The Quality of Mercy

Eighteen: Persuasion

Severus left quite late that night, but Hermione still found herself unable to sleep. She lay in bed, eyes fixed on the beamed ceiling above her, as her mind picked at details and inflections, hints and nuances. After being rebuffed several times in a row when she attempted to steer the conversation back to the Malfoys, Hermione gave it up as a bad business for the time being. Her dropping of the issue did not mean, however, that she intended to do so permanently.

To be quite frank, Severus' attitude puzzled her. One would have supposed he might at least look at the Malfoys' condition as an opportunity for further research, for creating a cure where one had previously been considered impossible. But his repeated refusal to discuss the situation any further suggested he thought otherwise.

The evening had felt strained because of their stunted conversation, as well as the continued specter of Harry's wrath. Hermione didn't know what he had planned - if anything - but it had been on the tip of her tongue to ask Severus to stay the night. Not that she didn't believe he could handle himself more than adequately if Harry forced a confrontation. No, she just preferred such a confrontation not happen at all. Harry had never been in the habit of dropping in unexpectedly at Rosedell...at least not after Hermione had made it abundantly clear a few years back that she valued her privacy and all callers, even her closest friends, should announce themselves in advance. It seemed safer for Severus to be with her at the cottage than alone up in Yorkshire. But somehow she never managed to summon the courage to make the request, and so a little before eleven Severus had slipped away, back to his exile at Dunhollow.

And what if he had stayed? Would he have expected to share her bed, to lie down beside her? That thought filled her with a strange mixture of anticipation and dread. As much as she thought she desired such a thing, she wasn't sure she was ready for it, especially not here...not in the bed she had shared with Ron. That seemed a betrayal of the worst sort. The practical side of her mind told her perhaps she should simply purchase another bed, but such a measure seemed irrevocable, not to mention extravagant. It was a good bed, purchased less than three years ago, and she couldn't quite think of how she'd begin to explain her reasons for acquiring a new one.

Oh, it's just in case I end up shagging Severus here instead of at his house, she thought, and for some reason the notion made a most out-of-character giggle rise up in her throat. At least no one was here to hear her laughing like an idiot.

Once the unexpected hilarity subsided, however, Hermione felt her face settle into grimmer lines. Speculating on the progression of her relationship with Severus was all very well, but all the stolen kisses in the world wouldn't help Draco and Lucius. She closed her eyes and mentally ran through every potion she could recall, every ingredient and component and their various uses, but she could think of nothing that seemed remotely suitable for this situation. Potions could cure all sorts of physical ailments, could reverse spell damage or be powerful antidotes to poisons, but all those uses involved an external cause for the illness or injury, not one that came from within.

We'd have to come up with something which could reverse the disease at the genetic level, she mused. And I've never heard of a potion doing anything remotely like that. The closest parallel I can think of is the draught Severus used to make for Remus Lupin, but even lycanthropy is the result of an alien infection being introduced to the host from without, not something one is born with.

With a sigh, Hermione rolled over on her side, then punched her pillow into the usual rounded lump she preferred for that position. She'd promised Pansy she would meet with her on Thursday afternoon, giving Hermione only a day and a half in which to come up with something -- anything -- that might be useful. Right now Severus' advice that the Malfoy men be removed to the long-term ward at St. Mungo's seemed about the best she could offer, and she didn't much relish presenting such a suggestion to Pansy.

Although Draco is in better shape than Lucius, Hermione reflected. Perhaps separating Draco from Lucius so he wouldn't feel required to control his father would be enough to help. I suppose I can propose that as an interim measure if I can't come up with something better. It would be a poor manner of assistance, though, and she hoped she would think of something a bit more appealing in the time she had. After all, one never knew when inspiration would strike.

All she could hope was that it would strike soon, or Pansy might have to face the fact there really was nothing to be done for her husband or father-in-law.

***

Still feeling uninspired, and as dull and dreary as the foggy, drizzly morning that greeted her, Hermione made her way in to work the next morning. She wished she had the nerve to call in sick, for never before had the thought of spending a day at the Ministry appealed to her less. But her attendance record was perfect, barring the two weeks she had taken off immediately following Ron's funeral, and she was damned if she was going to let a serious case of ennui prevent her from performing her duties.

