Settled into a first-class seat on a non-stop Virgin Atlantic
flight to John F. Kennedy Airport, Hermione Granger pulled out
her iPod and earbuds and tried to clear her head of everything
that had happened the last few weeks. Random play served up a
light jazz number first. She began to use some meditation
techniques she had learned a few years back, when she had first
entered the Muggle world again and had been unable to sleep or
eat well. She drifted into recollection, thinking about those
dark days.
When her doctor had prescribed tranquilizers and anti-depressants, Hermione had recoiled visibly. "Miss Granger, I assure you, these will help a great deal." The anti-depressants actually had helped. There was no question that a very deep depression had followed the injustice of her last days in the world she had embraced and begun to call her own. But her doctor also had given her a name of a naturopath, who taught her several meditation techniques in addition to some yoga. She'd added a few herbal preparations and prescribed a few massage treatments. "Until your idiopathic anti-depressant takes effect, the massage and the herbs will help a good deal." Hermione had wanted to scoff, but had recognized many of the herbs used in the tinctures as plants that had been key ingredients of many of the calming and pain-relief potions she'd been taught by Professor Snape..
That name, and the waving photographic image it conjured up, caused her to tense up. She shifted in her seat and resolved strongly to clear her mind again and try and get wizards off her mind...
At one point she'd nearly asked the naturopath if she was a witch. The massage felt magical - she could feel a warmth, a gentle tingle in her muscles that possibly only someone who was familiar with magic might have known. It was impossible for a witch to be in contact with her, so she'd let it drop, but the potions the woman had produced would have met with even Snape's approval.
There he was again. Hermione stirred, opening her eyes, and motioned the flight attendant over. "Can I get a Bloody Mary?"
Alcohol. And lots of it. Maybe then she could erase the image of her former Potions Master that kept entering her thoughts.
~*~*~
It was not much of an inconvenience to Apparate from gate to gate within the terminal, checking arrivals on different airlines from London. In fact, he'd been able to keep time with the few flights coming into LaGuardia and Newark. Absurdly pleased with himself and the role of Important Businessman from London he'd adopted, he kept ducking into a men's room in Long Island and reappearing in a men's room in New Jersey, to a different airport in Flushing, over and over.
It had been so long since he'd done anything that made him want to laugh. But he did, very much, feel free, despite the odd suit and tie he had transfigured. He was dead to everyone but Minerva and Draco, after all.
And Hermione thought he was alive, but she wouldn't remember why she might have thought otherwise.
Suddenly, all the fun went out of the Apparition chore, and he grew anxious. What would she do when she discovered he was her stalker? He remembered her half-brave, half-terrified words on her stairs only a few hours before. Swallowing his pride would be incredibly difficult. It wasn't something intrinsic to his nature, in the least. It had to be done. He needed her forgiveness and understanding to make the rest work.
Do you really, Severus? Do you really need her to understand this for her sake, or yours?
Shut up!
Is it really necessary to your plan, or do you just want to see her again? Did you, perhaps, enjoy holding her in your arms a little overmuch? She'll never allow that to happen again, I guarantee it.
Quiet, Bats50, you wanker. That is NOT my intention, and you know that better than anyone. I was just protecting myself from her righteously overwrought anger, and of course, the fists.
Indeed.
And protecting my...investment...in her.
So you say. Is that what it is, or what it used to be?
Just be quiet, you. I can banish you back to cyberoblivion if you don't behave.
With a pop, he was back at JFK, pretending to be interested in The Wall Street Journal over a cup of bad coffee, casually monitoring the gate for the next arriving plane from Gatwick Airport.
~*~*~
"Mother, I've lost Umbridge. I'm sorry."
"You'll get her out, of course. I'm counting on you, Draco."
"I have some pull here, Mother, but not enough to save a parolee from Azkaban when she's broken her terms of release so egregiously."
"You could have told them she hadn't been in Hermione's apartment."
"They knew. Her wand had cast an Obliviate, and she still had remnants of Polyjuice in her system. A little Veritaserum and it all came spilling right out. You're very lucky they didn't question her about you or Father, or you'd all be headed back to Azkaban."
"Me? I have nothing to do with this."
"Mother, you know about it, and that's enough."
Narcissa paled, but remained composed. "I can't control what your father does."
"I know, Mother. No more than I can control the Ministry hacks."
"But you're the Arbiter!"
"All I can do is watch and try and prevent things, but I can't prevent Dolores Umbridge showing up on the Ministry stairs with a wand that's cast an illegal Memory charm and a bloodstream full of illegal Polyjuice!" Draco was tiring of his mother's circular argument; he'd never been able to figure out the disgusting fascination his mother had for the woman. At one time, Draco had really liked Umbridge. She'd given him the power and respect he'd craved. That was before she had insulted his mentor and Head of House, and he'd been allowed to see what she and her kind were really like. That year had been the first step in showing Draco that his father's path wasn't necessarily the one he should choose. In many ways, he was bound to the Malfoy name, but just as Lucius had defied family tradition by marrying a Black instead of one of the more noble wizarding houses like the Parkinsons or the Bulstrodes, Draco had a certain leeway and he'd used it to try and help out the only person who'd ever really helped him. Now, of course, Snape had told him that they'd be standing on opposite sides. For once, Draco hoped that he would be the one to lose.
He had such a mix of emotions about his involvement with Granger. He'd despised her in school, despised Potty and the Weasel. That was all very real. He didn't miss her, even if he knew that her exile wasn't entirely fair. But once he'd been assigned to monitoring her, things had changed. She wasn't at all what he thought. He couldn't hate her, and in fact, had come to enjoy their conversations on LiveJournal so much that they became the highlight of his day.
