Thirty-Five
Hatching Plots
Having dispatched Hagrid with messages for the Headmistress, Snape took Hermione aside as they walked up to the main house.
“If I may have a moment, Miss Granger,” he began. “It’s about the mobile…”
“I’ll see that Harry takes excellent care of it,” Hermione assured him.
“Actually, I needed to confer with you. Your knowledge of these types of things far exceeds mine,” he admitted sullenly.
“They come in black, if that’s what concerns you.” Hermione grinned.
“Good to know.” Unfazed, he stipulated, “I need to round up a small gang. Minerva says these things can be made to call one another, rather like a pack of dogs.”
Hermione nodded. “You’d have to be nearby so you could observe who answered, though. Not feasible within a vast castle. Besides, all the mobiles would have to be reconfigured to work on school grounds which may be impossible.”
“Yet this one allows for typed messages.”
“Texting, it’s called. You’d have no trouble sending texts to the offending parties.”
“I was rather hoping to menace them in person,” Snape confided darkly. “Convey a proper lesson about bringing contraband onto school grounds.”
“I see.”
“Do you really, Miss Granger?” Snape hissed as he rose to his full height.
Hermione squared her chin to demonstrate she was unmoved by his usual tactics. “They’re so intent on discussing Osiris, perhaps it’s time he broke into their conversation.”
“The Lupins filled you in on the party details, I see. Rho was instrumental in that; I merely did what I was told.”
“I got the impression you relished the role of presiding over the damned. Rather reminded you of Slytherin House."
Snape drummed his white fingers on the wrought iron of the patio table. “If I allow that was mildly amusing, if patently inaccurate, will you assist me? Osiris presides over the Afterlife surrounded by the worthy. The unworthy are fed to the crocodile-headed beast.”
“The Devourer,” Hermione supplied.
“Sounds like one of those breeding experiments of Hagrid’s,” Ron volunteered as he wrapped his arm around his wife protectively. “Dobby insists on making everyone a late night snack. Omelets. What would you like in yours, dearest?”
“Surprise me,” Hermione returned with a quick kiss. “What about you, Severus?”
“As appealing as that sounds, I really must get back to my wife,” Snape demurred with a curt nod.
“Not just yet,” Hermione boldly caught him by the arm of his black frock coat. “We have a conspiracy to hatch. Please tell Dobby I’ll be a few extra minutes, will you, Ron?”
“You submitted Umbridge to a first-rate needling, Professor. Can’t thank you enough,” Ron remarked.
“You did a wonderful job yourself, sweetheart,” Hermione returned with an affectionate smile. “Umbridge didn’t quite know what to make of your comments about Remus.”
“How well I remember your non-responses from class, Mr. Weasley,” Snape drawled. “Good thing Dolores was willing to fill in the blanks for herself.”
Slightly put out, Ron responded, “I was going to elaborate how Remus kept his ability with languages practically to himself, but the Toad never gave me the chance.”
“Masterfully played nonetheless,” Snape noted.
“Nice to know she rankled the faculty just as much as the rest of us,” Ron added in parting.
Well, she could have told Ron that, Hermione mused inwardly. There was never any doubt in her mind that Snape detested Umbridge along with everyone else; he just had to be more subtle about it. Not because he feared the power of her appointed office, but because it was part of his carefully crafted façade. Considering how much of the infamous Inquisitorial Squad was drawn from his own House, one couldn’t fault his prudence.
How well she remembered the day the Toad Queen had taken it upon herself to inspect the Potions lesson. The black coals imbedded in Snape’s eyes had burned as he answered questions in a voice completely devoid of emotion.
Granted, she herself had never been one of Snape’s fans “ a designation seemingly reserved for the favored few sorted into Slytherin House. She’d received the sharp end of his tongue more often than not despite her best efforts to shine in his class. But she always defended his brilliant grasp of his subject matter even as she commiserated with the boys that the man’s teaching skills bordered on the anti-social.
Harry had been so put out over the venomous words Snape had thrown at him that he’d stomped out of the room the instant class was dismissed. He wouldn’t accept Hermione’s conviction that Snape would’ve dressed down the next student, regardless. It was just part of the pent up rage the professor could not allow himself to voice to Umbridge’s ugly face.
She’d left Harry complaining to Ron in the corridor and doubled back. Much to her surprise, Snape was extolling the last of his students to wash their hands thoroughly in the deep troughs as potion ingredients could be deadly. True enough, but totally out of character. The professor she knew was more of a mind that if a student was careless enough to gnaw on potion-splattered fingers, he served what he got. Consider it a bonus lesson.
