The Quality of Mercy

Thirteen: Unexpected Insights

After a time Hermione found it necessary to catch her breath, so she pulled away from Severus and sank back down on the sofa. He remained standing, and watched her with that closed, careful expression she had come to recognize as the one he tended to don whenever he might have given away too much of himself. So be it - she was already rather astonished by how much he had revealed in their last exchange. She wouldn't force the issue.

Instead she clasped her hands across her knees and said, "I overheard the oddest exchange at the Apothecary's whilst shopping for your potions supplies."

"Indeed?" He did not appear particularly impressed.

"Indeed," Hermione repeated. "It was Pansy Park - I mean, Pansy Malfoy. It seems she's in desperate need of phoenix tears."

For a second Severus looked almost startled. Then his eyes narrowed. "You're certain of that?"

"There's nothing wrong with my hearing," Hermione retorted. "I heard her, plain as you're speaking to me now. She seemed very upset that the Apothecary hadn't been able to procure any for her. It seemed most odd - I would think if she had such an urgent need for the tears, it would have been for a sudden or an acute injury or illness. But it sounded to me as if she'd been inquiring after them for some time."

He made no immediate reply, but went to the window and pulled aside the heavy dark drape. Outside snow had begun to fall; Hermione could see a vague drifting veil of white as it wrapped itself around the cottage. Severus' profile looked black and severe in contrast, and even more bleak than the landscape it partly obscured.

His silence unnerved her, so Hermione stood and went to join him by the casement. Even from a foot away she could feel the cold seeping in around the window frame, and she repressed a shiver.

"What is it, Severus?" she asked. "Have you thought of something?"

At once he shook his head. "Thank you for such confidence in my powers of deductive reasoning, but no, I have no explanations to offer at this time."

For some reason she wasn't sure he spoke the complete truth, but as she lacked any powers of Legilimency of her own, Hermione didn't know how to tell for certain. "Can phoenix tears be used for chronic conditions? I've only ever seen them utilized in emergency situations."

"Yes, Master Potter did tend to use Fawkes as personal apothecary," Severus remarked in caustic tones, which Hermione thought rather unfair. After all, Harry hadn't even known phoenix tears had healing properties until Professor Dumbledore used them to cure him after his confrontation with the basilisk. Then again, she had the feeling it would be a very long time - if ever - before Severus or Harry could regard one another in an unbiased fashion. "It is not unheard of," Severus added, "but because of the scarcity of the ingredient, phoenix tears have never been regarded as a reliable substitute for healing potions, especially those potions designed to alleviate persistent illnesses, such as arthritis or asthma."

"Judging by Pansy's response when the apothecary told her he still didn't have any tears to give her, I would say whatever ailment is involved here is a little more serious than arthritis," Hermione replied.

Severus lifted his shoulders. "No doubt. However, I have noticed a regrettable tendency on the part of most people to magnify the ills of those closest to them."

"Well, sometimes it is difficult to remain objective in those situations." Regrettable? Hermione thought. Perhaps a man who hasn't allowed himself to care about anyone for a very long time would see it that way. Pointing out that fact to Severus, however, didn't seem like a very good idea. Besides, he had already given rather strong evidence that he had begun to care for her. Hermione hoped they would never have a reason to find out how he would react if she were the one wounded, or gravely ill.

"That is precisely when people should be objective," he said, not bothering to hide his scorn. "Allowing one's emotions to control the situation inevitably leads to mistakes."

"I hope that belief doesn't extend to our particular circumstance," Hermione countered. "I'd hate to be thought of as a mistake."

At her comment Severus turned to face her. "At first I thought it was," he said, then, before Hermione could open her mouth to make an angry reply, "but I have since re-evaluated the situation."

"Oh, have you?" she said, her tone arch.

As she had hoped, his expression warmed the slightest bit. "Yes...after collecting additional information."

"I always was partial to research," Hermione replied.

