A/N: Ok … I've been spending ages trying to sort out the formatting on this and other chapters. You may have noticed that some of the stuff that should be in italics isn't, and sometimes vice versa. I apologise profusely for this but I haven't got time to launch a full-scale attack on it, and I don't really want to go further than editing the HTML source in Word, which is what I've been trying. Ah well. Never mind.

On with the story.

IN THE NOISE OF SORRY NIGHT

Chapter 6

Another restless, or semi-restless, night later, and Hermione found herself at breakfast, shading her eyes from the sun filtering in through the windows, wondering whether Snape would turn up. The staff seemed rather resigned to his absence, and Hermione got the feeling this was something that happened a lot. Only Dumbledore was alert, and she knew it was because she had made him suspicious. Snape was naturally a solitary person, but to actively appear to avoid Hermione was not a good sign.

Snape did turn up, though, surprising everyone. Afterwards, Hermione realised that she should have predicted it.

'Good morning, Severus.'

'Miss Granger.'

Ah, we have words this time.

'Did you finish whatever it was you were doing last night?' she asked.

'Mm.'

High hopes.

Hermione flickered her eyebrows in annoyance, and turned back to Vivienne, who had cunningly seated herself on Hermione's other side. 'Honestly,' she muttered.

'Don't worry about him,' Vivienne replied softly. 'He's probably hiding the fact that he's bloody horny and he doesn't want people to notice.' She smiled faintly, enough to send Hermione into gales of laughter.

Snape gave the two women a sideways glance – briefly, but his eyes rested on Hermione long enough for her to see his contempt. She didn't know whether he'd heard Vivienne's words, and hoped fervently he hadn't. If he had, then whatever respect he'd had for Hermione would have vanished. Along with any for Vivienne, too.

Suddenly – right on time - there was a great whirring, a churn of wings, and from the top corner of the Great Hall scattered dozens of owls.

Straightaway Hermione's eyes searched the owls, glanced at Snape, saw that he was watching them too. Watching intensely, and … yes, he was holding his breath.

Did she dare?

Well, she was an Auror.

'Expecting something, Severus?' she said.

Snape merely raised a dark eyebrow, a twinge of a smile on his lips at her audacity. 'We'll see, won't we?' he murmured.

As if on cue, a thick, lush white envelope dropped into Snape's lap, and he jolted, his face stark and keen. His long fingers seized it, almost violently, but not quite. There was a gentleness in the way he was handling the letter, and it struck and intrigued Hermione even more than his eagerness had.

More than anything she wanted to know who the letter was from. But he had his hand carefully over the writing on the envelope.

Then he looked up, his sharp eyes searching the Hall until he located what he was looking for. Hermione followed his gaze until she spotted the large grey owl circling above the Slytherin table. Ever so slightly, Snape nodded to the owl, and the creature spread its wings and was gone in a brush of feathers.

Hermione cleared her throat quietly. 'It would appear, Severus, that -'

But Snape was halfway towards the door, fingers already ripping the envelope open. He slipped from the Hall, barely observed except by Hermione and Vivienne.

She smiled a little wryly. 'It would appear,' she said under her breath, 'that Snape's letter has arrived.'

*****

Hermione spent much of the morning lazing around, vaguely making a few notes about the letter. She was deliberating over the possibility of breaking into Snape's room to read the letter, and wondering whether she dared. It seemed like a ridiculously paranoid thing to do, but Hermione's curiosity was intense when fired, and at that moment she wanted to see the letter more than anything. Except perhaps, to see Lucius.

Unexpectedly, at about eleven in the morning, an express owl arrived for Hermione, while she was dithering over the Daily Prophet in her room, with a cup of tea. It was from the Ministry of Magic.

Miss Hermione Granger,

Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, asks that you attend an urgent meeting with him tomorrow, Tuesday, in his office in London, at nine o'clock in the morning. He requests that you do nothing precipitous before then.

Hermione crumpled the letter and groaned. Cornelius Fudge, the master of timing. Just when Snape had his letter and just when she was about to try to discover it, to find out who it was from and what it contained, Hermione was being taken away from her investigation.

Of course, she had to go. It would not put her in a good position with the Ministry to refuse; it was even possible she would lose her job if she did.

Still … if she had to go to London, she might as well make the most of it. Her office probably needed checking, in case there were any important reports from the other Aurors. Harry had promised to send her an update on his work in Europe. Ron – well, she couldn't hope for anything, but there was always a chance. She needed to catch up with her colleagues on the various investigations in progress, see if anything could be fitted into place, see if anyone had been apprehended or if anything had been discovered.

Hermione decided quickly to go to London that day, and to stay the night. It would give her time, make it less hassled. Yes.

Oh, don't be stupid, Hermione. You know perfectly well that anything urgent would have reached you here. Why don't you admit the real reason you want to go to London?