So she had pretended to be searching frantically through her satchel as the last Slytherin offered goodbye words that would have gotten another student assigned to detention. With a deep sigh, Snape had then turned his back to the open door and proceeded to wash his own hands vigorously. To remove the taint of Umbridge, Hermione couldn’t help thinking.
Just as he reached for the pumice soap, he’d found her standing at his elbow.
“Miss Granger,” he drawled, “I would’ve thought you’d be tagging along with Potter and Weasley.”
“Not today, sir. I’m in no hurry to arrive in the Dark Arts classroom.”
“Not your favorite subject?” he asked as he eyed her with dark curiosity.
Hermione shrugged noncommittally, but he seemed to understand her non-verbal cue: not anymore.
“Did you wash the salamander blood from under your nails?”
“Yes, Professor. I even discarded the quill that got splashed when I decanted the final solution.”
Snape nodded absently as he continued to work up a boisterous lather. “Then why have you returned? Was there a misspelled word on the blackboard? A misprint in your textbook? Perhaps you wish to critique with my presentation skills?” His deep voice had drawn her out as it mocked her habits. “Got a proverbial bee in your bonnet?”
Hermione resisted the urge to flinch before his scrutiny. “I’ve heard that burning a clump of dried sage does wonders to clear the atmosphere,” she dared. “At least it says so in my Herbology text.”
“Duly noted,” Snape replied as he concentrated on toweling his pale fingers dry. “Is that all?”
“Yes, sir.” Hermione was halfway towards the exit when his next words stopped her dead in her tracks.
“For the record, Miss Granger, sage smoke makes my eyes water. I believe that scene was played to great effect by Sybill Trelawney. I would prefer there be no confusion.”
With that, he had turned on his heel and stalked into his adjoining office. The quiet click of the door reminded Hermione that she was standing there with her mouth hanging open.
What had she been realistically expecting? she’d chided herself as she hurried to her next class. After all, he could have chosen to deduct House points for her impertinence; or more likely, upbraided her for her deplorable lack of restraint, she decided.
The closeness of Snape’s voice brought Hermione back to the present. “You have an idea,” he pronounced once Ron had disappeared into the house.
Settling to the task, they argued over the exact wording of the text message. Within a quarter hour, they had settled on a preliminary draft that read:
Hallowed greetings! You are being extended an exclusive invitation to the next Slytherin gathering at Abydos. In an effort to provide more realism, our very own Hagrid has been granted a special variance by the Experimental Breeding Office to create a fearsome beast for next term’s rituals. All the unworthy who bring their Muggle communication devices to school will find said gadgets flung to the Devourer. He is not too particular if your corporeal body is still attached.
Hermione tore off the top sheet of her memo pad and held out the scribbled words to her former professor. “Feel free to tweak as you see fit.” If the message exceeded the length for a text, she would simply send a link, she considered inwardly.
“Your aptitude for mischief has not dimmed,” he observed wryly. “Something unique to Gryffindor?”
“Hardly. A true artiste would’ve managed to get Mrs. Norris fed to the Devourer as well.”
“Indeed. I’m not particularly fond of cats myself.” The metal chair legs groaned as he pushed himself away from the wrought iron table. “Thank you, Miss Granger,” he issued with a slight inclination of his head. Rather like a courtly bow, she surprised herself by thinking.
“Professor, please. It’s Weasley now. Ron and I are --”
With a dark flash of his fathomless eyes, Snape deftly cut across her, “Married. I haven’t taken leave of my senses. Who do you think searched out that book of non-traditional household spells in the Shanghai book markets?”
Blushing slightly, Hermione acknowledged, “A very thoughtful gift. Even more so that you double-checked it hadn’t been jinxed to resist a standard translation spell.”
“What would’ve been the use otherwise? Antique dust-collectors only hold appeal for someone like Dumbledore.” Was that a hint of a smile he’d quickly swallowed?
“A bit like himself,” she added wryly. “Not that I would've ever said so to his face.”
“No? I often did. He seemed to think it was extraordinarily funny. Always caught him smirking behind my back. He categorically denied it, of course.”
“Why persist with Granger then?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Her blank expression in return to his cocked eyebrow spurred him on, “‘Ms. Weasley’ can denote a number of different people; Granger is unique.”
