The Quality of Mercy

Sorry it took me almost two weeks to update -- blame it on Christmas (I know I did). Happy New Year to everyone, and thank you once again for all your wonderful reviews!

Sixteen: Truth or Dare

The next morning Hermione barely paused to take off her traveling cloak and drop her satchel next to her desk before she marched over to Miles Cornish's office. He was in, but barely - he was still hanging his own cloak from a rack in the corner when she stopped in the doorway and said, "Miles?"

He started a little, then turned and smiled. "Good morning, Hermione."

Not bothering with a pleasantry in return, Hermione went on, "I visited Malfoy Manor yesterday morning, as you instructed."

The agreeable, noncommittal expression never changed. "And?" he said, as he sat down at his desk and pulled out a somewhat stained bone china mug covered in a floral pattern so pink and cloying Hermione wondered whether he had stolen it from Dolores Umbridge. As she watched, he poured some water into it from a pitcher that sat on the low filing cabinet behind him. He waved his wand over the mug, and immediately steam begin to rise from its contents. Finally, he produced a tea bag from his top desk drawer and dropped it into the boiling water.

Hermione felt compelled to wait until he had completed this procedure before she replied. "Narcissa Malfoy says she has no idea what's going on with these attacks, and told me neither Lucius nor Draco could have anything to do with them, as they're both currently indisposed."

"Well, then," said Miles, after he had paused to swirl the tea bag through the hot water in his mug. "I suppose that will have to do."

"What?" Hermione burst out, before she could stop herself. Miles turned a mildly reproving look on her, and she made herself count, not to ten, but at least a good sturdy five, before she continued, "That is, surely you're not just going to take Narcissa Malfoy's word on the matter?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because - because she's lying, sir!"

At that bald-faced statement, Miles did frown the slightest bit. "That's quite a charge to level at an upstanding member of the wizarding community."

Upstanding member of the - Had Miles gone completely mad? How could he possibly be referring to Narcissa Malfoy in such a manner? "Miles, surely you can't have forgotten that Mrs. Malfoy is married to a known Death Eater, that she has been implicated in a number of highly questionable activities, that - "

"I have not forgotten. I have also not forgotten that Harry Potter has vouched for her and has in fact clearly stated that he would be dead were it not for the actions of Narcissa Malfoy. Certainly she has done nothing over the past five years to indicate anything except that she leads a quiet, blameless life. If she says her husband and son are not involved in these attacks on Muggles, then we must take her at her word."

This speech was delivered in a calm, matter-of-fact tone that appeared to allow no further argument. For a few seconds Hermione could only stare down at her supervisor, feeling absolutely flummoxed. How on earth could he be so dismissive of Narcissa Malfoy's past? What was the point in Miles sending her to Malfoy Manor if he was only going to dismiss her findings out of hand?

Hermione knew she must choose her next words with care. "Miles, I understand this is a delicate matter, but surely further questioning is warranted. Mrs. Malfoy didn't deal very well with me, but perhaps if you sent someone she could better relate to, perhaps someone such as Daphne, who was also in Slytherin - "

"Still playing the House card, Hermione?" Miles inquired, then shook his head. "Perhaps you're the one who should be trying to put behind old prejudices. These school-day affiliations really have no bearing in the lives of grown-up wizards and witches."

Oh, they don't, do they? Hermione thought. I'll tell that to all the Slytherins of my close personal acquaintance. Oh, wait - I don't have any. People could preach House unity all they wanted, or say that one's House connections didn't matter once a wizard or witch was out in the real world, but Hermione knew for a fact that those loyalties and affiliations continued long after a student graduated from Hogwarts. She had some Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw friends. However, they were significantly outnumbered by the Gryffindors of her acquaintance, and she had no Slytherin friends at all. Oh, of course she could have a civil working with relationship with someone who had been in Slytherin, such as Daphne Greengrass, but Hermione was fairly certain Daphne wasn't going to invite her out for a drink after work or ask her to go shopping in Diagon Alley. Perhaps things would slowly begin to change; with Voldemort gone, some of the stigma associated with Slytherin had begun to fade away. But so far Hermione hadn't seen much of a shift in the strict divisions along House lines that had their genesis in Hogwarts' Sorting system.

