Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe is the property of J.K. Rowling and her publishers. Anything you recognize belongs to her. I am not making any money from this.
--Betaed by the incomparable Wartcap
--This chapter was quite long, so I broke it into two parts. The second part will be posted in 4-5 days.
Chapter 20: Change of Plans (Part 1)
Snape Apparated just outside the front door of his safe house. It was suspiciously dark and quiet, prompting him to approach the door cautiously. Detection spells showed nothing unusual, so he entered the sitting room and lit the candles with a wave of his wand. It was empty, as he'd expected. Perhaps Hermione has fallen asleep upstairs? he speculated.
But the bedroom, too, was empty. Even the hearth was cold. Something is wrong! his senses screamed at him, now on high alert. It occurred to him that perhaps the Dark Lord had sent someone to the cottage to retrieve Hermione whilst he was out cornering Wormtail, the traitor. So much for being the Dark Lord's 'most trusted servant', he thought sourly. There was no one in the bathroom, but further searching provided Snape with his first clue. Huddled on the laboratory floor, in front of the unlit hearth, was an unconscious house-elf.
Striding up to the creature, he nudged it with his boot, but the elf didn't rouse. "Rennervate!" he chanted, flicking his wand at the prone figure. No response. What the…? He glared at the insensate elf.
A thorough search of the cottage revealed the second elf on the kitchen floor, face down and in the same state as the first. Snape rolled him over. This doesn't make sense. If the Dark Lord sent Death Eaters to the cottage, why would they incapacitate elves that are loyal to the Malfoys? After a moment, he noticed a discoloration on the front of the pillowcase that the creature was wearing. Bending close, he sniffed at the stain. It smelled familiar, very similar to… Dreamless Sleep Potion!
In a flash of intuition, he knew that Hermione was responsible for this. She had drugged the house-elves and fled! But, why now? he wondered. After all this time…. No. The reasons must wait for later. My priority must be to find her and bring her back! Quite apart from the fact that the Dark Lord would be extremely angry with him if she escaped, he simply wanted her to remain with him. The sudden thought that she might have already made good her escape and be beyond his reach, sent a sharp stab of apprehension through his chest. In the deepest recesses of his mind he admitted to himself, finally, that he cared a great deal for her.
Quickly moving to a point outside the cottage's Apparation shield, he concentrated his mind on the unique magical signature of the tracer he had attached to his mother's old cloak and cast a Locator Charm. An image of Hermione's tired face solidified in his mind. As he held the picture of her steady, details of the surrounding terrain began to appear. She was making her way determinedly alongside the grass verge of a dark, deserted lane, in what appeared to be a rural area. After a minute, he got an impression of distance and direction. She was almost due south of him and a little over a dozen miles away. Fortunately, there was no one around her; he would be able to proceed directly to her location without being observed by any Muggles. Picturing her surroundings, he focused his determination on a spot approximately twenty feet in front of her, and Apparated.
A sound like the crack of a whip brought Hermione's head up. She stopped short, an incredulous and horrified expression covering her features as she saw Snape.
He took a step toward her. "Hermione—"
"No! Get away from me!" she cried, backing away.
"Don't make this difficult. You cannot evade me." She took another step back and he realized she was planning to run. Perhaps I can reason with her. "I promise, Hermione, there will be no retribution for your actions. I won't ever hurt you," he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.
"You already have!" she retorted shrilly. "You used me! I trusted you and all the time you were only interested in your effing Impenetrable Potion!"
Snape's eyes widened in shock. How in hell did she find out? he wondered.
"Oh yes, I know all about your 'special' project," she spat bitterly. With a swift motion, she reached inside her coat, pulled out an object and threw it at him. Reflexively, he cast a Shield Spell. The object, a book, bounced off of the shield and fell at his feet. It was his lab journal.
"I won't be part of your master's plans anymore! I won't betray my friends. I would rather die!" she declared vehemently. With a look of determination she straightened her shoulders and turned in the graceful arc that Snape had watched her perfect during last spring's Apparation lessons at Hogwarts.
"Don't—" Snape warned. But it was too late; she had already initiated the transfer. A nimbus appeared about her torso for a bare moment, then winked out as she was flung completely around by a powerful force. She hit the ground hard and began retching at once. Snape knelt beside her, holding the mass of unruly hair away from her face and half supporting her torso as she vomited again and again. When the spasms finally passed, she collapsed sideways onto the grass.
