For disclaimers, rating, notes etc. please see part 1

Albus had indeed understood, but the meeting was a tense affair anyway. Snape sat in one armchair, facing the desk, reciting the facts as unemotionally as if he had been detailing some student infraction. In fact, thought Hermione, she had seen him significantly more animated in those circumstances. Now, his face was utterly impassive, and it was nearly impossible to determine his feelings; even for her, who had a damned good idea of what they were.

The headmaster's face was grave and sympathetic. Once or twice she thought that the older wizard would reach out to Snape, to offer some physical comfort, but then he seemed to think better of it. Which was probably a good thing. The former Potions Master was not a demonstrative person at the best of times. Now he was emanating an almost visible air of touch me not.

He had let her stay with him the night before. Or, to be more accurate, she had simply led him to bed and he had not resisted. They had lain together, arms around each other, but he had made no attempt to touch her any further. She hadn't pushed the point. She had no intention of leaving him alone, but beyond that she knew that she had to let him control the degree of their physical closeness. She had eventually drifted off into a shallow sleep. When she woke again, she wasn't certain that he had slept at all. Certainly the shadows under his eyes and the lines etched into his face suggested that he had had little actual rest either way.

The situation was not improved by the fact that, given the current circumstances, Harry had to be a party to this discussion as well. She was well aware that, of all the people in the school that Snape would want to discuss this in front of, Harry had to be squarely in the bottom five. She rather thought that that was contributing to Snape's rigid withdrawal. Harry was standing on the edge of the conversation, leaning against a window, contributing very little and letting Dumbledore make the running. His face was unyielding, but he had made no remark that wasn't strictly on the point. She recalled that Snape had said that they had reached an accommodation. Whether or not that was true it did appear that Harry had had the grace to suspend hostilities, if only temporarily.

She, herself, was also on the sidelines, for the moment, observing the strained interactions in the room. Part of her desperately wanted to go over to Snape and do something - touch him, hold his hand, something to penetrate the awful air of aloneness that surrounded him. But she restrained herself. It was enough that she was here. She knew what it had cost him to ask her to accompany him. It was something he would never have done six months ago. That was an admission in itself of the intensity of his feelings. And he would never allow that to be placed on public display. Never. If she moved now, he would simply push her away and she would lose him. Perhaps not in the physical sense, but certainly in any sense that mattered to her.

Dumbledore had agreed immediately that Snape should go... home, she supposed, for want of a better term... on the following evening. They were now engaged in some general discussion of timetable cover for any missed lessons in the following week. She noted that the headmaster had carefully avoided any suggestion that she should cover the classes. She wondered if that were deliberate.

Dumbledore was speaking to Snape.

"Do you have any idea how long you will be away?"

The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher shrugged.

"Not really. I doubt that the Parting will be... elaborate. But then again, it's been some time since I was acquainted with my father's wishes." His tone was detached, as if it was all happening to someone else. "I would imagine that I will be back by Tuesday of next week at the latest."

Dumbledore nodded. To Hermione's surprise the next comment came from Harry.

"I'm really not trying to be awkward, but that might make protecting you a little tricky." She saw Snape look sharply at Harry, but was grateful that he forebore to point out that protecting him had not previously seemed to be at the top of Harry's priority list. "Although," and here it seemed as if Harry was struggling to get the words out, "I suppose if necessary I could cover the Defence Classes. I shouldn't be able to do irreparable harm in a couple of days," he added defensively at Snape's raised eyebrow.

Dumbledore intervened before Snape could comment.

"That's a very generous offer, Harry, I'll certainly keep it in mind."

Hermione thought that it was time for her to join in too.

"Actually, headmaster, it may be a bit easier than that. And maybe more difficult." She tried a small smile. Dumbledore waited for her to go on. "Um... headmaster, I'd like your permission to go with Severus. My lesson plans are up to date, and the classes shouldn't suffer from an absence of a few days."

The room was silent for a moment. She didn't dare look at Snape. Dumbledore simply nodded thoughtfully, and Harry, thankfully, said nothing. The headmaster seemed to be considering her words. He gazed at her closely, blue eyes piercing, although lacking their characteristic twinkle. Then he transferred his scrutiny to Snape.

"Do I gather," he said gently, "that this is the request of both of you?"

Had the atmosphere not been quite so charged, Hermione might have laughed. Dumbledore was obviously probing to see if she was trying to override Snape's own wishes. Now, she looked over at the dark man. He had moved to meet the headmaster's gaze. He said nothing, but she thought she detected a small inclination of the head. Whether it was that movement, or something that the older wizard saw in the black eyes, he smiled and nodded again.

"Well, it is certainly unusual for two teachers to be away during term time, but I somehow doubt that the foundations of the school will crumble as a result of your absence for two or three days. If you could make your lesson plans available, my dear, I'm sure that will help."

Hermione relaxed in relief. She hadn't truly thought that Dumbledore would deny the request, but she was happy not to be faced with deciding whether or not to go behind the headmaster's back.

"Where does that leave me?" Harry's question was not aggressive, his voice was quiet, but it silenced the room again. "I'm supposed to be protecting both of you - which admittedly will be easier if you are both together - but this is rather difficult."

"Are you forbidding us to go, Mr Potter?" It was the first direct remark that Snape had addressed to the young Auror. Hermione saw Harry's face colour, and she cut in.

"He has a point," she suggested, "if he's supposed to be protecting us, should he be coming with us?"

"I would probably need to clear it with the Ministry," Harry added.

"It's a funeral, not a general excursion," Snape muttered acidly.

Hermione understood his feelings. This was going to be difficult enough for him without having Harry Potter as an audience.

"I think that there is a simple way to resolve this," commented Dumbledore mildly. He rose from behind his desk, and walked over to the fireplace. In typical Dumbledore fashion, the mantelpiece was cluttered with all manner of objects. Picking his way along he selected a delicately carved wooden box. Opening it, he removed a pinch of something that Hermione assumed was Floo powder. Her assumption was proved correct when he tossed it into the fire and said "Cornelius Fudge" in a commanding tone.

Moments later, the self-important, slightly shiny face of Cornelius Fudge appeared in the fireplace, looking just a little put out.

"What? Oh, Albus, it's you. I don't have much time. I'm already late for a meeting with the Latvian Consular Office."

"This shouldn't take long," said Dumbledore reassuringly, "it's just that we have a little complication to our situation here."

Fudge looked alarmed.

"Don't tell me that...."

Dumbledore interrupted.

"Nothing like that, Cornelius. It's just that Professor Snape and Professor Granger need to be away from Hogwarts to deal with a personal situation."

The chubby face of Fudge began to nod gravely.

"Ah yes, the death of Darius. My office was notified this morning. My condolences, Professor Snape," he added in a rather perfunctory manner.

"Thank you, Minister," replied Snape in a tone that was as far from gratitude as Fudge's had been from sympathy.

"You understand, then," prompted Dumbledore.

"Yes, yes," said the Minister impatiently, "I suppose there are the usual formalities to be dealt with." He paused. "I fail to see how this concerns Miss Granger though."

Hermione supposed that she should say something, but she doubted that the Minister would be impressed by Because I love him and he shouldn't be alone at the moment. As she was searching for a more officially palatable reason she became aware of Dumbledore speaking again.

"I'm sure you would agree that they are safer together than apart. Much easier to protect."

