Ok, first off. I have to acknowledge that it has been forever since I have updated, and I'm sorry about that. I just recently got engaged and have become a very busy bee, so unfortunately that means that I can't promise that I can pick up on updates. I'm going to try to pick up the pace a bit and get back on track, but that's all I can do. Just know, that I will NEVER abandon a story (and if you're wondering about Silent Love, the update for that will be tomorrow! XD -see told ya).
Thank you, to everyone who has stayed with me so far. Hope you like this new chapter.
Chapter 32
Narcissa watched Lucius from the doorway. He was standing by the fireplace of his study, a solitary figure in the dim room. He, or most likely one of the Elves, had drawn the windows closed, blocking out the morning sun. The wall and ceiling sconces had been similarly treated, dimmed so low as to be barely there, and the flames from the fireplace were weak, the orange fingers curling in on themselves as they began to die.
It would seem her husband was in a poor mood.
Her eyes traveled down his body, appreciating his flair for drama, for even now, completely morose and drinking his thoughts away in an aged bottle of whiskey, he was beautiful. With his body angled away from her, yet tilted in just the right way to make the firelight illuminate his physique appealingly, one leg suavely crossed in front of the other. An elbow perched on the marble sill of the fireplace, and a glass hanging elegantly in his other hand. He made quite the picture.
For a second her vision flashed, and she was reminded of their early years together, the first time she had seen him in a temper. The way he had fallen dramatically into his chair, his arm swung artfully over his head, his body sprawled out in the seat, poised like a Baroque painting. She had teased him mercilessly that day. Her peacock, dramatic and stunning even when he was in a foul temper.
So rarely did she see him like that now. Azkaban had changed many things. More and more she saw him play the part of a wounded animal, curled in on itself for protection, constantly looking over it's shoulder for a threat. The weak prey rather than her cunning predator. It broke her heart to see it, but perhaps…perhaps the transformation wasn't yet complete.
Was it hope? A possibility was there, but only one. If she didn't handle this correctly, she could lose much more than she was prepared for. She would have to think on it further. For now, she would proceed with caution.
She stepped into the room, letting her heel clink audibly on the floor. The soft tap echoed through the quiet space, and she waited. After a moment, Lucius gave the smallest tilt of his head, granting her access to his domain. She closed the door behind her, and calmly stepped up to his side.
"The hour grows late, my dear. I would have suspected you to be in bed already," he murmured.
She adjusted her robe around herself calmly. "Early, my Lord husband, not late. The sun has already graced me with its presence this morning. And you have not."
He smirked at her, a glimpse of the cheeky man he had been. "Then I have been remiss in my husbandly duties, to neglect you so, my lady wife."
"You have indeed." She sniffed delicately, and looked over his rumpled state. "Have you not moved even once from this spot?"
"I have had things on my mind," he whispered, turning back to the fire. The amusement bleeding out of his eyes, and she was met once again with the stranger who had taken over her husband. Her face smoothed over, as she hid her disappointment.
"The Dark Lord wishes to move his operations into the manor."
Narcissa froze, a quiet gasp falling out before she could catch it.
If it were true…It could be both great and terrible. As an opportunist she could see the advantages in such a situation. The Dark Lord would be closer, easier to observe, his plans easier to suss out. In that, she would have an upper hand.
Unfortunately, accessibility often went both ways. What she could glean from his proximity, he could possibly glean from hers. He would have extra eyes on his side as well. Her home, her sanctuary would be filled with his followers, bloodthirsty wolves circling her, their hungry eyes evaluating constantly for weaknesses to expose, or betrayals to unveil. They were desperate enough for his meager praise that they would surrender her secrets at the drop of the hat.
She would never be able to let her guard down, the game, as it were, would be never-ending. The very thought of it was exhausting. Thankfully, there was time yet to come up with a plan if it were true.
She swallowed carefully. "Does he? Bella will be displeased."
"I'm sure she will be," Lucius replied. "He has not made a decision yet. It is entirely possible that he will forget he even mentioned it to me. He was in…aggravated…at the moment."
"Yaxley?"
"The Dark Lord does not approve of failure," he breathed, his eyes glinted with regret. Regret for his own failures, for losing his position, losing favor, and Narcissa thought, regret for choosing this path. And then like a flash of lightening, it was gone again.
"I'm assuming he's still alive."
"He lives, for now. He should be grateful, he faired better than Lestrange."
"How fortunate for him."
"To fail our Lord is to court death. He knew this," he said, snapping the words out defensively. "It could have been worse, much worse."