"You have a definite talent for it." With that he bent his head to kiss her again, the heavy coarse hair brushing against her cheeks, his mouth strong and warm. Hermione allowed herself to fall into his embrace, to let her worries and doubts and fears be swept away by the astonishing fact that Severus Snape had somehow come to care for her. When they broke apart, the discussion moved on to more inconsequential matters, such as what to have for supper, and Pansy Malfoy and her curious visit to the Apothecary's were forgotten for the moment.

It was only some time later, after Hermione had returned home to Rosedell, that she began to wonder whether Severus had steered the conversation away from the mystery of Malfoy Manor on purpose.

***

The next day was a Saturday, and Hermione had fully intended to return to Yorkshire after the minor housekeeping tasks she'd already scheduled for the morning were complete. However, those plans were neatly foiled when a pretty little tawny owl Hermione recognized as Ginny's -Harry still couldn't bring himself to replace Hedwig -- flew past the kitchen window. Fighting a sense of resignation, Hermione went to the back door and opened it. The bird, whom Ginny had named Aldis, waited for her there on the step, a piece of parchment tied to its leg. She bent down to retrieve the message, and unrolled the note as she stood.

Just one line in Ginny's careful, rounded hand: Could you come see me at your earliest convenience?

Polite words, but Hermione got the distinct impression Ginny had more on her mind than a simple visit. Perhaps Harry or George had blabbed something to her about seeing Hermione with a strange man in the East End. You'd think Ginny would have enough to occupy her, with a week-old infant to care for, but -

At that thought Hermione stopped herself. After all, there was no use getting worked up over something which could turn out to be completely innocuous. And really, a short visit with Ginny didn't preclude a return trip to Yorkshire later that afternoon. She'd told Severus she would be back but hadn't said exactly when, so she had no true reason to decline. Still, she couldn't help but feel a bit put out as she gathered up a spare piece of parchment and scratched out a quick note saying she would be over within the hour. Alone as she had felt during these past six months, there were times when it seemed the opposite was true, that she was being smothered by her relations.

And sometimes you just don't make any sense at all, she thought ruefully, while she sealed up the note and reattached it to Aldis' leg. You can't expect people to know instinctively when you want to be left alone and when you don't, for goodness' sake.

Aldis flew off to the southeast, but Hermione remained on the back step long after the owl's dark shape had disappeared into the woods that bordered her property. A flood of cold air washed over her, bringing with it a scent of damp leaves and moist earth, and she knew she would have to go back inside soon. But there was something about the stillness in the air, the symmetry of stark bare branches and smooth, fresh-fallen snow, which awoke an unexpected ache in her heart. Somehow the chill, stark beauty of the morning made her think of Severus, of the harsh but somehow elegant outline of his profile. For a few seconds she regretted her note to Ginny -- in that moment, Hermione wanted nothing more than to return to Yorkshire at once. But she knew she had a duty to see her sister-in-law, and Severus could wait a few more hours. After all, he more than most men had a habit of solitude.

The previous evening she had asked him what they were doing, and although he had at least given her some small reassurance as to his feelings for her, he hadn't gone any further than that. No soothing words about a future together, no guarantees that they would have anything more than these stolen hours they shared. Their relationship - if one could even call it that - was new and fragile, of course, but Hermione found herself wishing she had a better idea where all this might end.

A shiver struck her, and with some reluctance she returned to the friendly warmth of her yellow-painted kitchen, resolutely shutting the back door against the icy morning. Crookshanks wandered in from the dining room and immediately wound himself around her legs, no doubt in an attempt to convince her that giving him some kippers was her next order of business.

"Not likely," she told the cat. "You're getting a bit plump, as far as I can tell. When was the last time you chased a mouse?"

Crookshanks shot her an irritated yellow-eyed glare and extricated himself from between her ankles, then stalked off into the dining room. Well, her comment about the cat's increasing midsection was nothing more than the truth, although Hermione supposed she could have been a bit more diplomatic. Then again, it wasn't her fault that Crookshanks seemed to spend the hours she was away lounging on the furniture instead of keeping the pantry mouse-free. She'd seen a few telltale signs of rodent invasion and considered placing some charms in the kitchen to repel the mice, but had hesitated, worried she might offend her cat by doing so. Still, if he wasn't going to hold up his end of the bargain....

