The Quality of Mercy

I'm trying to be faster about updating - sometimes I'm in the groove, and sometimes I'm not. I went through a sort of bad patch earlier this month, but I think I'm getting my rhythm back. Thank you to everyone for all your wonderful reviews!

Twelve: Returns of the Day

The confrontation with Harry had left Hermione more than a little shaken, and once or twice during the days that followed she found herself to be the recipient of curious, furtive stares from her coworkers. Apparently the argument had been overheard, but it was just as obvious that none of her office mates felt they knew her well enough to mention anything about it to her.

With a mental sigh, Hermione tried to tell herself that everyone had difficulties in their personal life from time to time, and no doubt sooner or later she'd hear more than she ever wanted to regarding her coworkers' affairs, financial troubles, spats with in-laws, and all the other mundanities from which even wizards weren't exempt. In the meantime, she buried herself in research, going through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's surprisingly well-stocked library in an attempt to determine who - or what - was attacking the Muggles near Malfoy Manor.

But the only magical animals who could make themselves invisible, such as the Tebo and the Demiguise, were peaceful creatures, certainly not up to attacking Muggles. And they were also much smaller than the assailant described by the victims. The attacker was bigger than a man, but apparently smaller than any giant she had heard of. Perhaps the Malfoys had hired some sort of pituitary giant to don an Invisibility cloak and wander the borders of their property whilst fending off anyone who dared to get too close, but Hermione found that difficult to believe.

Although feeling more than a little frustrated, she continued to organize her findings - such as they were - into a tidy report she could submit to Miles Cornish to prove she hadn't been twiddling her thumbs the entire time. And of course the Malfoy case wasn't the only one to occupy her days, even if it did happen to be the most perplexing. No, most of the other files involved people casting Atmospheric Charms without a permit when they wanted the weather to be particularly fine for a special event, irritated wives who had cast a few too many Confundus Charms on wandering husbands, or the usual run-of-the-mill instances of underage magic users casting spells outside the walls of Hogwarts. She felt a touch of pity for some of these transgressors, knowing that on occasion there were extenuating circumstances involved. But the rules were strict, and although these underage experimenters wouldn't be threatened with expulsion from Hogwarts as Harry had, probably the perpetrators' parents would get hit with a hefty fine, one that some of them no doubt could ill afford.

In a way it was a relief to work on these other cases, to reassure herself that for the most part the wizarding world ran smoothly along as it always had. At the end of the day on Tuesday Hermione deposited her preliminary report on Miles Cornish's desk, although he was nowhere to be seen. Probably taken off early; she had already noticed she was usually the last one to leave in her department. That was fine -- the quiet hours at the tail end of the afternoon offered her some extra time to make further progress, and she found it easier to plow through the piles of paperwork on her desk without the low-level hum of her coworkers' conversations always underscoring the task.

Hermione had wanted to visit Severus, but her encounter with Harry worried her more than she cared to admit. Were the Weasleys keeping closer tabs on her than she had thought, or was it just rotten coincidence George had been in the vicinity when she and Severus had gone to that restaurant in the East End? She had no way of knowing for sure, and of course she could never ask her brother-in-law outright if he had charmed her pen to be a tracking device or whether Molly employed some sort of snoop spell to keep an eye on all her children and at some point had added Hermione to the lot. No, better to be circumspect for a time and see what happened next.

That caution didn't prevent her from disguising Crookshanks as an owl once more so that he could fly a note to Severus. The missive was brief, just to let him know she was pursuing her research from London and would make arrangements to see him in the near future. It seemed horribly brusque and businesslike, but she didn't know exactly how to address him - surely Severus wouldn't appreciate the sort of gushy, lovey-dovey language most new couples seemed to employ in their written communications. And were they even a couple at all? Did a few kisses and even fewer encounters signify coupledom?

Hermione couldn't say, so she tried to tell herself that keeping things deliberately casual was a good idea. After all, she couldn't quite imagine Severus being the type who wanted the clinging-vine sort of woman. Besides, she did have quite a few things to keep her busy here in London. She would see him Friday night. That should work quite nicely.