"If you say so, Miles," Hermione replied, after a pause she hoped wasn't too noticeable. Although she had begun the morning bursting with energy, ready to present her supervisor with the results of her meeting with Narcissa Malfoy and forge on to the next step of the investigation, now Hermione only felt an odd weariness wash over her. It seemed all too apparent - for whatever reason - Miles would not entertain the notion that Narcissa might be involved in any duplicity. Very well. It didn't mean Hermione would drop the case, only that she would have to continue her investigations on the sly. "I just wanted to make sure we explored every possibility regarding these attacks."

Miles smiled and sipped at his tea. "As well you should, Hermione. I expect no less of you. However, it appears clear to me that the Malfoys are blameless in this matter. Perhaps what we are dealing with here is simply an odd cluster of unrelated mishaps."

Mishaps? thought Hermione. I doubt Mr. Morris would call his encounter with an invisible monster a "mishap." She realized it wouldn't do any good to point out such a thing to Miles, however. He had obviously made up his mind, and would only call Mr. Morris's account flawed, the product of an overactive imagination that had merely mistaken a set of ordinary circumstances for something supernatural.

"Perhaps," she allowed, then produced a slightly rueful smile of her own. "I suppose I'd better get on to my next case, then."

"Capital," beamed Miles, who then returned to his tea, apparently dismissing her.

Knowing there was nothing more she could say, Hermione went back to her office, thoughts chasing furiously after one another. Miles could say what he liked, but she knew something terribly wrong was going on at Malfoy Manor. He hadn't been there - he hadn't seen the brittle expression on Narcissa's face, nor heard the note of near-panic in Pansy's voice. Could he really be that obtuse, or was he hiding something? Daphne's offhand, catty comment about Miles having a bit on the side jumped with sudden force to the forefront of Hermione's thoughts. Was something going on between Miles and Narcissa?

Almost at once Hermione discarded that notion as patently ridiculous. If Narcissa -- who had always appeared fiercely loyal to her husband and son, no matter what her other character faults might be - were being unfaithful, surely she wouldn't do so with someone as plain and mild and beige as Miles. Then again, stranger things had been known to happen. And if that were the case, wouldn't Miles want to make sure Narcissa appeared blameless in the matter of these attacks?

Then why would he send me out there in the first place? Hermione wondered, as she settled herself back at her desk and picked up a file from the stack on her desk. What on earth would such a thing prove?

The answer came almost at once. It would show that an independent, unbiased investigator went to Malfoy Manor and found nothing, she thought. It would be enough evidence to show the department conducted an inquiry -- an inquiry which uncovered nothing untoward. No one is going to dig too deeply into a case that only involves Muggles, after all, no matter how much the Ministry might claim otherwise. Especially when what we're dealing with is minor injuries - inconvenient ones, of course, but there have been no deaths, and no one has suffered anything worse than a broken bone.

Frowning, Hermione picked up a quill, but her mind was far away from the file that lay before her on her desk, a simple case of unlicensed Apparition. The wizard involved, who was of age but who had never formally passed his Apparition exams, would most likely get off with a warning and a small fine. It was certainly not the sort of case to engage much of her mental capacity. Not when the ever-deepening mystery at Malfoy Manor continued to gnaw away at her thoughts.

More than ever she wished Severus could be with her. How much simpler all this would be if they could share their lives without complication. Somehow Hermione doubted he would ever accept a post at the Ministry - his scorn of that institution and its agents had been made clear on more than one occasion - but even if he were in town she would be able to see him much more frequently, to have the benefit of his keen mind and insights into the wizarding world.

That's very selfless, she told herself, with a mental laugh. Why not admit you just want to hear the sound of his voice, and perhaps indulge in a bit of midday snogging?

Well, that was true enough, but her physical reactions to Severus Snape, thrilling as they might be, did not preclude an appreciation for his intellect and the knowledge and wisdom he had gained over the years. Rather, the two were somehow tied together, her physical desire for him only matched by her need to be in his presence, to spar with him verbally, knowing finally she had met her match.

These pleasant ruminations were interrupted by the arrival of Harry, who appeared out of nowhere to stand in the doorway of her office, his face a thundercloud.

"We need to talk," he said, and shut the door behind him.

His precipitous arrival seemed the capper to a perfect morning. Whatever he was about, it couldn't be good - the expression he wore was usually a preamble to the sort of emotional pyrotechnics Hermione knew she was definitely not in the mood for today.

But she closed the file and laid down her quill, then asked, "What is it, Harry?"