“Rather like Tonks and Remus not confusing students with two Professor Lupins,” she supplied.
“In superficial parlance, yes.”
“Oh.” He’d meant it as a compliment, she realized. The dour professor actually paid her a compliment. A bit convoluted; but not backhanded, not by any means. And it had only taken what? Over a decade?
“Pity I can’t extend the same courtesy to Mr. Weasley,” Snape remarked in a snide reference to Ron’s overlarge family.
With a broad smile, Hermione replied, “You could just call him Ron. Or Ronald, if you prefer something more formal.”
“Perhaps,” was the most he allowed. “I’ll see that you’re issued a feather.”
Once again he’d caught her off guard. “A feather?”
“That’s the manner of invitation to the next gathering at Abydos. I would be honored if you and your husband would be my guests. Fancy dress is optional, of course.”
With a sharp bow that reminded her of Durmstrang, he strode off into the darkness beyond the Fidelius Charm where it took considerably less effort to Apparate directly home. Rho would surely be waiting up for a play by play account over steaming mugs of bitter Turkish coffee.
Hermione was stunned as she sat there on the darkened patio. The sound of laughter washed over her from the open windows of the house, but still she didn’t move. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d just assisted Severus Snape in pranking his students. He would likely maintain it was a disciplinary measure intended to chastise them; perhaps an act of revenge, if he was hard-pressed. But he was just deluding himself.
“I was never here,” Remus asserted with a wide grin as he took a snapshot of Eddie with Harry, Ginny and Tonks. Since Hermione and Ron had been present at the Burrow when the children Flooed in, they were judiciously omitted from the photograph of the others positioned before the drawing room hearth.
“For Teddy,” Harry confirmed. “Minerva will have already relayed that the name of my unexpected school chum was Eddie.”
“Dobby will take the blame for snapping the photo “ if the subject even comes up,” Tonks supplied knowingly. “Won’t you, Dobby?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Dobby trilled. “Master Teddy is certain to ask.”
After that, it did not take much urging for Eddie to join them around the late night table, especially since he vividly recalled Tonks from Hufflepuff House.
“I was a lowly third year when you graduated,” Eddie explained. “So I don’t expect you’d remember me. I was the idiot who kept trying out for the Quidditch team and ending up in the Hospital Wing instead.”
Tonks chortled, “We called you The Medic -- since it was clear you were destined for a career at St. Mungo’s.” With a sprightly twinkle, she added, “Or had a secret fancy for Poppy Pomfrey that you were too shy to openly admit.”
Eddie shook his head ruefully. “Not that my record with women is much better,” he confessed.
“Anyone we know?” Ginny posed as she speared a large chunk of fresh asparagus.
“A bit personal, don’t you think?” Remus noted.
“Then he shouldn’t have introduced the subject himself,” Ginny countered as she favored Eddie with a warm smile.
“Aren’t those the rules of evidence that apply on Muggle television?” Hermione ventured.
“I believe she’s got you there,” Tonks affirmed. “Although we won’t hold you to it.”
“Seeing as how you’re a novice and all,” Harry volunteered.
“Is this what passes for small talk?” Eddie inquired as he turned to Ron on his right.
“Consider yourself lucky, mate,” Ron testified as he swallowed the last of the ham. “My mum doesn’t let you wiggle out no matter how much you squirm.”
“It’s true,” Ginny confirmed. “Might be more efficient if she simply handed visitors a questionnaire at the door.”
“Not that she appreciated it when Percy suggested it to her point blank,” Harry observed wryly.
“Percy Weasley?” Eddie cried. “The Minister’s Chief of Protocol? Why he’s always so brisk and businesslike.”
“Yeah, that’s him,” Ron agreed. “He got the officious gene that bypassed the rest of the family.”
“Probably annoyed Molly that much more that the suggestion came from him,” Hermione sniggered.
“So, Eddie,” Ginny leaned over from his other side. “You were telling us…”
“I happen to be between catastrophes at the moment,” he capitulated. “As to the past, first there was Cho Chang. Got myself sent to St. Mungo’s after a minor scuffle and there she was, apprenticing to be a Healer’s assistant.”
“Harry remembers Cho quite vividly,” Hermione teased.
Before Harry had a chance to take issue, Eddie attested, “So she told me. Here I was with mixed feelings about following the Boy-Who-Lived and it turned out Cho only cared that I’d been chummy with the Boy-Who-Died.”
“Cedric,” Harry commiserated. “That’s pretty much why she sought me out as well.”
