Black and White

This fic becomes AU after the Goblet of Fire.

Warnings: The story may get a bit dark. I'm flirting with notions that some may understand as abuse, and if you're not comfortable with it I suggest you leave the fic. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Also, I have a group of people I must thank. First, Gildorelf for the plotbunny. Second (but not least) to the group of wonderful people who have helped me betaing this fic. Cynthia, Maddy, Alysya, Venefica, Meg, Tawa, Flourishnblotts.
And in 2005 Nevermore joined the ranks and gave the text a final sweep, getting rid of awkward punctuation and plot holes I didn’t even know were there. You were amazing, and not a pain at all. Thanks for helping me get through the way.


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Chapter 5: The thirteen uses of dragon blood are...

Hermione stood there petrified, mesmerised as Snape leapt forward, approaching her like the snake on Slytherin's herald.

She wouldn't have been able to move for her dear life.

A small part of her analytical mind told her that they were still inside a crowded shopping mall. The other half of her mind told the first to shut up and let her think of a plausible way out of that mess. She was still trying to recover from the shock of seeing him -Severus Snape - not in the blackest of all black outfits. It had to be that.

He actually - heavens forbid - looked nice.

The easy and silent strides were somehow familiar to her, but now that she didn't have Harry and Ron to cover her back, it was ten times more frightening. She knew there was noise and people around her, but it was as if they didn't even exist. Her former Potion Master stood tall and proud before her, his voice could be a caress if there wasn't an underlying iciness in it.

"Had a good time, Miss Galene?"

What should Hermione answer to that? Anything she would say could and would be used against her.

"I hope you had as good a time as I had," she tried, only to see his hands sneaking their way to her shoulders. He said only two more words.

"Follow me."

She could have yelled at him and told him to go mind his own business, but couldn't because she knew she was his business. She was his pupil, and she'd behaved badly. It somehow went against the inner code of behaviour she had in her heart - Thou shall ever be an apt pupil. So Hermione followed him back to the house they shared, not too far from the mall. The walk was silent and utterly uncomfortable, and she knew he would make her detentions look like paradise when they got there.

And as soon as he closed the door behind them, he showed how right she was.

"May I know what you were thinking, you irresponsible child?" he shot immediately, pinning her against the wall. "Do you have any idea of what may have happened? Answer me now!"

"I just went out!" she reasoned, refusing to cower. "This is not the end of the world!"

"It is the end of the world if I say so," he said, pressing her harder against the wall. "I remember telling you not to go out alone. Why did you disobey me?"

Hmmm ... now that you ask...

Snape obviously had no reservations against using the differences between sexes to his advantage. He ought to know how embarrassing that particular position was to her, how much power and raw sensuality was inherent in it.

Better not to think about it.

The twelve uses of dragon blood are, first: the major ingredient of the Callori potions; second: ...

"Answer me."

"I was upset, I think."

"You think?" he teased, leaning his head closer to hers. And oh, his eyes were black. It should be scientifically impossible. Very dark brown, yes, but black? One couldn't see where the iris ended and the cornea began. His scent was another annoying thing - sandalwood, musk and herbs she didn't recognise. It smelled too good for her taste.

Hermione leaned in, trying to look as if she was only trying to escape his gaze, and inhaled deeply again. Being so close, however, Hermione was able to see as well as smell the explanation. Snape's hair had a slight layer of mousse-like substance on it. Smell was great, but it did not become his genetic traits. She retreated to see the complete figure. Yeap, definitely the mousse. If Snape was trying to simulate Muggle hair gel, that was one serious Potion failure. And he had the misfortune of having oily hair already...

He would have to take better care of his appearance, Hermione thought, studying his face for the first time looking for the qualities rather than the flaws. Dark eyes and dark hair, pale skin... not so pale as before. Obviously not being locked in a Dungeon all day helped some. How precisely they would take care of it was beyond her, but maybe they could lighten the shade to a medium brown...

