Little Problems

Draco Malfoy blew a puff of cigarette smoke out through his nose into the cold dark air. The muggle neighborhood was silent in the night as he strolled rather suspiciously down it, wearing clothing far too expensive than would normally be seen anywhere near the run down street, especially at night. A light pattering of rain aided in masking the footfalls of his oxfords, and he tossed his head carelessly to unstick the moistened platinum locks that clung to his forehead. A discontented sneer gracing his sharp features in visual displeasure at nature’s thoughtlessness.

It was around four in the morning and the head inquisitor of the auror department felt the need to leave his feeble attempt at sleep at the manor in favor of work. It wasn't really all that uncommon for him, despite the fact that he was explicitly forbidden from going out on the field alone and in the middle of the night. Something about being invaluable to the head Auror.

For a man who did not need to work at all, Draco was a bit of a workaholic. He couldn't help it though. His job was intriguing, and his life at home was terribly annoying. His mother and legal wife were constantly at each other's throats. He might have done something about it if they weren't right back at it immediately after. Besides, his mother could handle herself and he didn’t much care for his wife. The only good part about his home was his son, who would be shipped off to Hogwarts in one short week anyways, then he would hardly get to see him. Work helped. It took him to other places and it engaged his interest.

Besides the fact that this current case seems in some way tied to his uncle, which was endlessly intriguing regardless of his home life.

He thought he recognized the boy at first. He looked so much like his uncle that it was unnerving. That night he asked one of his house elves for a picture book that had young Snape in it and he had delivered. From his grandmother’s stash of his father, he found an end of year photo that had him in it. A horrible little boy with a permanent scowl and ratty black hair. It was then, looking at this picture that he knew.

Draco stopped in front of a home of cracking plaster and discolored tiles, staring at the black windows and looking for any signs of life, noting none. Perhaps there shouldn't be. He gave the house a scowl, taking one more, angry drag of his cigarette before dropping it and crushing it into the wet pavement under his heel on his way up to the door.

He knocked, rather softly, expecting no one to answer, before simply whispering. “Alohomora.” His uncle didn’t care much for protecting himself. Only others. The door unlatched with a tiny click of Draco’s wandless magic and he let himself in.

“Uncle?” He called out into the empty black living room. He expected no answer and received none. He had his ideas about just where his uncle might be at this moment, and it wasn’t here.

Draco stalked into the home and kicked the door shut behind him carelessly. He found the light switch and flicked it, revealing the most horrible muggle home that Draco Malfoy had ever had the displeasure to be in. With the heavy air of a home thick with trauma, the house on Spinner's End that belonged to his uncle was a terrible reminder of the man’s childhood. Draco had been inside this home only one other time. When his uncle had been struck down by nagini and he went to gather his uncle’s belongings to take to saint Mungo’s. Why the man had even come back to this ugly home was beyond him.

Now though, Draco was here because of an interesting development in the Malcore Wright case.

Earlier in the day he had gone down to the department of mysteries to call in a favor with one George Weasley (Unspeakable, though remarkably loud about it). He asked him to trace a magical signature that was found at the scene of the crashed car. It wasn’t the blue one in the front seat that he had discovered with Hermione, but another. Something silver that had been hidden under the blue. Its origins were determined by their magic analyst to be animal in nature.

Draco removed a vial from his pocket and used it to aid his tracking spell. The condensed magic inside the vial lit silver and a magical pull in his wand led him to a back door behind the kitchen.

There he had to take a moment to undo some wards before climbing down the narrow staircase into that Draco now saw to be a potions lab.

It was — very uncharacteristically for his uncle — a horrid mess.

Vials were left about, something had fallen and broken to the floor and there was a scattering of tiny pebbles spilled about the counter and onto the ground. Draco picked up the overturned jar of pebbles with his gloved fingers and lifted it to see the label that read ‘Pigeon Grit.’ Placing it on the counter, he continued.

The scent hound that was his wand led him to an empty cauldron. Waving his wand over it, he found nothing but inklings of the magic passing, so he continued following the trail. It led him back up stairs and to the other door in the kitchen leading to the backyard.

Back in the rain, he followed the trail to the well and stared down it, baffled. It was stronger down there than it had been anywhere else.

Granger might find this interesting.

–

That morning, Hermione woke bright and early to collect her charge for investigation. She met him at his door, smiling and bushy tailed. The little boy that greeted her scowled, his hair a disheveled mess and in some borrowed Hogwarts sleeping attire. She smiled at the sight.

