Disclaimers: All the Harry Potter characters, and Hogwarts, belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling. The Luggage, however, is the creation of Terry Pratchett, from the Discworld series – to those people who asked, it/he first turned up in The Light Fantastic – and poor Rincewind will just have to do without. I think it's starting to like living at Hogwarts.

WITCH IN EXILE

by Tailchaser

Chapter Four: Lucius and the Looking Glass

Hermione Granger woke slowly, carefully stretching out in the soft bed, and burrowed deeper into the warmth of the quilt. The heavy warmth across her feet told her that Crookshanks was still asleep.

For some reason it was dark; either she'd woken far earlier than normal, or Mum hadn't come in yet to open the curtains. But usually, even with the curtains shut, some slight flicker of light made its way into the room, and she woke with sunlight on her face.

She fumbled for her bedside lamp. It wasn't there. Her fingers collided with the firm, cold wood of a four-poster bed instead. They wandered past and found the bedside table and a candle. Hermoine lit it by breathing softly across the wick; as the spell activated, the candle jumped to life and illuminated the little room with a flickering, rosy glow.

As she started to remember, a soft, choking little sob found its way into her throat. It was so silly, she thought, as she wiped her eyes. She'd still been thinking, dreaming, that it hadn't happened, hoping she'd wake up in her bed at home and find Mum cooking breakfast and Dad putting some coffee on. Home was boring, home was quiet, but home was safe, and where she expected to find herself in the holidays. Not at school. Though, as she came to think about it, that opened up a whole realm of new possibilities too. Having the library to herself, for a start…

And sharing the dungeons with Snape. Oh, hell. Just the perfect way to spend a holiday.

Fully awake now, Hermione climbed out of bed and looked for her trunk. It was sitting, motionless, at the foot of her bed, feet neatly tucked underneath it. She tapped it with a finger.

"C'mon you, wake up. I need my stuff." The trunk shook itself blearily. Hermione suppressed a chuckle. "Today, please?" In response, the latch loosened under her hand. She swung the lid open and looked inside.

It was empty.

A million thoughts rushed through Hermione's mind. Nothing managed to come out. She stared at the plain, wooden confines of the chest, for all the world as though its contents would emerge if she just concentrated hard enough.

"Can you explain this?" Holding a conversation with what was really just a wooden box felt silly, but there seemed no other choice. And her things had been in there when she'd gone to bed last night.

The trunk shifted guiltily. Then its lid snapped shut quickly, and nearly took Hermione's fingers with it.

When it opened again, all the contents were back where they belonged. The trunk sidled over to her, rubbing itself sheepishly against her legs. She felt a smile coming on, though she was still extremely puzzled. Still, she seemed to remember a book on strange magical artefacts somewhere in the library; maybe there was a section on sentient articles of furniture. She was beginning to feel that the luggage was more and more that what it appeared. And it certainly did have a mind of its own…

"Okay, you're forgiven. Just as long as it doesn't happen again, alright?" It bobbed down on it knees in agreement.

All the same, Hermione removed everything from the confines of the chest before she left the dungeons, and packed it into the old wardrobe she'd missed on a cursory inspection of her room. The luggage seemed a little ashamed of itself, but it didn't protest when she relieved it of its burden. In a way, it looked almost pleased, and once or twice Hermione thought she saw it glancing idly over towards the door. She tried not to think about that.

She did wonder, though, how it would get along with Hagrid. To her surprise (and she thought, to Snape's as well, judging by his near comical expression) it had trundled uneventfully along to the dungeons the previous night. When Dumbledore first saw it, she noticed something cross his face that might possibly have been recognition. In the surprise of being told she would be staying in the dungeons, she'd forgotten to ask him about it…

-------

"Good morning, Miss Granger! And welcome to Hogwarts, though I must confess it's a little earlier than I expected to be seeing you!" Dumbledore's cheery tones had rung through the little foyer, and Hermione had sat up with a start. She must have dozed off for a bit.

