Disclaimer: This is all for fun, I do not claim ownership of the characters or anything recognized from the work of JK Rowling. I am only borrowing them.
Warning: Mature themes, subject to change: mild violence, strong language, substance use or abuse, scenes of a sexual nature as well as general innuendo smattered throughout, adult themes including but not limited to death and disease both mental and physical.
[A/N] June 28th, 2016. Wow. It's been a year since I posted this story. Thank you to everyone who's stuck with it from the beginning, and to all the reviews and comments and questions. You are a part of this process. I've made dozens of new friends through this process, and gained the nickname "Rare Pair Queen" (though I really doubt I'm royalty in any manner). This chapter was not beta'd by doctorhodes, so any mistakes are fully my own.
I welcome your thoughts, comments, critiques, and questions.
Playlist: White Blank Page - Mumford & Sons | Lost Cause - Imagine Dragons | Icarus - Bastille
Saturday, August 6th, 2005 | 10:32 am | Loch Lomond
Severus couldn't get into a comfortable position on the couch with notes spread before him. Each time he adjusted his posture or how his leg was crossed over the other, the feeling worsened.
Draco glanced at him a few times from the wingback armchair when he moved. As Draco was the only one who could touch the Directory, he held the most comfortable seat in the room, poring over each page to trace the threads between the wizards and witches of his family tree. He didn't mind, for the first time in his life, that the wizarding world leaned a bit too closely to inbreeding, as there were hundreds of names he could review in the last few generations.
After several more attempts to find an agreeable position, Severus stood to stretch instead. His long body unfolded from the couch, fingertips nearly touching the ceiling as he popped the tension out of his spine. As he brought his arms up, he realized why he was uncomfortable from the start. He hadn't changed out of the robes from dinner with the Malfoys, robes he hadn't worn in years. Excusing himself, Severus moved upstairs to find the pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his jeans from several days ago.
Hermione waited for Severus to ascend the stairs, her arms full of a tray holding three full tea mugs. She glanced down pointedly as he walked past her, and he grasped the largest of the three, only pausing to nod his thanks.
He could hear her ask Draco a question on the way down the stairs, but it was too muffled to make out. Setting the very hot mug onto the stone tabletop near his bed, he rummaged for several minutes before locating the nicotine he craved.
Holding the pack in his hand felt surreal, the gossamer of memory falling over his vision as he looked at his arm, covered to the wrist in buttoned, black robes, and a pack of cigarettes dwarfed in his palm. The last day he'd held a cigarette between his fingers while wearing full robes, he'd nearly died under the fangs of a demented Horcrux.
Severus used a spell instead of unbuttoning each individual clasp to remove the shell from his skin, suddenly plagued by a crawling feeling, making the fine hairs on his arms and legs stand on end. The armor he wore for so long as a professor felt too similar to the Death Eater robes, sliding like eel skin over his body, itching at his soul. Jeans over wing tipped Derby's, and trimly cut button downs, all in dark neutrals, replaced the armor. He scowled at himself in the mirror before leaving the room.
The porch off the main sitting room, where they did their work when it wasn't too windy, was damp and slippery beneath his shoes. He drew one cigarette from the pack and lit it wandlessly as he strode to the far corner.
"Could I bum one?"
Severus didn't startle, but his gaze betrayed his surprise at his porch companion. Astoria dropped by sparingly over the last few weeks. Daphne, he knew, was due with her first child and she spent as much time as possible with her sister.
"Of course," he said, offering to light it once it rested between her lips.
Astoria took a long drag before thanking him.
"Draco doesn't know I'm here," she said after a few minutes of companionable silence. "For the best, really. I glanced downstairs and the two of them are in some...cloud of Arithmancy."
Severus almost chuckled at the way her hand fluttered around her head, an imitation of the multitude of runes likely filling the air around the two downstairs. He'd grown a level of emotion past tolerant, but would not admit it if pressed, of the slight Slytherin since her engagement to his godson. Sobering, he extinguished the last of his cigarette before lighting another. "How's Daphne?"
"Don't you really mean 'How's London? Has the panic ceased?'" Astoria grinned at her former professor, teeth perfectly straight and a shade of white almost too bright. The cigarette between her fingers was far from extinguished, her pulls far fewer and less desperate than Severus's as he dragged through the end of a second at the same time she finished her first. "Skeeter cooked up another scandal already. I think the Ministry had a hand in providing the fodder, to cover up theirs and Hogwarts' apparent dangerous activity. There will be an open seat on the Wizengamot soon if the people have their way."
The third yellow butt of the morning vanished before it fell into the lake below them. "I do wish Mister Nott would consider it."
"Oh, he's done more than that. Theo and Daphne kicked me out for a few hours while they make public appearances to leave 'no comment' with every reporter."
