The Quality of Mercy

Sorry about the delay in posting this -- I've had some craziness going on, and I haven't been feeling very well. However, I was finally able to get this chapter done. Thank you for your patience and for all your wonderful reviews!

Nineteen: Undercover Operations

She didn't want to move. She didn't want to do anything but lie there and feel Severus' lean body pressed up against hers. But then her stomach told her - loudly - that it felt quite neglected after all those exertions and would appreciate some attention.

Blushing, Hermione said, "Sorry about that."

He shifted away from her. "No need. It is getting rather past supper." Somehow he managed to keep the covers clutched against himself as he leaned over the side of the bed and retrieved his garments. "Yours are at the foot of the bed."

Wonderful. Which meant she'd have to slide out from beneath the sheets and flash Severus her bare backside. How convenient that his own garments would be within easy reach, while hers felt miles away. Still, it couldn't be helped. Suppressing a sigh, Hermione slid out of bed and moved with what she hoped was a nonchalant air to the chest at its foot, where her clothes had been unceremoniously scattered on top of her valise. She didn't quite dare to look over at Severus as she pulled on her underwear and jeans, followed by her jumper. That felt much better; it was quite chilly in the chamber.

When she glanced up again, it was to see him also fully dressed, although he hadn't bothered to wind the cravat around his neck, and he'd left the top buttons of his frock coat undone. The scar left by Nagini glared an angry red across his throat. Hermione couldn't begin to think of the agony he had suffered...or the strength of will it had taken for him to lie there in the Shrieking Shack as the life drained out of him and he waited for that one last second before life left him completely in order to take the antidote unobserved.

A rush of tenderness flooded over her then, and she stepped toward Severus. "Your poor throat...."

He gave her a mystified look. One absent finger touched the scar that slashed its way across his pale skin. "It is long healed," he replied, his tone dismissive. Without saying another word, he crossed to the door and headed down the stairs.

Hermione had no choice but to follow, a frown creasing her forehead. Oh, she had known Severus Snape was not the sort to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but she had expected - hoped - he would show her a little more regard now that they had been intimate together. Seeds first, then roots, she told herself, reciting one of Pomona Sprout's favorite aphorisms. Perhaps one day she might see a little softening on his part, but for now wasn't it enough that he had let down his guard sufficiently to become as close to her as he had?

Severus waited for her in the kitchen. A platter with a cold roast chicken sat on the counter, and he held a potato in either hand. "Nothing to compare with the feasts at Hogwarts, I fear, but it should do." He set the potatoes down on the counter next to the chicken, reached up into a cabinet for a pair of plates, and then transferred the potatoes to the plates. From a hidden pocket within his robes he pulled out his wand, which he waved over the assembled meal, saying, "Fervesco!"

Immediately steam began to rise from the food, carrying with it an appetizing aroma that made Hermione's stomach growl all over again. "Nice one," she commented. "Better than a Muggle microwave."

"Of course," Severus replied. "If you would take the plates -- "

Hermione did as he requested, while he gathered up the platter and made his way over to the one end of the dining room table that wasn't covered in bottles or piles of dried herbs. Some cutlery already waited there, so she surmised he had set the table while she was down at Rosedell gathering her things.

Once they had seated themselves and Severus had put a largish helping of roast chicken on her plate, an awkward silence fell. Hermione busied herself with cutting the fowl and placing a modest slab of butter on her potato, but she could almost feel the thickness of the air between them, the strain which filled the quiet. What on earth could she say? Did Severus want to pretend that what had just happened somehow hadn't? Was he ashamed of his weakness in taking her to bed at last?

How unlike her "morning after" with Ron, when she and Ron had traded sidelong smiles and he'd made a few silly jokes, and they had tackled one another before room service had even come to take the breakfast dishes away. In the beginning, Ron had possessed a great deal more enthusiasm than skill, but at the time Hermione hadn't minded overmuch; she'd done her research and knew that lovemaking, as with most other things, was an acquired skill.

So different from her encounter with Severus, for although she had the impression he possessed far less experience than she, somehow their bodies had come together with unexpected ease. Had he practiced a little Legilimency there, to know how sensitive her breasts were, or that she disliked unnecessary chatter in the bedroom? His quiet intensity had aroused her more than anything else could have, and Hermione felt a familiar warmth in the pit of her stomach as she recalled how his body had felt against hers, the thrill of his heavy hair brushing against her naked breasts.

Blushing, she stared down at her food and forced another forkful of roast chicken into her mouth. It was quite good, a fact which surprised her a little. Somehow she had never considered that Severus Snape might be a good cook, although really, what was cooking but combining a number of ingredients and following directions to ensure the dish turned out the way it was supposed to? It wasn't all that different from preparing a potion.

