"Professor? Professor Snape?"
No way.
"Pseudonyms can be useful. Can't be as it was, they say."
The way Snape spoke was almost as though he was convincing himself. She supposed he had to, with the lifestyle he used to lead. He slipped the glasses back on.
"It's not possible. You-"
"Come inside," he said urgently, gesturing his head towards the passenger seat.
Professor Snape was getting behind the wheel. Professor Snape wanted her to take a ride with him. Luna and Ginny would be worried out of their minds (unless they've already had a few more cocktails by this point).
She looked at the man in the leather jacket. She had promised Ron to stay out of trouble and she had already made plans for the night. But who was Ron and who was Professor Snape?
Wasn't it time she let herself live a little? She'd not been on an adventure like this in a long time, and it was making her insides swirl around and around in anticipation.
No one had seen the spy for years, hadn't even sensed his magic; they thought him deader than the sea bottom. Yet here he was, in a London cab, offering to drive her back to see her friends. She would be stupid not to ask him at least ten of the million questions forming in her mind that very moment.
Why did it feel like trouble to obey him?
"It's on my account, Miss Wilkins. I did promise to drive you to Cheshire Cat Club."
She got inside, the door shutting behind her in a swift motion. Before she could change her mind, she fastened her seatbelt and pulled her bag tight against her chest.
"Alright." Her back was firm against the leather seat. "Thank you."
Her dress was beyond salvaging and the wilderness of the cool breeze coming from the slightly opened window was awakening a different part of her. His cologne, deep and hair-tingling was sending her into a frenzy as he adjusted the gear shift and pulled the car backward.
How could he be real? Couldn't. She was dreaming.
Hermione eyed the stereo, turning it on and hearing the quick mutter of the newscast.
A supremacist group...masked... is set to make its appearance in Buckingham Palace tonight….on the lookout for these criminals…
In the driver's seat, Snape's expression stayed firm. "Are you comfortable?"
"Yes," she lied.
He changed the channel to what sounded like Eurobeat music.
She closed her eyes as the wind swung her hair around her eyes. Her hands dipped behind the headpiece. She tried not to panic, tried to play it cool. Snape? Upbeat music? Her imagination was playing tricks on her.
Ginny and Luna would never believe her. Ron. Oh, Ron would be beyond words. Right beside her was the very member of said supremacist group.
Maybe it was the Shrivel Fig Shirleys, but Hermione felt brave indeed. "I didn't know you listened to this type of music."
"Hm."
It was surreal. Driving in the middle of the night with this man in a cab.
"No documents, no person," he said.
She turned her head.
"Why did I take a different name? It's easier to hide in plain sight."
"What happened with the real Mr. Manden?"
"Second-grade rotten," Snape said with a scoff. "The man said he would fix me some documents, then disappeared across the border. It was only right to take his I.D. from the counter."
She nodded along, eyes transfixed on his hands on the wheel.
"You're a citizen con-artist."
"Indeed." Snape swiveled the wheel to the right and they pulled up to the nightclub, lit in neon. The line was still as long as it had been when Hermione arrived. He switched on the parking shift and hummed as he sank back into the seat.
Usually, this was the signal for her to leave the car, but something in the silence said he didn't want her to leave, he wanted her to oppose him.
The girls would not believe who she was with now. Hermione clicked through her phone screen. If only she could stay in the car for a moment longer and record their conversation, maybe take a picture.
"You know, I don't know if I want to be here tonight. We had a bit of a tiff between us girls."
Not a complete lie.
"You shouldn't be severe with yourself, whatever happened," Snape said. His fingers ran over the dips of the buttons on the radio station, dulling the music.
"It's just so...so hard! I- Can't we just-" she said, slipping her toe into her heel. "Just drive around for a bit. I don't want to go back there. I'll pay."
The thud of the bass struck between them, like a heartbeat.
"I'm sorry, you probably have other clients and I'm taking up your time," Hermione said.
"Right now, you are my client. Name your destination."
"Big Ben, maybe?" she whispered. She hoped to buy enough time to snap a photo of him on her cell and show it to her friends. No one would believe her without evidence. "Or, whatever is easier."
"Easy is not my route." He turned off the paid timer.
"I'm flexible."
"Have you ever considered that your flexibility may be the root of your…grievances."
"I'm not-" Her breath hitched in her throat. "What makes you think I have problems?"
"You would prefer to stay here with a-." He paused for a moment, forming his words carefully. "A member of a supremacist group instead of enjoying a pleasant night out with your friends?"
She smirked, but his face stayed as firm as his question. Not a joke then. Perhaps she shouldn't have looked so keen to keep talking to him. "You're...nothing of that sort...anymore."
"Are you certain?"
She swallowed, feeling his eyes piercing her as she rubbed her wet palms on the dress. "Alright then. I am suspicious. You reappeared so suddenly. I- I just have so many questions...for you."
