Chapter 5
The woman sleeping in the bed next to him was snoring heavily, the sound something akin to a woodpecker attacking a magically refilling whoopee cushion. After nearly four hours of listening to the discordant, wheezing symphony, Severus was ready to place a pillow over her mouth and smother her.
Then Maria Travers rolled over and let out a wet fart.
If smells had a colour, her gaseous emission would have been a swirling combination of sickly green and excrement-laced brown. Gagging, Snape cast a freshening charm over the stuffy bedchamber, frantically trying to remind himself why he ever imagined this would be a good idea.
He'd damn near skipped back to Hogwarts the previous Sunday. Even after running into a highly inquisitive Minerva at the gates, his mood remained smug; he was a well-shagged man, and no one could take that victory from him. Indeed, his disposition had only improved when she'd offered to cover the first week of the upcoming winter holiday if he'd be willing to handle the first week of the spring holiday by himself. His Deputy wanted quite badly to go to a transfiguration conference in Switzerland and was ready to bargain mightily for the free time to do so. Knowing a good deal when he heard one, Severus agreed almost before Minerva had finished her pitch.
With visions of unlimited nookie dancing through his head, Snape began to plot the quickest way to clear his plate of all non-essential activities. Shifting around his Hogwarts duties wasn't terribly hard—delegation really was a subtle art lost on most people, frankly—but figuring out how to swiftly solve the case of the missing pure-blood jewellery stymied him for several days.
In the end, Severus decided that Hermione had the right of it; he wasn't going to wait around twiddling his thumbs with the hope the thief would make a mistake large enough to be caught. He would be proactive, not reactive. And with that guiding principle in place, he'd commenced plotting.
After reconsidering Hermione's idea, Severus dismissed it, not wanting to put her at risk. That left one obvious place to start— Maria Travers.
She was one of the few people who hadn't been burgled yet and had been making herself a larger and larger target as the weeks went by with her propensity to run her gob. Severus had gone to Narcissa and spun a plan in place; he would offer to protect the obnoxious woman for several nights in hopes of catching the crook. Narcissa was doubtful that things would fall together so easily but willing to help facilitate the trap.
They'd promptly gone to Yorkshire and knocked on Travers' Palladian pile to make their case. The odious woman hadn't objected much, suffering from the delusion that Snape's plan was some sort of asinine matchmaking ploy. After surreptitiously offering her a Veritaserum-laced biscuit and confirming that indeed, she was not behind the whole bloody thing in the first place, Severus had asked to see the jewellery at risk.
Travers, simpering like a lovesick youth, had informed him that she kept all family heirlooms in her bedroom. Naturally, they weren't kept in a safe, or any other stronghold. Oh, no… they were stored in a bloody music box on her dressing table that was only minimally warded. Making the situation worse was the lax household protections, which were fifty years old if they were a day. Travers had insisted that were unbroachable, but Snape knew he could easily find several N.E.W.T. level students who would have no problem dismantling the protections in all the time it took to banish a boggart.
For all that, the Travers' jewels were impressive, and he'd paused to wonder if Hermione would ever want something similar. No, he concluded, staring down at the glittering mess of gold and gemstones. She wasn't the flashy, gaudy type. Perhaps something sentimental would go over well, but nothing that suggested the hubris of Marie Antoinette. Charmed hair combs, maybe? But nothing in ivory or tortoiseshell; given her advocacy on behalf of the downtrodden, I would need to find something sustainable and cruelty-free…
"The North gets mightily cold at night, Headmaster," Maria Travers had purred, interrupting his train of thought. "You are more than welcome to keep yourself warm in my bed while we wait..."
Just the thought of being anywhere close to a naked Maria Travers made his todger want to crawl up somewhere north of his liver and hide; it had taken a supreme act of effort to decline the offer with any vestige of tact.
He had spent the following hour laying monitoring charms over the ground and house and then settled disillusioned behind a painted screen in Travers' bedchamber. The woman had made a production of being restless but had finally dropped off to sleep… and promptly started snoring.
The next trump to fill the room was disgusting enough to nearly distract him from the ripple of magic at the window. Grimly, he let the stink linger, hoping that whoever was about to enter would choke on the fumes and quickly reveal themselves.
Alas, he wasn't that lucky.
Senses straining to make anything out in the murky room, Snape waited to see what would happen next. A minute passed, and then two. He began to wonder if he had been mistaken in seeing something. Bollocks, he swore mentally. I will not suffer through another night of this. I wonder if I can get a house-elf to trade places with me?
Suddenly, a small black valise appeared out of thin air, expanding as it floated gently above the dressing table.
