A new chapter!
9.
He was grinding something in a small pestle, and pacing slowly, although he could go only about four or five steps in each direction--his home was small and cluttered, his legs to long--and he seemed to find it frustrating. Hermione was sitting nervously in the squishy leather armchair (the match to the couch she'd fallen asleep on) and watching him. Neither was speaking, and both were very conscious of that.
"Is that for the...whatever-it-is you're going to do?" she finally asked.
"Hmm?" He glanced at the substance in his hands. "Oh, no. This is just for me. I haven't gotten started on the potion yet." He paused, paying no attention to his hands. "Would you like some tea?"
Tea with the vampire managed to diffuse the tension a little, and Hermione got to see a little more of Snape's flat. Hermione's tea of choice was green mint, black. His, a dark, fragrant lemon with milk, two sugars and whatever it was he had been powdering.
She looked at it curiously when he tapped the foul-smelling, black-gray powder into his mug.
"What -is- that stuff?"
"You, Miss Granger, are a thoroughly nosy young woman," he growled. "Iron pills. Ordinary, muggle iron pills."
"Oh."
"No substitute for the real thing, of course, but I can manage for a few more days on this. As I may well have to."
"Oh. Um..."
"Any further questions, Miss Granger?"
The dark sarcasm was starting not to bother her so much. "Tell me about this potion you're going to use on me."
"Technically, a statement, Granger...ah well. I don't suppose it matters. The Mensarien is more of a ritual than a potion, although there is a large potions component. It's rather obscure and rarely called for; I've only used it twice before. It comes in two parts; the first is to determine what the last spell used on you was looking for, and what it found, and the second will actually read that. It shouldn't be too difficult and there shouldn't be any complications."
He sounded confident, and Hermione was comforted. "Can I help?"
"I don't need or want you underfoot. I would suggest you rest for a while. You look exhausted, and the Mensarien will work better on a relaxed mind."
That was certainly good news for Hermione, who, although always on the lookout for education, was practical enough, and self-indulgent enough, to realize that the prospect of sleep was a very pleasant one indeed. She curled up on Snape's leather couch, and tried to relax.
She must've fallen asleep almost immediately, because the low, impatient "Time to get up, Miss Granger" seem to come barely minutes later.
"Sleeping," she mumbled.
"No," he said, "you aren't. You're getting up right now, or I am going to do something unpleasant to you."
He didn't sound particularly serious, but she wasn't going to risk it. She rose gathering the blanket around her like a toga...
*...and wait, since when had there been a blanket?*
"Aww," she said sweetly. "you do care."
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to respond to that?"
"No," she said, considering. "Not really."
"Upstairs," he said, changing the subject tactfully. "I have most of the ritual set up. Just need a few things from you, and we should be able to being."
"From me? What, like measurements?"
"Drop of blood, Miss Granger."
"Oh," she said. "Um..."
"It isn't a Dark ritual, Granger, merely a very old one. And I promise not to take any liberties, if that's what you're worried about."
"It wasn't," she said sharply. "It is now. Thanks."
"Always a pleasure," he said vaguely. Come on."
Upstairs was a bit darker than his living room, and the windows were still boarded up, even from the inside. The study, where a large circle of chalk symbols was situated, was large and airy and full of books with a single worn chair at a large oak desk and a rolled-up rug in one corner.
There were a few silver bowls of herbs and liquids and a few strategically placed candles, which must have been part of the ritual, because they were smoky and squat and smelled strongly of something completely unidentifiable.
"Have you ever used a Pensieve before?" he asked.
"Of course."
"Think of it as something like that. If you feel a tug at a particular thought or memory, try to concentrate on it as best you can. There is something of a trance involved, but it shouldn't be terribly deep. You'll probably be able to hear me throughout."
"Sounds fine. When do we get to the blood bits?"
"You sound so impatient. Anyway, I just need a drop or two in this bowl to tie the spells to you specifically."
It seemed innocuous enough. Hermione let Snape nick her hand and squeezed out two drops of blood onto the herbs in the basin. He seemed to suck in his breath as he watched them fall, but made no move toward the cut.
"Good. Now step into the middle of the circle--do -not- smear the chalkings--and kneel down. Just try to relax."
