erus apparated them to a patch of muddy country road. Something creaked ominously nearby. The giant Blood Moon that had loomed Severus and Hermione's battle with Umbra had absconded behind a dark curtain of clouds. Hermione cast a Lumos and aimed her lit wand to the general direction of the sound rattling above their heads. She saw what looked like a half-ruined, L-shaped country house with boarded windows and peeling paint that revealed time-worn red brick, and a rusty old firm proclaiming the place to the Unlucky Charms Inn.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"Still in County Meath," he said then grasped her right hand in his larger one, giving it a firm squeeze. "Keep your eyes downcast and let me speak," he ordered tersely as he pulled her along.
Hermione had to be careful not to slip on the patches of ice she soon discovered mixed into the mud. Still she nodded as he pulled them through a heavy wood door and into a narrow room with slanted ceiling and poor lighting. A few candles floated in the air and there was a fire lit in the hearth in the corner. The floor was lined with several long tables surrounded by backless benches. Four figures were hunched over steamy bowls, hoods pulled over their heads. From their silhouettes, Hermione guessed they were not all human.
Severus inclined his head forward, letting his long, black hair fall like a curtain over his face. Hermione raised her free hand to pull her woollen hat almost all the way over her eyes, keeping her eyes on the mud caked oak floor as instructed, while Severus dragged her to a front desk made out of a tree trunk that had been split in half, a part of it still bearing the bark. Out of the corner of one eye, she noted that the woman standing behind it looked like a stereotypical witch: she was old, her angular face marked by deep lines, with beady eyes and a sharp nose, the few strands of hair escaping from her black, pointed hat snow white.
"We would like a room," Severus said in his calm, bored monotone.
"Of course," she replied in a heavy Irish brogue and with a smirk that showed inside her toothless mouth. "Of course."
Hermione became acutely aware of how they looked: an older man pulling a young girl in a visibly disreputable establishment such as this. Her heart began to beat faster. She should have been repulsed by the mere notion of him bringing her in a place such as this. This was a notch lower than anything on Knockturn Alley. But Hermione felt no aversion, instead a sense of wickedness warmed her blood that still thrummed with the mad dash of adrenaline caused by her most recent brush with death. They could have been torn to bits by Inferi. Her mind could have been unhinged by Umbra. Yet here they both were, alive and well, the electric tension that had sparked their post-conflict kiss still strumming between them, making her skin feel too tight, her breath stutter and her pulse roar in her ears. She was fairly certain there were goosebumps blossoming all over her body.
Severus lead her up a short staircase with thin, slippery steps and then through one of the doors littering the crooked upstairs corridor. He slammed and bolted the door then pressed Hermione against it, his hands wasting no time in pulling off her hat and jacket. His breathing was so irregular he was all but panting but it was his eyes had captured Hermione's attention. Those familiar black, bottomless tunnels were ablaze with a hungering fire, his overall expression feral. He looked like a predator who had cornered his prey and was not about to devour it whole. And it was all for her. When he kissed her and made it carnal and filthy, one of his hands gripping and pulling on her plait almost to the point of pain, her reason fled. She wanted nothing more than to be lost to the madness with him.
A while later, he lay on his back on his cloak spread in front of the fire burning in the grate, his knuckles trailing lazily down her naked back as she sat up. She smiled a little, her mind clear now that her body was sated. She used her wand to stoke the flames a bit.
"It's not chocolate but endorphins that help after an encounter with Dementors," she remarked.
He chuckled, the sound sinfully rich just like the finest of chocolates. "Chocolate is easier to explain to underage students."
She lay back down and rested her head on his shoulder, her lips stroking briefly his pale skin indented by angry red half moons left behind by her short nails. "I suppose," she said. "Besides, nobody kissed at Hogwarts on your watch… not if you could help it. Let alone did anything else. You almost left the entire school without house points after the Yule Ball."
His velvety chuckle deepened at that and if Hermione hadn't known better, she could have sworn that for one or two seconds he had been laughing. She had never heard him laugh before, not even smile wide enough for him to show any teeth. She rose on an elbow to look him. His face was lax nearly to the point of relaxation and his skin was smoothed out and even glowing slightly in the warmly golden firelight. He looked younger… no, he looked his actual age. He wasn't even forty yet. Suddenly the way the innkeeper had looked at them no longer seemed funny or inciting but turned rather infuriating. They were both adults. If Severus wanted to bring a woman half his age to bed or if she wanted to be with someone almost twenty years or a century her senior, then it was nobody's business but their own.
"Do you want some dinner?" he asked all of the sudden in a reversal of their usual roles in which she was the one who always insisted he ate.
She was about to refuse, not wanting him to have any more interaction with the inn staff, when she realised she was actually famished. They had put their clothes back on and he had spelled the dust and grime off his cloak by the time the inn keeper came in with skirts and kidneys, soda bread and butter, stout and chocolate flapjacks. They were sitting at the table, looking innocent enough, though Hermione had pulled her chair closer to that of Severus, let her plait untidy and forwent her bra. When the innkeeper came in, she stared at the woman haughtily almost daring her to comment. The other witch said nothing, though, her sardonic gaze doing all the talking but it wasn't enough to give Hermione the excuse she was looking for.
They ate in silence, Hermione practically inhaling her food, as she struggled to keep her wayward thoughts at bay. There were disturbing conclusions about Umbra to be drawn, the world's reaction to the change in her and Severus' relationship to ponder and the notion that she returned to work in the morning to be taken into account. For now, however, she was loathe to leave the warm, safe cocoon woven around them.