"Hello, sir," she'd said quietly. He had smiled at her, and she'd felt the tension drain from her body. It was alright. One look at Dumbledore's face told her he understood exactly what the situation with her parents was, and he wasn't going to blame her or try to send her home.

"I've just been discussing with Professor Snape the little matter of your accommodation here, during the holidays, and he has agreed with me that it would be best if we give you a spare room in the dungeons. Not many teachers have elected to stay here this year, and I'm afraid Professor McGonagall is one of those abroad, so we felt it would be much nicer for you than staying in the tower by yourself."

One thing had caught Hermione's eye while Dumbledore spoke. And that was that Professor Snape, lurking sourly in the doorway behind the Headmaster, didn't approve of the word "we". She'd had no doubt that the idea was Dumbledore's alone. Snape would probably, for all his brisk kindness that night, attempt to make her stay as uncomfortable and embarrassing as possible.

Damn you, she had thought silently, and had glared at him under the guise of brushing hair out of her face. One moment you're almost human, and the next you're about as approachable as a chunk of frozen stone.

She intended to keep out of his way as much as possible. Snape in a temper wasn't one of her favourite things. Neither, for that matter, was Snape in an icy mood, or Snape at his sneering, nasty best. Hermione had been amused at the train her thoughts were taking. I'm definitely in for an interesting summer, she'd reflected…

"Yes, I definitely am," Hermione repeated to herself as she checked her reflection in the mirror on bed-room table. It was an old one, mounted in a heavy brass ornate frame, and it showed the not-quite-pretty, not-quite-plain reflection of a girl with bushy brown and red hair, dressed in dark green. She'd elected to wear robes instead of muggle clothes; she had some non-school ones that she'd acquired on her last trip to Hogsmeade, and she felt more comfortable here in wizarding garb than in jeans and t-shirt.

"Are what, dearie?" the mirror asked foggily. She squelched a jump of surprise. What did you think, Hermione? Of course the mirror's going to talk. This is Hogwarts, after all. "Just thinking, I guess," she told it, and it snorted indignantly to itself.

"No one has the decency to start a decent conversation with a mirror any more, do they? They're just always thinking. No, the poor mirror is just left all alone in a dark, miserable room, with no one but that overgrown bat for company, and he only comes in once or twice a year to check that students haven't broken in. Of course, I could tell him that they couldn't, not with all the warding charms he leaves up, but he never bothers to talk to the mirror! Never considers my feelings at all!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said with what she hoped was the proper amount of sympathy.

"And so you should be! Why--" the mirror paused mid-tirade. It regarded her suspiciously. "You are?" it asked. "You're really, actually, sorry?"

"Yes! I mean, yes, of course I am. It must be terribly lonely, stuck here all by yourself."

"It is, it is." It sniffed. "You really, really, really care?"
"Yes." She smiled at it like she would a nervous first-year.

"Oh boy, oh boy! This is wonderful! This is really really wonderful!" It stopped squealing and paused, then asked curiously, "What are you doing here, any way? You're not friends with that uncivilised bat, are you?"

Hermione was curious herself. "You mean Professor Snape?"

"Huh! Some professor! Nasty, creepy person, if you ask me!" Hermione hadn't, but she secretly agreed. Although he had been rather nice about her trunk.

"Really? I guess, he's not very social, is he?"

The mirror sniffed again. "Not like some people. Now Roie, she was social. Always took the time to come and talk to me. Even used to read to me, sometimes. Lots of interesting things, about spells and potions and history, she'd read, and then she'd ask me questions, and we'd have some really great discussions." It sighed wistfully. "I miss her, you know," it told Hermione.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"You look a bit like her," it continued, and eyed her objectively. "A bit on the skinny side, and her hair was black, but other than that, you look quite a bit alike." A thought seemed to strike it. "Say, do you think you might be related?"

Hermione screwed up her face in thought. ("Don't do that!" the mirror objected. "You'll get wrinkles!")

