Chapter 11 – An Unexpected Bump in the Road
Hermione worried for a moment, not knowing what to do next, until she realized that Severus had designed the evening; she would simply continue to follow his lead.
He stood, silent as he'd been all night, and took slow, measured steps toward Hermione. He extended his hand to her unhurriedly, in a way that could be interpreted as either nonchalant or the manner of someone trying not to startle a skittish animal.
Her hand rose to take Severus' of its own volition. His grip was firm but gentle as he led her to the living room. Turning down the lights, he moved to the stereo and started the music. The voice of Frank Sinatra singing a song Hermione didn't recognize filled the room as Severus pulled her to him, dancing in the cozy darkened room. Sinatra's voice glided effortlessly over the words:
Let someone start believing in you, let him hold out his hand
Let him touch you and watch what happens
One someone who can look in your eyes, and see into your heart
Let him find you and watch what happens
Cold, no I won't believe your heart is cold
Maybe just afraid to be broken again ...(1)
As the song played, Hermione let the sounds of the smooth voice and blatantly sexual horns wash over her as they moved in time to the music. The upbeat rhythm of the song provided a light-handed counterpoint to the romantic words. As with everything else this night, the combination was surprising and perfect.
This was a situation Hermione never in her wildest dreams imagined. Well, all right, maybe she had imagined a number of detailed seduction scenes involving her former Potions professor executed to their mutual satisfaction, but none of them ever included him cooking for her then dancing with her in her living room.
The tune changed and a slower tempoed song began; she quickly recognized "Unforgettable," sung by Nat King Cole.
Hermione was surprised at his selection of songs. She'd never really thought about what kind of music Severus might listen to; he'd been a teenager in the 1970s when punk and new wave began to be popular and disco reigned – and quickly died. Hermione coughed back a giggle as she imagined a teen-aged Severus Snape putting the moves on some girl with Barry White playing in the background.
When they had started to dance, they'd stood ever so slightly closer than any dancing couple; now Hermione shifted herself just enough that she was tucked under his right arm, pressed fully against him. Her ballroom dance instructor would have scolded but that wasn't the teacher Hermione was interested in at the moment.
Severus disengaged his left hand from Hermione's and as she stepped back, thinking they were finished dancing, he pulled her back to him with his right arm. He lifted her chin with his index finger so that her face was turned up to him as her hand fell to his waist, coming to rest on the braided leather belt he wore.
Severus' eyes were focused on hers, hypnotic in their intensity. She knew absolutely what he was thinking without his saying a word. Truly, this must be what those authors meant when they wrote about being able to see into someone's soul. His gaze lazily slipped from her eyes to her lips and he looked as if he was going to kiss her. Oh, please, she thought, let him kiss me.
As if he could hear her, his lips came to hers – but stopped just short of touching. For an electric moment, everything around them dropped away; there was nothing except the breath, the pulse they shared and then Hermione could stand it no longer and she stretched up to cross the tiny abyss that separated them. Her soft lips caught his in a gentle caress and her eyes closed as she lost herself in everything she was feeling.
A coffee-dark voice rumbled against her lips: "Open your eyes, Hermione." She was powerless to refuse and met his dark gaze. Those four words were all he said but she understood; there would be no hiding from him tonight. The realization was overwhelming.
Severus leaned into her and she bent back, not in retreat but in abandon. His strong arms held her safe and she used her hands to pull him to her. He gave himself completely to her, drowning in the sensations as her right hand played at the back of his neck, fingers weaving through the raw silk of his hair. Her other hand skimmed down his neck, over his linen-covered shoulder blade and down to the small of his back where her fingernails scratched just enough to leave faint trails across his skin but not so hard as to distract him from kissing her.
And kissing her he was. As much as she'd experienced before, this was beyond anything she could have expected. There was no self-consciousness about how she looked or which way she should turn her head, no wondering how long she had to hold her breath. There was no concern that he didn't know what to do – this was beyond thought. There was nothing more than the need to taste him, to know him, to breathe him, to ....
The sharp knocking at the door took several seconds to penetrate the intimate cocoon they'd begun to weave, but like an oyster borer, it inexorably broke through the couple's shell. Hermione blinked as if waking and unwillingly disentangled herself from Severus and, straightening her clothes, walked to the front door.