Severus used his wand to clutter the dishes onto the tray they had been brought in and then sent them to the floor outside the door. She sauntered over to where he sat and climbed onto his lap. She pulled his shirt over his head and pressed her closed mouth the the tangled knot of scars Nagini had left behind, while her hand busied themselves smoothing over the memories of torn skin on his shoulders. Her heart was racing. How many battles had he been in since before she was born? How much had he had to endure not just from enemies but from the very people who should have cared for him? What Bellatrix had done to her made a certain amount of sense; they had been at war and Bellatrix had been a foe fostering a fanatical hatred for everything Hermione was and represented. But Severus had been hurt by his father, by his school mates, by Voldemort when he was supposed to be on his side.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low and gruff, fraught with uncertainty as her lips trailed delicately to a what looked suspiciously like an long, overgrown burn mark.
"Kissing you," she replied absently, though she realised he could probably guess this wasn't sexual. He was very still and stiff against her.
One his large hand made its way into her hair. "You don't have to…."
"I want to," she replied, stroking her way down his forearm until she reached the vestige of his Dark Mark.
He yanked his arm way when the pads of her fingers padded gently across it. "Don't…."
Only then did she chance a look at his face. He looked to be in actual physical pain.
"Am I hurting you?" she asked nervously.
His lips pursed together. He seemed even paler than usual, all his previous relaxation having drained from him. He huffed indignantly, his hand tightening in her hair, as he tipped her face so he could kiss her, his lips urgent and devouring against hers. He was trying to distract her, she could tell. Tension practically vibrate off him. Still she pressed her palm against some of the scars criss-crossing his abdomen.
"Slowly," she said as his teeth scraped impatiently over her pulse point. "What's the rush?"
He didn't answer, instead he lifted and deposited her on the table that creaked plaintively under her weight. His expression had darkened and his eyes were heavy lidded. He leaned over her and took her mouth again. A thousand questions were swarming in her head. Had anyone ever fought with him instead of being just him alone on potentially fatal missions? Had anyone asked him if he was all right in the aftermath of a battle? Had he ever been able to feel that someone was on his side? Had he ever been met with anything other than scorn and mistrust from the very people he was fighting for? She guessed the answer was no on all accounts. Then again she couldn't think for long, as he swept her away in a dizzying torrent of sensation.
# # #
Professor Borin gave Astoria a long-suffering look as her hand went up for the third time in the past hour. Astoria smiled genially at him, ignoring the warning look she received from Penny Parkinson sitting at her elbow.
"Sir," Astoria began politely. "It says here that Adolf Hitler, the leader of Germany, started the Second Muggle World War." She thumped her index finger lightly on the corresponding page in her textbook.
"Yes," Borin replied testily, pushing his golden wire glasses higher up his fleshy nose. "What of that is unclear to you, Miss Greengrass?"
"Mr. Hitler was just one man, Sir. I find it hard to believe he single-handedly started a war that spawned the entire muggle world. Surely there have been other causes or additional circumstances that made such a conflict happen."
"Five points from Slytherin, Miss Greengrass," Borin bellowed. "I would have expected that you and the rest of the house would understand how one man can fling an entire world into war… seeing as you have personal experience in such matters."
There were sniggers from the Gryffindors sitting at the front. The Slytherins around her sent Astoria insistent looks. Travers glowered at her.
"No, Sir," she replied calmly, her tone still one of politeness. "I do not understand. Whatever do you mean?"
"Detention, Miss Greengrass, with Mr. Filch… tonight!"
"For asking questions during class? For wishing to comprehend what we are supposed to be learning better? The entire Slytherin House has been compelled to retake Muggle Studies. I assume there has been a purpose for this aside from compiling our class load."
Penny pulled on the sleeve of her robes but Astoria ignored her. She had woken up that morning in pain, her movements sluggish and difficult, and it made her feel reckless.
Borin's beady, blue eyes fixed her with a kind of cold-hearted loathing. Astoria paused, a shiver racking through her. She understood what he thought he saw when he looked at her and the rest of her house. She lowered her own gaze, stamping on the instinct to scream atop of her lungs that that wasn't her, that she didn't hate him for him for who his parents were. She just despised him as a teacher. Borin was muggle-born, though Astoria suspected she had never set so much as a foot outside the wizarding world for the sixty-four years he had spent straddling a desk at the Ministry. Now he seemed to fancy retirement in a castle in the Scottish countryside while doing the bare minimum in class.
"Twenty additional points shall be taken from Slytherin," Borin thundered, his bony cheeks staining with crimson. "Is there anything else you would like to add, Miss Greengrass?"
He spat her name as though it were an insult. Astoria slumped in her seat, wondering if he had been at her father's trial, and heard the same horrors that had turned her world upside down, just like she had.
When the class was finally over, the Slytherins stayed behind as they usually did these days.
Talkalot turned to Astoria with a frown. "It's official," he hissed. "Our house has the least amount of points in half a century. Thanks to you, we are tied with Hufflepuff."
"We are not learning anything in this class," she groused.
Parkinson shrugged. "So what? Why can't you slumber on like the rest of us? Borin isn't worse than Binns."
"He isn't better, either," Astoria grumbled. "Only that any pure-blood has already been taught the basics on the history of magic at home, before we even get our acceptance letter. It's Muggles that we don't know not nearly enough about." She paused as her classmates protested that they knew as much as they needed. "We could form a book club," Astoria advanced once the voices around her died out. "A muggle book club. We would read a new book every week and meet to discuss it."
"You are bang out of order," Travers muttered. "We cannot form an association of any kind any more than you can make Borin answer your daft questions."
"Why not? Student organizations are permitted by the rules."
Leilani Khan laughed at that. "Do you think our Gryffindor Headmistress and the Deputy Headmistress who also happens to be Head of Gryffindor House would allow us to form a student organization? It doesn't matter what you mean to call it. They'll still think it's actually intended to be the The Dark Lords and Ladies of Tomorrow."