"Galene!" Snape cried, shaking her. Not paying attention to the Potion Master was a bad idea, even if you were... well, paying attention to the Potion Master.

"Y-yes," she stuttered, then cleared her throat and tried again. "You are being extremely annoying."

"And this is a problem of mine because...?" he asked still holding her gaze locked in his. He knew exactly what he was doing. Dammit!

"I can't work like that," she said, knowing it was a lie. She had functioned in far worse circumstances. Her parents had been threatened, she had been in immediate mortal danger far too many times in her short life, and faced Voldemort's minions more often than she cared to remember. And yet Snape threw her off her poise.

"You have no idea," he said, his breath on her face, his hands sliding down to hold her waist, "in what conditions I'll make you able to work in, Miss Galene. When I'm done with you, you'll be able to work in the midst of apocalypse."

And with that he placed a feather kiss on her lips, it would be soft and sweet if not for the lack of any human feeling on it.

Hermione was at first too stunned to do anything about it. I am being kissed by Snape. The whole thing was too ridiculous to be real. Then she realised he was doing it for the same reason he had pinned her against the wall. To make her uncomfortable, to take advantage in their power game and make her run for cover. He probably thought Miss Bookworm Extraordinaire had never been kissed. That physical closeness could be used as leverage against her.

Fuck you.

She opened her mouth and caressed his lower lip with her tongue. Snape would not, so help her God, put that tongue inside her mouth, but he would know that she was not afraid. He nibbled her lips a short while before retreating, staring at her as if they had not just kissed. Hermione arched her eyebrows.

Obviously the wrong thing to do. Maybe any reaction would be the wrong thing to do, Snape was looking at her the way one looks down at a particularly troublesome and slow child.

"You won't leave again until I tell you so," he said, making his command sound like a mathematical fact. "And you will have a report to show me at dinner time. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered, lacking the strength to say anything more elaborated.

"Good. Now get to work."

He released her so suddenly that Hermione almost fell on the floor. The folder was still laying on the table, and she swallowed her pride to pick it up.

As soon as her legs stopped trembling.

Two weeks passed by. Hermione and Severus established a routine of sorts - he brought her folders with Auror cases. She tried to put together the clues they had uncovered to determine what had happened, as well as reasons, method and guilty party, if possible, deducing it from her own knowledge and from the Aurors' reports Snape gave her. She took him out to galleries, public parks, operas and what she found to be the most effective tool, movies.

Severus hated crowds; it was a very common occurrence that he'd loose his patience with the people inside the dark room. On the other hand, he was extremely fond of the opera, and those were generally pleasant experiences. Hermione was surprised to be lectured on the life of the composers and their works.

And he hadn't made any sort of advance on her since that kiss.

She was surprised to find how pleased she was every time Snape brought her a new case. They were always exciting, intriguing, and very complicated. More often than not she had to work with less than the necessary amount of clues - no doubt a part of her training. Hermione was fairly certain Snape cut from the reports vital information just to see how she'd do. Last four days she had to work on the judgment of the Lestranges.

When she finished it, Hermione had quite matter-of-factly told Snape it was a wonder the wizarding world had not collapsed before. Their judicial system was a joke. Why did no one ever think of using truth serums in the interrogations? That would have cleared Sirius Black, for example, and Lucius Malfoy would never have been declared innocent. The Lestranges trial was a comedy of errors. If someone with half a brain had used truth serum in Bellatrix and Rodolphus, they would have known the names of all other Death Eaters.

Snape pointed that he'd probably be dead.

"We both know Dumbledore would get you out of it," she replied.

But now, as Hermione Granger stretched luxuriously on her bed, her hands reaching for the folder on her nightstand almost involuntarily, she felt horrible about the latest - and most complicated - file Snape had given her to sharpen her analytical mind . She felt even more horrible about enjoying the challenge.

The Potters' File - Halloween of 1981.

In that moment, Hermione hated Snape so much it hurt.