In all honesty, they should have expected this. It had been weeks since anyone from their world had been in contact and, given the life-threatening position Severus had been in, they should have anticipated an update on the progress of tracking those that posed a danger to Snape.
The reality, however, was that as they had been isolated from the magical community, they had lost themselves in their own world of daily routine, of exotic menus, of learning about each other.
So when Hermione opened the door, she and Severus were completely taken aback at who was standing on her doorstep.
"Well, hello Hermione, I trust you're doing well. May I come in?" Albus Dumbledore asked but he was already past the door and through the foyer into the kitchen before he'd ended his sentence.
Hermione and Severus looked at each other, speechless with surprise and none too pleased with this turn of events. Hermione silently followed her former Headmaster into the only well-lit part of the house while Severus slipped into the living room to turn off the music.
Hermione quickly gathered her thoughts and her composure and offered to make tea as Dumbledore settled himself in the chair nearest the door.
"No, thank you child; I can only stay a short while. I was sure you would both be nearly beside yourselves with curiosity at the state of things back home." Albus was his usual ebullient self, Severus was taciturn as always and Hermione was working as hard as she could be to not appear as vexed and distracted as she felt.
"What – if anything – have you to report, Albus?" Snape drawled. Hermione looked at him, prepared to see his usual bored and distant demeanor. It was a relief to see him standing behind Albus, visibly working to control expression. If she'd not been able to see him but had only heard the detached and cool tone his voice projected, Hermione would have been hurt at the idea that he could be so easily distracted from their earlier activity. The realization that Snape was just as flustered as she was gave Hermione a reassuring insight into his state of mind.
Albus chuckled. "Now, Severus, no need for despair; there is actually some progress to report." Looking at the dessert dishes and wine glasses left on the table, he said, "I trust your time together isn't proving too..." he paused and raised an eyebrow at no one in particular, "troublesome?"
Hermione had the good sense to clear the dishes, allowing her to hide her face from the Headmaster so that he wouldn't see her blush. Not that he wouldn't somehow know about it anyway, she thought to herself.
"It's been tolerable," Severus said, sounding as bored as someone who'd been listening to an endless repetition of one of Professor Binns' lectures. "We've managed to pass the time." He dropped casually into a chair at the far side of the table which meant that Albus had to turn away from the sink in order to maintain eye contact with his Potions Master. "In fact, if you'd been a bit earlier, you could have joined us for dinner," Snape threw in nonchalantly.
If he'd been a bit later, Hermione thought, I'd have gotten more than that kiss, damn it. Of course, the idea of being caught in flagrante delicto by Albus Twinkling Dumbledore didn't exactly appeal but she was beyond peeved at his unexpected visit and ignoring logic seemed the only way to justify her annoyance at someone who couldn't have possibly realized he was interrupting at such an inopportune moment. She stopped washing the wine glass in her hand, horrified that perhaps he had known exactly what he'd been interrupting. He did have that reputation for knowing everything... she decided to venture a conversational gambit to see if she could flush him out.
"So, Professor Dumbledore, why haven't we heard from you before this evening?" Hermione threw out her query with the same air of casual boredom Severus had used. Severus caught her eye and she knew he understood her underlying question from the sardonic smirk that crossed his face.
"Well, there really hadn't been anything to report until late this afternoon – oh! Is that a moscato? I haven't had a dessert wine since..." he trailed off as Hermione grinned at him and handed him a crystal flute. Her smile was equal parts amusement at his never-ending love for sweets and relief at the confirmation that the timing of his visit was coincidental.
They waited politely as he sipped and exclaimed over the sweet and delicately bubbling wine until Severus could stand it no longer. "Albus," he prompted, "you were saying something about this afternoon?"
The Headmaster appeared to be slightly distracted, not that either Hermione or Severus believed for a moment that the codger had forgotten what he'd been about to say. The question was whether he was trying to delay sharing whatever news he had because he wanted to maximize its dramatic impact or if he was hoping to catch them unintentionally saying something about how – and probably more interesting to the old man – what they'd been doing.
"Ah, yes. Well, it seems that the threats to you, Severus, have been originating from a handful of loosely associated individuals. The constituency of the group is ... unexpected." Albus dropped his head slightly so that he could peer at Severus over the top of his spectacles. Hermione continued washing now-clean dishes at the sink, listening intently.
Albus continued: "Interestingly, not all of them were Death Eaters. Through a loose network of informants and some surreptitious and legally questionable spell-casting, we've been able confirm the identity of those in the group. You'll not be surprised, Severus, to learn that Macnair is involved."
