Chapters 111-120

Exit, Pursued by a Bear

The merry noise of the afternoon tea along with the cheerful chaos of Halloween preparations faded away around Hermione. Her world narrowed down to a piece of cream-coloured parchment that bore the seal of the Auror Office.

The writing was very clear. Round, pretty. For a moment Hermione wondered if the unknown scribe was a man or a woman. She squinted her eyes. I really need to cut my nails again. Especially if I want to work with Wiggling Woad later. Hermione drew a shuddering breath. It was time. She’d known for a while that this moment would come. She’d prepared herself for it mentally. But it was still a shock.

She rose to her feet. Severus, who was eating his way through a huge plate of sandwiches under Poppy’s censorious glare, looked up.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I need to inform the Auror Office that I don’t want to receive a copy of their reports anymore,’ Hermione said. Except emergency reports, of course. ‘I’d like to Owl them back right away.’

Severus frowned, the crease between his brows sharpened. ‘What happened?’

Another deep breath. ‘Nothing, really. I should have cancelled this arrangement months ago. It’s high time I finally get around to doing that.’

Severus just looked at her. The black gaze that made students quake and quiver let her know in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t nearly convincing enough.

‘My parents have adopted a child,’ she added. ‘A little girl. You see, apparently Wendell and Monica Wilkins always wanted to have a daughter.’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘It seems that was one of the reasons they relocated to Australia…they tried to conceive a child for years, it didn’t work…in the end they didn’t want to live in Britain anymore…or work as dentists. Sort of a mid-life crisis, I guess…’

‘I see.’ His expression remained neutral. ‘I expect I shall see you at dinner then.’

oooOooo

Hermione stood at the window, a carefully sealed parchment in her hands.

He took in her appearance: Wild curls subdued into a tight bun (no stray hairs in her potions, he recalled, not even when she was but a mere slip of a girl); smooth robes, apprentice badge neatly attached (she probably never gave it a thought anymore that she was wearing his colours); nails freshly cut (and they’d better be if she insisted on brewing something ‘fun’ for Halloween that required Wiggling Woad with her study groups).

Outwardly, she appeared perfectly composed and professional. But when she turned to look at him, her eyes were huge and dark and sad.

Still she smiled at him.

Severus quelled the impulse to pretend that he’d merely forgotten a stack of essays on his desk. She’d never believe him. He was too pedantic about even the most mundane details. Instead he crossed the room. Somehow it seemed a sensible course of action to take the scroll from her hands, put it on the table and pull her into his arms.

He did realise that pulling the ribbon from her hair so he could sink his fingers into the wealth of her curls was neither sensible nor an adequate response to her obvious distress.

Therefore he embraced her without a word. Absently he marvelled at how perfectly she fit against him. If he raised his chin a little, he could rest it on the top of her head. She slumped against him with a deep sigh. As always she shivered at the end of the inhalation. As always the slight vibration sent a jolt of desire through his body. But he did not act on it and only held Hermione close.

‘They’ve called her “Cordelia Perdita”. My parents always loved Shakespeare, you know,’ she said. ‘Cordelia was King Lear’s daughter. And Perdita–’

‘“Perdita” is the lost princess in “A Winter’s Tale”,’ Severus continued softly when Hermione’s voice failed her. ‘I know.’

oooOooo

Flitwick’s choir tortured the attentive audience in the Great Hall with its usual concert of suitably excruciating seasonal songs while bats swooped overhead and thousands of candles flickered in gloating pumpkins and gleeful turnips.

Severus’ gaze travelled over the table of Slytherin House. Holiday-fever gleamed in many eyes, promising a long night of chasing pranksters. And…He narrowed his eyes.

Alina Petrel was missing.

Fuck.

He looked quickly at the other tables. Was anyone else missing? Ravenclaw, all accounted for, as far as he could tell. Hufflepuff, too. Gryffindor…Severus frowned. That Cruddace boy! The child who’d lost his family to those murderers. He wasn’t there, either. And he’d been one of the ringleaders of the campaign against the House Cup last term.

Severus was about to rise when the doors slammed open and Alina Petrel came skidding into the hall, Barret Cruddace in hot pursuit.

Clutched against her chest she carried a small silver bell,. Something was trailing on the floor between her legs. Promptly she tripped and almost fall flat on her face. Severus’ instant alarm faded only when he realised that the trailing something was Alina’s school scarf, which she had jammed around the clapper to prevent the bell from making any sound.

All heads swivelled. All eyes stared.

Out of breath, red spots burning on her cheeks, voice shrill with excitement, Alina shouted: ‘You won’t believe what we’ve just seen!

‘Dumbledore is snogging Salazar Slytherin in the big painting in the Trophy Room!’

For a moment the Hall was completely silent, the only sound the sizzling of the candle flames in the turnips and pumpkins overhead.

When a blushing, breathless Cruddace nodded in agreement, the massed students stampeded with a roar. As if pursued by a bear, they stormed to the doors, the Halloween feast momentarily forgotten.

The teachers remained behind—flabbergasted expressions on most faces, a number of mouths agape.

From the gilded chair of the Headmistress, Severus heard a deep sigh. Smirking, he caught Minerva’s gaze.

‘At least no one caught him dancing on tables in the nude.’