Rational explanations all, but as the week wore on she had an increasingly difficult time staying focused on her work. It didn't help that Severus had sent an equally brusque reply to her note, saying he had several new potions he was working on and research of his own to do, and that her absence would suit him just fine.

Oh, really? Hermione thought with some irritation, recalling his communiqué as she moved another file to the "complete" stack on her desk. By that point it was Thursday morning, and she had begun to have some sympathy for Muggle addictions. Certainly her whole body seemed to ache with desire for him, for the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand on hers, the feel of his lips on her mouth. Had she ever felt this overwhelming need for Ron? Difficult to say - after they had officially become a couple, she and Ron had spent only a small time apart. But little as she wanted to admit it to herself, Hermione had to say that no, she hadn't felt quite this way even the few times she and Ron had been separated.

And really, who was this man who appeared to have claimed her heart? Hermione realized she knew so very little about him after all, save a few details of his miserable childhood and youth, the fact that he'd loved Lily Potter with an unhappy, all-encompassing love, and that he'd sacrificed most of his adult life to the defeat of the Dark Lord. Somehow it just didn't seem enough. Harry probably knew a little more, although he was the last person she could possibly ask. Most of the other people who had worked with Severus were either dead or still at Hogwarts. Perhaps Minerva McGonagall could offer some insights, but how could Hermione ever explain her sudden interest in a disliked professor who had - to the world, at least - perished some five years earlier?

But she worked for the Ministry, and there had to be some records on file here that would give her at least a little information. That seemed logical enough, but logic didn't always apply at the Ministry of Magic. There was no standard records department, not even something that corresponded to the Muggle National Health Service which would provide a central clearinghouse for information. The best thing she could do was find stacks of old O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S. in a back office in the Wizarding Examination Authority; through some dusty digging, she actually located files from Severus' period at Hogwarts.

With shaking hands, she flipped through the grimy parchment until she found one signed boldly, "Severus Snape, 9/1/60." That couldn't have been the date of the examination, of course - the notation had to indicate his birth date.

January ninth? But that was - tomorrow, she realized. His birthday, and he had never said one word to her about it.

Well, the reasonable part of her mind tried to tell her, what did you expect him to do? Announce it to you so you could bring him a cake? He's not exactly the sort to want or need that sort of attention.

Good thing she had already planned to visit Yorkshire tomorrow evening, although Hermione hadn't had anything in mind when she made those plans besides seizing an opportunity to see Severus again. She had some notes she wanted to share with him, but somehow she doubted he would be able to provide any more insight into the mystery of Malfoy Manor without making another trip to Wiltshire. The thought of such a trek did not fill her with any sort of hope. The last journey hadn't turned up much of anything -- why would getting the same answers from a different batch of victims help? To all intents and purposes, she had hit a dead end.

Although Hermione knew better than to make a fuss over Severus' birthday, she thought a small gesture shouldn't upset him too much - perhaps she could find him a useful book at Flourish & Blotts, or some rare potion ingredients at the Apothecary. Yes, that should do very nicely. And it would help to fill some of her after-work time.

The previous evening she had gone to visit Harry and Ginny and see the baby, even though she had rather dreaded facing Harry so soon after their quarrel . He'd still seemed somewhat annoyed with her, but after Hermione had gushed sufficiently over young James Sirius, the proud father appeared mostly mollified. Even so, the hour she had spent at number 12, Grimmauld Place had felt more than a little uncomfortable, and she had been glad to escape home to the quiet of Rosedell.

On Thursday evening, instead of working late as was her usual habit, Hermione set out from the Ministry to Diagon Alley. A good crowd of Ministry folk seemed headed that way as well, although they took care to travel by Apparition, Floo Powder, and other means not easily noticed by Muggles. Hermione herself Floo'd over, using the fireplace in Miles Cornish's office. She recognized several of her coworkers in the crowd near the front door of the Leaky Cauldron, but she merely smiled and shook her head in response to their request that she join them for a drink.

Flourish & Blotts was much less crowded. Hermione had always loved the shop, the scent of parchment and fine hides, the promise of unexplored knowledge that lay behind every new title. But although she found several volumes she would have liked to add to her own collection, she saw nothing that seemed uniquely Severus, nothing that would suit his needs. Very likely he already owned or had memorized most of the potions titles the shop carried.