"I don't know," she said finally. "I think all my family are muggles. Still…" she hesitated. "Tell me about her?"

A dreamy look came over the mirror. This manifested itself by the glass clouding slightly, until Hermione could no longer see her own face, but a pale milky white and blue mist. "A real lady," the mirror's voice floated from the cloudy depths. "Genteel, elegant, and as intelligent as they come…"

"Did you used to belong to her, then?" Hermione was fascinated. She'd never heard of a magical object getting so attached to its owner before.

Well, except for the luggage.

But the mirror snorted. "No, I belonged to a bloody friend of hers. Though what she ever wanted to be friends with in him was always well over my head!" Looking at the ornate frame, she forbore to comment.

"Arrogant thing, really. Never bothered to talk to me, either. Just a quick glimpse at his face and off he'd go, sometimes with his robe on backwards or his hair sticking up in all directions! Never had any bloody respect for the niceties!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said again, thinking once again how ridiculous this whole conversation was.

"You are?" it asked again. She nodded.
"You really are a lovely girl! What's your name?"
"Hermione," she told it.

It seemed to radiate joy. "Lovely name! I like it. You aren't staying, are you?" it asked hopefully.

"Only until the end of the holidays."

"That's just too bad," sniffed the mirror. "I was really getting to like you. You're really nice and smart, and I bet you'd probably read to me, too. Do you think you might?"

Bemusedly, Hermione nodded.

"You are a lovely girl…just like Roie, too. Did I tell you I miss her?"

"I think so," she replied, and absently checked her watch. If she didn't hurry, she'd probably miss breakfast. Not that she couldn't get something from the kitchens, but she wanted to talk to Dumbledore, and she felt a bit --funny-- approaching him in his office.

The mirror noticed her movement. "Ah, well, off you go, then. Don't forget to tell me all about your day!"

Hermione left the room to a murmured strain of "lovely girl, so like Roie, quite a lady…not a bit like that nasty, malfeasant bat at all!"

One thing is for certain, the young witch thought as she hurried along the corridors, the luggage and that mirror are going to get along famously! She was starting to understand why Snape never went into that room more than necessary. Roie must have had the patience of a saint. Still, it did have its own certain charm, though she couldn't imagine Snape putting up with the mirror's incessant chattering any longer than he needed to.

Hermione wondered why the mirror was locked away in the dungeons now. Perhaps Roie had been killed in the war with Voldemort? In that case, who did it belong to? Snape, or Hogwarts? Still… She almost turned around and went back and asked, but her rumbling stomach reminded her that there were more important things that needed doing, and one of them was breakfast.

Maybe she could ask Snape. The idea made her chuckle. She was planning on talking to Snape, when she didn't have to? But it would be nice to find out about the mirror. Remembering her half-hearted promise to read to it that night, she sighed, and made a mental note to drift down to the library and find something suitable. It had mentioned potions and history, hadn't it?

Then she shook herself, and continued on her way to the Great Hall, and the Very Good Idea of getting something to eat.

Snape's morning was filled with a lot less conversation than Hermione's, which, considering his current frame of mind, was probably a good thing, since he would have bitten off the head of anyone who chanced to speak to him.

The reason for his particularly foul mood was busying herself at the potions cupboard in the hospital wing, humming tunelessly but loudly. The sound grated on Snape's raw nerves. "Will you stop making that incessant racket, woman?" he asked plaintively. Disgusted at the way his voice came out, he scowled.

Poppy Pomfrey turned around to look at him, and she clearly wasn't sorry or intimidated by his glare. "Go back to sleep, Snape," she told him firmly, and distinctly heard his teeth grind. Rolling her eyes, she went back to organising her cupboard.

"When can I leave?"

"When I say you're ready, and not before."

They'd had this discussion already, last night as soon as he'd turned up, wearing a sour scowl that told said plainer than any words, 'I'm only here because Dumbledore insisted and now that you've seen me, I'll be leaving.' It was a scowl the mediwitch was well acquainted with. She sometimes thought he must have an entire catalogue full of them, ready to produce one for every occasion he came up against.