“Good morning.” She said sweetly, adoring the familiar discontent on his face.

“What?” He demanded, indignant, not returning her greeting.

“Come now, don’t be fussy. It’s not that early. Dress and meet me in the library for breakfast. I’ve got all the vials of your ingredients from the headmistress’s office. I’d like that explanation of events, please.”

The boy gave a sigh of long suffering and shut his door in her smiling face.

“Right then. See you there, darling.” She informed the door brightly. Then, heaving a little sigh of her own, made her way to the library, reminded of the idea that some things would never change. At least he was cute.

She set up the table with books and called the darling miss Moffit to bring breakfast to them. She sported a little yellow sundress and a froggy bucket hat today. Hermione complimented her as they set the table together, her organizing notes and books for herself, and Moffit setting the table in between it all. The elf, in turn, said that Hermione’s hair was lovely, which made her smile.

“You can call me Hermione if you’d like.

“Miss Moffit is very happy to have your favor, but she shan’t disgrace her professionalism. Miss Moffit will call you Miss Hermione, if she pleases?” She said politely. Hermione was quite pleased.

The elf had gone by the time Severus banged open the door to the library in a way that reminded her of his teaching days.

With the grace of an annoyed and ungrateful teenager, he plopped himself on the chair across from where she was daintily sipping her black tea and nibbling on Meyer lemon cookies as she read from an aged tome. Her legs crossed. She glanced at his arrival and invited him to breakfast.

“It says here there’s a curse that traps someone in a child’s body, but its description doesn’t quite match yours. I thought I’d found something for a moment. Disappointing.” She said to him, absently, not looking away from the magically levitating tome.

“Helpful.” Severus intoned, plucking a bao bun with skepticism. “What is this?” He asked, staring at the squishy warm dough as though it might contain a bug. Hermione suppressed a smile as she watched from the corner of her eye.

“It’s a bao bun. It’s sweet pulled pork in dough. It’s very good.”

Still looking skeptical, the boy took a bite. His whole face changed. Eyes sparkling and brows high. He loved it.

“Good?” She asked, picking up another cookie to hide her amusement behind it.

“It’s fine.” He said, straightening himself into false impartiality. Hermione gave him a smirk that he caught and his ears pinked. He gave her a little glare and took an angry bite of his bun, which seemed to considerably placate him.

Then Severus looked about the table and frowned before calling out. “Moffit,”

She popped into existence to his left with a smile.

“Miss Moffit would appreciate being called with respect, Mister Prince.” She came in, crossing her arms.

“Pardon.” He said, surprised. “I only wanted to ask for a cup of black coffee.” He said, now a touch quiet.

She frowned at him and put her knobby fists on her waist. “Miss Moffit is not serving children coffee. Miss Moffit is knowing that coffee is bad for the small tallfolk and it would break Miss Moffit’s code of conduct to do such a thing even if Mister Prince is older than he seems. Miss Moffit will bring him a bitter hot cocoa instead.`` And with that, she nodded and popped away.

“Hm.” Severus said, staring at the empty spot in bewilderment.

“She’s very big on respect, that elf.” Hermione informed him, nibbling her cookie.

“So it seems.”

After a moment, Miss Moffit returned with a hot cocoa. Severus seemed to deliberate trying it or making a cup of tea before simply giving in. The expression on his face was similar to the bao bun. He drank it all.

Once the boy had his fill of breakfast, she finally asked, “the potion you were making, it was for your scars yes?”

“For my mark. It’s a regenerative, yes, but I took it because it also fades tattoos.”

“Your mark!” She exclaimed, remembering it for the first time. “Have you still got it?” She asked worriedly.

Severus quirked a brow at her concern. Then, in a practiced sweep, he brought up the hem of his sleeve and revealed a pale expanse of skin. No dark mark. Hermione exhaled with relief.

“Vanished when I shrunk. Why?”

“Well, we can’t glammer a dark mark, for one, and in about a week there’ll be hundreds of people in the castle.” She said, then brought a finger to her lip. “Oh, Speaking of, we haven’t got your school supplies yet. We only ever went to pick up the cloaks.”

Severus inclined his head with a small groan. He didn’t seem to be looking forward to the start of the school year at all.

