The Quality of Mercy

Fifteen: Consequences

For several long, agonizing moments Hermione received no answer to her knock. If no one came to the door, she supposed she could try another Alohomora! on the lock, but that would be even worse etiquette than using the spell on the gates. Instead, she waited, trying to comfort herself with the thought that if no one came to the door, she could return to Miles Cornish and simply tell him the Malfoys hadn't been at home when she called.

So Hermione didn't quite know whether to feel disappointed or relieved when at last the door swung slowly inward, and a pair of huge green eyes stared up at her. Evidently Dobby hadn't been the only house-elf enslaved by the Malfoys.

"I would like to see Master Draco or Master Lucius Malfoy," she said in brisk, matter-of-fact tones. House-elves tended to be easily overawed by those who appeared in control of a situation. Good thing her voice sounded firm and strong, even if she would have liked nothing better right then than to Disapparate back to the Ministry and tell Miles Cornish exactly what he could do with his special investigations.

The house-elf jumped slightly, and then stammered, "The masters are indisposed."

"Both of them?" Hermione demanded, attempting to quell a sudden flash of irritation. Really, couldn't he have thought of a better excuse than that?

"Yes, both of them," a cool voice broke in, and Hermione looked up to see Narcissa Malfoy's pale, proud face staring down at her.

Hermione straightened. "Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy."

A sniff. "I see nothing good about it. What do you want?"

It didn't help that Narcissa had a good two or three inches on her. Hermione tried to stand up as straight as possible and match the Malfoy woman's flat, hostile glare. Whatever was going on here, it seemed to have taken its toll on Narcissa as well - there were deep shadows beneath her eyes, and lines had begun to drag their way down from nostril to mouth. She was still lovely, but the façade had started to reveal wear, like cracks showing in the glaze of an ancient porcelain vase. After clearing her throat, Hermione began, "I'm Hermione Granger-Weasley - "

"I know who you are. What are you doing here?"

So much for the pleasantries. "I'm here on Ministry business. We're currently investigating a series of attacks on Muggles in the vicinity. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Probably Narcissa's white skin couldn't go any more pale, but something around her mouth seemed to tighten, and her gaze shifted away from Hermione for the smallest fraction of a second before she appeared to gain control. "I'm afraid I have no idea."

She had to be lying, but of course Hermione hadn't thought it would be that easy. "I'll need to speak to your husband or your son."

"I'm afraid that's impossible."

"Why is that?"

"As Withy said, they are indisposed."

"Ill?"

Once again Narcissa wouldn't meet Hermione's eyes. "I suppose that will do."

From the far end of the room came what sounded like a muffled gasp, and Hermione glanced over to see Pansy paused on the bottom step of a wide, curved staircase. As before, she wore fine velvet robes, this time in a dark mossy green, but despite the fine garments and her carefully arranged hair, she looked drawn and ill. Had she caught whatever ailed Lucius and Draco?

"Hello, Pansy," Hermione said. Her former schoolmate did not reply, but licked her lips nervously, her dark eyes refusing to meet Hermione's. Instead, Pansy glanced over at her mother-in-law, and Hermione, still watching Pansy rather than Narcissa, saw how her fingers clenched a fold of her heavy robes, the pressure leaving dull imprints against the silk velvet. Ignoring the lack of response, Hermione went on, "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to offer my congratulations to you when I saw you in Diagon Alley. You must be very happy."

Finally Pansy's gaze slid over to her, and she gave an odd little laugh that was almost a sob. "Happy? Happy, did you say?"

"Pansy, I believe you had business upstairs," Narcissa said, in the sort of commanding inflection one would use when addressing an idiot or a small child. "Mrs. Granger-Weasley and I can discuss this alone."

But Pansy didn't move. "Discuss what?"