Gotcha!
Palming his wand, Severus watched as the music box went into the bag and disappeared again; it appeared that the person was hiding under an invisibility cloak. Activating the tracking spell he'd laid over the box, Snape smirked as he saw a narrow ribbon of red light move to the window.
On silent feet, he glided after the thief.
Coming level with the window for a moment, the red ribbon abruptly dipped and dropped out of sight. How did that happen? he wondered, and after a moment, touched his fingers to the glass cautiously. They slipped through like water, and he was impressed by the charm work. Taking a risk, he stuck his disillusioned head out the window in time to see the trellis shake slightly as someone quickly climbed down it. After a beat, footsteps appeared in the dewy grass, the moonlight providing the perfect illumination.
Snape hoisted himself up onto the ledge and looked out, tracking the hidden figure as they dashed down the hill at some speed. While it was true that the grounds were warded against broom flight and Apparition, they were not protected against his rare ability to fly unaided, and he fully intended on taking advantage of that fact. Sneering like an avenging god, he leapt into the moist midnight air, robes billowing out behind him soundlessly.
Letting the person escape halfway across the garden, Snape timed his dive perfectly, crashing into the thief with all his weight, driving them both into the rocky Yorkshire soil with a jarring, grinding thud.
He heard a cry of pain before a wall of magic rose up, defending its master; Snape barely got his shields up in time to combat a strong stinging and paralysing hex. The person struggled violently underneath him, managing to wiggle free, and suddenly, the fight went south.
Rather than magic, the person fought with fists and feet, apparently having some sort of martial arts training. Snape had been in enough rumbles to hold his own briefly, but the thief seemed to move like smoke, raining a series of numbing blows to his arms and face that stole any advantage he had.
Acting on instinct, Snape aimed high and caught the very edge of the sheer fabric. Clawing wildly, he snagged the corner and yanked. The hood of the invisibility cloak loosened and then fell. A familiar heart-shaped face appeared in the bitter winter night.
Looming above him, Hermione Granger froze. Utter horror roaring through his body, Snape's disillusionment charm failed.
They stared at each other, both unbelieving.
No… no, it can't be!
A ripple of darkest red was his only warning as a second robed figure materialised.
"Stupefy!" bellowed a male voice, and the world went instantly dark.
Snape came awake abruptly as a Rennervate was cast over his prone form; attempting to bring his arms up, he found that his wrists were restrained with a sticking charm to the damp soil. Fighting back a sense of panic, he glanced around. Granger sat on a rock just to his right, looking coolly composed. Behind her stood a man in the all-enveloping maroon robe of the Unspeakables.
"Severus, what are you doing here?"
He glared at her, betrayal clouding the scene with a red mist. "I didn't know that Yorkshire had been annexed to Belgium," he snarled, and she shook her head in frustration.
"Look at him," she ordered roughly, pointing to the silent figure standing behind her like a Praetorian guard. "Take a good long look at his robes and reconsider your answer. You are in far more trouble than you know, and I can't protect you with only half the story."
"Fuck off!"
"Severus…" she began and he cut her off with a low snarl.
"Don't you dare use my name." He tasted nothing but ashes, his dreams of a happily ever after dying a swift death. It had been too good to be true; who would really want Eileen Prince's dark-hearted son? His instincts had been correct this whole time: Granger had been part of a set up from the start, and she had only been using him.
Granger looked down her nose at him, a severe expression that harkened directly back to Minerva. "Headmaster Snape, you can either tell me what I need to know, or we take you back to the Ministry, and you speak with a far less sympathetic crowd than I."
The threat was chilling, and the man shifted uneasily next to her. Snape seized the moment, making a wild guess.
"Higgs, stop standing there like a workshy wanker. At least have the bloody decency to lower your hood and face me like a man!"
After another chagrined shuffle, Higgs revealed his face. Granger was not pleased with the defection.
"Terence, take the valise and make the switch. I want you back here in twenty minutes."
"Hermione-"
"Do it." Her voice whipped out like a lash.
Biting back a retort, Higgs took the small bag lying at Granger's feet and disappeared into the darkness.
"I understand," she began again, tone placating, "that right now you are quite angry with me, and you have every right to be. But you must cooperate. If you don't, you risk getting obliviated, and with your formidable skills at occlumency and mind magics…" Granger trailed off, looking away for a long moment. "It could destroy your mind and your magic with it. You know that well enough."
"Perhaps," he shot back witheringly, "you should have thought about that before you fucked me just to get ahead on some bloody case!"