Fudge looked sceptical, but seemed reluctant to argue. Hermione didn't know whether he wasn't prepared to take on the Hogwarts' headmaster, or simply didn't wish to do it on this particular battleground. Whichever it was, after a moment he nodded grudgingly.

Harry then moved to the fire.

"Minister, do you wish me to accompany them?" Dumbledore faded discreetly into the background.

"Mr Potter," said Fudge in some surprise, almost as if he has forgotten the presence of the young man at the school. "Oh dear, this is inconvenient." He thought for a moment. "I really don't know. After all, we are talking about a Parting." He seemed to have also forgotten that he was clearly audible, not only by one of the bereaved, but also by the two potential targets of Draco's father. "Whatever his faults, Lucius Malfoy is from one of the oldest families and he understands how things are done. Frankly, I have trouble believing that he is going to do anything at all, but Albus seems to think there is a danger, so I am obliged to do something. Really, if he were going to act I'm sure he would have done so by now, and I just can't imagine anything will happen, especially in a situation like this." He appeared to come to a decision. "No, Mr Potter, I don't think that I need trouble you to go. In fact, there are one or two other things you could be doing in the meantime. Perhaps you could return to the Ministry once Professor Snape and Miss Granger have left Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, as Dumbledore came up behind him.

"Albus, is that you?" asked the politician irritably. "I have to go now. Tell me when your staff return." He paused, and then added with a faint hint of malice, "I trust that Miss Granger's conduct has been more satisfactory for you that it was for me."

"Oh, I find Professor Granger's conduct to be eminently satisfactory," remarked Dumbledore blandly, and Fudge had the grace to look discomforted. "A pleasure speaking to you, as always Minister," he finished and with a slight wave of his hand the face of the Minister disappeared from the fire.

Hermione was torn between annoyance at Fudge's remarks and a rather unsurprised resignation that the protection had been provided at the insistence of Dumbledore, not the Ministry. Typical, she thought sourly. Fudge would probably be more than happy if Malfoy did get rid of both of us.

"I find it immensely reassuring that the Minister is prepared to rely on Lucius Malfoy's sense of proper social etiquette to guarantee our safety," muttered Snape half under his breath, clearly sharing her view.

"Well, there you have it," commented the Headmaster, as if Snape hadn't spoken. "Severus, you and Hermione can leave for East Anglia tomorrow after classes finish, and you, Harry, should return to the ministry to see what awaits you."

There was a slow release of tension, and then a general movement towards the door. Hermione was about to follow Snape, when she felt Dumbledore's hand on her arm.

"Hermione, my dear, a quick word with you if I may."

She waited whilst the two men silently left.

"Thank you, Albus," she said, before he could say anything, it still feeling a little odd to her to be using the headmaster's given name.

"I assume that you are thanking me for letting you go with Severus, rather than for the presence of Mr Potter," he said, the twinkle reappearing in the depths of his eyes.

She smiled involuntarily in return.

"Thank you for trying to arrange some protection," she said wryly, "even if it has been something of a trial at times."

"They will sort themselves out in the end," he said comfortably. "And as for letting you go with Severus, I thought it was unfair of me to let you jeopardise two jobs in the space of a year by unauthorised absences."

She struggled to keep her face still. She should have guessed that he would have known that she was planning to go with Snape, come what may. She opened her mouth to respond, but he held up his hand and she subsided.

Dumbledore's expression became suddenly distant. "I've known Severus for many years," he said eventually. "Long enough to know that he shouldn't be dealing with this on his own. I am more thankful than you will know that he won't be." He looked at her intently, seriously. "My dear, I am aware to my cost that Severus is a difficult, and sometimes unrewarding, man to look after. Nevertheless, I do ask you to look after him for me."

Unable to respond now, even if she had wanted to, all she could do was nod.

**********

A Friday evening in early November and the house was simply a patch of darkness within darkness. It maybe had a more solid quality than the surrounding air, but then again that could be mere fancy. Light spilled out of a set of wide double doors in the centre of the building, marking the main entrance and partially illuminating the front steps. Some of the larger windows were lit, but even they petered out and the far ends of the structure simply dissolved into the night.

The wind was biting and the rain gathered into random pools on the gravel drive. Here and there random refractions sparkled on the surface of the puddles, allowing a walker to detect and avoid at least some of them. Otherwise, it was a matter of luck.

Snape pulled his robes around himself reflexively. Snape Hall had not become appreciably more welcoming during his long absence. Beside him, Hermione shivered.

"This is your house?" she said, in a tone of faint awe, which sounded as if it had been filtered through teeth gritted against the cold.

His house. He honestly wasn't sure. The patriarchal tradition dictated that family property passed to the male heir. That tradition was still followed implicitly by the old families. Of which the Snapes were most definitely one.

On the other hand, he and his father had not parted on the best of terms. Darius Snape could have cut him out of the succession completely.

A crunching of gravel made him aware of the woman next to him shifting her feet.

He tried hard to regret her presence. Tried to tell himself that he would have been far better off facing this alone. That she would be in the way. That there was nothing that she could do. That she didn't understand the customs or the culture. That he was exposing her to ridicule and hostility.

That he was exposing her to Amarina.

But he couldn't drive out the vision of her, kneeling at his feet, holding his hand to her mouth and simply offering to be there. There for him. With him. For the first time in his life he had the chance to face his family with an ally at his side.

He didn't have the courage to turn that down.

A hand touched his forearm.

"Love?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the wind and rain.

Love.

That commonplace casual endearment that she directed at him.

Love. A concept badly misplaced in this house.

He reached out from under his robes to cover her hand briefly.

I hope you'll forgive me for doing this to you, dearest.

"Let's go inside," he said. His voice sounded harsh to his ears, but she didn't seem to notice.

Inside was better than outside only in the sense that it wasn't raining inside and it was, at least, out of the wind. But considering that it was nearly thirty years since he had set foot inside the place, the whole thing seemed depressingly familiar. He looked around as an aging house-elf - Hetty, Dinky ... he couldn't remember - fussed around Master Severus and his companion, divesting them of cloaks and bags with anxious efficiency. He didn't doubt that his mother, with her usual helpless fluttering, had managed to effortlessly communicate the fact that she expected the events of this weekend to run like clockwork.

"Nothing ever went wrong when Amarina de Vriess Snape entertained.

The Chateau de Montnégre de Malfoi was impeccably furnished and decorated in the height of good taste by someone who made up for what he lacked in sanity by what he possessed in terms of wealth. Lucius Malfoy enjoyed the best and made damned sure that was what he had.

Snape Hall, on the other hand, was constructed on a much smaller scale. And it still had the overwhelming air of a house run by someone who didn't quite have enough money to achieve the effect he set out to create. The fire in the hearth was not quite large enough to give off effective heat. The tapestries were not quite colourful enough, and a wee bit threadbare. The furniture was good quality and polished to within an inch of perdition, but not quite... right... in the surroundings. Almost, but not quite, he thought grimly. Translate that into Latin and it could go on the Snape coat of arms.

It was just as he remembered it. A wide expanse of entrance hall, floored in black and white; but ceramic tiles for the Snapes, rather than the living marble of the Malfoys. The same rather faded paintings, figures moving in a rather desultory way. Many of them simply ignored them, immersed in their own affairs. Doors leading off, that he remembered only too well - library, drawing room, receiving room, music room, dining room, ballroom.... And the stairs, sweeping up to the first floor to the suites of rooms. The guest rooms, the family rooms.... The smell of polish and woodsmoke and faded pot-pourri and damp. If he shut his eyes, it could be thirty years ago.

