A/N: Sorry for the wait. My life has picked up again (remarkably) so the updates will probably be farther apart, but this story is far from finished. Thank you for all the lovely messages you've sent me! I'm rather proud of this chapter and I can't wait for your reactions...
Trigger warnings: Mild violence, mild injury
Hermione cringed. Her foot was sinking in a patch of mud. She pulled it free with a sucking noise and looked at Narcissa who surveyed this new landscape. "Is this the right place?"
Narcissa nodded. "Yes, this is it. It has been nearly two years since I was here last, but it seems unchanged." And with that, she set off down the muddy hill, leaving Hermione no choice but to follow, eyes wearily searching for danger.
Everything just seemed so grey in this place. Small, matchbox houses lined the rubbish-strewn streets. The few people out and about all maintained lowered gazes and tightly-crossed arms as they passed. Even the sky was overcast and bleak. Based on the mud she kept slipping in and the moisture creeping into her clothes, Hermione guessed it had recently rained.
Narcissa moved with conviction and Hermione wondered why she'd ever had to come here. It reeked of poverty and unhappiness. While she could not make a claim about the latter, Hermione certainly knew the former had never applied to this woman beside her.
Surprisingly, they managed to traverse the area safely and when Narcissa abruptly stopped before a door, Hermione nearly crashed into her back.
The house was utterly unremarkable to Hermione's eyes. If anything, it was even more miserable than its neighbours. The words "abandoned" and "unloved" came to mind and Hermione wondered who lived here—or who once had.
It had been impossibly long since Hermione had encountered a new place that didn't end up being a home to threats. She felt that familiar apprehension crawling around her belly, but it wasn't alone: She was curious.
Narcissa raised and murmured "Homenum Revelio." When the spell returned negative, she steeled herself and aimed her wand at the door handle. "Alohomora," and the door clicked open.
"I honestly did not expect that to work," remarked Narcissa with astonishment. Hermione wondered if that was meant to be a good thing.
"You never said we'd be breaking and entering," she whispered. Neither of them had yet reached for the unlocked door.
"There are supplies here. Spellbooks, potions especially. Perhaps even medical tools, which we clearly are in need of. I can think of no other option."
So this house did belong to a wizard. Or it once had. And if Narcissa had visited before, then it wasn't likely to be a person of good reputation. But no-one was here now and despite the obvious danger, Hermione was excited to interact with magic again. Perhaps she'd used up all her fear for one day.
With a surge of bravery, Hermione reached out and pushed the door open with a creak. Her heart sped up at the sight of grimy darkness within. "After you."
Narcissa gave her a rueful look and crept inside.
The first thing Hermione noticed when she followed was the dust. It invaded her lungs, thick and heavy. The second thing she noticed was that she would probably love whomever had lived here, a thought she immediately regretted upon remembering that said person had probably been a Death Eater.
The front room (which also appeared to be the only room) was tiny and worn, but the walls were stuffed to capacity with books. Beautiful leather-bound editions in earth tones evenly lined the shelves, some even stacked sideways in places where there hadn't been enough space. Entranced, Hermione drifted to a shelf and ran a hand along a particularly attractive spine. When the book didn't kill her on the spot, she pried it away and opened to a random page. A shifting diagram met her eyes, lines of ink twisting and gliding along the paper.
She turned to another page and then another. It seemed to be a history of medieval potion recipes and practices. Fascinating, but of no immediate use. Hermione tenderly closed the cover to replace it.
"Ah!" A heavy thud on the ground sounded like an earthquake in this quiet and Hermione jumped.
"What is it?!" She hurried to Narcissa's side. The woman doubled over, nursing her right hand.
"The book—must have been cursed. A repelling charm." Narcissa spoke through gritted teeth and Hermione quickly grabbed the wounded hand, gripping it around the wrist, palm facing up.
It looked like a burn. A pink blister blossomed across the fleshy middle of Narcissa's hand. "You'll be okay," Hermione told her, lying through her teeth. Who knew what spell the book had triggered? "You said we'd find potions here. We can get burn salve."
Hermione reached down to pick up the potions book she had dropped.
"Stop!"
