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Quartet	By : OracleObscured Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 128263 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 73
- 74
- 75
A/N: Okay, so I decided to just go ahead and finish ALL the chapters in one big group. Surprise! I’m ready to get the rest of this story up (so ready). I still need to do some last minute editing on the coming chapters and then do one last giant edit of all the previous chapters. Then I need to go through and update those changes to all the sites where I post, so I’ve got days of endless copying and pasting to look forward to (and editing, so much editing). If I’m not done with all that by the time I get to chapter 83, there will be a brief pause before I post the epilogue. But I’m itching to get this up and finished, so . . . LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLE!

justheretosayhi: <3 Excellent! Glad to hear you’re enjoying it. (And I feel like I should warn you to brace yourself—your harmony might be disrupted in the near future.)
Rayrobles: :) :) :) Crooks will make another appearance before the end of the story, but he’s isn’t as much a character in this one. (And no, he doesn’t sleep in the big bed—but now I can’t stop laughing thinking about him rolling his eyes every time he hears the bed springs squeaking.) Hope you like what’s coming up <3
SuperWolfLover_1776: Hey! I’m back. And not sick :) (just busy). I had no way of replying to your reviews to ease your worries, but I appreciate the concern (and the story love). Hope the remainder of the story makes up for the long wait <3 <3 <3
74—Dirge
“Baby love, my baby love, need you oh how I need you.”—The Supremes
(Hermione) 
Inspired by the weekend’s surge of power and magic, Hermione steeled her resolve and marched down to the Prophet offices on Monday morning.
“I need to see Arnold Bixby,” Hermione told the witch behind the front desk.
The receptionist didn’t need to ask her name or inquire as to whether she had an appointment. When any member of the Golden Trio showed up to talk to a reporter, they were pretty much welcomed in on a red carpet. “Third door on the right. Just knock. I saw him come in an hour ago, so should be there.”
Hermione nodded curtly, her eyes scanning the office for any signs of Skeeter. Rita was no longer a full-time employee, not after she got her first book deal. She only came back to make trouble for a select few, and Hermione had made an enemy of the witch in the worst way. Not that Hermione regretted her actions. Someone had to teach that bug a lesson.
Too bad Rita hadn’t heeded Hermione’s warnings the first time around.
Knock knock knock.
A string of unintelligible mumbling came from behind the door, and then Arnold Bixby’s gruff voice rose to a flustered growl, “Come in, come in, for Merlin’s sake!”
Hermione opened the door and confidently strode into Bixby’s closet-sized office. “I hope you’ll excuse the interruption,” she said smoothly. “I won’t take but a minute of your time.”
The balding wizard looked up from his typewriter, his bushy grey brows flying high. “Ms. Granger!”
Hermione smiled sweetly and perched herself on the little folding chair that sat before his desk. “None other.” Bixby had written the piece on the Foundation some months earlier, and Hermione knew the roly-poly reporter had all but fallen in love with her on the spot. “I came to offer you the chance at a juicy exclusive. Do you think you’d be interested?”
Bixby’s eyes darted to the side, as if searching for hidden cameras, his lips twitching with nervous laughter. “A juicy exclusive? I’m really more of a-a-a glorified business gossip,” he stuttered, his cheeks going pink. “I write about who’s partnering with whom, which stores are going belly up. That kind of thing.”
“You’re also a reporter who’s interested in the truth,” Hermione replied. “And one I trust to tell my side of the story. You see, I’ve been having a spot of trouble since Skeeter’s ‘exposé.’ Death threats, cursed communiqués, that sort of thing. How such a sensationalist piece of garbage made it past the editor of th—”
Bixby held up his hand to stop her. “You’re preaching to the choir, Ms. Granger. I find Rita repugnant both professionally and personally. And I guarantee you, she has some kind of dirt on the editor; there’s no way in hell Norm would’ve willingly printed such abominable rot unless he’d been blackmailed.”
The knot in Hermione’s stomach loosened. She’d come to the right man. “Do you think he’d have anything against printing a piece that opposed Skeeter’s?”
Bixby smiled, his eyes crinkling like crepe paper at the corners. “Not if it was the truth. The public loves to see a hero rising from the ashes—news that sells and all that.”
