This chapter is for Lightning Rain, my new illustrator. (Yep, gonna have pictures soon.) You go, girl!

Chapter Forty-Seven: Friendships in the Start

January gave way to February before all of Cass's spots faded. In spite of Severus' anti-itching potions, she had managed to give herself a tiny scar on her injured arm, more out of testing to see if it had regained sensation yet than because it itched. It had, just a little, and she was wiggling her fingers constantly, just because she could.

Hermione's studying had intensified almost to the point of madness. Cass told her to ease up the first time she caught her in the library after-hours. Severus took until she almost fell asleep in class. Professor McGonagall pleaded with her after she found her asleep in the Common Room three nights in a row. Harry and Ron were so constant in their admonitions from the start that Hermione managed to tune them out –all of them.

By the time April Fools Day prank plans began, Bellatrix Lestrange had gotten used to her cell deep in the bowels of Hogwarts –a made-over single lavatory the Americans had converted with a cot and some bars. Dumbledore had arranged for her to be confined there, as keeping her in Azkaban would have alerted the other Death Eaters that she still lived. The rumor of her death in the Forbidden Forest had hit the Prophet like a sex scandal, only happily, and most everyone outside of the Orders or the American Aurory team believed it.

Harry had pleaded to be one of the ones involved in the interrogation process, but John and his brothers were willing to back up Dumbledore's orders that he not. On the memorable occasion that Harry attempted to get in with his cloak, Ringo caught him and took him out to the Quidditch pitch. Five hours later, an exhausted but peaceful Harry returned to hug his friends and explain that he wouldn't try again.

Ringo also let Madam Hooch know they needed new Bludgers.

As her arm came slowly back to life, Cass grew ever more eager to take her turn at the interrogation. She sometimes walked the tightrope that is the thin line between fair treatment of prisoners and a war crime, but then, Bellatrix had broken all the rules of civilized war (if there was and is such a thing,) with her atrocities. Occasionally Narcissa dropped by and watched interrogations through the two-way mirror Smokey and Paul had put into an old classroom's wall, but she never met with her sister. She seemed, to all observers, to be enduring some emotional conflict as she watched, listening through the Muggle microphones.

All the electronics had lately been converted to run on magic, with a reversal of the technology used to create the You-Know-What Machine called an Arthurian Transformer. (The wife of its' inventor had named it.) Cass was preparing to use a new form of coercion on Bellatrix when Melanie Watling appeared and entered the Interrogation Chamber.

"Cool stereo," she observed, noting the large silver-and-gray system Cass was fiddling with. The speakers had been arranged around a comfy chair, one of the ones from the Shrieking Shack, so that sound would literally surround the listener. It wasn't on yet, and Bellatrix clearly didn't know what the whole apparatus was. "What d'you got?"  Cass held up a CD and grinned.

"The latest in interrogation techniques."

"Why Lady Cat, you evil creature," Melanie remarked, taking the case and reading it, a sardonic smile on her face. "This for starters? That's like raping a virgin, girl."

"My loyalty to my Master will not break," Bellatrix promised for the umpteenth time, a declaration that was growing weaker by the week. "I shall be most favored among-"

"Sure," Mel and Cass retorted as one, a sarcastic unison.

"I'm going to enjoy breaking the news to you when he's finally kaput," Cass announced.

"She won't believe you. But I'll bring proof." Mel, curiously, was the most vicious of all to Bellatrix. "I think Voldemort's heart, perhaps, cut out with a dull spoon as he writhes in the agonies of Potter's final curse…shame I can't kill him myself….with a cheese grater…slowly…"

"You lie!" Bellatrix fairly squeaked. Cass had a disturbed look on her face.

"Okay, Mel, Geneva Convention lecture time again."

"Cassie, you know I will," Mel explained cheerfully.

"Yes, yes, yes, whatever you say. Just cut down on the gore, okay? Some of us jailers ate recently." Cass made the chair recline as she quoted: "'Atrocity, even in the mind or tongue, sinks us to the enemy's level.'"

"Who said that?" Mel inquired disgustedly, heading for the door.

"Some human-rights person. Out you go." Cass closed up behind her friend. "Alright, Bella, just you and the werewolf now."

"I will never bend in my devotion."

"Righty-day. But you will learn to respect Muggles-"

"Respect those-?"

"As the fellow humans that they are," Cass finished. "I'm not asking you to give up your bigotry all at once, but you are going to recognize the fact that they are not subhuman or subordinate to wizards."

