Hermione felt the bottom of her stomach drop out from beneath her. This can't be happening, she thought.
For a second, her Potions professor lost that careful composure that always surrounded him. In a manner almost indicative of feminine embarrassment, he wiped his mouth gently on the back of his hand and stood up shakily, his feet stumbling a fraction of an inch as he distanced himself from Draco as fast as possible.
It was only temporary.
Snape took only a moment to recover, and the silent, imperious mask fell before him once again as he clasped his hands in front of him. "Miss Granger."
Hermione didn't move.
"Miss Granger," the Potions master growled. "Come out from under there at once!"
Cringing more than she had thought was humanly possible, Hermione slowly emerged from underneath Snape's desk, refusing to meet either his or Draco's countenance. He was undoubtedly throwing her a scornful expression at that very moment.
The silence stretched out before them, endless and tangibly thick with tension. Hermione's throat felt dry. How am I supposed to explain this?
"What are you waiting for, Granger?" Malfoy sneered, leaning against the mahogany finish of a nearby cabinet, daring her to screw up, and screw up royally.
"After all," he added, inspecting his fingernails with meticulous care as he stared her down with those cool, impassive eyes, "--the truth will set you free."
He's mocking me. The thought clung to her as she watched the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly in a smug smile. Draco knew full well that Snape could recommend her expulsion on the simple grounds of her being in his private office.
But she had spied on him doing something...highly unprofessional, and the punishment, no matter what her excuse, was bound to be far worse.
Draco Malfoy.
Draco just stood there, knowing full well she would never willingly get herself into this kind of situation, refusing to stick a finger out in her defense. He knew full well what was going to happen to her, and he probably looked forward to having the highest marks in potions. He reveled in every mistake he made, and no doubt he would enjoy boasting to his friends about how Hermione had broken into Snape's private quarters to conduct surreptitious "Mudblood business." Snape was his Head of House, and he would rather die a thousand deaths than implicate Slytherin and lose the House Cup.
Snape had his reasons for being cruel, idiotic as they were; he could lose his job. Draco, on the other hand, positively enjoyed being sadistic. Furthermore, he could taunt her, and she couldn't say or do a damned thing about it. The bloody bastard.
It was infuriating. And he knew it.
Hermione figured she had better say something, and say it fast, because with the way the Potions master was drumming his spidery fingers against the wooden countertop in front of them, he wasn't going to give her a chance to speak at all if she didn't take this one immediately.
Hermione straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and calmly began to speak.
"Albus," the pale figure whispered to the Headmaster, "I have to leave now." She scanned the crowd of students devouring the Spring Feast. Snape had left ages ago, and several of the seventh years were on their way.
"Very well," Dumbledore nodded, smiling wearily. "I'm afraid all these holiday festivities wear me out more quickly than they used to. Good evening then, my dear."
"Good night, Headmaster."
As the dark figure swept up her trailing robes and disappeared through the main archway, Dumbledore's gaze followed her out. He had learned not to rouse suspicions as well as any other operative. Let them play their games. We have many plans to complete as it is without tearing masks off.
The woman brushed up her hair in the mirror of her wardrobe. A little bottle of elixir stood on a stand several meters away, the moonlight that crept between her curtains barely enough to reveal the chartreuse liquid swirling behind the glass. She sighed to herself.
Wrapping her cloak around her, the professor reached over to unstopper the cork in the vial. The things one must do for loyalty.
She hesitated only for a moment before lifting the drink to her lips.
The courtyard was deserted as she had expected. Apparition was out of the question, so after crossing the lake, the woman made her way slowly down the path towards the gates of Hogwarts. A figure stood in shadow by the iron gates, silent and watchful. She exhaled.
He was waiting for her.
A few whispered words, and the bars swung open unfettered by creaky hinges. The man grinned, white teeth gleaming in the darkness as he reached to clasp and kiss her proffered hand. "Enchanting. As always."
The lady smiled a little, her eyes betraying some sort of mysterious amusement.
"Hello, Lucius."
He took her arm.
"—So you see, Professor," Hermione finished nervously, "I had no intention of hiding at all. I was simply here to inquire if I could start my chore—chores early. Then I heard noises that sounded..." she trailed off, glaring at Malfoy.
"...Indecorous," she finished tartly.
Snape turned away from both of them, his posture unreadable. "And you thought it unwise to remain in sight, choosing instead to grant said persons the illusions of privacy until it proved safe to exit my chambers."