Who needed a time-turner?

Grimly, he dragged his thoughts back to the present. That was bad enough, without dwelling on the past. Hermione was looking around, standing with her arms wrapped round her. She was pale; that could be nerves, but it could just as easily be the chill in the hall. He wanted to reassure her, to reach out to her, but something in the atmosphere held him frozen, unable to move.

Footsteps echoed around the high space. A bell-like voice.

"Severus. You're finally here."

It was her. Amarina. He forced himself to look at her. Petite, elegant, robes immaculate, impeccable grooming an odd contrast to the faded grandeur of her surroundings. He swallowed.

"Don't you have a kiss for me?"

A waft of floral perfume as the soft skin touched his cheek. The same perfume. The same skin.

The memory of their last meeting assailed him. Eighteen years old, just left Hogwarts.

"I don't understand why you have to go to this... Voldemort."

"Because he's offering me something that I want."

"I know I've been a bad mother to you. But I'll be better. I promise. Just stay. I'll show you. I was a good mother to Marcus. He was so bright. Just give me another chance to prove it." A drift of perfume. Perfume and the acrid smell of something else, sitting on her breath, sour and intoxicating....

I promise.

Another chance.

"Marcus is dead, mother, and has been for ten years."

"Stay with me. I can't lose you both."

And then the glistening, pearly tears. Trickling down her face, one hand outstretched, trembling so very gently, like a delicate flower. Eyes open and vulnerable, a baby bird fallen out of the nest, pleading for protection.

"But what will I do without you, Severus? I need you."

"Survive, I imagine." Judgmental, as only an eighteen year old can be.

"You killed your brother and now you want to kill me. Why do you hate me so much, Severus? What did I do to you?" A sob, half water, half gin.

The door slamming behind him.

And that evening, the Dark Mark burning into his arm, one agony cleansing out the other.

Ruthlessly, he shoved the emotions aside. This was about getting through the next four days, not reliving teenage traumas. He concentrated on the woman in front of him.

At seventy, the blonde hair had turned to white, but the arrangement was perfect. The velvet skin had more lines but the makeup was flawless. She was wearing dark robes, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was more because they were appropriate than because she was genuinely mourning. Changed and unchanged, he thought ironically.

"Hello, mother," he said simply.

"My Severus," she said with an enchanting smile, for all the world as if her last words to him hadn't been an accusation of murder. "You're too thin. Dorcas will want to feed you up before you go. And this must be your friend... Hermione is it?" She turned smoothly to the woman at Snape's side. "You don't mind if I call you Hermione, do you?" Hermione shook her head. Snape could see that she looked a little wary. "And you simply must call me Amarina. Madam Snape always makes me feel so old." A silver peal of laughter, and another kiss was planted on Hermione's cheek.

"It's very nice to meet you, Amarina," he heard her say, admiring her self-possession. "And thank you for letting me stay."

"Not at all my dear. It's an absolute pleasure to have you. Severus so very rarely brings his friends home."

Severus so very rarely brings himself home, he thought sourly, grudgingly admiring the fact that, in a few sentences, she had managed to reduce the last twenty-eight years to the length of the school long summer holiday. He half expected his mother to ask Hermione if she were in the same classes as him for anything.

"Did you meet at Hogwarts?" The question made him start slightly. He wondered if she'd read his mind.

"Um, yes I suppose we did." Hermione, too, sounded a little nonplussed by the question.

"How charming."

That wasn't a good sign. To his recollection, Amarina only used the word charming to describe things that she deeply disapproved of. But his mother was pressing on.

"Now, I know that you'll want to freshen up before dinner. Severus, you'll be in your old room of course, and I thought I'd put Hermione in the Rose Room. It's got such a lovely view of the park."

And, he added mentally, it'll make sure that your room is between hers and mine. So it begins.

He just nodded. If there was to be a battle, room allocation was not the one to pick.

"You know where you're going," she said lightly, "so I'll show Hermione to her room. It'll give me a chance to get to know her. Dinner at eight," she tossed over her shoulder at him as she took possession of Hermione's arm and bore her off with the full force of her charm.

Alone, he made his way absently up to his old room, drifting in and out of preoccupation. Over the years, he had subjected himself to lengthy and rather stark self-examination. He had identified clearly what he had become and the path he had followed to get there. However, he was discovering that mere intellectual knowledge did not appear to significantly diminish the gut impact of returning here. To put it simply, a forty-six year old brain was struggling to process the emotions of an eighteen year old.

He reached the door of his room, and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry with fear. It was as if opening the door would physically take him back, would be an acknowledgement that he had never truly moved beyond this moment in time. Panic became a tangible thing, a physical lump in his throat. He clung to the thought of Hermione, and the tightness receded.

She would never have been here with him at the age of eighteen. Not even if they had been contemporaries.

He forced himself to put his hand on the door knob and turn it. The door wasn't even locked. Which was perfectly understandable. Any wards left by his eighteen year old self would have been disarmed many years ago. The door swung open easily, noiselessly. He hesitated on the threshold for a moment before entering.

Any lingering desire that he might ever have had to travel back in time evaporated in the face of the physical remains of the childhood of Severus Snape. The room was just as he had left it; as untouched as anything left by Marcus. But where Marcus' things were preserved in their shrine, lovingly maintained by its acolytes, this had the air of just being abandoned, uncared for. The carpet, curtains, bedding were all the same. The books were lying at the same angles on the shelves, jars of odd ingredients untouched for nearly three decades. His face twitched. Some of the contents would not bear investigation after that length of time. He suspected that it was only the attentions of some assiduous house elf that afternoon that had prevented it being covered in a thirty-year old layer of dust. The only visible sign of change was his cloak, laying across the bed, and his bag placed at the foot.

The only source of light was that falling in from the corridor outside. It threw odd shapes around the room, making the furniture seem grotesque and out of proportion. Snape drew his wand and muttered "Lumos", which at least lit the room internally, banishing some of the darker shadows. He pushed the door closed behind him, and warded it out of habit. The room was still dark, even with the lamps lit. Dark greys, thick greens, heavy furniture, not ebony, but a dark mahogany polished to near black. Was this his taste as a teenager? Whilst not averse to darkness, he found the shabby opulence of it oppressive.

Trying to ignore the ghosts of himself, bound into the fabric of the room, he went into the bathroom. That, too, was unchanged. Black and white tiles, large enamel bath with claw feet, ungainly brass taps. No shower. He turned the taps on, and hot water ran out into the bath. His few toiletries had been laid out by the sink and he collected the soap and shampoo.

"Well, if it isn't Master Severus back," came a snide voice. He looked up sharply. Of course. The mirror. One of his first acts at Hogwarts had been to install Muggle mirrors in his rooms. "I see you've improved your ideas on personal hygiene a bit. A girl is it?" There was a smug sound to the voice.

"Shut up," he responded curtly.

"Mind you, the temper hasn't changed," came the retort.

Damned thing. He had forgotten the constant needling from that irritating piece of glass. He was about to resort to his childhood solution of throwing a towel over it, when something occurred to him. His lips twitched in the closest thing to a smile he had managed for a couple of days. He drew his wand from his robes, pointed it at the mirror and muttered "Silencio".