"We shall keep it a secret then," Astoria persisted. "We will only let the younger students of our House know."
"We're not Gryffindors," Travers piped in. "If we get caught, we will be expelled and Hogwarts might not be much these days but I'd still rather be here than in the forty empty rooms of my family mansion with the ghosts, the portraits and three house elves constantly asking what they could do for me."
"You could give them clothes," Astoria offered.
"Don't you think I've tried? Every time they would start with the whining and the moaning about how they have been with my family for generations and how they would punish themselves just to please me. It's enough to drive a bloke mad. I have no family out of Azkaban, Astoria, so I intend to make the most of the few months I have left here."
"This is making the most of the time we have left at Hogwarts," she pointed out patiently.
"Pansy is going to kill me, if I get expelled," Penny interjected.
"We shan't get caught," Astoria stressed. "We are Slytherins. We cheat at quidditch all the time. When was the last time we were found out?"
"Just last month," Fawley muttered.
"Well, you are careless," Talkalot shot back. "Where are we going to find muggle books, anyway?"
Astoria smiled. "Muggles employ bookshops, too." She stood and began arranging her school items neatly into her satchel. "We should go. We don't want to be late for Defence Against the Dark Arts."
Groans erupted around her. Madam Ennui, a reputable French Belgian scholar the Headmistress prided herself on managing to snag, was trying but her genuine efforts could not make up for her lack of practical experience. Surely she had written several well-received treatises on the moral and philosophical implications of the use of curses and hexes but none of her academical expertise lent itself to teaching. Still she made fumbling attempts at having the students duel, which usually ended bad for Slytherins. If they gave as good as they got, the other students reported their uncanny interest in Dark Magic that was sure to lead them down the same path as the many Death Eaters coming from their house. If they demurred, their opponents would take merciless advantage of it.
When the bell rang, they crowded at the back of the class waiting for Ennui—a tall woman on the plump side, with shortly cropped, gold and silver hair and bright, hazel eyes—to waltz in a sweep of her colourful, perfectly tailored robes. While Astoria was not fond of her, she, like many other Slytherin girls, admired the woman's impeccable sense of style. Much like Hagrid, Ennui meant well, she was just wrong for her post.
Today's topic was Dementors and things devolved rapidly.
"Is it true dark wizards cannot produce a patronus charm?" someone at one of the tables occupied by Gryffindors said.
"It's true, yes," Ennui replied in her melodic, strongly accented voice. She was unfamiliar with the house dynamics at Hogwarts and often failed to navigate them properly. "You must understand this is not the only consideration about the patronus charm. Generally speaking, it's very difficult to produce, especially a full-bodied one."
Astoria's hand shot up in the air. Penny leaned towards her quickly. "I am begging you, leave us some points to finish the term with."
Astoria shot her a brief glare but said nothing.
"Yes, Mademoiselle Greengrass?" Ennui said in her usual, friendly manner. "You have a question."
"I don't have a question," Astoria replied with a beatific smile. "I can produce a corporeal patronus."
Ennui's thin, pale eyebrows shot up, surprise registering on her round, beautiful face that showed her to be about ten years younger than she actually was. "Pardon?" she said, her astonishment making her pronounce the word in the French rather than the English manner.
Every pair of eyes not belonging to a Slytherin turned on Astoria, some with curiosity, others with disbelief and quite a few with malice. Astoria pulled out her wand and closed her eyes, willing herself away from the stuffy classroom, then her hand lifted and whirled through the air.
"Expecto patronum," she called out.
When she opened her eyes again, the grass snake that was her patronus was slithering through the air like a delicate silvery mist. Elation shot through her. She was still unsure with the charm and the snake didn't always emerge fully formed.
Professor Ennui gasped. "Very impressive. Ten points to Slytherin, Mademoiselle Greengrass. How did you learn such a complex charm?"
"The young man courting me taught me," Astoria said lowering her wand as the cobra broke itself into tiny sparks against one of the windows. Triumph warmed her chest at the shocked gasps filling the room. Everyone knew of the swirling rumours linking her to Draco Malfoy. "Our former Head of House taught him," she added gleefully. "You all remember Professor Snape, do you not?"
A heavy silence wafted over the place. Astoria kept her grin in place. Even from a distance Snape inspired fear.
"My predecessor?" Ennui asked with genuine interest and politely waiting for Astoria to confirm. "He certainly made sure you are well prepared for a Dementor attack."
"Dementors won't attack her," somebody from Ravenclaw said. "They are allied with Death Eaters."
Ennui stared at Astoria in confusion. "Miss Greengrass is too young to have been a Death Eaters."
"Her parents aren't," several voices clamoured.
"Neither is the boyfriend she claims taught her to conjure a patronus," someone added.
"Or Professor Snape… he was a Death Eater, too."
"Professor Snape is a hero," Talkalot shouted. "He saved you lot from Voldemort."
"Harry Potter defeated Voldemort," resounded the furiously vociferous protests from all over the classroom.
"Yeah… it was the Chosen One and his allies in all houses but Slytherin…."
"Snape just slithered his way in at the last moment claiming he was on our side all along to save his hide."
"He was a creep… a bully… obsessed with Potter's Mum… a married woman…. He tormented poor Harry for years just because she turned him down."
Astoria sank back down, overcome by a sudden feeling of emptiness and defeat. At her side, Penny's wand shot up. "I'm hexing each and every one of them. It will be worth the detention!"
Astoria gripped the wrist of her wand hand to stop her. "This is not the Slytherin way."
Travers, who was captain of their quidditch team, leaned back. "Next match… none of them stays on their brooms. I don't care if they expel me."