His hands gripped the marble sill. "It could be worse," he repeated dully, like a mantra.
"Of course," She demurred, "I have no doubt Yaxley is grateful for the mercy."
Lucius slumped forward, his hair falling around his shoulders.
She moved behind him so she could comb out the slightly greasy tresses. He would need to wash it later, and shave as well. The stumble was unsightly.
She whispered a small detangling spell, to ease the movement of her fingers. "Was he the only one?"
His eyes fluttered shut. "Those involved as well. Those who were not…we were dismissed. Unless of course we wished to stay for the 'entertainment'."
Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief. Lucius had been home relatively early last night. Earlier than he would have been if he had decided to enjoy the festivities.
"Was that Severus I heard last night, then?"
"Hmm. We shared a drink."
"And a bottle?"
He gave her a look, deliberately capping the bottle of whiskey by his foot with a wave. She grinned at him.
"Will you be joining me for breakfast or do you wish to retire for the day?"
"I am too restless," he stated. "Allow me to change, and I shall join you in a moment."
"Very well. I'll have Rosey bring the morning paper for you."
"Good, good." He waved his hand dismissively, already leaving for their quarters.
She waited until he was gone, then called out, "Rosey!"
The House Elf popped in next to her, bowing low. "Yes, Mistress?"
"Get me the Morning paper. Bring it to the dining room, as well as a vial of Pepper Up."
"Yes, Mistress!"
Narcissa retied her robe, giving the dreary room, and the half empty whiskey bottle a superior glance before she flitted away.
The Daily Prophet was calling it the King's Cross Massacre. The front page article, at first glance a promising read that might have, for once, actually given them the real facts, was nothing more than rubbish. How foolish it was for her to have hoped. The Daily Prophet, and Skeeter especially, would sooner gnaw off their own arms before they 'settled' with the truth.
"Foul, loathsome woman," Hermione grumbled, seething over her bowl of oatmeal.
Fred and George shared a grin. "Give it over. We want to see."
"You'll be better off not having read it. Believe me," she griped, even as she handed over the crumbled remains of that morning's issue.
Fred eagerly unwrinkled it, folding it back open for him and his brother to read.
"What'd it say?" Ron asked.
Gripping her spoon, Hermione tried to contain herself. "The entire thing is utter tripe! More time was spent talking about Draco's apprenticeship with Master Ives, than on the actual event. When Skeeter finally did talk about the attack, it was only to disparage the Auror Department for not being prompt, and to insinuate that it was all Professor Dumbledore's fault. That what happened was a result of his incompetence as headmaster!"
"And listen to this," George said, running his finger along the bottom of the page. "'There has been speculation that the culprits behind this heinous act were You-Know-Who's followers, but it has been, as of yet, unconfirmed.' As if it could've been anyone else."
"I don't know how she's still allowed to write at all, much less as a reporter," Hermione snarked.
George leaned forward. "You know, they say the Daily Prophet is completely under Voldy's thumb."
"Can't rely on it even a little bit now." Fred shook his head. "We know a bloke who works for them. Loved his job, wouldn't shut up about it. Now? You couldn't pry anything from him with a crowbar."
"We still have Luna and her father," Hermione reminded them. "At least they're getting the truth out."
In the hallway they could hear the sound of a door opening, raised voices, and then a door closing again. The Headmaster, Mad-Eye, Kinglsey and McGonagall had been in the second floor library all morning, most likely discussing yesterday's events. The 'King's Cross Massacre' had put them all one step behind, and the Order was scrambling now to regain their footing.
The four shared a look of equal curiosity.
"How long do you think they'll be in there?" she asked.
George shrugged. "Dunno. Might hole up in there 'til the war's done."
"I wonder what they're talking about," Ron murmured.
"What are you, daft? They're talking about yesterday's cluster fuck!" Fred said, scrunching his nose up at his brother. "What else would they be talking about?"
Ron blushed, glaring at the twin. "I know that! I meant, what about yesterday? They have to be coming up with a plan. Some way to get back at You-Know-Who."
"Yeah, maybe," Fred agreed. "But they won't tell us."
"Not yet," George said. "They'll wait until the meeting to tell us. Then we'll get our assignments and what not."
"Assignments?" Hermione asked, interest piqued.
"'Course. We all get assignments, either at the meetings or afterwards. Got to know what we're doing."
"What're they gonna to ask us to do?" Ron jumped in, the heady excitement of heroism and glory evident in his tone.
The twins as one, shook their heads in mock commiseration.
"Oh Ronnekins."
"Dear, baby brother."
"Mum would kill us all if you got involved."