Granger's calm façade shattered. "Don't you dare blame all this on me! You are the one that bumbled into my fucking investigation and wouldn't take no for an answer! I warned you off when we danced, and you still came after me! And let me remind you, I wasn't the only one who lost control in that sodding spy-hole!"
He opened his mouth to say something truly terrible, and she hit him with silencing charm.
"No," she hissed. "You damn well will listen to me, and listen well. I'm not fucking around, Snape. Have you looked at the Hogwarts Book of Admittance lately? If you had, you would have noticed that not a single pure-blood child has been born in the last eleven months. Furthermore, there have been far fewer half-bloods than there should have been. And why is that? Because someone has been stealing the most powerful blood-warded pure-blood jewellery and using it to gain control over the family lines. It's a corruption of the worst kind and could kill off Wizarding Britain if we don't stop it. This isn't some minor jewellery heist, it's another wanna-be dark lord! Now, I'm not going to argue with you or listen to further personal attacks; either you cooperate with me and I will do my best to protect you, or we use this portkey right now to return to the Ministry and they can decide what to do with you. What is going to be, Headmaster?"
Releasing the silenco, she stared at him. It wasn't a choice, and they both knew it.
"You lied to me, and you used me in the worst way. I will not forget this, Granger."
Her eyes closed momentarily. "I never expected you to."
"What do you want to know?"
Sitting back down on the rock primly, she extended her wand. "First, I will have a wizarding oath that you will cooperate fully, telling me everything you know or suspect that relates to this case, and you will act only with my approval when it comes to this investigation. Naturally, this will all be done in good faith."
Her words only stoked the flames of his anger, as Snape vividly recalled being at the mercy of other vows of obedience. "You don't ask a lot, do you?"
"Given how many lives are on the line?" she pressed ruthlessly. "I don't have a choice. We both know that necessity is a cruel master, isn't it? Wand out, Snape…"
Severus finally broke.
The relief that Hermione felt when he gave her his oath was enough to make her knees weaken. Any sense of reprieve, however, was utterly crushed by the expression of sheer hatred and rage that he directed at her; it hurt almost as much as the broken ribs she was trying to hide. Leaning hard on the buffer of occlumency was the only thing that kept her from futilely begging for his forgiveness and spewing out her many excuses for her shoddy behaviour.
He'd tossed a slim leather book at her feet, informing her curtly that it had been from Aberforth Dumbledore and contained the family lore behind most of the missing items. Hermione knew most of it already, but there were some new, helpful details that might help the curse breakers. Spending ten minutes to flip through it, Hermione stayed silent, giving Severus time to reign his temper in.
Glancing up and finally meeting his glower, she pocketed the notebook. "Terence will be returning at any moment, and we need to discuss what will happen next."
Severus said nothing, expression mocking as he folded his arms over his chest.
"I don't care what excuse you make, but I don't want you to guard Travers any longer. There still is a remote chance that the thief will try and break in. If he does, I don't want there to be any obstacles to them getting the doctored jewels so that we can have the chance to track them."
Still nothing from the man in black, and Hermione bit back a sigh.
"We will, however, be proceeding to use the Prince jewels as bait; at this point, that is the only family line that hasn't been directly hit by a theft. If you don't want me to use them during the sting, I will need to borrow them for approximately twenty-four hours to make copies. Over the next three weeks, I will wear pieces of higher value to pure-blood events in the hopes of luring the thieves out of hiding. We need time to get other plans in order before-"
"You aren't really suggesting I act like your lovesick swain for the next three weeks, are you?" Snape exclaimed suddenly, words dripping with disgust.
It hurt, just as he intended. "No. Glowering at me and the occasional dance with do. People will draw their own conclusions."
"You do know what conclusions people will draw when you wear the Prince jewels without the benefit of an acknowledged relationship, don't you?" Snape drawled snidely.
"That I am your whore?" she snapped back. "Yes, I am quite aware what people will be saying, and frankly, it's nothing I haven't heard ad nauseam."
"If the label fits."
Hermione could not hold back her flinch, and tears filled her eyes. Digging her nails into the fleshy part of her palm, she used the physical pain to block out the emotional. She had not wanted to hurt him, and she sure as hell hadn't wanted to use him, either. But the situation had taken those choices out of her hands. "That was unworthy of you."
Snape didn't apologise.
Terence finally reappeared, face chalk-white as he took in their tense expressions. "It's done."
"Thank you."
Hermione stood, tasting blood in her mouth. "We will begin at the Rosier's musicale on Wednesday. Do you want me to come to Hogwarts to pick up the jewels, or would you rather meet somewhere else?"