Normally she would simply Floo into the Ministry or Apparate in a convenient alley nearby and enter through the lift from the callbox outside. For some reason, however, Hermione found herself Apparating near an entrance to the Tube in Highbury, not far from her parents' home, and taking public transport from there. She had done so a few times in the past, mostly when she felt she needed to clear her head, to remind herself of who she was and where she had come from. There was something comforting in the crowded anonymity of the Tube, in the crush of strangers who had never heard of the wizarding world and who were most likely occupied with mundane concerns such as getting to school or work on time, or arguments with spouses or bosses, or whether the price of heating oil was going up again. Despite the throngs around her, Hermione felt as if she could be alone with her thoughts.

The train stopped and several people got out, freeing a few seats. Hermione gave a quick glance around to be sure she wasn't depriving an elderly or disabled person of a seat. No one of either description seemed to be in need of a place to sit, so she sat down, picking up a discarded front section of the Times as she did so. Out of habit her gaze slid to the headlines. Politics of course, which she had always considered tiresome but necessary, and discussion of the strength of the pound versus the American dollar, and the usual unrest in the Middle East. But then --

Her heart began an irrational pounding in her breast. Hands shaking a little, Hermione smoothed the paper against her knee and read the headline again. "Gene Therapy Promises New Help for Hereditary Ailments," it said. The article was not that long, but its contents were enough to send Hermione's mind racing. Apparently some scientists in California had developed a method called "RNA interference" that would stop faulty genes from reproducing, thus halting the genetic disorder they caused. The article mentioned Huntington's disease as a particular ailment that could be treated via such a method. It did not go into any more detail than that; after all, the Times was tailored for a general audience. But it was something. She could get more information from scientific journals at the library if necessary. And really, it was the concept that interested her the most, not the molecular machinations the scientists involved had used to create their engineered RNA.

The concept must be able to be adapted somehow, she thought, as she exited the Tube at the Leicester Square station. We'd have to isolate somehow the gene that causes Scarbury's Syndrome, but there must be some marker, some way to detect it, even if the Healers haven't yet managed to do so.

Perhaps someone else might have been daunted by the thought of attempting a task no one yet had been able to master, but instead Hermione felt nothing but a surge of excitement. After all, it was entirely possible the Healers had never even considered using Muggle techniques to effect a cure. Just part of that curious blindness which seemed to affect all the wizarding community. If a Muggle thought of it, then of course it could be of no use.

Well, she'd be glad to prove the wizarding world wrong in regards to that particular belief. Did it really matter where the idea had come from, if it proved effective in the end? And after all, magic would have to be involved here, since the afflicted gene only appeared in those with pure wizard blood.

She folded the paper carefully and shoved it in her satchel. Its original owner had discarded it, so she didn't feel any compunction in taking the front section with her. If anything, she was helping by leaving the train cleaner than when she had found it.

The idea of having to spend the entire day pushing paper from one side of her desk to another suddenly seemed appalling. Hermione knew she needed to see Severus at once and discuss these new developments with him. Although she had never once claimed to be ill when she was not, she told herself that her absence from work today would certainly not hurt the Ministry one bit, whereas it might do a great deal of good for the Malfoys and by extension any members of the wizarding world who might be carrying the hidden gene for Scarbury's Syndrome.

Seized by a sudden impulse, she ducked into an alleyway and Disapparated to Diagon Alley, where she hurried over to the Apothecary's and bought a small bunch of dried sneezewort. After leaving the shop, she paused and crushed the sprigs in her palm, then inhaled, thus causing a sneezing fit that was most impressive in its intensity. The sneezing lasted during her return Apparition to the Ministry, and all during the ride down in the lift to her department. Her unfortunate companions in the lift looked all too pleased when she exited; they had huddled up against the opposite wall of the compartment, obviously trying to get as far away from her as possible.

Sniffling and wheezing, she made her way to Miles Cornish's office. He looked up at her in mild alarm as she stood in the doorway and blotted her dripping nose with a handkerchief.

"Are you quite all right, Hermione?" he inquired, lifting one hand to cover the mug of tea that sat on his desk.

