscript come from his erstwhile best friend, despite several increasingly terse notes, the deliverer of which he chose only after the wizard in the post office warned him the owl was a biter.
On the bright side, he had learned how to use several messaging mApps, found nearly twenty JellyTin accounts to follow, and had learnt that Bonheur de Vache's cow mascot's name was Juliette. This, however, got him no closer to progress on the writing front, and shutting his instaspell wand in a drawer hadn't magically made wise words flow from his fingertips.
He closed the lid of his laptop with a bit more force than was warranted, and once the quiet machine had shut down, silence descended, interrupted only by the squeaky strains of Schubert emanating from the bin, thanks to Cissy's blasted envelope.
Why he hadn't incinerated the bloody thing days ago was beyond him. And it was now—wait, what day was it? He pulled the instaspell wand to check. Friday. At least the rubbish would be emptied tomorrow. And he'd have an excuse to leave his office during daylight hours without guilt over not working on his book while they cleaned.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. Cissy's party would be well underway by now. He resisted the sudden urge to check JellyTin, but only just. Draco could be thoughtless, but he wasn't foolish enough to live-post sub rosa reconnaissance.
Severus sighed. Even if Narcissa did know where Lucius was, which seemed unlikely, given that she'd asked his advice on the best way to ask Lucius for a divorce some months ago, he doubted she would be in possession of anything that could lead them to him. The whole thing struck Severus as a fool's errand, but if it made Draco happy and temporarily distracted Granger, it would hopefully mean fewer interruptions.
Though if Severus was honest with himself, interruptions were far superior to doing nothing. And Granger's were never exactly unpleasant. She hadn't Lucius's way with irony, of course, but her precise, efficient observations made for tolerable conversation, and he appreciated the way her easy laugh made his office feel warmer. He'd become rather used to her visits over the years, looked forward to them even. It was odd to think that they'd soon come to an end.
Oh.
Perhaps that was why he hadn't been working particularly hard to locate Lucius.
Perhaps that was why his creative mind seemed determined to fight him on his final manuscript.
Perhaps that was why he found the way his godson looked at Hermione so irritating.
Severus sighed, wondering if his final book shouldn't be called Discovering the Painfully Obvious for Dunderheads.
Still, coming to an understanding with himself really didn't make that much practical difference. He still hadn't heard from Lucius and had no idea where he was. He was still under contract to write a book he didn't care about. And a woman that he'd finally admitted to himself that he tolerated was on a date with a flashy ethernet celebrity who happened to be his godson.
His stomach growled, which was at least one thing he knew how to fix, as Draco had been kind enough to load a mApp called Nosh4Dosh on his instaspell wand.
Ten minutes later, an owl tapped on his office window bearing a steaming package from The Leaky Cauldron that smelled like heaven.
Technology was truly magic.
Severus was awakened from a postprandial zizz by an unfamiliar sound: the locking mechanism of his office door clicking open of its own accord and the door swinging open.
He jerked into wakefulness with a rush of adrenalin and seized his wand, ready to hex whomever had managed to overcome the cold iron works, but he held his fire when a House Elf appeared in the doorway dressed in a light blue ruffled pillow sham and bowed.
“Ducky is sorry to intrude,” she squeaked. “Mistress Hermy is saying that she and Master Draco are coming and is needing your help.”
Severus had no response other than to gawp as Ducky set about to tidying up his office, banishing the contents of the rubbish bin with a snap of her fingers as well as the dust that had gathered on the shelves, conjuring a precise duplicate of his guest chair to accommodate both visitors, and even offering him a handkerchief to remove a bit of cottage pie from the corner of his mouth.
No sooner had he returned the handkerchief to Ducky than Hermione came floating through the door in a cloud of dark blue silk, looking lovely as the night sky. Pink gold winked at her ankles, lit by warm points of light that dotted her skirt. Draco, who followed at her heels, looked distinctly worse for wear, his hair and robes in disarray and the knees of his grey trousers were stained.
“Thank Merlin,” said Hermione, smiling at Severus and nodding at Ducky, who shut and latched the door behind her. “Sorry to drop in on such short notice, but your office has more effective defences than my flat, and we couldn't exactly go there after that.”
Severus crossed his arms. “After what, precisely?”
Draco sighed and flopped dramatically into one of the chairs. “Let's just say that if Mother hadn't already decided to cut off my allowance, she would have done so after this evening. At least now I know why.”