"It's okay—this one isn't charmed." Hermione took it in her hands and flattened her palm across the cover. "See? Nothing."
Narcissa looked even more confused. "Hand it to me." She held out her burned hand and Hermione passed over the book, then immediately retracted it. The second her fingertips had brushed the cover, Narcissa's skin had reddened and peeled.
"But—that doesn't make any sense!" Hermione firmly pressed her skin against the spot Narcissa had touched, yet her own flesh remained clean and unharmed.
Narcissa seemed to be even more puzzled than Hermione. She looked around the room as though searching, whispered "What are you doing?" to the dusty books. They gave no answer.
Curiously, Hermione picked up the book which had caused Narcissa's initial injury. To Hermione, it was just as benign as any other.
"We don't need any of these," Hermione decided out loud as she replaced them on the heavy shelves. As fascinating as many of the volumes appeared, they could do without. Besides, she didn't want to risk any more curses or potential tracking charms. "Where are the potions hidden?"
Narcissa nodded and stood, pointing to an inconspicuous red-leather tome. "I won't risk it myself. Pull that one."
Hermione did as instructed and gasped when the wall came away with the book, revealing a dark landing beyond. Dusty wooden stairs led up to the left and down to the right. Both directions were dim, but the downward path seemed to swallow the light into absolute darkness.
At Narcissa's instruction, Hermione lit her wand and descended.
The wandlight revealed nothing but the dull, wooden step beneath Hermione's shoes and half of the one beyond it. She moved with almost paranoid caution, dragging her foot forwards to tease the edge of the stair before gingerly trusting it with her weight. Every horror movie she had ever seen told her that one of the steps would shatter beneath her, plunging her into the dark, or at the very least creak ominously. But these stairs were utterly silent and, Hermione suddenly noticed, clean. Whereas the rest of the home (if it could even be called that) had reeked of abandonment and carelessness, the dust on these steps had been cleaned away, polished by the regular scuffing of shoes.
Just as fear tightened its fingers around Hermione's throat, the light from her Lumos fled her wand and exploded into a healthy fire in a newly-revealed hearth. Mounted candelabras erupted and cast the room into sharp relief. Narcissa's hand flew to Hermione's shoulder, nails biting her skin through her clothes.
They were alone in what appeared to be a generously equipped potions lab.
Hermione held her breath for a solid seven seconds, eyes leaping from corner to corner, waiting for something to emerge. The dark, underground atmosphere reminded her of another basement she'd visited recently basement—if the Manor's prison could even be called that—but with Narcissa pressed so firmly against her back and the feeling of a wand in her hand, it was just a little bit easier to cope.
Her cell certainly hadn't been so well furnished. Shelves boasted cauldrons of every imaginable size and shape and material, each neatly stacked and polished. Along other walls hung dried herbs of various ages, all skilfully preserved. Less savoury ingredients floated in tightly shut jars and bottles of various sizes and colours. When Hermione finally inhaled again, subtle aromas teased at her nostrils. The coppery tang of Blood Replenisher seemed most dominant, but hints of nauseating Polyjuice and other odd scents drifted about.
Narcissa released her death-grip on Hermione's shoulder and reached for Hermione's bag, helping the strap over her head. "I won't risk touching anything. Put it all in here, quickly."
It took Hermione a moment to catch up to what Narcissa had said before she ground into action. Her blood felt as though it had been replaced with pure adrenaline and she was hardly surprised to find her hand trembling as she reached up to a plain-looking pewter cauldron. When her fist wrapped around the handle and only met chilled metal, she let out a breath she didn't now she'd been holding. As gently and quietly as she felt able, she pulled the cauldron down from the shelf and pushed it into the small opening of the bag, taking care to avoid Narcissa's fingers holding it open at each end. It fell into the bag's infinite depths with a heavy thunk.
Narcissa and Hermione waited. One. Heartbeat. Two. Heartbeat. Three. Heartbeat. Four…
Nothing happened.
Hermione launched into action, dashing across the room and grabbing handfuls of jars, each neatly labelled. Polyjuice Potion. Essence of Dittany. Veritaserum. Blood Replenisher. She tossed them all into the bag, Narcissa following beside her and holding the lip of the bag wide open to admit all sorts of resources they'd only dreamed of until now.