"Evanesco," he murmured, vanishing the evidence of her ill advised Apparation attempt. She was still gasping for breath and trembling all over, so he pulled her halfway onto his lap. "Foolish stunt," he scolded under his breath, even as he attempted to warm her in his embrace. "You had to realize that it wouldn't work."
"I didn't know that would happen…" came her shaky reply. An awkward silence ensued in which Hermione kept her eyes down, refusing to look at Snape's face.
After a minute, he noticed that her shoulders were shaking. Salazar's balls! Now she's crying. "Hermione…." He brushed her hair back, trying to see her face, but she turned her head further away in rejection.
"No! Don't try to pretend you care," she sobbed. "I'm just a means to an end. A way to win Voldemort's approval!"
He hissed in reaction to the name. "Hermione, look at me!" he commanded, taking her face in his hands and turning it toward him. "It may have started out as you say, but that's not the situation anymore. You are important to me. More important than the Dark Lord's plans."
"What does it matter? I can't— I won't support Vol— that monster," she said brokenly. "Not even for you. If you force me to go back with you, I'm as good as dead."
"No!" he denied urgently. "I won't let that happen." In that moment he realized that he had made a choice: he would dare his Lord's vengeance rather than give up Hermione. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "I will find us another alternative."
A glimmer of hope flashed in her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know yet. But I promise you, Hermione, I will not let the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters harm you."
"How – how can I be sure you're telling the truth? How can I trust you again?" Her eyes were wide, imploring. "Would you make an Unbreakable Vow, to me?"
Trepidation gripped his heart, but his voice held steady. "If you need one to believe my promise, then I will make it." Speaking these words was like a setting a seal on his heart. He knew he would do whatever it took to allay her fears.
Staring into his black gaze for a minute, Hermione tried to gauge his sincerity. She shook her head. "No, I don't need the vow. But I need you to promise that you will stop using me – stop manipulating me for your master's ends."
He nodded. "On my mother's grave, Hermione, I swear it." She laid her head against his chest and his arms came around her automatically. We will have to flee, he decided. But carefully and with planning. Haste and panic had killed Karkaroff, more than any other factors. He, Severus Snape, would make sure that the two of them could not be traced.
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Lord Voldemort sat regally in his chair before the fire, looking for all the world like some twisted caricature of a medieval king. He wore a long, velvet robe of blood-red trimmed with black and silver. In his right hand he grasped his wand like a scepter; in his left hand he held a chalice of wine. His familiar, Nagini, lay curled in his lap. At his feet, knelt several of his servants, vying to gain his favor with the news they had brought.
He smiled thinly. "You are all to be commended, my friends. Your information is most useful and I intend to reward each of you." Setting down his cup, he waved a long-fingered hand toward a jumble of booty that a strike team had plundered in their latest raid. "You may choose one item from among the trinkets on that shelf," he said carelessly. "Then you may leave me."
"Thank you, my Lord."
"You are most generous, Master."
"Thank you, Master. It is an honor to serve."
The murmured thanks of his Ministry spies went unacknowledged and, for the most part, unheard by Voldemort. He was already contemplating the best use of the information he had just obtained. A Time-Turner! This is a most fortuitous find! If he could obtain the time-altering device, he would have a means to accomplish a complete and rapid coup over the Ministry of Magic. Crucial events, often recognized only in hindsight, could be altered to suit his plans. It was a truly unforeseen stroke of luck that a Time-Turner had been preserved by one of his Death Eaters. He scowled in momentary displeasure as he recalled that Macnair had kept the existence of the Time-Turner to himself. The idiot is fortunate that he is already dead – else I would flay the flesh from his bones! he thought scathingly.
Taking a deep breath, he returned to more pleasant thoughts. I believe it is time to finish the game I have started with Potter. With a flick of his wand, a small vial sped across the room straight into his waiting hand. Idly, he swirled the vial, sending the ethereal, white substance inside into a miniature vortex. It was time to twist the knife he had inserted into Potter's psyche. The boy's love for and trust in his friends was practically famous. If he believes the Mudblood has betrayed him, it will be a major blow to his confidence. If he thinks she is being magically coerced, he will rush to her rescue at the first opportunity. Either way, I win.