“Well I’ve got one hell of a truth grenade to throw at everyone, and I’m sure it’ll be a big seller. If you’d like a preview, then I’m here to tell you that I am indeed dating Draco Malfoy—we’re very much in love if that matters to anyone—and I am living with him at Malfoy Manor.”
Arnold’s blue eyes widened.
“And, yes, Lucius Malfoy did give me the money to open the The Phoenix Fire Foundation, which I’d like to tell you all about in a private interview this evening—with all three of us—at Malfoy Manor.”
Stunned, Bixby’s jaw worked up and down, his voice not quite coordinated with his tongue. “H-Hermione,” he stammered. “You don’t have to tell everyone all that. It’s none of their business. And it’ll turn your life into an absolute circus.”
“My life already is a circus, Mr. Bixby. I’d rather that be because of the truth rather than rumors; at least then people will be angry about the proper things.”
“You’re not really having an affair with Lucius Malfoy, are you?” Arnold asked in a choked whisper.
Hermione smiled indulgently. “Mr. Bixby, when you were young wizard of twenty-seven, full of passion and testosterone, what would you have done if your father tried to put the moves on the love of your life?”
Arnold broke into a startled, dry laugh, wheezing as he slapped a hand down on desk. “I’d have hexed him to hell and back!”
“And I assure you Draco knows some truly stellar hexes,” Hermione said, laughing along with him. “Mr. Malfoy's continued survival should be all the evidence anyone needs to dispel such an unbelievable rumor. But you don’t have to take my word for it; come to the Manor tonight and see them with your own eyes, get the story straight from source.”
Bixby nodded, still chuckling. “I’ll be there with bells on, Ms. Granger. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
“Told you it would work,” Severus said as he slipped the morning edition of The Daily Prophet atop her cereal bowl.
Hermione grinned and tore through the paper, stopping when she spotted the photo Bixby’s cameraman had taken during the interview. The black and white picture had captured Draco in a moment of smitten adoration, his eyes on Hermione as she laughed at something Bixby had said. Too perfect. 
Hermione reached over and squeezed Draco’s hand. “Listen to this: The love between young Draco Malfoy and Ms. Granger is palpable. I departed feeling as though I’d been in the presence of Cupid himself.”
“What’s it say about me?” Lucius asked, buffing his nails against his shirt in a show of smug pride; he’d obviously already read the piece.
Hermione snickered and scanned the article. “Ms. Granger asked me repeatedly to make it clear that Lucius Malfoy was the sole source of funding for the Phoenix Fire Foundation; she said, ‘If a man with a history as vile as Mr. Malfoy’s can apologize and seek to right the wrong he was once a part of, then anyone can do it. I have no patience for people who hide behind insults and hatred, condemning a man whose sorrow and regret they know nothing about; in their effort to oppose intolerance and violence, they become intolerant and violent—it makes no sense to me.’ 
“Speaking on a personal note, this reporter, a well-known halfblood , found Lucius Malfoy’s transformation to be genuine. He welcomed us into his home and sat down to talk with me in a friendly and candid manner. When Hermione and Draco took their places on the love seat, hand-in-hand, he smiled at them fondly and told me he was proud his son had chosen such a brilliant witch, ‘She’s breathed new life into this old house.’
“Later, when Draco and Hermione left the room for refreshments, I asked the Malfoy patriarch how he had made such a dramatic turnaround in his life, the chasm between convicted felon and revered philanthropist being a hurdle most people wouldn’t consider trying to leap. ‘I wish I could tell you that I had some great awakening,’ Lucius confessed, ‘that I saw the light and then walked the strait and narrow thereafter with ease. 
“‘But in reality, it’s never that glamorous. Change happens in increments so small, I scarcely notice anything happening. Although, admittedly, there are times when it feels painfully abrupt. Despite what everyone might think, it’s fairly traumatic to hand over your ancestral home to a despotic psychopath, especially one whose mercurial vengeance you’d grown to abhor. Being terrorized by the Dark Lord was one of the worst years of my life, and I suspect I only survived because I was so determined to get my family out alive. After the war—and the trials—I felt as though I’d been granted a reprieve by the gods themselves, a chance to start over. But then . . . my wife became ill and passed away quite suddenly.’ Mr. Malfoy took a moment to glance at a photograph of Narcissa Malfoy that watched over us from the mantel. ‘It turned out that was the worst year of my life. It destroyed me. It was only through the patient care and persistence of a close friend that I’m sitting here today; without him I don’t know what would have become of me.