"I said, shut up," he pointed out to the glass. There was no answer.

Feeling perversely heartened by that piece of childishness, he turned the taps off, tested the water, and stepped into the bath.

**********

The following day found Hermione at something of a loose end whilst Snape and his mother took care of the legal consequences of the death of Darius Snape. She wasn't entirely certain what was involved, but she had some vague recollections of her own grandfather's death. There had been arrangements to make, and her grandfather's will had to be verified - grant of Probate, she thought that her parents had called it. She assumed that something broadly similar was taking place in the Snape family library at that minute.

She hadn't expected to be a part of that, and, indeed, Amarina had made it charmingly, but abundantly, clear that she wasn't welcome. Snape's face had been unreadable, but he had made no comment. Uncomfortable at being alone in the house, and deprived of her normal refuge - the library - she decided to take a walk in the grounds of Snape Hall and begin to order some of the thoughts crowding her mind.

The rain had mercifully stopped although the ground was still sodden from the previous evening's downpour. The day itself was grey and flat, and maybe it was that that led her to her initial impression that, viewed in the daylight, Snape Hall seemed oddly colourless. It was flat fronted, with large, many paned sash windows, and steps leading up to the central double doors by which she had entered. From each end of the façade short wings extended back. The whole was built from some kind of stone that held the same grey shade as the sky - whether this was the effect of the material itself, or simply weathering, Hermione couldn't tell. It was bigger than she had registered the night before, but paradoxically had less presence.

That was it, she thought. It was nondescript.

She struck out across the gravel that fronted the Hall, avoiding the puddles in the uneven surface. The wind was bitter and held a tang of salt that she hadn't remembered from the previous night. She wondered if the Hall were close to the sea. Snape hadn't mentioned anything about it, but then again he hadn't told her how big the Hall was either. As she stepped out of the shelter of the building she pulled her cloak abruptly round her, grateful that the closely woven wool resisted penetration by the frigid air. The gravel continued to her left, bordering the house, but where it ended the grounds swept away in one unbroken stretch of green. A few more minutes walk along the path led her past what looked like a coach house, and the entrance to the kitchens. She came to the limits of the stones, and got her first good look at what Amarina had called the park.

Hermione had been to a fair few stately homes in her time. Her Muggle primary school usually ran an annual trip to some ancient house of interest, and there had been numerous summer outings with her parents. Grounds came in all shapes and sizes, from the artfully "natural" to the determinedly formal, with or without water, topiary and mazes, but all immaculately tended by armies of gardeners, available even in a society that did not have house elves at their beck and call.

The park of Snape Hall looked to her like a cross between a very large suburban back garden and a well tended grass field. Flower beds extended for about thirty yards beyond the house, and then petered out, as if the gardener had simply lost interest. On the far left, she could see the beginnings of a wall, and what looked like greenhouses - the kitchen garden, she supposed. It looked as if a little more enthusiasm was devoted to the culinary aspects of cultivation. To her right the... she could only call it a field... extended to a stand of trees in the far distance, with some smaller shrubs next to it. She could also just about make out a streak of grey a little farther over, and a dark smudge that might have been some kind of structure.

The paddock lake and the boathouse. The place where his brother had drowned. And he had survived.

She shivered and it was not entirely due to the fact that she had been standing still. She was looking for solitude, but some instinct made her reluctant to head for the lake. Instead she threaded her way through the half hearted flower beds, and made for the trees.

She maintained a brisk pace, if only for the sake of her circulation. As she left the house behind she let her mind wander.

Truth to tell, she didn't really know where to focus. Her first encounter with Snape's mother had been more than a little overwhelming. She hadn't been entirely certain what to expect, but it certainly hadn't been the tiny, glamorous woman who enveloped the two of them.

It was hard to place her age, she thought. Logically, she must have been about seventy, but she could easily have passed for twenty years younger, even by wizarding standards. The pronounced bone structure that gave Severus' face its uncompromising harshness had been reproportioned on her to create a defined beauty that was still striking, and must have been utterly luminous when she was younger. Her movements were graceful and precise, evoking memories in Hermione of watching her son preparing potions. She could only suppose that Severus got his height, his dark hair - and his nose, she reminded herself - from his father. Not to mention his eyes. Amarina's had been a clear, soft dove grey.

Unbidden came the memory of Lucius Malfoy's short note.

Cousin....

She pushed the thought aside, concentrating on Amarina.

Her welcome had seemed to be entirely genuine, and Hermione had wanted to warm to the charm of the woman as the cloud of gentle perfume enclosed her. With practised assurance she had been detached from Snape, and steered up stairs and along corridors, to her bedroom. Her separate bedroom, she had noted. Did Amarina not know about their relationship? Or was she making a point? Or was it just a fairly typical parental not under my roof reaction?

She made a distinct effort to keep her bearings as they went, Amarina keeping up a light, and largely one sided, flow of social chatter about the house and the family - I don't think I know any Grangers. Where are your family from? - The interior of the hall reminded Hermione forcibly of houses in the Muggle world, where the owners couldn't afford to keep them in their full glory, and were forced to open up parts to the general public to gawk at - You must excuse the décor. After three hundred years you can't avoid a lived in look - She supposed that the wizarding world had no equivalent of the National Trust, dedicated to preserving parts of wizarding history - If I didn't know better I'd think the house elves only cleaned the visible parts - Even if there was, she didn't think that magical day-trippers would be queuing to see Snape Hall in a hurry anyway - Ignore the picture, that's just old Justus. He was quite mad when that portrait was done you know. We have to keep a silencing charm on it - Hermione tried to restrain herself from physically detouring round a painting of a man in dishevelled formal attire, half hiding behind the heavy gold frame and mouthing something inaudible - The moving portraits must have been quite a surprise to you when you first entered our world. Marcus and his friends used to torment poor old Justus dreadfully of course. You know what boys can be like - The casual reference to Marcus Snape had almost distracted her from the fact that Amarina had spoken of "our world" as if Hermione was some kind of guest there as well - So both your parents are Muggles. How unusual. The only friends that I remember Severus having, came from the older families. But never mind, it's very sweet of you to come at all - Hermione made some non-committal noise of sympathy as Amarina paused by a polished wooden door, carved with trailing dog roses - I do hope you like the room. I know you'll want a chance to freshen up. One of the house elves will fetch you for dinner. And before you leave we absolutely must have a long chat - .

By the time the door closed on the tiny woman, Hermione had felt as if she had been interrogated by Aurors.

She kicked at the grass a little with one toe. She had been left with the quite clear impression that, whatever the condition of the Hall, the Snapes were an old family - for which read pureblood, she assumed - and that that counted for something in the wizarding world. It was not so far removed from the attitude of Cornelius Fudge, if a little more attractively packaged.

Away from the presence of Amarina Snape, Hermione began to think carefully. Dinner had been an odd affair. Amarina had changed into robes of a dark burgundy, appropriately muted, but somehow conveying elegant glamour. Her manners had been impeccable, the supper dishes excellent. She had drunk nothing but water.

The air of faded luxury clearly did not extend to food and clothes, she thought idly as the stand of trees got closer.

Although his mother was the relaxed hostess, the tension radiating from Snape himself had been a physical thing. Snape being tense was not that unusual. But this was different. It almost had an apprehensive quality. It was, she realised abruptly, very close to how he had appeared on the afternoon that he had some back from Hogwarts with the newt eyes.