Severus merely raised an eyebrow at the name, nodding in agreement with the Headmaster's comment. Macnair had always been jealous of the respect Snape had earned both in the Dark Lord's circle and in the academic world. Walden Macnair had managed to work his way to a reasonably high level at the Ministry but, unless one was named Minister of Magic, any such position would always be considered slightly déclassé amongst pureblooded wizards.
To his advantage, Macnair's long history of respectability had served him well before he revealed his loyalty to Voldemort during that battle at the Department of Mysteries. Even now, a surprising percentage of the wizarding population refused to believe that Macnair could have been a Death Eater. It was this fact, along with a clever and particularly elaborate self-inflicted confundus charm that kept Macnair safely ensconced at St. Mungo's during that last deadly skirmish that had kept the man out of Azkaban.
Dumbledore continued: "Macnair appears to have been brought in his old friend Augustus Rookwood with him. They were the parties responsible for the creating the potion used on the letter we intercepted. It was a shame that poor little owl died but if it hadn't we wouldn't have been alerted and the tonic would likely have gotten to you, my boy. The particular concoction they used wouldn't have killed you but it would have made you terribly uncomfortable. Apparently, their research, for lack of a better word, was faulty and they elected to create a potion modified from a rather obscure doxycide."
"Wonderful," Severus mumbled, "I owe my life to two idiots who couldn't successfully brew a pot of tea and a rented bird."
Dumbledore snorted as he watched the last drop of wine slip from the inverted bottle he held into his glass. "Yes, well, ignominious as it may be, I for one am glad that you're still with us, hale and hearty. If that owl had been just a bit faster, it probably could have managed to make it to the Head Table before its fur to feather ratio got so far out of balance as to render it aerodynamically inept. Of course, if it had, you'd be covered in black fur, as that seems to be the extent of the potion's effect."
"Thank you Albus, I just finished eating; I did not need the visual digestif of remembering the new Mrs. Norris' rather graphic brunch in front of us that morning. Although I will say, for such a small owl, it did put up a valiant battle. I would have never imagined a bird that size could lift such a large cat. I trust its tail has been re-aligned?" Snape's tone was unconcerned but the crinkling around his eyes belied his good humor. "I don't think I've seen Argus as upset since that original mangy flea-bag of his was petrified in, what, your second year?"
Severus' attention had been diverted to Hermione as she tried unsuccessfully to hold back her laughter at the scenario she imagined – Filch's yellow-eyed feline being given what-for by a tiny, bedraggled half bird, half...fur-covered bird.
"So you've revealed two of the known perpetrators; who else have you been able to identify?" Severus had been mildly surprised that Macnair and Rookwood had taken any action of their own. For as long as Snape had known them, they'd been infamous for hanging back at any assembly before the Dark Lord, waiting for everyone else – anyone else – to tell them what to do.
"Victor Crabbe, Vincent's younger brother, was apparently able to get information to Macnair and Rookwood regarding your specific whereabouts and schedule. Apparently, like his brother and father before him, this Crabbe was willing to follow anyone with an unsavory agenda."
Severus sighed, any mirth left from his memory of Mrs. Norris evaporating. "Hard as it is to imagine, that boy is even thicker than his brother."
There was a quiet moment before the Headmaster's voice, considerably brighter, continued: "I don't think I ever showed you the letters that came in, outlining some rather unique hexes, curses and sundry promises to harm you. Just before I left today we were able to confirm that Rita Skeeter's Quick Quotes Quill had written them. Needless to say, that should prove the final nail in her proverbial coffin. Or, should I say, the final twist to the lid on her jar?" He sent a chuckle Hermione's way and added, "I believe she's already been approached about editing the internal newsletter for the recently renovated and renamed Wizards' Azkaban Correctional Center for Incarceration."
A peal of laughter was heard at the sink. "Headmaster, you can't be serious..." Hermione was nearly beside herself.
"Yes, my dear, I'm afraid so. She'll be going WACCI."
"Professor," Hermione finally controlled herself enough to ask, her curiosity getting the better of her, "that makes four culprits; who was the last?"
At her question, Dumbledore turned to the young woman and gave her an enigmatic smile. "Ah," he began. "Therein lays my surprise for the evening."
