Obiter Dictum

14

The Rosier woman stayed another three days at Foxhole, insisting she take the governess' room during her stay. She repeated several times that it was unseemly for the children to go without a nanny. That they were alone without an adult for several hours a day.

While the man of the house was not pleased by the presence, he accepted her help.

The apprentice could not help but noticing how colder the house seemed to be getting. It was dark, and the short winter days did nothing to help. It was Christmas the day after next, and the wretched witch was still around imposing her presence and her rules as if it were her own home.

Hermione had to admit, however, that for a woman with no children of her own, she was very competent in keeping them in line, getting them ready on time, giving their daily lessons in English, Arithmetic and Latin.

She constantly pestered Snape on when he was going to re-marry. Insisting that he would surely be incarcerated if he didn't do so soon. 'She died years ago, Severus. It's for the better!'

The younger witch understood his reluctance all too well. She too would much rather be alone than badly accompanied. There was no way she would marry anyone willy nilly.

Not that the Ministry seemed to care. She still had not received a letter of her own. It bothered her, that she had not been given a missive. Was she not eligible to marry? Last she had checked, she was still unmarried. Unless, someone had decided otherwise. But that was silliness. She would know, wouldn't she?

That evening found the adults around the dining table long after the children had been put to bed. Eleanor had been keen to speak with her brother-in-law all day, though he seemed to come up with excuses not to each time she asked. With the children asleep and the lessons for the day finished, he did not have much of a choice anyway but to entertain.

Hermione lingered, only at his request. She had an uneasy feeling that the conversation might be an uncomfortable one. And she didn't know either of them well enough to discuss such things. Though, she still had not asked for leave on Christmas day to visit the Weasleys. She figured it was a better time than any other to ask.

He acquiesced quickly, asking only that she be back before the new year. A reasonable demand concerning her apprenticeship and her new duties as part time governess.

Once that was settled, the other woman practically pounced onto the table, slapping down an envelope. "Listen, my husband has a cousin. She's of good, clean stock and free to marry. She agreed that marrying the Dark Lord's right-hand man would be more than satisfactory. Even if you decided to switch sides at the end."

The way she emphasised the word clean made Hermione's blood boil. There had been no reason to speak so callously about something so important. This was a marriage, not a business proposal.

Hesitantly, the man of the house picked up the envelope, eyeing it as though it contained the world's greatest evil.

Inside, there was a picture of a woman. A moving, wizard's snapshot. The woman looked fairly young still, her features fine and sharp on a pale face. Her eyes were hard, a perfect brow arched in suspicion as she looked toward the camera and away again. As though someone to her left was drawing away her attention. Pale hair loose and cascading over her shoulders, soft curls bouncing as she moved her head over, and over, and over. The split second image repeating itself.

He frowned. "I know her," he said.

Eleanor nodded. "Yes, you've already met on several occasions. Pretty, little blonde thing with bright blue eyes. She was always everyone's favourite."

Hermione was confused. She had never seen the woman before. Though, she had to admit, the witch in the photograph was beautiful in a cold, distant way. The way a snowstorm could be, or an abandoned castle filled with secrets.

Snape dropped the picture and tapped on it once with his finger. "Yes, but where is her husband? She was married last time we spoke."

The Rosier woman swallowed thickly. "Yes, well, she was married to Amycus."

Snape flinched, and his apprentice knew he was reliving that night. That horrid night that tainted her every waking thought and crept into her nightmares.

"Amycus Carrow? The Deatheater who spat in Professor McGonagall's face?" Hermione asked.

The corner of the man's lips lifted slightly at her question and nodded. "The very same." He replied with a sigh. "I hadn't known."

Eleanor scoffed. "Pity what became of him. His wife never did quite recover. There was no love lost between them, but bearing witness to one's husband receiving the Kiss would certainly put one out of sorts for a time."

Snape raised a brow, unimpressed. "So that is what became of him. I always wondered."

Hermione slapped a hand to her mouth before she could stop herself. "Merlin's pants! They made her watch?"

The other woman caught her eyes and stared her down. "They made us all watch. Made examples of our husbands, friends, brothers, sisters, wives. So as we not get any ideas of uprising or mutiny. Most who bore the Mark met similar ends. Not Severus, of course, because he was a traitor. But most."

Ignoring her jibe, the man shook his head. "Phaedra's brother was spared, as you might remember. As well as her sister-in-law and her nephew." He turned back to his student, tapping the photo again, gesturing to the woman's face. "This is Phaedra Malfoy. Lucius' little sister. Apparently, I am being asked to marry my godson's aunt."