She sighed. Of course … it was because Lucius was in London. Lucius would be at the Ministry. The more time she spent at the Ministry, the likelier it was that she would see Lucius.

Hermione, why did you think you'd be able to fool yourself?

There was no denying the possibility of seeing Lucius. She might even get to talk to him, and if one thing led to another (as she dearly hoped it might), her yearning over the past few days might be –

But then, Snape was sure that Lucius wanted revenge … if there was a chance he was going to be hostile, did she really want to be in London alone?

It was a terrible situation. But Hermione wanted so much to catch a glimpse of the man who had given her such satisfaction … the same man who had placed her in such trouble. The man who had claimed he loved her, and then set about getting revenge.

To say her feelings about Lucius were confused was, perhaps, the understatement of the century. She feared him, yes, but she knew she loved him in more than one way, and her physical need for him was unmistakeable.

Oh dear.

No, she had to go. She was an Auror. The whole point of the job was that she could take care of herself.

Well, wand at the ready, then. A dangerous operation. She had not had anything with real, known risk attached to it for months, although only she really knew how dangerous it was. Only she knew the extent to which he believed she had betrayed him. She could not refuse simply because she was scared. It was her job.

But she knew it was not only the danger that was frightening her. She had fought for her life before and been less terrified. No. It was the prospect of being attacked by the man she loved and wanted. It was the prospect of being betrayed, or having to betray, against love. It was the uncertainty.

Well, you wanted romance, Hermione, after all. Perhaps now you have it. A relationship where you don't even know if the man loves you? Not a relationship, exactly, but romance is uncertainty.

Hermione smiled slightly, ruefully. It was true. This was, in a way, what she had wanted … but she'd never imagined or desired it to be like this. To feel as endangered, to be as frightened.

She set her jaw. There was no use thinking about it like that. Things had to continue, like it had never happened.

She would leave in one hour at the latest, and if she saw Lucius … well, then she'd see.

*****

It took less than a minute to explain to Dumbledore her leaving Hogwarts, and even less to Vivienne, since there was less she was allowed to tell, and so reluctantly Hermione made her way down to the dungeons to tell Snape. It was dark, cold, being February, and it seemed particularly disturbing today. Hermione found herself shying away from stains and shadows on the walls that as a student she would have probably not even noticed.

The dungeons were full of third-year Gryffindors and Slytherins. As Hermione crossed the room, she recognised Matthew MacCulloch, who gave her a brief, acknowledging smile whilst stirring his cauldron carefully. Evidently her little lecture had made him wary but not unfriendly.

Then she turned her attention to Snape. He gave no indication of having noticed her, and was snarling at a pair of Gryffindor girls whose cauldron was hissing violently, almost echoing his words. They were cowering, barely holding back tears, but then spotted Hermione behind Snape and sighed in relief.

'What was that?' Snape growled at them.

Hermione tapped him on the shoulder. 'Good morning, Professor.'

Snape turned and looked at her, and his eyes grew alert, feline, curious. 'What do you want?'

'I just need a brief word.'

In his office she detailed her summons to London. Snape listened without emotion, but understood exactly what she meant. 'You're afraid you'll see Lucius?' he asked shortly.

'Is it likely?' she replied.

Snape nodded slowly. 'Yes,' he said,' it is quite likely. He'll be at the Ministry, I assume, and if that's where you're headed … yes, I think it very possible that you'll meet.'

Hermione paused. Proud as she was, Snape was more experienced, and he knew Lucius. 'Do you have any advice?' she asked finally.

A momentary smile creased Snape's lips. 'I wonder how long I am going to have to keep telling you this, Miss Granger. All I can say is: go carefully.'

'Nothing else?' Her voice was rather scornful, but in fact Hermione was trying to hide her mounting disappointment and panic.

'Nothing else. You're an Auror. Do your bloody job.'

He turned away, and Hermione realised, probably too late, that the meeting was over. 'Thanks anyway,' she muttered, before sweeping from the room.

*****

Two hours later, Hermione was in Diagon Alley, having been comfortably installed in the Leaky Cauldron, made a shopping list and allowed herself some freedom.

She glanced at the list.

Second wand: check.

Parchment and ink: check.

Sneakoscope (how childish, she thought): check.

Books.

She sighed in relief. Flourish and Blotts was easily her favourite place in wizarding London – the childhood love of books had not even faded, despite her new action-packed status, and she had much to owe to them. After all, it was the books that had helped her become an Auror perhaps two years faster than most candidates. Extra study at night, written tests, and soon she had been way ahead, soaring into the Ministry with curses and hexes on the tip of her tongue. Yes. Books had made it easy.

