The Quality of Mercy

Well, I gave up on National Novel Writing Month early on this year. My heart just wasn't in it, what with starting a new job and all, so I decided to do the smart thing and get back to Snape and Hermione. See? You didn't have to wait until December after all....

Eleven: Suspicions

Hermione sent a shocked glance in Severus' direction before she recovered herself and forced her features into an expression she hoped resembled polite interest. "Erm...invisible monster?"

"Sounds crazy, I know." Mr. Morris gave a self-deprecating shrug. "But I know what I seen - or what I didn't see, that is."

Invisibility charms were easy enough to cast, of course, but even if the Malfoys had been traipsing around the Wiltshire countryside and accosting farmers while undetectable to the naked eye, such a charm wouldn't have changed their physical dimensions. Hermione pulled out a ballpoint pen she had borrowed from her mother during one of her visits home and had forgotten to return, then flipped open her notebook. "So what makes you think it was a monster?"

"'Cause the last time I checked, most people aren't nine or ten feet tall," Morris replied laconically. He glanced over at his sister, but she hadn't moved an inch that Hermione could tell. The older woman's gaze was fixed out somewhere in the muddy yard - or perhaps someplace far beyond it.

Severus asked, "And how is it you were able to ascertain the height of your assailant, if he - or she - was invisible?"

"No normal-sized person could have thrown us around like that, that's how." After delivering this statement, Mr. Morris's bushy gray-flecked eyebrows drew down in a scowl that rivaled one of Severus' in depth.

"Perhaps you might start at the beginning, Mr. Morris," said Hermione, feeling a little desperate. Something had happened to him and his sister, but what? What could have reduced her to such blank-eyed catatonia?

An answer swam up in Hermione's mind, one so dreadful she didn't want to contemplate that it might be true. It wasn't possible, though - the Ministry had been working diligently ever since Voldemort's defeat to contain the dementors. Indeed, she couldn't recall the last time she had even heard or read of a situation where anyone had encountered one of the erstwhile guards of Azkaban. Feeling rather sick, she listened as Mr. Morris began to recount his and his sister's encounter with their unseen foe.

"Was about three weeks ago, more or less," he said, shifting his weight. He had the look of someone whose knees or feet pained him, but Hermione got the distinct impression he wouldn't sit in their presence, as that might require him to offer them a seat as well. "Clara and me had gone off to check the fences on the back fields - neighbor's cows kept getting in." He glared at Snape and Hermione then, almost as if he thought they were somehow involved in the depredations of his neighbor's livestock. "Anyhow, we thought we heard something in this copse back there. Clara wanted to head for home, but if someone was trespassing I wanted to know about it. About that time something came out of the trees - I couldn't see anything, but I heard Clara scream, and I saw her go flying back as if someone had picked her up and thrown her. And when I went to help her, something reached down and grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me back. Guess that's when my shoulder got dislocated. Didn't even notice at first, since it all happened so fast."

"But you distinctly remember it reaching down toward you?" Hermione asked. Mr. Morris was a tall, lanky man, probably several inches past six feet, and if something were reaching down for him, then it seemed the invisible attacker had to be a good deal taller than that.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" The farmer shrugged, then winced ever so slightly, as if the movement had pained him. Probably it had, if he'd suffered a dislocated shoulder less than a month previous.

"Was there anything else?" she inquired. It probably wasn't a good idea to be asking leading questions, but she didn't know what else to do. "Any sensation of cold?"

"Course it was cold, it was the middle of bloody December," Mr. Morris responded, giving her a scornful look.

"Colder than that," Hermione went on doggedly. She risked a quick glance at Severus, but he appeared abstracted, his attention for some reason fixed on Clara Morris, who had sat like a lump all this time. "Beyond freezing...and did you feel anything?"

"I felt myself getting thrown against a tree stump, that's what I felt," said Mr. Morris at once. His expression seemed to indicate that he thought she was the one who was crazy, not he.

And if he thinks that now, if I start asking him whether he was overcome by feelings of darkness and depression, he'll pick up the phone and call the local loony bin, Hermione reflected. Whatever it was, it doesn't seem to have affected him the way a dementor usually does. But perhaps it was too busy administering the Kiss to his sister....

Her thoughts broke off as the immobile form of Clara Morris twitched, sat bolt upright, and she suddenly yelped, "Get out!"

Her brother spun around, then asked in unbelieving tones, "Clara?"