She reflected on this. She trusted him. More, she trusted his judgement. He was almost brutally honest and was absolutely the last person to dramatise for effect or sympathy. Which meant that if he were disturbed, then there was something to be disturbed about. Therefore, she would do well to be very careful around Amarina on that basis alone.

She didn't want to think about what it would mean if he were scared in this place.

Let's not forget, some small part of her mind calmly added, that Amarina was a woman who was widowed three days ago. Now, Hermione was fully aware that people needed to keep up appearances for the sake of their own coping mechanisms, but this seemed just a little too much. Escorting her to her room, the brief guided tour.... There was no sign of grief, no hint of regret, barely an acknowledgement that Darius Snape had ever existed. She recalled Snape's brief account of her behaviour after the death of Marcus. It was incongruous to say the least.

She didn't have enough experience yet to detect the subtler family undercurrents. She sighed. There was nothing wrong with her room - apart from it being a little too floral for her taste - but she wished she could have spent the night with Snape. Perhaps she could find some time alone with him after the formal business of the... will, she supposed... was concluded.

The wind was picking up, and she realised that she had allowed her pace to slacken as she thought. She quickened her stride, hoping that the trees would provide some shelter. She was now close enough to see that what she had thought was a stretch of tall shrubs was actually a pile of wooden branches, with some kind of platform on the top.

The funeral pyre, she thought with a shock. It gave her the feeling of being an intruder again but this time on something intensely personal.

Maybe I'm being too critical of Amarina. Maybe she's just coping the only way she knows how.

And yet... she couldn't shake off the recollection of Snape's wariness.

Pulled out of her reflections by the sight of the prepared pyre, she was now aware that she could hear a dull rumble, increasing and then fading in intensity. It was that sound, more than any visual impression, that told her that she was close to the sea. She reached the trees and saw that the stand was no more than about five or six trees deep. There was grey daylight seeping through the shadowed strip. Carefully, she made her way through, treading carefully on the wet leaves, and grateful for her cloak that absorbed the worst of the run off from the undergrowth.

The trees ended and so did the land.

She came out on the edge of cliff, which looked none too stable to her eyes. From the depths of her mind, some memory presented a snippet of information about coastal erosion in this part of England. She stepped back until she was several feet from the edge, and leaned against a tree, looking out over choppy water, steel surface broken by small white wave caps, whipped up by the wind. It was so close to the shade of the sky that it explained why she hadn't realised at first that there was a distinction. The rhythmic surge and retreat of the waters across the unbroken shingle of the beach set up a sympathetic vibration within her. It was an organic sound, not so much a heartbeat, as the deep, rasping breaths of some slumbering animal.

This was not the deep blue of the Atlantic on a summer's day. It wasn't even the occasionally rather pleasant view over the English Channel. This was the North Sea. Cold, featureless and distinctly uninviting.

House. Sea. Sky. She was struck by the fanciful notion that they were all simply different phases of the colour grey.

Maybe it looked better when the sun shone. She tried to imagine growing up there. Perhaps a family like the Weasleys would have managed to dispel the gloom through sheer force of collective personality. But for a sensitive child like Snape? It must have been hard for him to find any comfort in this place.

She snorted to herself as she gazed over the water. Who would have thought that she would ever use "sensitive" and "Snape" in the same sentence? But he was without question one of the most sensitive men that she knew. And she could just see his face curling into a sneer as she pictured telling him that. The image made her smile for the first time that day.

It also reminded her that she wanted to talk to him. Which in turn made her conscious of the fact that she was beginning to feel chilled after standing still for so long. She didn't know whether or not there would be a formal luncheon at the Hall, but she didn't want to cross Amarina by being late if there were. Pulling herself away from her musings, she moved out of the shadow of the funeral pyre of a man she had never met, and headed back towards the house.

There was a noise and the movement of a darker shadow in the trees. A disturbance that could have been nothing more than a large animal. Whatever it was, it did not reach the ears of the retreating woman.

**********

As in all the rooms of the Hall, the library fire didn't quite succeed in warming the room. Snape hunched down in the big wing chair facing the oak desk, and wondered, inconsequentially, how badly the underlying damp had affected the library contents. The thought was partly motivated by genuine concern; the Snape family library didn't have the... specialisation... of the Malfoy one, but it was a fine collection nonetheless, and would be a shame to see it spoiled. For the rest, the speculation provided a welcome distraction from the droning voice of the wizard lawyer sitting across from him at the other side of the desk.

Earlier, he had been gazing out of the window, over the park, when he had seen the cloak-wrapped figure of Hermione heading for the cliff edge. He wasn't surprised that she wanted some fresh air. The Hall reawakened the trapped, suffocated feeling within him; he envied her the freedom of sky and sea.

He refocused on the words being spoken. In the chair next to him sat Amarina, poised and intent. He wondered whether or not she was truly listening, or if the air of alert interest was simply another pose. The lawyer was certainly reacting to her he noticed, all responsive sympathy and understated understanding, smoothing over the rough patches with neat, practised gestures and soft reassuring phrases. He even caught the occasional, covert, reproachful look from the professional as he sat, motionless, making no attempt to offer comfort or even a handkerchief, as Amarina dabbed gently at the corner of an eye from time to time.

He wondered, cynically, whether Hermione had yet concluded that he must be a bad person for speaking ill of such a sweet, delicate creature as his mother.

The formalities themselves seemed to be interminable. The lawyer, a middle aged, rather shiny man, with a sombre demeanour befitting his task, had first read out the entire text of his father's will. Then, he embarked on a detailed explanation. Snape had drifted off somewhere in the middle of a specific bequest of some small personal item to a distant female relative. He was vaguely aware that wills tended to be drafted without the use of punctuation so as to avoid ambiguity in interpretation. He could only surmise that it worked by rendering the entire document utterly incomprehensible.

The lawyer had finished his lecture on the wizarding Law of Real and Personal Property, and sat back, hands folded in his lap.

"Are there any questions?" he asked comfortably.

Next to him, his mother had gone very still, digesting the words.

"Are you saying that Darius never owned Snape Hall?" she asked in a softly wounded tone.

The lawyer smiled sadly.

"He did, Madam Snape," he began again, "but he held it... ah... owned it... under what we call an entail. This means that whilst he was alive he could act, to all intents and purposes, as if he owned the property - except, of course, he couldn't sell it - but after he died, it had to go to the next living male heir." He gestured vaguely in Snape's direction. "Your son."

What an irony, thought Snape sourly. He had thoroughly expected to be cut out of the will entirely. It would have been a relief to finally sever all ties with the past. Now it turned out that, thanks to the act of some paranoid and long dead Snape ancestor, he was saddled with the wretched mausoleum and all the hell of its upkeep.

Thank you, father. I can't begin to describe my feelings about this.

"So Severus owns everything?"

"Not quite everything, Madam Snape. Obviously, he doesn't own your personal belongings. But the Hall, the lands and the contents of the Snape vault are under the control of Mr Severus Snape."

Snape stifled the urge to correct him as to the title.

"But this is my home." The quiet statement, qualified by a muffled sob, had more impact than any melodramatic declaration. Snape remained impassive. The lawyer didn't bother to hide his disapproval at this lack of filial support. "I can't believe that Darius would do this to me," she finished.

Nor me.

"I'm sure there's no question of you being turned out," suggested the lawyer, clearly feeling that Snape needed to be prompted into some kind of response.