"Like hell I will!" There was a long silence, until Bellatrix's curiosity overcame her. "How would you?"

"A good dose of their music should make you think. Your meals will arrive regularly, and there's a toilet behind that curtain. The chair reclines if you get tired."

"You're keeping me in here?"

"It's a step up from your old cell, mate. There are sixty CDs in this changer, programmed to play constantly, selecting tracks at total random. I think it'll be…a week before you've heard them all, or maybe two. They do repeat on occasion, so you can acquire some favorites. We'll start with Meat Loaf's classic, 'Bat Out of Hell.' Any questions?"

"I'll turn your noise box off," Bellatrix threatened.

"You can't, dear." Cass hit the 'play' button and then cast a quick, complicated charm with her wand. "Now you can't even make the volume change. If you decide you like something in particular, write it down on that pad over there. You can write whatever you want, keep a diary, say how much of a git I am, anything." The volume rose and Cass grinned. "I'll be going now. Enjoy the music."

The look on Bellatrix' face, it should be remarked, was priceless.

"Oh, and one more thing," Cass added. "Cover your ears, it'll get louder. Part of my clever spell. G'night."

As she locked and warded the door, Cass heard a familiar footfall.

"You're good at your job." Narcissa.

"Thank you." Cass tried to keep her voice devoid of emotion. "The walls have a padding spell, in case you're worried."

"Oh, no, she wouldn't hurt the stone much." It was a cold jest that coming from Sevvy would have made Cass laugh herself into fits. From Narcissa, she half-smiled before noting down her out time on the clipboard by the door. "May I talk with you?" the aristocrat asked.

"If it's about Draco's grades, he's third in class rank for wizard-borns," Cass replied coolly.

"No…we could use Severus' office, if you like."

"Why not mine?" Cass inquired sharply. "Scared of the werewolf?"

"Didn't want to invite myself," Narcissa smiled. "I like werewolves."

"How pluralistic of you. Your bridge club must be so proud."

"Are you still angry about…" Narcissa trailed off.

"About what?"

"Well, everything."

"I would imagine I have a right to be."

"Well, not to resemble one of your first year pupils with this cry, but you sure as fuck don't have to take it out on me."

"A Malfoy said fuck without a Quidditch foul. Call a priest."

"I was a Black first, thank you, and if you know my niece you know our language leaves much to be desired."

"Does't?" Cass had a horrible look. "I wasn't a Malfoy first."

"No." Narcissa smiled, with an expression somewhat like pride. "You're something new, as is Draco. Your family isn't your whole identity, you know."

"Don't say that near your husband," Cass warned, her defenses weakening slightly. "I imagine he's still sleeping on the couch?"

"That's what I need your help about," Narcissa admitted. "Your office?"

"Deal." Cass led the way, behind a wonderfully discreet portrait of a deceased wizarding gossip columnist. Having met her end somewhat traumatically, her habits had reformed to the point where she could be trusted past the grave. "Have a seat."

"These aren't Hogwarts chairs?" Narcissa eyed the neon purple velvet with green patches that covered Cass's favorite wingback.

"No, they're mine."

"I like them. Very Andy Warhol." For a second, Cass flashed a brilliant grin, Warhol being one of Pittsburgh's favorite sons. "And the chrome is a nice touch."

"I redid them with John three summers ago," Cass explained. "We were sick of ugly flowered 70's fabric."

"How did you two meet?"

"It's a strange story…we ran into each other at a rock concert, since out seats were next to each other, and we got to chatting, but we each assumed we'd never see each other again, but the very next week, we each decided to go on the Thunderbolt –that's a roller coaster- alone, and we were seated next to each other there. Pretty neat, eh?"

"Like destiny playing chess and mating the king."  Narcissa smiled wistfully. "Roller coasters, are they romantic things?" Cass chortled.

"Not really. They're more like wild, lust-crazed Chinese dragons you ride on the back of into uncertainty, or runaway trains to oblivion." She thought for a second. "Park benches, though, those are romantic, when you can see the dancing lights of the rides, hear both screams and laughs …but the world only matters in that little area where you're sitting."

"Is there music?"

"Oh, yes," Cass recalled fondly. "The calliope, the organ, the rock n' roll from the speakered rides…there's lots of music there. Sometimes there are parades of high school marching bands."

"Are high school marching bands any good in America?"