"And what are your plans, should we find a cure?" asked Severus abruptly.

The non sequitur took her aback for a moment, but then Hermione gathered herself and replied, "Well, I suppose it should be made available to everyone who might have need of it. The Healers at St. Mungo's would probably be able to dispense it in large quantities."

A look of cold amusement passed over his features. "Are you so sure the Ministry would allow such a thing? After all, they have done a great deal to ensure any mention of Scarbury's Syndrome was swept under the rug."

"And that's just ridiculous," Hermione retorted. "It's a disease - it's no one's fault, except perhaps those wizards and witches who back in the day decided it was better to keep marrying other witches and wizards instead of throwing a Muggle into the mix every once in a while. But that sort of thing is hardly confined to the wizarding world. After all, just look at what happened to the Hapsburgs and the Romanovs."

"As always, your rational perspective on the situation, while perhaps admirable, does not take into account the prejudices and fears of generations of wizard-kind." He paused to help himself to a bite of baked potato, then continued, "I very much doubt the Malfoys would appreciate you airing their dirty laundry in public."

No, Hermione rather doubted they would. Still, there was no need to bring them into this at all. "We would never even have to mention the Malfoys. You could say you were working on this cure in secret, and I came along at the end to help you finish the project."

"How selfless of you, when one takes into account that this was all your idea in the first place."

Hermione made an exasperated noise. "What difference does it make who takes the credit as long as a cure is found? That's the most important thing, isn't it?"

For the longest moment he made no reply but merely stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he spoke, in tones barely recognizable as his own, so lacking in their usual irony were they. "I don't deserve you."

Dumbfounded, Hermione could only gaze back at him, searching his features for some hint of mockery, some clue that he wasn't serious. But she found none, so she finally cleared her throat and replied, "Of course you do."

His gaze didn't waver. "Do I?"

"I don't think it's a matter of 'deserving' a person," Hermione replied, speaking slowly as she sorted out her thoughts. "Perhaps it's simply being open enough to allow them into your life and recognizing all the ways they complement you."

Again Severus was silent. He set down his fork and folded his hands in his lap. "I have never been called an open person."

Talk about understatements. Hermione felt her mouth curve in a smile. "Well, I can see that. But people can change. Actually, they have to, don't they?" As she asked the question, Hermione held his gaze with her own, willing him not to glance away. Severus had kept himself so hidden for so long, after all. Not just here in his self-imposed exile in Yorkshire, but for all those long years at Hogwarts as he did the Headmaster's duty. What had anyone known of Severus Snape, save that he employed the sharp edge of his tongue on far too many occasions and showed a regrettable lack of impartiality when it came to Gryffindor House and Harry Potter in particular? Nor had anyone tried to learn more about the Potions master, save during her own sixth year, when she and Harry and Ron had struggled to uncover the identity of the Half-Blood Prince. Even that knowledge had only been sought in order to solve the mystery behind Harry's potions book and the special spells it had contained. Not once had they made any effort to understand why Severus Snape was the man he was.

"I believe they do," Severus said at last. Although he did not smile, there was a warmth in his eyes Hermione had seen only once or twice before. He reached out and laid his hand on hers where it rested next to her plate. His fingers felt strong and cool, even the slight roughness of his callused fingertips a welcome sensation. "However, I trust you will be patient with me if that change is slow in coming."

She said at once, "Of course." Although she had never counted patience as one of her primary virtues, she thought in this case she would be able to summon forbearance when necessary. As she'd told him before, Severus was worth it.

His hand tightened on hers, but then he withdrew it and said, "It may be possible for a while to conceal the Malfoys' involvement in our discoveries - if any, of course - but there is always a chance someone will find out the truth. Are you willing to face that possibility?"

With no hesitation Hermione replied, "Yes. The wizarding world has been too close-minded for too many years. I'd hoped I would start to see a change with Voldemort's defeat, but really, it just seems to be more of the same. Oh, believe me, it's good to know there's no all-powerful threat looming over us, but after all we've been through, you'd think we would have learned something...and I'm just not seeing much evidence of that."

"Many would think there was nothing to learn," Severus remarked in caustic tones. "After all, the status quo was preserved. True, some people lost their lives, but sacrifices must be made."

"I don't believe that...and I don't think you do, either."

"What I believe or do not believe is immaterial." His eyes narrowed, and he added, "But let us solve the wizarding world's woes one at a time. I've been thinking of our next step, and I'm fairly certain there's one thing we need to do before we can progress any further."