"That's correct, sir. I had no idea—" Hermione blushed. "I thought it was some students who assumed they'd found an empty room."
"I see."
She was finding herself more nervous with each passing second. "Please, Professor, just assign me a punishment, or report me to McGonagall—"
"Silence." Snape waved his hand, dismissing her words as ridiculous. "You will not be referred to your Head of House until such a time as I deem it appropriate to do so."
Draco looked crestfallen. He had his mouth halfway open in protest when Severus shot him a look that froze him in mid-consonant.
"The cauldrons do desperately need a good scrubbing," the Potions master remarked thoughtfully.
Hermione sighed in relief. She turned to leave for the classroom.
The voice behind her stopped her in her tracks. "Miss Granger, did I say you could leave?"
Hermione spun around, bewildered. "But you just said..." she trailed off.
Snape rewarded her with a look that one might give a spoiled child when it has written on the wall in ink and still expects ice cream after dinner. "I merely stated a fact," he snapped. "In the future, Miss Granger..." the Professor paused, his mood change so swift it was almost imperceptible. An unpleasantly cold smile spread across his features. "...Hermione," he finished softly, "You will learn to wait until you have clear orders from your superiors before acting further.
"It seemed like an obvious conclusion to me," Hermione retorted. "Anyone else would have assumed the same thing."
"You know, Mudblood, to assume is to make an ass of 'you' and 'me.'"
"For the love of Merlin, Malfoy, shut the fuck up."
"Yes, sir."
"Now," Snape continued, glaring at Malfoy but otherwise completely oblivious to Hermione's shock at hearing a teacher swear, "we have an interesting question of ethics in play. On the one hand, you have broken several school rules, at least one of them being sufficient grounds for expulsion..."
"Besides being in the wrong room at the wrong time, what have I done?" Hermione protested. No use turning back now. At least if I speak up, I'll have saved what's left of my dignity.
"Attempted theft, for one thing," Draco replied, lifting his wand into the air. "Manus russus!" Instantly, fingerprints on Snape's desk that Hermione could only assume to be her own flashed bright red, spreading to cover several objects in their immediate surroundings, including some potions stores left on another table and a strange, rare-looking specimen in a jar on the iron grate window sill. The fingerprints glowed for a moment, then disappeared.
Draco sashayed over to the jar, peering at its contents. "Tsk, tsk, Granger," he chided solemnly. "Caught red-handed stealing Snape's potion ingredients. Even stooping so low as to try and swipe a genuine dollfusi. Shame on you."
"What?" Hermione gritted her teeth, trying hard not to lunge and strangle him.
"The octopus dollfusi, or Dolifus's Octopus, is native to the coastal waters off of Thailand. I bought it on the black market, as wizards have failed to recognize the value of Eastern seafood and normally don't sell it. Baby octopodes," he enunciated mockingly, "or octopuses, as the common tongue is apt to corrupt the word, are an imported delicacy. They also happen to have potent medicinal values in some potions I make."
"Ah." The possibility of anyone accusing her of stealing a dead octopus fetus was beyond her, but Hermione kept her comments nonverbal.
"On the other hand," Severus continued as he paced the length of the room with a steady meter, "if I expel you—and believe me, the thought has crossed my mind—then there would be no reason for you to keep what you saw a secret. The revelation of this," he spat, gesturing with his arms as if he dared not describe the acts that had taken place only moments before, "would ruin my career and earn me the wrath of Draco's ever-so-charming parents." He snorted in distaste, but Draco didn't appear to mind Snape's derisive tone in the slightest.
"I will agree to never utter a word of this to another living soul, provided that you don't ruin my career with a few well-chosen words," Hermione replied. "After all, I am about to graduate."
Draco whispered something to the Potions master. Severus nodded curtly after a short pause. With his trademark smirk, Malfoy disappeared into the storeroom.
"You see, Hermione," Snape explained, "Even with your assurance and good intentions, one must never underestimate the power of persuasion. Secrets eat away at you until you burn to unearth them. That is their power, and that is their hold over us both." Hermione barely noticed when Draco swept into the room, his arms full of ingredients that he set down in the classroom next door. She was focused on Snape.
Acutely aware of how he was backing her up slowly into the classroom, Hermione tried not to panic. "I think you're taking for granted that I would ever want to tell anyone about what I saw." She made a face that clearly indicated exactly what she thought of Snape shagging the younger Malfoy.