Fawley turned to Astoria too. "You know what? Let's have that stupid club of yours."
# # #
Astoria quietly slipped from the group of seventh and sixth year students visiting Hogsmeade under the supervision of Professor Aurora Sinistra, the new Head of Gryffindor House, now that Mcgonagall had become Headmistress. It wasn't that Draco and she could not meet in public like normal people but they didn't want to appear to be flaunting their relationship in front of his parents or give more fodder to those gossiping about them. As she doubled back towards the castle and slipped into the Forbidden Forest, a sharp twist of pain bloomed around her middle. She paused leaning against the tee trunk. Her head whirled as the pain mounted to her chest. She closed her eyes and started counting in her mind, waiting for the sudden weakness and nausea to pass. She had taken her potions in the morning. This was just momentary, it would pass.
When she opened her eyes again, it took the better part of a minute for her vision to clear. Reality wavered around her and she began to slide to the ground. She dug her shoes into the ground, gritting her teeth, then made herself pull back up slowly, the air shocking cool against her heated skin. Then the malaise started to wane and her strength returned. She gulped on air hungrily. Once, twice, three times. It was gone as if it had never happened. She pressed a hand to her temple and waited for a few seconds lest it decided to make a brisk return. When it didn't, she followed the path deeper into the woods.
Draco leaned casually against a giant oak trunk, wrapped in resplendent, silver tinged black robes, a few strands of hair falling in his eyes, a familiar smirk stretching his lips.
"I hope you know that you have gone completely around the bend," he said. His pale grey eyes were twinkling with mischief.
Astoria smiled, feeling her cheeks grow warm as she drank in the sight of him. "Hello, Draco. It is lovely to see you. How am I? Why, how very gallant of you to ask. I am fine, thank you, how about yourself?"
His grin showed a flash of teeth as he stepped towards her. "I came here with a sack of muggle books. I believe that should make up for any imaged impoliteness on my part." His arm slipped around her waist and he pulled her a little closer. "Hello, Astoria. I have missed you." His lips brushed the tip of her nose delicately before he kissed her on the lips.
She returned the kiss for a few moments before breaking apart with a fresh smile. "Now that is a proper welcome." She grasped the string of the black, velvet pouch he had been carrying. "Have you read any of these?"
"Of course not," he puffed indignantly.
Astoria rummaged through the bag briefly before coming up with a copy of Pride and Prejudice that had been huddled together with the other reducted volumes. "I would have thought you would want to know your competition," she said slyly as she held up the book. "Even you are not match for Mr. Darcy, Draco."
"Who is Mr. Darcy?" he asked, his voice inflamed with suspicion.
"Read the book," she advised thrusting the proffered tome at him.
"I must be the first in my family to ever crack open a muggle book."
"Well, you have always prided yourself on your uniqueness, Draco. Now, have you delivered an invitation to your family Yule party to Professor and Madam Snape?"
"What if I haven't? They won't come, Astoria."
She looked at him through the corner of her eyes from where she was crouched on the moss-covered forest floor bent over the satchel he had brought her. "Still it would behove you to be polite."
"What are you plotting, Astoria?"
"Who says I am plotting?"
His lips curved into a devious smile. "Anyone who has ever met you."
"Was this expensive?" she asked pulling out an edition of They Art of War with soft, shiny covers.
"How would I know what Muggles think of as expensive?" he asked testily, rolling his shoulders in a shrug as he did.
"Can't you find out?" she pressed.
"What is this about, Astoria?"
She straightened herself out with a grin. "It's a surprise." She leaned over to him and kissed him sweetly on the lips. "Don't you trust me?"
"No," he said once they broke apart. "You're in Slytherin."
She kissed him again. "Good answer, Mr. Malfoy."
# # #
Astoria hastened back to the castle, quietly cursing her own stupidity. It was almost sundown. Even with the Reducto charm, the bag of books felt heavy. Then again she almost always lost track of time when she was with Draco. They had walked through the woods for a bit talking about books, her mother driving both him and his father mental with her redecorating of Malfoy Manor, and a few carefully curated school subjects. She cast apprehensive glances around the Hogwarts grounds but so far she appeared to be alone, which was the whole problem to begin with. Slytherins never went anywhere alone these days. Her hand clutched her wand tighter.
She paused to take a breath. Her teeth gnashed together of their own accord. There was a faint iron tang on her tongue. She pressed a hand to her lips and it came back stained with blood. She spat a mouthful of it and placed her burden on the ground by her feet. Fat, white flakes of snow began to flutter through the icy air.
"Well, well, if it's not the patronus conjuring Death Eater…."
No, not now, she thought and whirled around. If she struck first, there would be detention for the rest of the year or worse because they could claim she had attacked them. There were four of them: two Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff.
"She's returning to the castle," the Hufflepuff, a petite fifth year girl with a friendly face, said. "Like us. Let's just go!"
Astoria's hand was clammy on her wand, as she measured her options. She could run but doubted she would get far. She could scream but they were alone and unless a professor heard, the attention she would attract would likely only increase their numbers.
"Only she's nothing like us," Abercrombie, one of the the Gryffindors, jeered. "Her father is a murderer, rotting in Azkaban where she belongs as well, and her mother died attacking Hogwarts. What do you think her sweet, sweet parents would have done to us if Voldemort had won?"
"Expelliarmus," somebody cried out just as Abercrombie was finishing his tirade.
Astoria's legs cut from under her just as her wand flew from her hand, panic worsening her malaise. She grasped the string of the book bag, whispering a transfiguration spell under her breath, hoping it took even without her wand. Voices erupted all around her.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing. You heard the spell."
"Let's just go!"
"We can't leave her here like this."