It seemed she would just have to go over to the Apothecary's and hope its wares would offer something suitable. She murmured a thank-you to the proprietor at Flourish & Blotts as she exited the book shop and headed across Diagon Alley in pursuit of potions supplies.

The Apothecary's was a narrow little venue, its shelves reaching to the ceiling and stocked with every ingredient and component Hermione had ever heard of, and several more she had not. As she entered, it seemed the shop was deserted, but then she heard the sound of voices emanating from the back of the space, possibly from the storeroom area she knew backed up to the counter.

"You haven't got any in?" asked a female voice that sounded familiar, although Hermione couldn't quite place whose it was. "But you said you were expecting a shipment any day!"

A man replied, "I said I hoped to have some soon. It is an exceedingly rare ingredient. One of my suppliers thought he'd had a sighting, but it apparently came to naught. Believe me, I am doing everything in my power to procure it for you."

"Apparently not," the woman snapped, "as this is the third time I've come here, to no avail. Perhaps I haven't sufficiently impressed you with the gravity of the situation?"

"Of course you have, Mrs. Malfoy. But all the urgency in the world can't make such a thing appear out of thin air!"

Mrs. Malfoy. Of course. The unseen woman was Pansy. Since Hermione had spent very little time in company with Pansy since their schoolgirl days, it was no wonder she hadn't been able to immediately place Pansy's voice. But what was it that she needed so urgently? Hermione sidled a little closer, careful to keep her back to the walkway so that her face wasn't easily visible.

"Be that as it may," Pansy said, and even without seeing her Hermione could sense the frustration and urgency she must be feeling. Both emotions were clearly reflected in her voice. "You are not the only supplier in England. I've already told you we're prepared to pay handsomely -- what other incentive do you need?"

"It is not a question of incentive, Mrs. Malfoy," the proprietor of the shop responded. "The phoenix is an exceedingly rare creature, and even when one is found, it does not necessarily weep on command."

So Pansy needed phoenix tears? That would imply someone close to her had suffered some sort of grievous wound or illness. Could something have happened to Draco? Possible, but since it appeared Pansy had been inquiring after the tears for some time, whatever it was couldn't be immediately life-threatening. That didn't explain the desperation which underlay Pansy's usual disdainful tone, however. Despite her dislike for the Slytherin girl, Hermione couldn't help but feel a wave of pity for her. Whatever the reason for her requiring the tears, it must be dire.

"It would weep, if it knew why I needed it," Pansy said, and this time her voice almost broke. An awkward pause followed. Then she added, "You can't know what your delays are costing us."

With that parting shot, the interview seemed to come to an end; Hermione barely had time to cast a quick Disillusionment spell before Pansy swept past, a blur of gray velvet and fox trim. Whatever was going on at Malfoy Manor, it certainly hadn't hindered her sartorial endeavors.

Hermione allowed a good minute to pass before she whispered, "Finite incantatem!" and dispelled the Disillusionment charm. Pansy had been in such a rush that it was likely she might not have even noticed Hermione standing there, appearing to study the shelves with rapt attention, but of course it was better not to take that chance.

The shopkeeper came out a few seconds after Hermione had reappeared. His hound-dog face appeared troubled, but he gave Hermione a professional smile and inquired if she was looking for something in particular.

She wasn't, of course, but when she informed him she had a dear friend who dabbled in potions and who would very much appreciate a rare ingredient or two, the proprietor's face lit up, and he began to make recommendations, pulling jars off the shelves and shoving them into her arms. His enthusiasm was a little overwhelming; before Hermione could stop to figure out exactly what had happened, she had walked out of the shop carrying bags bulging with Ashwinder eggs, Jobberknoll feathers, and a pair of unicorn horns. Her wallet was well over a hundred Galleons lighter after this little adventure, but at least she thought Severus would appreciate the items, seeing as he probably would have a difficult time procuring such magical components himself.