Another flick of his wand brought the large eagle owl to his side and he smiled as he attached the vial to its leg.
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Ottery St. Catchpole was in the midst of an unseasonably warm spell of weather, considering it was only late March. Harry, Ron and Ginny had spent almost all of Sunday afternoon thoroughly trouncing Bill, Fred and George in a decidedly un-refereed game of Quidditch. Still laughing as they recounted particularly ridiculous plays, the group of young people made their way down the path from the paddock to The Burrow.
Harry, who was happily taking the mickey out of George over the redhead's spectacular collision with a tree, didn't see Ron stop short just in front of him. "Oof!" he grunted, running smack into the back of his taller friend. Rubbing his nose furiously with one hand, he pushed Ron lightly between the shoulder blades with the other. "What did you stop for?"
Ron lifted an arm woodenly, pointing silently to a very large owl circling above his parents' house.
"Is that…?" Harry asked in an uncertain tone, squinting upward. Then, as recognition dawned, he gulped. "It's that eagle owl: Voldemort's messenger," he declared in a flat voice. Grimly, he started back down the path, entering the kitchen as the owl alighted on the window ledge. The bird hopped onto the kitchen worktop as if it owned the place, an aura of arrogance nearly rolling off its feathers. Without a word, Harry walked past a startled Molly Weasley and removed a small brown-wrapped parcel from the creature's leg. "Clear off, you shitehawk," he growled through gritted teeth.
With a look of indignation, the owl took off at once, digging its claws deeply into the wooden worktop before sweeping Harry's glasses from his face with a powerful downstroke of its wings.
"I'll thank you to watch you tongue in my home, Harry Potter," Molly reprimanded.
Immediately, Harry felt remorseful. "Sorry, Mrs. Weasley," he replied, picking up his glasses from the floor.
"Well, considering what that particular messenger usually brings, I quite understand, my dear," she relented.
Harry tore open the paper, revealing the expected phial and another note – the longest yet – from his evil adversary.
'Those who know your friend tell me she has always been one to take up a cause.
In this, and in another significant trait, she opposes Forster.'
Harry scowled. Voldemort's messages were always cryptic, but this time he was truly stumped. "Who's Forster?" he wondered aloud.
"May I?" Molly asked, reaching for the paper. Harry handed it to her and she looked it over as her children crowded around, jockeying for position so that they too could assess the latest missive from Voldemort. None of them, however, could offer Harry an explanation.
"Somehow," Ron muttered, "I just know Hermione would be able to enlighten us about this Forster person."
Harry strode to the fireplace, throwing in a handful of Floo powder and calling, "Alastor Moody's house!"
A minute later, after a brief exchange, he withdrew his head from the green flames and backed away from the hearth. The small fire blazed fiercely, completely engulfing the rapidly rotating form of Remus Lupin. When he had slowed to a stop, Remus stepped out of the fireplace, carefully cradling Moody's Pensieve in his arms. The flames died down to embers behind him.
"Is Moody not coming?" Bill inquired.
"No. He can't make it today," Remus answered, nodding politely to Molly. He placed the Pensieve on the table and looked inquiringly at Harry.
"You, Ron and me," Harry said shortly. He uncapped the clear vial and let the silvery-white contents flow into the basin before him. Ron and Remus stepped up on either side of the black-haired young man. As one, they bent forward, entering the swirling memories, each man acutely aware of a strong feeling of foreboding.
They landed in a well-lit potion-making laboratory, very different from the dingy basement workspace they had last seen in Snape's memory. A door opened to the left and Snape, followed by Hermione, entered the room.
Hermione spoke first. "How long will it take us to make the Blood Replenisher?"
"The entire process takes three and a half hours, so you will understand why we needed to skip our post-luncheon walk and start the preparation directly," Snape replied.
"Yes, I understand," Hermione agreed, the excitement in her expression obvious to the trio of friends watching the scene. "Thank you again for offering to teach me this potion."
Snape turned to face her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "It is I who am thankful to you, Hermione," he said silkily. "Your help with the other potions has prevented me from suffering the Dark Lord's anger."