"I can't very well cast Obliviate now, can I?" Severus asked sharply. "Tell me, Miss Granger. Why not? Dazzle us, will you?" He arched an eyebrow at her, questioning whether she had been paying attention in class that spring.
He's got a point. "Because the spell often erases far more than the desired memories, and when coupled with anxiety, anger or fear on the part of the spell's caster, can cause extreme cases of extensive, if not permanent, memory loss. Take Gilderoy Lockhart, for example."
"And what a damned bloody mess that was," Snape muttered.
"I see your point. Go on." Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to know the alternatives, but anything was better than losing her memories: her research, her talents, her schoolwork--everything she had struggled so hard to achieve without the advantages of a wizarding family or an inheritance. Everything. There has to be another way, and he's going to find it, or by all that is holy, I'll make him sorry he ever imagined what the insides of Malfoy's robes looked like.
"It shouldn't surprise you that I do not wish to engage in mutual blackmail," the Potions Master informed her, a scornful look on his visage. "While you can afford to be lackadaisical and throw away your future to best a teacher, it would bring me no joy to have to expel you once you had revealed what you knew. Therefore, I must ensure that you will not break your silence, and the only way to do this is to invoke a form of the Fidelius charm."
It sounded reasonable. "Okay," Hermione answered warily. "What do I have to—"
"Not so fast," Snape interjected coolly. "In order to make such an incantation work and last under stress for an indefinite amount of time, it must be far more potent than the average charm. You are not a parent of a Hogwarts student who Dumbledore sets to forget a child's school is magical, called upon only at rare intervals to test the bounds between loyalty and truth."
Severus kept talking to her as he assisted Draco in whatever foul concoction Draco was brewing, and Hermione realized they had wandered fully into the classroom during the conversation. The door to the hallway was now ajar. Either Draco was incredibly careless, or the May Day feast really was as popular this year as Ron had claimed it would be. Maybe they had checked for eavesdroppers.
"This incantation requires a potion, as well as your average elaborate, complicated spell. I had one of my finest students start on it as soon as the situation was evident." Snape drew out the words, the silent jab at Hermione's abilities not lost on her. Draco continued to measure out and add several sinister ingredients--organic components of questionable origin.
"These items are expensive, and I am not pleased about having to use them." The Potions master folded his arms, his cloak billowing silently behind him as he glided across the stone floor to stand directly in front of the seventh term Gryffindor. "In return for performing this service—"
"Service?" Hermione spat incredulously. "Last time I checked, I wasn't the one engaging relations with someone fifteen years my junior!"
He ignored her. "In return for not Obliviating you, you must provide..." Snape paused, thinking of the appropriate terms, "...ample compensation."
Hermione rolled her eyes, thinking that Laclos' Valmont had nothing on Snape. "I'm listening."
"All I ask," he entreated her, turning up his palms in supplication, "is a small amount of your blood." Severus smirked, reminding Hermione that there was something about this particular man that was not entirely human.
Hermione shuddered. She didn't want to know, much less wonder about what he would possibly use an ingredient like that for in his work. Blood was an extremely powerful wizard's tool; its magical properties endless in number and not yet discovered in their entirety. Unbidden thoughts of Snape as a Death Eater suddenly were a lot more plausible, although she was almost certain that he was a double agent. Still...
"That's it? I let you drain my veins for a few seconds, and you're going to be satisfied? No voodoo curses, or counterspells or hexes on my genetic family tree? Just...blood?"
"If it makes you feel any better, I need a drop for the final part of the Fidelius charm anyway," Snape replied casually. He fixed his gaze on her face, his expression masked with years of practice. "It's either that," he intoned softly with an icy stare, "—or Obliviate."
How much are my memories worth? She asked herself. And am I willing to give Snape what he craves just to save my past?
"I'm a very busy man, Miss Granger," Severus snapped. "I haven't got all night. Make your choice.You will be bound to it."
Hermione tried to read his face, hesitating. All she saw were black, fathomless irises, drowning his pupils in silence—as emotionless as the rest of him. She took a tentative step forward, over the border and into his realm, a world shrouded in night, and Hermione trembled only slightly before taking his hand in her own and shaking it.
She didn't see the sadistic grin that had spread from ear to ear on Draco's face.
Or the black triumph that glittered in her teacher's eyes.
Inside, Severus Snape was laughing. Too late.
Author's Notes:
The phrase manus russus is Latin genitive singular, meaning "of the red hand."
Please keep arms and legs inside the flying car at all times, and enjoy the ride.
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