For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 60: Difficult Decision
Hermione set down her quill and sat back, unconsciously flexing fingers cramped from writing. The parchment laid on the worktable before her, its slightly rough, creamy texture covered with her careful handwriting, line after line, going for two feet or more. She glanced at the window, noting the light showing around the edges of the draperies, and turned in her seat to check the clock behind her; it was just after seven o'clock. She had worked without stopping for over twelve hours, and now the spell was completely translated and written out in her clearest handwriting. There was no way for her to test her work to see if it was right, this time. The ingredients alone made her flesh creep—it appeared that Harry would need Voldemort's blood, as well as bone from Tom Riddle Senior's grave to cast this spell. No, it was a piece of magic that would be created one time only, and if it did not work, there would be no second chances.
She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, allowing exhaustion to overtake her. She had to get the spell to Harry and Ron so they could begin the job of gathering the components, but she was far too tired to Apparate. She pushed away from the table and made her way into the bathroom, where her body informed her she had neglected even the call of nature while she struggled through the lexicon to find the proper rhyming words to complete her work. That sorted, she next shed her clothing and let it drop on the bathmat as she ran a steaming bath. Finally, she submerged herself thankfully in the tub.
He said I was to record the translated spell in my journal, a nagging voice informed her, disturbing her rest. He said he'd get it to Harry.
Well, that was before, wasn't it? That was before she had sent him needlessly into peril, in search of information she had had at her fingertips all along.
And the crushing guilt—My fault! All my fault!—oppressed her, and she began to cry, wrenching, hopeless sobs.
She ate the food Pitty brought, and then she slept, but not peacefully. Again and again, her professor fell at her feet, bleeding horribly, while she stood by, helpless to stop it. She awoke after only four hours, wan and haggard, and reached for her journal, hoping against hope that his handwriting would be there, spiky and commanding—but there was nothing.
He had told her to inscribe the spell in the journal, and he would see that it got to Harry, but now he was hurt and not in possession of the journal. Circumstances were not what he had expected them to be, and it was her fault—all hers.
She was on her own now.
She climbed out of bed and moved to the dressing table, sitting and beginning to brush her unruly hair, staring at her own reflection and thinking. She was submissive, but she wasn't feeble. She had a very good mind, and it was time to put it to work for the Order.
She bound her hair back in a functional ponytail and walked to her worktable, taking her quill in hand.
Hadrian looked troubled. 'No, I haven't heard from him either, Hermione,' he admitted. 'I'm sure he's going to be fine, though—it's not the first time he's been out of commission for a bit.' He patted Hermione's hand in a fatherly way. 'Try not to fret over him.'
Claudius paced behind her, a frown marring his handsome face. 'I'm sure that this translation of yours can wait a few days, until Severus is well enough to deliver it.'
Hermione turned her face to Vi's Master. 'I beg your pardon, sir, but what are your loyalties in the war?'
Claudius' lips tightened into a firm white line. 'We of Roissy House have no political agenda,' he said repressively.
Hermione stood. 'With all due respect, sir, that isn't strictly true.'
Claudius' eyes flashed at this, but Hadrian spoke before the other Dominant could reply.
'Hermione is correct, of course,' he said gravely. 'Severus and Rafe are very much a part of Roissy House, and they are committed to the defeat of the Dark Lord.' He stood and placed his hands on Hermione's shoulders. 'Officially, Roissy House takes no stance on political issues—the Switzerland of British wizarding politics, if you like—but privately, all of us in residence here support Severus and Rafe.'
Hermione nodded. 'Even though it was never said, I knew it was true.'
Hadrian gave her a rueful smile. 'I know, of course, who you are—I had seen your picture in the newspaper, even before you came here. You're a close friend of Harry Potter's.'
Now it was Hermione's turn to nod soberly. 'I am—and I have something he needs, Hadrian. Severus was supposed to deliver it, but he's missing, and I don't know—' She paused for a moment, as a lump rose in her throat, and she fought back the tears which threatened. Hadrian squeezed her shoulders sympathetically. 'I don't know when or if he'll be able to do it, so I'm going to try to contact Harry and arrange a meeting.'
'That's foolishness!' Claudius blurted, stepping close to them. Hermione knew he was looking at her, but she refused to meet his eyes—she was too angry. He continued, but the tenor of his words ruined his attempt at persuasion. 'Surely there's nothing a schoolgirl can know that the Order of the Phoenix can't get on without for a while longer!'
Hermione twisted herself from Hadrian's grasp and folded her arms over her chest. 'I won't leave without letting you know,' she said, then nodded respectfully and departed the Dominant's Study.
She bumped into Reg in the corridor.
'Hey,' he said, reaching out to steady her. 'Why are you crying?'
Hermione didn't answer him, but she allowed him to direct her steps to the sitting room, which was empty. She was gently pushed into an armchair and a handkerchief was pressed into her hands.
'What's this?' he asked, sitting on the arm of the chair beside her. 'Are you in Dutch with Hadrian? Did you get a scolding?'
Hermione shook her head and rubbed at her face with the handkerchief, but before she could answer, Kel entered the room.