“‘I’m sure most people will think I got what I deserved, losing my wife, nearly killing myself with grief—and perhaps they’re right—all I know is that I’m grateful I’m here to see my son find love, and I’m even more grateful to Miss Granger for giving me the chance to make amends. It’s so easy to hate a person you don’t really know, but it takes one hell of a witch to know a bastard like me and still find forgiveness in her heart.’ 
“I told him he sounded rather enamored of the young Miss Granger, and Lucius unapologetically crowed, ‘I am! How could any wizard not be? She’s absolutely wonderful. But before anyone starts sending us screeching Howlers, lambasting our alleged May-December romance, there are just a few holes I’d like to poke in their theory. Number one, I’m still very much in love with my wife.’ Lucius again turned to Narcissa’s picture, his expression wistful. ‘I don’t think that will ever diminish. Number two, if I even attempted to steal Miss Granger for my own, I can assure you, the world would wake up short one Lucius Malfoy. I’m not sure which one of them would be faster with a wand, but either way, I’d be spending the rest of my days in the Malfoy mausoleum—assuming my body is recovered at all.’
“When asked if he’d had any reticence about his son dating a Muggle-born, Lucius went still and gave me an almost imperceptible nod. “I’m ashamed to say I did. It wasn’t disgust or anger like the old days, but I was definitely startled. I guess I just always pictured Draco bringing home a beautiful witch from some ancient family—maybe a girl from another country, one who wouldn’t judge him for his past. But when I found out Miss Granger was more than a friend to Draco, I invited her to have dinner with us, and it gave me the chance to get to know her a little better. She’s a strong woman. Tough. Just the kind of witch Draco needs to keep him on his toes. I think his mother would approve. She would have loved to have an ally like Hermione in the family.”
Hermione dropped her hands, and the newspaper crinkled against the table with a loud crunch. “I can’t believe you said all that,” she exclaimed, staring at him in disbelief. “Merlin, Lucius! We were only gone for three minutes!”
He smirked. “You’ll note I was very careful to follow our interview rules. No outright lying. Selective truth only.”
“Yeah! No lying,” she huffed. “That doesn’t mean tell the world your most private thoughts. You didn’t have to do that for me!”
Lucius shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. “I did it for  all of us. You yourself agreed we needed to sell your involvement with Draco to keep the public peace, and that’s all I did.”
“You could have done more,” Severus said with a sly grin. “I told you to throw me under the bus.”
“Ah, well,” Lucius snickered. “I thought that might sound a little too unbelievable what with my declarations of eternal love for Narcissa. But I guarantee you, plenty of people are going to pick up on that ‘care of a male friend’ bit. I’d rather them think my sexual orientation is what I’m trying to keep in the closet.”
“Very cunning,” Severus conceded. “A Slytherin to the core.”
Lucius clinked his coffee mug against Snape’s in a half-arsed salut.
“Oh, don’t toast yourself just yet,” Severus purred. “We have a much more cunning member of the Quartet to recognize this morning.”
Lucius’s eyes darted across the table to his son. “Who dared out-Slytherin the Malfoy patriarch?”
Draco snorted. “I think Severus has the permanent high score.”
With the arch of one brow and the evilest of smirks, Severus denied the honors. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I can’t claim to have the deadliest bite today. Why don’t you tell them what you did . . . Hermione.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hermione said as she snapped the paper back up to hide her blush.
“Come now, love,” Snape cajoled. “I know it was you. Make Daddy proud—tell everyone what you did.”
She peeked around the paper, giving him her best disapproving glare, but the effect was ruined by her traitorous mouth, which refused to not smile. “How do you know it was me? It could have been anyone. That woman has plenty of enemies.”
“I thought you didn’t know what I was talking about,” he countered with a smirk. “Draco, would you kindly turn to the arrest reports and read us the second entry down in the third column.”