In reply, she smiled warmly up at the lank-haired, hawk-nosed man as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
As white fog obscured the room, signaling a transition to another memory, Harry swallowed the anger welling up inside him. The git is manipulating her! Why can't she see that? His face felt rigid with the effort to maintain his composure; he owed Ron that much consideration.
When the billowing fog dissipated, the three men found themselves standing in a familiar sitting room. It was here, Harry recalled, that Ron, Moody and he had watched Rabastan Lestrange try to befriend Hermione. In spite of the familiarity of the place, the room looked odd to Harry, but he couldn't put his finger on what was out of place. Just as he began to wonder if Lestrange was going to make another appearance, a muffled crack sounded outside the cottage. A moment later, the front door was thrown open. A disheveled and clearly injured Snape staggered in, stumbled to the sofa, and fell facedown across it.
"Serves the bastard right!" Ron growled under his breath.
A glance revealed that his friend was white with anger, lips pressed tightly together. "I agree, Ron," Harry remarked.
"There's something strange about this memory," Remus observed suddenly. "It feels different from any of the others Voldemort has sent."
Ron blinked. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I don't know what it is, but it seems almost… flat. Like… I don't know… it's not like a regular memory."
A house-elf had appeared in the room. He attempted to rouse Snape, but was unsuccessful. Eventually, the elf disappeared with a pop, only to return a minute later via the steps, Hermione in tow.
As they watched their friend try to revive Snape, a sudden realization came to Harry. "Flat!" The others looked at him in surprise. "You said it, Ron. It's flat – like a television screen! Look around," he exhorted the others. "Nothing has any depth. That's what's different about this memory!"
By this time, Hermione was rushing away to get medicines for Snape, while the elf gently levitated the unconscious man up the steps. The three observers followed.
Abruptly, Remus laughed sourly. "I think I've just worked out what's going on here," he informed the younger men. "Snape is out cold; this memory can't be his! At least not directly." At the puzzled looks from Ron and Harry he expanded his explanation. "I suspect the memory originally came from that elf. Snape obtained it via Legilimency, then extracted the borrowed memory for Voldemort's use! That why it looks flat and two-dimensional; it's a reproduction – a copy."
Having solved that small mystery, the three men watched quietly as Hermione, with the help of both house-elves, got Snape into bed, administered several potions and sighed with relief as the insensate man settled into a restful, tremor-free sleep. Yawning, she began to unbutton her robe, shedding it casually and slipping into the bed with Snape.
"Bloody fucking hell!" Ron swore.
In blank disbelief, Harry watched one of his best friends snuggle close to the man who had murdered Dumbledore. Before his mind could form any coherent thought, white fog billowed before his eyes, obscuring his sight completely.
When the cloudy mists cleared for the second time, both Ron and Harry seemed to be in a state of shock. "Perhaps we should end this Pensieve session now," Remus advised. "If there's more, we can see it after you two have had a chance to calm down."
Harry raised his chin, meeting the wary eyes of his former-professor-turned-friend. "No," he said softly. "Let's get it over with now, I say. Ron?"
Ron nodded his wordless assent.
Remus examined their new surroundings. They were in the same bedroom, but the darkness outside the windows proclaimed that this was a completely different memory. The lighting was dim, with only a single candle burning in a sconce by the door. The remaining illumination came from the fireplace, where a crackling blaze was in the process of consuming a pile of logs. Two chairs had been placed in front of the hearth, arranged, no doubt, to derive full advantage from the warmth and light of the fire. Wearing just her pajamas and settled cozily into one of the seats was Hermione, an open book across her lap.
Where's Snape? Remus wondered. Presumably, this is his memory, so he should be making an appearance presently. No sooner had that thought formed in Remus' mind than a door opened, emitting a small cloud of steam, at the side of the room.
Snape emerged from the bathroom, his tousled hair still damp from the shower. He wore nothing but a loose robe that covered him to the knees. In bare feet he padded softly across the carpet to stand in front of Hermione. She glanced up questioningly.
"Come," he said softly, capturing her trusting eyes with his intense gaze and extending his hand. She put her book aside and he drew her to her feet. Lowering his head, Snape kissed her on the lips slowly, lingeringly. Her arms slipped around his shoulders as they became lost in their kiss.