She looked at the marks on Snape's rough wood floor as she knelt; symbols that looked a little like Arabic and a flowing pattern that reminded her, oddly enough, of paisley. Four points, each with a different symbol; she wondered if it had to do with cardinal directions or charkas. But even as she was getting interested in the chalkings, he hissed softly between his teeth.
"Relax, I said, Granger. This is not the time for academic interest."
She shrugged, and settled down, closing her eyes.
Perhaps it was something in the candles, or the command in Snape's voice, or the fact that she really needed to sleep, but she found herself drifting off even as she felt him dab something tingly and cold between her eyes.
"There," he murmured. "Just relax." And he began chanting, softly and slowly, in some language she didn't recognize. Or perhaps several languages, as she imagined she could catch hints of latin and greek in the mix. But mostly she just listened to Snape's voice, low and velvety, tireless and beautiful...and fading from her awareness entirely.
She didn't really notice much, just wisps of stray thoughts; Snape's search or Draco's, she couldn't tell. Bit of Draco's threat and a taste of dark, alien magic that she was sure wasn't the Mensarien.
And then, a flash of red hair and a wide, wicked grin. "Don't tell anybody, Hermione! I'm tired of this place and these people. They can't think I've run off to join the circus, for all I care."
"No, I won't tell, I promise. I'll try to come visit this summer."
"That would be terrific! Andriano is a great guy, and we're---"
And then, that touch of darkness seemed to rear up, swallowing the brief image and threatening to attack her.
It was going to devour her whole, memories and all, and leave no hope for the wizards of Britain.
She wanted to scream, but she couldn't.
Wanted to struggle.
Wanted to call for Snape, and maybe hit him a little, demand what the hell had gone wrong, what was this and what was it doing in her head?
It was like a Dementor, in her head, but more aggressive, more violent, and she wanted to cry, but she couldn't even move, wasn't even aware of her physical body, and barely aware of her mind, which was drifting towards the blackness as if magnified...
And then, slowly, she was blinking the darkness away, and she realized that she -was- crying, and she -was- screaming and she -was- struggling, but it wasn't against that awful dark magic but against a rather awful, but strangely trustworthy, dark creature whose voice was fading slowly back into her consciousness.
"...calm down, girl, you're going to hurt yourself. Granger. Granger! Look, fine, Hermione...shh, shh...it's all right, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that might happen."
"WHAT might happen, you bastard?!" she snarled, and hit him, hard, in the chest. "That was terrifying! What went wrong?!"
"Nothing went wrong with the Mensarien. But Draco left a little guard in your mind, and it took me a little too long to realize what it was."
"Oh," she said. Hermione realized that they were on the floor, tangled together; that their clothes were streaked with chalk dust and the circle was badly smeared. There were candles and bowls knocked over, and her heart was racing, and she was still tangled in Snape's arms, but this time that terrifying strength was more comforting than frightening and she didn't want to move.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Yes," she said tentatively. "I think so. Are you sure it worked?"
But he didn't let go, just held her, moving a hand on her back in wide, rhythmic circles and smoothing her hair away from her face, letting her lean against his chest and wrap her arms around his shoulders. "I'm sure. I'm also fairly sure that that spell was more of a safeguard than anything else; I doubt it will have alerted Draco, so as far as he knows, the White Hats are still in the dark. It gives us an edge we may need."
Hermione hadn't even considered that the horrible spell had been some sort of alert, and she shuddered at the thought. She also, on further consideration, blinked in surprise at what had obviously been a casual Muggle reference on Snape's part.
She didn't say anything for a long time, just stayed put and let the shakes slowly ease away. He wasn't warm, but he was oddly comforting...so strong and proud...and...
...watching her whimper like a first year because of one little spell. She froze, suddenly, and pulled away.
He caught a stray wisp of that thought and the cringe on her face. "You've no cause to be embarrassed about your reaction to Draco's little parting gift," he said firmly, pulling her back, so that they could sit, side by side (on the floor, in the chalk) with an arm around her waist. "That was a truly alarming magic, and a very dangerous one. Most people would have fared far worse."
"And you got rid of it," she said softly.
"Yes."
"So..."
He shrugged. "Am I right in assuming that the girl in your memory was Ginny Weasley?"
She nodded.
"That," he said, after a long pause. "Cannot possibly be good."
* * * * * * * * *
And so there we are. My first new chapter to this story in a VERY long time and the return of the fanfic muse.
And there was much rejoicing.