Beaming excitedly, Draco plucked the paper from her hands and rifled through the sections until he came to the Magical Law Enforcement Announcements. “An anonymous tip led to the arrest of Rita Skeeter, 56, at her home in London. Skeeter has been charged with being an unregistered animagus—and was apprehended in her transformed state. While in the process of detaining Ms. Skeeter, several pages of dictation were found in plain view, and the arresting Auror identified them as illegal surveillance concerning a well-known actress in Kent who has been involved in an ongoing feud with Ms. Skeeter. Additional charges will be made public pending further investigation.”
Everyone turned to look at Hermione, the three of them grinning at her in the most inappropriate manner.
“Well,” Lucius said silkily, “what is there to say to that except . . . long live the queen!” Raising his mug, he leaned across the table to tap her juice glass. “I think you’re going to have to bend over the table for me to show just how much I love you right now.”
“Don't look at me like that; all I did was contact the Auror office—I had no idea Skeeter would incriminate herself so spectacularly. And I don't have time to bend over the table,” she said, laughing at his appraising leer. “I have to get to work. You can love me later.”
Snape’s fingers clamped around her wrist, and with unrelenting force, he drew her toward him, denying her playful attempts to escape. “No, baby. We’re going to love you right now. I think a nice game of Messy Princess Panties sounds like the perfect way to start your day.” Leaning closer, he pressed his lips to her ear, and his growl dripped over her skin like boiled caramel, “Now bend over the table like a good girl and spread your legs. Daddy’s not done getting you ready for work yet.”
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
As the week wore on, the hate mail slowed to a trickle, and in less than a fortnight, most of the original staff had returned to the Phoenix Fire offices. Harry, Ginny, and Ron all came to help out—and lure in more volunteers—and Hermione finally settled into a relaxed work groove, delegating the filing and sorting so she could get on with her actual cases.
Ginny was by far the most efficient helper, and Hermione dreaded the the day she’d lose that lean mean filing machine to the Harpies. Why couldn’t maternity leave last until the child had grown up? So much more logical. And productive. Plus, Ginny had taken to bringing James to the office with her, and Hermione didn’t know how she’d ever go back to once-a-week visits after being so spoiled.
Funnily enough, it was James who poached her most loyal volunteer. Draco flagrantly abandoned his sorting whenever the baby entered the building, and in no time at all, the two of them were inseparable.
Hermione would go out to pass along her notes to Flo or get a file from Ginny, and there Draco would be, carrying James around the office, telling him nonsense stories about magic staplers and charmed quills as he danced the objects through their air with his wand.
James burbled and bounced, following Draco’s every move with wide-eyed delight, and Hermione couldn’t help smiling at the unlikely office bromance.
Certain she’d get some work out of Draco at the first mention of a nappy change, Hermione was shocked to see him cringing through a wet wipe tutorial from Ginny, James spread out on the conference table before them like a leaky, laughing, water balloon. After a few practice runs, Draco got the hang of it, and took on the responsibility without a single complaint, seemingly undisturbed by the prospect of fountains of wee and mounds of poo. Which was very un-Malfoy-like. 
Yet undeniably sweet. 
Ginny watched them like a hawk at first, but after a few hours she just shrugged it off and let Draco’s baby obsession provide her with some free childcare. When Hermione asked her if she was really all right with Draco hogging her firstborn, she just laughed. 
“I've always wanted a manny,” Ginny insisted. “And, well . . . just look at them. What kind of monster could say no to that happy smile. I just want to bite his squishy little cheeks.”
Hermione smirked. “Are you referring to Draco or James?”
“Both,” Ginny shot back. “I call them Jaco.”
Hermione spent the rest of the day snickering into her paperwork, sure Draco would prefer “Drames.”
The only time Ginny had to break up the dynamic duo was when she needed to breastfeed, a necessity that nearly resulted in an infant-sized temper tantrum the first time it happened. But not from James. Hermione thought Draco was actually going to start pouting. He looked positively lost without a bundle of baby in his arms.
Wandering over to the water cooler, he pretended to be very busy—and thirsty—but in the end, his sullenness only lasted a few minutes.
Ginny had gone to the lounge to sit with James, and Hermione saw Draco wander in and sit down across from her—carefully maintaining eye contact as he struck up a conversation. Ginny appeared baffled by his attention, her frown both wary and confused, but a few minutes later, she was biting her lips the way she did when she was trying not to laugh.