Now he had to deliver her to his father, or die? How had this come about? God, he hated being a Malfoy.
"You'll do what you can, Draco. I know you won't fail me and your father. I'd hate to lose my only son over this." Narcissa stood up from her chair in the small cafe they'd met in for lunch, looking icily at her son as she threw six galleons on the table. "But if that's what it comes to, that's what it shall be." She turned and walked out, leaving Draco empty and his soul very cold.
~*~*~
"Well, Albus?" Lucius sat in what was becoming his usual chair in Dumbledore's office as the Headmaster walked in.
"I didn't find Snape. I didn't find Granger. I'm too weak to discern anything about their whereabouts, and I have no idea where my brother is."
"My son will know..."
"Blast your son!" Dumbledore said, agitated. "He's no great help!"
"Albus, he will die if he doesn't deliver," Lucius said calmly.
Dumbledore looked at Lucius Malfoy, as if seeing him for the first time. "You'd kill for this? I don't understand. You'd kill your own son?"
"Oh, don't look so shocked. You know what I'm capable of. But it won't come to murder, at least of Draco. He will deliver. His self-preservation instinct is strong; he's a Malfoy."
"Are you so sure?" Dumbledore sat down now, weakly, his head in his hands. "What have I become?"
Lucius was smooth, if nothing else; he could see Dumbledore falter, begin to think of the possibilities of just letting this quest go now and go quietly into retirement. "You're trying to recover your rightful inheritance. We've stood on opposite sides many times, but we have a common thread here. Don't give up." He placed a comforting hand on Albus's shoulder. "This will happen, and we'll all get what we want, and you'll be fine."
"I need to rest," Albus said. "I can't think..."
"Let me help you," Lucius said solicitously, offering his arm.
~*~*~
"And then Lucius said...well, it was shocking really, to see Albus like that. I had to make Godric move so I could get a better look, the prat, but then..."
"Enough!" Minerva said. "I'm about to throw up as it is. I had no idea it was so bad. Rowena, you need to start from the beginning, my friend."
Minerva had surreptiously removed the second, more garish and loud painting of Rowena Ravenclaw from the little-used Ravenclaw Meeting Room to her private chambers. She needed to know what was happening with Albus, and Rowena really had a gift of gab. The portrait of the Founders in the Headmaster's office was dusty, high up in a hidden nook, and hung behind a thick tapestry. It also had been well-overlooked when Albus had gone through one of his paranoid rages and had the House-Elves remove the former Headmaster portraits from his office the week before.
Minerva steeled herself for a long, shocking night, as the garishly-bedecked Rowena wound up with the classic Ravenclaw superior, I know-something-you-don't, smirk before beginning the tale. For a fleeting moment Minerva wished she'd gotten Salazar Slytherin's portrait from the dungeon instead.
~*~*~
Hermione felt only a tiny a bit sheepish; three Bloody Marys while high above the Atlantic meant instant over-intoxication. "I'm drinkin' too much these days," she said to her neighbor across the aisle.
"Indeed," the man said, burying his nose further into his novel.
"No, reallllly!" Hermione said, smiling her most winning smile as she slurred her words. "Things-a sorta been, well, muddled. Hella fucked, they've been. Bats and quidiots and fuck."
The man tried really hard to pretend as if he hadn't heard anything. It was best to deal with drunk passengers in first class as if they weren't there, he'd learned through much trial-and-error.
"First I was a witch. Then I wasn't a witch. Then there were a buncha wizards around tellin me whadda fuck. What the hell they want with me, anyway. They gonna kill me? Or kiss me. Heh. Say, you wanna drink?"
Obviously, mused the man to himself as he turned the page, this one was an escapee from a mental institution.
"This is serious!" she said too loudly. "Don't you get it? They're after me!" She put her earbuds back in and immediately passed out.
The man, nattily attired in a low-key blue pinstriped suit with a red tie, lowered his prim and proper mystery novel and hailed the flight attendant. "I'll have whatever she's having."
~*~*~
Severus checked his cell-phone's clock. Another hour until the next flight was scheduled to arrive, this time from Gatwick on Virgin at JFK. This was a pretty likely candidate given the time-frame, and she hadn't come in on the last one which had also been likely (American, also at JFK.) He'd switched at some point from the ridiculous muck they called coffee in the airport to this cheap ale called Budweiser, which was easily the most vile brew since the invention of butterbeer. Still, he didn't stand out sitting around at the bar trying to look American and disinterested, and that was the goal.
"Dude," said a tall, lanky fellow wearing oversized clothing and a strange cap that had plopped onto the stool next to him. "You gotta light?"
Snape raised one eyebrow, thinking the man a bit familiar but not certain where he'd seen him. "If you're planning on smoking, I'm leaving."
"Dude, you're English! Far out!" The young man grinned. "John Thacker," he said, extending a hand.
Snape looked dubiously at the outstretched hand. "Charmed," he finally said, not shaking the hand.
"You gotta loosen up, man," the man said. "Hey, dude!"
The barkeep seemed to understand the difference between "dude" as applied to Severus, and "dude" as applied to "get us a round, please". Two more glasses of the vile pale ale were set down.
"So, tell me," the oblivious young man continued, "English chicks. Do they really not shave their pits, or what?"
Just as Snape was looking for the least obvious way to get away from the obnoxious young man, his hand inadvertently brushed the fellow's shoulder. He was swimming in magic - it jumped out in a huge arc and slammed into Snape's body with surprising force. Suddenly, he realized where he'd seen the man before - at a coffee shop earlier in the day at LaGuardia.
