For the wonderful, patient and long-suffering Geyer.

"Professor Krum, might I suggest that you either use that wand or lower it?" Severus drawled. "Bearing in mind Defence was always your weakest subject, I would recommend the latter."

"Just as soon as you lower yours," Hermione insisted.

Anya stepped in front of her gaping children, attempting to shield them with her body. However, the children had other ideas and leaned around her to get a better view.

"If my intent in drawing my wand was to harm you rather than to have the ability to protect myself, I would have incapacitated you before your wand cleared its holster."

Hermione's eyes were already fixed on the darkly glittering ones of her former teacher, hoping there would be an infinitesimal tell that would give her a fraction of a second's extra warning before the attack. Now, she concentrated on trying to determine his sincerity, her wand lowering as if of its own accord. "Why are you here?" she finally asked when she realised that Snape's wand had disappeared just as fast as it had been drawn.

"For precisely the same reason you are, I should imagine," the stylishly tailored headmaster replied, as both Audrey and her younger brother stepped away from their mother, their heads turning from one teacher to the other as if they were watching a tennis match.

"You're teaching again?" Hermione asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

"Only when absolutely necessary," Severus answered. He gave a long-suffering sigh, knowing that nothing less than full disclosure would stop Hermione's questions. "I am the headmaster of Durmstrang Academy."

Hermione scowled as Severus descended the stairs from the upper level, and raised her wand in his direction again. "I don't think so, Professor. Saturnin Księcia is headmaster of Durmstrang. He's a brilliant and very prominent magical theorist, as well as having revolutionised teaching in Eastern Europe. I can assure you that if he had resigned his position, I would be well aware of it."

With a smirk, Severus fixed Hermione in his gaze. As he closed the distance between them, he lifted an eyebrow. "I thank you for the compliment, Professor."

"You can't be Księcia!" Hermione protested.

"Not everyone was so lauded as yourself at the war's end. I found it convenient to adopt a pseudonym. As you say, I am now well-regarded in academic circles, but how many journals do you think would have published articles by Severus Snape?"

"You were cleared of all charges!" Hermione protested. "And they gave you an Order of Merlin."

"Charges?" Giles cut in, getting over the surprise which had previously kept him from intervening. "What sort of charges?"

"Posthumously, Professor Krum," Severus added. "I'm sure that had you and your little friends not been so kind as to vouch for my death, then public opinion would have been far less generous."

"I asked what sort of charges!" Giles reminded the two educators.

"Professor Snape was a double agent during the last wizarding war," Hermione answered calmly. "He had to maintain his cover as a member of a violent and elitist secret order within wizarding society over a period spanning two decades. During that time, he may have been forced to perform various acts to avoid exposing his true allegiance, but he is a hero, not a criminal. Imagine if Hitler's most trusted intelligence officer had been spying for the Allies, and you'll begin to get an idea."

"Professor Krum is trying to avoid saying that I was charged with murder, amongst other things," Severus cut in. "However, as I said before, I was cleared due to the jury being in a good mood because they thought I was dead and the war was over. If, for one second, they had believed that I might actually have been able to sully them with my presence they would have reversed the ruling in an instant. Fortunately for me, I had the means and the contacts necessary to change my identity and relocate to Eastern Europe. Once I gained my doctorate and published a few articles, the offers of employment began to roll in. Now, can we get on with why we're here, or is Eamonn Andrews going to jump out with a big red book?"

"Robert," Giles nodded at his son. "Might I suggest you go into the office and work on your homework?"

"But, Dad—"

"Robert, go." This time Giles' soft tone brooked no argument. He waited until the door had closed behind his son to fix his full attention on the dark-haired man. "Am I to believe that, not only do you expect us to send our only daughter half way around the world, but you wish us to entrust her to the care of a murderer masquerading under an assumed name? Need I even tell you that the answer is no?"

"You can't!" Hermione burst out. "Hear us both out, find out about the schools, but don't make a snap judgement because of anything I said. He's no more a murderer than I am."

"Or you, Rupert," Anya added softly, "or I."

"Anya, dear," Giles protested. "This is preposterous."