"Good," muttered Severus.
Astoria tilted her head, and leaned against the railing. Only magic could keep the satin of her shirt protected from the receding damp of morning dew. She didn't reach for another cigarette and he was glad for it. On his last count he only had a few packs left before purchasing more, and he had no desire to go to the village yet.
"It is going better, isn't it?"
Her genuine concern gave him pause, the lit cigarette still between his lips. For the first time that morning he turned to face her. "Yes, and no. Draco and Granger are working on a theory."
Astoria sighed, but didn't press him. The man could be so prickly. "I'm going back to Nott Manor, but connect with me if anything changes."
Saturday, August 6th, 2005 | 7:32 pm | Loch Lomond
"It can't be that easy," sighed Draco. "Why didn't we notice it?"
Hermione stared at her friend, his head in his hands from frustration, hair fisted in hands covered in paper cuts. Severus sat to her right at his potion's bench, meticulously reading over her notes and making several of his own, the quill scratching feverishly against the parchment. The sound made the inside of her ears itch.
"Because it's so obvious," she sighed. Her throat felt constricted and dry, so she stood to pour drinks for all of them.
A person stood behind her as she extended an arm towards the Malfoy liquor cabinet. Their arm reached over her shoulder to hold the door to the cabinet shut, as she pulled to open it. Turning her head, she glared at Snape. His face was impassive as he shook his head no. Embarrassment flooded Hermione's cheeks as she recalled that morning someone had cleaned the empty glass bottles from her stash in the library.
"Alcohol won't help this," he said quietly.
"Rich, coming from you," she spat, the thirst pricking in her throat moving towards her head in the promise of a migraine.
Imperious and imposing, Snape twisted the handle of the cabinet door, with her hand underneath his, to lock it once more. The skin of his palm was warm and dry, the opposite of the cold and clammy feeling she expected just to look at him.
Hermione hated the blade of shame slicing into her gut. Hiding her desire for the amber liquid sparkling in the dying summer light, she pulled one of the books off the shelf built into the sides of the ornate liquor cabinet. Sitting down next to Draco this time, whose head was still in his hands, she let the book fall open to whatever page it wanted to, then thrust it in front of her still-burning cheeks. Slight tremors affected her grip on the leather.
Draco looked up and mouthed blood status over and over again, fear of the taboo stopping any noise passing his lips. Severus caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, but he watched Hermione openly.
Her feet were tucked up under her, the tufts of curls framing her face showing around the edge of the book up in front of her face. She was doing her best to shrink from his vision and he begrudgingly admitted she would need more than one moment of embarrassment to halt her dance towards alcoholism.
"As we all know the heavy fines associated with this taboo," Snape began, "We will not verbalize the elephant in the room. However, the problem at hand fits every puzzle piece edge of our previous failures. The only ones left in the trials share a certain ancestry trait and those who were more violently affected by strain 3.2 were the middle ground; men and women, girls and boys at the midline between yourselves."
Hermione lowered the book halfway between Snape's statement. A glance at Draco confirmed he'd removed his fingers from his hair.
"We need to review all the tests we've already done, applying this new variable. There is not a quick or sane way to acquire the information we would prefer, but this will suffice. Using a few glyphs, the equations will run themselves."
Hermione wished to interject, meanly, she understood all of this and did he remember she held a Mastery in Arithmancy? But the look on his face, lost in concentration, stopped her. He was reciting his next actions for all of their benefit, to give an anchor in the emotional turmoil started by the revelation Bellatrix and Voldemort used blood status as a factor in the curse. She doubted she would stop kicking herself over not thinking of it sooner, and Snape's posture implied he felt the same.
Hours passed, and even Hermione didn't object when one of the house elves from the Manor brought them food. Years of data, and applying the key glyph to the equations, demanded all of her attention. Though Draco had fought vehemently to assist her with the paperwork, she shoved him into the lab with Snape in order to assist his mentor in brewing another batch of DMB, starting from the very first version of the brew, with important changes to the base. A few times, she shouted a question into the lab and one of the men would answer, but, except for the sound of brewing utensils, the evening passed in quiet.
"It needs a few hours to stew," Snape said to Hermione, drying his hands on a towel in the doorway between rooms. His full potions gear glittered in the lamplight, black dragon scales refracting light into miniature prisms on the wall, and his hair was slicked back against his head like the other night.
Hermione swallowed and tried to look around him. "Where's Draco?"
Snape stepped aside to reveal a dozing Draco, curled up on a transfigured cot in the lab. Hermione cast a cushioning charm on the cot before Snape closed the door behind him.
The tea on the arm of the couch next to her was long cold and she grimaced when she sipped at it distractedly. Raising her wand, she reheated it with a spell, but the sound of a throat clearing called her attention to the stairs.