“You’ve a penchant for side tangents, Granger. You’d make a horrible teacher.” He informed her critically.

“Oh, yes, I’ve been told. Right. The potion was for your mark.” She encouraged.

“Well, you must have tested the things for contamination by now. You know the results of my findings.”

“Yes, no contamination in the ingredients! Indeterminate on the vial of your bile. I’d like a play by play, if you please.”

“Right. I was brewing three cauldrons, one was the single batch of regenerative. The other two were customer potions. A dreamless sleep batch and wolfsbane. The stations are well separated. I have barriers and I switch my dragonhide gloves each time I go between. The regenerative finished first. I vialed it and drank all three immediately. – No stop, don't look at me like that. It's perfectly safe.”

Hermione wasn’t even aware she’d been looking at him in any sort of way. She frowned slightly and sat back in her seat to keep listening closely.

“Then I felt really cold. Then, really hot, and I fell into my robes. When I got up I was like this.” He said disdainfully, gesturing at his person.

“How did you feel before and after the transformation.” She asked, wandlessly summoning a quill to take notes surreptitiously behind a stack of tomes.

“Well, I was normal before, obviously. Afterwards, I was confused, angry, and frustrated.”

‘And scared.’ Hermione added in her head as she watched the nervousness she saw that day in Diagon alley flit across his face.

“And now I feel all three of those things, very strongly every day.” He finished scowling into his curtain of hair. Hermione wanted very much to go up to him, put his hair behind his ears to clear his face and assure him everything would be alright. He wouldn’t like that. She knew.

He went on to talk about his lack of occlumency and how he’s been a lot more mouthy and rude and impulsive, like he’d been in his youth. He said he hated it. Hermione couldn’t help but feel so very sad that he, someone so intelligent, yet so out of tune with his own emotions, couldn't see the amazing potential in this situation.

“You could start a new life, you know? As Liam Prince.” She said softly, setting her quill down. He looked up from the floor, expression blank. He was getting better at that again.

“I don’t want to. I hate this.” He sneered, lifting his little hands for emphasis. She could tell by the spark in his black eyes that he was getting angry. “Everyone looks down at me. Everyone treats me like a kid. I’m Severus Snape, feared, respected, and here I am, a little sniveling boy.” He had risen from his seat, letting it clatter back on the ground as he finished his sentence. He shot her a dark look that glittered with angry tears and tore away, billowing in his black enchanted cloak.

She simply watched him go, melancholic.

After a bit, she called Moffit to send some hot cocoa to his dorm for him to find.

-

He found her that morning. A little bird perched on a chair with her legs luxuriously tucked beneath her. Her hair up and away from her pretty face. She was ensconced in a nest of paper and books in the library. Her natural habitat. She looked like she’d been there for a while. She hadn’t noticed him as he walked in. The library was silent, marred only by the tick of the clock on the back wall. Devoid of even Madam Pince.

Draco smiled wickedly.

He startled out of her musings with a sinister echo of, “Hello, Birdie.” Which rang through the empty library.

Hermione quite nearly fell out of the chair. She hopped a few inches into the air and gave a little shriek. She whirled about, finding herself staring back at a pair of striking silver eyes and a Loki’s smirk.

“Malfoy! You made me spill my ink!” She admonished, frowning down at the mess over her notes. “You’re lucky I didn’t lose much!” The smirk grew larger. Hermione huffed at him impatiently.

Pinning him with a raised brow, she finally asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Just a visit.” He said, coming up and vanishing the majority of the wet ink for her, then he took the seat to her right and leaned luxuriously back in it. His smirk had a single long canine.

Quickly, Hermione flicked her wand and all of the books shut and her notes organized themselves in a neat pile. Upside down, Draco noticed.

“Well what do you want?” She asked him, her arms folded.

“Is this for your task? Or the boy?” He asked her, gesturing at the table at large. She opened her mouth but he interrupted her.

“Not my business. I know. But… that’s where you’re wrong.”

The smile fell from his face and he straightened, regarding her seriously. The witch seemed surprised by this sudden turn of mood.

“That boy.” He started, “he’s my uncle.” He accused her with a pointed finger.

“Pardon?” Said Hermione, startled.

“You heard me. That little boy is Severus fucking Snape—“

“— Shhh!!” Hermione was out of her seat with a hand to the platinum idiot’s lips in an instant. “Are you dense? What part of everything between ‘confidential’ and ‘that boy’ did you not understand.”

