Chapter Four

Severus had hoped, in vain, that Granger would be more preoccupied with her friend's agony than she would with her questions. Of course, she was ever the most pragmatic of the trio, and he should have known better.

Hope is a fool's undertaking, he thought to himself with a scowl.

When he'd exited Potter's room to find the three had taken up their expected posts just outside, he was met with one hostile gaze, one worried, and one that burned with a demand for answers. It might have been amusing in its predictability if it hadn't been so exasperating and infuriating in turn.

So, he'd beckoned for her to follow him down to the potions lab. It might, he mused, behoove me to have someone on 'our side' already know about Amalthea. To help smooth the way.

Surprisingly, Granger kept her mouth in check all the way to the lab. Though, he wasn't sure if it had more to do with not wanting to annoy him or the fact that Skeeter was skulking about. He almost snorted. Considering her behavior in class, it was likely the latter.

When they made it to the door, he paused long enough to undo the wards before he swept into the room. Hermione scuttled in behind him, and he quickly closed the door and reapplied the wards. When he turned, he almost ran into the back of Granger.

She'd stopped, likely at the sight of Amalthea on the other side of the room, who was looking between the two of them.

"Master Snape, did everything go well?" Amalthea asked cautiously, glancing at Granger then back to him.

"I believe so, but we shall see," he responded, stepping forward just enough to watch Granger's reactions from the corner of his eye.

At first, it was curiosity, followed quickly by confusion, frowning, before there was a flash of fear as some level of recognition hit her subconscious. It was amazing to watch how quickly Granger's mind could process information, but being older and trained to watch for behavioral signs as a teacher and spy, Severus was faster. So, when Hermione went for her wand, not having lost any of her reflexes post-war, Severus was already casting a silent Expelliarmus to disarm her. He easily caught the wand, and waited.

"Professor!" Granger said, indignant. She'd spun to face him, rage dancing in her cinnamon eyes. She even took one step forward before freezing at the sight of a single, black eyebrow being raised at her behavior.

"Do you frequently exhibit such poor manners as to draw your wand on the guest of another, Ms. Granger?" he asked, his words biting enough to make her flinch.

"No, of cour-"

"Then, do you presume to question my intelligence, decision-making skills, or who I trust in my lab?" he continued, relentless.

Her face had lost its anger, and at his barrage of words it drained of color as she realized she'd been questioning an authority figure she respected. Some things about Granger were incredibly predictable, and he wasn't above using the best method for the preferred results.

"No, sir," she responded, her voice small and subdued.

"Then, you will refrain from attacking my guest, do you understand?" he asked, his voice low and brooking no argument.

This time she didn't even speak, just nodded. Severus looked her over once more before nodding and handing back her wand.

Turning his attention to Amalthea, he noted she hadn't moved. She simply stood there, relaxed. Still, even though her hands were folded primly in front of her, Severus spotted a small bit of her wand peeking out from the sleeve of her dress. He allowed himself the smallest twitch of his lips.

"He has taken the potion. Now we wait and see if he has the will and strength to fight off the curse," Severus told her.

He went to a portion of the lab where there were a few clear tables, transfiguring them into three armchairs and a small table. Moving to the one in the center, he motioned for the two young women to sit on either side of him. Once they were seated, he sat as well and called for a house elf to bring them tea and a small snack.

There was tense silence from Granger and an amused air from Amalthea as they waited for the tea before starting their conversation.

"Amalthea," he started, mentally bracing himself for the worst, "this is Hermione Granger. She's one of Mr. Potter's best friends, and a former student of mine."

Amalthea gave Granger a small smile. "Lovely to meet you, Ms. Granger," she said. "I've read about you in the paper."

Granger's grimace at this statement was comical. "That is unfortunate."

Amalthea's laughter was light but not mocking. "Don't worry. I understand the Daily Prophet's coverage can be rather…diversified when it comes to both you and Mr. Potter. I imagine the truth generally rests somewhere between the two of you being divine heroes and villains."

"Yes, that sounds accurate," Granger said, letting out a relieved chuckle as tension drained from her shoulders.

Severus knew her relief wouldn't last long.