Remus' eyes cut to Ron. The young man appeared riveted by the scene unfolding before him: immobilized by shock, or some other overpowering emotion. However, if things progressed in the direction that Remus expected them to, there was no predicting how the volatile redhead would react. A glance at Harry showed that he was livid. Beneath the fringe of his messy hair, his green eyes were blazing with anger and his jaw was clenched in a painful-looking rictus.
Snape broke off their kiss, bringing his lips next to her ear. "Hermione," he breathed. "You make me feel so… alive."
Meeting his eyes, she whispered, "Kiss me again, Severus. Make me feel that too."
"Can you hear what they're saying?" Ron whispered to Harry.
"No. I can't make it out. Remus?"
Remus gave a slight shake of his head. "It was too soft. I couldn't hear them either," he lied, thinking that the others were probably better off not knowing what had been said.
As the couple's kiss deepened and they became immersed in their passion, one of Snape's hands stroked down Hermione's back and across her bottom. Remus could see clearly that she was grinding her pelvis against Snape's in response to his caress.
A rumble of disapproval escaped Ron's throat. "Snape's done something to her," he growled. "She would never allow that scumbag to touch her like that otherwise!"
"Well, he didn't give her anything to drink," Harry responded. "So we can probably rule out a potion."
"Imperius?"
"Possibly."
"That must be it!" Ron said definitively.
Neither young man had moved, but Remus could see the tension in Ron's posture. He's going to explode, Remus predicted silently. By this time, the couple had become distinctly rumpled. Snape's hands were exploring the skin under the back of Hermione's cotton pajama top. She was kissing and licking the exposed skin between the lapels of his robe. But when Hermione brought her hands around between them and began fumbling with the belt of his robe, Ron finally blew his top.
"Shit!" he swore. "I'm not going to stand here and watch this… this… vile exploitation!" He stormed toward the bedroom door, wrenching it open and stomping into the hall.
Harry and Remus exchanged a helpless glance and followed him across the room. As they reached the door, Remus grasped Harry's arm. "Go with him, but don't leave the Pensieve yet. Search the house," Remus directed. "Look for anything that might give us clues about what Voldemort and his followers are up to."
Harry nodded. "What about you? You're not going to stay and watch them…." Words seemed to fail the young man and he gestured to the entangled couple.
"Not watch, Harry, but listen." Harry gave him a horrified look. "Pillow talk," he amplified. "People often spill their secrets in the bedroom."
Harry looked thoroughly disgusted. "It's not right," he said sullenly. "Hermione would hate to have someone witness her being… taken advantage of like that."
"As disturbing as it is, we need information desperately." He gave Harry a level look. "Just go. I'll exit separately when the memory ends."
Harry nodded reluctantly and went in search of Ron.
Remus turned back toward the hearth. Hermione had long since opened Snape's robe and now had her hands inside it as she kissed her way down his chest, gradually sinking to her knees. Only the top of her head and Snape's upper half were visible to Remus at this angle, as a chair was now between him and the couple. Snape moaned, tangling his hands in the witch's hair, and Remus didn't need to see any better to know what was happening.
His head thrown back in pleasure, Snape murmured something that Remus, even with his enhanced werewolf's hearing, couldn't make out. Damn! I'll have to move closer, he decided. He was not a voyeur; he really didn't want to watch them. But along with his stated purpose of gathering information, he felt it was important to determine if Hermione was truly under some sort of magical compulsion. To do those things he needed to hear their voices and, even more importantly, he needed to get a good look at Hermione's eyes. He moved around to the side of the room, trying to achieve a view that would allow him to assess her condition.
In spite of himself, Remus was caught by the sensuality of the tableau before him. She was pleasuring Snape orally, taking him into her mouth rhythmically as she stroked her hands over his hips and arse. Lost in the irresistible current of spiraling sensations, Snape's breathing quickened and he began to thrust reflexively, his tempo gradually increasing until he reached the inevitable conclusion. As his orgasm took him he stiffened, grasping her head firmly between his hands as he rode out the spasms of his bliss. Still panting, his fingers relaxed, stroking down her face and neck to rest on her shoulders. "Hermione," he gasped. She released him at last, looking upward demurely from under her lashes. Holding her shoulders, he pulled her to her feet and into his arms for a long, slow kiss. "Your turn," he murmured in an unmistakably suggestive tone.