“Don’t sass me.” He barked, smacking the tiny hand out of his face limply. “He’s my family. This is my business. Especially now that there’s a tie to the case. I’ve a responsibility to the boy.”

Something that he said seemed to have gotten through to her, because her mouth fell open in astonishment. Draco at first thought that it might have been a reaction to him saying he had a claim over the boy’s care, but then again it was no secret that Draco Malfoy loved his son more than anything in the world.

“What do you mean there’s a tie to the case?” She demanded, shrilly instead. Alas, the witch feigned ignorance to how nice he was.

Draco waved his wand for a muffliato. “That blue, it was a masking charm. You recognized it because you use it often. For the library.” He started. Hermione was doing that thing with her eyelashes that she often did when she was being impatient.

“It was masking a magical item. Something from an animal.”

“Yes?” She encouraged.

“I asked George to use that fancy magic-muggle monstrosity —“

“— The magarchegeolocator –” She said automatically.

“— to find it on a map and it led me to my uncle's house. Granger. Tell me why it was in his house and down his well.”

“In his house? Down his well?” She repeated. Draco’s head rolled back in exaggerated exasperation.

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“Merlin. Does Harry know?” she wanted to know.

“The department opens in an hour. I’ll let him know.” He said, waving that away.

“No, Malfoy you listen. Tell only Harry.” She said, accosting him with a finger. He swatted it away.

“Yeah, yeah. Bloke already knows about the kid anyway.”

Hermione covered her mouth, oblivious to his last statement in favor of terrorizing herself with some floating thought. “His well…” she repeated in astonishment.

“Miss Moffit!!” She suddenly called, prompting into existence the tiniest house elf he had ever seen. She looked like a tiny italian greyhound with a single limp ear and huge eyes the color of his mother’s curtains. Bright, brilliant lilac. She wore a little dress and sported a froggy bucket hat atop her knobby head. Draco startled slightly at her appearance.

“What can Miss Moffit do for Miss Hermione?” She canted sweetly.

“Fetch me the boy, please.” She requested with the air of a distressed queen. The elf’s purple eyes widened slightly at the witch’s sense of urgency then vanished from existence for several seconds — presumably wrestling him in — and then reappeared holding a very ruffled, mildly distressed, raven haired boy.

“Pardon. I’m not some house elf to be summoned.” Said the recalcitrant boy, then whirled and stiffened when he caught sight of Draco. “No offense, Moffit.” He added, belatedly. Miss Moffit, to her credit, merely gave a little bow and popped back out of existence gracefully.

“Sir.” Severus intoned to him, warily, reading the tense atmosphere.

“Severus, we must go to Spinner’s End.” Birdie announced gravely. At this the boy turned his interest to her.

“Why? Have you found something?” He asked, with earnestness seldom seen in his uncle.

“Malfoy has. Apparently he knows the situation and he’s found the missing piece of the puzzle.”

His baby uncle’s head snapped over to Draco, dark eyes wide.

“The missing piece? Of —“ Draco made a gesture that encompassed the entirety of the terrible boy in question. “This puzzle?”

Said boy glanced downward at his person then back up with the skeptical look he reserved for his slowest of students.

Yes.” He replied drily.

“Interesting that, by the way. When were you planning on telling your dear Godson?”

“Never, as a matter of fact.” Severus informed him, eyeing him up and down with distrust.

Draco reached forward and ruffled the boy’s head, who resented it gravely. He stiffened under his touch. “You’re still horrid, you know?” He informed the boy.

“Don’t antagonize him!” Hermione admonished, as if she were any better, wagging a finger at the errant boy just the other day. The memory was kind of hilarious, Draco thought.

Severus gave a growl of frustration and smacked his huge godson’s hand away from him. “Back to the matter at hand. What did you find?” He demanded, his hair rumpled adorably.

Draco gave a chuckle at the novelty.

“Malfoy.” He warned darkly, looking severe. His jaw clicked at the word.

“Sorry, it’s just— you’re kind of a cute kid.”

The tiny Severus Snape turned several shades of red at once, enraged.

“That’s enough, Draco.” Hermione frowned at him, glancing worriedly at the boy, who took a breath to quell his anger.

“Right, right. There’s a magical animal bit down your well, I think.” Draco told the little Snape.

“My well? The contamination was in my water?”

Draco begged the heavens for patience. “Sure.” He said.