"As you should. Perhaps, I might even be able to answer them."
She slipped her hands tighter around the loop inside the door. Her seatbelt suddenly felt tight against her chest. "When?"
A mischievous smile crept onto his face. In the harsh streetlight, his teeth glistened out of the corner of his lips. "It could be now. It could be later."
Should she? Her curiosity was killing her. She simply had to find out more about Snape. She feared that if she let him drive away, she'd never see him again. "I'm in no rush."
He hummed a low note. A note of deep satisfaction. "Very well."
She asked him where they were going, but as the roaring engine overtook her voice. The cab backed out into the crowd of rowdy youngsters. She couldn't even turn her head around fast enough to see if they hit someone. Snape did seem certain they hadn't. Or he didn't care.
In a moment, some girl jerked her friend out of the way of the moving vehicle. The engine growled, teasing the crowd. Faces turned. Bodies of sparkly tops, leather pants, and knee-high boots separated before them leaving a thin, snowy path of road littered with crushed ale cans and old receipts.
He stalled, as though giving her a chance to change her mind. What had Professor Snape been up to these past years? Hermione was curious, too curious and she clenched her fists so hard, her nails left sore, red indents in her palms.
Then her head jerked into the leather behind her and the smell of gasoline hit her nose as the car thrust itself into the haze of frightened clubbers.
She wanted to scream, but all she could do was shut her eyes and listen to the sound of the engine humming higher and higher with each second.
She made the wrong choice, she could feel it in her gut. Why, why didn't she just join Ginny and Luna for a normal night out?
It couldn't end badly for her. She wasn't her friend Harry. She wasn't the one who got into absurd adventures around every corner.
Hermione Granger, that was her name. She was the voice of reason in her friend group and she always made the right choice. Besides, Professor Snape could be trusted. Everyone had told her so. She too believed it long ago. Glancing over at his face, she remembered all the good sorts of things the professor did for his students at Hogwarts. Because all professors were responsible, right?
The only problem was, they were no longer at school and he no longer had to be held accountable.
She hoped that she was right when the cab soared into the air. Oh, why did it have to be flying? She must have screamed because the vehicle began to slow down among the pitch-black nothingness. Then it started to fall before jerking back up again, like some amusement park ride.
"Stop it, oh stop it!" she screamed, pawing at the glass window and clutching every cranny she could find.
"But your reaction is well worth it. Do you not contrive to keep yourself well-amused?" Snape said jerking them from side to side.
"I thought you promised we'd stay on the ground!"
"I did no such thing," he said. "Besides, traveling is far quicker when there are no traffic lights about. A vehicle is much safer than a broom."
"Well it is, but only very little." Hermione decided that if she didn't look too long out of the window and kept her eyes shut, she could imagine that they were driving on a smooth road.
"Ms. Wilkins, do not tell me that you are afraid of heights."
Her expression must have said it all because the cab did lower slightly in the air and his driving became much slower. At one point, Hermione let herself peek outside for a short moment, then deciding not to take her chances, squinted her eyes shut again.
She hoped Snape had done this before.
When they landed, smooth as a thistle, she decided that while being a good cabbie, he was an awful sort of tease. If she made it clear she disliked heights, why had he landed the cab straight on a large rooftop?
"There we are," he said, walking around to open the car door for her. An unwelcome and cold breeze hit her bare legs immediately as she stepped out into the snow.
She glanced around, slowly approaching the corner and gazing out into the endless pitch-black sea and myriad of sparkling lights. And when she finally coordinated herself, she gasped. Buckingham Palace. It couldn't be. Not tonight and not with him.
"You work…for the English queen?" she asked.
"No."
"Then why in the name of Merlin are we here? Do you realize how illegal this is?" She struggled to keep up with him as he marched down the roof. Walking on the ice was far more difficult in heels.
They were going to get caught, if not by the Auror department, then by the London police. She would be sent straight to prison, and her reputation would be lost forever (not to mention, any chance at finding a good job). At least behind bars, she wouldn't be subjected to Mrs. Weasley's dinners anymore. Heck, how could she think of dinners at a time like this?
With a final burst forwards, she clutched onto Mr. Snape's jacket sleeve and forced him to turn around. "Just where are we going? Answer me!"
He made no attempt to squeeze himself out of her grasp, instead, turning to face her, both hands clutching her shoulders. His eyes, black and lustrous, stared into hers.
"You asked me why I was back in London. I had long asked myself that, ah… question, then I realized it must be…settlement. I will right my past wrongs with all my former students. You are the next on my list. Whatever you need saving from-"
Her shoulders stung from the ferocity with which he grasped them. She could manage out a muffled, "insufferable boredom or unemployment?"
"Perhaps."
"I cannot believe this. You will-"
"I hesitate to interrupt, but we've been spotted."
