It had been an uneventful decade, Severus Snape, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, ruminated on his afternoon jaunt through Diagon Alley. It hadn't started out that way, what with the almost dying and the spying and the nearly dying again, but everything ended up in a neat little package after all. If someone had told him that he wouldn't wind up six feet under after everything was done, he'd have had them committed to St. Mungo's mental ward, post haste.
He hadn't landed in prison either. That, he determined, was a bloody miracle. Against all odds, he'd been cleared of any wrongdoing in the death of the crusty old bast- er, Albus. Unfortunately, he owed profuse thanks to none other than Lucius Malfoy. The pretentious bugger had been a spy all along (which he knew, but that's not exactly the point) and revealed himself in order to save Severus.
Malfoy Senior waltzed into 12 Grimmauld Place of an evening, like he owned it, sniffing haughtily at the dust and decay. He bypassed the complex wards and headed straight for Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt. In his carefully manicured fingers, he clutched a sealed missive from the late, great, and not so dearly departed Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
The parchment – authenticated by none other than the Granger Know-it-All – declared Snape's irrefutable innocence. It detailed the Oath that he'd been forced to take by the late Headmaster, and released him of any culpability in the old codger's death.
The informative little note also outlined Malfoy's treachery (where the Dark Lord was concerned, at least) and included a summary of the blasted Prophecy that got them all in the mess to begin with. He vaguely recalled the bushy haired chit snarling something under her breath about how the old bastard should have told everyone his master plan to being with. At the time, he'd assumed she was referring to Lucius, but now, he wasn't so sure.
Granger was the first to welcome Snape back into the fold. He, for whatever it was worth, had the niggling suspicion that she knew a hell of a lot more about things than he gave her credit for. He made it his personal mission to find out precisely what those things were. It wouldn't have surprised him to learn that she didn't trust the former Headmaster – no one with any sense ought to have done anyway.
Most surprisingly of all, Granger accepted Lucius into her graces as if he'd never called her mudblood scum. He'd been invited to take tea in the library, along with Severus, Lupin and the shaggy mutt, and that was the end of that.
She insisted, much to the chagrin of Weasley (Ronald Bilius, to be specific, but the whole lot of them, if you were being very honest) and the Potter buffoon, that both Snape and Malfoy had only been carrying out the task they were assigned. She insisted that they had no choice but to play their parts as Dumbledore designed them. The boys didn't agree, and she'd hexed them both stupid, snapping that eventually they'd learn she was always right.
Snape couldn't help but have a good hearty laugh at that one. If he was playing a part, it fit incredibly well with his dislike of humans in general, and his utter disdain for anything remotely Potterific. He also added - silently - that if Malfoy didn't have at least a few long winded lectures that lauded the sanctity of blood purity, he would eat his own shoe. He did not bother preparing recipes that made leather boot more appetizing.
So they went, in the days leading up the not so epic Final Battle. He and Hermione (not Granger, any more), who were getting along a bit better as of late, brewed potions and tended wounds from skirmishes alongside Lucius. The Weasley Boy and Potter did whatever it was that useless manchildren did, Lupin and Black shagged like rabid bunnies (who were they fooling) and everyone else did his or her own duty. For the most part.
He'd been forced out of spying, which worked out rather well, in his opinion. His role in Dumblefuck's death ingratiated him enough with the Dark Lord that he was sent into "hiding."
Thank Merlin.
There was only so much of Bellatrix Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov that one could take without Avada-ing himself. He'd happily taken his leave and retreated to the relative safety of the Secret-Kept 12 Grimmauld Place, leaving Lucius in play as the Order's primary spy.
Malfoy divided his time between his own Manor in Wiltshire and Grimmauld in London. As the Dark Lord's right hand man, and most trusted advisor, he was given bit of leeway in his comings and goings. He spent the majority of his days holed up in the library.
Severus didn't like that one bit. Research, his left nut. It did not escape his attention that whenever the Malfoy scion was en residence, Hermione left most of the brewing to him.
He'd walked in on more than a few screaming matches between the two of them. It surprised him that they never escalated to crossed wands. His Golden girl needed a bit of relief, and he didn't begrudge her the pleasure she seemed to gain from arguing with the aristocrat. She always returned to the lab more cheerful than she'd been when she left, and it made brewing with her that much more interesting.
It wasn't until the Trio left for Dumbledore's last mission – a ridiculous Horcrux hunt - that things went pear shaped.
They'd been kidnapped. It bloody well figured. Potter and Weasley managed to escape with the help of that demented house elf, Dibby or Dabby or whatever the fuck it's name was, but that left Hermione in the clutches of the Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor. It was up to Lucius, accomplished Double Agent still firmly ensconced in the Inner Circle, to ride to her rescue.
Over a week later, Lucius returned to the dilapidated brownstone with the young witch cradled in his arms. She was severely battered, Severus could tell, and startled easily. He was sure she'd been tortured, but he couldn't get close enough to her to determine the extent of the damage. The wounds he could see were in various stages of healing. She slept for another week afterwards, with Lucius sitting sentinel at her bedside.
Exhaustion was evident in the older Malfoy, and Severus caught him raiding the potions stores more than once. Warning the man of the dangers of prolonged use of certain potions had earned him a snarl and a threat at wand-point.