"Ms. Granger, this is Amalthea Riddle-Black," he said, his tone careful yet blank of all emotion. As though he'd just set a bomb on the table, and any nudge might cause it to explode.

Granger sucked in a breath so fast, she choked and started coughing. "Riddle-Black?!" Her eyes had watered, and she squinted at the other woman.

"Yes," Amalthea said. The only indication of any discomfort on her part was a slight elongating of the single word. Her posture wasn't too stiff and formal, or too relaxed. It was wary.

Granger, for once, appeared to be at a loss for words except for one. "How?"

Amalthea laughter was a sudden burst of sound, startling both Granger and Severus. He gave her the scowl she deserved for such an undignified response.

Granger's reaction was far more exaggerated. When she jerked back, the chair slid over the floor, letting out an obnoxious screech of wood against stone.

At their reactions, Amalthea stopped laughing, but mirth danced in her expression. Not the cruel glee of her parents at garnering a response from unwitting victims. No, simply the amusement of a situation.

"I am sorry; I did not mean to startle you. It just occurred to me that I will likely be hearing that very question many times over for quite a while," she explained.

Hermione was still on edge, watching the other woman as though she were a dangerous animal that would strike at any moment. "I imagine you will," she conceded with a nod, but maintained a suspicious bearing.

Amalthea told Granger what she'd told Severus earlier about her situation. At the mention of Dolohov's name, Granger flinched and bit her lip.

"I see you've met my guardian," Amalthea said apologetically.

"He cursed me," Granger responded, her voice flat. "I barely survived."

"I'm not sure there are many people Dolohov has encountered that he hasn't cursed, at one point or another. It's an unfortunate personality quirk of his."

Granger snorted. "That's quite a nice way to put it," she grumbled, and drank some of her tea.

"When your best friend is—was—a house-elf bound to a wizard like Dolohov, you have to find terms that won't cause the elf to self-scold, or worse, self-harm," Amalthea said, and took a delicate bite from one of the little sandwiches the elves had brought.

"Was?" Granger asked, gently.

Severus watched Amalthea hesitate. He personally knew it was difficult to open up about emotional pain to relative strangers. Odd, though, that she could speak of her torment with not even a blink of concern, yet when it came to this house-elf, she was hesitant and hurting.

"I have not seen her since Dolohov's return from Azkaban. He took her somewhere, and she never came back," she said, trying for as little inflection as possible but her voice cracked at the end.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Granger said sincerely.

If it wasn't necessary to secure Granger's help, Severus would have told them to stick to the matter at hand. As it was, it was probably better to get Granger emotionally involved and sympathetic. Severus was unsure if Amalthea was purposefully playing off Granger's Gryffindor sensibilities, or if she was attempting to make a real connection with the insufferable girl. He supposed as long as it worked out in the end, it didn't really matter.

"Thank you," Amalthea said with a shaky breath. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry Mr. Potter is going through this."

"Well, it seems his luck has held out once again," she said with a huff. "I had rather hoped he'd cease with the near-death situations once Voldemort was dead," Hermione said, freezing once she realized what she'd said. "I'm—"

"Please, do not apologize for ridding the world of a Dark Lord," Amalthea said, cutting her off. "He may have been my father, but I never met him, and he's done terrible things. There is no pain of loss there," she reassured Granger.

"As you say," Granger said with relief, though a small frown played over her features.

It was likely she was trying to reconcile how she felt about her own father, and not being able to fathom being relieved he was dead. Severus's lip curled at the thought of his own father. No, this was something Granger would certainly never understand.

They all sipped on their tea some more before Granger inevitably opened her mouth again. He'd watched the myriad of questions build behind her eyes as the seconds ticked by, until the dam broke and they poured from her in a tidal wave.

"How and why are you here at the hospital? What do you want?"

Before Granger could continue her rapid-fire questioning, which she likely would have given that she'd opened her mouth once more, Amalthea held up a hand. "I read about Mr. Potter's condition in the paper and recognized some of the symptoms. Dolohov had researched this particular blood curse not long after being broken out of Azkaban. I thought he must have done so on the Dark Lord's orders, and, following that line of thinking, that the Dark Lord was the one to cast the curse.