'Hermione?' Kel said, hurrying over and kneeling before her. 'What's wrong?' Kel patted Hermione's jeans-clad knee and glared up at Reg. 'What have you done to her, you bully?'
'Me?' Reg protested. 'I haven't done a thing but sit her down and give her a hanky. Why do you assume the worst of me, Kay?'
Kel gave Reg a withering look, as if he didn't deserve an answer, then turned back to Hermione. 'Do you want me to make him go away?' she asked softly.
Hermione gave her a watery smile. 'No, Reg hasn't done anything. I just had words with Claudius, is all.'
Kel looked alarmed. 'Oh no!' she said. 'What did you do?'
Hermione shrugged. 'I made the mistake of going into the Study to tell them I might be leaving the house to deliver something to someone, and Claudius was …' She shrugged again. 'He doubted that I could possibly have any information that anyone would need for anything.'
Kel made a moue of sympathy. 'He can be a little bit dismissive of women,' she admitted.
'Nonsense!' Reg said robustly. 'He's just concerned for your safety, Hermione—he doesn't want you to leave the house unaccompanied—and neither does your Master, for that matter.' He gave her a hard look. 'Why don't you tell it to me from the beginning?' he suggested.
Hermione sat forward a bit. 'I can't really talk about it,' she said. 'Sorry.'
Kel moved into the chair beside her. 'Well, we all know you're doing a special project for Master Severus,' she said helpfully. 'Like a school assignment, but not for school.'
Hermione nodded. Apparently, the denizens of Roissy House were more aware of her activities than she had realised. 'Reg,' she said, and he down sat on the sofa across from the two submissives with an attentive air. 'Do you remember when we went to Flourish and Blotts?'
He grinned at her. 'Am I likely to forget how long it took you to inspect every damn book in the shop?' he teased.
She ignored this jibe. 'I finished the project,' she said. 'Now I have to deliver the completed product to … someone.'
Reg sat forward, his face suddenly solemn. 'I'm pretty sure Master Severus means for you to stay put,' he said in a warning tone.
Kel reached for her hand. 'I hate to agree with him,' she said, 'but I think he's right. Your Master wants you safe, Hermione.'
Hermione squeezed Kel's hand thankfully. 'I know he does,' she said, 'but this information has to be delivered as soon as possible. It's really important.'
'Hermione,' Reg said suddenly, 'let me go with you. Two wands are better than one.'
Hermione looked in surprise into Reg's candid, earnest face. 'Thank you for that, Reggie,' she said, 'but the fewer people who know what this information is—and to whom it's being delivered—the better it will be.'
She glanced at Kel and saw her friend gazing at Reggie with open adoration, and she felt a pang of sympathy. It was either antagonism or adoration between these two; there was no middle ground. She smiled and stood to excuse herself; perhaps if she left them alone, they could work out whatever it was that was keeping them apart.
Hermione did her best to nap in the afternoon, but it was difficult to relax. Her confused, uneasy dreams now incorporated Harry and Ron as well as her professor. The owl she had sent to the boys flew endlessly from one end of the country to the other, without ever finding its quarry, and all the while, her Master bled, and bled, and bled. At last, she decided weariness was preferable to the horror of her dreams, and she sat at her worktable, reading through her journal with tenderness in her heart.
She had grown somewhat accustomed to the physical absence of her Master, but she could not accept his complete silence. There was something desperately wrong for him to be unable to even write to her. As the evening light began to fail, she began to write in her journal, praying that her Master would soon be able to read her words.
Dearest Master,
I have completed my assignment, but Maximus tells me that you do not have access to our journal. I do not know when you will have possession of the journal again, nor do I know when you will be well enough to resume your duties. Please know that I love you, that I am thinking of you constantly, and that I pray without ceasing for your full recovery from your injuries. I am going to deliver the completed assignment to its intended recipient. I do not know how long I will be away, but I faithfully promise to be very careful, and I will be back as soon as possible.
With all my heart,
Hermione
She pressed a kiss to the page beneath her signature, wondering if the pale pink of her lipstick would show on his copy of their journal. Hoping that it would, she put the journal aside and crossed to the wardrobe, beginning to draw out her warmest clothes.
When Pigwidgeon flapped outside her window, she was wearing thermal underwear, heavy jeans, last year's Christmas jumper from Mrs Weasley, and her stout brown boots. She donned her cloak and opened the window to admit the tiny owl, who fluttered madly about the room, trilling excitedly, while she read the note in Harry's boyish scrawl.
I knew you'd do it! We're ready to receive it. Come to place from which we took the Portkey the summer of '94—we'll be waiting for you.
Hermione set the note alight with the tip of her wand and watched it burn in midair, then Vanished the ash.
'Pitty!' she called.
The house-elf popped into her room.
'I'm going out, Pitty,' she said firmly. 'Please let Master Hadrian know I've gone to deliver my message, and I'll be back as soon as I can.'
The little creature wrung her hands. 'No, Miss!' she cried. 'Please don't go!'
But Hermione turned on the spot and was gone.