"She would never allow it."
Ron bristled. "But I'm legal now! I should be able to join!"
"Yeah but you're still in school."
"Still a student."
"Still not graduated."
"So? You guys didn't graduate either," Ron argued. "And you still got to join."
The twins smiled.
"But we're adults. Respectable businessy-type adults."
"Paying bills, and our taxes and all that."
"We can pledge to whatever we want."
Hermione finally stepped in, her head beginning to pound from the back and forth. "Alright, knock it off. There's too much going on right now to be fighting like this."
"Easy for you to say, you get to go to the meetings," Ron grumbled, sinking into his chair.
Hermione felt a spark of pity for her friend. Not too long ago, she had been right beside him, bemoaning the injustice of not being included even after they had more than earned their stripes. Now she was on the other side. No longer looking through the window, feeling frustrated and underestimated.
She caught the twins' eyes, motioning her head to their brother, her eyes pleading for them to help.
George sighed. "Just so you know, they've been talking about swearing you guys in."
Ron perked up. "Really?"
"They're still talking about it."
"And Mum's been throwin' a fit!"
"But we wouldn't be surprised if you were attending meetings before school starts up again," Fred finished.
Ron glanced over at Hermione. "Is that true?"
"I wouldn't know," she told him the truth. His guess really was as good as hers. "I've only gone to one meeting so far. I don't really know what the Order has planned."
Her general lack of knowledge seemed to appease him, deflating his anger like a sputtering balloon.
"Good," he muttered down into his plate with an odd smile. "Good."
"Um, good," she repeated. Then not sure what else to say to him, she got up from the table. "I'll just…go check on Tonks then."
"Sure thing," Ron responded. "I'll let you know if Harry wakes up again."
"Sure, thanks," she offered awkwardly, as she shuffled out the door. With any luck Tonks would pick up her mood.
Luck, it turned out, was on her side, and her mood improved immeasurably after she left the Auror's company. Hermione ending up spending most of the day with Tonks, who was recovering at a satisfying pace, according to Madame Pomfrey. the time was spent quietly, due to the heavy doses of potions Tonks was still under. Little conversation could be had when half of the party was constantly falling asleep mid-sentence. But Hermione didn't mind. She had brought a book with her, to read aloud, and Remus had also shown up halfway through chapter nine as well. So when Tonks finally fell asleep for good, the two ended up chatting quietly together.
He had given her some fairly good advice when she told him about working with Snape. As someone who had worked professionally with Snape at Hogwarts for a year and with the Order for several years, she valued the tips he gave her. The main point in being; patience and confidence.
"Patience and confidence," she repeated to herself, as she headed down to the house's potions lab. The much needed words alleviated her nerves, giving her whirling mind a task to latch onto. It was a simple enough to achieve, showing patience and confidence. Dealing with Ron and Harry every day made sure she had those two traits in abundance. So this should be easy right? A cakewalk!
With a pep in her step, she entered the potions lab, only to find the dark room sans Potions Master. Her good mood popped like a bubble. A thought suddenly occurred to her, and too late she realized that she hadn't specified where they should meet the night before. Snape had only agreed to two things; to start today, and to meet at 4 in the afternoon. She nor he had clarified where that meeting was to take place.
The blame laid mostly on her shoulders. It had been her idea to do this, ergo it was her responsibility to take care of the details, and ultimately her fault in not conveying them. How could she have allowed one moment of euphoria to cloud her usually impeccable organizational skills?
She slapped her forehead and groaned. She felt like such an amateur, not at all the 'professional' Remus had talked about. What if Snape went somewhere else? What if he showed up at the wrong place and took her absence as a sign that she wasn't sincere in her request for help? Or decide that she had just been pulling his leg?
Oh God! He would probably never speak to her again, let alone give her time to explain and apologize.
She should probably try and send a message now—no wait, that would be presumptuous. There was no reason to jump the gun like that. She would just wait for a little while. Actually give him time to arrive, before she raced off after him. And then if he didn't show up, she might try to send a Floo call, a patronus…or something, and let him know where she was.
Okay, right. Good plan.
She settled down on the only available seating in the room, a small, two person brown couch with green pinstripes, and dropped her bag to the floor by her feet. Her research folder was already out and ready, clutched to her chest for dear life.
In the stretched out, manila folder was everything she had so far. Her notes, her commentary on Fera's notes, her hypotheses and possible project designs, all scribbled out in her cramped, bubbled writing. Then, obviously, there was Fera's journal. The burden of it pressing down into her hands, even as it was tucked away between packets of paper and out of sight.