"You are not welcome within the protections of Hogwarts," Snape growled, and everyone felt the surge of magic that accompanied the formal pronouncement from the Headmaster of the Castle.
"Where then?" she asked bitterly, his repudiation of her another nail. "I am trying to give you some control."
"I will come to the garden shed an hour before the event starts."
"As you wish." Pulling Travers' music box from the valise, she held it up. "Do you want me to return it, or would you rather do it alone?"
"I don't want your help, and for future reference, I don't want your explanations. Give me my marching orders, and then leave me the fuck alone."
Wordlessly, Hermione handed Snape the box. He took it carefully, making sure not to touch her, and then leapt into the air with an abrasive blast of magic. She could only follow his flight for several seconds before he dissolved into the starry nothingness, and it felt like he had taken her smashed heart with him.
Terence caught her before she could hit the ground.
"What's the matter?" he asked, casting a diagnostic spell over her as she tried in vain to stop shivering with pain.
"Broken ribs, I think."
"Lean in, Hermione," he said, carefully placing his arms around her; concern radiated off him along with body heat. "I'll get us back to HQ in a flash."
"Terence…" she started, aware she was asking too much from her partner and friend. "I need you to leave Snape out of your reports."
He paused, looking down. "I was afraid that you were going to say that."
"I have to try and protect him."
"And what happens after? Hermione, you can't hide this sort of operational breach forever. And when they find out…"
Hermione shivered, knowing that she was only buying time. Bless him, she thought dazedly. At least he hadn't started with 'I told you so'. "I'll figure something out."
"Alright," he agreed. "I'm so sorry."
"Me, too."
The following three weeks were sheer torture.
Memories of that night- of what happened in the spy hole, of their later earth-shaking conversations, of making love with Severus—were relentless. So too were the many what-ifs that crowded her mind. Unable to sleep, Hermione spent hours laying in her bed dissecting her actions, trying to determine if there had been any other options open to her. It seemed as if that first dinner conversation had set the stage for all their future interactions; perhaps if she hadn't played it up so much as a honey pot, matters would not have exploded the way that they did. Or was she lying to herself?
If only…
But once she and Severus had been trapped together, once Terence's identity and the investigation had been threatened… Hermione couldn't see any other way she could have distracted Snape. Oh, sure, she could have tried to stun and stupefy him, but despite her formidable skills, she didn't think she'd be able to successfully pull that trick over on Severus. And if she had tried, failed, and been discovered in that hidey-hole… well, that would be a fine mess indeed.
But in the panicked, furious seconds before she'd reached for his dick, her thoughts hadn't entirely been on business. Hermione had desired Severus with an ire and passion that she'd never felt before. She wanted to punish him for coming after her when she'd warned him off, and for arousing an ardour that pushed everything else from her mind. Pressed together in the dark, Hermione wanted to stroke his thick cock and force him to come; she'd wanted his total surrender and mastery. Keeping him distracted from the goings-on outside was merely a providential bonus.
So yes, Hermione had used him. While it hadn't entirely been in anger, it had been thoroughly done in lust.
That, more than anything, made her feel dirty; she'd used her job to manufacture a situation to satisfy her own base nature, and in doing so, had hurt a man that she deeply respected and admired.
Indeed, ashamed didn't even begin to describe her feelings, but she forced herself to put the self-flagellation on hold until the case was over. Knowing the dire consequences of letting her mental protections fail, Hermione got up early every morning and mediated, renewing her occlumentic shields that kept her emotions at bay. True, it turned her into a stone-cold bitch, but she needed the callousness of what she privately termed Vulcan-style logic to carry on. While occlumency provided enough distance for her to function, Hermione was under no illusion that she would be able to keep them up forever. Her world narrowed down to the dark details of the case, and she had to force herself to sleep and eat.
Aberforth's notebook and Severus' accompanying marginalia had proven to be highly useful, providing enough information to drastically cut their suspect pool down. From an operations standpoint, things were relatively successful—they still had no definitive clue who was behind the thefts but were able to break in and replace the blood-warded jewels of six other families, thus somewhat limiting the spread of the curse. But personally, Hermione had never been closer to a breakdown.
Snape's mask was impressive. At society events, he gave no clue to the towering rage that he showed her in private. While he never yelled at her again, or indeed, repeated any of the cruel comments, the fury burning in his black eyes when they were alone was more than enough to convey his feelings.
As she'd expected, the rumours concerning her and the Headmaster turned nasty from the get-go. She was cast as the mudblood harlot, and Snape as merely a man toying with trash before settling down with a proper wife. No one called her a slag to her face, but it was plain enough in their behaviour and passive-aggressive snubs.