Turning back toward Snape, the Headmaster asked, "Severus, can you imagine who that fifth and final conspirator might be?"
The younger man fixed an incredulous glare on his mentor. "Surely you jest, Albus. It would be easier for me to name the few individuals who might not have wished me dead. Or worse."
The elderly wizard twisted in his straight-backed chair and asked Hermione, "Young lady, can you think of anyone specific who might have wanted to exact some kind of revenge on Hogwarts' Potions Master?" Something about his tone of voice caught her imagination and she grew thoughtful.
After a few seconds' consideration, she said – almost to herself – "The only person I can think of who might still bear a grudge against Professor Snape is an unlikely suspect."
Dumbledore nodded, encouraging her to continue. Comprehension dawned at his expectant expression.
"Neville Longbottom," she breathed.
Severus nearly fell from his chair.
A rather stunned Hermione and Severus listened as the Headmaster explained that it had been Neville who'd orchestrated the entire scheme. It appeared – though the investigation had only just started – that Longbottom had never intended to actually harm his educational nemesis; he'd simply wanted to create a sense of dread and terror in the man who'd been Neville's personal boggart for these many years.
While the Ministry had been able to apprehend Macnair, Rookwood and Crabbe, and Skeeter's arrest appeared imminent, it had been a bit trickier to bring Neville to justice. On the one hand, there was a groundswell of sympathy for him. His life had been so unhappy, beginning with the unfortunate events surrounding his parents. Combined with the stories of Severus' intolerance, a number of well-meaning citizens had begun to lobby the Ministry to pardon Neville. On the other hand, he had been responsible for convincing some distinctly unsavory characters to carry out what was essentially a campaign of intimidation against a decorated war hero. The debate was just beginning and was already quite heated. Until the political maneuvering could be sorted out, everyone seemed to think it was best if Severus stayed where he was.
For a split second, Severus forgot that he was supposed to be annoyed by that suggestion. Fortunately Albus had been distracted at that moment, as he'd been trying to lure the final bit of moscato d'asti out of his crystal flute and into his mouth; he'd missed the glance Hermione and Severus had shared. Quickly controlling his emotions, Severus heaved a sigh just this side of melodrama and said, "I haven't exactly had much choice in any of this so far; I don't see why that should change now."
Hermione quickly picked up on his pretended dispassion and added her similarly toned voice: "Is there any way to know just how much longer Professor Snape will have to be here?"
"Children, I do understand that this is quite an inconvenience to both of you but I do think we're close to wrapping things up. I can't imagine it will take more than a week or two to sort through all the issues, and of course we'll need you back to testify, Severus. Until then, though, I'm afraid you'll have to remain sequestered here with Miss Granger." Hermione fervently hoped that the pounding of her heart wasn't audible to everyone in the room; it was certainly all she could hear.
All the appropriate thanks were exchanged between the three as the Headmaster stood to take his leave. As Hermione walked him to the door, Albus took her hand and thanked her again for her willingness to play hostess to Severus. He patted her hand and whispered, "You know, Mr. Sinatra played a rather pivotal role in my courting Minerva. It's nice to know that some things haven't changed." With a wink, he was gone.
Hermione stared after Dumbledore into the night for several seconds then closed the front door slowly. As she locked the door, an arm reached past her to turn out the entry light. Turning to face Severus, the bright kitchen behind him left only his silhouette and the reflection in his eyes visible.
The tableau before her revealed Severus Snape as profoundly as any picture: he was a man both revealed and obscured by the light. The light he'd fought for had concealed at least as much of who he truly was as the dark ever had. Everything about him, from his coloring to his very personality, was a complicated unsolvable knot of shadow and light.
Taking her hand, Severus led her back toward the silent living room. Before he could cross the threshold, she stopped. He turned to her, the light from the kitchen now illuminating half of his face. She could see confusion, embarrassment and disappointment skitter across his expression like dried leaves in a breeze and her heart ached at the realization that he would be so quick to assume rejection.
Still holding his hand, she moved back and stepped up the first tread of the stair, pulling him toward her. As he moved to her, they were nearly eye to eye and she said simply, "You're tall, you know," as she brought her hands to his face and kissed him softly. His lips were still and soft for a moment as his mind sorted through what was happening.
It was Hermione's turn to risk her heart now. She looked into his eyes, took his hand and led him up the stairs.