"Quite all right," she replied, although it came out sounding more like "qui ah rihhhhh." "Just got a bit of a cold in my nose."

"Perhaps you should go home," he said at once. "No need wearing yourself out by working when you should be home in bed."

"Really?" she said. "Because I have so many files to get to -- "

"They can wait. Really, Hermione, I insist. Go home, and drink a nice throat-soothing potion. Put your feet up. Take the rest of the day -- and tomorrow, if you need it."

Inwardly Hermione rejoiced, but she managed to adopt an expression of befuddled concern. "Do you really think so?"

"I do think so. In fact, I insist. Go on now." And there he stopped, although Hermione was almost certain he had been about to say, Before you get the rest of us sick as well.

"Thag you, Biles," she replied, and turned and went back to the lifts, still holding the handkerchief up to her nose. Really, it was most uncomfortable, although not quite as bad as a regular cold. Another bout of sneezing hit her as she entered the lift, and its occupant, a stooped wizard with a shock of white hair and rheumy blue eyes, immediately scuttled to the other side and gave her the sort of glance normally reserved for vermin in one's pantry.

I wonder how long it's going to take for the effect to wear off, she thought. No matter -- I'm sure Severus must have some sort of antidote lying around. For a moment she worried about Apparating to Yorkshire, then recalled Harry hadn't been tracking her Apparitions at all. If there was some way to block oneself from showing up on Kingsley Shacklebolt's map, Severus hadn't mentioned it, and she couldn't waste time worrying about it now. A spiteful part of her wanted Harry to know she had returned to Yorkshire. It wasn't as if he could do much about it, anyway -- with the wards Severus had in place, they'd have plenty of advance warning in case Harry decided to invade, afire with moral outrage.

Her trusty alleyway served once again as a Disapparation point, and immediately the misty chill of London was replaced by a deeper, bone-freezing cold. A few flurries of snow danced through the air, promising heavier snowfall to come. Hermione hurried toward the front door of Severus' cottage, and, as always, it opened before she had come within ten feet.

"Playing truant, Miss Granger?" Severus inquired, but she thought she saw the corners of his mouth twitch the smallest bit.

"Yes," she said. "Oh, Severus, I have the most exciting news!" And then she lapsed into a series of explosive sneezes.

"Indeed," he said, stepping aside to let her in. "Nothing contagious, I trust."

"No," she replied. "Judicious application of sneezewort to get me off work for the day. And tomorrow, according to Miles." She sneezed again. "I rather hoped you'd have an antidote on hand."

"Of course." He moved to the Welsh dresser in the dining room, selected a flask, and poured a small measure of its contents into a heavy shot glass. Then he handed it to her, instructing, "Drink it all down."

Hermione lifted it to her lips and drained the mixture. Actually, it wasn't too bad - it had a strong, green taste, like crushed dandelions. "What is it?"

"Essence of Echinacea and dandelion root in a chamomile reduction."

At once the tickling in her nose eased, and she took in a deep breath, then another. "It seems to have worked."

"Of course it worked." Severus retrieved the empty glass from her hand and took it into the kitchen, where he rinsed it out and set it on the drain board. He then turned to her and gave her an expectant gaze as he crossed his arms across his chest. "So what is this news of yours?"

Hermione retrieved the folded copy of the Times section from her satchel and presented it to him. "The article in the lower right-hand corner of the front page."

Without comment he took the paper from her, a frown creasing his brow as he began to read. She waited in impatient silence for him to finish. Still without speaking, he refolded the paper and handed it back to her. "So?"

"What do you mean, 'so'?" Hermione demanded. "Don't you see? We could take this idea and modify it to work through magic, come up with a way to create a spell or potion that would correct the Scarbury gene at the sub-molecular level!"

"A pretty fantasy," drawled Severus. "Has no one told you, Hermione, that science and magic do not mix?"

His stubborn refusal to see the potential in such a treatment made her snap, "No, and I don't see why you're being so close-minded about this! There must be some way to modify a potion to work at the genetic level."

"Indeed? And have you ever attempted such a thing?"