She had stayed up most of last night, going through everything she had written, then rearranging the folder so when Snape opened it, it would flow in the most understandable and logical sequence. It might have been overkill, but she had needed busy work last night to calm her thoughts.
Carefully, she placed the folder down beside her. Almost compulsively, she straightened it out so it was parallel to the edge of the seat cushion, then chided herself for displaying such unnecessarily manic behavior.
So what if Snape still hadn't arrived yet? It was only—4:01, it would be perfectly natural for him to show up a little late. There was no reason to be worried. Not everyone lived by the tick of a clock like her.
She rummaged through her bag, pulling out a book on Goblin History. She leafed through the pages until she came upon her bookmark and dropped back into the couch. On pure will alone, she forced her eyes to run across the page, and read the words before her.
Her traitorous eyes drifted down towards her wrist.
4:05.
Dammit all!
"Miss Granger."
She yelped, dropping her book to the ground. Snape stood before her, as silent as his entrance had been. The right corner of his mouth twitched.
"Professor," she greeted, catching her breath, "I'm glad you could make it."
He narrowed his eyes at her, as if dissecting her words. The moment stretched between them before he nodded, finding her greeting acceptable. "You have your notes?"
Hermione gestured to the folder in her arms. "Of course."
He held out his hand, waiting expectantly.
"Oh! Um, here…"
He took the folder from her, ignoring her offer to take the empty seat on the sofa, and conjured a stool that he pulled up to the lab table instead. He opened the folder, spanning the contents out in front of him for his perusal, and turned his back on her. His robes swished with the movement, creating an impenetrable shield against any further scrutiny.
She had been effectively dismissed.
Well, this is going swimmingly, she thought with a sigh. She dithered for a minute, wondering what she should do with herself. Should she stay or go, leave him time to go through it all, and then come back later? Or wait it out here? Ultimately, deciding against that (they only had a week to work together after all), she awkwardly shuffled back to the couch, and picking up her book, she continued to read.
Time passed steadily, the only sounds in the room being that of breathing and pages being turned. At first Hermione had tried to relax, to enjoy the insightful text in her lap and the semi-cosy couch at her back. But getting comfortable in her environment proved to be futile. No matter how much she tried to get lost in the book, she just couldn't sink into the pages. Her mind refused to submerge into the scribed words. It was too aware that she wasn't alone, that someone else was in the room, and that that someone happened to be Snape.
Too often she found her eyes listing towards him. Studying him as he hunched over the table, one elbow propped up to hold his head. What he was reading was a mystery. He made no obvious moves, aside from a small adjustment to his seat (that was over two hours ago), neither did he make any discernible sounds. No scoffs of disgusts or hums of pleasure. And with his back facing her, she couldn't see his face to gauge his expressions either. Though, with how he was, she was sure his face was as steeped in neutrality as the rest of him. Darn the man.
The curiosity was killing her.
She shifted in her spot, leaning on the armrest, as she attempted to get a glimpse past his excessive robes.
"If you gave your book half the attention you are giving my back you would have finished it three times over by now," his voiced snapped out into the quiet startling her. He glared over his shoulder, and Hermione blushed, quickly looking back down at her History book.
She cleared her throat, idly turning the page.
He grumbled tersely, the words too low for her ears. He snapped the book in his hands shut, the severe lines of his mouth pulling down in a frown.
She peeked at him. Waited a second before eventually asking, "So…What are your thoughts so far?"
"That your prospectus is lethal," he growled.
She started. Of all the things to say he chose that? "I'm sorry?"
He snorted, turning around on his stool (and how he made even that movement imposing she didn't know). He held up a black spiral notebook. Her research journal.
"If we follow your intended plan, we'll be nothing but smoking dust before the day is out. Either you are astoundingly suicidal or you have reached a previously unknown level of vacuousness."
She stiffened, straightening her spine. "I beg your pardon?"
"Case in point."
"Now wait a minute!" she said defensively, valiantly trying to hold her temper in check (at least one of them had to if they were going to survive the week). "That is completely uncalled for. There is nothing wrong with my research plan."
"In that idealistic and gullible brain of yours, I'm sure there isn't," he sneered.
Okay, maybe surviving the week had been a pipe dream.
"And why do you say that?" She inquired with forced patience.
"You've suggested that we begin by recreating the original experiment," he said, in flabbergasted disgust.
That's what he was upset about? "It's the logical choice," Hermione replied. "How else would we verify Fera's findings for a base comparison?"
"I do not know how far you plan on getting with such a school-girl mindset." His voice was soaked in derision. "This is not a silly Charms project we would be observing. We'd be creating an uncontrollable, magic-leaching, murdering, alchemy stone!"