"What's that?" Hermione inquired. She wasn't quite sure she liked the dark note that had crept into in his voice.

"We'll need to procure samples of both Draco's and Lucius' blood," Severus replied.

"Oh," she said weakly, feeling the familiar anxious knot form in her stomach. "Is that all?"

***

Promptly at three o'clock on Thursday afternoon, Hermione waited at the entrance to Twilfit and Tatting's. The day was fine, and Diagon Alley more crowded than it had been the first time she had spoken with Pansy; Hermione could only draw up her hood and hope that no one would pay any particular attention to the slight figure in the gray traveling cloak who lingered there and looked into the display window of the shop for longer than was strictly necessary.

At about ten after three, Pansy emerged from the doorway of the shop, holding a bulky parcel. Immediately Hermione stepped forward to meet her.

Pansy started and almost dropped her package. Then she seemed to recover herself and said, "Oh, it's just you."

"Well, who else would be?" Hermione asked with some asperity.

"No one," Pansy replied. She threw a quick glance around the busy street, but no one seemed to be paying them much mind. "Do you have any news for me?"

"Some." The spot where they stood was far too public to hold a conversation, even with a Disillusionment charm employed to distract unwanted attention. They could return to the Leaky Cauldron, but Hermione had a better idea. "Would you mind taking a Side-Along Apparition with me?"

"If I must," Pansy said, her grudging tone clearly indicating her enthusiasm for such an idea.

Hermione reminded herself of the strain Pansy was currently under, then stepped closer to the other woman and took her by the arm. Then they both whirled away from Diagon Alley and emerged in the pleasantly shabby surroundings of Hermione's own living room.

That Pansy thought very little of the faded chintz couch and scratched furniture was obvious - she made an audible sniff as she surveyed the chamber, then asked, "Where on earth are we?"

"My house," Hermione replied. She didn't give a Knut what Pansy thought. Rosedell had always served her well. It might not have the grandeur of Malfoy Manor, but at least it felt like a real home and not a museum. "I thought it would be better to talk here where I knew no one could possibly hear or see us. There's always a chance otherwise, no matter how well your spell might have been cast."

"I suppose," said Pansy. After giving the couch another dubious glance, she sat down and glanced up at Hermione with an expectant air. "What have you found out?"

"That both Lucius and Draco are suffering from something called Scarbury's Syndrome." While she waited outside Twilfit and Tatting's, Hermione had debated with herself exactly how much she should tell Pansy, but after all, it was her husband and father-in-law who were affected, and she deserved to know the truth. Not all of it, of course; there was no need for Pansy to know that Hermione's research partner was none other than Severus Snape, miraculously returned from the dead.

"Never heard of it," Pansy said at once.

"Which is just what the Ministry wanted," replied Hermione. Not bothering to mince words, she explained in a few short sentences what Scarbury's Syndrome was, and how its very existence had been carefully erased from the wizarding world's consciousness."

As Hermione spoke, she watched the look of angry suspicion on Pansy's features slowly transform into a much purer emotion - one of open fear. When Pansy spoke, her voice had likewise lost its edge of brittle hauteur. "How did you learn of it if it's been so hidden? And if the Healers were never able to find a cure, how on earth can you possibly hope to do so?"

"My - erm, research partner," Hermione hedged. "He recognized the symptoms right away. And we believe we've come up with a method to address the causes of Scarbury's at the genetic level."

"Research partner?"

"Yes. He has a good deal of knowledge regarding the syndrome, and he's willing to assist me in developing a cure."

Suspicion flickered in Pansy's dark eyes. "Who is this person? Why would he know about all this when no one else does?"

"He would prefer to remain anonymous," Hermione replied. Although she supposed it was natural for Pansy to be asking these questions, she couldn't help but feel a stir of irritation. What did it really matter who was assisting in the research, as long as a cure was found? "Believe me when I say his only concern is to assist in finding a cure. I know he has Draco's and Lucius' best interests at heart."

Doubt and hope warred on Pansy's face, but it seemed hope won out, for she said, "I suppose I'll have to take your word for it." Her hands knotted themselves in her lap. "So what do we do next?"

"I need samples of Draco's and Lucius' blood." Hermione had hoped that by making this request in a calm, reasonable tone she might stave off any outbursts on Pansy's part, but she supposed she should have known better.

"Blood!" Pansy exclaimed. "Are you mad?"

"Not at all," Hermione said. "It's the easiest way for me to isolate the gene that carries Scarbury's. I have to know what I'm targeting before I can even think of formulating a cure."