"Are you going to tell me where it is you've been disappearing to lately?"

Her stomach felt as if it had dropped a few feet. Hermione swallowed, all sorts of terrible conjectures dancing through her head. Still, she manage to inquire - quite calmly, she thought, "Disappearing?"

Harry crossed his arms and gave her an icy green glare from behind his spectacles. "Yes, disappearing - and I'm not talking about going for walks in the woods and rubbish like that."

"Well, yesterday morning I went out to Malfoy Manor," Hermione replied. "And before you get on me about that, I'll have you know the trip was entirely uneventful, and I wouldn't have even gone in the first place if Miles hadn't ordered me to."

The glare did not appear to lessen noticeably. "I heard about that particular stunt, but since you seem a little defensive about it, we'll let that go for now. No, I'm talking about where you were right after work yesterday evening...or last Friday night. And of course there was the time when Ginny was in labor and you were nowhere to be found."

Oh, good grief. Had he been following her, for God's sake? Or keeping track of her somehow by her Apparitions? She knew such a thing wasn't entirely unheard of, but the Ministry certainly had better things to do than keep a record of every Apparition and Disapparition in England. It would be like the Muggle Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency maintaining a register of the whereabouts of every licensed driver in England at every moment. Perhaps not completely out of the realm of possibility, but certainly not very likely. Even the case she had been working on, which involved unlicensed Apparition, would not have come to the Ministry's attention had it not been for the fact that the perpetrator in question was already on his neighbors' bad side due to a number of smelly -- but legal -- potions experiments.

"You know, Harry," Hermione remarked, "one would think with a newborn son at home you'd have better things to do with your time than play amateur detective with me." She did not bother to keep the scorn out of her voice; her association with Severus had taught her some well-placed irony could be a useful tool.

But her sarcastic tone appeared to have little effect. Harry shot back, "And one would think a widow of six months would be doing something besides running around on the sly. I know you're seeing someone - Ginny admitted as much to me only yesterday. So who is it?"

Damn Ginny, thought Hermione, but she couldn't allow her anger to get the better of her, especially since she guessed that Ginny had perhaps made a speculative comment on the situation at the most, and Harry, being who he was, had run with it. Not trusting herself to speak, Hermione crossed her arms and looked away.

Her silence only seemed to infuriate Harry further. "And if you won't tell me, I'll go to Yorkshire and find out for myself. Oh, yes," he added, as he saw her startle at that revelation, "I know where you've been going. I just thought I'd give you a chance to explain yourself before I went there to find out for myself."

"You can't!" Hermione exclaimed. Good God - she couldn't begin to imagine the scene if Harry popped in on Severus out of the blue. Or rather, she probably could imagine it - she just didn't want to. "Don't you dare - it's none of your business!"

"None of my business? Ron was my best friend - I should think it's bloody well my business. How do you think he'd feel, knowing you'd gone off and found somebody else barely six months after he died?"

Hermione felt her own eyes begin to blaze. "I didn't think there was a particular timetable for these sorts of things. Sorry - I'll make sure I consult you next time."

"So you admit you have been seeing someone."

"I don't have to 'admit' anything," she retorted. "I'm not on trial here. It's not as if I've committed a crime. For God's sake, Harry - Ron was my friend as well as my husband. I don't need you lecturing me about how he would feel." And how would he feel? she thought then. I'd like to think he'd understand I'd have to move on at some point, but somehow I have the feeling he wouldn't be very approving of my choice. Then again, would anybody?

Harry crossed his arms, a scowl eerily reminiscent of one of Severus' creasing his forehead. "So you're not going to tell me?"

"What would that do?" Hermione asked. She didn't bother to keep the weary skepticism out of her voice. "No matter who I might be with, you're certain to find something wrong with him."

"That's not necessarily true," Harry countered. "There are some people I wouldn't mind seeing you with - Neville, for example, or even Ernie or Seamus."

Hermione let out an inelegant snort. "Oh, right, because they've all shown such an interest in me before this. Never mind that I'm not at all interested in any of them!"

"Is it Krum, then? He seemed pretty keen to renew his acquaintance with you back at Bill and Fleur's wedding - maybe he thought he'd get a second chance with Ron out of the way."