"Of course not," she replied. "Not that that means anything. I should you think you'd be interested. After all, I distinctly remember you making a few pointed comments about the need for innovation and research back in the day."

"Did I?" Severus said, but the tone of his voice indicated he was anything but impressed by her recall of his lectures.

Undaunted, she went on, "Yes, you did. And I don't know what your bloody problem is. I'd always heard Lucius Malfoy was a friend of yours - why on earth you wouldn't want to help him, I can't imagine!"

At her words Severus' eyes narrowed, and his mouth compressed to a thin, hard line. Then he said, "Friend! If he was one at all, he was definitely the more fair-weather sort. Did he make any attempt to discover my fate, once it had been determined my body had gone missing from the Shrieking Shack? Don't bother to shake your head at me, Hermione. You were not there. He knew...somehow he must have guessed, for if Nagini had truly made an end of me, I should have still been there when the battle was over, since Lucius knew the Dark Lord had left me there to rot. Those who fought the Dark Lord would have no idea, might have surmised that I had been disposed of somehow, but Lucius would have known something was amiss. And in all the years since, did he ever once try to find me, if only to challenge me for betraying his erstwhile lord and master? No, do not think I owe Lucius anything, except perhaps a wish that his end might be as prolonged and painful as mine would have been, had I not possessed the foresight to prepare myself against the Dark Lord's treachery."

Such deep-seated bitterness tinged his words that for a moment Hermione could think of no way to reply. After an awkward silence, she said, "How did you survive? I've been wondering ever since I found you."

"I am many things, but I am not a fool. I had a suspicion that one day the Dark Lord might seek to betray me - such things were, after all, in his nature. Several years earlier I had been able to secure a sample of Nagini's venom from one of her previous victims, and from it I was able to create an antidote. The blood loss was addressed by an application of Blood Replenishing Potion."

I knew it! Hermione thought in some triumph, recalling her earlier conversation with Harry and Ginny on the subject. Take that, Harry! However, all she said was, "We should have stayed - should have tried to help - "

"Help with what?" interrupted Severus. "To your eyes, I was dead. Indeed, it was most important that I appear dead to you and to the Dark Lord, or he most certainly would have come up with a more permanent way to dispose of me. Not to say that it wasn't touch and go there for a few moments, but, as you can see, I did survive."

"Thank God," she said, and went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his chest. At once she felt his arms go around her as well, in a fierce embrace that threatened to impair her breathing. She didn't try to pull away, however, but remained there for a long moment, feeling the wool of his frock coat scratch against her skin and the quickened beating of his heart as a thunderous pulse to match her own.

They clung together for a few moments, and then Hermione felt Severus place his hands on her shoulders and push her away ever so gently. "I survived," he said. "But by my own hand and no other. So do not think I owe Lucius Malfoy any pity."

The implacable line of his jaw told her he would receive any further arguments with little patience. But Hermione knew she had to keep trying. "If not for Lucius, what of Draco? You were his Head of House, and it seemed you did everything you could to protect him. Surely you're not content to abandon him to his fate?"

His eyes would not meet hers. "I believe that if Lucius and Draco are separated, if Draco does not tax himself further by attempting to control his father's...episodes...then he will not grow any worse. The disease does have some variance in its severity."

"'Not grow any worse'?" echoed Hermione. "I doubt that would be much comfort to Pansy or Narcissa, considering Draco's confined to bed as it is and barely able to put food in his mouth."

Severus did not answer at once. He stared down at her, black eyes hard and glittering as the cut-jet jewelry Hermione had once seen in a shop in Whitby. Then he lifted his shoulders and managed a very sour smile. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"No," she promptly replied. "You and I, Severus, are rather like the irresistible force and the immovable object. Although I must confess I'm rather hoping the immovable object will budge just a little this one time."

"Just this once," he warned, but although his tone of voice was quite forbidding, Hermione thought she spied the slightest lift at the corner of his mouth. "You must know, however, that even if I agree to attempt this ludicrous research, there is a good chance we still might not be able to discover a cure."