9.
He was grinding something in a small pestle, and pacing slowly, although he could go only about four or five steps in each direction--his home was small and cluttered, his legs to long--and he seemed to find it frustrating. Hermione was sitting nervously in the squishy leather armchair (the match to the couch she'd fallen asleep on) and watching him. Neither was speaking, and both were very conscious of that.
"Is that for the...whatever-it-is you're going to do?" she finally asked.
"Hmm?" He glanced at the substance in his hands. "Oh, no. This is just for me. I haven't gotten started on the potion yet." He paused, paying no attention to his hands. "Would you like some tea?"
Tea with the vampire managed to diffuse the tension a little, and Hermione got to see a little more of Snape's flat. Hermione's tea of choice was green mint, black. His, a dark, fragrant lemon with milk, two sugars and whatever it was he had been powdering.
She looked at it curiously when he tapped the foul-smelling, black-gray powder into his mug.
"What -is- that stuff?"
"You, Miss Granger, are a thoroughly nosy young woman," he growled. "Iron pills. Ordinary, muggle iron pills."
"Oh."
"No substitute for the real thing, of course, but I can manage for a few more days on this. As I may well have to."
"Oh. Um..."
"Any further questions, Miss Granger?"
The dark sarcasm was starting not to bother her so much. "Tell me about this potion you're going to use on me."
"Technically, a statement, Granger...ah well. I don't suppose it matters. The Mensarien is more of a ritual than a potion, although there is a large potions component. It's rather obscure and rarely called for; I've only used it twice before. It comes in two parts; the first is to determine what the last spell used on you was looking for, and what it found, and the second will actually read that. It shouldn't be too difficult and there shouldn't be any complications."
He sounded confident, and Hermione was comforted. "Can I help?"
"I don't need or want you underfoot. I would suggest you rest for a while. You look exhausted, and the Mensarien will work better on a relaxed mind."
That was certainly good news for Hermione, who, although always on the lookout for education, was practical enough, and self-indulgent enough, to realize that the prospect of sleep was a very pleasant one indeed. She curled up on Snape's leather couch, and tried to relax.
She must've fallen asleep almost immediately, because the low, impatient "Time to get up, Miss Granger" seem to come barely minutes later.
"Sleeping," she mumbled.
"No," he said, "you aren't. You're getting up right now, or I am going to do something unpleasant to you."
He didn't sound particularly serious, but she wasn't going to risk it. She rose gathering the blanket around her like a toga...
*...and wait, since when had there been a blanket?*
"Aww," she said sweetly. "you do care."
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to respond to that?"
"No," she said, considering. "Not really."
"Upstairs," he said, changing the subject tactfully. "I have most of the ritual set up. Just need a few things from you, and we should be able to being."
"From me? What, like measurements?"
"Drop of blood, Miss Granger."
"Oh," she said. "Um..."
"It isn't a Dark ritual, Granger, merely a very old one. And I promise not to take any liberties, if that's what you're worried about."
"It wasn't," she said sharply. "It is now. Thanks."
"Always a pleasure," he said vaguely. Come on."
Upstairs was a bit darker than his living room, and the windows were still boarded up, even from the inside. The study, where a large circle of chalk symbols was situated, was large and airy and full of books with a single worn chair at a large oak desk and a rolled-up rug in one corner.
There were a few silver bowls of herbs and liquids and a few strategically placed candles, which must have been part of the ritual, because they were smoky and squat and smelled strongly of something completely unidentifiable.
"Have you ever used a Pensieve before?" he asked.
"Of course."
"Think of it as something like that. If you feel a tug at a particular thought or memory, try to concentrate on it as best you can. There is something of a trance involved, but it shouldn't be terribly deep. You'll probably be able to hear me throughout."
"Sounds fine. When do we get to the blood bits?"
"You sound so impatient. Anyway, I just need a drop or two in this bowl to tie the spells to you specifically."
It seemed innocuous enough. Hermione let Snape nick her hand and squeezed out two drops of blood onto the herbs in the basin. He seemed to suck in his breath as he watched them fall, but made no move toward the cut.
"Good. Now step into the middle of the circle--do -not- smear the chalkings--and kneel down. Just try to relax."