"The Ministry sent me here," Hermione replied. She knew she would get nowhere with Narcissa; the woman had had years to perfect her stony façade, a perfect match to the house in which she lived. But Pansy -- Pansy had the outward signs of someone on the brink of nervous collapse. Hermione hated the thought of having to exploit the other woman's weakness, but she was conducting an investigation, after all, and perhaps if she could only get to the bottom of the mystery here, she would have a better idea as to whether she would be able to offer any assistance. "We've had disturbing reports of Muggles in the area bordering your property meeting with a series of unexplained accidents. I was hoping Draco or Lucius might be able to shed some light on the subject."

At the mention of her husband and father-in-law, Pansy twitched a little, like a horse that's just felt a fly land on its hindquarters. "They can't talk to you," she said.

"As I was just telling her myself," Narcissa cut in. "They are indisposed. They are not receiving visitors."

"If they're ill, perhaps you should call for a Healer from St. Mungo's," Hermione suggested. Really, even if Draco and Lucius had both fallen prey to some sort of chronic condition, wouldn't a hospital be the best place for them? Narcissa's obfuscations and Pansy's uncharacteristic edginess suddenly seemed bordering on the hysterical. No matter what the Malfoys might have done in the past, they certainly wouldn't have been turned away from St. Mungo's if they were truly in need.

Narcissa said nothing, but Pansy again made one of those odd little sobbing laughs. "A Healer! If only it were that simple!"

"Pansy, that is enough," Narcissa said, in quelling tones, and the look she turned on her daughter-in-law was pure ice.

"It would be best if you cooperated," Hermione told Narcissa, even as she attempted to push away the feeling she was rapidly losing control of the situation. Some drama seemed to be playing out between the two women that had very little to do with her. "The Ministry wants answers, Mrs. Malfoy. The next time they may send a squad of Aurors to question you."

This threat appeared to have little effect. "Aurors!" said Narcissa, her mouth curling in disdain. "I'd like to see them try. A squad of Aurors to take on two innocent women!"

I wouldn't exactly call you "innocent," Hermione thought, but she held her tongue. "I was merely speaking of cooperation, Mrs. Malfoy. All I need is some proof that no one in this household is responsible for these attacks, and the Ministry will be satisfied."

"Will they?" Narcissa retorted. "Somehow I doubt that. But I have nothing to give you -- only my word that the Ministry is mistaken in believing we are connected in any way with these Muggles you claim have been attacked."

Hermione did not immediately reply, but instead borrowed one of Severus' tricks - she lifted an eyebrow and stared back at Narcissa with what she hoped was an expression of polite yet somehow disdainful disbelief. Perhaps once upon a time Narcissa Malfoy's word would have been worth a great deal, but Hermione knew it would take more than that to satisfy the Ministry. After all, Narcissa had lied to Lord Voldemort's face in order to protect her son -- of course she would do the same thing now, when confronted with a much less intimidating adversary. At least Hermione did not feel herself to be in any danger at the moment, but neither could she think of a way to force Narcissa to tell the truth. I should have brought some Veritaserum with me, she thought wryly. Not that I probably could have managed to force any of it down Narcissa's throat.

"I will of course pass on your remarks to my superiors at the Ministry," Hermione said, after allowing a significant pause before she spoke. "Whether they will be inclined to believe them is another story." She paused, and then glanced over at Pansy, who still stood frozen at the bottom of the staircase. Allowing her tone to soften ever so slightly, Hermione added, "I really do hope you'll consider asking for assistance. But we can't help you if we don't know what the problem is."

Pansy began to open her mouth, but Narcissa forestalled whatever remark she was about to make by saying, "How very noble of you, Mrs. Weasley-Granger. However, we don't need your help - not from the Ministry, and certainly not from a Mudblood such as you."

Of course Narcissa had intended the epithet to insult or upset Hermione, but the elder Malfoy woman didn't know her target very well. Oh, it was a rude word, and Hermione didn't particularly care to have it flung at her, but she had proven herself over and over again to be one of the most talented witches of her generation. The foolish prejudices of a Pureblood woman didn't matter very much in comparison to Hermione's many accomplishments.