Hermione held up a hand. "Alright, I can see your concerns, but there are containment spells we could use. Fera has pointed out numerous ones in her journal."
"Oh I saw the Spells. Feeble little incantations that would be as useful as a bandaid on a knife wound."
"Several of those 'feeble' spells worked for Fera, already."
"If we are to believe her."
"We can!"
"And even if they do work, we'd still be left with a killing machine on our hands."
"We would destroy it after!"
"And what if it were stolen before then? Lost? And somehow brought back to the Dark Lord?"
"I—"
"We might as well truss ourselves up on a silver platter for him now," he spat out.
Hermione faltered, not sure what to say to that. Like a shark smelling blood, Snape descended on her. He snatched Fera's journal off the table, shaking it in her face.
"Do you understand what this is?! What you are trying to create? If we don't kill ourselves first, we'll kill everyone else!" He growled. "This journal is impossible!"
"I admit it is difficult in some parts…"
"It's filled with nothing but inconstancies and lucky guesses, masquerading under the guise of well-conceptualized theories. When you brought this plan before the Order you led us to believe that the stone was already halfway to completion, that what you were trying to build wasn't nearly as disastrously volatile as this!"
"I said it was a work in progress," she corrected him. "And I did explain that the stone was dangerous in its natural form, that's why its my job to fix it. It will just take patience is all."
"There is no fixing this. You would have to start from scratch," Snape said.
"It wouldn't be totally from scratch, we'd have Fera's work to compare."
"Clearly Miss Rosier's insanity is contagious."
Well, now that was just rude! Hermione could take a lot of his insults but she wouldn't stand for his disparaging Fera's character. Not after everything she had done for her.
She straightened up. "Fera is a perfectly lovely woman! She may have some flaws—
He made a noise in the back of his throat and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"Just as you have yours," she bit out, then continued when he opened his mouth to say something else, "but she has a good idea. The potential is there." She was pleading now, earnestly trying to get him to just see the opportunity they had in front of them.
"If we fix this stone, we can end the war. All the violence, the death, the fear will be over. Isn't that worth a shot?"
Snape was silent, his head turned away, and his shoulders heaving with each deep breath he dragged in. But she could tell; he was thinking about it. She could see it in his eyes, how they darted back and forth with his thoughts, how his brows furrowed, and the way his mouth moved, the words silent, but weighty all the same.
Finally he looked up at her, and she could see that something had solidified. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then pointed his finger at her in a threatening manner.
"This project is useless in it's present state. Your mentor's notes are a jumbled mess of disjointed thoughts and questionable lucidity," he declared.
"You just need to find the pattern," she insisted.
"I refuse to allow any recreations of the stone," he continued, ignoring her. "The risks far outweigh the rewards, and I will not get myself killed by your insipid optimism."
Hermione held her tongue. There were bigger dragons to slay right now. "Fine. But there are some very promising potions and spells Fera created that we should keep in mind."
Grunting, Snape paced away from her, running a hand through his hair before he turned back around. "You honestly believe this asinine, hair-brained scheme will work?"
"It will." She put all of her faith in those two words, willing him to feel her conviction.
Snape stared her down with those steely black eyes, as if weighing her soul for judgement. She stared back, unable and unwilling to be the first to break. She had laid all her cards on the table. It was up to him to accept or reject them now.
He looked away, releasing her from the spell. When he spoke it was in a soft, lethal whisper. "We shall see."
"We? Does that mean…?"
"Yes." Snape stepped back. "My answer is yes. I will take the folder and finish reading through what I can tonight," he said to a stunned Hermione. He gathered up the folder and its contents in question, tucking it under his arm.
"As I said before, I am a busy man, and will be even busier once the semester starts."
Wait, did he say semester? As in we'd be working longer than this week?
"So we shall schedule our meetings for when I have free time," he continued, "I expect you to be accommodating in this matter, as your time is far less valuable and far more flexible than my own. If for any reason you cannot meet me at a predetermined time, I expect you to contact me at least four hours before. And." Here he paused. "I would advise you cancel for emergencies only. I will not be made to wait just so you can go frolic with your friends. Do you understand?"
Hermione clamped her mouth shut, realizing she had been staring at him like a gaping fish. "I—yes! That sounds fine," she replied.
He headed to the door.
"Um, wait!" she called out, "I…thank you for this."
"Do not thank me yet, Granger. We don't know if this will actually work."
"It has to," she stated.
He eyed her silently, nodded and left.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think~