Harder to bear was Draco's wrath.
The Slytherin had cornered her in a hallway late one night, and the coldness in his gunmetal gaze turned him into a carbon copy of his father.
"You promised," he said, voice low and threatening. "I told you not to hurt him, and yet, you clearly have. I expected better from you, Granger."
"The situation is more complex than you know, Malfoy," she replied tiredly, trying to manoeuvre so that she wasn't trapped in a corner. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she recognised him for the threat that he presented.
"You are bloody lucky that my Godfather has ordered me to keep my nose out of whatever is going on, because if he hadn't…." Draco paused raggedly, fists clenching at his sides and fury radiating off him in malevolent waves. "I will destroy you for this, one way or another."
"Good luck with that," Hermione said and meant every word of it. Slipping past him, she re-entered the ballroom, smile bright and manner flirtatious.
Several days later, she and Terence sat in their office, a lengthy arithmancy equation representing all their work floating in green above them; as they had plugged in the data gathered yet far, the permeations had narrowed until a single name was displayed.
"I will admit," Higgs remarked, blinking with surprise, "that while he certainly is an annoying bastard, I never seriously considered him to be smart enough to behind it all."
"Nor I, but his direct bloodline is the only one to remain unaffected, and the evidence stacks up rather nicely when you examine everything holistically."
Terence sighed, a comforting hand landing on her shoulder. "It's going to have to be tonight, isn't it?"
"Yes. I've caught whiffs of decaying curses at the last two parties, and we don't dare to wait any longer. Given all the bloodlines that have been corrupted, I'm surprised no one has dropped dead, frankly."
"What's the plan, boss?" he said, offering her a weak smile.
"I'll borrow the jet necklace with the king ruby from Snape; there are enough blood magic ties in that particular stone that our thief won't be able to resist. I'll flash it about for a few hours, and then make myself scarce with the hopes that he comes after me to snatch it. If that doesn't work, we will just have to go to him, wands blazing. How well do you know the layout of the house?"
"The ground floor is a maze of oddly shaped rooms and dead-end hallways; you'd be best off trying to make your way to an outside balcony, or better yet, the orangery. Are you planning on using your bracelet to summon the cavalry?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes. Matthias loaded it up with a whole host of goodies this morning."
"Brilliant."
She gave a rough chuckle. "It's a pretty piss poor plan, isn't it?"
"We've gone in with less." Terence smiled for real, but the humour quickly faded. "Does the big boss know about Snape yet?"
Her gut twisted with fear, and Hermione took several calming breaths. "I put in a request for him to be given top-secret clearance three weeks ago, so she knows something is up with him. It wouldn't be a shock if she already has the full story and is just waiting for us to close this case before making any decisions."
Terence hesitated before speaking again. "Has Snape… loosened up at all?"
Hermione slanted him a look full of froideur, not bothering to answer.
"Right, foolish question." Shifting his attention back to the equation, Higgs' forehead wrinkled. "I don't like the uncertainty of this section. I don't think that our thief is working alone."
Re-reading the line, she shrugged. "It's pretty clear that no witch or wizard is helping him, and at this point, there isn't a whole we can do if something else is."
"Okay." He hopped off the table. "Shall I go alert the Hit Squad that things are a go?"
"Please," Hermione said, mind already turning to her other preparations, like how she needed to cast yet another depilatory charm on her legs, or the fact that she was quickly running out of ideas for transfigured ball gowns. She would not give space to the looming sense of doom that was growing in her gut, or the feeling that she'd miscalculated how much danger she was in by wearing the Prince jewels publicly.
"Hermione," Terence called from the door. "Be careful tonight, yeah?"
She glanced up, seeing the obvious concern on his face. "Aren't I always?"
"No. That's what I'm afraid of." He opened his mouth to say something else but changed his mind when he saw her expression.
"Go," she ordered, eyes hard. "What will be, will be."
A.N.~ So... answers, of a sort. What think you, lovely readers?
Fun colloquial language tidbit of knowledge: in Northern British English, a 'trump' is like a shart, only louder, wetter, and smellier. My Gran would warn us of the dangers of trumps after we'd eaten too many servings of beans on toast, or raided the fruit trees a bit too early. Apropos, is it not?
As always, my thanks and appreciation to all who have continued to read, follow, fav, and comment. Seeing your reactions keeps this fanfic writer writing! Hugs to maritinkerbell, pgoodrichboggs, Dentelle, MoonlitSnowFox, ZoeyOlivia, Silvermary, and several guests for commenting. Merci beaucoup!
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