After this last statement Hermione knew Harry would never let it go. It was obvious to her that he was perfectly willing to stand there and play 20 Questions in regards to her mystery suitor for as long as it took. Forty questions? Fifty questions? The number really didn't matter, she supposed. She knew she should keep silent. Her revelation of their relationship would affect Severus as much as it did her - more, possibly. But he was far away, and Harry was right here, right now. And the burden of her secret felt so heavy. Surely the aftermath couldn't be any worse than this horrible secrecy? Wasn't she an independent adult? Harry had no more right to pass judgment on her love life than she did on his.

"I'll tell you," she said, the words coming with painful slowness, as if Harry were somehow pulling them out of her one by one via some unknown spell of compulsion. "But only if you promise you won't say anything to anyone else...only if you swear you won't blow up at me, no matter who it is."

"Christ, Hermione, how bad could it be?" asked Harry. Then he frowned. "It's not that Muggle George saw you with, is it?"

"No."

His frown deepened. "Not someone from Slytherin, is it? I wouldn't put it past Blaise, or maybe Theodore Nott."

"No, of course not!" Hermione snapped. His willful persistence grew more infuriating by the moment. "If you must know, it's Severus Snape."

Immediately following this pronouncement, Harry's face went white. Then a flush of angry red rose up in his cheeks, even as he gave a very forced laugh and replied, "Oh, that's a good one, Hermione. Why don't you just tell me the truth?"

Trust Harry to accuse her of making a bad joke, just when she'd finally screwed up the nerve to tell him the truth of the situation. "That is the truth, Harry. It's certainly nothing I planned, but...there it is."

For a few seconds he just stared at her, disbelief written clearly on his features. The disbelief was followed by a look of revulsion so profound Hermione wished she could take the words back. But done was done, and she knew she would stand her ground on this. Severus was worth it.

"How could you?" Harry demanded at last. "He's -- he's Snape! He's old enough to be your father!"

"Actually, my father is fifty-one, almost ten years older than Severus," Hermione replied, in tones that sounded prim even to herself.

"What difference does that make? Snape is still at least twenty years older than you, and he's -- he's -- " Words appeared to fail Harry as he glared down at her, anger and disgust and incredulity all warring in his face. Disgust appeared to win out, as he added, "How you could even think of letting that slimy Slytherin -- "

"That is quite enough, Harry!" she snapped. Oh, she'd known he would take the news badly, but she wasn't about to sit there and let him insult Severus in such a way. "For your information, I didn't 'let' him do anything -- I'm quite capable of making my own decisions and taking responsibility for my own actions, thank you very much. Whatever you may think, Severus is an honorable man."

"Oh, very honorable," Harry sneered. "Taking advantage of a girl twenty years younger than he is!"

Of course Harry would see the situation in that light. Fighting the impulse to hit him with an Impedimenta curse so he would stay still and bloody well listen to her, Hermione replied, "I am not a girl -- I am a grown woman and a widow, as you're so fond of reminding me. I am certainly capable of managing my own affairs. And if Severus is the person I've chosen to be with, neither you nor anyone else has the right to tell me it's wrong."

"I may not have the right, but I'm going to tell you anyway! God, Hermione, have you forgotten the way he treated me, the way he sneered at you? How could you have ever found yourself in a situation where something like this sounded like a good idea?"

He'll never understand, Hermione thought miserably. He'll just condemn me and condemn Severus because of what happened in the past. How can I ever convince him that people can and do change, and in some strange way Severus and I make far more sense than Ron and I ever did? It seemed an impossible task. Perhaps now wasn't the time to make the attempt -- the shock was too new, too fresh. But she had to do something to stop the tirade.

She lifted her chin and met Harry's outraged glare with a level, calm look of her own. "Harry, I respected you enough to tell you the truth. All I ask now is that you respect me enough to stop with the insults. I don't have to explain myself to you. I'm sorry you're so upset about this. But nothing you do or say is going to change the situation."

His hands were knotted into the heavy, dark material of his robes, knuckles showing white as his fists clenched against the fabric. Hermione had the uneasy feeling that Harry very much wished those same hands might bbe wrapped around Severus Snape's neck. Finally he said, in tones of choked fury that did not bode well for their future friendship, "We'll just have to see about that." Then he turned and opened the door, stalked out of her office, and slammed the door shut behind him with such force that a stack of books on top of one of her shelves toppled over, spilling several volumes on the floor.