"Some. There are always the one or two that sound as though the tuba player's deaf and the drummers suffering from St. Vitus' dance, but we have some that don't hurt to listen to."

"You play an instrument?"

"Guitar an' electric bass."

"I'm a harpsichord kind of girl." Narcissa frowned. "Never even learned the cool kinds of music, thanks to my parents."

"Here." Cass pulled a long, black object from behind a shelf. "Electric keyboard –a Korg 2290-XD. You can turn Vivaldi into techno with this mother."

"We don't have electricity."

"That's okay. I'll fire it up for you out at the Shack, and you can come by and play whenever you feel like it."

"Don't you use it?"

"I can't play the piano to save my sorry Yankee butt," Cass explained, "and John won't touch anything with less than the full eighty-eight keys, as a matter of principle. We have a huge Mellotron-looking synth with a full board for him. I was supposed to be learning on this, but with my arm dead for the moment, I've been neglecting my practicing."

"Draco plays, you know."

"He does?" Cass, to Narcissa's shock, actually looked ticked. "That little scuzzball, not telling me! I could have a student rock band after all!"

"Really?" Narcissa was pleased by this idea. "That would offend Lucius so totally…what kind of instruments would you need?"

"Oh, the whole nine…I think Dean Thomas has his own bass, but Neville only had the drums for the Yule Ball year before last on loan… and there's the amp question."

"We'll go to London together and raid all the music stores," Narcissa announced grandly, brandishing a Gringotts key. "Would a lighting system be overkill?"

Cass's expression had gone from calculating the necessaries to suspicious.

"And you expect your husband to tolerate that?"

"I expect it to offend him."

"Mrs. Malfoy, he's a Death Eater! The fact that you're his wife won't stop him hurting-" Cass realized that Narcissa had a knowing smirk. "Good lord, that's what you want, isn't it?"

"If I can't get any proof against his Death Eating through the Ministry, I can sure as hell get wife-beating."

"Has he ever-?"

"Nope. That's the tricky bit. The idiot still loves me –can't think why."

"Narcissa, that's entrapment." Cass frowned for a second, then brightened. "Which you don't have laws against in Britain, do you?"

"Nope." Narcissa grinned. "Good to know we're finally on first-name terms."

"Well," Cass explained, flushing a bit that she had slipped. "We share a lot of enemies. S'only natural."

"Yes, we share a lot of enemies," Narcissa agreed. "And a lot of friends."

"Like Dumbledore."

"And Severus," the blond lady pointed out. "Does your Auror training forbid you from divulging secrets?"

"Depends about what and to whom."

"I've heard rumors about my friend."

"Snarky, yes. Vampire, no."

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

"Yes."

"So you're not telling me?"

"Nope."

"Alright." Narcissa smiled. "Just felt I'd try. Is there any hope for Bella?"

"Hope for her to what?"

"Be herself again, not a chattel of Voldemort."

"Possibly," Cass frowned. "Even if she does get over the programming, she's still in a lot of trouble for what she did. It might almost be better if she never had to feel the guilt."

"I've considered that. Then there's no way she could be…?"

"Useful? She already slipped up and gave away a lot, but under extreme duress. The most I could get for her would be a more humane prison assignment."

"What's available besides Azkaban?"

Cass got a very sneaky look above a grin.

"Well, this is strictly classified, and I shouldn't even hint this much, but a certain candy-loving friend of ours has been talking to certain short …people who know all about security." Narcissa's eyes went wide. "Know what I mean?"

"That's brilliant!"

"Beats the Dementeds, now, doesn't it?"

"Dementors."

"Whatever."

**************************************************************

Hermione finally closed the book, exhausted. If she memorized one more scrap of information, it seemed like her head would explode on the spot. The mild headache that came with the newly blooming ragweed had grown with each progressing hour of studying, until it felt as though Cornish pixies were playing Quidditch between her ears. She stood up to leave the library, then immediately sank back into the chair, dizzy. "Dammit," she mumbled.

"You should perhaps listen to Potter and Weasley, dear," a familiar velvet voice advised. Severus appeared from behind a shelf, looking concerned, with a vial in his hand. "Unless you ease up on these all-nighters, I'm going to lock you in the Room of Requirement for some rest."

"Unless you've brought some useful potion, cut the lecturing."

"Ah, you've got it, then," Severus almost smiled.

"Got what?" Hermione hadn't heard about any illnesses she hadn't already had as a tiny child.