Hermione barely had time to say a word as he looped his fingers into hers and tugged her along. As they ran, the jacket around her waist loosened and eventually flew off entirely. She began to be conscious of the breeze fanning her…thighs. She waited for the moment one of her heels would snap and she would fall into the nothingness below.
They sprung like forest beasts over the slanted rooftops, not stopping for a breath until they saw a small ladder leading into a window. Hesitantly, he pulled her into the dark room and they both fell into a jumble on a soft surface resembling a carpet.
They lay quiet, not daring to move until the voices outside hushed.
"Do you think we've lost them?" she whispered, trying to steady herself in the dark and pull her dress around to hide the rip, and to her horror, noticing it had gotten larger.
"I devoutly hope so."
She burst into a muffled laugh, her whole body shaking. She hadn't run like that in ages and she wished they hadn't stopped. "This is the most bizarre dream…"
His wand lit up the room, and when he was certain there was nobody there, he sent a flame to sit on top of each wax candle. "If you believe so."
She gaped at the portrait before her.
"Queen Alexandra?"
Hermione's hands could barely keep awat from all the beautiful items surrounding her. Slowly, she walked around the room, letting her fingers trail alongside tables, the lush curtains, the candle holders.
"But this is- I can't," she muttered. "Be in the palace? Always wanted my life to be just a little more exciting. Now here we are. Is this from the eighteenth century or a replica?"
"You ask too many questions," he said with a snarl.
Then, suddenly realizing where they were, she turned quickly. "We- we need to go now."
"Why?" he asked. Then tossed up a paper knife from the writing desk, and caught it with his index finger and thumb. "Enjoy yourself. You aren't caged, bird."
With that, slipped the object into his inner jacket pocket.
"Put it back, what if we're caught?"
"You are all righteousness. Very well then," he said, sticking the blade into a stack of papers. "I see you do not lack assertion."
"What's more...I'm not a caged bird. That's flat," she said with a huff. "My life is perfectly fine as it is. I have good friends, a boyfriend, a job- will soon have a wonderful job. I don't need to break into the queen's palace to prove anything to anyone."
"Clearly."
"Even if I did want to make my life better, how could you possibly help me? "
"In the only way, I can. Unless you dislike dancing?"
"Dancing?" She looked around the magnificent drawing-room, then imagined herself waltzing with the man who used to teach her to slice newt legs into bubbling potions. Then, grabbing her stomach, wondered why her nervous reaction had to be laughing. "Oh gods, this really is the most bizarre dream I've ever had."
She admitted she may have had a tad too much to drink and she would cut off all alcohol for the next month when she was home and through with laughing. A ball, in her state? Not in a short black dress ripped in the back in front of her royal majesty and the rest of the court.
"Can we postpone? I think I've had … enough amusement for tonight."
With those words, she picked up her pumps, scattered on the floor. One had a broken heel; with luck, she'd get home by Apparation before breaking the other.
"You might venture to change your mind," he said as she zipped up her jacket.
"I think my mind is set." She kept her eyes away from all the pretty things surrounding her, yet her feet could not bring her to leave the room just yet.
"I am merely stating the truth. You deserve more. "
"And what do you suggest, sir?" she said, feeling rather bold (for this was a dream and she decided she could get away with a bit of sauciness to her speech to her former professor). "That I waltz into that ballroom with you like some...princess?"
He came close, too close, so that his lips glistened by candlelight. At once, all manner of amusement left her.
"Do you know what sort of business I am part of, Miss Wilkins?"
"T-taxis?" she said, uncertainly.
"Truly? Let me illuminate."
He turned around, the room quivering as he produced his wand and trailed it along with the tips of his fingers, his wrist, his forearm. Inch by inch, his leather jacket transformed into thick velvet robes and as they enveloped him, a shiver ran over her body. His face- hidden behind a curtain of thick black hair. Lifting that head, his face turned to silver.
She held her breath as he looked at her through the dark slits in the mask's eyes. "Clear?"
"Very." She swallowed. Hard.
A supremacist group...masked... is set to make its appearance in Buckingham Palace tonight…be on the lookout for these criminals…
"Shall we proceed?"
"Yes sir," she said, bowing her head. Then reminding herself she was only dreaming, tried desperately to keep her wits about her.
"Good. What sort of services might I provide you with tonight?"
Her wand was where it should be, strapped to her thigh. "Y-you're not going to hurt anyone, are you?"
"Unless the occasion calls for it," he hissed through the slits where his mouth should be. "Tell me. What is it you desire?"
Black dress. Mascara and a touch of darkness. Had she already made her choice?
"If I had to choose, I'd like to -" She took a deep gulp. "See the ball. Even just for a minute."
His eyes stared straight into hers. "You will."
