CHAPTER FORTY-SIX—The Final Term
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Hermione and Anthony rearranged all the chairs in their sitting room. The first Prefects meeting of the term would start soon.
"Hermione, you're—you're married, right?" Anthony paused, both hands on the back of a chair.
"Yes."
"To…who?"
Hermione moved any decorative pillows over to the bookshelf. "Harry."
Anthony ducked his head. "People were asking me. And my parents."
"What do you mean?" A chill rolled down her back.
"Asking for me to confirm." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Snatchers, I think they were. They said they didn't believe it. Wanted to make sure it wasn't me. Searched my house, looking for you, and all that."
Hermione chewed on her thumb nail.
He sighed and looked around the room. "I'm going to move back into the tower. After the meeting." Then he smiled at her, trying to be cheerful. "But hey, more room for you and Harry in here. Congratulations, and all. I never said but I think you two will be brilliant together."
She cleared her throat. "Thanks. And sorry, about—"
"Nah, don't start with that," Anthony said, waving her off. "It's been a bit lonesome in here by ourselves, anyway, at least I think so."
"Well, I don't disagree," she said on a sigh. She fiddled with one of her curls. "I'm sure I could ask to be moved into a different room."
"No, don't worry about it. I am quite firm on this."
"Alright. But I really am sorry."
He took a moment to think about it. "I accept your apology and I forgive you. But you will have to help me sort these books tonight—I think they got mixed up."
Their smiles were of the sad, commiserating sort. They were spared more depressing conversation by a knock at the door. Hermione pulled it open and left it that way so the other Prefects could walk in unhindered. Right on time, every seat but one was filled.
Hermione did a quick count, ignoring the Slytherins glares. "Where's Luna?"
The other Ravenclaws said they hadn't seen her since before the hols.
Hermione's heart jumped into her mouth. Anthony had to lead the meeting.
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The lab was quiet. Hermione, rather, had been quiet since Sunday night. Severus didn't know anybody who would tag Hermione Granger as 'quiet', so he was a tad concerned.
That blasted Order party had been a disaster. No doubt it was still on her mind a week later, just how right he had been. Already people whispered about how unfortunate it was to be a Snape. How there must be something wrong with her faculties. It was his own fault, that people thought him capable of—
Severus set down the knife. He was a bastard, but would never sink to such levels of depravity, physically harming someone who would put trust enough in him as to marry him.
Hermione tidied up her corner of the lab after finishing the last potion Madam Pomfrey required. When she turned to him, he could see the white of her teeth pinching part of her bottom lip.
Voice quiet, she asked, "Do you know where Luna is?"
He shook his head.
Hermione said, "She's not in the castle."
They both heard someone in the midst of a rhyme. Severus rolled his eyes. A poem about lazy Mudbloods.
Amycus Carrow's guffaw shot through the open door to the lab. Hermione's face turned red. The sham of a teacher asked the third-years to teach him the rhyme.
Severus went to the open door and leaned against it with his arms and ankles crossed. His black eyes took stock of each person in the group as they walked to the Slytherin common room.
"I will find out where she is," Severus said, "but you must do something for me."
"What?" she asked.
"You and Mr Weasley will patrol for me Friday night."
Hermione returned to her cleaning. "Another date?"
His eyes slanted to hers. Quiet but no less cheeky. "You want your revenge, don't you?"
"Yes." She crossed her arms and shot a glare towards the doorway.
He watched Carrow again, his voice faded to a muffled echo. With one finger raised off his crossed arms, he said, "He goes somewhere every Friday night. I need to know where."
"And this will help exact some revenge?" Hermione tried to puzzle out.
"Know thy enemy," he said, each word deliberate.
"Alright." A pause. "Thank you."
As Severus changed out of his regular attire and into jeans and a jumper, Hermione walked in from her bedroom.
Her entire face turned red when she found him shirtless. "Sorry!" she squeaked.
She spun around so quick her ponytail likely slapped her on the nose. "I, uh, when do you normally go out—walk the school?"
"Curfew." He pulled on a black jumper. He wrapped a grey scarf around his throat.
"Is it alright if we don't come through the dungeons?" She peeked over her shoulder, cheeks still pink.
"I would certainly recommend you avoid the area." He dug through the bottom drawer of his armoire. He pulled out a heavy black cloak.
"How did you know he always goes to Knockturn Alley?"
He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Mundungus Fletcher lets me know when Death Eaters frequent an area."
Hermione's lips scrunched up. "Well. Stay warm." The blush returned and she fled the room.
What the bloody—Severus did not have time to ponder that interaction. Based on Fletcher's intel, Amycus Apparated at the mouth of Knockturn Alley between 10:10 and 10:45 PM on Tuesdays and Fridays. Fletcher wasn't one for leg work. He liked to post up in one place to observe (and trade his 'wares'). So he did not know where the cur went each night. That was what Severus needed to find out.