With Severus at her side, failure seemed an impossibility. Oh, Hermione knew this was going to be very different from the exercises she'd mastered in Potions class - she wasn't merely repeating time-honored formulas in order to produce identical results, but instead venturing into an area the wizarding world had not yet explored - but she was confident they would succeed. Whether they would do so in time to help Lucius and Draco was another matter.

"We should get started," she said, and Severus gave her another half-exasperated, half-amused glance.

"Start where, precisely?" he inquired. "My little laboratory here, as you can see, is rather well-stocked, but as this sort of a cure is unprecedented, I am not sure how much good it will be."

Hermione was forced to admit to herself that he did have a point. "Well," she said, taking a breath and moving closer to the Welsh dresser so she could begin to read the labels on the bottles there, "I suppose the first thing to do is isolate all the symptoms of Scarbury's Syndrome and then list the known potions and potions components that could be used to combat such symptoms. Then we can begin to narrow down which items would be the most efficacious, or would lend themselves to the sort of micronization a gene-level therapy would require."

"Oh, is that all?" Severus remarked. "Then I suppose we had better get started...."

***

Somehow the morning made its way into afternoon, and afternoon into evening. Hermione had a vague recollection of pausing at one point to gulp down some reheated beef and barley soup, but otherwise the day passed in a haze of ingredients and lists, potions shuffled from one side of the dining room to the other, disputes with Severus as to whether powdered dragon horn or unicorn horn was a better treatment for the sort of lassitude that affected Draco, and discussions as to whether a Shrinking Solution would be powerful enough to miniaturize the cure when - and if - they were able to come up with one.

At last Severus pushed back his chair and said, "Enough."

Hermione blinked at him with bleary eyes. "Enough?"

"You're not going to do either Lucius or Draco any good if you make yourself sick over this. We've done good work this day."

As she gazed around at the organized chaos that used to be the dining room, Hermione found herself nodding in bemused agreement. All the ingredients deemed to be of little use in their endeavor had been exiled to the Welsh dresser, while those which showed promise were scattered across the table, grouped according to their origin (plant, animal, or mineral) and use.

"I suppose we have," she admitted. "Although I hate to have to stop here." She paused, then said, the words tumbling out in a rush before she could lose her nerve, "Miles doesn't expect me back tomorrow. It would make the most sense if I just stayed here, so we don't lose any time."

"Indeed?" drawled Severus, and there was no mistaking the glint of amusement in his eyes. "A very noble sentiment, I'm sure."

Hermione refused to let the jibe irritate her. "Very well...that might not be my only reason. But if you don't want me to -- "

"Oh, I want you to," he said at once, and although his voice remained cold and even, beneath it she sensed an undercurrent of desire to match her own. "Although I think you are lacking a few of the necessities of an overnight stay."

"I can nip back home and gather what I need and be back in a quarter-hour," she replied. A sense of giddy relief filled her, as well as a growing sense of trepidation. After all, hadn't she just about come out and said she wanted to sleep with him? As much as she wanted such a thing, had dreamed of it, part of her wondered how exactly the two of them were going to accomplish the deed once they got down to practicalities. Would the burden of their shared past be too much to overcome in the end?

"Very well," Severus said. He reached over to the empty chair next to him where Hermione had slung her travel cloak across the seat and retrieved the garment. "I shall see about getting some supper together while you're gone."

Hermione nodded, then stood, pulled on the cloak, and fastened the clasp at her throat. After this task was complete, she went to the door, with Severus following behind. He continued to stand in the entrance, watching as she walked the required distance away from the cottage to be free of his anti-Apparition wards. Then she spun away into the night, back to the living room of her own home.

Rosedell felt oddly abandoned, as if the house somehow knew she was not planning to stay there that night. As Hermione made her way to the bedroom to retrieve a change of clothes and a few other necessities, Crookshanks came out of the doorway to the spare room and attempted to thread his way through her legs. She stumbled, then cut off the reprimand before it left her lips. After all, she was going to leave poor Crookshanks alone once again; the least she could do was give him a few kind words and some attention before she left.

"Hello, Crookshanks," she said. "I'll get you some kippers when I'm done with this. I need you to do guard duty again - I hope you don't mind."