"Dreamless Sleep—get that, too." Hermione obeyed and dropped it in. She tried to rearrange the bottles on the shelf to cover up the gaps left by her theft, but the clinking noise of glass on glass frightened her, made her feel like someone will find them at any second, so she abandoned that endeavour and scurried over to a different table to grab a leather sleeve housing various knives and stirring rods.
A few cauldrons for brewing—standard ingredients—beetle eyes, dried lavender, squid ink—lacewing flies and Boomslang skin for Polyjuice—a bezoar just for good measure—and that—?
Yes. Hermione's throat seized as she wrapped her fingers around the tiny phial of molten gold. Felix Felicis. It felt warm against Hermione's fist, almost like it had its own pulse and was trying to share its joy with her.
She cradled it as she lay it gently among the other jars and bottles. Seeing it glittering in the candlelight made Hermione want to laugh and when her eyes found Narcissa's, they both smiled. Hermione noticed the gentle crinkling of skin around Narcissa's blue eyes and startled herself with the realisation that she liked it. It was endearing. Hermione wished they could be there more often, those happy creases.
Hermione hadn't paid attention when they'd opened the door. The threat of an unknown environment and Narcissa's odd reaction to the books had sucked Hermione's concentration away from more trivial things. But the muffled creak sounded plenty loud to Hermione now and her gaze flew to the stairs they had descended. Reflexively, her cold fingers seized Narcissa's wrist and she held her breath. A plump shadow materialised in the flickering darkness beyond the reach of the candlelight.
A shuffling noise. Narcissa remained unmoving and pressed her lips together, not even daring to breathe. Their eyes locked and Hermione felt oddly calm. Fear had become her default; it no longer unnerved her. At least not at first.
If they moved, the sound would give away their presence, but Hermione couldn't imagine a possible scenario where the third person in this room wasn't an enemy.
Hermione watched over Narcissa's shoulder as they slowly moved down the stairs. It only took a few seconds before they reached the stone floor, but in those moments Hermione had exhausted an infinite number of possibilities and decided to just go with whatever instinct came to mind. She was tired. Any plan was bound to go wrong and just cause more anxiety. It didn't matter.
Her only thought as candlelight outlined the stranger's face was, What an idiot. He should have come down as a rat. Much more discreet.
Pettigrew swept his eyes across the room before landing on Narcissa's back and Hermione staring at him over Narcissa's left shoulder. Her gaze was intense and unwavering and she caught the shock that registered on his face before his mouth carved out a rather grotesque smile.
He pulled back his shoulders, as though trying to be intimidating and Hermione squeezed Narcissa's wrist, either in comfort or warning. She hadn't decided which yet.
Pettigrew opened his mouth and a fraction of a syllable escaped before Hermione's "Stupefy!" hit him square in the chest. He crumpled backwards, landing in a lump of ratty hair and ill-fitting robes. Hermione saw his silver hand twitch and clench before finally stilling with the rest of his body.
When Narcissa spun around, the bag clunked in her hand. "Him!" She gaped, her mouth twisting into various expressions of shock and fear before she turned to Hermione. "Forgive me," she whispered and Hermione was struck by how truly frightened she sounded. Her voice trembled and wavered and stuttered with an emotion Hermione had never heard, not even when they thought they would die at the Manor. "I should have known. He was h-here last time. I should not have brought you. I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry, Hermione."
Hermione's heart beat unevenly and she accepted the apology with a nod. It was unnecessary, she thought. Narcissa had made a mistake. Hermione should have been angry or afraid, but instead all she felt was a mild impatience to deal with the business at hand.
"We need to move him."
"What?"
"We can't make it look like someone was here. It has to look like an accident." Hermione strode nearer to Pettigrew, wand cautiously aimed at his form as she thought. "If we shift him over there, it will look like he fell down the stairs."