"You always say that," she replied with a low ripple of laughter.
Remus' jaw dropped in shock. He always says…? Neither Hermione's words nor the teasing quality of her voice were consistent with a relationship brought about via mind control. But, it was always best to be cautious when judging the actions of people you are not intimately familiar with. He waited to see what would transpire next.
Snape backed her to the bed, and after helping her remove her pajamas, dropped his open robe from his shoulders. Once they were horizontal, he concentrated on his task with an intensity Remus had only previously seen him apply in the Potions classroom. Eventually, as Remus had expected, Snape reciprocated, going down on Hermione until she was writhing and moaning on the bed. After several minutes, she tensed, arching her back as she crested. Snape's arms, which were curled around her thighs, anchored her in place as she bucked and shuddered out her orgasm.
Remus reluctantly moved next to the bed and willed the young woman to open her eyes. Often, the only evidence of the Imperious Curse was a vague, blank sort of expression in the victim's eyes. For pity's sake, open your eyes! he exhorted silently.
But she didn't – not immediately anyway. Snape was prowling up her body, licking and caressing as he went, until she was nearly humming with pleasure. Finally, when he was poised directly above her, her eyes fluttered open. They were filled with a lazy contentment that matched the easy smile she wore. "Mmm, you do that so well," she purred.
"I believe that you inspire my creativity in that area," Snape replied, initiating a series of short, teasing kisses. At last, he pulled back and regarded her more seriously. "Hermione, I have a question for you."
Remus tensed in anticipation, hoping at last to hear something other than the various sounds of coitus.
"You've never done that to me before. Was it the first time you ever performed fellatio?"
She bit her lip uncertainly and gave a very slight nod. "But I've read about it, you know?"
"Of course you have," he answered wryly.
She hesitated, then asked, "Was it… okay?"
"I believe tonight you have proved that in some areas of life, natural talent will always be preferable to mere experience."
As the couple came together for yet another long kiss, Remus turned away in irritation. Merlin's balls! As if it's not bad enough to watch two people that I know having sex – now I have to listen to them talk about it? Please, let this memory end, he thought with an annoyed grimace.
Hermione's sudden high-pitched squeal made him spin around to see what was amiss, but it appeared that she was only surprised. Snape had abruptly rolled them both over, reversing their positions. To Remus' ultimate mortification, Snape began urging his young lover to mount him. "Oh, Gods! Not again!" Remus groaned, turning his back on them resolutely and retreating across the room. Just as he heard the bed springs begin to creak, white fog began to billow all about him. He felt his feet leave the floor and with a graceful somersault, he landed back in the Weasleys' kitchen.
Harry and Ron straightened beside him. "Did you find anything?" Remus inquired quickly, wishing to forestall any questions about his own experiences in the Pensieve.
"Not really," Harry answered.
"Just a notebook," Ron said simultaneously. "It was in Snape's potion-making lab. I bet it was important, but we couldn't open it because it was warded. Even in his memories he's a secretive bast— bugger!" Ron shot a quick look at his mother to see if she had noticed his slip.
"How about you, Remus, anything useful?" Harry asked.
"No," Remus answered shortly. "Not a bloody thing." While the fact that Hermione Granger was involved in a willing liaison with her Death Eater captor was certainly a significant finding, he didn't think that the two young men before him were ready to deal with that revelation.
"Is there a public library in the village?" Harry inquired, eyes sweeping over the Weasley contingent.
"Of course," Fred replied. "It's nothing compared to Hogwarts' library, but we've made good use of it."
"And the librarian's assistant is easy on the eyes!" George added with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.
Harry smiled faintly. The irrepressible nature of the twins never failed to hearten him. Tomorrow, he would head to the library; he intended to find out who this Forster person was.
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Author's notes
--Why did Hermione get so ill when she tried to Apparate? Snape warned her (way back in chapter 2) that attempting to Apparate would be 'unpleasant' with the Anti-Apparition device on her wrist. Very unpleasant, indeed.
--Voldemort's note to Harry refers to a famous quote by the British novelist/essayist, Edward M. Forster: "I hate the idea of causes, and if I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country."