Wrapping up her purchases and preparing them for her visit to Yorkshire occupied Hermione for a time, but all the while she kept going over that odd exchange between Pansy Malfoy and the shopkeeper at the Apothecary's. It was true that phoenix tears could cure an astonishing number of ailments, including many that wouldn't respond to more traditional treatments. Pansy had not mentioned any particulars. Were the tears intended for Draco...or perhaps Lucius? Hermione recalled that Harry had told her Lucius Malfoy hadn't been seen in London for almost a year. At the time Hermione had thought the elder Malfoy's self-imposed seclusion had been a direct result of the ostracism his family must have faced after the end of the War, but possibly it was more than that. Perhaps he had fallen ill, and pride or reticence had prevented him from seeking out the Healers at St. Mungo's.

But what any of this had to do with the wounded Muggles near Malfoy Manor, Hermione couldn't begin to guess. Somehow she had the uneasy feeling the two disparate circumstances were related, but in what way, she had no idea. Nothing in any of her research or her studies had mentioned any sort of illness that had invisibility as one of its symptoms, and even if one did, it still wouldn't explain the size and ferocity of the attacker the Muggle victims had described. It was pure luck none of them had been killed.

...or was it? If some awful creature really was roaming the borders of the Malfoy estate, what had kept it from murdering the nonmagical folk it encountered instead of merely wounding them and driving them off?

As with so many other things lately, to that question Hermione had no answer. It seemed this case was a hydra -- answering one question only led to three or four more popping up in its place. She was tired, frustrated, and no closer to a solution than she had been when she started out. Worse than that, she felt stupid, as if she had somehow missed a vital clue, the one thing which would unravel the whole complicated mess. But try as she might, she couldn't seem to come up with anything resembling a coherent explanation.

At least she would get to see Severus the next day. At the moment, Hermione wasn't sure what she looked forward to more -- being with him, or having the chance to tell him of this latest development. Perhaps he would be able to see something she had overlooked; after all, many times all a problem required was a pair of fresh eyes to take a closer look. At any rate, there was something oddly reassuring about Severus' presence, about his perennial aura of unruffled irony. No doubt most people would find his affect quite off-putting, but Hermione had the distinct impression that as long as Severus Snape continued to face a situation with his well-known sarcasm and cool air intact, then all was well with the world.

At the very least, once she was in Yorkshire she would be far away from here, far from these seemingly unsolvable mysteries...and far from the nagging worry that she wouldn't be able to keep her own secrets for much longer.

***

Severus appeared nonplussed when she knocked on his door at precisely six o'clock the next evening; his black stare fastened itself on the parcels she carried, and one eyebrow lifted slightly.

The cheery "Happy Birthday" Hermione had meant to utter died on her lips. Instead she mumbled, "Erm...these are for you," and thrust the packages into his hands.

He caught them neatly, and stepped out of the way so she could come inside, away from the cold night air. Snow was coming; Hermione could practically smell the unshed weight of it as the clouds dropped lower. If nothing else, she was glad to be inside the fire-lit warmth of the cottage.

"And to what do I owe this unexpected bounty?" Severus inquired, as he set the gifts down on the dining room table.

"It's your birthday, isn't it?" she asked, not knowing what else to say.

A quick unreadable look from under the level black brows. "So it is, but it's not a date I've felt any reason to celebrate for some time."

"Well, I do," Hermione returned. She should have known he'd want to ignore his birthday the way he pointedly ignored almost every other nicety of normal human society. "Besides, I thought you might have a difficult time getting some of those things up here. You don't have to think of them as birthday presents if you don't want to."

In silence he unwrapped the parcels one by one, carefully inspecting the contents of each box before he moved on to the next. When he was done, he set the items side by side on the dining room table and surveyed them for a moment. At last he turned to Hermione, a faint deepening of the line between his brows seeming to indicate some inner disquiet. "These must have cost you a great deal of money."

What could she say to such a statement? The truth, she supposed. Severus deserved that much from her. "What does it matter?" she asked. "They're for you."

At her reply he appeared almost taken aback, as if he had never considered she might care enough about him that spending large amounts of money for his benefit wouldn't trouble her at all.

Hermione watched as he reached out to touch one of the unicorn horns, his long, ink-stained fingers caressing the smooth surface. Once again she felt a rush of desire for him, for those elegant hands to be touching her own face. The violence of her own feelings continued to startle her. She had never before thought of herself as an overly passionate person, although she'd come to enjoy the intimacy she shared with Ron, despite their awkward and fumbling first attempts.