Leave me here, Astoria pleaded silently. I shall drag myself to the dungeons somehow.
Somebody was touching her face but in the ashen light of the twilight and with her vision foggy once more, she couldn't see who it was. "Astoria… are you…?"
She turned her head and bit the hand pressed to her cheek.
"Aw! You, bitch… I was trying to help you…."
Astoria dragged herself to her knees, the world still whirling dangerously around her. "Don't help me," she shouted. "Leave me alone…. Just leave me alone!"
"Come on, let's go. She's mad and vicious… like her parents… like the whole lot of them."
Once the sounds of the departing foot steps grew more and more muted, she groped for her wand and clutching it to her chest, she pulled herself back to her feet. Grasping the string of the bag that thankfully lay untouched on the ground, she started back on her way to the reconstructed castle her parents and their friends had besieged a year and a half ago. She only stopped when she reached the grey marble obelisk that shot towards the sky. It was the sole reminder of the devastation wrought upon the place; even the bridge had been rebuilt.
IN MEMORY OF THE FALLEN
The letters glowed a warm orange at the base of the structure, never going out just like the tall magic aflame glimmering at the top. The snowflakes were cold as they melted against the hot tears streaming down her face.
"How could you?" she asked the descending night, her mother's warm, loving face floating from memory. "How could you?!"
The night air had no answers to give.
# # #
Severus… please….
Charity Burbage's bloodied and battered face shifted to the pleading one of Dumbledore and then back again. Charity had been kind to him, friendly almost, instead of the respect from a distance he was used to receiv ing from his colleagues. He hadn't been complaining, though. Respect was infinitely better than derision. But Charity had been different. She hadn't shied away from him, willingly engaging him in conversation in the staff room and those discussions often went beyond what was strictly necessary for them to do their jobs. There hadn't been any disgust or anger in her eyes when looking at him, not once. Her congratulations when Slytherin won a game of quidditch or were ahead on house points had always sounded earnest, her smile wide and sincere, instead of the tight-lipped kudos he usually received. He could have almost imagined them friends and the confirmation had come as Voldemort had been levitating her above a table, moments before murdering her for the crime of not believing witches and wizards to be superior to Muggles . It had come as she had plead with him for help, while he had been forced to sit, stone-faced, and watch as she had been tormented and killed, for if he intervened, she would have died, regardless, together with him, and the entire living nightmare he had endured as a triple agent would have been for naught. Dumbledore's death would have been for nothing.
Severus… please….
You promised….
Avada kedavra….
No! No! No!
The voices at his trial twisted around him, coiling like the hissed whisperers of a thousand unseen snakes. And wasn't that ironic?
Murderer…! Death Eater…! Traitor…! Justice for Dumbledore!
Yes, he deserved to be punished. He had killed him . Everyone who had been even remotely kind to him, he had destroyed. He had abandoned his mother to his father's tender mercy, flying off to his dream of Hogwarts. He had insulted Lily beyond repair. He had joined Voldemort and betrayed Lily yet again, causing her death. He had watched people… Charity Burbage, naive, warm-hearted Charity Burbage who treated even the likes of him like a human being. He had let i t happen. He had allowed students to be tortured under his watch, while he had been Headmaster. Him, Headmaster at Hogwarts, in Dumbledore's stead, what a joke! What a cruel, twisted joke!
… you looked him the eye… a man who trusted you… and killed him… killed him….
No, what were those fools doing it? He was guilty! He should have been dead. He deserved the Dementors' Kiss and worse. He was guilty! Why h ad they let him go?
"Severus… Severus… please…. It's okay…. You're okay…. You're with me. You're safe."
The voice was familiar and filled with concern and affection w hile the hands that were running over him were steady and gentle, clearly not aiming to hurt. They were small, soft and warm, better than anything he had ever felt b efore , far, far better than he deserved.
"It's just a nightmare," she continued in that small, worried voice. "You're safe now."
T here were lips on his brow and they felt even better than the hands, silky and oh, so delicate. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up. Ever! He wished to remain in this warm bauble where somebody sounded genuinely concerned for him. Gradually his senses returned and he remembered where he was. He pried his eyes open and was met with Hermione's distressed gaze. She gave him a wan smile.
"You had a nightmare," she said unnecessarily then lowered her eyes, hesitating briefly before adding: "You kept calling out Dumbledore's name."
H e jerked upwards, careful to look away from her, then slid out of bed. If he had been dreaming, it meant he had fallen asleep. Truly, deeply asleep. Normally after they had sex, he either stayed awake for a while before slipping away, or fell into an all too short, light dose. Tonight would be the first time he had actually slept in her arms. There was an odd, hollow sensation in the middle of his chest that combined with the residual horror of the dream.
"It wasn't your fault," she said quietly, as he began picking up his clothes piece by piece from the floor, straightening them up with wordless spells, and then putting them on. "He made you… he asked you to. He was dying anyway. He would have been dead by the end of the year."
Severus finished buttoning up his shirt and he scrutinised the shadowy room for where his frock coat had ended up. "I still killed him. Ask your friend, Potter, if you don't believe me." He located his coat tossed under the table and bent to retrieve it.
"I don't have to ask anyone anything," she replied. "I saw how it happened in your memory, remember? I know how much anguish it causes you… how guilty you feel."
He said nothing at that, merely s hrugging into his coat.
"He had no right," she soldiered on, anger quivering in his voice.
He whirled on her, his fingers trembling over the buttons of his coat. " I didn't have to agree."
"You tried to say no," she began. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. "He did ask too much of you," she echoed his own words. "He put too much on your shoulders. And whenever you wanted to refuse the next ignoble mission, he would dangle the memory of Lily in front of you to get you to do it. He exploited you, your love for her and your guilt." One tear did fall, running down her left cheek. "I wish I still had the time-turner so I could go back and punch him in the face for what he did to you… for Harry… for everything."