“Draco has baby fever,” Ginny whispered the next time Hermione had a free moment.
“He does seem pretty eager to help out,” Hermione agreed, smiling over at the corner where Draco was making googly faces at James.
"He asked me every imaginable question about breastfeeding.”
“Oh, Ginny!” Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth in horror and gave her friend an apologetic wince. “I’m sorry. I’ll tell him not to be so forward.”
Ginny shook her head, waving it off. “No, no. It wasn’t rude or anything. He was just curious. I’m surprised he wants to know though. Most guys don’t like thinking about breasts in a non-sexual way. Even Harry’s a little freaked out that I’ve turned into a refreshment stand—and it's his child.”
Hermione snorted. “You are not a refreshment stand. And I think Draco is interested in anything having to do with breasts . . . or maybe just babies. He is awfully attached to James.”
“I know, right? Who would have ever dreamed we’d see a Malfoy fawning all over a half-Weasley, half-Potter baby. It's like the seventh sign of the apocalypse or something. I thought Harry was going to have a coronary when he walked in and saw Draco rocking him to sleep.”
Hermione snorted into her file. “That’s nothing. Draco informed me an hour ago he’s seen that big display in the window at Twinkle Tots, and he ‘just knows’ James will love that turtle romper set. He begged me to go home that way so he could buy it, but I told him we have to go to the bank, so we’ll have to do it some other day. But I have a sneaking suspicion he’s already put in a Floo order. So, if you get an anonymous owl bearing baby clothes . . .”
Ginny smacked a hand over her own snorting laugh. “That’s so cute. Maybe you should get off the implantation blockers and give the Malfoys a new heir.”
Hermione couldn’t imagine how that would work. “That sounds really complicated for our situation—just in terms of jealousy alone. And Merlin knows where I’d ever find the time to take care of a baby. Between the Foundation and the three of them, I’ve constantly got my hands full.”
“Literally,” Ginny quipped with a cheeky grin. “Maybe you could test the waters with a puppy or a kitten or something. It looks like Draco needs something to take care of. I’d say he could babysit for us, but then Mum would be the one having a coronary.”
“Maybe we could stop by on the weekend.”
“A play date?”
Hermione smiled. “You think Harry would go for that?”
Ginny shrugged, her eyes twinkling as she glanced over at Draco, who was currently pretending to eat the baby’s belly, a game that James seemed to find hilarious. “I might be able to work my magic on him,” Ginny murmured. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Harry’s a pushover for anyone who adores James—and once I mention having a Malfoy in charge of nappy duty, I don’t think he’ll be able to resist.”
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
On Thursday Ginny Flooed to say James had a slight cold and she wanted to keep him home just to be safe; so after work, Harry came in and took his wife’s place, which as far as trades went, didn’t boost Hermione’s productivity points, but a warm body was a warm body, and she couldn’t afford to be picky.
Draco silently sulked about his missed dose of baby interaction, but he stayed and worked alongside Harry until 7:30 when Hermione finished her last interview.
Shuffling out to the conference table, Hermione plopped down across from the two of them and scrubbed at her face with both palms in an effort to stay awake. “Thanks so much for all your help, you guys, but we should call it a night.” She checked her watch and groaned. “Damn, it’s later than I thought. Severus is going to be upset we’ve kept dinner waiting.”
“No, he won’t,” Draco said, clipping together two forms and sorting them into the proper stack. “I fire-called to tell him we’d be home late.”
“Ah!” Hermione smiled. “Fine work, my love! Snape’s roast beef wrath averted.”
Harry shook his head at their back and forth, trying to keep a straight face. “You two are so weird. I’m glad you waited till we were out of school before starting all this; I wouldn’t have known what was Voldemort hallucination and what was real.” 
Leaning forward, he reached for a fresh folder, and Hermione noticed a strange moldy green miasma near his shoulder.
“Harry, are you all right?”
He gave her a funny look. “Yeah. Well . . . I just got this heinous paper cut, but otherwise I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? There’s something strange going on with your colors.”