"As for why I'm here, that's twofold. One, given the appalling reputation of both my parents, this is the absolute least I can do to help someone who put their life on the line to take down the Dark Lord. Two, it wouldn't hurt to potentially have the savior of the wizarding world on my side so people don't immediately try to throw me in Azkaban, or murder me outright."

Severus lightly cleared his throat, and the two turned to him. "That was precisely why I brought you here, Ms. Granger. Your question as to how I managed to save Mr. Potter has been answered, but we'll need your help in making sure Ms. Riddle-Black is not received too poorly by the general masses."

Granger was silent at his words, but he could see her mind working furiously through all the implications of people finding out Voldemort and Bellatrix had a child.

"This…complicates a great many matters," Granger said, her voice weak.

Severus let out an inelegant snort. "What an over-simplification. If you do not believe Mr. Potter will help, we will need to come up with an alternate plan quickly. Especially with Skeeter roaming around."

Granger nodded, chewing on her lip and looking Amalthea up and down, before something flashed in her eyes. "Wait, your name comes up as Riddle-Black, not Lestrange?" she questioned.

Amalthea nodded. "Given that some wizarding couples take blood oaths with their marriages, Bellatrix's indiscretions with the Dark Lord meant I would not receive the name Lestrange on any magical documents."

The corner of Granger's mouth curled as she turned to Severus, whose mind had followed along with hers.

"That might make all the difference," Severus conceded.

"What will?" Amalthea asked, frowning.

Granger drew in a breath and locked eyes with Amalthea. "How would you like to meet the Boy Who Lived?"

XxXxX

Harry James Potter had experienced many different types and levels of pain in his relatively short lifetime. He wasn't sure anything could ever compete with the pain he associated with Voldemort's presence, but this curse was giving those sentiments a run for their money.

He didn't know if it was the curse or the cure burning its way through his body like fire eating his bones, only to feel as though he'd been plunged into an iciness so cold, he might shatter from someone's stray glance. Even the seizures weren't a reprieve, and he remained conscious through it all.

The only thing that got him through the ordeal was the knowledge that with each second that ticked by, he was one second closer to the end of this torment, and a permanent victory over Tom.

There had been little respite for any of them once the war was over. Between the rebuilding, healing, trials, and hunting dark wizards, there had been no time to rest for any of them. Let alone Harry, who seemed to be some kind of de facto figurehead for the whole ordeal. Again.

If he hadn't been wildly thrashing in pain, he might have sighed. He knew it was his duty to use his fame and presence to help make things better, and of course everyone expected him to jump right into Auror training. In fact, the morning he'd finally succumbed to the curse he'd been talking to Kingsley about potentially joining the next cycle of recruits.

Now, though? So many things were thrown into question. Did he really want to dodge dark curses for the rest of his life, and end up like Moody? Admirable as the man was, between Moody's bleak future and violent end, combined with what Harry was going through now, he wasn't so sure he wanted to anymore. But, what else was there?

As his thoughts roiled with almost as much turmoil as his body, he almost missed the turning point in the pain. When, from one moment to the next, the pain was just a hair less than it had been. Ever so gradually, the torment waned, until he could finally draw a breath without wanting to scream it back out.

This time he did sigh, as did the healers surrounding the bed.

"That'll be the worst of it. Once all his stats even out, we need to get some nutrient potions in him, and get him to rest."

"I'd rather just eat," Harry croaked out, but didn't open his eyes.

The hand on his wrist, likely checking his heartrate, jerked in surprise.

"I'm sure you would, Mr. Potter," said a matter-of-fact female voice on the other side from the jumpy hand. "However, on the off-chance your stomach can't handle solid foods and you vomit, I'd hate for you to potentially choke to death on it after surviving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on multiple occasions," she finished primly.

"Point taken," he rasped out, and finally cracked open an eye.

A matronly witch, not unlike Madam Pompfrey though slimmer in build, stood over him. Her face was set in a no-nonsense expression with pursed lips and a light frown.

"I'm Healer Fiddlewood, Mr. Potter," she said, introducing herself. "Can you tell me your pain level, from one to ten?" she asked, and took his wrist in her hand.