Snape stood in the gloom, the potions gear removed and hanging next to the lab entrance, and she wondered why she never noticed his eyes glittered the same way dragon scales did. The sleeves of his grey button down were rolled up past his elbows, a feat only someone with his slight build could manage. He said nothing, but looked pointedly at her reheated mug, his mouth a flat line on his face.
Hermione wasn't sure if he was offering a silent invitation to join him for fresh tea, but she took the chance and followed him up.
"Depending on how the batch responds to an iron cauldron, rather than one of gold, we should have another batch to test. It should respond more actively to changing levels of blood purity. When are you due for the last administration of 4.6?"
Listening to his commentary, likely for her own Arithmantic benefit, Hermione scowled when he said 'blood purity'. Her voice was clipped when she replied, "Next week."
Continuing to select tea leaves from the tins on the counter, sniffing each to determine what would fit his current mood best, Snape caught himself watching the rising bloom of an angry blush on her neck. Staying silent he waited until she voiced what was bothering her, as he had waited in the hospital room after the disastrous warding ceremony.
"Do you believe in it?" Her soft question was directed towards the teakettle. When he didn't respond, she turned to look at him, as he leaned casually against the counter top. "Blood purity?"
Snape regarded her openly, his expression unchanged. His jaw worked as if he were chewing his words carefully before speaking. "Yes."
Bristling mightily, Hermione opened her mouth to combat the answer, one syllable that cut straight through her gut, when the teakettle screamed behind her. She moved quickly to remove it from the stovetop and haphazardly poured water into their mugs for tea. Snape stepped in and finished the act of making tea as she all but slammed the kettle back on the stove. Each pore from her neck to her forehead was flushed with anger when she whirled to face him.
"How dare you!" she accused, hands balled into fists next to her. "How dare you stand there with that Mark on your arm, and your endless accounts of remorse and redemption and say you believe in that utter rot! How many children did you teach at that school over the years? Hundreds, maybe thousands? You protected each of us when the time came no matter who our parents were. Was that a lie? Did you really believe it when you called Lily a Mudblood?"
Snape stilled, a jerky motion she wouldn't normally associate with the fluid man. The teaspoon in his hand rattled against the mug from his shaking fingers.
"Potter never could keep his mouth shut."
Hermione seethed further at his seeming non-reply. "Don't change the subject!"
"Hardly!" Snape stood at full height to tower over her, placing his hands on the island and the countertop next to him to box her in by the stove, still cooling after she'd switched off the heat. "You reply with your emotions without listening, you fool woman! For such a brilliant and lauded mind you don't fucking use it enough. Yes! I believe that blood purity matters. It matters in the same blasted way you two believe ethnicity, or age, or gender, or previous medical experience affects someone's life. Ignoring that fact is utter stupidity. What you did not ask me is if I believed in the Dark Lord's cause.
"So ask it. Ask if I relished what I did before and after I took this fucking brand, no better than cattle for slaughter. Ask how many times he told me to torture, break, kill someone who was not a Pureblood, all the while following the rulings of a halfblood and standing as one myself. Ask me what you really want to know, Granger. Ask. Me."
As he lambasted her, Hermione quailed against the countertop behind her. His chest, leaning over as he was, forced her to lean back, with his face inches from hers. She could smell the sharp tang of sweat from hours of brewing, the grease that still slicked his hair back against his head, and the scent of copper on his breath, as if he'd bitten his tongue.
She swallowed once. Twice. "Do you believe I'm less because I'm muggleborn?"
The heat of anger didn't leave his eyes, but his voice grew softer, a rustling along dry leaves. "Of course not."
Remnants of her anger evaporated away. Shame heated her cheeks at her assumptions, but she couldn't help the barb she threw his way. "I've always believed you thought that. All the years in school and then each time I've seen you since."
"Because I didn't immediately fawn over your massive intellect, your heroine status, or your impressive academic achievements?"
Hermione scoffed in spite of herself, crossing her arms over her chest. "Ridiculous, I-"
"Ridiculous? I beg to differ. You have hundreds of doting fans and dozens of friends with an endless supply of approval and adoration. I'm surprised you've not suffocated from the sycophants and their platitudes. You are a singularly gifted witch and deserve more than positive comments from simpletons who can barely grasp your capabilities."
The silence was so great in her ears, Hermione could swear she could hear the tea steeping. Snape's face relaxed, no longer a moue of frustration, and he stepped away from her, gripping his mug and heading out to the porch to smoke.
Hermione watched him walk away, her mouth parted slightly in surprise. She grounded herself by taking a sip of her tea and immediately cursed when she burnt her tongue, but not even the painful distraction could detract from the notion she'd just received the best compliment of her adult life, and possibly her entire life, from Severus Snape.