Anger started to bubble beneath the surface of his mind. "He had every right," he said, keeping his voice low yet threatening. Agitation gripped him and he was powerless to resist. "He was the commander of an army at war. Besides, I had promised to give him anything as long as he kept Lily and her family safe."
"Harry's parents were part of the Order, they were on his side," she shouted, her eyes burning with fury, tears falling in earnest now. "It was his job to keep them safe. Don't you see how much worse this makes everything? He blackmailed you with the safety of his own people. He used them as a bargaining chip! It could have been anyone, me, Harry, Ron. It was Harry! And he had the gal to say you were the one who disgusted him."
H e sneered moving closer to the bed, where she sat in the middle of it, a threadbare, yellowing sheet wrapped around her body. "So the true motif emerges. You are not angry on my behalf. Y ou are furious because you believe that Dumbledore would have leveraged your life and that of your friends to gain a spy, if given half a chance."
She bristled. "I don't believe anything. I know he would have. Don't you see? We worshipped him… we trusted him. He would have leapt into fire if only he commanded it."
H e sat down on the edge of the bed, giving her a small, wry smile. "You were not the only one s ."
She smiled back, just as bitterly. "Harry loved him like a father…. He still does, I think. He doesn't talk much about him these days. I think he doesn't know how to feel about what he saw in your memories… about the whole sending him to die by Voldemort's hand like a pig to the slaughter. I guess it never occurred to me that you… you too."
He scowled. "Me too? Me too… what?"
She hesitated, drawing her lower lip into her mouth to chew on it. " I guess…. I just mean… you cared for him, too."
He turned his gaze towards the dying flames in the grate. She didn't have to vocalize it. He knew all too well what she meant. "He was my friend… or so I believed," he admitted. "He was the only one who knew…."
One of her hands patted at his own on the blanket awkwardly before her fingers curled firmly around his. "It's hard, isn't it? Not to feel like you were a pawn in a giant game of wizarding chess? As if we were expandable… all of us."
The fury that heated his blood had a an entirely different cause. He turned his head to meet her eyes once more. "You were not expandable, none of you, not even P otter ."
Her eyes filled with tears anew. "You weren't expandable, either," she said s harply . "And you deserve to be known… a nd not just by Dumbledore. I know you think everybody is being nice to you out of obligation for what you did during the war but many of us are honestly sorry for how we misjudged and treated you. We' re making a real effort to show you how much we admire you. Harry thinks the world of you . Even in the Ministry, not everyone believes as Kingsley does. I know for a fact everyone in the Weasley family would be incensed by it. M ind you , Mr. and Mrs. Weasley always respected you lots. W hen we were in school, Molly would not let Harry and Ron call you anything other than Professor Snape."
H is fingers curled tighter around her hand before he could realise what he was doing. Their gazes met and he was tempted by the promise of her mind. He frowned. What was with him? If he didn't want her body, he lusted after her mind, and most of the time, he desired to have both. He yanked her towards him. She tangled in the sheets and fell against his shoulder, steadying herself with her free hand gripping onto the material of his coat.
"You don't have to stay at that awful Prince Manor… unless you really want to, of course. I just mean… you could live among us. Minerva means it when she says she wants you back at Hogwarts, you know, or if you don't want to return there, you could always open an apothecary or make potions for St. Mungo's. I'm sure yours are better than anyone else's. Or you could do research… and publish the Half-Blood Prince's book. Even Harry was an exceptional brewer following your corrections."
"You are incapable of shutting up, aren't you?" he observed even as he was smiling despite himself.
"You weren't complaining when I was screaming earlier," she retorted and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Honestly, Severus, you have options. You don't have to close yourself from the world any more. We are not all out to get you."
"No, not all," he whispered, unable to keep all of his resentment out of his voice. Even with his contribution to the war known, he was still under suspicion, still forced to explain himself. "I suppose those options you are speaking of will dwindle after I would have spent a few months in Azkaban."
All colour drained from her face as she sat back, studying him nervously. "What are you talking about?"
"You are expected back at the Ministry in a manner of hours," he explained with a patience he did not truly feel. "You will go and alert Kingsley to what happened earlier tonight, I am certain. After all, he can hardly ignore the word of a member of the Golden Trio, even if you do not have a single scrap of evidence to back up your claims. When you do, you shall have to explain how one witch and one wizard alone managed to not only fight off but also set ablaze an entire horde of a thousand Inferi and more. You cannot keep my use of Protego Diabolica a secret in addition to the fact that your mind has been tempered with and the other slew of things you cannot explain, such as how you know Umbra is called Umbra or how I learnt where it would be during the Hunter's Moon. Whatever else Dumbledore might have done, he also shielded you and your friends from the consequences your less than legitimate actions would have had under normal circumstances. Need I remind you that other members of the Order of the Phoenix were not so fortunate? There are no such shields in the real world, not for former Death Eaters."
S he paled and he watched as realisation dawned in her eyes followed shortly by horror. Casting Protego Diabolica was illegal, though the penalty was not as stiff as for the Unforgivable Curses. Still it should land him two or three months in Azkaban at the very least , unless, of course, the case could be made that his actions had been necessary. Then he could walk away free again. However, he couldn't keep collecting trials for the use of Dark Magic. Sooner or later something would stick. Judging by the look on Hermione's face, she had come to understand as much as well. Then there was the matter of the Malfoys and their possession o f the illegal Dark Arts book Draco had used to calculate t he date of Umbra's next rising of Inferi.
"My mind hasn't been tampered with," she said at last.
