Chapters 131-140

Those Who See

Hermione lay with her cheek pressed against Severus’ chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. At last she turned to lie on her back, her head resting on his thigh, her knees angled upwards. His left hand found her stomach, gently caressing her in soothing circles.

‘So what happened when you found Lily?’ Hermione asked finally.

Severus leant his head against the backrest and closed his eyes.

‘Bringing her back would have reversed the effect of her sacrifice. Her son would have died while she lived.

‘Lily asked me to let her go.’

‘And you did.’

‘Yes.’

His hand stopped, resting motionlessly on her belly. Hermione reached for him. She drew his hand up to her lips and kissed his fingers. She loved the way his hands felt to her lips. The cool skin with its faint hint of spices and herbs and underneath his own, unique, male scent and taste.

‘You never told that anyone before.’

‘No.’

Hermione sat up and turned around. His head still slumped backward against the sofa; the shielding curtain of his shoulder-length hair had fallen back, exposing his face to her scrutiny. He looked weary. And sad. So incredibly sad.

For a moment she felt a stinging stab of jealousy deep in her chest because she was not the first. Followed quickly by a pang of pain at the knowledge that—while she had not been the first he had ever loved—she was the first to truly love him.

She reached for his hands and held them tightly.

After a few more minutes had passed, he inhaled deeply. He straightened his shoulders and opened his eyes. He met her gaze calmly. The expression on his face was oddly peaceful, as if he had laid down a heavy burden at long last.

Again she pressed her lips to his hands. ‘Severus Snape,’ she said. ‘You are a brave and selfless man, and I am honoured to know you.’

oooOooo

Claire Dubois was an impressive woman.

She was small and slender, almost delicate, but her powerful personality, the vibrant energy of her movements, made her seem taller. She could dominate a room as easily as Severus Snape, without ever raising her slightly accented, melodic voice. She even had the same flair for swirling and twirling her black, sleeveless robes as he did. Just like Severus, she also dressed completely in black—tight Muggle-style trousers, a cashmere turtleneck, and obviously Charmed Manolo Blahnik stilettos. But around her neck she wore an extravagant Demiguise-scarf in brilliant shades of violet and purple. Her make-up reflected those colours in tastefully muted hues.

For Hermione, she was an epiphany.

She was also one of the best specialists for portrait painting in the wizarding world. Severus, Hermione, and Minerva met her at the front gates of Hogwarts. She Apparated with the faintest of PLOPs, as if she was coming in from Hogsmeade instead of New York.

She greeted the headmistress and Hermione with a friendly smile and French charm, kissing the air next to their cheeks as if they were old friends. Meeting Severus’ scowl, her smile broadened as she offered him her hand. ‘Always nice to meet a colleague.’

Hermione almost snorted at the deepening glower of her husband, although she wondered what Madame Dubois referred to. Severus was not a painter, and Madame Dubois neither a potions maker nor a professor.

‘So, Headmistress—you’re having some trouble with a portrait, I hear?’

The headmistress nodded as they walked through the November drizzle towards the castle. ‘Yes. To all appearances the portrait of Albus Dumbledore has turned into an ordinary Muggle oil painting. He’s not Petrified or Stunned. We can’t find any spell residue, though by Merlin, we’ve tried.’

‘Hmm. Sounds like a challenge.’ The French witch smiled, not in the least discouraged. ‘Have you had your Necromancer look at the painting?’

Minerva stopped dead in her tracks. ‘Necromancer?’

Madame Dubois raised her eyebrows. ‘Minerva—may I call you Minerva?—what you describe sounds like a problem caused by Necromantic magic or some kind of soul-magic. I would have expected you to use all available resources before calling in outside help.’

Severus appeared to freeze on the spot while Hermione choked at the realisation of just what Madame Dubois must have referred to with calling her husband a colleague. So the art of painting wizarding portraits was actually a kind of Necromantic magic? Intriguing!

Hermione cleared her throat. ‘My husband’s relationship with…with the subject of that particular painting is …uh…a little strained due to the fact that he was the one to kill…err…the model.’

‘Oh, right!’ Claire Dubois said brightly. ‘Of course. Witch Vogue had a feature on that. You called in Mona to do the painting, didn’t you? She really does those smiles and twinkles well. But it’s in her blood, after all.’

When she turned to Severus, her smile disappeared as if she’d flicked a switch. Instead she looked concerned, perhaps even wary. ‘You do realise that if this really is a Necromantic problem it is entirely possible that only you—as the one who killed Albus Dumbledore—may be able to undo it?’

Severus stared down at the petite Frenchwoman. Hermione could see how the tiny vein at his temple pulsed, betraying just how shocked he was. How he managed to keep his voice all smooth and silky under the circumstances was beyond her.

‘Now I do,’ Severus Snape said.

oooOooo

In the office of the headmistress, Madame Dubois walked right up to the painting. Different from others, she didn’t flinch before Dumbledore’s immobility. She simply hummed under her breath and drew her wand, flicking it in silence along the frame and over the canvas.

When Claire Dubois spoke at last, her voice was very serious. ‘“There are three classes of people,” Leonardo said. “Those who see, those who see when they are shown, those who do not see.”’

‘I don’t think I have ever seen something like that before.’