"Of course not," he confirmed expressionlessly.

The look on the lawyer's face seemed to indicate that he expected something a little more fulsome than this. After another moment's pause he began to gather up his papers, fussing over them a little more than strictly necessary.

"If that's all, then I believe that our business is concluded. Mr Snape." He nodded briefly at Snape, just on the outer edge of politeness. He took Amarina's hand with rather more warmth. "Good day to you, Madam Snape. And can I say again how sorry I am for your loss."

A delicate hand on the bell pull summoned a house elf, and the lawyer was on his way and gone.

Snape hadn't moved to stand when the other man left, and he didn't move now. He didn't even look up at the choked noise from the other woman in the room.

"What am I going to do, Severus? He's left me homeless."

He reluctantly turned so he could see his mother. She was holding a lace handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing ineffectually at the tears running down her face, no longer suppressed.

Part of him was irrationally irritated by the tiny scrap of lace, so typical of her. Exquisite, and totally unsuited for any practical purpose. He stood up and pulled a large white cotton square out a pocket in his robes.

"Here," he said shortly, handing it to her and pacing back out of reach.

She blotted at her face. He noted unwillingly that she took care not to mar her makeup. He wondered if she did it on purpose, or whether it was now such an ingrained part of her that she was unaware of it. She was still dabbing at her eyes, rather than rubbing, but at least the cotton was absorbing some of the water.

"And you're not homeless. This is your home for as long as you want it to be."

"But what will I do without Darius?" Dabbing again, more earnestly.

More or less what you did when he was alive, I would have thought. Give parties, organise the house elves, drink yourself unconscious....

His father had not exactly been known for his active participation in family life. He was tempted to say as much, but bit his tongue in a way which he would not have done with anyone else. Not even Hermione.

"It will take some time, but you will adjust." Not exactly gushing sympathy, but it was as gentle a tone of voice as he could manage.

She turned wide grey eyes on him, given an extra depth by the tears. For one fragmented moment the watery colour made him think of the paddock lake....

"Oh, Severus," she breathed, "it's just all so... strange...."

He swallowed.

Contrary to what the lawyer may, or may not, have thought, his reserve ran much deeper than a simple lack of desire to give comfort. Much deeper. He had spent enough sleepless nights in self-examination to be aware of what was going on. He knew himself and he knew his mother. The death of Darius had always been something that he had perversely dreaded. Not because he had any relationship with his father. But because he knew that his mother needed something... somebody... to cling to. A presence to anchor her. With his father gone he was the next best candidate.

If he let her attach to him then it would begin again. The crying. The broken promises. The manipulation. The guilt. The blame.

And yet... despite everything, there was still some part of him, the hurt and lonely child-like part of him, that wanted to hold her... to tell her that this time it would be all right. That this time he could make it right for her, give her what she needed.

And in return she would finally forgive him. Finally love him.

Except that was a myth. He knew that. He knew that.

And yet....

The smell of her perfume rocked him. She had closed the distance between them.

"Oh, Severus," she repeated, brokenly.

Slender arms came round him, pressing herself against his robes. Awkwardly, he raised his arms to hold her, aware of the tension within his body maintaining the parody of an embrace.

And all he could think of was Hermione, shutting herself away to grieve in private, unwilling to let him see her pain. He shut his eyes.

Oh, Hermione.

**********

Luncheon was a buffet. Amarina, with a tremulous smile, hoped that Hermione would forgive a degree of disarray, under the circumstances. Hermione smiled in response and nodded politely.

She noted that the older woman was showing some more obvious signs of grieving. Maybe the reading of the will had brought her loss home to her. Or maybe the contents hadn't been quite what she was expecting. The flow of mealtime conversation was occasionally punctuated by a discreet dabbing at the eyes with a large white handkerchief, conveying the clear impression that a wealth of tears remained unshed. She rather thought that the handkerchief belonged to Snape. Amarina seemed more the sort to wield a scrap of dainty lace.

Snape himself was closed and impassive. He had sketched an acknowledgement when she entered the room, but had not met her eyes since. She did not miss the fact that Amarina had arranged the table so that they were not close enough to have any private conversation. She also did not miss the glances that the woman was casting in the direction of her son. Intense, almost hungry, looks that made her feel more than a little uncomfortable. As if she was intruding on... not lovers... but something almost as disturbing.

With difficulty she swallowed a mouthful of food, and told herself sternly that she was imagining things. Weren't all mothers inclined to be possessive of their sons? The only experience that she had of these things was Molly Weasley, who was certainly protective.... That was it. Given that Amarina had just lost her husband, she was bound to be more than a little proprietorial over her surviving son.

Hermione tried very hard to convince herself of this, and to ignore the prickle of instinct at the back of her neck telling her that she was facing a dangerous rival in circumstances where she did not have the advantage.

"... and now we've finished with the lawyers, Hermione must see over the house, don't you agree, Severus?"

Hermione jerked back to attention as she heard Amarina saying her name.

Snape moved his hand in a curiously vague gesture.

"If Hermione would like to see the house, I see no reason why she should not," he said, neutrally.

"Of course she would," insisted Amarina with a brightness that felt a trifle brittle. "And it'll give us a chance to really get to know each other. You know, just the girls." She gave a conspiratorial smile. The content was directed at Hermione, but the flirtatious tone and expression was all for Snape. The whole interaction was underpinned by a sensation of not-rightness that set Hermione's nerves jangling.

There was no doubt that an afternoon in Amarina's company would enable her to get a better measure of the woman. However, she was looking forward to it with about as much pleasure as she would the prospect of hand to hand combat with a manticore. She summoned a smile and some enthusiasm from somewhere.

"I'd certainly love to see the house - if you're sure that it won't take you away from anything important...." She let the reply trail off, hoping that she had managed to hit the correct mix of eagerness coupled with apologetic deference.

"Not at all. The house elves have everything under control. And if they have any questions they can always ask Severus." Another look. "After all, he is the master here now." Hermione sensed that a point had been made for her benefit, but she didn't quite understand the significance. Yet.

Snape himself seemed entirely unimpressed with his new status.

"I shall go for a walk," he announced shortly.

"Splendid," declared Amarina, folding her napkin delicately. "Whilst you're out, you might want to take a look at the kitchen gardens. Old Toddy did so used to look forward to Darius's visits. Hermione and I will start in the Long Gallery. Don't get so preoccupied that you miss supper." A little laugh.

Hermione noted the instructions contained in the suggestion, and the clear manoeuvring of Snape into the shoes of Darius. The man himself simply shrugged and stood, nodding briefly in the direction of the women.

"Mother. Hermione," he stated by way of parting comment. And as his eyes met hers, he was as unreachable as she had ever seen him.

Snape left the room in a swirl of robes and movement, and she followed in the wake of Amarina, feeling suddenly bereft.

She had been half expecting some kind of interrogation about her relationship with Snape, but the first part of the tour appeared to be just that - a tour of the house. The Long Gallery was exactly what it promised to be; a long gallery. There were windows along one side of it, and the other side was taken up by a pictorial history of the Snape family. It became clear from the series of unsmiling, forbidding men and women that the darkness in colouring and demeanour rested in the paternal side. The occasional ancestor smiled as they passed, but it was a cursory thing, and more often than not failed to reach the eyes. It was clear that this was a family that prided itself on being hard to impress.