It was important enough that Amycus would go, even in foul weather—but embarrassing enough even Alecto didn't know where he went. Gambling, perhaps? A bar? Severus hoped for something at least blackmail-worthy.
Severus Apparated to the back door of Borgin and Burkes. The store was dark. It was frigid out. He pulled the hood low over his face.
He leaned against the corner of the shop. He could watch the entrance from here. Fletcher must be in the tavern across the way.
10:23—Amycus arrived. Severus tailed him.
Straight to Madame Lamore's. Severus darted into the alley across the street. If anyone ever found out a Hogwarts professor frequented a brothel—
"Shite," he murmured.
The school would be ruined.
Severus scrubbed his face. "Fuck."
He had no idea what he would do with this information. He could blackmail him—but Amycus had nothing of use to him. It would be grounds for even the governors to fire him. The Dark Lord would laugh Severus out of the mansion if he brought it up. He had to sit on this and bide his time.
"Useless trip," he grumbled as he walked over to the bar to find Fletcher. He would have to extract his revenge in another manner.
The thief sat in a dark corner.
Severus sat at the table next to him so their backs were to one another. Might as well see if Dung had any more information for him before he returned.
"Heard Mad-Eye is still on castle grounds," Dung said as he resettled so his back rested against the wall. "I've got a few buyers for that mad eye of his."
"Who?"
They traded more than intel, on occasion. Severus had been instrumental in helping Lucius unload some of his dangerous artifacts before Arthur did a raid—because Dung Fletcher set up the buyers.
"Madam Umbridge, for one." Fletcher took a sip of beer. "Could be helpful if you need to…protect the missus."
Bastard couldn't mind his own business. "Is there a time-limit?" Severus asked through grit teeth.
"She didn't say. Keep it in your back pocket, I reckon."
Fletcher got up. Severus must have caught him at the tail-end of one of his 'shifts' before he would relocate.
A bargaining chip could be useful for Hermione, once Severus was gone. Unlike Fletcher, he was not in the habit of stealing from corpses but—fuck Moody. He got Hermione into this marriage, the least he could do in death was to offer up some protection from another Ministry headache.
Moody's very distant kin was to pick up the body tomorrow night. Severus had until then to replace the eye.
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After an uneventful patrol of the school, Hermione returned to the bedroom she shared with Severus. Knockturn Alley did not seem like a place Hermione would ever want to go, bounty or no bounty. She didn't even worry about Severus—he could hold his own against any number of people.
Including Professor Wrinkle, she thought with a frown.
It was inevitable that people would guess he was a Death Eater. He had the personality for it. It was public record that Karkaroff had named him as one. Professor Trelawney and Hagrid refused to be in the same room with the Carrows for any reason other than business—and since the twins had latched themselves to Severus's side…
Hermione plopped onto her side of the bed with a sigh. She was married to a Death Eater. A Death Eater everyone was concerned would be violent with his wife.
He had never hurt her. The only time she was even remotely wary of it is when he had held her still for eye-drops. Severus was an arse but he was easing up a bit, at least with her.
The way he called her dear changed. The first time he used it in place of an insult. At the party, it was…
"Part of his joke," she sighed and put her head on her hand.
That crush on Gilderoy Lockhart was nothing compared to the butterflies in her chest now.
It was silly. Everything that he had done for her could be explained away with logic; he rearranged lesson plans when she couldn't see so she wouldn't miss out—or so she wouldn't cut off a finger on his watch and disrupt the class.
He always found her after a Carrow's torture/detention—but if he didn't, he wouldn't reap the benefits of a full eight-hours of sleep next to her.
He entered a house chock-full of Weasleys, Aurors, and people he loathed to make sure she could Apparate back to Hogwarts. Or, more likely, to ease his own pain.
And he hounded her every step, slice and stir in the Potion's lab—not to ensure she was the best she could be but to leave a legacy after he died. To have her help with all the brewing Voldemort made him do.
It wouldn't matter, in the end. Even now, with Voldemort 'winning' at every turn, Severus still came back bloody from meetings. Should he ever find out Severus betrayed him…
Hermione sprawled supine across the middle of the bed.
As a little girl, she wondered who she would one day marry. She always envisioned a man with teeth as nice as her Dad's. Tall. Well-read.
"Nice to me," she muttered. "Affectionate," she sighed.
She shivered when she remembered his hand on her neck, his thumb tilting up her chin.
Hermione flung herself into an upright position to shake the feeling away. Here she was, obsessing over him, meanwhile, he had Alecto on the side!
He doesn't care one whit about you!
This infatuation would go away with time.
Hermione slid off the bed and set her wand on the nightstand.
Part of the wrapping paper she'd used on Severus's gift was balled up—and thoroughly chewed—next to the lamp. Hermione picked it up to throw it away in the washroom before her shower—
And found a bottle of Felix Felicis stuck to the wood.
"Well…bollocks."
She couldn't think of a logical reason he would have to give her anything as a gift except that he wanted to. Her stupid heart was stupidly aflutter again.