Or at least that was what she told herself, before she replied, "I do hope you're correct in that assumption, Mrs. Malfoy." Shifting slightly, Hermione nodded toward Pansy, and then said, "I'll be sure to let the Ministry know how cooperative you both were. Have a good day - I can let myself out." After delivering this parting shot, she turned and strode toward the door, but kept one hand near her concealed wand - just in case. She wouldn't put it past Narcissa to attempt a Stunning curse or some other underhanded spell while Hermione's back was to her. But nothing of the sort happened, save that Hermione found herself holding her breath until she was safely outside. The door slammed shut behind her, but she had no way of knowing whether Narcissa had done so magically or whether the house-elf Withy, picking up on his mistress's mood, had obligingly slammed it for her.

No matter. Hermione had made it out of Malfoy Manor in one piece, and if she had little to show for her efforts, at least she could go back to Miles Cornish and let him know she had made the attempt. If he tried to send her back again, she'd definitely take Severus or several Aurors with her, as she guessed that Narcissa would be even less thrilled by a repeat visit. Obviously Hermione on her own was not enough to coerce Narcissa into any helpful revelations. Hermione supposed she should feel somewhat offended by this realization, but at the moment she was too relieved by her escape to worry over her apparent lack of intimidation skills. All she could hope now was that the small bits of information she had gleaned - that apparently both Lucius and Draco were either ill or some other way incapacitated - would be enough to satisfy Miles.

She knew the information certainly wasn't enough to satisfy her.

***

When she returned to the Ministry, however, it was to find Miles Cornish gone, apparently for the day.

"Personal business," said Daphne Greengrass, the former Slytherin girl who also worked in the department and appeared to function as Miles's part-time assistant when she wasn't conducting her own investigations. She curled a strand of auburn hair around her forefinger, inspected it, then shrugged. "He disappears a few times a month - never says where he's going. Rupert and I think he's got a bit on the side," she added with a sly grin, naming the third investigator in their department. "Did you want to leave a message?"

"No," Hermione said, feeling annoyed and not a little disgusted. There was probably a perfectly rational explanation for wherever Miles might have gone without resorting to lurid speculations. And she supposed a manager wasn't obligated to tell his subordinates where he was going and what he was doing every second of the day. Still, it did bother her that he had sent her off on what could have been quite a dangerous mission without even waiting around to see how she had fared. "I'll see if I can speak with him in the morning."

"Right, then," Daphne replied, and picked up the copy of the Prophet she had been reading. It appeared quite obvious that she planned to take advantage of Miles's absence by doing absolutely no work whatsoever.

If she weren't so new to the department, Hermione might have found herself compelled to make a pointed comment on the subject. But the last thing she needed right now was to make enemies, so she merely handed Daphne - who overall had been somewhat friendly, despite her Slytherin affiliation -- a very lackluster smile and returned to her own office.

The rest of the afternoon passed with the sort of excruciating slowness that only occurs when one wishes to be someplace else entirely. Hermione worked her way through one of her other cases - a witch in Bloomsbury had been Transfiguring mice into Persian cats and attempting to sell them to Muggles to earn extra income - but she had a difficult time concentrating. Her visit to Malfoy Manor had only deepened the mystery. If Lucius and Draco truly were ill, and if Narcissa was lying about their involvement in the Muggle attacks, how on earth could the two be connected? Surely men who were "indisposed," as Narcissa had put it, would be incapable of the sort of physical brutality their hapless neighbors had experienced.

At last five o'clock came. Hermione, who usually worked half-past the hour or even longer, pushed herself away from her desk and was out to the lifts before her coworkers had even donned their traveling cloaks. She knew she had to get back to Rosedell to check on Crookshanks, but after that she was heading straight to Yorkshire. Her father seemed to be doing well enough after refusing -- quite stubbornly, in Hermione's opinion -- to have any sort of healing magic performed on his leg. Of course she hadn't proposed such a thing whilst he was in the hospital, as that would have attracted a good deal of unwelcome attention, but she didn't see why he should have to suffer with a cast once he was safely away home. He had demurred, saying he could mend on his own just fine without any magical intervention. Both of her parents had always been like that, actually - proud of her accomplishments, but also quite happy to muddle along without her assistance. She'd never really understood their position, but she was forced to respect it.