"You..." he lowered his voice. "A wizard?"
Nothing but a cheeky grin answered, as John Thacker turned to his beer. "She's on this one, man, I can feel it in my toes. You'll have to beat me to the gate."
~*~*~
"It's taken care of, Father. You get your wish."
"Excellent, Draco. I look forward to seeing Miss Granger."
"You will, Father, very soon."
~*~*~
"Miss Granger? We're arriving, could you fasten your seatbelt? Miss..." The flight attendant, a perky little brunette by the name of Joanne, was having some trouble rousing the occupant of seat 2B from her nap.
"Allow me," the man across the aisle with the now-loosened red tie and discarded suit jacket said. He reached over, took her earbuds out, and gently put a hand on her shoulder. "Miss Granger, wake up. The wizards won't hurt you, love, I won't let them." Hermione stretched, yawned, smiled, and buckled her seatbelt before falling back into her snooze.
Joanne looked at them both and rolled her eyes.
~*~*~
Snape had no idea who this man was, but damned if he was going to get to her first. Snape got up and broke into a run. "Hey!" the bartender yelled, "You didn't..."
John Thacker smirked, throwing down a crisp twenty. "It's on me," he smirked. He started after Snape before he realized he'd lost him completely. "Well, he'll be at this gate soon enough," John said to himself, going back to the bar and finishing his beer. "I can wait."
~*~*~
Trembling, Severus Snape stood before the ticket counter attendant. "My wife...she's coming home, and I have been waiting here all day. I need to know if she's on this flight. Please...I know it's against your rules, but can you just tell me if there is a passenger named Granger?"
"I'm sorry, sir. You're right, it's against our rules."
His grip tightened on his wand. An illegal Imperio would do it, but would also have the American Magical authorities on him in record time. "I'm sorry, I'm just so worried. How can I find out if she's on this flight?"
"Sorry, sir, you'll have to wait at the gate with everyone else," the bored counter agent said. "Next please."
An idea occurred to Snape. It was risky. Very, very risky, but he had the cloak. Of course.
"Ma'am? Do you have a map of a layout of that airplane?"
She looked at him very suspiciously. "Why?"
"Nothing, I was just curious." He ambled away. She looked at him thoughtfully, then called security.
"There was a man here asking about the layout of our aircraft. He was English but really, really scruffy looking - bad hair and teeth - I know we're not supposed to profile these people, but there was something odd about him. And he was asking about a passenger. Can you check it out? He just went into the men's room by the Virgin Atlantic ticket counter."
When security arrived, they found no one in the restroom.
~*~*~
Only twenty minutes until this plane landed. Snape found a public Internet terminal to plug his laptop into, and quickly pulled up the layout of Hermione's plane from Virgin's own website. He thanked the gods that Draco had taught him how to use a computer now. The lavatories were in the rear and near the front. Would she have flown first class? He would have to decide on one, and possibly walk the length of the rather large plane if he didn't guess right. What to do...Apparating into a moving target was nearly suicide, but he couldn't risk waiting for her to hit the ground now that there was an unknown predator waiting. If he splinched, he failed. It had to work.
Hoping to Merlin he was right, he settled on First Class, reasoning that if he poked his head out and didn't see her he could try Apparating to the back before anyone could catch him. It was a half-baked plan, to be sure, but all he could come up with on the spur of the moment. He ducked into the men's room again, picturing the airplane, picturing the tiny lavatory and trying not to think of himself being splinched...
...and was hit with a rather powerful hex of indeterminate nature. He was awake and aware, but everything seemed to be in slow motion.
"I've taken us both out of time, Snape," John Thacker said into his ear softly. "If you tell me why you want her, I might let you go get her. I might."
"I should be asking you the same question."
"I'm the one in charge, here, and you can't move."
"How do you know me?"
"Stop dancing around the issue. Why are you involved in this? You're supposed to be dead."
Snape only had one shot. "I am dead." Using a technique he had learned from a Healer many moons ago, he closed his eyes and willed his heart and breathing to stop.
"What the fuck...Snape...fuck you! Wake up! Goddamn it. Finite incantatem." John was looking thoroughly perplexed. "Now what do I fucking do, I can't leave you here. Fuck me...you wanker! You did this on purpose, well, it won't work..." John turned away to look for something to transfigure to hide the body with while he went to get Hermione. When he turned back, Snape was gone.
~*~*~
It was amazing that Snape didn't splinch, given the circumstances under which he Apparated. He ended up losing his ponytail in the wall, but all in all, things went well. After all, his head missed by a fraction of an inch, and he'd been meaning to cut his hair anyway. And there was no one in the loo. The plane was descending, he could feel it. He cracked open the door.
There she was. Right in front of him.
He stepped out, sliding into the seat next to her. She appeared to be asleep. "Wake up!"
"Who in the bloody hell are you?" the man across from her demanded. "Where did you come from?"
"This isn't your concern," Snape said. "Hermione! Hermione Granger! Wake up now."
"This girl is scared and alone and drunk. It is my concern," said the man, puffing up in fatherly importance. Snape rolled his eyes. "I am a - friend - of hers. She'll tell you that herself. Hermione, wake up!"
The sound of Snape's voice brought her out of her second round of sleep. She stretched, yawned, and looked at him. "What in the bloody...Snape in a suit? Holy Mother of..."
"Listen. You may not like me. Fair enough. But there's someone waiting at the airport to..."
"Oh, no. I'm not listening to you. I'm done with wizards. I don't know why you're here, but bugger off."
"See!" the man across the way said, "leave the lady alone! You heard her."