Pansy was silent for a moment. At last she said, "It won't be easy, you know. Narcissa never leaves them alone. She even sleeps in a cot in their room - she moved Draco into the master suite, since it was easier to look after them that way. She hasn't left the estate in ages - I'm always the one sent out to run errands. And when she does have to bathe, she always leaves Withy to watch after them, even if I'm there." Her mouth twisted into what Hermione belatedly realized was meant to be a wry grin. "So how do you think you'll get close enough to take blood samples?"

That was a good question. Too bad she and Harry were barely speaking, or Hermione would have asked if she could borrow his Cloak of Invisibility. Charms were all very well, but the Cloak offered far better protection. But she somehow doubted he would give up something so precious in aid of the Malfoys, even though a cure for Scarbury's would of course help countless others besides them.

"I'll think of something," Hermione replied. "I do think it would be best to make the attempt whilst Narcissa is at her bath - I feel better about trying then, when it's just you and Withy keeping watch. Perhaps we can come up with a way to get Withy out of the room. I'll only need a few moments."

Pansy frowned. "Possibly, although Withy would usually follow Narcissa's orders first, since he's of course the Malfoys' house-elf, and I've only been living at the house for the past month or so. But better to deal with Withy than Narcissa." Her face looked pale under its carefully applied cosmetics, and Hermione found herself wondering once again just how much sleep Pansy had actually been getting these days.

However, Hermione did agree that it would be easier to handle Withy than Narcissa. Of course house-elves possessed ancient and powerful magic of their own, a magic that should have made them the equals of wizard-kind and not their servants, but Hermione also knew most house-elves would never think to question their masters, even one come as lately to the family as Pansy. "When does Narcissa take her bath?" Hermione asked.

"Every evening after dinner. Usually it's around nine. Lucius and Draco are...quieter...in the evening."

Well, that was good news. At least Hermione wouldn't have to invent another excuse to get herself out of the office during business hours. Today she'd told Miles she needed to do some research at the public library, and he'd nodded in his absent-minded way and waved her off. She'd gotten the distinct impression he didn't much care what she was up to as long as she stayed out of his hair. Since she didn't like having to continually prevaricate as to her whereabouts, even if Miles probably didn't care one way or the other, she felt a little better about her next visit to Malfoy Manor.

"All right, then," Hermione said, ideas already bubbling in her thoughts like the effervescence in a Felix Felicis potion, "probably the best thing is for us to do this tonight. I don't want to waste any time. I'm assuming that since I was able to get on the grounds previously, the estate isn't warded against wizard-kind?"

"No," Pansy replied at once. "Just the Muggle-repelling spells and charms." She looked vaguely alarmed. "What are you planning?"

Good question. Some vague outlines had begun to fall into place, but Hermione didn't have the whole thing quite decided. But no matter. She still had a good five hours to iron out all the details. "Don't worry about that. Just know that I'll be at the estate around nine. All you need to do is make sure Narcissa goes to her bath at the usual time."

Pansy gave her a dubious little nod, but she didn't protest. Probably she was so desperate for any sort of action to help her husband that she would agree to just about anything - even if it meant invoking the wrath of her mother-in-law.

"Very well," Hermione continued, in brisk tones that allowed no interruption, "I'd best get you back to Diagon Alley. Then you can return home and go on as if everything is normal."

"Normal," repeated Pansy, and then she let out a short, derisive laugh. "I've quite forgotten what that is."

So have I, Hermione thought. With Severus Snape as my lover, and Harry and me fighting...with me risking everything to help two men who would just as soon see me dead and who certainly wouldn't have lifted a finger if our positions were reversed - well, let's just say I don't have a very close acquaintance with normal, either.

She had no more reassurances to give Pansy. All she could do was move forward and hope that fate or luck or whatever force had guided her actions so far wouldn't abandon her now.

***

The needles and syringes Hermione was able to appropriate from her parents' dental practice. She decided to wait until after they had closed for the evening and then Apparated in to take the supplies she needed; although no doubt they would have given her the equipment, the explanations involved would have been lengthy, and Hermione did not want to waste any time. It had been difficult enough to return to the office and act as if nothing untoward had happened while she was out on her supposed errand to the library - the last thing she needed was to expend valuable energy in telling her parents precisely why she needed several sets of hypodermic needles and syringes.

She'd returned home to Rosedell for a quiet supper of some leftover potato and leek soup and bread before changing out of her work robes into more serviceable jeans, flat boots, and a warm jumper. After pondering the problem for awhile, she'd decided that imbuing her traveling cloak with a Disillusionment Charm was probably the best idea. She could set the spell before she even left home, thus allowing her to concentrate on the other spells she planned to utilize, including a Hover Charm to get her to the first-floor window of the suite where Draco and Lucius were housed.