The cat meowed and gave her a suspicious look through slitted yellow eyes, but at least he sat on the rug a few feet away from her and seemed content to watch as she packed clean underwear, a fresh pair of jeans, and a jumper into her small overnight valise. After that Hermione went to the bathroom to secure the toiletries she knew she'd need, placed them in a small plastic bag, and set it on top of her folded clothing. The whole time she tried diligently to avoid thinking about why she needed that overnight bag, but the more she attempted not to think about it, of course the more the subject crowded to the front of her mind. She'd never been with anyone except Ron, and since Severus' kisses were so very different from his, she couldn't help thinking that the rest of the experience was likely to be quite different as well.

Only one way to find out for sure, she thought, and a little shiver ran along her spine. Distracted as she was, Hermione still remembered to lean down and give Crookshanks some much-needed scratching behind the ears. He purred and submitted for a minute or so, then gave a shake and stalked off in the direction of the kitchen. Clearly he had not forgotten her promise of kippers.

Grinning, Hermione gathered up her valise and went back down the hall, then deposited the case in the living room before moving on to the kitchen. She tried not to wrinkle her nose as she dumped the offensive little fish in Crookshanks' bowl. At once he set to, and appeared not to even notice as she returned to the living room, picked up the valise, and Disapparated back to Yorkshire.

The wind had picked up; it tore at her unbound hair and sent searching fingers of cold under her cloak. Hermione hurried to the front door of the cottage, which opened as she approached, letting her into its light and warmth. As she stepped inside, Severus took the valise from her chilled fingers and uttered one word. "Upstairs."

Without replying she followed him up the narrow staircase, which let onto an equally cramped hall. Two doors of dark wood faced one another across the corridor, and he opened the one on the left and led her inside. The chamber within was small and austere as a monk's cell: a bed covered in a dark wool blanket, a severe-looking wardrobe of walnut on the opposite wall, an equally unadorned chest at the foot of the bed -- which, Hermione was relieved to note, at least wasn't a single, even though it looked smaller than the bed she and Ron had shared.

A candle on the tiny bedside table glowed into life as Severus set her valise on top of the chest. Then he straightened and stared down at her for a long moment, even as Hermione gazed up into the harsh contours of his face.

She'd never be able to say which one of them moved first. All she knew was that somehow she was in his arms, his mouth moving against hers with sudden ferocious intensity, even as she pressed against him, felt his breathing quicken, felt the beginnings of his arousal. His fingers found the clasp of her traveling cloak, and it fell to the floor, soon to be followed by her jumper. The air of the chamber felt shockingly cold against her bare skin, but Hermione didn't have time to be distracted by it, for then his hands moved against her flesh, reaching up to caress her breasts. She gasped. Nothing had ever felt so real as his touch on her, nerve endings she hadn't even known she possessed flaring into sudden, rampaging life. Then he bent his head to touch her with his mouth. His hair smelled of wood smoke and herbs, and the feel of his tongue against her flesh was almost enough to send her to her knees. She faltered, and Severus gathered her up and laid her down on the bed, then flung off his own voluminous robes and savagely tore at the buttons that closed up his frock coat. The coat soon met its companions on the floor, along with the shirt he wore underneath.

His own skin was almost white in the dim light of the chamber. As she had known, he was thin, but lean, the faint tracings of muscles standing out on his arms and chest. He sank down on the bed next to her, pulling her close. She reached down to free him of his trousers, even as he fumbled with the fastenings on her jeans. Then miraculously it was just the two of them, all interfering garments cast aside, body pressed against body, heartbeat thundering into heartbeat, until finally she took him into her, felt him gasp as their bodies rocked together, on and on until at last he cried out, a groan that sounded as if it had been torn from his throat. Hermione felt herself spasm a few seconds later, the climax shuddering its way through her until she met his groan with a rapturous cry of her own, a repudiation of all the lonely nights she had suffered for the past six months.

He collapsed against her, and she held him close, breathing in the scent of him, relishing the feel of him inside her. Soon they would have to break apart, but for now it was enough to lie in his arms, to feel him as one with her. Never before had she felt so close to another human being. For the moment all else was forgotten: the Malfoys, Harry and his half-insane prejudices, Miles and the Ministry. Everything.

Severus was world enough for her.