“My colors?” It took him a second to catch her meaning, but when he did, he peered down at his arms in interest. “Is there really? What do you see?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered. There were several speckled blobs floating around his head as well. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. You’re not sick, are you?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Maybe it’s just stress. The Auror department has been a madhouse since that big bust a couple days ago.”
“Hmmm, it could be stress. Will you go see a healer to be sure?”
“Are you serious?” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “I’m totally fine.”
“Please do it for me. I’d never forgive myself if something was really wrong with you and I could have prevented it.”
“Fine, fine,” Harry said with a sigh. “I probably just caught James’s sniffles. I’ll stop by the staff mediwitch tomorrow if it makes you feel better.”
“Good.” She knew it wasn’t a cold, but as long as he saw someone, she figured it would be okay.
“Is Ginny coming back tomorrow?” Draco asked casually.
Harry whipped around, his green eyes hard. “What’s it to you?”
Stricken, Draco recoiled.
“He’s just worried about James,” Hermione explained placatingly, reaching across the table for Draco’s hand. “He’s going through baby withdrawal.”
Harry blushed. “Oh . . . sorry, I just . . . went all Auror Paranoia there for a second.” He wiped at his forehead and breathed out an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know if she’s coming in or not. She might want to keep James home again. Ron said he’d come in tomorrow though, rain or shine.”
“Excellent. Will you be here too?”
“Only if Ginny can’t come. But I’ll be here all this weekend if you need me.”
At the mention of her spending the weekend at the office, Draco’s mouth tightened to a disapproving line.
“No. I need the weekend off,” she said, nudging Draco’s knee with her foot. “Severus and Lucius worry about me when I work too much.”
Harry smiled, but then pulled a face, as if the thought of Severus and Lucius worrying about her was too bizarre to contemplate. “Speaking of which, I should get home and give Ginny some time off.” He pushed back from the table and stretched his arms over his head. “She must be tired of being cooped up in the house.”
“Tell her I missed her today. And give James an extra kiss from me.”
“You got it,” Harry said as he rose and slipped into his Auror robes. “See you tomorrow or the next day.” He pulled out his wand to Apparate home but stopped with his arm partially extended, eyes low. “Be good,” he added, nodding pointedly at her foot, which had somehow lost its shoe and meandered between Draco’s thighs.
He disappeared before Hermione could come up with a plausible excuse. She honestly didn’t remember taking off her shoe at all.
But she certainly didn’t regret it.
Especially not when Draco started to rock into her sole, his erection massaging the ball of her foot. “Love?” he murmured. “Are you going over to the Potters’ this weekend?”
Hermione smiled. “If James is feeling better, I will.”
“Can I go with you? I promise to play nice with your friends.”
“You want to go to Harry’s?” she asked in mock confusion.
Draco’s cheeks went pink, and he grinned down at the table. “I have a present for the baby. I thought he might like to wear it the next time he comes to the office.”
Hermione burst out laughing, her foot curling into Draco’s crotch. “I guess you’re never too young to dress for success. I’ll make sure to get you on the guest list, love. The more Twinkle Tot turtles in this office, the better.”
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Hermione passed Flo the notes from her last interview and told her the centaur was trustworthy, but she didn’t know if his enigmatic answers would sway the solicitor. They needed another character witness.
And they needed some more hands on deck. Only three volunteers had shown up; and it was still a few hours until Draco would get off work. Maybe she should owl Severus and ask him to come in later. They were getting swamped.
Just as Hermione turned for her office—If Snape’s in the kitchen, I can catch him about now—someone shouted her name from across the open lobby. Skidding to a halt, she spun around and saw Ron rushing to meet her, his red hair flying. Oh, thank Merlin! Reinforcements. And he was early. Ron could do the filing.
“You’ve got to come to St. Mungo’s,” Ron gasped as he rounded the conference table at a full sprint. “Harry and Ginny are there. James is sick.”
Hermione’s chest clamped tight, the room fuzzing around her. “James?”
“Yeah, I didn’t get the whole story yet; but I think Harry’s sick too. His Patronus wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, but he told me to find you and get over there as soon as possible.”
“We’ll take the Floo,” she answered in a daze. “Florence?”
Flo motioned at her to go. “I’ll man the fort; you go see about your friends.”