(1) "Watch What Happens," written by N.Gimbel, M.Legrand, J.L.Demy
Hermione worried for a moment, not knowing what to do next, until she realized that Severus had designed the evening; she would simply continue to follow his lead.
He stood, silent as he'd been all night, and took slow, measured steps toward Hermione. He extended his hand to her unhurriedly, in a way that could be interpreted as either nonchalant or the manner of someone trying not to startle a skittish animal.
Her hand rose to take Severus' of its own volition. His grip was firm but gentle as he led her to the living room. Turning down the lights, he moved to the stereo and started the music. The voice of Frank Sinatra singing a song Hermione didn't recognize filled the room as Severus pulled her to him, dancing in the cozy darkened room. Sinatra's voice glided effortlessly over the words:
Let someone start believing in you, let him hold out his hand
Let him touch you and watch what happens
One someone who can look in your eyes, and see into your heart
Let him find you and watch what happens
Cold, no I won't believe your heart is cold
Maybe just afraid to be broken again ...(1)
As the song played, Hermione let the sounds of the smooth voice and blatantly sexual horns wash over her as they moved in time to the music. The upbeat rhythm of the song provided a light-handed counterpoint to the romantic words. As with everything else this night, the combination was surprising and perfect.
This was a situation Hermione never in her wildest dreams imagined. Well, all right, maybe she had imagined a number of detailed seduction scenes involving her former Potions professor executed to their mutual satisfaction, but none of them ever included him cooking for her then dancing with her in her living room.
The tune changed and a slower tempoed song began; she quickly recognized "Unforgettable," sung by Nat King Cole.
Hermione was surprised at his selection of songs. She'd never really thought about what kind of music Severus might listen to; he'd been a teenager in the 1970s when punk and new wave began to be popular and disco reigned – and quickly died. Hermione coughed back a giggle as she imagined a teen-aged Severus Snape putting the moves on some girl with Barry White playing in the background.
When they had started to dance, they'd stood ever so slightly closer than any dancing couple; now Hermione shifted herself just enough that she was tucked under his right arm, pressed fully against him. Her ballroom dance instructor would have scolded but that wasn't the teacher Hermione was interested in at the moment.
Severus disengaged his left hand from Hermione's and as she stepped back, thinking they were finished dancing, he pulled her back to him with his right arm. He lifted her chin with his index finger so that her face was turned up to him as her hand fell to his waist, coming to rest on the braided leather belt he wore.
Severus' eyes were focused on hers, hypnotic in their intensity. She knew absolutely what he was thinking without his saying a word. Truly, this must be what those authors meant when they wrote about being able to see into someone's soul. His gaze lazily slipped from her eyes to her lips and he looked as if he was going to kiss her. Oh, please, she thought, let him kiss me.
As if he could hear her, his lips came to hers – but stopped just short of touching. For an electric moment, everything around them dropped away; there was nothing except the breath, the pulse they shared and then Hermione could stand it no longer and she stretched up to cross the tiny abyss that separated them. Her soft lips caught his in a gentle caress and her eyes closed as she lost herself in everything she was feeling.
A coffee-dark voice rumbled against her lips: "Open your eyes, Hermione." She was powerless to refuse and met his dark gaze. Those four words were all he said but she understood; there would be no hiding from him tonight. The realization was overwhelming.
Severus leaned into her and she bent back, not in retreat but in abandon. His strong arms held her safe and she used her hands to pull him to her. He gave himself completely to her, drowning in the sensations as her right hand played at the back of his neck, fingers weaving through the raw silk of his hair. Her other hand skimmed down his neck, over his linen-covered shoulder blade and down to the small of his back where her fingernails scratched just enough to leave faint trails across his skin but not so hard as to distract him from kissing her.
And kissing her he was. As much as she'd experienced before, this was beyond anything she could have expected. There was no self-consciousness about how she looked or which way she should turn her head, no wondering how long she had to hold her breath. There was no concern that he didn't know what to do – this was beyond thought. There was nothing more than the need to taste him, to know him, to breathe him, to ....
The sharp knocking at the door took several seconds to penetrate the intimate cocoon they'd begun to weave, but like an oyster borer, it inexorably broke through the couple's shell. Hermione blinked as if waking and unwillingly disentangled herself from Severus and, straightening her clothes, walked to the front door.
In all honesty, they should have expected this. It had been weeks since anyone from their world had been in contact and, given the life-threatening position Severus had been in, they should have anticipated an update on the progress of tracking those that posed a danger to Snape.