"Rupert, darling, we both know she has power and so does Robert. Do you want her to become another Willow? Or another Anyanka? Or maybe Robert could start calling himself Ripper? They need to be guided by someone who knows what they're going through."

"We're not living on a Hellmouth any more. Willow would never have—"

"Willow would have gone power crazy no matter where she lived. You were in London. I was in a village in the middle of nowhere," Anya argued, as Severus looked on at the by-play with narrowed eyes.

"I was rebelling against exactly the sort of upbringing you're suggesting," Giles pointed out.

Audrey rolled her eyes. "Dad, your dad shipped you off to Watcher Academy when you were seven and everything you did from then on was designed to turn you into a good Council drone. It wasn't a school; it was a brain-washing facility. From what Professor Krum has said, Hogwarts is a lot less uptight. This would be my choice, and I'd be with other kids like me. I'm fed up with feeling like I have to hide who I am all the time."

Severus's eyebrow arched upward, and he reappraised the man to whom he'd been speaking until Miss Granger so inconveniently interrupted.

"And if we'd wanted to send you off to boarding school, we'd have sent you off to Watcher Academy when you were seven, too," Giles argued. "And we wouldn't have had to pay for it either."

"And if you had, she would have had the same incomplete education you, and I presume your wife, were given," Severus interjected. "I should also point out that although you would be required to pay for books, uniforms and other essentials, neither Durmstrang nor Hogwarts charge for board or tuition."

"Do I look like a Watcher?" Anya demanded.

"No, but I know you were never invited to attend any of the wizarding schools even though you have power."

"That's because she was outside the catchment area for Hogwarts and Durmstrang didn't exist," Hermione pointed out.

"What?" Severus demanded. "You mean she really was born in the eleventh century?"

"Long story," Hermione said.

"Yes," Giles snapped, "and I'll have you know that my education was very far from incomplete. I doubt that you attended Oxford." Giles conveniently neglected to mention that after he dropped out and ran wild, the prestigious college had refused to take him back and he had completed his degree at a far less salubrious educational establishment.

"No, unlike Professor Krum, here, I never remotely aspired to being a librarian." Severus cleared his throat, as if to warn the others that he would brook no further interruptions. "The Watcher Academy is warded to prevent detection by the wizarding world. If your daughter had been sent there, we would have been unable to contact her when she came of age. She would never use a wand, never learn to use the power that's within her. She could learn to use petitioning magic, as you have, with its rituals, sigils, risks and limitations, but the magic that is her birthright would be denied to her, as your father's choices denied it to you."

"Enough!" Giles protested. "We don't have time for this. Not tonight."

"No," Anya agreed. "We have a party to prepare for and, if we don't leave soon, Rupert and I won't have time for shower sex while we get ready."

"Quite," Giles agreed as he removed his glasses and began to polish them with a handkerchief. "Suffice it to say that if you wish to discuss the matter further, then it will have to be at a later date."

"Why don't you both come to the party?" Anya asked, receiving glowers from both her husband and Severus in response. "Oh, Rupert, stop being a stick in the mud. You know you'll be glad to have a few extra adults around once you get there. If we get the chance to discuss schools, it's a bonus. Besides, it's the least we can do if you're going to make them stay."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked. "We wouldn't want to put you to any trouble."

With her obvious enthusiasm, Severus realised he was doomed. He simply couldn't allow her to have an entire evening uninterrupted in which to influence the family.

"There's a taxi rank one block up on the left," Anya pointed out. "The drivers will probably have an idea which hotels have vacancies. The party's at a club a couple of our friends own. It's called 'The Bronze'. We'll be there from about seven, getting things set up, and the kids are due to start arriving at around eight." She flipped the sign on the shop door so that it showed they were now closed and held it open. When neither of her guests immediately moved, she added with slightly more insistence. "I need to cash up now."

Audrey raised an eyebrow and gave the two teachers a wry smile. "I'd advise you to leave now. Bad enough Mom tells the world about their sex life. You don't want to stick around for 'the dance of capitalist superiority'. Dad's the only person in the world who thinks it's cute. Everybody else just thinks it's insane."