"No—maybe there's a spell similar to the books…"
Hermione turned around, confused, and found Narcissa squinting up at the shelf of cauldrons. Before Hermione could protest, she had reached up an arm and hissed as it burned her fingertip. Hermione rushed over, but Narcissa spoke first, impatient and excited. "Move his body to the centre of the room. If we cover him with cauldrons and bottles, it will appear he tried to steal and was injured by the repelling charm."
Hermione considered this a moment, imagined what it would look like to come downstairs and find Pettigrew unconscious and surrounded by cauldrons and smashed glass with blisters on his skin and potions seeping into his clothes.
"Accio Pettigrew." His body skidded along the ground to her feet and she rather smugly hoped it left some bruises.
Narcissa watched as Hermione took a small bronze cauldron from the shelf and placed it against Pettigrew's hand. His skin blistered at the contact, peeling into a hot burn.
They rushed into action, Hermione grabbing one of everything her hands can find and depositing it on and around Pettigrew's body in a chaotic mess. Narcissa stood out of her way, then changed her mind and peeled her jacket from her shoulders. With cautious movements, she used the material like an oven mitt and lifted a jar of frog spleens from a shelf. When the repelling charm didn't scald her fingertips, she marched over and released the jar near Pettigrew's head. The thing landed near his ear, smashing spectacularly and causing the small preserved organs to rupture against the floor.
They ransacked the place. Phials of viscous potions bled out against the stones; cauldrons and empty bottles and knives clattered to the ground. Hermione felt like a manic composer orchestrating a symphony of chaotic destruction echoing throughout the small basement to the beat of her frantic breathing. Narcissa partook with near equal fervour, grunting fiercely as she used the bunched material of her jacket to swat items off shelves and benches and onto the unresponsive body. Hermione was grateful Pettigrew had chosen to wear such large robes; she didn't think she could stomach the sight of the bruises and burns blossoming on his skin. A small part of her wondered if this might actually kill him, but that voice became quieter and quieter as she hurled a jar of pickled chameleon eyes onto his elbow. She must have hit the funny bone because his arm jumped strangely at the impact.
It was only as she paused to catch her breath, a wild look in her wide eyes, that she noticed the steady movement in her periphery. It seemed just cruel now that fate would use the same trope twice in less than three minutes, and as Hermione watched the form comfortably descend the stairs, she felt quite certain of two things: She was an idiot and she was going to die.
It was truly remarkable, she thought, how oblivious she'd been. Had she not spent years in a potions lab very similar to this one? Was she not well aware of the Death Eaters' primary members?
By the time Narcissa realised that they had been interrupted yet again, Snape was already standing at the foot of the stairs and surveying the room, the scene being swallowed by the seemingly infinite depths of his pupils.
"Well, well" he drawled gravely, his voice flooding the room like a rich oil; smooth, heavy, slick and clinging to everything. "It would seem that someone has taken it upon themselves to burgle my private laboratory."
His voice struck Hermione with an intense vertigo. Ever since the events last year, her perception of Severus Snape had been cleaved neatly in two: There was the sneering Potions professor who had plagued her studenthood, and there was the murderer, the terrorist, the creature so inhuman in its evil. Now, with him casually standing there (well, as casually as Severus Snape could ever accomplish) in his customary black robes and the fumes of potions ingredients hanging in the air, these two halves suddenly crashed together with a deafening CLANG!
Only Hermione couldn't get them to line up. Every memory of him at Hogwarts, tall and dark and intimidating, now had the scent of death superimposed on top. Teaching classes, herding children, severing George's ear, surveying meals, kissing the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, prowling through corridors, assassinating Dumbledore... Somehow, these were all the same man.
He made her sick.
Hermione swallowed and felt her gullet clench. Rage and fear swelled through her blood, a tide of paralysing emotion that left her nauseated and frozen.
"I'm sure I shall be most unhappy when I discover this mess."
Snape's voice quested even lower, pensive and deceptively flippant and Hermione wished she could bring herself to move her eyes away from the impossibility of his presence. She wanted to look at Narcissa, to not be alone in the knowledge of her imminent death.
"What a pity it is, then, that I shall never discover the culprit."
Snape raised his eyebrows in the facial equivalent of a shrug and coolly turned, boots evenly scraping the ground as he made his way back up the stairs and disappeared from sight.