Hermione smiled at her protector. "Thank you."
"You will be captured when you walk off the plane by a wizard I've never seen," Snape hissed. "Is that what you want? I'm here to help you, you bloody stupid girl."
She goggled. "Fuck you."
"Fine. Later. But right now, I have to get you to safety."
"And I can trust you because..." She was clearly a little drunk and just as belligerent as she'd been the previous night. He had to push down the surge of annoyance and strange longing that hit him.
"You trust me and live. You don't and you may die. It's up to you. I can Apparate away right now and not return. Your choice."
She looked at the man across from her. "You see? The wizards are after me. And I bet you thought I was bloody crazy, didn't you?"
Snape folded his arms and looked at her. "Drunkard."
"Bastard."
"Fair enough. Will you let me Apparate you off the plane before it arrives at the bloody gate, or not?"
"I'm drunk," she said, getting weepy. "I'm sorry, Professor..."
"Oh, hell," said the man across the aisle.
"Perhaps you best read your novel, sir."
"It's not quite as entertaining as this," the man said.
"Bollocks on you both. Men." Hermione harumphed, wiping a stray tear, and looked at Snape. "Why did you wave to me?"
"What?" Snape said, growing increasingly impatient. They had just touched down and were taxiing.
"In the picture. You waved."
"Can we talk about this when you're safe?"
She looked around. "Bloody safe now."
"I don't have time for this." He palmed his wand and muttered a spell while touching her arm. She suddenly looked at him, very wide eyed. "Thank God you're a Legilimens. Let's go."
The man across the aisle watched as the woman and the man with the bad haircut suddenly got up and went into the loo together. "Bloody hell," he said. When the plane got to the gate, everyone got up to leave, but the man with the red tie sat and watched carefully. Finally, he got up and gathered his bags and opened the door.
They were gone.
Walking down the ramp, he pondered how this crazy stuff had all gone down when he walked directly into a tall, blonde man in a ball cap and a surfer shirt.
"Dude," the man said, "Have you seen this chick?" He waved a small picture of Hermione.
"Sorry," the man said, "never met her."
~*~*~
"Where are we, anyway? And why are we taking the bloody steps? Can't you just Apparate us?"
"I have no idea who that man was, Miss Granger, but I have a sneaking suspicion he'll have trouble finding us on the 33rd floor. And you can't Apparate to that floor. Come on."
"Where are we?"
"You're really very tiresome, you know that?"
"Fuck off."
Snape wheeled around, startling Hermione, and hissed, "I'm saving your life. I can't, for the life of me, remember why at this point. You ungrateful, childish, little whiny know-it-all Gryffindor bitch! If you're so bloody smart, maybe you'll figure it out for yourself." He turned again, stomping up the stairs past the 30th floor sign.
She stood, mouth agape, watching him walk up the stairs out of her sight. She was feeling a bit petulant, of course, but the reality of three strong drinks and an unnerving Dual-Apparation escape from an airplane lavatory to elude who-knows-who to go where-knows-where with this particular wizard had made her feel that way. And having to trust Snape was quite difficult. She had a very odd feeling about him, like there was something she really should know but couldn't place. Something that was warm and inviting, and yet frightened her a great deal. It was very similar to the sensation she'd had when she woke up and found the two cups instead of one in her kitchen.
Shaking her head and muttering to herself, she caught up to Snape, who had at some point transfigured his business suit back into a set of the usual black billowing robes. They were now approaching the 33rd floor. "What is special about this floor?" she asked meekly.
"There's a room..." he trailed off, opening the door. "This floor is not particularly unusual in itself. However, there is a room towards the middle that is very similar to Hogwarts' Room of Requirement. If we can get there and have you cast a small protection spell on the room, I believe the power that protects you in your flat will protect us from prying eyes until I can speak to you about what has been happening to you. If you can keep a civil tongue in your head." He scowled and felt along the wall.
"This is the Empire State Building," he continued, "built by average immigrant labor, but labor following unusual designs, even by the Art Deco standards of the day. The 33rd floor was left to the designers themselves to build out and complete. Wizards, of course, though it's not well known even in American magical folklore." He tapped in a few places and his scowl deepened. "Lupin and I used this room once."
"Why do I have to..."
"Stupid girl!" he hissed, cringing inwardly at himself for being so impatient with her. "They're after you and any ward you cast will be thrice what mine would be. Be patient."
"You're still the same arrogant bastard you were five years ago," she spat.
"Yes," was his only comment. Finally, he slipped the wand out of his pocket and muttered a spell. A door shimmered into view. "Be quick about it, Miss Granger, we haven't much time."
"Who...oh, blast it, I'm done asking you anything." She stepped through the doorway just as the door shimmered back into oblivion.
Several minutes later, an attractive young man carrying a briefcase came walking down the hall. A young woman exited an office near his path, and was startled to see him. "Dude," he said in his most charming California-surfer tone, "sorry to have startled you. Do you know where the office of Malfoi Brothers might be?"
~*~*~
The wards had been cast, a fire was crackling in the grate, and the Manhattan version of The Room of Requirement had provided them with everything they'd need to set up housekeeping for a few days. Snape was seated on the least comfortable armchair provided. Hermione supposed he was doing some kind of penance; she could see fairly obvious pain in his dark eyes as he stared into the fire, not speaking. Hermione had been manically pacing, but she stopped and walked over to Snape's chair, sinking down and sitting beside him on the carpet.
He looked at her. "There are plenty of chairs, Miss Granger."
"You have some talking to do. So, talk. And I prefer the floor."