Severus turned his head to Hermione. “Well? Let’s go then.” He suggested with a tone of impatience.

“Yes, that's rather the point of me summoning you here.” She said, raising from her seat gracefully and capping her inkwell. “Come along, Draco.”

Draco noted when he stood, the boy’s reaction to his considerable height, just as he had in Diagon. He stiffened, and robotically willed himself to not look at Draco as he billowed after Hermione.

They went to the conveniently placed fireplace at the back of the library and Hermione took a bag of floo from the mantle.

With an announcement of “Spinner’s End, Snape residence.” They each crossed into the horrible home.

“Dreadful, as always uncle.” Draco commented on the home, leading the way through to the back yard door. Hermione was looking about with an expression of a worried mother, worried that her duckling had been living in squalor.

“Thanks.” Said the little boy to him. He stood to hold the door open for Hermione to pass, who gave him a thankful smile. A little gentleman, his uncle was. Apparently.

“You like her.” Draco accused in astonishment at the boy as the witch strolled up ahead of the black yard to inspect the well. He was leaned down as best he could to not frighten the boy, allowing himself to slouch.

“I do not.” He grumbled through his teeth quietly in warning, turning pink all the while.

Draco stopped. “Uncle. I’ve never once seen you hold the door open for any woman but my mother and Minnie.” He said, not quietly.

“I respect them.” He countered.

“Ha!” Draco pointed at him in a gotcha moment. Then he straightened and stalked after the tawny witch, still smiling. His tiny uncle was blushing. It was incredible. He had never seen the man be this expressive. Was it all just occlumancy? Draco wondered.

Hermione, who was doing a remarkable job hiding the fact that she had heard that conversation and was subsequently pleased, was nonchalantly staring down into the abyss of the well.

“Here,” Draco said, slipping a vial into her already awaiting hand. She cast the same tracking that he had this morning.

“Well, that’s fading fast.” Draco commented. “It was brighter this morning.”

Hermione shot him a suspicous look. He flashed her a crooked grin. It was only 6:30 in the morning now.

Severus, who had been quietly observing the glow of the magic with indeterminate scrutiny, came closer and dipped his wand into the misty silver glow to feel the magic for himself.

“It’s from a dragon of some sort.” he determined, thoughtfully but with conviction.

Hermione and Draco both looked at him in slight surprise.

“What? I’m still a potions master.” He said, offended. It was incredibly boyish, and it made Draco want to laugh again.

“Of course, Severus”, Hermione said placatingly. “But what is part of a dragon doing in your well? And how would it have caused your accident?”

At this, Severus frowned in thought, an expression Draco thought was very familiar.

Well, there was nothing else to it. Draco gave a sigh and promptly started stripping down to his briefs.

“Merlin!” Exclaimed Hermione, quickly looking away from the remarkably white man, shielding her face with her hand. “You ought to warn a girl before blinding her.” She said dramatically. The sun was cresting the horizon, and Draco was literally glowing.

Just then, Severus did something amazing. He snorted with laughter and briefly, there had been teeth. It was a little thing, but it was there, and now they were both staring at the dour boy in astonishment. He immediately reverted to frowning at them both.

Wisely, Hermione waved away that interaction. “Oh, nevermind. Scritches, Why are you disrobing?” The name slipped from her mouth without thought. Likely the sight of his Sectumsempra scars brought to mind his animagus.

“To dive into the well, of course. Unless you had any other ideas.”

“I did, actually. The disrobment was unnecessary.” She informed him.

“Oh.” Said Draco simply, smiling proudly.

He didn’t even flinch when Hermione brought up her wand at his face. He took on a familiarly mustalid shape. Looking down at his paws he determined himself to be an otter. Hermione then cast a featherlight charm on him and dropped him down the well calmly. “Squeak when you’re ready to come up.” She called down to him.

—---

Severus stared at the slowly descending otter as it vanished into the black of the well after the trail of faint mist, wondering what point in this young man’s life had prompted him to go barking mad. Severus snorted at the pun. Must be the Black heritage. Honestly, he was strongly reminded of Sirius Black.

“Scritches.” He intoned, skeptically after they had settled against the well to wait. Their voices echoed down the hole.

“Yes, because of the scars.” Said Hermione primly.

“I see Draco didn’t return the creative favor, Birdie.” He teased.

“Oh, not at all.” She agreed, solemn.