With a flick of the wand, a mask appeared in his hand. Silver with sharp designs cut into it. Oh, it couldn't be. Hermione shook her head furiously.
"That's not what I meant. I will not be wearing that."
"Come come," he said softly.
"No!" She backed up into the wall, away from the wretched silver mask and Snape. How could he present her with such an object? When she mentioned to Ron about attending the ball, days ago, she did not mean to be seen in such a way. To have him possibly run into her, looking like that was a death sentence.
She thought of Ron, standing in the palace and aiming his wand straight at her as she marched in there dressed like a lure. "It's awfully dark."
"Just a carved piece of metal." He ran a gloved finger over its surface. His hands were clad in black leather with felted tips. "Besides, I heard it was a masquerade ball. Such fun. Have you ever been to one?"
"Come to think of it, I'm not too fond of masks." The dream suddenly felt very real, she had the urge to smack herself in the head and wake up.
"I thought you'd want to be ravished, to be adored, to have all eyes on you." He extended the gleaming object towards her. "Let me help you."
"I never said it-"
"But you thought it, did you not?" his tone, saccharine sweet.
She did, but how did he know? Well of course he'd know. Her thoughts were his and everyone else's. He was her. And she was just dreaming. She had made all of this up.
He extended the mask again.
This might have been absolutely, phenomenally crazy but when will she ever have a chance to try on a Death Eaters mask? Even if by pretend.
She was not thinking straight at all, but she reached out and took the mask from his fingers and pulled it over her face. The metal slid over her cheeks, but it was not cold at all. It was blazing hot like it had just been pulled from the fire. And then, like she had not been wearing anything at all, it melded just so around her face comfortably.
A surge of magic channeled through her veins. She felt like she could do anything with the mask on her. Frightened, she pulled it off and took a few deep breaths.
But then, something unusual happened. She found herself liking the idea of wearing it. Ah, to surprise Ron so. He'd have no choice but to look. Buttons be damned.
He would finally have no choice but to say something, to do something.
Retribution. A sweet word.
No, it was too evil. She could not play such a trick on him. Not even in sleep. She handed the mask back to Snape.
"I suppose the suggestion was too…challenging," Snape murmured, stroking the silver with his fingers. "Very well. We will return you back to the Cheshire Cat Club. You will spend the evening fraternizing with your friends and perhaps, if you're lucky, some young man might, in a drunken haze, astonish you with his crude presence."
How could he say something like that? She fumed. "Good."
"You will sit in the corner for the rest of the evening, lurking in the shadows of everyone's presence." He put the silver mask back into his robes and it slid by magic into the folds and disappeared. "Pity."
As it went, Hermione found herself feeling like something important had just been taken from her.
"Fine."
"And then you will go home to your flat, all alone. Curl up under your covers in those rose hours of the morning."
An absolute cheap shot. How did he know her so well? She didn't even think she knew herself that well.
He grinned. "Yes, you will lead your positively normal life with your friends and your red-headed companion. And your little black dress will not see the light of day again all because you were too frightened-"
"Give me the mask," she said in a voice not her own and whipped out her wand. Slowly, he reached into his robes, but she was quicker, and the mask was pulled from his fingers and floated into her own.
She was not frightened of anything. Especially not some silly mask in a silly dream that she would wake up from.
"But I don't have anything to wear?" She asked quickly. She was not going to do this alone.
"Patience." Snape took his wand out in a moment, a gauze set of robes, large enough to cover her whole body floated onto her. Vines snaked along the fabric, up her arms and the hood.
She breathed in, astounded. She was certain this was the maddest sort of idea. The maddest one she'd ever agreed to, and that was saying a lot.
When she walked into that room, dressed just so, what will everyone think of her? Villain? Evil? She turned to Snape, finding his eyes unflinching at contact.
"Look at you." He took her by the hand, leading her to a mirror. Then, sliding gauze hood over her hair, now in Grecian ringlets above her head, he finished, "Astounding. No doubt about it. All eyes will be on you tonight."
The witch in the reflection ran her fingers over the gauze, caressing it tenderly where it landed. Who? Then realized, it was her, but not quite. A touch darker. The fabric was sheer enough to show that she was a woman, not so opaque to suggest she was a good one. Tonight, Hermione Granger, was no more. Tonight, Monica Wilkins was a witch to be meddled with.
"Why are you helping me?" she whispered back.
"Everyone deserves to be acknowledged," he whispered back. "And one last touch."
He guided her hands, holding onto the mask, higher and higher.
"I'll wear it outside." She said quickly, not wanting to see her face disappear behind the cruel silver. After all, dreams were not meant to be real and she feared that if she looked at herself wearing the mask, she might wake up and hate herself for it.
"You're afraid?"
"Not so." The mask was on. Magic surged through her as it did. She gathered her robes in her hands and brushed past him. "Shall we?"
"As you wish," he said, walking not far behind.