"Are you certain?" he inquired. "Think back."
Her brows scrunched together as she mulled over his words, no doubt going back in her mind until she reached their discussions about removing her memory of what she had read in the history of the Transylvanian vampires. She went very still and he comprehend she had come across the blank space left in her mind by the lacking recollection.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Tell me how you want us to proceed and I will do exactly as you say."
Startled, he searched her face. There was only determination in her expression, her gaze steady as it fixed on him. He slipped into her mind briefly and with no resistance, and experienced the the truth of her words first hand.
"I trust you, Severus."
It was his turn to go very stil l, a t a sudden loss for words. He blinked and Occluded, sheltering himself from the wave of emotion grazing at him. He was raw for a few moments then the blessed calm of his walls helped him regain his equilibrium. For as long as he remembered, he had been forced to justify himself to those alongside whom he had fought, mistrusted and accepted in only grudgingly. Even back when he had still been loyal to Voldemort, the Dark Lord's camp had been riddled with paranoia and petty intrigues, bouts of Cruciatus as common as water in a rainstorm, while their master set them on each other for his amusement during demented revels and raids or duels that sometimes escalated to the death. He had been as much as an odd duck among Death Eaters as anywhere else. He had belonged even less with the Order of Phoenix, always doubted and suspected. The best he could have hoped for from his allies had been quiet resentment. Nobody trusted him—aside from Dumbledore who had made him into a killer—and now Hermione. Under Hermione's clear, earnest gaze his impeccable and impenetrable Occlumency walls trembled as they had never done under the Dark Lord's scrutiny. He retained control only through a monumental effort of will.
"You've been in this situation before with no security net," she continued calmly. "I trust you to know what our best course of action is under the circumstances."
# # #
Astoria lay in bed staring at the canopy. She was shivering. The dungeons were always colder and damper than the rest of the castle but it wasn't the wet chill that caused her shudders. It was quiet too, safe for Penny's soft snoring. Her third room-mate, Mavis Volant, didn't snore. She tried to fill her mind with thoughts of Draco but they only made her feel worse. Was it right what she was doing? She knew she had to tell him the truth but she could no bear the idea that he might stay with her out of obligation. He was determined to turn a new leaf and emerge from the pernicious doctrines instilled in him by his parents. It was one of the many things they had in common. Now more than ever he would not want to be the bloke who left a woman in her condition.
Everyone in Slytherin knew she was sickly and frail of constitution, that she fainted occasionally and spent a morning or two every few months vomiting in the bathroom. Draco knew as much too. Astoria ruthlessly used this to get out of difficult assignments or tight spots with her professors. It even worked with Mcgonagall. Nobody wanted to be harsh t o the beautiful young girl who seemed to be as fragile as p orcelain . Slughorn marked her up, too, which was a good thing, since Astoria was utterly mediocre in Potions. There had been one exception, however.
She was coming from Transfiguration class with Penny early in her third year, on a miserable, rainy October morning, heading towards their dungeons for Potions. She had been feeling a bit peaky upon waking up but she had perked right up after breakfast. She saw Daphne and Pansy chatting at the bottom of the stairs and she waved. Then reality had begun to drift away, Astoria's legs going funny all of the sudden. She blinked, befuddled by the sudden ringing in her ears. There was a hint of iron on her tongue and she felt like she had no more energy left to make it down the last few steps left. She heard Daphne scream or at least, she thought it was her sister. A moment later she realized her left side and back hurt and that she was staring upwards. She had fallen but how and when? She couldn't recall.
D aphne's face swam above her. " Toria, what happened? Are you ill?"
It occurred to her that Daphne hadn't called her Toria since she had been six years old.
"What is the meaning of this?" resounded a familiar cold drone from somewhere close.
O h now! Their Head of House! Astoria was completely mortified. What would he think of her finding her sprawled on the floor? He would believe she had been fighting like those hooligans in Gryffindor. She wasn't good in Potions, she knew as much, but she had always made up for it with her impeccable behaviour. Slytherin House had never gotten into trouble on her account. She tried to struggle upwards, supported by Daphne and Pansy's arms around her but her limbs remained uncooperative. Daphne was babbling something not very coherent about Astoria missing a step and falling over as if their mother had raised a clutz and not given her any lessons in poise and posture.
"Shut it, Daphne," Astoria murmured, trying to turn her head to glare at her sister. All she wanted was to take the punishment that would be undoubtedly coming to her with as much dignity as she had left. She didn't need Daphne to make it worse for her.
To Astoria's growing humiliation, Snape drew closer, an ominous crease between his eye-brows. His expression had gone from blank to foreboding. She was in big trouble, Astoria just knew it. Then he folded himself in half and lifted her in his arms as if she weighted nothing, balancing her head on an ample palm as if it were an all too breakable egg.
"Miss Penny Parkinson," he snapped. "You will go to class now and will wait there for my return. Miss Pansy Parkinson, Miss Daphne Greengrass, you have a free period, do you not? You shall return to your room and be quiet. I shall take your sister to the hospital wing, Miss Greengrass, and when she is ready to see you, Madam Pompfrey will send for you."
"I would like to come with her now," Daphne began carefully. "If I may, Sir."
"You may not," he jeered surly. "Now do as you were bid."
H e whirled around, still holding Astoria firmly in his arms, and began climbing the stairs. To her surprise, he didn't take her to the hospital wing but to the Quad. He set her on her feet by the stone wall.
"You should be able to stand by now," he said coolly.
To Astoria's mounting astonishment, she found that she could. He remained pressed to the wall by her side as if to be shielded from the rain rapping mercilessly against the fl agstone pavement of the Quad. The place was deserted and they had encountered nobody on their way, either, since classes had already started.