Snape sighed - possibly the most human sound she'd heard him make, and oddly familiar at that - and closed his eyes. "In the beginning, Miss Granger, there were two Dumbledore brothers and their misguided father, who believed that no magic was truly Dark if it was used to increase the Light..."
When her doctor had prescribed tranquilizers and anti-depressants, Hermione had recoiled visibly. "Miss Granger, I assure you, these will help a great deal." The anti-depressants actually had helped. There was no question that a very deep depression had followed the injustice of her last days in the world she had embraced and begun to call her own. But her doctor also had given her a name of a naturopath, who taught her several meditation techniques in addition to some yoga. She'd added a few herbal preparations and prescribed a few massage treatments. "Until your idiopathic anti-depressant takes effect, the massage and the herbs will help a good deal." Hermione had wanted to scoff, but had recognized many of the herbs used in the tinctures as plants that had been key ingredients of many of the calming and pain-relief potions she'd been taught by Professor Snape..
That name, and the waving photographic image it conjured up, caused her to tense up. She shifted in her seat and resolved strongly to clear her mind again and try and get wizards off her mind...
At one point she'd nearly asked the naturopath if she was a witch. The massage felt magical - she could feel a warmth, a gentle tingle in her muscles that possibly only someone who was familiar with magic might have known. It was impossible for a witch to be in contact with her, so she'd let it drop, but the potions the woman had produced would have met with even Snape's approval.
There he was again. Hermione stirred, opening her eyes, and motioned the flight attendant over. "Can I get a Bloody Mary?"
Alcohol. And lots of it. Maybe then she could erase the image of her former Potions Master that kept entering her thoughts.
~*~*~
It was not much of an inconvenience to Apparate from gate to gate within the terminal, checking arrivals on different airlines from London. In fact, he'd been able to keep time with the few flights coming into LaGuardia and Newark. Absurdly pleased with himself and the role of Important Businessman from London he'd adopted, he kept ducking into a men's room in Long Island and reappearing in a men's room in New Jersey, to a different airport in Flushing, over and over.
It had been so long since he'd done anything that made him want to laugh. But he did, very much, feel free, despite the odd suit and tie he had transfigured. He was dead to everyone but Minerva and Draco, after all.
And Hermione thought he was alive, but she wouldn't remember why she might have thought otherwise.
Suddenly, all the fun went out of the Apparition chore, and he grew anxious. What would she do when she discovered he was her stalker? He remembered her half-brave, half-terrified words on her stairs only a few hours before. Swallowing his pride would be incredibly difficult. It wasn't something intrinsic to his nature, in the least. It had to be done. He needed her forgiveness and understanding to make the rest work.
Do you really, Severus? Do you really need her to understand this for her sake, or yours?
Shut up!
Is it really necessary to your plan, or do you just want to see her again? Did you, perhaps, enjoy holding her in your arms a little overmuch? She'll never allow that to happen again, I guarantee it.
Quiet, Bats50, you wanker. That is NOT my intention, and you know that better than anyone. I was just protecting myself from her righteously overwrought anger, and of course, the fists.
Indeed.
And protecting my...investment...in her.
So you say. Is that what it is, or what it used to be?
Just be quiet, you. I can banish you back to cyberoblivion if you don't behave.
With a pop, he was back at JFK, pretending to be interested in The Wall Street Journal over a cup of bad coffee, casually monitoring the gate for the next arriving plane from Gatwick Airport.
~*~*~
"Mother, I've lost Umbridge. I'm sorry."
"You'll get her out, of course. I'm counting on you, Draco."
"I have some pull here, Mother, but not enough to save a parolee from Azkaban when she's broken her terms of release so egregiously."
"You could have told them she hadn't been in Hermione's apartment."
"They knew. Her wand had cast an Obliviate, and she still had remnants of Polyjuice in her system. A little Veritaserum and it all came spilling right out. You're very lucky they didn't question her about you or Father, or you'd all be headed back to Azkaban."
"Me? I have nothing to do with this."
"Mother, you know about it, and that's enough."
Narcissa paled, but remained composed. "I can't control what your father does."
"I know, Mother. No more than I can control the Ministry hacks."
"But you're the Arbiter!"
"All I can do is watch and try and prevent things, but I can't prevent Dolores Umbridge showing up on the Ministry stairs with a wand that's cast an illegal Memory charm and a bloodstream full of illegal Polyjuice!" Draco was tiring of his mother's circular argument; he'd never been able to figure out the disgusting fascination his mother had for the woman. At one time, Draco had really liked Umbridge. She'd given him the power and respect he'd craved. That was before she had insulted his mentor and Head of House, and he'd been allowed to see what she and her kind were really like. That year had been the first step in showing Draco that his father's path wasn't necessarily the one he should choose. In many ways, he was bound to the Malfoy name, but just as Lucius had defied family tradition by marrying a Black instead of one of the more noble wizarding houses like the Parkinsons or the Bulstrodes, Draco had a certain leeway and he'd used it to try and help out the only person who'd ever really helped him. Now, of course, Snape had told him that they'd be standing on opposite sides. For once, Draco hoped that he would be the one to lose.
He had such a mix of emotions about his involvement with Granger. He'd despised her in school, despised Potty and the Weasel. That was all very real. He didn't miss her, even if he knew that her exile wasn't entirely fair. But once he'd been assigned to monitoring her, things had changed. She wasn't at all what he thought. He couldn't hate her, and in fact, had come to enjoy their conversations on LiveJournal so much that they became the highlight of his day.
Now he had to deliver her to his father, or die? How had this come about? God, he hated being a Malfoy.