With a shrug Hermione went into the bathroom, gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror and decided she looked well enough for a casual visit to her sister-in-law's house, then collected her traveling cloak from the hall closet. Although she wore jeans and the sweater Molly had given her for Christmas, she decided the cloak would be better than the Muggle overcoat she had worn to Wiltshire in her guise as a member of the Rural Watch.

Don't want them thinking I've gone completely native, she reflected with a mental grin, and then Disapparated to the front step of number 12, Grimmauld Place. The front door opened almost before she had finished knocking, and Kreacher bowed low, stepping aside to let her in.

"Mistress Potter is in the front parlor," he said, his rusty voice contrasting sharply with the polite words.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Hermione replied, then removed her cloak and handed it to him. This was another battle she'd long since given up; after a few scandalized comments by the house-elf as to the impropriety of young witches hanging up their own outerwear, Hermione had acceded to his wishes and allowed Kreacher to handle cloakroom duties.

The front parlor was as bright and cheery as the gray January day would allow. A lively fire smelling of apple wood burned in the hearth, and magical lamps cast a warm yellow glow throughout the chamber. Young James Sirius slept in a cradle placed just close enough to the fire for him to stay warm, but not so close that there would be any worries over errant sparks. Hermione spied a few tufts of black hair sticking up past his carefully bundled blankets.

Ginny had been sitting in a chair next to the baby, but she rose at once as Hermione entered the room. No signs of new motherhood weariness in her sister-in-law - Ginny glowed, her soft blue robes setting off her gleaming copper-colored hair to perfection.

"You look wonderful," Hermione said. It was the simple truth.

"So do you," Ginny replied, but she didn't sound terribly happy about that fact. Then she indicated the wing chair facing her own. "Would you like to sit down? I asked Kreacher to get us some tea."

It was nowhere near the usual time for such things, and Hermione knew for a fact that Ginny had never been much of a tea drinker. Feeling more than a little apprehensive, she took the seat Ginny had pointed to and folded her hands in her lap. Hermione hated being so awkward around Ginny, whom she'd come to regard as the sister she never had, but how could she be anything but nervous, with the weight of her secret relationship with Severus Snape weighing on her?

"James Sirius certainly has a lot of hair," she commented, hoping to distract Ginny with talk of her newborn son.

"Yes, he does," Ginny replied, and cast a quick, fond look at the sleeping child. But apparently she was made of tougher stuff than that. She leaned forward and went on, "Harry says you were in London for dinner last weekend."

Hermione repressed a sigh. I should've just taken out an advert in the Prophet and had done with it, she thought. "I already went over this with Harry. Nothing happened."

"I know that."

"So what else is there to say?" For the first time Hermione realized Harry was nowhere in evidence, and wondered if Ginny had manufactured some errand for him so he would be safely out of the house when Hermione arrived.

"We didn't really talk about this part, did we?" Ginny inquired. She frowned, and pushed her hair back over her shoulder in an impatient gesture Hermione knew all too well. "That is, I knew one day you'd start to move on. I suppose I didn't think it would happen this fast."

"Nothing's happened, Ginny." To her dismay, Hermione found her heart had begun to beat a little more rapidly. She'd never been that accomplished a liar - would she be able to conceal the truth of her personal life from her sister-in-law?

Ginny gave her a sad little smile. "You can keep on saying that, Hermione, if it makes you feel better. But there's something different about you - the sparkle's back in your eyes, and if I didn't know better, I'd say you grew an inch in the past month. So I have to assume it's because something has changed."

Kreacher chose that moment to appear with the tea, so Hermione was spared from making a reply for a few moments while he bustled about with sugar cubes and milk and biscuits. But at last he disappeared again, and she was left to stare into Ginny's worried brown eyes and cast about for something noncommittal but reassuring to say.

Ginny forestalled her. "I just want to let you know that it's all right, Hermione. Harry's being impossible about the whole thing, but I know you couldn't mourn Ron forever. That is, of course you'll mourn him, but you're still alive - you can't stop your own life just because he's no longer in it."

