Ordinary People

Bloody Romans and their damned incantations---

"I believe we may have finally reached an impasse," Severus said, frowning at his lab notes. "Our avenues seem to be exhausted."

Hermione looked over at him crossly from her own scope. "What do you mean? The research is progressing wonderfully--we've catalogued more than a hundred cells, from both our bloodstreams. Now we can--"

He cut her off. "Now we can what? If I recall correctly, your next proposed step is to examine the actual effects of magical energy on these cells. Alternately, you have also suggested that we try to determine exactly how much like genuine red blood cells these are."

"And?" She looked confused. "I still don't see the problem, Severus."

"Do you know how much the equipment for such a venture will cost? he asked, rising from his workstation and approaching hers. "We would have to acquire more Muggle supplies and adapt them; to my knowledge, no wizarding equivalent currently exists. And I'm not talking about things that we can simply break into a lab and steal with even a remotely clear conscience."

Less than halfway through his small monologue, comprehension had already begun dawning in Hermione's eyes, and by the time he'd finished speaking, she was solemn. "I see your point," she said. "And I doubt the school would fund us, either."

"A project that has nothing to do with coursework and would have no long-term benefits for the school itself? No, probably not," he agreed.

She narrowed her eyes a bit, studying him carefully. "And I suppose private donations would not be a practical hope, either."

Sighing, Severus shook his head slightly. "Hermione, if you are asking me if I can afford to fund our research, the answer is a resounding no. Where on Earth did you come up with the idea that a professor would have such wealth, anyway?"

"I thought maybe ..." she began with a tiny shrug. "I mean, Lucius Malfoy ..." Hermione fidgeted on her stool, apparently unable to come up with a decent response.

"You assumed that since I am a Slytherin pureblood and, up until quite recently, was on fairly decent terms with individuals like Lucius Malfoy, I am of their financial ilk as well?"

Flustered, she nodded.

Severus was thoughtful as he formulated the answer to his own question, covering Hermione's hand absently with one of his own. "I suppose if I'd lived five hundred years ago, I would have been. My family has not always been destitute, or so I've been led to believe. But the old estate was apparently auctioned off after my great-grandfather's funeral and Snapes have been living hand-to-mouth ever since. I would wager that my childhood home makes the Weasley clan's dwelling look like a palace." He felt oddly comfortable revealing these few shreds of his past to Hermione and smiled a bit at her obvious curiosity.

"Really?" she asked rhetorically. "I'd no idea."

"I prefer not to project an image of abject poverty," he replied. "Not many people remember any more, anyway."

"But I thought that You-Know-Who ..." Hermione apparently realized the tactlessness of her question even before she fully formulated it and cut herself off.

Permitting himself a small chuckle, Severus tried to answer her unposed query as lightly as he could. "Yes, you are correct, my dear. You-Know-Who does tend to recruit wealthy patrons to his cause, but I was, obviously, not one of those," he said dryly.

Hermione remained silent but squeezed his hand with her own, looking up at him as if waiting for him to continue.

But while Severus would gladly talk about nearly any subject with her at great length, this particular one was not included in that statement. Not yet, at any rate. "I would like to change the subject now," he told her gravely.

Without a single protest, Hermione offered him a small smile and patted his hand one final time before releasing it completely. "Well, then," she said briskly, "I guess I should ask you to take a look at this sample here--it's a little strange and I was wondering how to note it ..." Continuing to mutter quiet details, she tilted her microscope eyepiece in his direction.

Nodding, Severus leaned over her shoulder to peek into the scope, feeling one of her stray hairs tickling under his nose with something akin to contentment.

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"Why are your toenails blue?" Severus asked her, amazement in his tone.

"Huh?" Hermione grunted, dragging her mind away from the Iustus treatise with great difficulty and looking down at her bare feet. "Oh, that," she said. "I borrowed some of Parvati's nail polish. D'you like it?" she asked with a grin, wriggling her toes at him.

"It's ... different," he eventually said. "But why paint your toenails if they're just covered by your shoes all day?"

Rolling over onto her back to look at him more fully, she shrugged. "I don't know. I just felt like it. Why is this so important all of a sudden?"

From one of his still-incongruous chintz armchairs, Severus frowned slightly. "I just wondered," he replied defensively.

"Don't worry about it, Severus," she said with a smirk, turning back to her work. A few moments later, a page turn signaled that he'd done the same.

Once Hermione had discovered the actual location of his quarters, she'd found herself approaching the rusty suit of armor more and more often. His sitting room was far more comfortable than his office and it was also much less likely that someone would come to his rooms seeking him out without his knowledge.

And so it had become customary for them to spend their nights away from the lab in his quarters, Hermione usually sprawled out on the hearthrug, working her way through the dense Iustus text and Severus seated in one of the wing-backed armchairs nearby, marking or reading his own book. Every once in a while, he would actually join her on the floor, head propped against a chair and legs splayed out so that his foot dug comfortably into her ribs. Or Hermione would join him in his chair if she was feeling particularly brave. Although on either of those occasions, usually very little actual work was accomplished.