“You’re close?” he prompted after a moment of silence.

“We sort of replaced one twat for another after I separated from Ronald.” Hermione said, deliberating. Severus was reminded of the awkward conversation he’d overheard the other day.

“You have nicknames for eachother’s animagus.” He informed her, mildly amused by the casual swearing.

“It’s Harry’s fault. He insisted we should have silly Maurauder inspired codenames, and Draco simply adores annoying me.” she dismissed. “They just stuck.”

Severus frowned then at the mention of the maurauders. “I see.” Then, after a beat of silence, he asked. “Is Potter one too then?”

“No, he’s been quite busy since leaving school. Working in a library grants you a fair bit of free time to follow your own endevors. Draco, well, he was granted special privileges for good behavior during his askaban sentence.”

“Is that what happened to him? Askaban?” Severus suddenly asked, looking up across the well at her. While Snape had once had a closer relationship with the boy during school. Even if Draco hadn’t liked him then. He hadn't had many conversations with him throughout the years since. Perhaps he should feel guilty about this, but he didn’t.

At this, Hermione looked up from the depths to match his gaze. “I believe so.” She said in a more subdued tone. “He came out of the clink directly into auror training and he as like that from the start. It’s as if he entirely stopped caring about everything he was ever taught to care about. Sometimes he doesn’t even shower!”

“He never believed any of that. Not the showers either, especially before Hogwarts.” Severus said dismissively. Hermione gave a chuckle at his quip. “In school he was constantly in denial. The boy had a complex about you.”

“Well, I can certainly believe that.” the witch said with a sigh.

There was a reverberating squeak that found its way up to them from the depths. Promptly, Hermione pointed her wand down the well and whispered “Incarcerous.”

He helped her haul the otter back up out of the well, and was pleased to see the white otter holding something the size of a plate that resembled a pearlescent blue shell. It was a scale. Severus was disappointed to note that he didn't recognize it any farther than that.

He took it from the otter as Hermione casually morphed him back.

“It was literally a cavern down there. You could have warned me. I thought it might be pipes. It got narrow and murky.” Said the mostly naked, glowing man.

“Natural ground spring.” Severus informed him dismissively as he scrutinized the scale with a frown.

“Good thinking with the otter. Might have saved me from getting stuck.” He directed at Granger.

“Oh, put your clothes on. You damned dog.” Granger scolded, coming up to Severus to inspect the object.

“Good for potions right? Natural springs? Must be why you never left this dreadful place.” Draco mumbled as he put his clothes back on. “You always put more love into your potions than you did— well, everything. Even yourself.” He continued muttering, the tone lowering to unintelligible grumbles. Severus glanced back at him. He was hoping on one foot, trying to get his other trouser leg in, looking quite unhinged as he grumbled unintelligibly to himself with a sneer on his face.

“May I?” Granger asked, treating this occurrence as normal. Severus went back to ignoring the buffoon and handed her the heavy periwinkle scale. She ran her clever fingers over the outside, feeling the smoothed over ridges of keratin. “Pearlescent. Almost like a shell.” She commented curiously.

“If it’s from a dragon, it must have been under running water for a very long time to be so smooth and shiny… but the scale itself looks so very fresh, so that seems unlikely.” Severus deliberated.

“Fresh?” Granger questioned. When he glanced up at her, her eyes were sparkling with interest, ever the knowledge sponge. Some things never changed. Severus kept himself from smiling.

With a deftness of hand that could only be owned by an expert of his craft, Severus took the scale and flipped it over to indicate the portion at the top with his small finger. The spot was paler and discolored.

“Over time, as scales leech their magic, the outer layer of keratin is shed, revealing the paler color of the bed beneath, like this —“ he tapped his finger once on the scale bed. “Once it’s shedded all of its magic, it will look like slate, dry.” He flipped it back over. “And that happens in just a week. Far too small a time for it to smooth like this. This one was recently harvested.”

“That oily look, it’s like the bile.” Granger commented. Severus nodded, having already discovered that connection with his keen potioneer’s eyes.

“Can we please leave this dump?” Piped up Draco, now dressed. Severus looked up to glare at him. He sounded annoyed and he wore a sneer, but the tall man was glancing about with suspicious eyes. Granger seemed to also have noticed this.

Quickly plucking the scale from him, she tucked it into one of her bottomless pockets and said, “right. Let’s go.”