The reality, however, was that as they had been isolated from the magical community, they had lost themselves in their own world of daily routine, of exotic menus, of learning about each other.
So when Hermione opened the door, she and Severus were completely taken aback at who was standing on her doorstep.
"Well, hello Hermione, I trust you're doing well. May I come in?" Albus Dumbledore asked but he was already past the door and through the foyer into the kitchen before he'd ended his sentence.
Hermione and Severus looked at each other, speechless with surprise and none too pleased with this turn of events. Hermione silently followed her former Headmaster into the only well-lit part of the house while Severus slipped into the living room to turn off the music.
Hermione quickly gathered her thoughts and her composure and offered to make tea as Dumbledore settled himself in the chair nearest the door.
"No, thank you child; I can only stay a short while. I was sure you would both be nearly beside yourselves with curiosity at the state of things back home." Albus was his usual ebullient self, Severus was taciturn as always and Hermione was working as hard as she could be to not appear as vexed and distracted as she felt.
"What – if anything – have you to report, Albus?" Snape drawled. Hermione looked at him, prepared to see his usual bored and distant demeanor. It was a relief to see him standing behind Albus, visibly working to control expression. If she'd not been able to see him but had only heard the detached and cool tone his voice projected, Hermione would have been hurt at the idea that he could be so easily distracted from their earlier activity. The realization that Snape was just as flustered as she was gave Hermione a reassuring insight into his state of mind.
Albus chuckled. "Now, Severus, no need for despair; there is actually some progress to report." Looking at the dessert dishes and wine glasses left on the table, he said, "I trust your time together isn't proving too..." he paused and raised an eyebrow at no one in particular, "troublesome?"
Hermione had the good sense to clear the dishes, allowing her to hide her face from the Headmaster so that he wouldn't see her blush. Not that he wouldn't somehow know about it anyway, she thought to herself.
"It's been tolerable," Severus said, sounding as bored as someone who'd been listening to an endless repetition of one of Professor Binns' lectures. "We've managed to pass the time." He dropped casually into a chair at the far side of the table which meant that Albus had to turn away from the sink in order to maintain eye contact with his Potions Master. "In fact, if you'd been a bit earlier, you could have joined us for dinner," Snape threw in nonchalantly.
If he'd been a bit later, Hermione thought, I'd have gotten more than that kiss, damn it. Of course, the idea of being caught in flagrante delicto by Albus Twinkling Dumbledore didn't exactly appeal but she was beyond peeved at his unexpected visit and ignoring logic seemed the only way to justify her annoyance at someone who couldn't have possibly realized he was interrupting at such an inopportune moment. She stopped washing the wine glass in her hand, horrified that perhaps he had known exactly what he'd been interrupting. He did have that reputation for knowing everything... she decided to venture a conversational gambit to see if she could flush him out.
"So, Professor Dumbledore, why haven't we heard from you before this evening?" Hermione threw out her query with the same air of casual boredom Severus had used. Severus caught her eye and she knew he understood her underlying question from the sardonic smirk that crossed his face.
"Well, there really hadn't been anything to report until late this afternoon – oh! Is that a moscato? I haven't had a dessert wine since..." he trailed off as Hermione grinned at him and handed him a crystal flute. Her smile was equal parts amusement at his never-ending love for sweets and relief at the confirmation that the timing of his visit was coincidental.
They waited politely as he sipped and exclaimed over the sweet and delicately bubbling wine until Severus could stand it no longer. "Albus," he prompted, "you were saying something about this afternoon?"
The Headmaster appeared to be slightly distracted, not that either Hermione or Severus believed for a moment that the codger had forgotten what he'd been about to say. The question was whether he was trying to delay sharing whatever news he had because he wanted to maximize its dramatic impact or if he was hoping to catch them unintentionally saying something about how – and probably more interesting to the old man – what they'd been doing.
"Ah, yes. Well, it seems that the threats to you, Severus, have been originating from a handful of loosely associated individuals. The constituency of the group is ... unexpected." Albus dropped his head slightly so that he could peer at Severus over the top of his spectacles. Hermione continued washing now-clean dishes at the sink, listening intently.
Albus continued: "Interestingly, not all of them were Death Eaters. Through a loose network of informants and some surreptitious and legally questionable spell-casting, we've been able confirm the identity of those in the group. You'll not be surprised, Severus, to learn that Macnair is involved."