After the Long Gallery, Hermione saw the Music Room and the Small Drawing Room. She glanced into a Conservatory, which was mostly glass and heavy dark plants. It didn't look like somewhere she would want to sit for a long period of time. She had an equally brief trip into the library, which clearly contained an extensive collection.

"This was really Darius' private domain," remarked Amarina. "I never liked to intrude on it. Besides," she continued, "I always think that it's a little unwomanly to be too bookish, don't you agree? Men like to be distracted when they're not working, to have something to look after and protect."

Uncertain as to whether this was deliberately aimed at her or not, Hermione had been whisked out of the room before she could formulate a reply.

A few more rooms passed by. The Hall was well furnished and obviously a little neglected, especially in many of the less public areas. There was a curious homogeneity to the décor, and Hermione found herself struggling to keep some of the smaller rooms separate in her mind. As she was trying to find some way of differentiating between them, Amarina stopped.

They were standing by a door, in most respects identical to all the other doors in the Hall. But this one was scratched and battered, and bore the traces of repeated scuff marks at the bottom. Amarina's face was sombre, more filled with genuine grief than Hermione had yet seen it.

"I need to show you this. So that you'll understand."

Hermione felt an unaccountable frisson of fear.

Amarina opened the door.

"This is the Playroom."

Hermione took a step inside following Amarina and fought the urge to shiver.

It was a large airy room. Once it would have been filled with bright, primary colours; pictures on the walls, strong images, boys' images, animals, boats, broomsticks, Quidditch. The colours and the images were still there. But faded by forty years. A worn rug covered the wooden floor. Two desks, shelves, scattered objects, piles of Quidditch annuals, a deep box, jammed half open by something that could have been one end of a toy broomstick, with cloth spilling out of it, a Quidditch team waving from the walls, old fashioned robes and the legend Falmouth Falcons - 1967-8 on the bottom, next to it a pair of thickset men who could only be brothers gesturing and threatening - Hermione read Kevin and Karl Broadmoor underneath.... All this attested to a room shared by two boys of different ages. There was not a speck of dust, not a cobweb in the room It looked as if the inhabitants had just been called away for tea.

Hermione was reminded strongly of the story of the Marie Celeste. She almost expected to see a half eaten meal somewhere, still warm. Amarina moved through the room with the reverence of a worshipper in a holy place.

"Severus told you about Marcus?" Her voice was low, hushed.

"Yes. Yes, he did." Hermione found herself matching the woman's tone.

"This is where he is. He never left me."

Amarina had stopped by an alcove at the far end. At first Hermione thought that it was just another area cluttered with boys' things. A few steps closer told her her mistake. Cluttered, it certainly was. But the things in it belonged to one particular boy.

Marcus Aurelius Snape.

Hermione took another cautious step towards it, her throat dry. For one surreal moment she thought that she might actually see Marcus, perfectly preserved in some way. As it was, the alcove contained everything but.

The centrepiece was a portrait of an attractive, sturdy boy. He couldn't have been much more then eleven when that picture was taken, she thought.

"That was taken on the day he got his Hogwarts letter," murmured Amarina beside her, as if she had heard Hermione's thought.

So he was eleven, then. Tousled hair, broad shoulders, already carrying himself with the easy assurance of the physically gifted. Blonde hair, grey eyes inherited from his mother. Face still holding the residual chubbiness of childhood, but the cheekbones were already making their presence felt. Not the knife edges of Severus, but there was the promise of strong features. The picture smiled, an appealing grin showing even teeth. Already charming, she thought. A boy who would grow up to be irresistible.

Amarina was gazing raptly at the picture. Hermione pulled her attention away to the rest of the... shrine was the only word, she decided. Surrounding eleven year old Marcus were the relicts of his short life - a half sized quaffle, his Ravenclaw House team robes, his trophies, cups and shields. His reports were framed. His old school books were stacked neatly. There was a pile of quills and a pot of ink. His broomstick was even propped up against one wall - the then new and revolutionary Nimbus 1000 - still polished, twigs immaculately trimmed.

And there were photographs; Marcus with his mother, Marcus with his friends, Marcus with his junior team, Marcus and the rest of the Ravenclaw team, Marcus and his fellow beaters. There were several of Marcus standing next to a tall, lean dark man with black hair and a prominent nose and a proud smile on his face; Darius, she assumed.

There were none - not a one - of Marcus with his brother. The shy eight year old, who had hero-worshipped his more glamorous and confident sibling, was totally absent.

Hermione wondered if that were a deliberate omission.

Scanning again she noticed one small picture that looked like a family group. Marcus was standing between Amarina and Darius, waving madly and holding something - a shield or cup of some sort; Hermione couldn't quite see. In the background was another figure; a small, dark, rather thin figure, trying to look invisible. She peered closely.

"Is that Severus?" she said without thinking.

The woman beside her visibly jumped, and then recovered. She look to where Hermione was pointing.

"Yes," she said, a little sadly. "Severus never was very photogenic."

Hermione struggled to find something to say.

"You must have loved Marcus very much," she eventually managed, trying not to wince at the banality of it. Amarina seemed not to notice.

"Marcus was my life," she said simply. "He was so beautiful, you can't imagine. These pictures are only a shadow of him." She waved her hand at the collection. "He could have been anything you know. Anything at all. He was handsome and brilliant and gifted. When he was killed, I died with him. This is all I have left."

Severus? What about him?

"Darius never fully recovered from losing Marcus either. I sometimes think that he was out of his mind with grief." Amarina turned her luminous grey eyes on Hermione, who in turn was fighting a strong desire to run. "You've seen the Snapes. They're all so dark. Marcus was the son that Darius had always dreamed of... to have something so fair, so golden... it was a wonderful thing. He would have been so much.... It could all have been so different...." Her voice trailed off again.

Hermione couldn't help herself.

"You had Severus," she pointed out. "What about him?"

For a moment she could have sworn that the woman looked confused. Then it passed.

"Of course," she acknowledged. "But he was - well, he was a Snape. Marcus was a de Vriess. We need beauty in our lives."

That was obviously a sufficient explanation for the older woman.

Hermione felt something suffocating in her throat. Something that combined the need to shout or scream or cry, with the need to get out of this bizarre sepulchre, this sacrifice to a dead child, elevated to near god-like status. She began to back away, wondering how she could decently leave. Amarina noticed the movement. Turning, she placed one, bird-like hand on Hermione's arm. The younger woman fought the urge to flinch.

"My dear," Amarina began kindly, "you have to understand how we do things." She steered Hermione away from the shrine and towards the door. Hermione's profound relief was heavily tempered by a wish to avoid Amarina's touch. "Tomorrow, you will see the Parting from Darius." She paused, as they crossed the threshold, and the memorial chamber was left behind. "The Snapes are an old family." The phrase old family obviously carried many layers of meaning. "There are certain... traditions to be observed. Ones which are probably unfamiliar to you. But which are very important to us. Traditions of blood. And obligation." She almost capitalised the words. Her hand fell from Hermione's arm, but before the younger woman could move away, Amarina had turned to catch both of Hermione's hands in her own, speaking earnestly. "I am so very glad that you are here. I can see that Severus is quite fond of you in his way, and he will need a distraction at the moment." Hermione felt the sense of danger again. "I know that you are a clever girl, and I'm sure you amuse him for a while. But after the Parting, he will have responsibilities to fulfil, obligations to the Hall. Things can no longer be for him as they currently are. He must return to his blood. I'm sure you can see that."