"You'll do what you can, Draco. I know you won't fail me and your father. I'd hate to lose my only son over this." Narcissa stood up from her chair in the small cafe they'd met in for lunch, looking icily at her son as she threw six galleons on the table. "But if that's what it comes to, that's what it shall be." She turned and walked out, leaving Draco empty and his soul very cold.
~*~*~
"Well, Albus?" Lucius sat in what was becoming his usual chair in Dumbledore's office as the Headmaster walked in.
"I didn't find Snape. I didn't find Granger. I'm too weak to discern anything about their whereabouts, and I have no idea where my brother is."
"My son will know..."
"Blast your son!" Dumbledore said, agitated. "He's no great help!"
"Albus, he will die if he doesn't deliver," Lucius said calmly.
Dumbledore looked at Lucius Malfoy, as if seeing him for the first time. "You'd kill for this? I don't understand. You'd kill your own son?"
"Oh, don't look so shocked. You know what I'm capable of. But it won't come to murder, at least of Draco. He will deliver. His self-preservation instinct is strong; he's a Malfoy."
"Are you so sure?" Dumbledore sat down now, weakly, his head in his hands. "What have I become?"
Lucius was smooth, if nothing else; he could see Dumbledore falter, begin to think of the possibilities of just letting this quest go now and go quietly into retirement. "You're trying to recover your rightful inheritance. We've stood on opposite sides many times, but we have a common thread here. Don't give up." He placed a comforting hand on Albus's shoulder. "This will happen, and we'll all get what we want, and you'll be fine."
"I need to rest," Albus said. "I can't think..."
"Let me help you," Lucius said solicitously, offering his arm.
~*~*~
"And then Lucius said...well, it was shocking really, to see Albus like that. I had to make Godric move so I could get a better look, the prat, but then..."
"Enough!" Minerva said. "I'm about to throw up as it is. I had no idea it was so bad. Rowena, you need to start from the beginning, my friend."
Minerva had surreptiously removed the second, more garish and loud painting of Rowena Ravenclaw from the little-used Ravenclaw Meeting Room to her private chambers. She needed to know what was happening with Albus, and Rowena really had a gift of gab. The portrait of the Founders in the Headmaster's office was dusty, high up in a hidden nook, and hung behind a thick tapestry. It also had been well-overlooked when Albus had gone through one of his paranoid rages and had the House-Elves remove the former Headmaster portraits from his office the week before.
Minerva steeled herself for a long, shocking night, as the garishly-bedecked Rowena wound up with the classic Ravenclaw superior, I know-something-you-don't, smirk before beginning the tale. For a fleeting moment Minerva wished she'd gotten Salazar Slytherin's portrait from the dungeon instead.
~*~*~
Hermione felt only a tiny a bit sheepish; three Bloody Marys while high above the Atlantic meant instant over-intoxication. "I'm drinkin' too much these days," she said to her neighbor across the aisle.
"Indeed," the man said, burying his nose further into his novel.
"No, reallllly!" Hermione said, smiling her most winning smile as she slurred her words. "Things-a sorta been, well, muddled. Hella fucked, they've been. Bats and quidiots and fuck."
The man tried really hard to pretend as if he hadn't heard anything. It was best to deal with drunk passengers in first class as if they weren't there, he'd learned through much trial-and-error.
"First I was a witch. Then I wasn't a witch. Then there were a buncha wizards around tellin me whadda fuck. What the hell they want with me, anyway. They gonna kill me? Or kiss me. Heh. Say, you wanna drink?"
Obviously, mused the man to himself as he turned the page, this one was an escapee from a mental institution.
"This is serious!" she said too loudly. "Don't you get it? They're after me!" She put her earbuds back in and immediately passed out.
The man, nattily attired in a low-key blue pinstriped suit with a red tie, lowered his prim and proper mystery novel and hailed the flight attendant. "I'll have whatever she's having."
~*~*~
Severus checked his cell-phone's clock. Another hour until the next flight was scheduled to arrive, this time from Gatwick on Virgin at JFK. This was a pretty likely candidate given the time-frame, and she hadn't come in on the last one which had also been likely (American, also at JFK.) He'd switched at some point from the ridiculous muck they called coffee in the airport to this cheap ale called Budweiser, which was easily the most vile brew since the invention of butterbeer. Still, he didn't stand out sitting around at the bar trying to look American and disinterested, and that was the goal.
"Dude," said a tall, lanky fellow wearing oversized clothing and a strange cap that had plopped onto the stool next to him. "You gotta light?"
Snape raised one eyebrow, thinking the man a bit familiar but not certain where he'd seen him. "If you're planning on smoking, I'm leaving."
"Dude, you're English! Far out!" The young man grinned. "John Thacker," he said, extending a hand.
Snape looked dubiously at the outstretched hand. "Charmed," he finally said, not shaking the hand.
"You gotta loosen up, man," the man said. "Hey, dude!"
The barkeep seemed to understand the difference between "dude" as applied to Severus, and "dude" as applied to "get us a round, please". Two more glasses of the vile pale ale were set down.
"So, tell me," the oblivious young man continued, "English chicks. Do they really not shave their pits, or what?"
Just as Snape was looking for the least obvious way to get away from the obnoxious young man, his hand inadvertently brushed the fellow's shoulder. He was swimming in magic - it jumped out in a huge arc and slammed into Snape's body with surprising force. Suddenly, he realized where he'd seen the man before - at a coffee shop earlier in the day at LaGuardia.
"You..." he lowered his voice. "A wizard?"
Nothing but a cheeky grin answered, as John Thacker turned to his beer. "She's on this one, man, I can feel it in my toes. You'll have to beat me to the gate."