He pondered the question for a moment. When he moved his various limbs, they didn't scream with pain, but they were sorer than his muscles after a grueling Quidditch practice.

"I'd say between a four and five," he hedged. It was such a stark relief in comparison to his earlier pain, it was closer to a two, but he was trying to consider a normal, non-curse scale.

She nodded once, curt, and motioned to another of the healers.

"Send a message to Master Snape. I want him up here to make sure none of these potions will interact poorly with the cure. And inform Mr. Potter's visitors that he's through the worst of it. However, I want him to drink his potions and rest before they come in," she said, the last sentence brooking no argument.

Harry's eyebrows rose at Snape's name. His muddled brain vaguely recalled the man giving him the potion earlier, and he groaned. He hadn't spoken to Snape since the Shrieking Shack, and he had to wonder what force had managed to get the man here.

Hermione, probably, his mind supplied, and he almost laughed. There were bits and pieces where he recalled sensing her presence, and that of others' in the room. It wouldn't shock him to find that she'd been the one to get him here. He doubted anyone else would have willingly brought in the caustic Potions Master.

The healers bustled around the room, doing one thing or another while they waited for Snape. Harry, sensing that he would need to be awake for a short time, and see what was happening, donned his glasses after inquiring about them to Fiddlewood. She took them from a nearby table and handed them over, but it wasn't long before he dozed off. Just after he'd started drifting into deeper sleep, despite his efforts to remain awake, he was jerked from his rest by the sneering drawl of one of his least favorite teachers and Ron's raised voice.

"Why does she get to go in, but we can't?" Ron demanded.

"Because unlike you, Mr. Weasley, she has researched this curse as extensively as I have at this point, and we're both going to make sure your best friend doesn't die from a poor interaction after surviving the Dark Lord—again," Snape replied, his scathing tone for both Harry's survival and Ron's presence was not lost on all those present.

"Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley's voice cut in. "What did I tell you about behaving? Your father and I taught you better than this!"

Healer Fiddlewood's scowl darkened more and more as the conversation went on, but just as she moved to, presumably, put them all in their place, Snape came into view trailed by Hermione. He flicked his wand toward the door, and everything went silent. Fiddlewood's shoulders relaxed, but her scowl remained.

"Honestly. This is a hospital, for Merlin's sake."

Before Snape could cut in with his opinion, Harry spoke up; "He's probably just worried and tired, like everyone else. He'll be fine once everything's back to normal."

Snape snorted, indicating what he thought of that sentiment. Hermione came around the Potion's Master, and examined the list of ingredients for each of the potions, mouthing the words as she read them.

"Nothing immediately jumps out at me, sir, but you'd know better than me," she said, and handed over the list.

Just before Snape took the papers, as he was putting away his wand, there was a small twitch of his wrist, and the noise in the hallway burst into the room once more.

"I've had enough of this," Fiddlewood growled, and rounded the bed to head to the hallway.

Harry, having done his fair share of sneaking around, saw the situation for what it was, and narrowed his eyes at the pair.

"What's going on?" he asked, trying to sit up.

Hermione stepped forward, and he managed with her help. She was biting her lip, a clear sign of nerves, before Snape sighed in exasperation.

"There are details about the potion we administered that you need to be privy to, and as soon as possible. I'm going to dilute the sleeping potion's effect, that way we'll have some time before the Healers will expect you awake," he said.

Harry frowned as he looked from Snape to Hermione. "Is it something bad?"

She grimaced. "Not bad, per say, but potentially not good, and we'll probably need your help with it. We just wanted to give you a heads up. The potion should wear off around 2 a.m.. We'll be back then to talk," she said, her voice going low as footsteps approached them once again.

"I've sent them to the fifth floor for the time being," Fiddlewood said, though as she looked between the three of them, they knew she wasn't completely fooled by the ruse. "I trust everything's in order?" she asked, leveling a hard look at Snape.

Snape, of course, did not appear perturbed by the irritated healer one bit. To be fair, Healer Fiddlewood was no Voldemort. "Nothing on this list will serve to test the boy's luck further. I'll remain for twenty-four hours, just to be on the safe side. If you need me, I'll be in my lab," he said, turning on his heel.