So she'd ignored it, as she always did, and pushed him over towards a bed.

He was perfectly fit and able to leave, Snape insisted. He was fine, just a little tired. Poppy was adamant. He had to stay. He wasn't hurt, he maintained. Nothing wrong with him. He wanted to be up and around and doing. He wanted a proper meal, not some water the house elves had dragged a chicken through and called it soup. His ribs were fine, or rather they would be if she'd just take off this confounded bandage she'd wrapped so tightly around them. Poppy remained with the patient, trying to distract him with light conversation about the latest issue of Ars Alchemica and reminding him about twenty times a half hour that he wasn't allowed to leave yet, not until she said so.

The patient sulked.

Eventually Poppy's cupboard was as well-organised as she could make. Not surprising, thought Snape, as she'd packed and unpacked it about four times in a blatantly transparent excuse for staying in the room to keep an eye on him.

She turned to him, and he had the feeling she was sizing him up, noting the extent and the condition of all his injuries. "I have to go see Hagrid now; I've promised to have a look at Fang for him. He thinks he's got something stuck in his paw." Her face showed her enthusiasm for the task.

Snape chuckled nastily. "Do have fun, Poppy, won't you?" he purred.

She glowered. "I swear, that man and his dog…they're as impossible as each other." He smirked again.

"I hope you enjoy yourself." His face was innocent, but a devilish mirth danced in his dark eyes. Poppy knew she wouldn't be able to keep him locked in the hospital wing much longer. For all her protestations earlier, he really did heal quickly…Even if he never would tell her what was wrong with him, and she had to work it out through guesswork. She'd become pretty good at that over the years, between him and the students, none of whom ever wanted to admit what they were doing that had landed them in a bed under her watchful eye.

Collecting a few nasty looking instruments and potions, Poppy packed a small satchel and drifted out the door, an expression of strong unease plastered across her face.

Snape contemplated the ceiling for a while. Every time he was in here, he always found himself staring at the ceiling sometime during his stay. Then he flicked through the pages of Ars Alchemica, though he'd already read this edition when it came out. He contemplated ripping out pages and making paper aeroplanes like he had when he was in here as a student, but dismissed that because Poppy would probably make him stay an extra week as punishment. No, it wouldn't be good to irritate her any more than normal while he was on her territory and subject to her power. That thought irked him, but it was worth remembering.

It had to be the middle of the day by now, so he couldn't sleep. Severus Snape had never been able to stay in bed late or doze off during the daylight hours. So he lay there, deeply frustrated, and let his thoughts drift. Ultimately, his mind kept drifting back to the events of the previous night, the Dark Revel, and the pale face and oily tones of Lucius Malfoy.

-------

"So pleased you could join us, Severus," Lucius purred, and gestured with one elegant hand for a house-elf to take his guest's cloak. They strolled into a high-ceilinged ballroom…

He could still see the man's face as he lay, hunched into a ball. Much of his skin lay in shreds around his shaking, pulsating form. Exposed nerves quivered in a gelatinous mess; veins bled life-blood out in gushing rivulets to congeal in sticky, slimy pools.

Snape felt faintly sick.

"Severus, meet Rodney. Rodney, this is Severus. Say hello, Rodney." The bundle on the floor quivered, oblivious to rational thought or sound. Lucius turned to Snape with mock dismay in his eyes. "I'm so, he doesn't seem to be very sociable today. You can introduce yourself later." And he sneered, a twisted, malevolent gleam that led Snape to wonder, as he had before, how tenuous Lucius Malfoy's link to sanity really was.

Rodney. He knew that name from somewhere, though.

Rodney made a wretching noise that wailed off into a high, despairing screech. Violently he convulsed. "What, no sharp words for Patty, anymore?" Patricia Parkinson purred silkily, leaning over the prone form to whisper where his ear had once been. "You were so full of sharp words for me once. You called me a powerless slut…who's powerless now, hmmmm? Who's the one begging for mercy?" She laughed, viciously. "Poor child."