"Severus," she said quietly. "What are we doing?"

Somehow he seemed to understand she was not speaking of their quibbling over his birthday presents. He raised somber dark eyes to hers, eyes that for once were not filled with mockery or disdain. "I'm not sure," he said at last. To her surprise, he reached out and took her hand in his, then led her over to the sofa, where the warmth of the fire at last began to penetrate her chilled fingers and toes.

Hermione sat next to him, uncertain as to what might come next. He stared into the dancing flames in the hearth for a long, uneasy moment, as the reflected glow from the fire lent some warmth to his sallow skin and sent odd reddish lights dancing through the heavy unkempt hair surrounding his face.

"I am forty-four years old, Hermione," Severus said. "And you are, what - twenty-three?"

"Twenty-four," she replied, not sure she liked where this was leading. "I was older than most in my year, since my birthday falls in the middle of September."

"Twenty years difference, then." He smiled, a bitter, mocking smile that was little more than a baring of teeth. "Do you know what I was doing the month you were born?"

"No."

"I was a follower of Voldemort. Although I was not quite as bloodthirsty as most of my compatriots at the time, still I was a party to dreadful deeds, any one of which should have earned me a lifetime in Azkaban."

Aching for him, for the self-disgust and hatred in his face and his voice, Hermione protested, "But Professor Dumbledore forgave you for all that! And all those years you worked against the Dark Lord - all the sacrifices you made - "

"Do not speak to me of sacrifices, Hermione, when I know everything I have done still is not enough." His black eyes seemed to glitter in the firelight. "Even now, when I should be spending my days alone in exile, I've allowed you to come into my life."

"I wouldn't exactly call it 'allowing,'" she commented with a rueful smile. "As I recall, you did just about everything except place me in a Vanishing Cabinet to get rid of me."

The taut lines of his mouth did not relax even the slightest amount. "Be that as it may, I still should have made more of an effort to keep you away. I could have disappeared again. But I did not. I was weak."

Did he really have such a mistaken impression of himself? "Weak? Severus, you're probably the strongest person I know." Hermione reached out and wrapped her hands around his; he did not protest, but neither did he return the caress. "You've been through ordeals that would have killed lesser men. How can you possibly think of yourself as weak?"

"How can I not, with you sitting here beside me?" His hands were so still beneath hers they might have been carved from stone.

"That's not weakness - that's just common sense." She shifted her weight slightly so she was turned to face him. His profile looked sharp and uncompromising as the mountain crags she had seen in Scotland. "I can be dreadfully stubborn, you know."

For the first time she saw a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I hadn't noticed."

It wasn't much, but the return of even the barest hint of irony to his voice heartened her. Anything was better than the self-loathing that had colored his earlier comments.

"However," he continued, "even leaving my past transgressions aside, one could argue that our relationship is quite...inappropriate."

"Why?" Hermione asked frankly. "Because you were once my professor? If we were still student and teacher, then yes, of course all this would be dreadfully improper. As it is, since I'm more than of age and you're no longer employed at Hogwarts, I fail to see why there should be a problem."

"It must be a great relief for you to dismiss our history together with so little effort," he replied, in cutting tones. "I, however, do not find it quite so easy."

Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you kissed me, Hermione thought, but she did not say the words aloud. Instead she withdrew her hands from his and wrapped her arms around her midsection, fingers pressed into her sides. Strange that she should still feel so cold, when the warmth of the fire really was more than adequate. "Why not, Severus?

Abruptly he stood and went toward the fire, his back to her. Still facing toward the hearth, he said, "Because then I would have to admit when these feelings actually began."

His words made no sense. Was he somehow implying that he had felt an attraction to her even before now? "And when was that?" she asked softly, unsure as to whether she would receive an answer.

For a long moment he remained silent, his form silhouetted against the red-gold glow of the hearth. Then he turned and gave her a considering look. "Your mind was always quite astonishing."

"Really?" Hermione said. "Because I always got the impression you were rather unimpressed by me."