So it was with a somewhat light heart that she departed Rosedell after giving Crookshanks a good scratching behind the ears and a large tin of tuna. He ignored her caresses, but not the food. Obviously her extended absence had put his nose out of joint. Hermione suffered a few pangs of guilt over his neglect, but they were not enough to stop her from escaping to Yorkshire.

The snow around Severus' cottage looked trampled and gray, the way snow always did after it had lain on the ground for a few days. An angry orange glow to the west was all that remained of the day, and Hermione pulled her cloak more tightly about her as she made her way to the front door. As usual, it swung open before she even had a chance to knock.

"Your parents let you off your chain, I see," Severus remarked, then stepped aside so she could enter the cottage.

"I wasn't on a chain," she retorted. "I was helping them out. I came as soon as I could."

"Of course." With a shrug, he shut the door and moved away from her, toward the dining area that functioned as his potions laboratory. Something sharp and green-smelling burbled away happily in a cauldron on the stovetop. Without speaking, he lifted a small beaker filled with pale, milky fluid and poured a precise ounce into the cauldron. At once the green smell became more muted, almost flowery, but with a dusty scent, like an ancient sachet that had lain forgotten in a dresser drawer for many years.

"What is that?" Hermione asked. The odor was unfamiliar; she could not recall having ever encountered it in the Potions classroom.

"An experiment," Severus replied, but he did not appear eager to share any more information than that.

Everyone with their secrets, she thought in some irritation, but she did not press the point. Too many days had passed since she had last been with Severus - the last thing she wanted was for them to start bickering within two minutes of seeing one another.

"Well, at least you've been keeping busy, I see," she said.

"I always do." He turned away from the stove and crossed his arms; today he once again wore the faded black jumper and dark Muggle pants he'd adopted as his alternate wardrobe. "As have you, apparently."

More than you know, Hermione thought. She was at a loss as to the best way to approach the Malfoy situation without revealing she had gone to their estate alone. Somehow she had the distinct impression Severus would be less than pleased upon receiving that particular bit of news. Perhaps an oblique approach would be best. So she removed her heavy travelling cloak and draped it over the back of one of the dining room chairs, then asked in diffident tones, "Do you know of any illness that would cause the sorts of attacks being reported in Wiltshire?"

His eyes narrowed. "Illness? What would make you think that?"

"Just - just a notion I had."

It was a poor lie, and Hermione regretted it almost the second it left her mouth. At once Severus' black stare focused on her, and she could almost feel his mind forcing itself against hers, laying bare that which she'd hoped to keep secret. Harry had spoken very little to her of Occlumency, and so she'd had no practice in mustering a defense. She tried to think of everything but the Malfoy case or her visit there this morning, but it seemed the harder she tried not to think about it, the more prominent in her mind it became.

After a few seconds of struggle that felt more like several centuries, she could almost feel the pressure of his mind lift from hers. But her relief was short-lived, for at once Severus demanded, "You went to Malfoy Manor alone? Do you have any idea how foolish that was?"

Hermione could think of several angry retorts she would like to make, but she decided it would be unwise to use any of them. Besides, underneath her indignation that he would use Legilimency to wrest the truth from her mind was the uneasy realization he had every right to be so angry with her. Instead she said, in what she hoped was a reasonable manner, "It wasn't as if I had much of a choice, Severus. Miles Cornish all but commanded me to go."

"Miles Cornish!" he repeated, in tones of incredulous rage. "Why on earth would you trust the judgment of a mid-level functionary such as Miles Cornish?"

"Besides the fact that he's my supervisor?"

Severus waved an angry hand, as if to brush away such specious arguments. "I don't care if he's the Minister of Magic himself - he had no right to send you into such a dangerous situation alone."