When he was gone, Healer Fiddlewood turned to Hermione with the same penetrating gaze. "Do you agree with his assessment?"

Hermione nodded, a little too vigorously.

Whatever else Fiddlewood believed, she must have known Hermione wouldn't harm Harry, because the healer's shoulders relaxed. "These should keep you out until five a.m.. We'll be checking on you every three hours, just in case," she said, a slight warning in her tone.

Hermione gave the older woman a weak smile and nodded her thanks.

"Down the hatch, Mr. Potter," Healer Fiddlewood instructed.

Harry took the potions, but before he could wonder about what Snape and Hermione were going to tell him, his brain went fuzzy and he drifted off into his first blissful sleep in well over a month.

XxXxX

Hermione didn't follow Snape back to the lab. As per their agreement, she'd remain with the Weasleys, to explain, and make sure they were clear of the room when Harry woke up. She wasn't comfortable deceiving them, but there wasn't anything for it.

Keeping in mind the fact that Rita Skeeter was lurking about somewhere, Hermione made her way to the fifth floor. When she entered, it wasn't difficult to find the Weasleys. They were around the table, with Mrs. Weasley fussing, making tea, and ensuring everyone had enough to eat. It was Ginny who spotted Hermione first and waved her over.

She sat down at the table, rubbing shoulders with Ginny and Fred as Mrs. Weasley poured her a cup of tea. Everyone except Arthur and Fleur were present. Arthur, because work at the ministry was hectic on a good day, and Fleur, because she was helping to keep the Burrow clean, and prepare it for George coming home. He'd been injured badly saving Fred in the Battle, and had been stuck in the hospital since. Mrs. Weasley had been torn between being at home to take care of things, trusting her daughter-in-law with such tasks, and being at the hospital for George and subsequently Harry.

They gave Hermione just enough time to have a few sips of her tea before the questions started.

"Will he be okay?"

"Did you really help Snape?"

"When can we see him?"

Those and more all came at her in a rush, but as the weariness of not sleeping for more than a few hours over the week caught up with her, Mrs. Weasley shushed them.

"Hermione, dear, why don't you get some rest?"

She knew she was supposed to be keeping an eye on the Weasleys, but she was so tired.

Hermione nodded, and was led off by the older witch to a line of cots along the far wall. There had been so many long-term visitors since the battle, the hospital had resorted to pulling out the temporary bedding for those visiting the patients.

Mrs. Weasley put a blanket over her, but before she drifted off, she said; "Mrs. Weasley?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Rita's around, so be careful," Hermione mumbled. As she closed her eyes, she saw the flash of anger spark in Mrs. Weasley's eyes.

"Don't worry about that vile woman one bit. Just get some rest. You did so well, Hermione. Thank you, for saving him," the woman whispered, and ran a comforting hand over Hermione's unruly hair.

It was such a motherly gesture, that it made her think of her mother, and then her father, neither of whom she'd been able to reverse the spell on. Tears bit at her eyes, but she didn't answer Mrs. Weasley's thanks, because she'd already fallen asleep.

XxXxX

Little did anyone know, though, that Skeeter had found friendlier walls to perch on. Specifically, the healer's station. What she heard deepened the mystery surrounding the little chit cloistered in the lab with Snape. As much as she wanted to stay and gather more intel, she had to scurry off before the evening edition of the Prophet went out.

She could barely contain her excitement at the prospect of everyone's reactions, as she buzzed away to exit St. Mungo's.

XxXxX

Severus was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to go home to his bed, but he had to stay here. The thought soured in his mind, but he was too tired to scowl.

"Master Snape?" Amalthea's voice cut through the weariness.

He opened his eyes to her standing not far from the chair he sat in. "Yes?"

"I had Grisky bring in a cot for you. They aren't terribly comfortable, but I imagine it's better than the chair."

This time he did scowl. "What did I say about the coddling? Your concern is neither appreciated, nor wanted."

She just raised an eyebrow, not backing down as he had hoped. "If you need me to leave so you can sleep, I'll do that."

Besides being tired, his throat and scars were sore. Combining those with her lack of reaction to his mood and her coddling, Severus was beyond annoyed.