"Indeed," Severus agreed, taking Hermione by the elbow and steering her out onto the town's main street.

---

As soon as the shop door had closed behind them, Hermione stopped dead and wrenched her arm from Severus's grip. "I think you forget that I am no longer a pupil who you can order around."

"As I recall, you never paid much attention to the rules in any case," Severus drawled, not modifying his stride so that Hermione was obliged to change to a teetering high-heeled half-jog to catch back up. "I should have known as soon as you showed your face that you would sabotage my efforts."

"I did not sabotage your efforts. Not deliberately."

Severus arched an ebony brow. "If that level of destruction is accidental, I would hate to see the devastation which occurs when you try."

"It just slipped out," Hermione protested. "And if you must know, I already told Mrs Giles that there was every chance my own son might be going to Durmstrang in September. I'd hardly say that if I was trying to put her off."

"Of course you wouldn't," he answered in a tone that dripped sarcasm. "However, since this all predated your discovery that the esteemed Saturnin Księcia is really the despised Severus Snape, I'm sure our friends will make allowances."

"I've never despised you."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"There may have been a time I didn't particularly like the persona you presented to the world," Hermione admitted, "but I never had anything other than the greatest respect for the man you really are."

"You have no idea who I am, Miss Granger," Severus announced as he took the first space in the taxi queue.

"It hasn't been Miss Granger for a very long time. If you can't manage Professor Krum, then Hermione will suffice, and I suspect I know you better than you imagine." Hermione couldn't help noticing that the longer they argued the more she was starting to sound like her adversary.

"I've seen my so-called biography in the latest version of Hogwarts: A History. Accuracy is not its strong point."

"Fine." Hermione took her handbag off her shoulder and felt around in it until she found the packet of letters Winky had given her that morning. She pulled the string off one end, and tore the brown paper so that the stack of mail sat in it like sticks of chewing gum in an open packet. Unerringly, she flipped through them until she spotted one on luxurious creamy parchment and pulled it out, returning the packet to her bag. She had barely broken the seal when Severus snatched it from her hand.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded in a silkily menacing whisper.

"As you saw, it came with the rest of my mail." She held out her hand. "I believe that is mine."

"On the contrary," Severus disagreed, tucking the letter into the inner pocket of his jacket. "It is addressed to Jean duBois."

"And if I published under Hermione Granger Krum, how much attention do you think people would pay to what was in the articles, and how much would be devoted to rehashing my school years and my marriage?" Hermione asked, though the question was patently rhetorical. "I wanted my work to stand or fall on its own merits. Fleur Weasley's sister, Gabrielle, works for Charlemagne Publishing. She tidies up my French articles and forwards my letters once a week. Now, if you would give me what is rightfully mine?"

"You obtained it under false pretences," Severus hissed. "I would never have maintained the correspondence if I had known that you were Jean duBois."

Hermione snorted. "Obviously," she agreed. "You would never want a former Gryffindor to know what an intelligent, erudite, amusing and basically pleasant person you can be, when you're not trying to be patronising."

Severus's eyes narrowed as if she had issued a challenge to a duel, but at that moment a taxi slewed into the bay in front of them. Hermione had the back door halfway open before he took her wrist and pulled it away from the door. "I believe that I was first in the queue, Madam Krum."

"And I believe there's no logical reason at all why we can't share," Hermione argued as Severus slid into the seat with the same grace he did everything else.

"True," Severus answered, his gaze raking her from head to toe in a dismissive fashion, "but then I wouldn't want you to think I was a pleasant person." The door closed with a heavy thunk, leaving Hermione alone on the pavement as the taxi drove off and turned onto the main street.

---

"Don't you dare," Anya warned as her husband flopped onto their bed, his body still damp from their shared shower.

"Or what?" Giles asked, tugging on their joined hands to pull his wife down on top of him.

"Or we'll be late," Anya argued, though her voice had softened noticeably.

Giles rolled them both over so that they lay side by side facing each other. "Five minutes won't hurt," he gently insisted.

Anya rolled her eyes and tried to tuck her towel more securely around herself. "I know you and your five minutes. Next thing, we'll be needing another shower."