She closed the door to the bustling street outside, stood for a moment to relish the quietness, and waved to the shopkeeper, Tony. He had gotten to know her well over the past few years, and it was a habitual joke to tease her about her bookish tendencies.

'Back again, eh, Hermione?' he smiled.

Hermione grinned back. 'You know I can't keep away.' She looked around. The shop was deserted, and the books stood grandly, silently in their bindings, waiting to be touched. How anybody could walk straight past the shop and not go in to rustle those delicate pages, to drink in the beauty of dry ink on paper, to bask in that pool of knowledge, was quite beyond her.

She moved quickly along the shelves, selecting the books she had not seen before. Has Voldemort really returned? read the title of one, and a flicker of a sardonic smile brushed her face. She ignored it – it was likely to be an official, edited account, and the Ministry were very careful about censoring anything that could harm their strategies. But she grabbed three other books: Messing with Wizard Psychology,  a rather thick book called Seeing Without Being Seen: An Advanced Guide for Would-Be Sneaks (thinking it might be rather useful for snooping, although there'd be little she didn't know), and Fighting a Losing Battle: Staying Alive As Long As You Can. The latter, she had to admit, drew her because of its rather morbid title, but it seemed appropriate for the situation the wizarding world was now in.

She struggled upstairs with the books, where on the gallery was a small seating area for perusing and waiting, as well as some of the more obscure books. As she settled into an armchair, Hermione closed her eyes for a few seconds. God, she needed a rest. A rest for a few minutes, just to let her mind drift, to shut out all thoughts of Lucius or the Ministry or Snape, or …

*****

Hermione was woken by voices in the shop, floating up to her hidden little spot from the shop below.

'Right … what are you looking for, Phillippa?' It was a man's voice, downstairs.

A girl's voice replied, soft and rather incomprehensible to Hermione in her half-asleep state.

She shook herself groggily and rubbed her eyes, trying to wake herself up. She had a niggling feeling that she should know who was in the shop but her mind was not working clearly enough to recognise the tones.

'Good … have you got those, Tony?'

Hermione froze. Painfully slowly, she turned towards the edge of the gallery, eyes wide.

For that, she knew, as clearly as if he was standing in front of her, was the crystalline voice of Lucius Malfoy.

Quietly, on stealthy feet, she rose from the chair and crept to the edge of the gallery to peer down, breathless in anticipation. 'Oh, my God …' she murmured.

It was him. He had not seen her, but was talking to Tony in a low voice. He looked no different. He was still rather tall, still gave off the same impression of hard authority, even at a distance, and … Hermione was only glad she could not see his eyes, for to bring back the memories of their stare as she had felt it so many times was to fall back into the ocean.

Suddenly a girl of about eighteen emerged from behind a shelf, clutching a book, and Hermione remembered the feminine voice. 'Here it is.'

'Excellent, my dear,' Lucius replied, and took the book. 'We'll have these, then. Wrapped, if you please.'

'Right, sir.' Tony disappeared into the back of the shop to wrap the books, leaving only Lucius and the girl, who immediately turned to each other.

'It's so good of you to get me these books, Mr Malfoy,' the girl said, looking slightly sideways and smiling slightly. Hermione's mind was frantic, suddenly – she knew the girl, she was sure, but who was she?

'It's a pleasure, my dear,' Lucius said smoothly, the same silken quality to his voice as he had used with Hermione. 'I'm always glad to … be of service.'

He raised an elegant, gentle hand and brushed it over the girl's cheek and neck.

Hermione gasped, too loudly for her own safety, and backed away suddenly from the edge, out of sight to the couple if they looked up.

Lucius was – he was –

Oh, God. She sank to the floor silently, mouth open in dismay. No.

They were together.

Lucius' voice sounded again from downstairs. 'Thank you, Tony.' There was the metal chink of coins being idly poured between hands. 'Keep the change.'

'Thank you very much indeed, sir … good day to you. And to you, miss.'

Quickly Hermione stepped to the edge again and watched them leave, hand in hand. The girl was smiling, eyes happy, naughty, and suddenly Hermione recognised her. Her name was Phillippa diMarco, and she was a seventh-year Slytherin, known for her experience with men and lack of any hard work at all. From what Hermione had heard and witnessed at Hogwarts, Lucius was just what Phillippa liked, and Hermione's lip curled in disgust. Phillippa was so young … barely eighteen, if even that, and she was –

She was probably in London for the research trip seventh-years took, just after they'd started their final projects. Phillippa seemed to actually be looking for books, which was contrary to what Hermione remembered of her, but perhaps it was simply a way of wrapping Lucius around her finger. And it seemed to be working – Lucius had obviously been fairly keen to please her.

Hermione sat for quite some time on the floor of Flourish and Blotts, trying to make sense of what she had just seen. How could he simply go off with someone else? How could he – surely, if what he had said to her when they had made love had been true – and she was so certain it had been – then …

She did not even want to consider it.