"It wasn't that dangerous, Severus - absolutely nothing happened. Probably the worst of it was Narcissa Malfoy calling me a Mudblood. Really, you'd think they'd come up with some more interesting epithets by now."

His mouth thinned. "If that is your way of making light of the situation, I find nothing remotely amusing about it."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Hermione crossed her arms and matched him glare for glare. "And am I to suppose Professor Dumbledore never asked you to do anything dangerous?"

"That was different," Severus replied, and his voice was so acid it might have melted through steel. "You cannot possibly be attempting to equate Miles Cornish with Albus Dumbledore!"

"Not really, besides the obvious - Dumbledore was your superior, just as Miles is mine." His expression did not change, and she went on, "What is it about Miles that you dislike so much?"

"Besides the fact that he sent you on a foolish, profitless mission?" He made an impatient gesture, although whether his frustration was with her or Miles Cornish, Hermione couldn't know for sure. "Cornish was appointed when Cornelius Fudge was in power. That should tell you something right there. He's a bureaucrat with no real experience, no knowledge of the Malfoys' true history. I suppose he told you that it was perfectly safe, that the Malfoys would never act against an official from the Ministry?"

Reluctantly, she nodded, and Severus' scowl only etched itself more deeply into his forehead. "The man is an idiot. He shouldn't be supervising his own desktop, let alone a department as important as yours."

"If I admit it was foolish, will you let it go?" Hermione asked, already weary of the argument. After all, the worst she had suffered in her encounter with Narcissa and Pansy was a bit of verbal abuse.

"Only if you promise never to do such a thing again, no matter what Miles Cornish might say. Would you risk your life over a mere job?"

Wounded that he would belittle her position in such a manner, Hermione retorted, "Working for the Ministry isn't a 'mere job.'"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure the world is much safer now that you've tracked down all those underage wizards casting Bat-Bogey Hexes and brewing love potions outside of Hogwarts," sneered Severus.

Oh, how did he know exactly the right thing to say that made her want to reach out and smack him across the jaw for daring to condescend to her in such a manner? Hermione clenched her fists in her robes and choked back the angry reply that danced on the tip of her tongue. She would not use words as weapons the way Severus did. Too often things were said in the heat of the moment that were regretted for months and years afterward. Besides, past her own anger she thought she began to see the reason for Severus' fury. After all, would he be so upset with her if he weren't concerned about her fate?

"Perhaps it is," she said quietly. "But that's not really why you're angry, is it?"

For a moment he just stood there, staring down at her. The black eyes looked opaque, almost expressionless in the dim light of the few candles burning in the chamber. But then she saw him swallow, and he shook his head. Something about the bleak lines of his countenance made Hermione want to go to him, to reach out and touch his face, to offer whatever comfort she could. She waited, however, to hear what he would say. He needed to learn he need not worry about unburdening himself to her - that she should not be kept outside the barrier he'd erected around his heart so many years ago.

At last he said, in a voice so low she had to strain to hear the words, "I have lost too many people as it is. I would not wish to face losing you as well."

It was what she had suspected, but still Hermione felt a rush of joy at this revelation. Then she did step toward him, just as he moved toward her as well. His arms went around her, and she pressed herself against him, laying her head against his chest so she could hear the strong beating of his heart. Something brushed against the top of her head - his mouth, laying a kiss there so gentle it was hard to believe it could have come from Severus Snape.

"You won't lose me," she said. "You won't. I'm sorry, Severus. It was a foolish thing to do, even if I was just doing what my supervisor asked me to do."

"Foolish and reckless," he concurred, and he shifted so that they were once again standing face to face. "And nothing you should ever do again. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Hermione replied, in tones so uncharacteristically meek that Severus actually smiled.