The challenge was now out in the open. Her chance to cede gracefully to Amarina now, or fight. Hermione met the grey eyes steadily, feeling curiously relieved to have the issue firmly on the table between them.

"I would have thought," she said carefully, "that that was a decision for Severus to make."

The grey eyes hardened and the name Malfoy flittered through her mind once more.

"Of course." The tone hadn't flickered. "And I know that he will be guided to take the right course." She paused for a moment. "The honourable course."

She dropped Hermione's hands.

"It's been such a pleasure showing you around," she said, as if she hadn't just warned Hermione off her son. "It's been so long since I've been able to have a really long talk with another woman. Now, I'm sure you'd like to rest and freshen up before dinner. I'll see you soon, dear."

With that she was off, leaving Hermione to return to her room, hoping that she had the layout of the house straight in her head. Yes, she thought coolly, as she made her way back to the Rose Room. Appeal to his sense of honour and obligation. That's the way to do it.

There was a certain irony to the fact that Harry hadn't come with them. Cornelius Fudge had managed to unknowingly deprive Amarina Snape of a staunch, if unlikely, natural ally.

**********

It had been an ungracious parting, he was well aware of that. But he was still working to process the information that he was now the legal owner of Snape Hall. He had avoided looking at Hermione throughout the meal, afraid of what he would betray with his eyes in front of his mother.

Amarina had deftly separated them again, preventing any private conversation. In a way Snape was actually quite grateful for that. He didn't want to talk to Hermione in the presence of his mother at all. He wanted to give Amarina nothing that she could use against the young witch, nothing upon which to exercise her gift of manipulation. He heard the bright suggestion that Hermione should have a tour of the Hall, and felt the hidden blade in the her playful referral of the suggestion for his approval. Then the implication that he should take a tour of the family estates and retainers. Pushing him into his father's role.

He needed to leave, clear his head, get away from this incessant pressure. From the acts of unspoken ownership that his mother directed at him.

"I shall go for a walk."

A curt farewell, a hasty retrieval of his cloak and he was out, feet crunching on the gravel, not pausing to admire the view, heading out, striding away from the house towards the cliffs.

To Hell with Old Toddy and his kitchen garden.

He was not his father and wasn't about to turn into him.

Oblivious to the biting wind, he kicked his way through the wet grass until the pyre resolved itself into sharp focus.

Gods, what a mess.

He wasn't going to stay here. It was as simple as that. He couldn't.

He reached the stand of trees and made his way to the other side more carefully. Leaning back again a damp trunk he watched the rise and fall of the sea, letting the sound wash over him. It was a cold and unlovely sight, harsh and unremitting, an unrelenting assault on the land. It mirrored his mood rather nicely. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to clear his mind, willing a solution to present itself.

After a while, he opened his eyes again and looked sourly at the pyre.

"Father," he said to the pile of wet wood. "What have you done to me?"

"Well," said a cultured voice behind him, "if my information is correct, it seems that he's made you a moderately rich man."

Snape closed his eyes again.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"Just paying my respects, cousin," said Lucius Malfoy, urbanely. "As is only proper that I should."

Snape was silent.

"And I was hoping for the chance of a private chat with you."

Of course he was. Why would I be spared this?

"It must be over a month since our little talk." Malfoy left the implication hanging.

"Yes," said Snape nastily. "How is Draco these days?"

"Unchanged, I regret to say." Draco's father's voice was as unruffled as if he was discussing the state of the Chateau roof. In fact, thought Snape, he'd probably be a damn sight more concerned about the Chateau roof.

"Really. Dr Wilkes hasn't made any more progress with his condition then?"

"Alas, no."

"Pity."

"Isn't it." There was a pause. "Of course, Wilkes isn't really where my faith is placed."

Here it comes.

Snape sighed.

"I've begun work, Lucius," he temporised.

"That's good to know. When will you have completed it?"

"I told you, it may not be possible to recreate the potion at all. The active ingredient is not available. There is no guarantee that it will be possible to find a substitute."

"And I told you that that is simply not acceptable." Lucius smiled. "But I have every confidence in you, cousin."

Snape tried not to flinch at the use of the familiar term. Malfoy simply stood there, letting the silence drift out, exuding an air of peaceful relaxation. Snape waited for the next blow to fall. He wasn't disappointed.

"How is Miss Granger enjoying her first visit to Snape Hall?"

His mouth went dry.

"She seems to be occupying herself adequately." He strove for a disinterested tone.

"How are she and Amarina getting on?"

"Well enough." Again indifference.

"I imagine Amarina must have been surprised to see you bring home a Mudblood."

Snape shrugged, willing himself not to react.

"I grew out of needing my mother's permission for things a long time ago."

How true was that, Severus?

"Yes, I recall your initiation into the Death Eaters. Something about an argument with your mother wasn't it?"

Don't bite. Don't give him the satisfaction.

"Do I really need to answer that?" Bored, hoping to distract him by lack of response.

"No, I have it now. Thrown out of home because of your allegiance to the Dark Lord. He thought it was rather touching as I remember." Lucius laughed. "Will she throw you out because of your allegiance to a Mudblood this time? How deliciously ironic."

"I'm so glad you think so. However, I should point out that I can't actually be thrown out of Snape Hall at the moment. Given that I own it for all practical purposes."

Lucius' smile was nearly feral.

"Of course you do. You're virtually one of us again."

"I'm struggling to see that as a compliment."

Malfoy's voice hardened.

"However much you may want to tell yourself otherwise, you are part of this world, Severus. You could play at lofty isolation when Darius was alive, but things have changed. You have obligations to your blood now. If you turn your back on it now, you will never be able to return." His tone softened again. "Come along, you might even be able to keep your little Mudblood. You wouldn't be the first Pureblood to have a little private plaything - as long as she's discreet, no one will make a fuss. You just can't parade her in front of people. Not after the Parting is over."

"You disgust me." Reflexive response, not requiring conscious thought.

Malfoy shrugged.

"I saw her earlier, you know. She was standing where you are now."

Snape went cold at the image of Malfoy watching her. Knowing where she was. Exposing her vulnerability.

"She's surprisingly pretty for a Mudblood. I remember her from school as being very hearty. All teeth and hair and earnest desire to Make Things Better For Others. I suppose she must have developed some other attributes over the years."

Snape gritted his teeth with the effort of not casting some hex over Malfoy, and sought to end the conversation.

"Is this going somewhere, Lucius? Otherwise, I have to tear myself away from the pleasure of your company."

"I was simply taking an interest in your life, cousin. It would be such a shame if she had to receive a Pensieve wouldn't it? Although, then again I might be doing you a favour. You have to admit it would go a long way to resolving your current dilemma."

Snape had had enough of walking the tightrope. Proper conduct could work both ways he thought grimly. The Parting was not yet over. He had more latitude here than usual.

"Permit me to invite you to get off my property, Lucius," he said unpleasantly.

Lucius Malfoy gave a mock bow.

"You see, Severus. You're making yourself at home already."

And with a smile, he disapparated.

Oh Gods, thought Snape, feeling sick and weary. Lucius Malfoy and my mother on the same side. He pulled up an image of Hermione, and once again tried to regret asking her to come. And once again, selfishly, guiltily, couldn't. It was only her presence that made want to even try to navigate these treacherous waters.

**********

END OF PART 5