The woman's eyes were wide and glaring, fixed for some reason on Severus, who looked surprised and concerned, as any normal man in such a situation might. Since his reaction was so typical, Hermione guessed it had to be a complete sham.

Not sure what she should do, Hermione watched, rooted in place, as Mr. Morris crossed over to his sister and knelt on the dirty wood floor next to her. "You're talking!"

"Course I am," she said in irritated tones. "Why wouldn't I be?"

For a second Mr. Morris just stared at her, his lantern jaw wagging in shock. "You haven't said anything for the past three weeks!"

"I haven't?" she asked, looking a bit surprised. "I don't remember."

"You remember nothing?" interposed Severus, taking a step toward her.

Her pale blue eyes widened. "It was you!" she exclaimed, and shrank back against the worn upholstery of her chair.

He managed to look wounded and mystified at the same time. "I beg your pardon?"

"In my mind. It was you - it was -- " Clara Morris's words broke off as she reached out and grasped her brother by the arm. "Get them out of here, Albert! Get them out!"

Immediately Morris rose to his feet and advanced on Severus, who hesitated, as if he meant to stand his ground. Hermione saw his fingers brush against the pocket of his overcoat, which no doubt contained his wand. But then he backed away and said, "I believe your sister may be somewhat disoriented -- "

"I'll 'disorient' you!" Mr. Morris barked. "Get out of my bloody house, you and that silly girl!" He thrust an accusing finger at Hermione, and she felt herself jump slightly, even though he hadn't actually touched her. "Get out now before I fetch my shotgun. Nobody much minds about shooting trespassers in these parts!"

Although Hermione had no doubt that both she and Severus could handily deal with Mr. Morris, shotgun or no, now seemed a good time to leave. "Of course, Mr. Morris," she said, trying to maintain a dignified tone, even though her instincts were telling her to get the hell out of there now. "I'm very sorry if our presence somehow upset your sister -- "

She broke off as Mr. Morris made a noise that might have been a derisive laugh. At the same time, Severus murmured, "If you please, Ms. Grady," then took her by the arm and led her away, smooth as if they had just completed the sort of polite, measured interview Hermione had imagined when she first came up with the idea of speaking with the Muggle victims near Malfoy Manor.

Moving in a purposeful but non-hasty way - as if he thought perhaps Mr. Morris could smell fear on them, the way a wild dog might - Severus took Hermione down the hallway and out into the bracing fresh air. It felt wonderful after the close, musty smell of the Morris residence. Still walking briskly, he kept her arm in his grasp until they reached the relative safety of the main road. At last he released her, although Hermione thought she wouldn't have minded if he'd retained his hold on her arm.

"Well, that could have gone better," she remarked.

"To the contrary. I thought it went very well."

Hermione stared up into the unfamiliar, unremarkable features that masked Severus' own. "Are you mad?"

Apparently unruffled, he raised an eyebrow. In the day's gray light, his eyes looked almost the same ashy hue as the skies above them. "Not at all. The mere fact that Clara Morrison was aroused from her catatonia proves they were not attacked by a dementor, which is what I had first feared."

"So did I," Hermione admitted. "But if it wasn't a dementor, then what?"

"We had better keep going," Severus said, and began to walk in what she guessed was a northwesterly direction, this time not bothering to see if she followed.

Which of course Hermione did, as she tried not to frown in annoyance. While she couldn't question the wisdom of getting as far away from Primrose Farm as possible, she did wish Severus could be a little more civil. Then again, expecting anything more than the barest politeness from Severus Snape was probably asking too much.

After they had put a good hundred yards between themselves and the narrow lane that led to the Morris property, Severus finally replied, "As to what attacked them, at this time I don't have enough information to speculate. At first Clara Morris's catatonia indicated to me that she must have suffered the Kiss. When I went into her mind, however, I saw that she still had reasonably cogent mental processes, but for some reason had decided to divorce herself from contact with the outside world."

His words explained Miss Morris's outburst. "You were practicing Legilimency on her?"

The cool look Severus gave Hermione seemed to imply her mental processes had been less than quick on this particular matter. "Of course. It seemed the easiest way to determine how much damage had been done to her mind."

"I thought Muggles couldn't sense magic."

"So they can't." He frowned slightly, then gave the barest shrug. "Perhaps it was simply because her thoughts had been so inwardly focused. She had suffered a great shock -- or at least what she perceived to be a great shock."

"Well, I suppose having one's arm broken by an invisible monster could do that to a person," Hermione replied. "Muggles call it 'post-traumatic stress disorder.'"