~*~*~
"It's taken care of, Father. You get your wish."
"Excellent, Draco. I look forward to seeing Miss Granger."
"You will, Father, very soon."
~*~*~
"Miss Granger? We're arriving, could you fasten your seatbelt? Miss..." The flight attendant, a perky little brunette by the name of Joanne, was having some trouble rousing the occupant of seat 2B from her nap.
"Allow me," the man across the aisle with the now-loosened red tie and discarded suit jacket said. He reached over, took her earbuds out, and gently put a hand on her shoulder. "Miss Granger, wake up. The wizards won't hurt you, love, I won't let them." Hermione stretched, yawned, smiled, and buckled her seatbelt before falling back into her snooze.
Joanne looked at them both and rolled her eyes.
~*~*~
Snape had no idea who this man was, but damned if he was going to get to her first. Snape got up and broke into a run. "Hey!" the bartender yelled, "You didn't..."
John Thacker smirked, throwing down a crisp twenty. "It's on me," he smirked. He started after Snape before he realized he'd lost him completely. "Well, he'll be at this gate soon enough," John said to himself, going back to the bar and finishing his beer. "I can wait."
~*~*~
Trembling, Severus Snape stood before the ticket counter attendant. "My wife...she's coming home, and I have been waiting here all day. I need to know if she's on this flight. Please...I know it's against your rules, but can you just tell me if there is a passenger named Granger?"
"I'm sorry, sir. You're right, it's against our rules."
His grip tightened on his wand. An illegal Imperio would do it, but would also have the American Magical authorities on him in record time. "I'm sorry, I'm just so worried. How can I find out if she's on this flight?"
"Sorry, sir, you'll have to wait at the gate with everyone else," the bored counter agent said. "Next please."
An idea occurred to Snape. It was risky. Very, very risky, but he had the cloak. Of course.
"Ma'am? Do you have a map of a layout of that airplane?"
She looked at him very suspiciously. "Why?"
"Nothing, I was just curious." He ambled away. She looked at him thoughtfully, then called security.
"There was a man here asking about the layout of our aircraft. He was English but really, really scruffy looking - bad hair and teeth - I know we're not supposed to profile these people, but there was something odd about him. And he was asking about a passenger. Can you check it out? He just went into the men's room by the Virgin Atlantic ticket counter."
When security arrived, they found no one in the restroom.
~*~*~
Only twenty minutes until this plane landed. Snape found a public Internet terminal to plug his laptop into, and quickly pulled up the layout of Hermione's plane from Virgin's own website. He thanked the gods that Draco had taught him how to use a computer now. The lavatories were in the rear and near the front. Would she have flown first class? He would have to decide on one, and possibly walk the length of the rather large plane if he didn't guess right. What to do...Apparating into a moving target was nearly suicide, but he couldn't risk waiting for her to hit the ground now that there was an unknown predator waiting. If he splinched, he failed. It had to work.
Hoping to Merlin he was right, he settled on First Class, reasoning that if he poked his head out and didn't see her he could try Apparating to the back before anyone could catch him. It was a half-baked plan, to be sure, but all he could come up with on the spur of the moment. He ducked into the men's room again, picturing the airplane, picturing the tiny lavatory and trying not to think of himself being splinched...
...and was hit with a rather powerful hex of indeterminate nature. He was awake and aware, but everything seemed to be in slow motion.
"I've taken us both out of time, Snape," John Thacker said into his ear softly. "If you tell me why you want her, I might let you go get her. I might."
"I should be asking you the same question."
"I'm the one in charge, here, and you can't move."
"How do you know me?"
"Stop dancing around the issue. Why are you involved in this? You're supposed to be dead."
Snape only had one shot. "I am dead." Using a technique he had learned from a Healer many moons ago, he closed his eyes and willed his heart and breathing to stop.
"What the fuck...Snape...fuck you! Wake up! Goddamn it. Finite incantatem." John was looking thoroughly perplexed. "Now what do I fucking do, I can't leave you here. Fuck me...you wanker! You did this on purpose, well, it won't work..." John turned away to look for something to transfigure to hide the body with while he went to get Hermione. When he turned back, Snape was gone.
~*~*~
It was amazing that Snape didn't splinch, given the circumstances under which he Apparated. He ended up losing his ponytail in the wall, but all in all, things went well. After all, his head missed by a fraction of an inch, and he'd been meaning to cut his hair anyway. And there was no one in the loo. The plane was descending, he could feel it. He cracked open the door.
There she was. Right in front of him.
He stepped out, sliding into the seat next to her. She appeared to be asleep. "Wake up!"
"Who in the bloody hell are you?" the man across from her demanded. "Where did you come from?"
"This isn't your concern," Snape said. "Hermione! Hermione Granger! Wake up now."
"This girl is scared and alone and drunk. It is my concern," said the man, puffing up in fatherly importance. Snape rolled his eyes. "I am a - friend - of hers. She'll tell you that herself. Hermione, wake up!"
The sound of Snape's voice brought her out of her second round of sleep. She stretched, yawned, and looked at him. "What in the bloody...Snape in a suit? Holy Mother of..."
"Listen. You may not like me. Fair enough. But there's someone waiting at the airport to..."
"Oh, no. I'm not listening to you. I'm done with wizards. I don't know why you're here, but bugger off."
"See!" the man across the way said, "leave the lady alone! You heard her."
Hermione smiled at her protector. "Thank you."
"You will be captured when you walk off the plane by a wizard I've never seen," Snape hissed. "Is that what you want? I'm here to help you, you bloody stupid girl."