She looked at the marks on Snape's rough wood floor as she knelt; symbols that looked a little like Arabic and a flowing pattern that reminded her, oddly enough, of paisley. Four points, each with a different symbol; she wondered if it had to do with cardinal directions or charkas. But even as she was getting interested in the chalkings, he hissed softly between his teeth.
"Relax, I said, Granger. This is not the time for academic interest."
She shrugged, and settled down, closing her eyes.
Perhaps it was something in the candles, or the command in Snape's voice, or the fact that she really needed to sleep, but she found herself drifting off even as she felt him dab something tingly and cold between her eyes.
"There," he murmured. "Just relax." And he began chanting, softly and slowly, in some language she didn't recognize. Or perhaps several languages, as she imagined she could catch hints of latin and greek in the mix. But mostly she just listened to Snape's voice, low and velvety, tireless and beautiful...and fading from her awareness entirely.
She didn't really notice much, just wisps of stray thoughts; Snape's search or Draco's, she couldn't tell. Bit of Draco's threat and a taste of dark, alien magic that she was sure wasn't the Mensarien.
And then, a flash of red hair and a wide, wicked grin. "Don't tell anybody, Hermione! I'm tired of this place and these people. They can't think I've run off to join the circus, for all I care."
"No, I won't tell, I promise. I'll try to come visit this summer."
"That would be terrific! Andriano is a great guy, and we're---"
And then, that touch of darkness seemed to rear up, swallowing the brief image and threatening to attack her.
It was going to devour her whole, memories and all, and leave no hope for the wizards of Britain.
She wanted to scream, but she couldn't.
Wanted to struggle.
Wanted to call for Snape, and maybe hit him a little, demand what the hell had gone wrong, what was this and what was it doing in her head?
It was like a Dementor, in her head, but more aggressive, more violent, and she wanted to cry, but she couldn't even move, wasn't even aware of her physical body, and barely aware of her mind, which was drifting towards the blackness as if magnified...
And then, slowly, she was blinking the darkness away, and she realized that she -was- crying, and she -was- screaming and she -was- struggling, but it wasn't against that awful dark magic but against a rather awful, but strangely trustworthy, dark creature whose voice was fading slowly back into her consciousness.
"...calm down, girl, you're going to hurt yourself. Granger. Granger! Look, fine, Hermione...shh, shh...it's all right, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that might happen."
"WHAT might happen, you bastard?!" she snarled, and hit him, hard, in the chest. "That was terrifying! What went wrong?!"
"Nothing went wrong with the Mensarien. But Draco left a little guard in your mind, and it took me a little too long to realize what it was."
"Oh," she said. Hermione realized that they were on the floor, tangled together; that their clothes were streaked with chalk dust and the circle was badly smeared. There were candles and bowls knocked over, and her heart was racing, and she was still tangled in Snape's arms, but this time that terrifying strength was more comforting than frightening and she didn't want to move.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Yes," she said tentatively. "I think so. Are you sure it worked?"
But he didn't let go, just held her, moving a hand on her back in wide, rhythmic circles and smoothing her hair away from her face, letting her lean against his chest and wrap her arms around his shoulders. "I'm sure. I'm also fairly sure that that spell was more of a safeguard than anything else; I doubt it will have alerted Draco, so as far as he knows, the White Hats are still in the dark. It gives us an edge we may need."
Hermione hadn't even considered that the horrible spell had been some sort of alert, and she shuddered at the thought. She also, on further consideration, blinked in surprise at what had obviously been a casual Muggle reference on Snape's part.
She didn't say anything for a long time, just stayed put and let the shakes slowly ease away. He wasn't warm, but he was oddly comforting...so strong and proud...and...
...watching her whimper like a first year because of one little spell. She froze, suddenly, and pulled away.
He caught a stray wisp of that thought and the cringe on her face. "You've no cause to be embarrassed about your reaction to Draco's little parting gift," he said firmly, pulling her back, so that they could sit, side by side (on the floor, in the chalk) with an arm around her waist. "That was a truly alarming magic, and a very dangerous one. Most people would have fared far worse."
"And you got rid of it," she said softly.
"Yes."
"So..."
He shrugged. "Am I right in assuming that the girl in your memory was Ginny Weasley?"
She nodded.
"That," he said, after a long pause. "Cannot possibly be good."
* * * * * * * * *
And so there we are. My first new chapter to this story in a VERY long time and the return of the fanfic muse.
And there was much rejoicing.