The books on the armchair were looking even more inviting, and Hermione snatched up the first of the pile: Messing with Wizard Psychology.

She turned to the contents.

1 - Muggle Psychological Theory

2 – Basic Rules of Wizard Mind Charms

3 – Emotions of the Heart and Love Potions

4 –

She looked no further, and straightaway flipped to chapter three.

Muggle psychologists, writers, poets and scientists have been puzzling for centuries over the complexities of human relationships, and wizard emotions are no less complicated. The feelings we have for other people are many-layered and unique depending on the person's personality and emotional makeup. Hence, any spells or potions altering a wizard's emotions cannot have the same effect on any two people, and may produce results quite different to what was intended.

Love Potions have long been a part of wizard society, but there is great doubt as to whether they actually work, and most professional wizards have refused to even research it. However, even if they do, it is rarely helpful to use them. Muggle literature is full of examples of people who use tricks to make others love them, and the chaos that has resulted. Shakespeare, one of the most famous Muggle poets and playwrights, includes in A Midsummer Night's Dream the story of Titania, the fairy queen, who falls in love with a man with a donkey's head after being administered a potion which will cause her to fall in love with the first thing she sees. Although this is rather fantastical, it nonetheless forms a valid point. Much of the time, the results of Love Potions are often surprising and completely unwanted.

Hermione sighed and leaned backwards. It was not a subject that interested her enough to tear her mind away from what she had just witnessed. Try as her mind might, it could not squirm out of reach of the fact that was staring her bold in the face: Lucius Malfoy had found satisfaction in the arms of another.

Tears began to fill her eyes, making the room swirl, until she could see nothing for blurs, and then rolled from under her eyelashes to trace their solemn path down her face. Her whole body was tense, seizing up, building to an enormous, hopeless burst of emotion, and Hermione was powerless to stop it, not to even murmur a soundproof charm so no one could hear her.

The wall, and her body, broke, and she let out a wail of agony, unable to make any sound loud or poignant enough to release her grief all at once.

'Hermione?' Tony called from below the gallery. 'You all right?'

Hermione could not answer. She could barely draw breath, could barely see anything but her own sorrow, could not move from her slumped position on the floor.

There was the sound of footsteps, and suddenly Tony was crouching beside her. 'What's wrong?'

She shook her head, body aching and trembling with the effort it took not to scream until her throat was torn out. Tony wrapped his arms around her, sinewy with years of lifting heavy books, and Hermione burrowed into them, crying violently, sobbing as if she would never stop.

'There, lass … it's all right …' Tony rubbed her back, patted her, smoothed her hair while her eyes poured tears onto his brown robe, an image in her mind all the time of Lucius, his back to her and his hand on Phillippa's cheek. She remembered the way he had looked at her while she was watching him in the Cauldron, she remembered how he had smiled when she had realised she was in love with him. Every single memory she had of Lucius flooded through her mind, drenching it in his essence, his voice, his eyes, and it was unbearable, and it seemed never to end …

It seemed an age later that she was finally able to control herself, and stood up, shaking slightly. 'Thanks … I'm … I'm all right, Tony. Thank you. I think I'd – I'll go back to the Leaky Cauldron …'

Tony's eyes searched her face. 'You sure you don't want to tell me what's wrong?'

She shook her head, her eyes on the floor, her breathing still hard and irregular. 'I can't … I'm sorry. Thank you so much … I'll come and see you tomorrow.'

Then she turned, and left the shop, back to the Leaky Cauldron, where she sprinted up to her room, collapsed on her bed and lay motionless.

*****

Lucius had seen Hermione – or sensed her, at least – as soon as she had moved to the edge of the gallery. He had watched her watching him from the corner of his eye, and his heart had shrunk away as the recognition and the memory threatened to engulf him. His hand had trembled ever so slightly as he had raised it to Phillippa's cheek, knowing he was about to hurt her so badly, trying desperately to recall everything Voldemort had said to him, trying to forget that he loved … had once … loved her.

It had been returning. Slowly, imperceptibly, his feelings for her had seeped back into his consciousness. Voldemort's charm had been merely temporary, it seemed, and the love had not been banished. He should have known it. Within a day after he had sent the letter to Severus, she had been 'Hermione' again in his mind. He had tried, tried so hard to stop himself thinking about her, but the anger had grown, and had suddenly shattered in shards of glass to reveal what it had been hiding: his love for Hermione, as strong as before.

When he had found out she was in London, he had had to resist the sudden, piercing urge to run and find her. He had met Phillippa as he had planned, even more desperate to be rid of the poisonous thoughts. But messing with wizard psychology, as he had discovered, simply did not work.

*****

A/N: Hee hee hee … please review!