She goggled. "Fuck you."
"Fine. Later. But right now, I have to get you to safety."
"And I can trust you because..." She was clearly a little drunk and just as belligerent as she'd been the previous night. He had to push down the surge of annoyance and strange longing that hit him.
"You trust me and live. You don't and you may die. It's up to you. I can Apparate away right now and not return. Your choice."
She looked at the man across from her. "You see? The wizards are after me. And I bet you thought I was bloody crazy, didn't you?"
Snape folded his arms and looked at her. "Drunkard."
"Bastard."
"Fair enough. Will you let me Apparate you off the plane before it arrives at the bloody gate, or not?"
"I'm drunk," she said, getting weepy. "I'm sorry, Professor..."
"Oh, hell," said the man across the aisle.
"Perhaps you best read your novel, sir."
"It's not quite as entertaining as this," the man said.
"Bollocks on you both. Men." Hermione harumphed, wiping a stray tear, and looked at Snape. "Why did you wave to me?"
"What?" Snape said, growing increasingly impatient. They had just touched down and were taxiing.
"In the picture. You waved."
"Can we talk about this when you're safe?"
She looked around. "Bloody safe now."
"I don't have time for this." He palmed his wand and muttered a spell while touching her arm. She suddenly looked at him, very wide eyed. "Thank God you're a Legilimens. Let's go."
The man across the aisle watched as the woman and the man with the bad haircut suddenly got up and went into the loo together. "Bloody hell," he said. When the plane got to the gate, everyone got up to leave, but the man with the red tie sat and watched carefully. Finally, he got up and gathered his bags and opened the door.
They were gone.
Walking down the ramp, he pondered how this crazy stuff had all gone down when he walked directly into a tall, blonde man in a ball cap and a surfer shirt.
"Dude," the man said, "Have you seen this chick?" He waved a small picture of Hermione.
"Sorry," the man said, "never met her."
~*~*~
"Where are we, anyway? And why are we taking the bloody steps? Can't you just Apparate us?"
"I have no idea who that man was, Miss Granger, but I have a sneaking suspicion he'll have trouble finding us on the 33rd floor. And you can't Apparate to that floor. Come on."
"Where are we?"
"You're really very tiresome, you know that?"
"Fuck off."
Snape wheeled around, startling Hermione, and hissed, "I'm saving your life. I can't, for the life of me, remember why at this point. You ungrateful, childish, little whiny know-it-all Gryffindor bitch! If you're so bloody smart, maybe you'll figure it out for yourself." He turned again, stomping up the stairs past the 30th floor sign.
She stood, mouth agape, watching him walk up the stairs out of her sight. She was feeling a bit petulant, of course, but the reality of three strong drinks and an unnerving Dual-Apparation escape from an airplane lavatory to elude who-knows-who to go where-knows-where with this particular wizard had made her feel that way. And having to trust Snape was quite difficult. She had a very odd feeling about him, like there was something she really should know but couldn't place. Something that was warm and inviting, and yet frightened her a great deal. It was very similar to the sensation she'd had when she woke up and found the two cups instead of one in her kitchen.
Shaking her head and muttering to herself, she caught up to Snape, who had at some point transfigured his business suit back into a set of the usual black billowing robes. They were now approaching the 33rd floor. "What is special about this floor?" she asked meekly.
"There's a room..." he trailed off, opening the door. "This floor is not particularly unusual in itself. However, there is a room towards the middle that is very similar to Hogwarts' Room of Requirement. If we can get there and have you cast a small protection spell on the room, I believe the power that protects you in your flat will protect us from prying eyes until I can speak to you about what has been happening to you. If you can keep a civil tongue in your head." He scowled and felt along the wall.
"This is the Empire State Building," he continued, "built by average immigrant labor, but labor following unusual designs, even by the Art Deco standards of the day. The 33rd floor was left to the designers themselves to build out and complete. Wizards, of course, though it's not well known even in American magical folklore." He tapped in a few places and his scowl deepened. "Lupin and I used this room once."
"Why do I have to..."
"Stupid girl!" he hissed, cringing inwardly at himself for being so impatient with her. "They're after you and any ward you cast will be thrice what mine would be. Be patient."
"You're still the same arrogant bastard you were five years ago," she spat.
"Yes," was his only comment. Finally, he slipped the wand out of his pocket and muttered a spell. A door shimmered into view. "Be quick about it, Miss Granger, we haven't much time."
"Who...oh, blast it, I'm done asking you anything." She stepped through the doorway just as the door shimmered back into oblivion.
Several minutes later, an attractive young man carrying a briefcase came walking down the hall. A young woman exited an office near his path, and was startled to see him. "Dude," he said in his most charming California-surfer tone, "sorry to have startled you. Do you know where the office of Malfoi Brothers might be?"
~*~*~
The wards had been cast, a fire was crackling in the grate, and the Manhattan version of The Room of Requirement had provided them with everything they'd need to set up housekeeping for a few days. Snape was seated on the least comfortable armchair provided. Hermione supposed he was doing some kind of penance; she could see fairly obvious pain in his dark eyes as he stared into the fire, not speaking. Hermione had been manically pacing, but she stopped and walked over to Snape's chair, sinking down and sitting beside him on the carpet.
He looked at her. "There are plenty of chairs, Miss Granger."
"You have some talking to do. So, talk. And I prefer the floor."
Snape sighed - possibly the most human sound she'd heard him make, and oddly familiar at that - and closed his eyes. "In the beginning, Miss Granger, there were two Dumbledore brothers and their misguided father, who believed that no magic was truly Dark if it was used to increase the Light..."