Severus glanced at Hermione for clarification.
“We'll get to that,” she said. “But first things first.”
She reached down into the floaty fabric of her skirt with both hands and proceeded to pull open a large pocket concealed therein.
“It's all right,” she said. “You're safe here.”
A pop-eyed face appeared in the aperture and looked from side to side. Apparently satisfied with Severus's office, a House Elf leapt out of Hermione's pocket. This one was dressed in something resembling livery if liveries were made of upholstery, with neat rows of buttons that appeared to have once been part of a tufted sofa.
“Thank you, Mistress Hermy,” he squeaked, bowing and stepping back. Ducky padded over from the bookshelf she'd been quietly arranging and took his hand.
To Severus's amazement, a dozen more House Elves, including several elflings, emerged from Hermione's pocket.
“So you stole the beneficiaries of your own mother's charity event,” said Severus, smirking at Draco.
“Beneficiaries my eye,” said Hermione darkly, picking up one of the elflings who had raised his tiny arms to her and cradling him as she sat down in the other chair. “First off, calling it a charity event to benefit abandoned Elves is grossly misleading. They haven't been abandoned—they all have families. It's just that every last member of those horrible families was sent to Azkaban for life after evading justice for years. Secondly, have you any idea what 're-homing' the Elves consists of? Nothing less than binding them into servitude all over again, just to a new master!”
“The idea is that it's less cruel to the loyal retainers to give them a family to serve if they're prevented from fulfilling their sworn duties while their family is incarcerated,” said Draco. “I'm not saying it's right,” he said, raising his hands in surrender as Hermione shot a furious look his way. “But most of these people, myself included, have had House Elves in the family for so long none of them have any clue of how the original contracts were made. Merely that they are property to be inherited. No offence,” he said to the elfling, who promptly began fussing.
Ducky accepted the elfling from Hermione, slid him beneath her pillow sham, and began to nurse him.
Hermione returned Ducky's smile. “Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. I know neither of you will believe this any more than the Gringotts Goblins did, but I really had no intention of freeing enslaved creatures when I agreed to go. We went in search of answers, and we found some of them.”
“It was brilliant,” said Draco, a crooked smile lighting his features. “Mother was absolutely incensed to see her, but couldn't say a thing. So of course she and her awful friends decided to give us the cold shoulder, which couldn't have been more helpful to our mission.”
“The ground floor looks completely different from how it was before,” said Hermione. “She tore down most of the walls and moved the study upstairs where the parlour was. The Elf heads are still on the ground floor, but moved, and the Black family tapestry now occupies a place of honour behind the dining table, hex holes and all.”
“What about Walburga and her Permanent Sticking Charm?” asked Severus.
“Moved her upstairs, along with the wall her portrait was stuck to,” said Hermione. “I always wondered nobody in the Order thought of that,” said Hermione.
“We did,” said Severus. “However, Albus discovered that removing any part of the wall would have broken the spell that made the house Unplottable, which would have defeated the purpose of using it as Order headquarters.”
“Anyway,” said Hermione, “despite the elaborate renovations, there's still no toilet on the ground floor, so everybody was making discreet trips upstairs. It was easy to keep going up unnoticed because everybody was pretending they weren't actually there.”
“It didn't take her long to realise that Mother had Disillusioned the stairs leading further up and cast Pall of Darkness on the landings,” said Draco. “Lucky for me Hermione knows her way, even in the dark.”
“She hardly touched the upper floors, save for some new furniture and a coat of paint,” said Hermione.
“Looks like the decision to cut me off without a cent to my name was because she blew the lot on renovating the lower floors,” said Draco.
“Still, that did make it easier for us,” said Hermione. “She converted the small bedroom on the third floor into an enormous dressing room off the master bedroom, and she keeps important papers in her vanity drawer.”
“Honestly, it's like she can't be bothered to Slytherin any more,” said Draco. “The important document in question was her marriage contract, and she even put a sticky flag on the important bit. That bit being the common law divorce clause, wherein if the paterfamilias doesn't set foot in his ancestral home for six months, he's effectively abandoned their marriage, and the mater ceases to be part of the familias, though of course she's free to remarry. And it just so happens that the last time I heard from Father was about six months ago.”