Hermione choked out a “Thanks” and rushed toward the lobby, her vision tunneled and dim. It took two tries to get her trembling fingers into the Floo power, but once she did, she threw a pinch into the fire and haltingly called out, “St. Mungo’s.” 
Her head whirled as she zipped through chimney after chimney, a disorienting mishmash of scenery spinning her like a top, but thankfully, she recognized the hospital when she saw it and managed to step out in time. Ron arrived moments later, his entry smooth and practiced, and he gently took her arm to get her moving.
The halls seemed preternaturally quiet as they raced to the second floor. Hermione couldn’t help peeking into every ward they passed, her brain adding another layer of panic with each new malady. What had happened? How sick was sick? Had Harry meant sick or hurt? Her eyes filled with tears, and Ron had to snag her by the elbow and steer her into the right room, or she would have just kept blindly running down the hallway like a robot. 
They found Harry and Ginny huddled together on a lone hospital bed, their colorful street clothes a discordant match to the sterility of the decor. They had both been crying, and Hermione’s eyes flew around the room in search of James. He wasn’t there. Oh gods.
“What’s going on?” she whispered. “Where’s the baby?”
“They’re running some more tests.” Ginny rasped. “But . . .” Fresh tears spilled down her face, and she took a shaky, deep breath. “It’s bad. Really bad. Harry caught dragon pox from someone he captured the other day, and . . . we didn’t know. We didn’t see the rash. James and I got infected, but he . . . he . . .” Ginny covered her face with both hands, her choked sobs spilling out around her fingers, echoing hollowly against the cold walls. 
Hermione’s heart shattered. This couldn’t be happening. Harry and Ginny had already lost so many loved ones. They deserved a healthy, happy family. And James was so small, so beautiful. A little ball of joy. He was everything they had fought for—hope and love and light—everything that mattered. Hermione leaned over and wrapped her arms around Ginny’s convulsing body, her mind racing with possible outcomes, some of them too horrible to consider.
"So, are you two sick?" Ron asked. “Should we be in here?”
Harry shook his head. “They gave me and Ginny the remedy, and it worked. But James’s immune system isn’t fully developed. His body didn’t fight it like ours did. It hit him hard and fast.”
Overwhelmed by the gravity of Harry’s words, Hermione cracked, all the air rushing from her body as if she’d been punched in the chest. The tears exploded from her eyes, and she had to press her mouth to Ginny’s shoulder to muffle the cry that sprang to her lips.
"The potion isn't working with him like it should," Harry said, wiping his eyes and staring at the ceiling. “They don’t know what to do.”
Hermione inhaled sharply and clutched at her throat. Raising her head, she tried to speak, but it took several tries to produce any sound other than ineffectual squeaks. “I know what to do. I’ll go home and talk with Severus. He’s been studying the virus for over a year. He might . . . I mean maybe he can . . .” She didn’t want to give them false hope or paint Severus into a corner, but she had to do something.
Ginny turned to look at Hermione, her swollen eyes even redder than her hair. “We don’t have much time. If he can help, tell him to hurry.”
Hermione nodded and kissed her wet cheek. “Don’t give up. We’ll do everything we can. I promise.”
Compelled with panic and purpose, Hermione fled. 
The halls blurred around her, bleak faces and even bleaker smells, disembodied voices drifting in and out of her awareness. Somehow, she managed to make it to the entryway, and, finding an apparition point, she whipped out her wand and spun on her toes. HOME! 
Pressure folded around her, smashing her into nothingness. A thunderous CRACK! announced her arrival, and Hermione screamed in shock. Fuck! She pressed her hand to her heart and ran up the drive, her pulse thumping in her ears. Needhelpneedhelpneedhelpneedhelp.
Throwing open the front door, her eyes wildly darted from side to side. “Severus!”
She dashed down the corridor and burst into the library. Not there. Kitchen! Tearing through the dark halls, she ran in the other direction, sliding across the wood floors and clumping along in her heels like a Clydesdale. She banged open the door and almost dropped to the ground in relief when she saw him standing at the counter like a skinny black bat. Thank Merlin! Just the sight of him made her feel safer.
“Hermione!” he said, jerking up from his mixing bowl with a confused scowl. “What’s the matter? Are you crying?”
Hermione ran to him and threw her arms around his waist. “Please tell me you’re close to finding a stronger cure for dragon pox.”