"Typical that they would have a name for something like that," Severus said, not bothering to hide his sneer. "At any rate, now we can most likely rule out dementors as the culprits."

"Which brings us back to the Malfoys," Hermione concluded. "I don't suppose you can recall whether or not they kept any invisible monsters in their cellars?"

"As you were more recently in the sub-basement of Malfoy Manor, I would think you would have better intelligence on such a subject than I."

His words elicited a shiver, and Hermione did not deign to reply. That had been too close a call; she could not approach her sojourn in the grasp of the Malfoys with anything approaching Severus' casual unconcern.

Once again the road came to a fork, and he paused to survey the battered signage placed off to one side. "I believe we should take the right fork. That will bring us a little closer to the northern edge of the Malfoy property." He stared off into the distance, the breeze ruffling the edges of his fashionably razor-cut hair. "Let me see the list of names you have there."

Hermione reached inside her notebook and drew out the piece of parchment he'd requested. He took it from her, then inspected its contents. "I'd say the Hamiltons. Their address is on this road."

For some reason Hermione once again felt a flash of irritation, one which had no real basis in anything Severus had said or done. Perhaps it was merely that he had been so completely businesslike, so thoroughly matter-of-fact, the entire time they had been together. Yes, they had a mission to carry out and a goal to achieve, but did that mean he had to barely meet her eyes, or avoid touching her in any way save that which was entirely professional?

She had thought she would enjoy spending the day with him, but she found herself wishing suddenly that she had come out here on her own. True, the meeting with the Morrises could have been even more disastrous without Severus at her side. Or not, she thought, considering it was his meddling with Legilimency that set Clara Morris off in the first place. Whatever the case, Hermione wasn't sure how much longer she could stand to pretend they were merely colleagues, that they hadn't shared kisses which had practically seared the memory of every other kiss she'd ever had right out of her mind.

"Severus," she inquired in desperate tones, "how long is it until this batch of Polyjuice Potion wears off?"

He gave her a curious look. "Approximately five minutes. I had planned to renew the dose as we made our way over to the Hamilton residence."

"Well, don't," she said.

"I beg your pardon?"

Having to say these things to a stranger's countenance didn't make the situation any easier, but Hermione somehow found the nerve to reply, "Because you told me the other day that you wouldn't kiss me while you were wearing another man's face, and I'm not sure I can go the rest of the day without at least one to tide me over." Once the words were out of her mouth she felt a complete fool, but it was too late to take them back.

To her surprise, he did not sneer at her or offer a cutting remark. Instead, he regarded her with calm gray eyes for a moment, then said, "Is that it? I suppose five minutes won't make much of a difference one way or another." And he leaned up against the signpost and crossed his arms after giving a casual and wholly superfluous glance at the expensive watch strapped to his wrist.

Feeling yet another one of those world-upended sensations, Hermione could only stare back at him in uncomfortable silence. At length she said, "I'd thought you might laugh at me."

His expression did not change. "For what?" he asked. "Wanting the same thing I did?"

The doubts she had been experiencing, the nagging worry that Severus had simply lost control a few times and was now doing his best to pretend nothing had happened between them, disappeared as suddenly as the first stone upon which she'd cast an Invisibility Charm. Of course she wanted to kiss him...but more importantly, he wanted to kiss her back.

"Yes," Hermione said, and she could hear the joy bubbling up in her own voice, bright as sunlight on a clear stream. "Exactly that."

"Well, then," was his only reply, but at the same time his features began to shift, transmuted themselves into Severus Snape's oversized nose and piercing black eyes, his curtains of uneven black hair -- he must trim it himself, Hermione thought dazedly -- and thin, sensual mouth.

She would never recall which of them moved first. Not that it mattered. What mattered was the feel of his arms around her, the touch of his lips against hers, the taste of him, the feeling that while she was within his arms nothing else in the world could harm her. Never mind that they stood embracing like a pair of hormone-driven sixth years, clinging to one another in plain sight of whatever Muggle might drive along that public road. But no one came, and for the moment they had the wintry afternoon to themselves.

At last they broke apart, and with no further comment Severus reached into his breast pocket and drew out a small flask. He sipped at its contents, and once again Hermione saw the pleasant-faced Londoner of his disguise staring back at her. This time it didn't seem to matter so much. She knew it was still the man she loved underneath.

Loved? she thought, the idea hitting her with a jolt. It was one thing to play at an attraction, to allow herself to think this whole dalliance with Severus was merely some sort of odd physical attraction that would play itself out in time. But to love him? How could she allow herself to love another, when Ron had been in the grave for barely six months?