Severus mulled this over, surprised that his off-the-cuff suggestion that Cissy look for marriage contract loopholes had borne fruit. Given how much closer Severus was to Lucius than to Cissy, he wondered that she'd asked his advice at all. Still neither of them relished the protracted legal spectacle that Cissy suing Lucius for divorce would generate. But that didn't explain why Lucius had decided to go along with Cissy's plan or why he wasn't answering Severus's or Draco's owls.
It would seem logical to conclude that Cissy had done something to Lucius, but he had known both of them for too long to think Cissy capable of violence or Lucius incapable of weaselling out of anything short of the Dark Lord's return in that span of time.
Still, this was far more information than he had expected them to find. Not that he was about to let them know that.
“I don't suppose you found anything else of import?” he said, trying to sound less interested than he actually was.
Hermione and Draco looked at one another, and to Severus's surprise, Draco turned bright red.
“We did, rather,” said Hermione neutrally.
“I should have known immediately,” said Draco, bitterly. “Normally, Mother wouldn't be caught dead in polyether, for all that I didn't even notice until after...” he trailed off with a dismissive gesture.
“A House Elf caught us while we were reading the contract,” said Hermione.
“Diddly,” said Draco. “He belongs to the Manor, so the divorce clause must not have been activated just yet. Anyway, I was trying to convince him that I was just giving Hermione a 'private tour,' but he was frantically trying to shoo us away, and that's when we heard it.”
Severus was starting to get impatient with his godson's asides. “Heard what?”
“The baby,” said Hermione.
The Knut that was Draco's snide comment about Narcissa wearing polyether suddenly dropped, and Severus's jaw went with it. “What?”
“Apparently, I have a half-brother,” said Draco. “A newborn half-brother with ginger hair and an even redder complexion. I knew Mother worked with Weasley at the Ministry when she was planning the benefit to ensure things were on the right side of Elvish welfare rules. I hadn't reckoned on how closely.”
“There but for the grace of Circe...” muttered Hermione, then her face darkened. “It's just like him to bend the House Elf protection rules for a pretty face. Still, it seems she got significantly more out of it than she'd bargained for.”
“Really, Granger. That's my mother you're talking about.”
“Sorry,” said Hermione, grinning. “Anyway, Diddly knew there was no stuffing that djinn back in the lamp, so he did the only thing he could think of: he Apparated us to the basement to keep us away from the other guests and try to find a way to keep us from making a scene. And of course, that's where they were keeping the 'abandoned' Elves prior to the bond-transfer ritual. I saw the elflings and, well, I might've got a bit angry.”
“She was incandescently furious,” said Draco approvingly. “And of course we found everything beautifully mis en place for the ritual. And Granger being Granger, how could she not seize the opportunity to use the ritual to free them?”
“Only the Elves who wanted to be free,” said Hermione. “There were seven others who wanted to continue 'serving' a new family. Ugh, I do loathe that word.”
“It's the only thing they know how to do,” said Draco, shrugging.
Hermione looked at Draco sharply, and then her eyes turned thoughtful.
“Draco, can you take a quick Jelly of us and the Elves? If you don't mind, I mean.” Hermione inclined her head at the Elves in apology.
“We is proud to help Miss Hermy,” said Ducky, whose elfling was now asleep in her arms.
“For the love of all that's magical!” exclaimed Severus. “You've brought over a dozen free Elves to my office, have no plan for housing and feeding them, all of Pureblood society is furious with you, and I wouldn't be surprised if the Aurors were already on the case of whether or not you broke any laws in freeing them, and you want to post a Jelly of it?”
“Humour me,” said Hermione. “Draco, go ahead.”
Draco shrugged to straighten his robes and ran his fingers through his hair. “All right, Granger, pop over in front of that book case. Uncle Severus, can you please light your wand and aim it into the corner? It's a bit dark in here and that'll look slightly more natural. Elves, gather in front of us, be sure to let the mum Elves in front, we need to see those beautiful elflings. You there, the tall one. Stand directly in front of me. The Draconites don't need to see the shameful state of my trousers.”
The Elves giggled and followed his orders and Draco put his arm around Hermione's shoulder. Severus was pleased to see that the gesture was far more brotherly than flirtatious.
Draco put his instaspell wand on auto-levitate in order to fit all of them in, but when the Jelly was posted, with more magtags than Severus thought possible, he couldn't help notice that the brightest thing in it was Hermione's smile.