“What! Why?” he demanded, dropping the metal bowl and grabbing her by the shoulders. “Who has dragon pox? Are you sick?”
She looked into his eyes. “Not me. Harry’s baby, James. He’s really bad, Severus. I don’t think St. Mungo’s can do anything.”
Snape’s face twisted with sorrow, and he touched her cheek as if to apologize. “I’m so sorry, love. My research is at a standstill. No matter what I do, the Tentacula venom causes too much destruction. I have no way to control it.”
Hermione refused to accept no for an answer. “Show me.”
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Severus finished the demonstration of his current progress then waited while she dissected his notes. He listened to her rapid-fire litany of suggestions, but calmly explained why each one wouldn’t work, his black eyes sad and his thin lips pressed to a pinched line. She could see why he had given up on solving the problem—after only an hour of thinking about it, her brain felt as if it were throbbing.
But a headache couldn’t stop the steamroller that was Hermione Granger on a mission. Storming up to the library, she started summoning Snape’s potion books from the stacks, stuffing an entire shelf-worth under both arms. There had to be an answer in one of them, a clue to making the potion viable. Sitting down at the table by the window, she slapped open the first book and began to pour through its pages. The answer was there somewhere, she just needed to find it.
Severus read too, right beside her the whole time, his brow knitted with intensity and his body wired—but no matter how much material they covered, their desperate search continued to come up empty.
Lucius came home around four and, finding the two of them holed up in their nest of books, hesitantly asked why they both looked so angry. Severus pulled him aside and, in hushed tones, described the situation. Lucius stalked right back over and told her he might not know enough about potions to further her research, but he’d do whatever he could to help.
Draco showed up after work, having already gone to the Foundation only to find her missing. Florence had described Ron’s dramatic arrival and Hermione’s equally dramatic departure, and he had come home to see if anyone had heard from her.
When she told him about James, he went white as a sheet, the edges of his cheeks tingeing to a dull, sickly grey-green. She could see he wanted to cry, but surprisingly, he pulled a Lucius and swallowed back the tears. Taking the chair to her left, he asked what he should be searching for, and Hermione explained the potion to him, summing up what Severus had already tried. 
Draco nodded once, jaw tight, and began to read.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Night fell, the crescent moon drifting slowly across the cloudy sky, and still Hermione had no answers. What complete and utter dragon shit! The books were useless! How could the library betray her just when she needed it most? 
She put her head down on the table, and tears of frustration cut at her cheeks like liquid fire. An empty pit of hopelessness engulfed her belly, and she grabbed at her middle, afraid she might retch. What was the point in going on? There were too many books and too little time. How would they ever find an answer in all this madness?
Draco covered her hand with his and stroked the back of her fingers. “We’ll keep looking, love.”
Severus, who had been pacing behind her, placed both hands on her shoulders and gently pushed his thumbs into her knotted shoulders. “You should take a break. You can’t think like this.”
“Just fifteen minutes,” Lucius said, taking her other hand and kissing her fingers. “Rest your eyes.”
With the touch of their hands, a frisson of energy sizzled through her body and traveled up to her brain with an electric POP! 
Hermione sat bolt upright. 
She had something. 
Not the answer, but an answer.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she glanced at the window as a slash of lightning stuttered behind the rolling black clouds and another deep cacophony followed the pyrotechnic display. 
Hermione spun in her chair and ran over to the window, leaving them all staring after her. Tiny raindrops spat on the pane, and she pressed her palm to the cold glass as if to touch them. Lightning flashed again, backlighting the water drops so they were superimposed on her skin. Yes. 
Sinking in relief, she looked back over her shoulder and smiled at them through her tears. “It's okay—I think I know how to find the cure.”
Dirge—A mournful song or piece of music, especially one forming part of a funeral rite.

“Baby Love” by the Supremes. Written by Lamont Dozier, Brian Holland, and Eddie Holland. Released in 1964.
“Beginning with "Baby Love," The Supremes became the first Motown act to have more than one American number-one single, and by the end of the decade, would have more number-one singles than any other Motown act (or American pop music group) with 12, a record they continue to hold.”—Wikipedia
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=9_y6nFjoVp4
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