It was nice to have a place to retreat from her increasingly anxious friends. NEWTs were, of course, drawing ever closer, now a little less than two months away. Six scant weeks to attempt to relearn everything they'd been taught in the previous nearly seven years. Hermione spent no more than two nights in the Common Room in a week and if anyone noticed that during any of those evenings, she'd not even come close to opening a textbook, no one commented.

She'd made one or two abortive attempts to review in Severus' quarters, but as soon as he noticed what she was doing, he did his best to distract her. And really, the second time she'd tried to study, it was more or less to invoke his response. He'd probably suspected as much but hadn't called her on it.

Turning another page in her book, Hermione pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment for her notes and squinted at Iustus' treatise, wishing idly that whoever had made the copy hadn't been quite so devoted to ancient Latin. It was written in the original alphabet, of course, with the added bonus of not having a single space between words. Fifteen hundred pages with nary a break. She could only translate about ten pages at a stretch before she felt her eyes crossing with the effort, usually. Of course, it varied a bit with her interest in whatever Iustus was currently discussing.

Tonight he was expositing on his successful defeat of a rival in the Senate in a fashion worthy of old Delacroix himself, making it very difficult for Hermione to care about what she was doing. Apparently crazy old sadistic wizards demonstrated what the Muggles called 'alpha-male syndrome' by bragging rampantly about how many of their enemies they'd killed and in excruciating detail.

In fact, the further she read, the more familiar it sounded. "'His daughter came to me and struck a ... bargain,'" she translated aloud.

"Hermione, do you have to do that out loud?" Severus asked irritably.

She grimaced at him. "Only for a bit," she replied. "It just looks like something I've seen before. Maybe."

"Where?" He closed his book, marking the page with his pointer finger, and gave her an interested look.

"Hang on," she said. "Let me get further on. Let's see ... 'came to me and struck a deal. I did not ... ensnare her,' I think. 'Secundus had,' um, 'offended her and promised her to the son of Gratus.'"

"Oh, wait, I know you've seen this before," Severus broke in. "I confiscated a dreadful looking book from a fourth year Gryffindor only last week entitled 'The Empire of Love.' You would remember it--the cover displayed a man wearing a Roman Senatorial toga very inappropriately."

"Severus, I'll put a Silencing Charm on you," she threatened, not taking her eyes from the page.

"You wouldn't dare," he retorted.

Idly, she pulled her wand out of her pocket and pointed it over her shoulder in his general direction, still not bothering to turn around. "Would you like to place odds on that?" she asked sweetly.

Suddenly, his breath was warm in her ear and his voice was low as he muttered to her. "No, thank you. But I would like to detail exactly what would happen to you if you did place a Silencing Charm on me."

She hummed. "Would I enjoy it?"

His teeth grazed her earlobe lightly. "Probably not," he whispered.

Hermione finally looked up to see him smirking at her, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her. "Can I go back to translating now?"

He put a hand between her shoulder blades and she could feel the warmth seeping into her skin. "By all means," he replied.

Mostly ignoring him, Hermione returned her gaze to the text, willing herself to read faster. "'She wished me to render her unacceptable to the Gratian clan and in turn promised me my due.'"

"Unacceptable?" Severus asked curiously, peering over her shoulder. She could feel the very tips of his hair on her neck.

"Hmmm ... probably, um, not in the most pure of states," she told him with only a slight blush.

"Oh."

"Anyway ... 'And I took my due once I had fulfilled my end of the bargain. Blood of my enemy's blood' ... that's it!" she shouted suddenly, making Severus jump beside her.

"Merlin, Hermione, what is it?" he gasped, blinking rapidly.

"That damned thing that Delacroix did that drove me so batty," she cried. "He killed his enemy using the blood of his enemy's child and he never said how, but here, Iustus does it as well."

Now fully recovered, Severus leaned over her again, eyes devouring the text. "So maybe Claudius Iustus gives more details, you think?"

She snorted. "He may have been an evil bastard, but he was an obsessive one as well. I'd be shocked if he doesn't give the fullest account."

"Interesting," Severus said absently. "Although I don't see its immediate significance, really."

Shrugging, Hermione began scribbling notes on her parchment. "I was just curious about the actual nature of the ritual. The Killing Curse wasn't devised until the fourteenth century, you know, and this predates that by nearly fifteen hundred years."

"I always assumed that they used strychnine or arsenic," he said. "Some people still do, you know. Not quite as tell-tale as the Killing Curse."

"But this is the second time I've seen such a reference," she replied irritably.

Running his fingers through his hair to push it out of his eyes, Severus frowned at the book. "So what does it entail, then? Does it require a wand?"

"I'm not done translating it," she said with a slight glare up at him. "I don't know yet. All I know is that it apparently requires the blood of a child ... descendent," she corrected herself.

His features darkened. "Pity You-Know-Who doesn't have a son or daughter, then. Might actually be useful in that case."

"It's interesting in any case," she said. "Piece of history and all."

"Dark history," Severus inserted. "If you ever tried to publish a proper account of such a ritual, the Ministry would throw you into Azkaban in a heartbeat."