"Leave where?" he asked, his voice going low and scathing. "You are a walking political and social disaster born of two of the worst people the wizarding world has likely produced in centuries, and you've placed yourself firmly on my doorstep. Despite having saved the Boy Wonder, the chances of there not being significant backlash at your mere existence is slim to none. Frankly, if it weren't for the fact that I'd have to deal with the neverending weeping and lamenting that would occur because of Potter's death, it would have been better if you had never crawled out of whatever hole Dolohov kept you in."

He knew he was being unreasonable and cruel, but it was his natural inclination to push away anyone trying to be helpful or friendly. He'd like to blame it on all his spying, but if he were being honest with himself, he'd been like this almost all his life. Nothing good came of people getting close to him. Lily could attest to that.

Amalthea's face went carefully blank, her eyes cool and impersonal, and she took a step back. But for some reason it was her folding her hands demurely in front of her that caused him to wince on the inside.

"I apologize if I've inconvenienced you with my 'mere existence'. I'd return to the hole I crawled out of, but as I was never meant to leave Dolohov's residence without an escort, I am not able to go back because of the wards.

"I also know it was probably a foolish hope to be able to remain in Britain instead of going somewhere else, as well as assuming a new identity magically, but I had planned on doing what I could to help rebuild what my parents destroyed. There is a debt under the names of both my families, and I had hoped to pay it back through my actions, even before the blood curse," she explained, smoothing the front of her dress.

With each sentence, Severus wanted to sink lower and lower into his chair, but he refrained out of pure stubbornness. However, if there was one thing Severus could understand, it was trying to repay a debt that was functionally eternal.

"I didn't know," he said, somewhat defensive, but offering nothing more in the way of an apology.

"We haven't had time to discuss anything extensively, and I didn't feel the need to tell you all of it. Just as you don't need my concern, I don't need your pity," she responded.

The darkness she'd displayed with Skeeter was back, pooling in her words, making them heavy and dangerous. Anger issues, indeed. Though, to be fair, Severus wasn't one to throw stones at people and their poor behaviors. He had instigated it.

Severus, while cautious given her heritage and upbringing, was not one to be intimidated by someone twenty years his junior. Especially since those twenty years were fraught with interactions with dark wizards and witches.

Before he could say anything else, Grisky popped into the room.

"Grisky was told to deliver this to Master Snape!" the creature squeaked, handing over a copy of the Daily Prophet to Severus. With the paper delivered, the creature popped back out.

Severus unrolled the paper with a trepidation that had been building since he'd heard Skeeter's voice. Not to mention, hand-delivered papers were never good.

Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lives…Again!

Following the admittance of Harry Potter to St. Mungo's after his collapse in the Wizengamot, concerned citizens were left in the dark as to what happened to their savior. Apparently, Voldemort managed one more curse, intended to end our young hero's life. Though it's not clear what curse it was, exactly, staff at St. Mungo's were sure it was a blood curse.

"Nasty business it was. Eating him from the inside out."

Not one to take defeat lightly, however, the Potions Master and notorious spy, Severus Snape, was called in to help.

"At first, it sounded as though there was no hope, but out of the blue he comes up with a cure. It was a miracle!"

Miracle, perhaps, or something more?

Blood curses are notoriously nasty and tricky things, and even the esteemed Potion's Master has his limits. However, the enigma deepens with a mysterious woman holed up in Master Snape's lab. One must wonder: who is this woman? What role could she have played in this 'miracle' cure? Or has Master Snape finally grown tired of the Boy Who Lived hogging all the glory and accolades, and manufactured circumstances to show him in a better light? Is she the one who perpetrated the blood curse?

And, as much as it pains me to tell you this, it is my duty to point out it was our highly intelligent Ms. Granger who called Master Snape in. Has she finally grown tired of living in the shadow of famous wizards, and wishes to shine on her own?

One thing you can take to the bank, dear readers, is Rita Skeeter has a nose for when people are hiding the truth, and this whole situation has a stench even a scourgify won't help!

Just when we thought we'd found some semblance of peace, here come more plots and secrets falling at our doorstep. How much more can we take?

Handwritten at the bottom of the paper, in Rita's looping scrawl:

Ready to talk?