“In other words,” Ginny summarized, “you shouldn’t take that one to heart.”
“Thanks,” Eddie returned. “Then there was Lavender Brown.”
“Blimey!” Ron exclaimed as he nearly bit his tongue.
“So you do remember her,” Eddie replied. “I wasn’t certain if she’d been in Gryffindor, but then she looked so much different than what I recalled from school.”
“I’m certain Ron could tell you all sorts of stories,” Ginny teased as Ron’s ears turned as bright red as the strawberries in the bowls before them.
Displaying considerably more generosity than she had at the time, Hermione interjected, “Lavender had a soft spot for Quidditch heroes.”
“I’m fairly certain she and Ron never had anything in common,” Harry noted.
“Or so they would have discovered if they’d taken time to have an actual conversation,” Ginny quipped as Ron stared daggers at her.
Much to their surprise, Eddie issued a sharp laugh. “Consider it hours saved, Ron. Take it from me: it would've been more rewarding to establish rapport with a Pygmy Puff.”
“Which seem to come in the very colors that Lavender favored for her wardrobe!” Ginny supplied rakishly.
“Can’t say I really noticed,” Ernie confessed. “Didn’t rightly know her at school. But years later, I had occasion to ride the Knight Bus and there she was in her purple conductor’s uniform. What an improvement over Stan Shunpike, I have to say!”
Harry’s ears perked up at the mention of Stan. “Please tell me he wasn’t out of a job once he’d been absolved of any Death Eater connections.”
“Promoted, actually,” Eddie clarified. “He’s driving now that old Ernie Prang was finally convinced to retire. A bit of a fossil, wasn’t he?”
By the time they saw their guests to the door, it was a truly scandalous hour. Or so Tonks remarked when she was finally alone with her husband.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank Severus for his assistance,” she noted with some regret.
Remus gave an exhausted sigh as he slumped on the bed to ease off his socks. “You’ll see him at school on Monday, cherub.”
“He was truly masterful, Remus. You really have no idea. Perhaps Harry will allow you to listen to the official recording.”
“You know very well that would violate Auror evidence rules,” he remarked, slipping his soiled shirt off his shoulders. “Besides, I prefer the old-fashioned method where the observer flavors the narrative with his or her own perceptions. Makes for a tastier brew.”
“Then just imagine how Severus pitched his voice to draw Umbridge and company into his confidence,” Tonks elaborated from the ottoman at his feet. “A Compulsion Spell without discernable use of magic.”
“Dolores was that gullible?”
“Not at first. You could tell she was leaning that way though. As if his pedigree from Slytherin made him more reliable to her way of thinking.”
Remus nodded sagely. “She’d been duped by the Gryffindors in the past. Not to mention the Niffler that someone Levitated through her office window “ although I was sworn to secrecy about that.”
Tonks dissolved into gales of laugher. “No wonder the bloody woman had trust issues! But she wasn’t so easily duped by Snape. She actually turned on him and demanded to know what side he was on.”
“Just the words a double-agent longs to hear.”
“You’re not giving him enough credit, Remus. He was totally impassive as she railed at him. Replying, ‘The same side I’ve always been on: my own. A policy any true Slytherin learns from day one.’”
“So he overcame her objections with true candor.”
“It worked,” Tonks shrugged. “It didn’t take so much urging for her assistant to heed his words.”
“Crabbe or Goyle?”
“You mean they’re not interchangeable?”
Remus chuckled intimately. “How well I remember them from my Dark Arts class. Their abilities seemed interchangeably dismal then.”
“Tell me this, though: what made you come back from Hogwarts?”
“Severus sent me a Patronus. Didn’t you say he was standing behind everyone in the kitchen?”
“He was the tallest of the group.”
“That means he had his back to the hearth,” Remus surmised. “The better to dispatch a stealthy messenger up the chimney unnoticed.”
Tonks was lost in thought for a moment. “He would’ve had to rely on words he said aloud to the rest of us.”
“Likely so. Which accounted for his tone.”
“How did you know how to play it, Remus? Dolores’ expectations of a werewolf are so clichéd…”
“Yet I managed to give her just what she was looking for?” he finished. “I considered the source of my stage directions and played it according to his rules.”
“Which explains why she looked ready to burst a blood vessel!”
“No one’s as infuriating as Severus. Especially his particular version of poisoned small talk.” Easing a freshly laundered T-shirt over his head, Remus pondered, “When did you tell Minerva we’d be back for the children?”