Lucius snorted. "And this is the Ministry's best."

It came to Snape with a sickening rush. Of course. The headlines of the Daily Prophet had talked about nothing else for weeks, when senior Auror Rodney Lynn went missing from his London home two months earlier.

He forced his features into a sneer of his own. "With a Minister like Fudge, frankly I'm surprised that the Ministry even produces anything like Lynn."

Lucius laughed. "Yes, you're right," he mused. "He lasted quite a while, considering. Still…I shall certainly enjoy breaking the rest of the ministry's finest. With our Lord soon to join us in the flesh--" and he laughed nastily at the irony "--no pun intended, I assure you, it shall be a very enjoyable little…pastime indeed."

Snape's stomach turned. But his face was unchanged when he drawled, "Perhaps our Lord could show us new ways to…indulge ourselves with the Ministry's finest." Lucius shot him a look.

"Me, you mean. Your distaste for anything of this nature is legendary, Severus." His face twisted. "Perhaps that's why I enjoy showing it to you so much."

"Undoubtably," Snape replied.

Patricia Parkinson made a little mewling noise, and the body she was straddling jerked as an artery wall gave way, spraying her, Snape and Malfoy with glistening red drops. Grimacing in distaste, Snape tried to wipe his mouth with his sleeve, but the shimmering fabric wouldn't absorb any of the blood. Lucius noticed his movement and chuckled mirthlessly. "Some stains will never come off, Severus. Better to bear them with pride. But then…" he paused. "You never were one for the…higher delights, were you?"

"I prefer to take my pleasures elsewhere," Snape said dryly.

"Yes, with your books, and with your potions…" he sighed dramatically. "Does anything that doesn't reside on parchment or within a bubbling cauldron ever please you, Severus?"

"Rarely."

"I thought so." His eyes moved over to Patricia, and he smiled. "Come, my dear, I think you've had enough of our lovely Mr Lynn's charms for tonight, don't you?"

She pouted. "Lucius!"
"Now, Patricia!" Malfoy's voice was commanding and hard. Then, he dialled the silk into it again, and it was almost a caress when he breathed, "Severus hasn't yet had the chance to introduce himself to our little friend. I'm sure he wouldn't want to-" he smirked at Snape through half-closed lids "-miss the opportunity…would you, Severus?"

Dryly, Snape said, "My life would be desolate without it," and the other wizard laughed. "As I thought, my friend. Come, love." This last to Patricia, who was standing up and slinking towards them, her tongue running provocatively over the blood on her lips.

"Good evening, Severus," she purred, and smiled lazily at him.

He gave her a mocking half-bow. "Patricia. How delightful to see you again."

"But of course," she taunted, then drifted away to the far side of the room, eyes locked firmly on Jeremiah Avery and his little clique, who laughed and beckoned her to join them.

"Now, Severus," drawled Malfoy, "Come along and meet Rodney. I'm sure he's been…dying--" again that half laugh "--to make your acquaintance."

They stood over the prone figure, Snape noting with clinical detachment and Lucius with unhidden exultation the way the nerves twitched violently with every gasp breath the Auror took. Every slight movement sent the blood rushing through his veins a little faster, that little bit quicker to pool and congeal around him. The remains of his face were pale and inhuman in their pain.

"Remarkable," Snape said, looking up at Malfoy. "How long have you had him?"

"Oh, months. Collected him from his home, brought him to mine—- though he didn't seem to enjoy the hospitality, his loss, of course-"

"Of course," murmured Snape.

"--and we had a few, cosy little chats, when he could be persuaded to impart his delightful conversation skills to the cause."