Even the light meal seemed to sit heavy in her stomach, but that couldn't be helped now. She'd sent her Patronus to Severus to let him know of her plans, and she'd also told him she would be in contact again around ten o'clock if everything went smoothly. Never hurts to have a little insurance, she thought, as she gathered up her Disillusioned cloak and settled it around her shoulders. While she sincerely hoped this would be a quick, surgical maneuver - no pun intended - one always had to plan for the contingencies.

She gave Crookshanks a good-bye scratch on the ears and then Disapparated to the front gates of Malfoy Manor. Immediately chilly darkness surrounded her, seeming to penetrate the thick folds of her woolen cloak. A light, misty sort of rain fell on Wiltshire, the type that would soak her clothing quickly if she didn't get indoors soon. Luckily her plans involved that very thing.

Moving quickly, but taking care not to step in any more puddles than she had to, Hermione made her way to the front door, then lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it fall. As soon as metal met wood, she murmured the words of the Hover Charm under her breath and shot upward, then reached out to touch the stone façade of the manor house and hauled herself along as quickly as she could. Pansy had told her the room Lucius and Draco shared was the fifth window to the right on the first story, and that was Hermione's destination now.

Somewhere below her she heard the front door creak open, and the questioning voice of Withy calling out, "Hello?"

Hermione didn't dare glance down. All she could hope was that Withy would be more likely to look out and around for the unexpected visitor at the door, and not upward. Her fingers slipped on the wet treacherous stone, and she bit her lip, knowing she couldn't cry out even though the rough surface had cruelly scored her fingertips.

This wasn't flying - it was simply using her own strength to drag her along the length of the building. Voldemort had mastered the skill of flying under his own power, and Severus had apparently learned the technique as well, but it was not something Hermione numbered in her own arsenal of useful spells. Still, she moved quickly enough and reached the designated window even as she heard the front door slam shut somewhere off to her left.

Hanging on to the carved windowsill with one hand, Hermione lifted the other to give one quick rap on the mullioned glass. With gratifying alacrity the window opened - inward, luckily, or it would have hit Hermione full in the face - and Pansy peered out.

"Hermione?" she asked, in a hoarse stage whisper.

"Yes," Hermione replied, then hauled herself inside and pushed back her hood.

The chamber in which she now stood was deliciously warm; a large fire burned in the hearth of carved marble. She got a brief jumbled impression of dark, rich hangings on the walls and a ceiling of coffered ebony wood before she focused on the two green-hung canopy beds that dominated the space.

Speed was of the utmost importance now. Without speaking, Hermione went to the first bed and pushed aside the green silk that hid its occupant, even as she reached into the satchel she carried to retrieve one of her syringes. As she leaned over to pull back the covers and expose the arm she needed, Lucius Malfoy's dead, pale face stared up at her. Pansy had not been exaggerating. The eyes that gazed on Hermione now had no more life than those of a doll, or a wax figure. She repressed a shudder, instead concentrating on tying a length of surgical tubing around his upper arm to give her better access to the necessary vein. It popped up almost immediately, a livid blue against his white skin.

If his appearance meant anything, at least he probably wouldn't feel her clumsy insertion of the needle. The flesh into which she jabbed the hypodermic was cool and clammy, and Lucius didn't exhibit even a twitch as she filled the syringe with blood and transferred it to a pouch she wore at her waist. She'd known she wouldn't have time to stop and label each syringe, so she'd brought along two pouches, one on her right hip and one on her left, so she would be able to keep track of her samples.

All that had taken less than a moment. Hermione couldn't allow herself any feelings of relief, however, as she still had Draco to attend to. She let the hangings fall closed once again, concealing Lucius Malfoy's deathlike form, and moved to the next bed. Somewhere in the periphery of her vision she caught an impression of Pansy as she hovered nervously near the entrance to the room, no doubt to redirect Withy if he returned too soon from answering the front door.

Draco did not seem as far gone as his father. His eyes were shut, his pale lashes barely visible against the ivory skin, but at least Hermione thought she could detect the slightest rise and fall of his chest beneath the heavy bedcovers. I hope you can't feel this, she thought, as she wrapped the surgical tubing around his arm and gave the crook of his elbow a slight flick to bring the vein into prominence. Biting her lip, she drew up the second hypodermic and began to press it against his pallid skin.

From somewhere behind her came a muffled thud, which Hermione dimly realized was the sound of the door being flung open. Pansy gasped, even as Narcissa Malfoy's cold voice rang across the chamber.

"What are you doing to my son?"