"You will have to go to the hospital wing eventually, of course, since Madam Pompfrey and I will have to agree on a potions regime for you. However, I thought you would like to write to your parents first. They would need to be appraised not only of your condition but of the steps taken to treat it. They might be in possession of vital information we lack."
Astoria's mortification evaporated, dread replacing it. Her extremities started to feel cold. She turned to him. "Professor… what is wrong with me?"
B lack, pitiless eyes searched her face. "You do not know," he said softly. "It must have skipped a generation or two so your parents thought themselves and by extension, you, safe." He paused, making a face as if forced to have swallowed something particularly g hastly . "How long have you had the symptoms, Miss Greengrass?"
She had a distinct feeling of unreality. What was he talking about?"What… symptoms… Sir?"
"Dizziness, inexplicable pain that passes almost as quickly as it starts, fatigue, spitting of blood, dulled or muddled senses as if hit with a powerful version of the confundus charm," he recited impatiently.
Astoria swallowed over a parched throat. She felt as if she was experiencing all those symptoms just now. " I have been experiencing… small doses of them all since I have returned to school this September . I thought it was the change in atmosphere. Autumns are harsher here than in East Sussex." His scoff interrupted her, reminding her to cease rambling and get back on track or risk a most severe reprimand. "I am ill, am I not?"
There was no expression on his smooth, sallow face, and his shrew, tunnel like eyes regarded her steadily, his gaze boring in to hers. " You are not ill, Miss Greengrass," he said bluntly. "You are dying."
"Astoria, Astoria… wake up." Someone was clasping her shoulder with fingers that felt like talons against her sore flesh. "We are going to miss breakfast."
S he blinked up at Penny. Odd how Astoria had been dying since before she had turned thirteen and yet it was her mother was in the grave. Over the years she had grown to appreciate Snape's brusque manner on that day. Everyone who found out showered her in impotent sympathies and empty promises of a help they knew they would not be able to provide.
"Sorry," she told Penny. "I will get dressed right away."
"If you are unwell, you can skip Potions this morning," Penny said, sitting on the edge of her bed. "Slughorn won't mind as long as he doesn't have to deal with whatever ails you."
Astoria smiled bitterly. She couldn't even think of eating without her stomach roiling. " I believe I'll stay in today. I'll go to the hospital wing later to obtain a note from Madam Pompfrey," she said attempting to keep her tone light as if this was nothing, merely a way to get out of a class with their much disdained Head of House.
S he slunk back onto the pillows as Penny returned to dressing, carefully adding layer upon layer and chirping merrily about this or that. Astoria was only half listening. She would indeed need to visit Madam Pompfrey today a s well as write to Professor Snape. Strengthening Solution was losing its effect on her and she required a more powerful version .
# # #
Hermione entered the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic at a sedate pace, the draining night she had had weighed heavily on her. She was exhausted and showing it, for her eyes were red-rimmed and the skin beneath them looked bruised, her face pale. After Severus had flown her to her London flat, she had employed both magical and muggle means to cover up the worst of it but even a mix of make-up and spells could only do so much. Her hair had similarly resisted being forced into a plait. However, her muggle trousers suit was sharp and professional and that returned her a measure of control.
All concerns about how she looked and exhaustion flew out the window the moment she glimpsed the brick wide book on sale at the news stand along with the usual newspapers and magazines: Snape: Scoundrel and Saint— A Biography by Rita Skeeter. Her stomach fluttered uncomfortably and she was grateful she had been too busy to eat breakfast that morning. Knowing Skeeter, the contents of t he book could be nothing short of horrible. Though she was already running late, she sprinted to the stand and bought the volume along with the Prophet and the Quibbler, which she purchased religiously out of loyalty to Luna and her Dad. The front page of the Prophet read:
EMBATTLED MINISTER PUSHES FORWARD CONTROVERSIAL REFORM OF AZKABAN
CAN THE DEPLETED AUROR OFFICE HANDLE TAKING ON GUARD DUTY AS WELL?
Under heavy fire from all sides over the reform of Azkaban, Kingsley would be unlikely to respond well to her lacuna ridden information about a threat that Hermione herself failed to comprehend entirely. Eventually something had to give and that something could easily land Severus in the would-be newly reformed Azkaban. Or Draco. Despite their chequered shared past, Hermione didn't want Draco to go to prison for doing the right thing for once. T hen there was the issue of the vampires' involvement and her missing memory and last but not least, the book in her hand. She doubted it would prompt anyone to warm up to Severus. She leafed through it and though she only caught snatches of sentences here and there, she realised she was worrying about the wrong people going to Azkaban because if she ever got her hands on Rita Skeeter, Hermione was resolved to use all three Unforgivable Curses on the woman.
# # #
Severus was prevented from immediately starting his research on Umbra by an great horned owl waiting for him at Spinner's End. The message it was carrying bore the Greengrass family crest. Astoria's letter was short and to the point, though unfalteringly respectful in tone. He wrote back immediately requesting additional details and asking several of clarifying questions. He Occluded when the thought of her age asserted itself. Piteous musing over the girl's youth would be of no help to her. Life was not fair. Occasionally it was unfair even to harmless, beautiful young girls from good, rich families. Dwelling on it was about as useful as wishing for the sun not to rise the next day.
Once the owl was back on its way, he made himself a pot of coffee and retreated to the lab to work on the modified Strengthening Solution. A barn owl arrived late in the afternoon with a message from Hermione. It was written in runes and informed him that she had told Kingsley their agreed upon cover story of his affair with Delphine Faust, and that Hermione herself would be arriving the next day in the evening, as she had work to catch up on. It was just as well. He had time to modify and test the potion Astoria Greengrass required.
TBC