Severus merely raised an eyebrow at the name, nodding in agreement with the Headmaster's comment. Macnair had always been jealous of the respect Snape had earned both in the Dark Lord's circle and in the academic world. Walden Macnair had managed to work his way to a reasonably high level at the Ministry but, unless one was named Minister of Magic, any such position would always be considered slightly déclassé amongst pureblooded wizards.
To his advantage, Macnair's long history of respectability had served him well before he revealed his loyalty to Voldemort during that battle at the Department of Mysteries. Even now, a surprising percentage of the wizarding population refused to believe that Macnair could have been a Death Eater. It was this fact, along with a clever and particularly elaborate self-inflicted confundus charm that kept Macnair safely ensconced at St. Mungo's during that last deadly skirmish that had kept the man out of Azkaban.
Dumbledore continued: "Macnair appears to have been brought in his old friend Augustus Rookwood with him. They were the parties responsible for the creating the potion used on the letter we intercepted. It was a shame that poor little owl died but if it hadn't we wouldn't have been alerted and the tonic would likely have gotten to you, my boy. The particular concoction they used wouldn't have killed you but it would have made you terribly uncomfortable. Apparently, their research, for lack of a better word, was faulty and they elected to create a potion modified from a rather obscure doxycide."
"Wonderful," Severus mumbled, "I owe my life to two idiots who couldn't successfully brew a pot of tea and a rented bird."
Dumbledore snorted as he watched the last drop of wine slip from the inverted bottle he held into his glass. "Yes, well, ignominious as it may be, I for one am glad that you're still with us, hale and hearty. If that owl had been just a bit faster, it probably could have managed to make it to the Head Table before its fur to feather ratio got so far out of balance as to render it aerodynamically inept. Of course, if it had, you'd be covered in black fur, as that seems to be the extent of the potion's effect."
"Thank you Albus, I just finished eating; I did not need the visual digestif of remembering the new Mrs. Norris' rather graphic brunch in front of us that morning. Although I will say, for such a small owl, it did put up a valiant battle. I would have never imagined a bird that size could lift such a large cat. I trust its tail has been re-aligned?" Snape's tone was unconcerned but the crinkling around his eyes belied his good humor. "I don't think I've seen Argus as upset since that original mangy flea-bag of his was petrified in, what, your second year?"
Severus' attention had been diverted to Hermione as she tried unsuccessfully to hold back her laughter at the scenario she imagined – Filch's yellow-eyed feline being given what-for by a tiny, bedraggled half bird, half...fur-covered bird.
"So you've revealed two of the known perpetrators; who else have you been able to identify?" Severus had been mildly surprised that Macnair and Rookwood had taken any action of their own. For as long as Snape had known them, they'd been infamous for hanging back at any assembly before the Dark Lord, waiting for everyone else – anyone else – to tell them what to do.
"Victor Crabbe, Vincent's younger brother, was apparently able to get information to Macnair and Rookwood regarding your specific whereabouts and schedule. Apparently, like his brother and father before him, this Crabbe was willing to follow anyone with an unsavory agenda."
Severus sighed, any mirth left from his memory of Mrs. Norris evaporating. "Hard as it is to imagine, that boy is even thicker than his brother."
There was a quiet moment before the Headmaster's voice, considerably brighter, continued: "I don't think I ever showed you the letters that came in, outlining some rather unique hexes, curses and sundry promises to harm you. Just before I left today we were able to confirm that Rita Skeeter's Quick Quotes Quill had written them. Needless to say, that should prove the final nail in her proverbial coffin. Or, should I say, the final twist to the lid on her jar?" He sent a chuckle Hermione's way and added, "I believe she's already been approached about editing the internal newsletter for the recently renovated and renamed Wizards' Azkaban Correctional Center for Incarceration."
A peal of laughter was heard at the sink. "Headmaster, you can't be serious..." Hermione was nearly beside herself.
"Yes, my dear, I'm afraid so. She'll be going WACCI."
"Professor," Hermione finally controlled herself enough to ask, her curiosity getting the better of her, "that makes four culprits; who was the last?"
At her question, Dumbledore turned to the young woman and gave her an enigmatic smile. "Ah," he began. "Therein lays my surprise for the evening."
Turning back toward Snape, the Headmaster asked, "Severus, can you imagine who that fifth and final conspirator might be?"