When finally they emerged, it looked as if Lucius had put Hermione back together well enough. No one was telling the details of her captivity, or of his daring recovery. It wasn't for lack of probing on the part of Potter and the Weasley family.
Tact was not something the Gryffindors situated in the Black residence possessed. Lucius, to his credit, did not actually kill or curse any of them for asking, though he itched for his wand each time. Instead, in a show of cold and vicious anger, he declared that If Molly really wanted to know about Hermione's ordeal, he would gladly show her first hand exactly what occurred.
Remarkably, no one asked again after his outburst, at least not within his earshot – and he was always close by.
In fact, Lucius rarely left the witch's side, not even as she slept. Much to the Weasley harridan's outrage, the pair could frequently be found napping on the tatty chesterfield in the library, Lucius curled protectively around her small form.
What was upsetting to him, though, were the times when Hermione would burst into tears unexpectedly. The crying jags were always preceded by a wild look in her amber eyes and she would usually reach for her wand defensively. The first time Potter and Weasley attempted to calm her, she hexed both boys soundly enough to incapacitate them. Severus immediately summoned Lucius to bring her back from the brink. After that, he never left her alone, not even for a few minutes, unless it was absolutely necessary.
When she had her meltdowns, he would place one large hand on her shoulder, brush her curls tenderly away from her neck and whisper against the shell of her ear. Sometimes she would calm immediately. Other times, he would escort her to their joint chambers. Hours later, she'd emerge quieter, more serene.
Something, Severus Snape knew, had changed. Before he could put his finger on what precisely that was, everything was over.
The War was won, Snakeface was defeated, he was a free man, Potty lived, and Hermione Granger disappeared.
Completely.
It was if she'd dropped off the face of the planet they called home, and Severus really couldn't blame her. She had changed, more than any of them. While the Dynamic Duo of Dunderheads took to the streets with their victory over the Dark Lord, she slipped quietly away, leaving behind her Order of Merlin, First Class, and a closet full of school clothes.
He'd turned over very moldy rocks looking for his little swot, and Black and Lupin stopped shagging long enough to go on their own search. All of their hunting was to no avail, and they returned to England bearing no fruit. It was determined, finally, that if she wanted to be found, they'd have found her, and that as long as there was no ransom, she was probably off having a breather.
Lucius also vanished, but he really had forseen that. Narcissa was dead (thank Merlin), and he could finally begin to rebuild his empire. It was no surprise, really, that the Malfoy patriarch went on his merry way. He'd been waiting on someone to dispatch the vicious bitch since Abraxas betrothed him to her. No one had ever liked Narcissa Black, not really, so it was only a matter of time before she was seen to.
She was as horrible as Bellatrix, if only slightly less psychotic. What she lacked in madness, however, she made up for in meanness. He really hoped Lucius thanked Rodolphus Lestrange properly for killing the cunt, before returning the favor. Severus killed Dolph during the Final Battle, shortly after Lucius used brute strength to subdue and strangle Bellatrix. He'd lived for twenty-six minutes without his wife and Severus was certain they were the best twenty-six minutes of his life.
In the ensuing ten, nearly eleven, years, Severus had heard very little from his old friend. Draco had undoubtedly followed his Father to places unknown, but sometimes returned home to England. It was on those few and far-between occasions that Severus would meet Draco for drinks and receive word regarding Lucius and his wellbeing. The Malfoy heir was for once silent about his father, something he had never bothered to be in the past.
So, it was to his great surprise, that whilst billowing purposefully down the footpath in Diagon Alley, he caught the familiar glint of platinum blonde hair against expensive silk robes. The muted charcoal color, Severus, remembered, was one Lucius favored well. Being the accomplished spy that he was, Snape had no recourse but to gather his cloak about himself and surreptitiously follow.
His old friend made several stops. Slug and Jiggers' Apothecary was the first, where he paid for a mysterious package. The items had unfortunately been wrapped by the time Severus found the right vantage point to see into the shop. Next, Lucius strode into Twilfit and Tattings, tailors to refined Wizards since 1506, where he spoke with Twilfit himself. Not the same Twilfit from 1506, mind, but his great grandson at least three or four times removed. He made an appointment, Severus lipread, for the coming Thursday.
Lucius' next stop was Flourish and Blotts, where he retrieved yet another wrapped package. This one cost him several hundred galleons, and Severus couldn't help but wonder what new editions the Malfoy library would hold come evening.
The two, hunter and prey, spy and target, continued on this way for much of the afternoon. Finally, mercifully, for Severus was growing tired of the mundanity of the shopping trip, Lucius caught the Floo in the Three Broomsticks back to Malfoy Manor.
Severus would not be Severus if he hadn't followed. He waited a just over a half hour, for propriety's sake, and then he was off.
The Floo brought him directly into Lucius Malfoy's study. What he found nearly drove him to the heart attack he'd been anticipating for years.
Hermione fucking Granger was sitting atop Lucius' massive desk, leaning over the Malfoy ledger as if she owned it. She was dragging the tip of one perfect little finger across a line, pointing something out to Lucius and he couldn't help but -