“Harry and I will retrieve them around breakfast time,” Tonks replied with quiet emphasis. “You need to sleep uninterrupted once all those potions wear off.”
Sliding beneath the quilt, Remus quipped, “No sense tumbling into another foreign fireplace and going back to the beginning.”
“A story I intend to hear in exquisite detail,” she insisted, cuddling up next to his warm body.
“Absolutely,” he smiled in return. “But first there’s something I need to tell you about Phoebe… ”
Despite the vortex of worry that had threatened to swallow Remus ever since he’d discovered Phoebe’s unique abilities, his in-laws were able to make everything fall into perspective. All they had to do was remind him how their own world had been overturned when Dora had first changed her hair color within a day of birth. Teddy wouldn’t have posed any unfamiliar problems; but with Phoebe, he and Tonks were facing the same questions that had plagued Andromeda and Ted over thirty years ago.
“The midwife Healer warned us that such a thing was possible,” Tonks reminded everyone who would listen. “We just never thought in a million years…”
After all, it had practically been a million to one shot. Make that 900,000 to one since their first child had already established himself as Metamorphmagus. With no records of Animorphmagi births within the past five hundred years, though, there was precious little information.
“Firstly,” Remus questioned, “do we have to submit Phoebe to some sort of registration process?”
“You mean like an Animagus?” Andromeda clarified with a gentle smile. “Likely not. Metamorphmagi have no such requirement since they can assume a multitude of appearances; I’d imagine it’s the same for an Animorph.”
“Assuming is not the same as knowing,” Remus countered with innate caution.
“True, take it up with the new Minister. If the wording in the law is inexact, I’m certain Kingsley will see to it before it becomes an issue,” Ted advised. “Just how many animals has my granddaughter mastered?”
“Just one for now,” Tonks confirmed. “A rather inoffensive black and white rabbit. But that might likely change.”
Andromeda and Ted exchanged looks as it all made sense. “The bunny that showed up for Harry’s wedding photos,” Ted chuckled.
Remus nodded. “Fleur’s girls reported similar sightings at the Burrow, but only Teddy knew for certain that it was all Phoebe’s doing.”
“What I can’t understand is why Phoebe didn’t demonstrate her talents for us?” Tonks worried. “Did she think her own family wouldn’t accept her?”
“Have you done anything to make her think she was different than everyone else because she’d shown no magical abilities before this?” Ted prompted.
“Of course not!” Tonks shot back. “We told her that it was Teddy who was unusual by displaying his talents straight from the womb --”
“”although we phrased it a bit differently,” Remus interjected with a dry chuckle.
“We assured Phoebe that she was just like Victoire and Yvette,” Tonks elaborated.
“So she fit right in with them,” Remus emphasized.
“Then I think it all comes down to temperament,” Andromeda announced. Turning to her own daughter, she elaborated, “Teddy’s just like you, dear, fearless and outgoing. Phoebe takes after Remus, more introspective. Being the center of attention is not so important to her. She’d want to be certain she’d mastered a skill in private before deciding whether she wanted to demonstrate it for anyone else.”
“Even if it’s her own little microcosm,” Remus echoed as the wisdom of the explanation hit home.
With amusement dancing in her eyes, Andromeda volunteered, “I also have a theory about how you two, in particular, managed to produce an Animorphmagus. Completely unscientific, of course.”
“All knowledge starts from theories,” Remus urged in his inimitable manner.
“You realize that not all witches and wizards are able to become Animagi. It requires an innate ability that no amount of dedicated study can overcome.”
“Some are destined to fail, regardless,” Remus confirmed, recalling how Peter was so sure he’d fall into that category when James and Sirius succeeded months before he finally did.
“Despite those who would argue that a werewolf had no business trying to change into yet another shape, Remus managed it,” Tonks supplied.
“Couple that with Dora’s abilities and, voila, the result is someone who can change into animal shapes at will,” Andromeda concluded.
“You make it sound like a foregone conclusion,” Remus allowed.
“Not entirely,” Andromeda noted. “But it makes a lot more sense than how Ted and I could produce a Metamorph in the first place. Now that’s one for the record books!”
“In terms of schooling, I suppose a Muggle elementary school is out,” Tonks mused.
“It would’ve been for Teddy anyway,” her father affirmed. “You had much more control over your hair by the time you were his age.”
“How did she manage that?” Remus implored, eager for the details.
“I wanted to play with the children I could see from our house,” Tonks answered.