The younger man fixed an incredulous glare on his mentor. "Surely you jest, Albus. It would be easier for me to name the few individuals who might not have wished me dead. Or worse."
The elderly wizard twisted in his straight-backed chair and asked Hermione, "Young lady, can you think of anyone specific who might have wanted to exact some kind of revenge on Hogwarts' Potions Master?" Something about his tone of voice caught her imagination and she grew thoughtful.
After a few seconds' consideration, she said – almost to herself – "The only person I can think of who might still bear a grudge against Professor Snape is an unlikely suspect."
Dumbledore nodded, encouraging her to continue. Comprehension dawned at his expectant expression.
"Neville Longbottom," she breathed.
Severus nearly fell from his chair.
A rather stunned Hermione and Severus listened as the Headmaster explained that it had been Neville who'd orchestrated the entire scheme. It appeared – though the investigation had only just started – that Longbottom had never intended to actually harm his educational nemesis; he'd simply wanted to create a sense of dread and terror in the man who'd been Neville's personal boggart for these many years.
While the Ministry had been able to apprehend Macnair, Rookwood and Crabbe, and Skeeter's arrest appeared imminent, it had been a bit trickier to bring Neville to justice. On the one hand, there was a groundswell of sympathy for him. His life had been so unhappy, beginning with the unfortunate events surrounding his parents. Combined with the stories of Severus' intolerance, a number of well-meaning citizens had begun to lobby the Ministry to pardon Neville. On the other hand, he had been responsible for convincing some distinctly unsavory characters to carry out what was essentially a campaign of intimidation against a decorated war hero. The debate was just beginning and was already quite heated. Until the political maneuvering could be sorted out, everyone seemed to think it was best if Severus stayed where he was.
For a split second, Severus forgot that he was supposed to be annoyed by that suggestion. Fortunately Albus had been distracted at that moment, as he'd been trying to lure the final bit of moscato d'asti out of his crystal flute and into his mouth; he'd missed the glance Hermione and Severus had shared. Quickly controlling his emotions, Severus heaved a sigh just this side of melodrama and said, "I haven't exactly had much choice in any of this so far; I don't see why that should change now."
Hermione quickly picked up on his pretended dispassion and added her similarly toned voice: "Is there any way to know just how much longer Professor Snape will have to be here?"
"Children, I do understand that this is quite an inconvenience to both of you but I do think we're close to wrapping things up. I can't imagine it will take more than a week or two to sort through all the issues, and of course we'll need you back to testify, Severus. Until then, though, I'm afraid you'll have to remain sequestered here with Miss Granger." Hermione fervently hoped that the pounding of her heart wasn't audible to everyone in the room; it was certainly all she could hear.
All the appropriate thanks were exchanged between the three as the Headmaster stood to take his leave. As Hermione walked him to the door, Albus took her hand and thanked her again for her willingness to play hostess to Severus. He patted her hand and whispered, "You know, Mr. Sinatra played a rather pivotal role in my courting Minerva. It's nice to know that some things haven't changed." With a wink, he was gone.
Hermione stared after Dumbledore into the night for several seconds then closed the front door slowly. As she locked the door, an arm reached past her to turn out the entry light. Turning to face Severus, the bright kitchen behind him left only his silhouette and the reflection in his eyes visible.
The tableau before her revealed Severus Snape as profoundly as any picture: he was a man both revealed and obscured by the light. The light he'd fought for had concealed at least as much of who he truly was as the dark ever had. Everything about him, from his coloring to his very personality, was a complicated unsolvable knot of shadow and light.
Taking her hand, Severus led her back toward the silent living room. Before he could cross the threshold, she stopped. He turned to her, the light from the kitchen now illuminating half of his face. She could see confusion, embarrassment and disappointment skitter across his expression like dried leaves in a breeze and her heart ached at the realization that he would be so quick to assume rejection.
Still holding his hand, she moved back and stepped up the first tread of the stair, pulling him toward her. As he moved to her, they were nearly eye to eye and she said simply, "You're tall, you know," as she brought her hands to his face and kissed him softly. His lips were still and soft for a moment as his mind sorted through what was happening.
It was Hermione's turn to risk her heart now. She looked into his eyes, took his hand and led him up the stairs.
(1) "Watch What Happens," written by N.Gimbel, M.Legrand, J.L.Demy