Giles craned his neck to nibble gently at her lower lip, eliciting a soft moan. "Just five minutes," he promised. "For us... before we have to get ready for the mad house."

"It won't be that bad," Anya said, in an obvious attempt to pacify her husband.

"Have you forgotten her last sleepover?" Giles remarked dryly. "And that was only six girls. This time there are forty of them, including boys, and another dozen of Robert's friends, and you know what our luck is like with birthdays."

"Well, this time it's not our job to clear up the mess, and there's only been one not-so-good birthday since we left Sunnydale," Anya argued.

"Don't remind me," Giles sighed. "Only Buffy could decide that I would want to spend my fiftieth birthday in the company of Angel, though I'm not sure that you inviting those two so-called teachers was an improvement."

"Don't be silly, dear," Anya chided. "You were obviously having a wonderful chat with that sarcastic Englishman before we came back."

Giles rolled his eyes. "That was when I thought he was going to spend a couple of thousand dollars on rare books. Now I've heard such a delightful character reference, I'm not even sure I want to let him have them. I might as well box them up and ship them off to Ethan Rayne, wherever he is."

"Now you are being silly!"

"Are you telling me you think that Doctor Księcia, and what sort of name is that anyway? ...not that it is his name, according to that woman, is less dangerous than Ethan?" Giles asked.

"It's Polish for Prince," Anya stated matter-of-factly. "And, no, I'm not saying he isn't dangerous. You just need to look at him to know that. I'm saying Ethan would never pay for the books. And dangerous is all relative. You can be pretty dangerous when you want to be. If we're sending Audrey halfway around the world, then I want someone dangerous looking after her; someone who can deal with any threats that might come up. Think about it. There's a reason you put Faith in charge of training the slayers back in the day, and it wasn't for her morals."

"That was different," Giles insisted.

"Not so much. Now get up and get dressed, or Audrey and Robert will be hammering on the door."

"I still don't think you should have asked those people," Giles repeated as he pushed himself up off the bed and dropped the towel from around his waist.

Anya gave a knowing smile as she rose to her feet and wrapped her arms around Giles' waist from behind, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. "Admit it. Half the reason you're so annoyed is that he doesn't think what you do is real magic."

Giles slipped free of her arms and pulled open his underwear drawer. "As if waving a stick makes them better than us," he muttered under his breath as he took out a pair of boxers and slipped them on."

---

"You are the most stubborn, arrogant man I've ever met," Hermione accused as she drew out the seat opposite Snape's in the hotel's bistro.

"I'll have whatever he's having," she told the waiter, waving him and his menu away, "and a double gin and tonic, tall glass, two ice cubes, with a slice of lime if possible."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Professor."

"Merlin's balls!" Hermione spat in frustration. "Is there something wrong with my name? You've been calling me your dear Jean for the last five years," she said, pronouncing the name in the English way. "Is Hermione so much more difficult?"

"I've been calling a ninety-year-old grandfather mon cher Jean," Severus replied, emphasising the French pronunciation, "but Jean does not exist."

"You don't write to Jean duBois because he's a grandfather, and apart from the fact that the boys are mine and their names are different, I haven't exactly lied there either. You write to Jean duBois because you're interested in his research and because he understands yours."

"Jean duBois is not my former pupil," Severus pointed out in an icy tone. "I would hardly have made the sort of personal disclosures which I have made, had I known your true identity."

"Personal disclosures?" Hermione asked aghast. "Wouldn't that mean you had a personal life? I know nothing of a more personal nature than that you like merlot."

"You know where I spend my time away from Durmstrang. You know my hopes and my aspirations. What could possibly be more personal?"

"Your professional aspirations," Hermione sighed.

"I have no others."

The conversation paused as the waiter arrived with Hermione's drink.

She took a delicate sip and looked up at Severus through her lashes. "If that is true, then you can ill afford to lose a friend."

Neither spoke further, not even after their salmon sautéed with lemon zest, white wine and dill capers on a bed of basmati rice and served with grilled asparagus arrived. Nevertheless, when Hermione returned to her room to change, she discovered that Saturnin's letter was back in her bag.