But she had never been one to fall into idle dalliances, looking for some idle snogging before moving on to the next willing companion. Even with Viktor she had felt a true connection, although her relationship with him had been partly grounded in a flattered astonishment that someone as celebrated as Viktor Krum would brush aside his adoring fans -- many of whom were prettier than she, to be brutally honest -- in order to pursue plain-faced, bushy-haired Hermione Granger. And she had loved Ron, with the fierce affection of a friend who knew his every quality and fault and cared for him all the more because of each one of them. They had seemed to be two halves to one whole, and she had honestly thought she could never be happy with someone else.

Just because you think you love Severus doesn't necessarily mean you can be happy with him, she reflected, while she trudged along through the slushy mud behind him. Almost as soon as he had swallowed the Polyjuice Potion, he had resumed their trek to the Hamilton farm.

Perhaps she couldn't be happy with him, but she also couldn't imagine not being around him. Surely there had to be some way to make this all work out, some way to bring him back to the wizarding world while reconciling her friends to the idea that she had somehow transferred her affections to their dour-faced erstwhile Potions master.

And after that I'll be voted Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, right before I'm awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, Hermione thought miserably. At the moment, she couldn't think how she would ever convince Harry that her relationship with Severus Snape was anything but an abomination. And if she couldn't convince him, what then? Would she be forced to choose between the man who had somehow managed to capture her heart and the friends she loved more than family?

It will never come to that, she told herself. I'll make sure it doesn't.

She just wished she could be more certain of that fact.

***

As it turned out, the Hamiltons had very little to offer. Yes, they had suffered injuries -- a sprained wrist and a concussion, to the husband and wife, respectively -- but they had never seen their attacker. Since it had been coming on dusk when the encounter occurred, their only impression had been of someone of above-average height and weight, someone who found it easy to toss them aside like rag dolls.

"Didn't take anything, either," Mrs. Hamilton offered. "I'd been selling my knitting at a craft fair that morning, and I had more than a hundred pounds in my purse, but it was all still there. Very odd."

Yes, very odd indeed, Hermione was forced to agree. That comment was echoed by the three other victims they interviewed, all of whose stories offered corroborating evidence that someone or something of unusual size and strength had attacked them -- and all of them couldn't manage to offer any more evidence than that.

Feeling more than a little discouraged, she had returned to London with Severus, who had just taken a swig of the Polyjuice Potion mere moments before their last interview and who seemed surprisingly amenable to spending some time with her there before returning to Yorkshire.

"Of course, there is always the chance we may encounter someone who knows this man," Severus told her, with an off-hand gesture toward his face, "but in a city of around seven million, the odds are rather against it."

Which they were, of course. They ate their supper in a little out-of-the-way restaurant in the East End, a place the polished solicitor was unlikely to have visited but one which Hermione had discovered while attending the university and had recommended once to George, who had developed quite a taste for slumming in Muggle venues, much to his mother's dismay. What Severus thought of the place Hermione couldn't be certain, but he had tucked into his mushroom-topped steak with a healthy appetite, and at least didn't sneer at the Bordeaux she had chosen.

All in all, it had been a rather successful evening, although she wished the interviews that had preceded it had borne a little more useful fruit. After dinner Severus had bidden her a formal good night and left without a kiss -- his dose of the Potion hadn't been due to wear off for some time -- and she had gone home with her mind in a tumult, not the least because the dinner she and Severus had just shared could have counted as something of a first date. Never mind that she'd had to pay for the whole thing, as of course the Potions master hadn't thought to carry Muggle money with him. They had still spent time together out in public, even though he'd been disguised. He'd almost seemed to enjoy himself, although he'd made a few cutting remarks about the slowness of the service and the regrettable lack of house-elf servants.

Enough of an afterglow carried her into work the next morning that she put together her report for Miles Cornish in good cheer. There was nothing concrete to tell him, but at least she had gathered new evidence, and that was always a good thing. Perhaps she would have to do some more research, as her Defense Against the Dark Arts schooling had been regrettably spotty, but perhaps there was some Dark spell or creature out there she had simply overlooked and which could provide a simple explanation. She quite sincerely hoped it would end up having nothing to do with the Malfoys except an accident of geography. After all, in their own way the Malfoys had seen as much pain and torment as many other wizarding families.