He leered knowingly. "Not much of a talker, though…much more inclined to physical things, don't you think?" He gave the body a vicious kick and it jerked violently again, spraying them with more blood. Lucius took Snape's hands and smeared them in the liquid that coated his own. "Now is a time to rejoice, Severus," he murmured, and he leant over until there was barely an inch between his feverish eyes and Severus' own. "Now we celebrate our Master's imminent return. Nothing can stop him now, no pitiful agents of the Ministry can stand against his glory. Everyone should join him and come to us in truth, and they shall share in our victory. Those who would stand against us, or even--" and his face twisted into a sneer again "--betray us, will feel the power of our Lord's displeasure." His tongue played over his lips, his laughter cold.

He pulled away from Snape but his gaze never wavered. "I would not like to feel our Lord's displeasure, Severus," he murmured.

Snape didn't blink. "Then don't betray us, Lucius, and you're sure to be alright." But inwardly he was shaking.

Lucius smirked idly, his eyes falling once again upon the fallen Auror. "Quite a sight, isn't he?"

"Quite," said Snape. "I hardly feel I can add anything to your little…'creation'."

"Oh, do try, Severus." He waved a languid hand, the threatening posture gone, though the cruelty lurked in his pinched, grey eyes.

"Very well, Lucius." He would interpret that in his own way. Without hesitation, Snape pointed his wand at the pitiful bundle on the floor and spoke. "Avada Kedavra."

Those sightless eyes, caught in the throes of death, branded themselves coldly in his mind. The inhuman screams of anguish still echoed in his ears.

A soft touch, lightly, on his cheek. "Sentimental, Severus?" whispered Lucius, twirling his wand through the strands of the other's hair.

"No, Lucius. Just…" he let the silk slide through his own tones, and raised one causal eyebrow. "Just a little…curious about the sport you find in torturing something unable to know what's being done to it… Hasn't the fun long gone out of it by that stage?"

"Oh, no…my friend." The hair stood up on the back of Snape's neck. "The fun, for me, is only just beginning."

-------

A knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. Snape snarled quietly, inwardly grateful for the distraction. "What is it?"

Hermione Granger stuck her head around the door and said "Hello, Professor. Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Meanwhile, down in the dungeons, the luggage had decided to go for a stroll…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Author's Notes

Annabella – I tried to email you when I updated but I couldn't get through to your address! I'm sorry!

Queen of Ice and Sorrows – And thank you for reviewing, and saying so many nice things! I'm glad you like it.

Eve – I'll try to update as regularly as possible; maybe Rincewind will have to enchant his own trunk…

Mylaea – if I work out how to log on to WIKTT, I'll certainly let you know. And please do start uploading more of Broccoli, I've been reading that avidly!

Lillith – Hermione does seem to have a tendency to see value in things that others discard, doesn't she? I've never thought of it in that way before! Thank you!

Cammie – all of Lucius' secrets will be revealed…eventually.

Prettyflower – I wish I could work WIKTT out. I think you do have to be a yahoo member to join, though.

PotionsMastersMistress – I might use the ATM sometime then! I also like the idea I read somewhere – I think it was Slytherin Rising – about Gringott's cards, which I think is something similar. I'm still trying to get yahoo to let me join WIKTT.

arcee – that is an excellent idea, and I hope you don't mind if I incorporate it! I was wondering how I was going to get around the issue of custody – she might be 18 in the wizarding world, after all, but the muggle one doesn't accept the use of time turners when calculating ages. To them, she's still a child…and I think her parents would be starting to feel a little guilty now…I don't think they really imagined she would just walk out (or they thought she'd come back, or her friend's parents would be in contact with them as soon as she arrived…)

V Lynne – I like that. Hermione Granger and the amazing assortment of temperamental creatures in her life. Don't know how Ron might feel being classed as a 'temperamental creature', though! J

JettGirl – Don't worry, the luggage will star! It goes exploring in the next chapter, to Hermione's dismay.

silverstar - Hermione's not too happy about staying with Snape, but it will work out, in the end.

Deborah – More luggage is coming!

jade – WOW! That's all I can say. Your comments are very inspiring! And I'm glad you think everyone's so much in character, I've been trying.