It had never occurred to Hermione that Ginny might be so understanding - after all, Ron had been her older brother, a bond even closer than the one Harry and Ron had shared. But Ginny also had an inherently practical nature, a quality Hermione had always felt made the younger woman a good match for Harry's more mercurial temperament.

However, Hermione thought she should at least attempt to set the record straight. "Ginny, I'm not seeing any Muggle. Really."

At that comment Ginny gave her a piercing look and replied, "Well, perhaps you're not seeing that particular man, but you're definitely seeing someone."

Hermione returned her stare with as guileless a glance as possible. "Did you ever think that perhaps this supposed 'glow' you've noticed is merely due to my promotion?"

"Oh, I thought it...for about five seconds," Ginny said, with a small chuckle. "But somehow I didn't think even you would look quite that transfigured by a promotion."

Feeling trapped, Hermione leaned forward and picked up her cup of tea. It was quite hot; faint wisps of steam curled up from its surface. Since she knew she wouldn't be able to drink the cup's contents for a few more minutes, she settled for wrapping her fingers around the soothing heat of the warm ceramic and making a show of blowing on the tea within to cool it down.

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's all right." Ginny retrieved her own cup - peppermint, by the smell of it. Of course Ginny would be avoiding anything caffeinated while she was nursing the baby. "I just wanted to let you know that I wouldn't be upset."

It was more than Hermione could have wished for, such honesty and acceptance from someone who had suffered and lost a great deal as well. But somehow Hermione couldn't bring herself to believe that Ginny would be quite so understanding if she were informed that the current object of Hermione's affections was Severus Snape, a man who had once been a Death Eater, a man who had made Harry's life miserable, a man who - if not quite old enough to be Hermione's father, was a least a great deal older than she. No, such a revelation would surely strain the limits of even Ginny's forbearance.

"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione said, after an awkward pause. She truly was thankful to her sister-in-law for her kindness, even if Hermione knew that kindness probably wouldn't extend to accepting Severus Snape as part of her extended family. But perhaps Ginny would at least be able to start Harry down the road to realizing that Hermione couldn't stay alone forever...and perhaps one day he would be able to understand why she had inexplicably found solace in the Potions master's arms.

And maybe the sky will be covered in rainbows, and purebloods will become best friends with Muggle-borns, and we'll all live happily ever after, she thought sourly. Still, she knew she had to allow herself the hope that someday she wouldn't have to keep her relationship with Severus a secret. He had given so much of himself - after more than four decades on this planet, couldn't he be granted at least a small measure of happiness?

The world didn't work that way, unfortunately -- those who were deserving often seemed to be overlooked when it came time for Fate to decide who would prosper and who would toil their whole lives in unhappy anonymity. Not that Severus was anything resembling anonymous. If he were, the situation would be much easier.

Hermione looked up from her mug of tea to see that Ginny watched her with careful, concerned eyes. "I know you're worried about Harry, what he'll say to you," Ginny said. Her mouth twisted in a rueful smile. "And I suppose you have every right to be, since we both know how Harry can be when he gets his knickers in a twist. But with all the losses he's had to deal with in his life, he hasn't ever faced losing a lover. He can't imagine trying to replace his parents, and so he can't understand why you'd be wanting to replace Ron. Not that that's what you're doing, of course," she hastened to add, as Hermione felt herself gather breath to say Ron could never be replaced. "I don't mean to imply that at all. But you can see why Harry is having a difficult time with the idea of you moving on."

Her sister-in-law's words were such an echo of Hermione's earlier conversation with Severus that she felt somewhat astounded. Despite knowing Ginny couldn't possibly be practicing Legilimency on her, Hermione hesitated before she spoke, lest she give anything else important away. "I don't know if I'm moving on," she said at last. "I suppose I've just been thinking of it as trying to live my life."

"Which is exactly what you should be doing." A mischievous glint entered Ginny's warm russet-brown eyes. "Although I have to admit that I'd give quite a few Galleons to know exactly who it is that put the spring back in your step."