"We shall see how long this resolve holds up - I have the feeling you would go charging headlong into a situation without concern for your own well-being if you felt you were somehow doing good by acting in such a way. Still, I will take your word for now, and bargain for your safety once again in the future if circumstances warrant it." His expression sobered, and he asked, "So in your visit to Malfoy Manor, you saw no sign of either Lucius or Draco?"

"None," she said, relieved he was willing to discuss the situation without any further recriminations. "Narcissa said they were indisposed, which is a polite term that can mean anything from laid up with gout to vomiting slugs, I suppose." Despite herself, Hermione grinned a little. The mental image of Lucius Malfoy with a gouty leg or Draco helplessly throwing up slugs as poor Ron had so long ago cheered her perversely, even though she had the feeling that whatever ailed them was orders of magnitude more serious. "And Pansy was acting awfully odd. Nervous, almost hysterical. It was very unlike her." That was an understatement - Pansy had always been queen to Draco's king in their little Slytherin demesne, ironic and self-assured and sometimes downright rude, but never edgy or tense.

"It does sound unlike her," Severus mused, and Hermione gave him a surprised look, then realized of course he would probably know Pansy much better than Hermione did, seeing as Pansy had been a student when he was Head of Slytherin House.

"So this leads back to my previous question," Hermione said. "What sort of illness could they be suffering that would possibly be connected to the attacks on those Muggles?"

Again Severus hesitated, and although Hermione watched him carefully, she should have known that he would betray very little through his expression if he did not wish to. "I don't believe I can speak to that question at the moment."

"Which is just a roundabout way of saying you do have an idea, but you don't want to tell me what it is," Hermione remarked. "Really, Severus, what could be so terrible that you won't just tell me? Why all the secrecy?"

"Because I don't have all the facts in this situation - or any of them, for that matter," he replied. The reproachful look he gave her was so similar to the disapproving glares he used to turn on hapless first years in Potions class that she almost smiled. "You of all people should know the foolishness of jumping to conclusions before enough data has been gathered."

"True," Hermione said. "So what next?"

"We need more information on the specifics of this 'illness' the Malfoys are suffering. Not," he added, after sending another forbidding glare in her direction, "by making a return trip to Malfoy Manor. You've already shown that to be a profitless endeavor - as I could have told you, if you had bothered to consult with me before you went there."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, then realized defending her actions was a foolish use of time at this point. After all, Severus was right - she hadn't very much to show for her risky trip to the Malfoy estate. "But if I can't go back there to attempt to speak with them once again, what should I do?"

"Haven't you already seen the younger Mrs. Malfoy in London several times already?" he inquired. "Knowing this, would it not be reasonable to expect she might return in the near future? Perhaps less time wandering about Wiltshire and more time waiting in Diagon Alley so that you can speak to her alone would be a better use of your resources. If her mental state is truly as you have described it, then it does appear that she is the weak link in the Malfoy chain. Perhaps the correct amount of pressure - judiciously applied, of course - is all that's required for her to unburden herself."

His words made sense. After all, it was true that Pansy did seem to travel to London on a fairly regular basis, and it was also true that she should be a much easier nut to crack than Narcissa. Hermione nodded. "And if I can get further information from her, then will you tell me of your suspicions?"

"Of course," he said at once, to Hermione's relief. At least his reply indicated that he only held back now because he felt his hunch did not have the factual backing to support it, not that he didn't trust her enough to confide in her.

"Then I'll have to be satisfied with that for now," she replied.

"Excellent. Now can we devote our time to more important things?"

"Such as?" Hermione asked, but of course she knew what he meant.

Severus didn't bother to answer. He merely reached out to her once more, drawing her close, this time covering her mouth with his so there was no need for further speech, no need for anything but the touch and taste and scent of him, filling her world, filling her mind and her senses, so that all she could hope for was that it would always be this way, always Severus and her, without doubt, without worry, without anything but the sweet sensation of his arms around her, his lips pressed against hers, the mad pounding of her own heart and the thrum of the blood within her veins. Only the two of them, and the world so far away.

Even as she lost herself in that endless embrace, however, Hermione knew it could not last forever....