For a moment Hermione sat very still at her desk, staring at the doorway through which Harry had just exited. Her heart beat a painful staccato in her breast, and when she set her hands down on her desktop, she realized they were shaking. She tried to tell herself that eventually he would come around. He would tell Ginny, and Ginny, even if she might be shocked herself, would tell him he needed to back off and let Hermione live her life. Oh, it would be difficult, but at some point Harry would just have to come to terms with the situation. They had been friends for too long for him to throw their entire shared past away simply because he didn't approve of her choice of lovers. Sooner or later he would have to resign himself to Snape being in her life.

She didn't want to think about what might happen if he didn't.

***

Her nerves continued in their rattled state for the rest of the day. Briefly Hermione considered going to Miles and telling him that she was ill and needed to knock off for the remainder of the her shift. But as much as the confrontation with Harry had shaken her, she didn't want to take the coward's way out. No, she would stay in this office and do the work she was being paid for, even if half the time she had to stop and reread a paragraph in a report two or three times to make heads or tails of its contents. Daphne Greengrass had shot a quizzical, half-sly look in her direction as Hermione stepped out to grab something for lunch, and she wondered how much Daphne had heard. Not too much, Hermione decided; the door to her office was fairly thick. But of course Daphne had to have seen Harry storming away, and it wouldn't exactly take a genius to conjecture that he and Hermione were on the outs over something.

Still, it was with a decided sense of relief that Hermione left the office. Daphne was nowhere in sight. Probably she'd gone home early. Miles didn't seem overly concerned about the people in his department adhering to Ministry hours; Hermione was the only one who followed them with any regularity. So she was able to make her way to the lifts and up to the street level without having to face Daphne or anyone else who might have known Harry Potter and Hermione Granger-Weasley were quarrelling over something dire.

She had intended to run by Diagon Alley to pick up a few potions supplies for Severus, as she'd noticed on her last visit that he seemed to be running low on belladonna and hellebore. Of course he would never ask for these things himself, but she thought it might be nice to surprise him with a few of the staples he required. And unlike the Ashwinder eggs, unicorn horns, and Jobberknoll feathers she had bought him for his birthday, they wouldn't incur the sort of expense that might cause him to protest their purchase. Now, however, she wanted to just flee to Yorkshire, although the thought of Apparating there filled her with misgivings. What if Harry had continued to track her comings and goings and decided in a fit of anger to follow her there and have it out with Severus? The confrontation in her office had been bad enough; she didn't want to think what might happen if Harry tried to force the issue here and now. And at least going to Diagon Alley would give her some time to think what she should do next. Probably it would have to be travel by broomstick. She'd never much cared for that mode of transport, lacking both Ron's and Harry's natural proficiency for handling a broom, but if necessary she would pick up Ron's old Cleansweep Eleven, which he had deeded to her after he upgraded to a Firebolt, and get to Yorkshire that way.

Having decided on that course of action, Hermione headed over to Diagon Alley. At least she knew exactly what she needed, so her stop at the Apothecary's shouldn't take very long. Then she could return to Rosedell, change into warmer clothing more suited for broomstick travel, and go on to Yorkshire. Even if the weather turned nasty -- which something about the feel of the wind told her it might -- she still should be able to reach Dunhollow within about two hours.

The Apothecary's turned out to be deserted, so she was able to fill her order quickly enough, despite the proprietor's attempts at supplementing her meager purchases with a number of more costly items. Hermione resisted these blatant attempts at an up sell, however, and emerged five minutes later, clutching a small parcel. She had just taken a few steps in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron and the exit to Charing Cross Road when she was stopped by a harsh whisper.

"Hermione!"

Startled, she turned. Off to one side, huddled up against the building, stood a slender figure muffled in a voluminous cloak, its hood pulled low to conceal the wearer's face. At once Hermione's free hand went to her wand, even though she doubted an enemy would have bothered to address her by name, or would have accosted her in quite so public a place as Diagon Alley.

"What do you want?" she replied, in a voice that, thankfully, sounded firm and calm and as though she were used to being confronted by hooded strangers every day of the week.

The strange figure stepped forward, then gave a furtive glance around. Other than the two of them, the area just outside the Apothecary's was deserted. It seemed most of Diagon Alley's patrons had headed indoors in search of warmer pastimes. The person still hesitated, then reached up and pushed back the hood to reveal Pansy Parkinson's pale, pinched features.

"I need to talk to you," she said.