Hermione forced a lightness into her tone she certainly didn't feel. "Oh, believe me, you'd never guess." Not in a thousand years, she thought, and thank God for that.

"No, and I know you won't tell me." Ginny picked up her neglected cup of peppermint tea and sipped at its contents. "So let's have a good gossip. I haven't gotten out at all lately, and I'm starting to feel as if the walls are closing in. Is it true that Gwenog Jones is actually dating Myron Wagtail?"

For a few seconds Hermione could only stare at her sister-in-law as she tried to think who on earth Ginny was talking about. Then she shook her head with a laugh and replied, "I should think you'd know that better than I -- after all, you and Gwenog were teammates for several years."

"Yes, but now I'm the 'domestic defector,' as she put it. Can't understand how there could possibly be something more important in life than playing Quidditch!" Then Ginny's gaze strayed to the cradle, and although her expression softened almost imperceptibly, still there was something in her eyes as she stared down at her sleeping son that made an odd pang go through Hermione. If she'd been asked (and she hadn't), she would have said it was silly for Ginny and Harry to start their family so early, especially since Ginny had begun to make quite the name for herself as the new Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies. With Voldemort defeated and the wizarding world as safe as it could be, there seemed no reason to rush into having a baby. But now, as Hermione watched Ginny and saw the exquisite tenderness with which her sister-in-law leaned over the cradle and made the minutest adjustment in James Sirius's blankets, she thought perhaps her own judgment of the situation had been over-hasty. Would things have been different, she wondered, if I hadn't convinced Ron that we had plenty of time for children?

But that thought would only lead her into blind alleys of pain where she'd trapped herself too many times before. Magic could do many things, but it couldn't change what had happened to Ron. Brooding over might-have-beens wouldn't alter the fact that Ron had died far sooner than he deserved. With the regret came the tiniest trickle of doubt, the smallest whisper of a traitorous thought. And would you really want to change things, even if you could? Would you rather have never come to know Severus as you do now?

Some questions had no answers, and Hermione pushed those poisonous thoughts away with a conscious effort. What good did it do to torture herself? Was she somehow trying to punish herself for loving Severus Snape?

The world will probably do that for you, she reflected with some bitterness. With a conscious effort she summoned a smile and told Ginny, "Well, I suppose some people don't really mind so much about having a family. After all, Gwenog's been with the Harpies for so long, perhaps she regards them as her family."

"Perhaps," Ginny said, but she sounded dubious.

"At any rate," Hermione continued, with a forced cheeriness she hoped might turn into the real thing if she kept the conversation on lighter topics long enough, "I don't pay much attention to the gossip pages of the Prophet. I've never been able to understand why people find such things so fascinating."

"Wait until you're stuck in the house with a newborn baby. Believe me, you'll find the silliest things fascinating -- at least they aren't nappies and midnight feedings and croup!" As soon as the words left her mouth, however, Ginny looked stricken, as if she just realized it would probably be quite some time -- if ever -- before Hermione had any reason to concern herself with such domestic matters. Ginny began to blurt out an awkward apology, and Hermione said at once,

"Oh, don't worry, Ginny, I know what you meant. Don't think another thing about it." Her tone sounded hearty enough, but Hermione thought her denials didn't ring quite true, even to herself. After all, if she had no real idea what her future with Severus held, how could she even begin to think what it might be like to have a family of her own with him one day?

That forlorn realization made foolish, sudden tears want to spring to her eyes, but Hermione resolutely blinked them away. If nothing else, blubbering in front of Ginny would almost certainly lead to more awkward questions, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Questions fairly danced in Ginny's eyes, but she said only lifted the plate of refreshments and said, "Biscuit?"

For some reason the single incongruous word caused a helpless giggle to bubble up in her throat. Hermione burst out laughing, and after a moment Ginny joined it, albeit with a slightly puzzled air, as if she wasn't quite sure what was so funny but guessed it would be better to go along with the joke for now.

I'd tell her, if I could, Hermione thought. I just wish I didn't have the feeling that somehow the joke is on me....