“That’s not an issue way out here in the country,” Ted considered. “But in the city, she might’ve stood out.”
“Not that you don’t see all sorts of hair colors bobbing down the London streets,” Tonks scoffed.
“Not so much on children,” Remus concurred.
“Not in our neighborhood, anyway,” Andromeda supplied.
With unrestrained delight, she recounted how Dora was determined enough to control her appearance for a number of hours at a time. Only when she became angry or frustrated did she slip up. Each time they heard the back screen bang and heavy footsteps tromping up the stairs, they knew their daughter had come home to nurse her anger in private. Not wanting her to feel like such an oddity, though, Ted had sought out a progressive Muggle primary school where no one would question a child who preferred unconventional hair colors, just as long as she remained consistent for the duration of the day.
“There were few incidents where any memory modification was necessary,” Andromeda concluded.
“Not to mention that all that practice came in handy when I went to Hogwarts,” Tonks offered. “Here I thought I could finally be my real self among all the budding witches and wizards, but some of my teachers were not so liberal minded.”
“Didn’t want you to clash with the Hufflepuff colors, dear,” Andromeda chuckled at the memory.
“So I did all versions of yellow,” Tonks recalled vividly. “From the palest platinum to the muddiest gold and all streaky variations in between. I even managed a neon version that practically glowed in the dark.”
“That got you almost sent to detention,” Ted stressed. “It’s probably a good thing you’ve managed to secure a private tutor, Remus. Saves all that extra worrying over what are essentially trivial matters.”
Not that the Dowager knew about Phoebe’s newest accomplishments, Remus considered, giving rise to a whole new set of worries.
It wasn’t until a few days later that they found a moment to be alone on their private patio. As the exuberant whoops of the children drifted from the other side of the wall, Remus took the opportunity to relay the details of his truncated escape to Hogwarts.
Tonks found the conversation between the Marauders to be particularly amusing. “Face it, Remus: you were tripping!” She doubled over with laughter.
“Dumbledore would’ve taken a more philosophical approach to re-examining the messages from my subconscious,” Remus sniffed.
“Sure, he’d have a fancy phrase for it. But it’s still a hallucinogenic episode. In other words: a trip.”
“To Grimmauld Place?” Remus deadpanned.
Tonks snorted. “Shows how buttoned-down you can be at times. Besides, it really wasn’t Grimmauld Place, but rather a disused room at Hogwarts.”
“The Marauder’s home turf. Only if that’s the case, where was Peter?”
“Your subconscious no longer sees him as part of the group,” Tonks opined.
“Not so. My school day memories often include Peter,” Remus corrected. “I just can’t rationalize that image with the deranged rat he became in adulthood.”
“You might as well ask yourself why your waking dreams tend to include dead people.”
Momentarily stunned, Remus pondered, “Is that supposed to mean anything?”
Tonks smiled affectionately. “Only that despite your best efforts, you’re just like everyone else.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“What would be the point of imagining conversations with the living?” Tonks posited. “Just go out and say the words if it’s that important. Or bide your time until the moment is right. Whatever.” With deliberate emphasis, she added, “No more options exist with the dead.”
“So it’s my psyche’s way of dealing with the things I never had the chance to say,” Remus summarized. “Quite insightful.”
With a playful twinkle, Tonks amended, “Not to mention that Peter was there all along.”
“How so?”
“Your allusions to Purgatory,” she maintained. “That’s where you imagine Peter’s serving his personal eternity.”
Taking a long moment to digest her analysis, Remus remarked, “You’re quite good at this.”
Nonplussed, Tonks shrugged in return. “Just practiced at quelling Teddy or Phoebe after a persistent nightmare.”
“Irrational fears are much harder to justify,” he agreed.
“And you, my love, are not as inscrutable as you’d like to think,” she proclaimed as she leaned over and kissed him on the nose.
Just over the brick wall, Teddy was weaving and dodging astride his flying stallion. Riding together, Ginny and Phoebe were in hot pursuit, their whipping hair fanning behind them like a russet and gold horse’s tail.
Refocusing on her husband, Tonks supplied, “As to the subliminal message, however, I think it’s time you and Harry took over the annual remembrance ceremony at Grimmauld Place.”
“I wouldn’t want to exclude you, cherub. Sirius was your cousin, after all.”
“Which is why I haven’t minded accompanying you in the past. But it’s time you included the next generation. Harry was quite attached to his godfather in the short time they had together.”