"Why?" she asked venomously as soon as Snape made his appearance the next morning, a glimmer in his eye making it appear as if he not only expected her anger, but enjoyed having provoked it.

"Don't question my methods, Galene. Just do it."

"Nobody in the whole Wizarding world has any earthly idea what happened that night, save Voldemort himself. And now you hand me the case of my best friend's parents' death, as if it was nothing. How could I do this? How could I get through their deaths when I know it's a personal matter for Harry? When I know --"

"Spare me, miss." Snape cut her off. "I don't know how you'll do it, but you will. I give you three days."

"You can't be serious about it."

"Yes, miss, I can. And I am." A pause for him to drink his coffee. "Three days."

"I hate you," she hissed, unable to stop herself from that childish action. He'd make her pay for it, in his own way, and she knew it. But she was just too angry to care.

Slapping him was looking more and more tempting.

"Do you? Pity." He was laughing at her! Well, not exactly laughing, but definitely chuckling. "Well, it seems I'll have to live with it, now won't I?"

I'm not sure I like Snape with a sense of humour. As everything else about him, it's dark and meant to hurt other people.

The damned bastard knows! Hell, how am I supposed to analyse that? How will I ever look at Harry in the face again?

And how, pray tell, will I hide from him the fact that I'm actually - oh, Lord - excited about it?

Another chance for Hermione Granger to prove her quality and shut up the traditionalist snobs of the wizarding world. To outdo them. To outsmart them.

But what about Harry?

I hate Snape. Trust the bastard to put me in this position, where I am torn between my own wish for merit and my affection for Harry. I do it, enjoy it, and even if I could use the excuse of saying it was his order he will know. And that's enough to haunt me forever and ever.

Hermione studied the folder's contents with a heavy heart. At first sight there was not much special to Mr. Longbottom's report. Only now, seventeen years later, Hermione knew more about the case than Longbottom had. She knew of the prophecy. Voldemort did not go to Godric's Hollow simply to get rid of two annoying members of the Order of the Phoenix. He was after Harry Potter.

Auror Frank Longbottom received the danger alert and was the to first to arrive at the scene. A brief inspection showed there were no criminals in loco. The cottage was nearly destroyed and Longbottom had to use magic to take the debris out of the way in search for the bodies. James Edward Potter was found on the first floor, next to the stairs, in casual attire. His shirt had a few buttons undone. He showed a few bruises, but whether they were due to physical violence or the debris cannot be said for certain. Lily Evans Potter was found in the second room counting from the stair up on the second floor, wearing pyjamas and a robe. Frank Longbottom found traces of dragon blood in Lily's hands and on the floor. There was a small bottle of dragon blood broken on the floor, underneath the corpse. There were signs of burns on her hands and on the floor, as well as on a handkerchief. There were dark spots on the walls, behind the spot Lillian must have stood before she died, and on the ruins of the doorframe before it. The infant was found half-buried beneath his baby sheets, irritable and hungry and crying very much. The infant, Harry James Potter, had a scar like a lighting bolt ---



I hate Snape.

But what is the thing with the dragon blood? There is no record of any possible use of it that would justify it being used, neither by Voldemort nor Lily. What would be so utterly important that she'd go after it when she had the Dark Lord himself in her house, downstairs killing her husband and going after her child right then? Why did she not run for the backdoor, try to catch the Knightbus? Take the Floo Network?

The first impulse of a mother and a spouse right then would be to protect her family - like James had. She'd surely understand the need for haste and leave the house with her baby in her arms

Even when running could only buy her a minute or two with Lord Voldemort.

What about the dragon blood?

God, I wish I could speak with Dumbledore right now. After all, he was the wizard who figured out the twelve uses of dragon blood, and he was the teacher of Lillian Evans Potter. He'd know what she meant---

Oh fuck it. Albus knows.

The S.O.B actually KNOWS. And so does Snape, because I don't think he gave me this out of the non-existent goodness of his heart...