"Naturally I could not have praised a Gryffindor," Severus replied, but something about the way his eyes glinted as he uttered the words made her think he might be teasing her ever so slightly.

Refusing to let herself be baited, she murmured, "Naturally."

"Besides, you had the rest of the professors at Hogwarts singing your praises - I saw no need to add my voice to the choir."

Well, that was definitely Severus Snape all over again. Of course he couldn't possibly praise her when everyone else was doing so. Hermione said nothing, but merely crossed her arms and continued to meet his gaze.

He did not look away. She'd rather expected he wouldn't. "I had never seen anyone as skilled as you in Potions - not since...her."

Even now he can't speak her name, Hermione thought, and wasn't sure whether the realization saddened or angered her. Was that how Severus saw her - as a sort of second-best Lily Potter? Not trusting herself to speak, Hermione could only continue to sit there on the couch, hands still clenched at her sides, her entire frame feeling as if it had been hit by a Body-Bind Curse, incapable of movement.

Whether her silence discomfited him, she couldn't tell. After a brief hesitation, he said, "You were a student. Whatever else others may have thought of me, no one could have ever accused me of unprofessionalism in my conduct. When I realized I had a particular interest in you, I told myself it was simply because of your natural gifts in the subject I taught and nothing more. Still, when you did not return for your final year, I felt some measure of relief. At least I did not have to shield you from the Carrows - or myself."

These revelations were so astonishing that for a few seconds Hermione could only remain as she was, frozen in place as she gazed up into his face. His features looked harsher than ever, twisted as they were with dark memory, but to her they were familiar and now even more beloved. So many questions flooded her mind that she didn't quite know where to start, but she decided it was probably best to begin with less troublesome, more recent territory. "Then when you first came to visit me at Rosedell, and you said the visit had been 'most educational' - were you practicing a little Legilimency on me, Severus?"

"Perhaps a very little. Your face reveals far more than you might think."

"And so - "

"And so I felt the first flicker of hope I had experienced in a very long while." At last he moved away from the fire and stepped toward the sofa. With both hands he reached out to her, and Hermione unclenched her icy fingers and let his warm, strong ones surround hers. She stood, allowing him to draw her against his chest, feeling the folds of his heavy robes sweep around them, enclosing them in a private little circle of warmth.

Safe and content as she might have been in that moment, Hermione still felt herself compelled to ask another question. She knew she would not rest easy until she had the truth of the matter from him. "But I'm not - not some sort of replacement for her, am I? Not the one you're settling for because you could never have the person you really wanted?"

At once he took her by the arms and held her a little ways away from him. Black eyes scanned her face, and then he lifted one hand to push back a loose curl that had fallen over her forehead. "No. You undervalue yourself in thinking such a thing. I am not a replacement for Ron, am I?"

At once she shook her head. Of course Severus was not Ron's replacement - Ron had held a unique place in her heart, just as Severus did now. Love was not a finite thing, after all, something to be measured and divided and meted out in carefully calculated portions. She would always love Ron, but that took nothing away from her feelings for Severus now...just as his own feelings for Lily Potter didn't necessarily have anything to do with his regard for her. If that regard had its origins in certain similarities between herself and Lily, how could she blame him for that? It would be like finding fault with someone just because he preferred blondes to brunettes or short women to tall.

"Whatever we may have been in the past -- and whoever we are today, it doesn't change this," Hermione said, and this time she was the one to reach out to him, to clasp her hands in his. "We're here together now, despite everything. I don't care about the difference in our age. I don't care what you might have done once upon a time. I only want to know one thing."

Was it the chancy light from the fire, or had she seen a hint of a smile at the edges of his mouth? "And what is that?"

"Do you regret kissing me that first time?"

His response was immediate. "Of course not."

The lack of hesitation in his reply told Hermione more than any mere words of his could have. She grinned and said, "Then kiss me again and prove it."

At once he bent his head to hers, his mouth meeting her lips with an intensity to match the desire she felt sweep over her at the first touch of his kiss. It was true - she didn't care about anything, except that she was with him here and now. On the surface the whole situation was about twenty kinds of wrong, but she knew, as her body thrilled at his touch and the blood pounded in her veins, that being with Severus Snape was completely, deliciously right.