She worked away, her quill scratching at her parchment as one part of her mind wondered, as it often did in the middle of such tasks, why it was considered so sacrilegious to use a computer for such mundane work. Of course modern devices couldn't function at Hogwarts, but there was no such proscription at the Ministry. Really, this blind adherence to tradition had already gotten the wizarding world into trouble on more than one occasion. You'd really think they'd learn --

"Are you seeing someone?" came Harry's voice in ominous tones, and Hermione looked up with a start, blobbing ink across several lines of her report.

"What?" she asked in innocent tones, although she felt her pulse start to race and an uncomfortable knot begin to form in her midsection.

"George says he saw you coming out a restaurant in the East End with some Muggle last night," Harry replied, crossing his arms and glaring down at her. In his Auror's robes, he looked distinctly forbidding and very unHarry-like.

"Oh, that," Hermione said, in what she hoped were tones of careless unconcern.

"Yes, that."

Damn it, she thought. In all the time Severus and I were worrying about whether we'd run into someone who would recognize the man whose shape he'd taken, neither one of us thought to worry if someone might recognize me.

"It's not what you think," Hermione went on, and that was nothing more than the truth. She was fairly certain Harry wasn't thinking she had been running around London with a disguised Severus Snape. "He's -- he's a friend of my parents."

"Oh, really?"

Sometimes Harry could take the protective older brother role a little too far, especially when one considered that she was actually the elder by almost a year. "He's a solicitor. Mum wanted him to tell me about a trust he'd been setting up for them."

The glint in Harry's green eyes told her how much he believed that line.

"All right," she said desperately. "It was sort of a fix-up, but so what? Nothing came of it!" And that was the truth as well, since Severus refused to kiss her when not wearing his true form.

"Your mum was trying to fix you up with a Muggle?" Harry demanded. "With Ron gone only six months?"

"So what if she had?" Hermione retorted. "She meant well. I didn't think I was ready, but what was I to do? Do you want me to be alone forever?"

"It's only been six months!"

"And in a year I suppose you'll tell me it's just been a year, and then just two, and then what? Will it ever be enough, Harry?" With an effort Hermione sought to lower her tone, realizing for the first time that the door to her office still stood open. "What was I supposed to do? Throw myself on top of Ron's coffin and have done with it?"

Harry's face had gone white with fury, but he, too, shot a quick glance at the open door and replied, in quietly venomous tones, "Don't be ridiculous. That's not what I was saying."

Oh, but it was, she thought, and to her surprise the realization was tinged with more sadness than anger. If I move on, then it's just one more bit of proof that Ron's really gone. While it's still just me you can pretend things haven't changed, can't you?

When she spoke, it was with some of that sorrow underlying her words. "I wouldn't worry about it, Harry. I'm not ready to settle down with a Muggle. Nothing happened. We had dinner. He went home. That's all."

He watched her steadily, as if he sought to practice some of Severus Snape's Legilimency on her. But he'd never been trained in that skill, so Hermione didn't think he'd be able to read the truth in her mind. Thank God for that.

Finally he spoke. "I know it's been hard. I'd just hate to see you making a mistake simply because you don't want to be alone."

Too late for that, she thought. Then again, Severus wasn't a mistake. Or was he? What sort of future could they ever have together?

"No worries, Harry. He was a very nice man. But I'm not ready for anything -- especially with a Muggle." She hated to lie to Harry, her oldest friend in the world, the one who had gone to hell and back with her, and probably even a little farther than that. But she also knew that now was certainly not the time to confess her relationship with Severus. Whether there would ever be such a time was questionable at best.

"All right," Harry said, but he still didn't look convinced. No, he would worry and pick at the problem until Ginny told him to stop being such a blockhead. And even then he'd never really let it go. No, Hermione had the uncomfortable thought that he'd probably envisioned a solitary future for her, one in which she could be "Aunt Hermione" and lavish on her honorary nephews and nieces all the love she might have given to Ron and her own children in an alternate reality that would never be. The realization Hermione would someday move on -- even if that day hadn't yet come -- had to hurt.

"So how is Ginny?" Hermione asked, indicating she thought that particular topic was closed. "And James?"

"Oh, fine," Harry replied, perking up noticeably at the mention of his wife and son, even if Hermione had mentioned them in order to change the subject. "James has already gained a pound. And Ginny wanted me to thank you particularly for the Nappies you got her -- they're sold out all over town, and they've helped her ever so much."

The conversation that followed involved mostly a paean to James Sirius's many virtues, but Hermione found she didn't mind so much. Anything to keep Harry from asking too many questions.

Anything to postpone the evil day when she would have to reveal who the true object of her affections was....