"It's a fairly simple malady, darling, commonly called the 'Outstanding In Every Subject Pox.'"

"Huh?"

"You have eyestrain, love, on top of seasonal allergies, mental overload and a dangerous lack of sleep." As Hermione blinked, Severus moved closer, tucking the vial into his pocket. "You're coming with me, now."

"Severus, put me-!"

"No, dear," the professor replied calmly, kicking the library door open as they passed with a thump. "You need some rest, among several other things, and I'm going to see you get them."

Reaching a door, Severus fumbled for the knob before entering. Inside was a long, fat Chesterfield sofa, a small icebox, and weirdly enough, a tabletop full of knobbly implements.

"Where the sod-?"

"You remember the Room of Requirement."

"But why?"

"You'll have to be patient, love."

Quite suddenly, Hermione found herself on the fat, soft and admittedly comfortable sofa, her feet up and her head in Severus' lap. He retireved the vial from his pocket, uncorked it with a thumb, and began rubbing something minty-smelling onto her temples.

"What are you-?"

"Just trust me."

Muggles may use aromatherapy, but wizards definitely perfected it, as Hermione discovered. Within just a few minutes of Severus' gentle ministrations, her headache was gone and a peaceful contentment began to spread through her tired form. She honestly hadn't realized how tired she was, until she could relax and…

"Sleep well, darling," Severus whispered, still massaging the minty oil into the pulse points at her collarbones. It was lovely work, and he didn't plan on stopping until he could be certain she was totally asleep. After all, she needed it.

"Professor-?"

He knew that voice. Severus looked up and saw an equally surprised Harry Potter. He also noticed a punching bag had appeared in the Room's corner.

"Good evening, Potter. What brings you here?"

"Er…I was…" Harry gestured to the bag. "What are you…?"

"Your friend's been pulling all-nighters for a week," he explained. "With the N.E.W.T.s day after tomorrow, I felt she could use some rest."

"That's why I'm here, too," Harry smiled uncomfortably. "If I can't sleep, I'm supposed to come and 'release tension in a healthy way.' Is she…?"

"I think so," Severus observed. "Who started you on the punching bag? Ringo Tyler?" Harry nodded. "Clever fellow. Before you do, though, would you mind helping me get Hermione back to her room? I don't know the password, and I don't want to wake her up…"

"How'd you get her to sleep?" Harry asked. "Did you give her a potion or something-?"

"Nothing that complex. A little peppermint oil on the pulse points and a shoulder massage did it."

"Oh." Harry seemed to accept this, albeit grudgingly. Severus realized he still didn't like the idea of physical contact between them yet.

"Well, any potion that could have overrode the caffiene in her system would put her to sleep for the next week, and not very refreshingly –not to mention talking her into taking one."

"She always has taken studying seriously."

"There's a line between serious and obsessive, don't you think?" Severus absently stroked his girlfriend's hair. "I knew something was really wrong when Cassandra called me in to help."

"Professor Cass called you?"

"She said that Hermione wasn't listening to her or me, but when she heard she was ignoring you and –Weasley, too, it was time to…I believe her phrase was 'haul in the big guns.' She even suggested Muggle sedatives."

"Oh," Harry scratched his head. "Well, I can help you get her up to bed."

"I'd appreciate that."

A Mobilicorpus spell and several corridors later, Harry found himself ushering his least favorite teacher –well, after Umbridge- into the sanctity of the Gryffindor Common Room. Since Snape was a Professor, the girls' staircase didn't collapse for him, and together they managed to get Hermione into her room, still asleep. Rather than undress her, Snape simply transfigured her clothes into some conservative, comfortable pajamas before tucking her in gently.

"Goodnight, dear."

A strangled sound came from behind him.

"Mr. –Harry?" Snape inquired, using the boy's given name for the first time. Harry's green eyes, curiously, were gentle.

"You really do love her, don't you?"

"Very much."

As Harry and Severus left the girls' dormitories, a light under a door made them pause for a moment. "Which-?"

"It's Ginny's…" Harry let out a heavy sigh as they heard pages turning and a quill scratching. "Not again." Severus drew the vial of peppermint oil from his pocket and handed it to the seventh-year.

"Here." Harry looked at the tiny bottle, astonished. "Temples, behind the ears, and right here on the collarbones. Go to it."

"Thank you, sir."

"Good night."

"Good night."

*********************************************************