"Don't Potions Masters often publish formulas for poisons in their journals?" she asked innocently.

He poked her shoulder with his pointer finger. "Only alongside antidotes. And besides, Hermione, I don't think a historical essay on methods of murder previous to the Killing Curse is MRL material."

"I never said I wanted to publish," she retorted. "We've been studying old forms of blood magic for ages, to put our research in perspective. If I recall properly, it was your idea in the first place, Severus."

"It was," he agreed with a nod. "But I've since found our current findings to be more of interest."

"I also recall you mentioning that our current findings might be reaching a very large wall unless our financial situations improve. This might be an alternate avenue," she argued.

"And then we return to my previous complaint--this is not publishable work, Hermione. It isn't even original!" He pulled away from her and propped himself against the chair.

"What problem do you have with me working on this all of a sudden?" she cried, throwing her quill down angrily. "Six weeks ago, you helped me get this book and now you want me to stop reading once I've gotten to the most interesting bit?"

Folding his arms over his chest and crossing his legs, Severus pulled himself into a stiff stance and glared at her. "I don't care what you study," he replied. "But you need to realize that not everyone is going to be pleased with your foray into the Dark Arts."

"I'm not going to use this information to kill anyone!" she nearly shouted, shocked at his implication.

He sighed, frustrated. "Of course you won't, but what's to stop someone else, once you've pieced the ritual together for them?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, closed it, and considered what he'd just said. "I hadn't thought about that," she finally said.

Narrowing his eyes, Severus gave her a look that clearly said, Obviously, but remained silent.

"What if ..." she began slowly. "What if I continue to translate it, just to see what Iustus has written on the subject, and then, if the notes are too bad, we destroy them?"

"Do you actually think you'll be able to do that, if it comes to it?" he asked.

Again, she had to concede the point. "Well, then," she said, bringing up the final point she could think of, "we can't be the only people in the world with a copy of this text. Someone else is bound to have translated it."

Severus was quiet for a few moments, mulling over her statement. "I still don't like it," he grumbled.

"Duly noted," she said tartly. "Now may I go back to work?"

"One request," he replied, holding up a hand. "It would be better if you worked on this only in my quarters. I wouldn't like to see you trying to explain to the headmaster why you're translating Dark texts in the Gryffindor Common Room."

"Really?" she replied. "I rather thought you would sell tickets to such an event."

"I would not," Severus said, contriving to look rather wounded. "Admission would certainly be free on that particular occasion."

She poked her tongue out at him. "I'll keep that in mind." Returning to her translation, Hermione noted that Severus remained on the floor, reading his own book. Resolutely, she ignored him.

Aha! Her guess had been correct--Claudius Iustus had indeed given a fairly detailed account of his transaction with the daughter of Secundus (although thankfully not too graphic). She gave him her blood after he explained what he was going to do with it. Apparently she had no love for her father. Although that made sense, if she was driven to approaching her father's worst enemy for assistance in breaking an unwanted marriage vow, she probably wouldn't mind seeing something awful happen to her father.

And from the way Iustus kept mentioning that she came to him instead of the other way around and the very fact that he'd explained to the girl what he was planning to do made Hermione suspect that it was important that the blood be taken from a willing donor. In fact, she vaguely recalled something similar from Delacroix. Freewill, she mused.

Severus' foot was nudging her calf, distracting her again. "What do you want?" Hermione asked, only slightly amused.

"I have a question," he announced.

"I thought you were reading."

He looked at her innocently. "I just recalled it," he replied. "A little while ago, after, well, you know ..."

"Yes?" she asked impatiently.

"Weasley said something to you about an essay," Severus said with a grin. "What was he talking about?"

Hermione was dumbfounded. "What on Earth made you think of that?"

The grin widened and he poked at her calf again with his bare foot. "Who knows?"

She sighed, aware that he was not going to relent--he was in too playful a mood to let her alone. It was best to answer him and then maybe he'd allow her to return to her work. Although she made a note to bother him one night when he was working on something dreadfully important. "It's quite funny, really," she said by way of reply. "I don't think I'd told you, but some time back in January, Ron decided he was going to figure out who I was ... uh, spending all my spare time with," she settled on tactfully.

He raised his eyebrows. "So early?"

"Apparently I'm even worse at deception than I'd previously thought," she explained. "Anyway, he drafted Harry into the plan."

"I suppose Potter and Weasley have been unsuccessful to date," he said.

Hermione permitted herself a smile. "Actually, it's been rather amusing to watch, for the most part. Their current theory is that I'm sneaking out of the school nightly to have trysts with an older man who lives in Hogsmeade. Ron fervently hopes that it's not a Malfoy."

"A Malfoy?" Severus echoed incredulously.

Shrugging a bit, she twirled her quill absently in her fingers, ignoring Severus' wince as ink splattered on his rug. She'd clean it up later. "They've been so far away from the truth that I told them if they happened to guess it correctly I'd write their Potions essays for them until NEWTs. So far, I'm doubtful I'll ever have to worry about it."

Severus smirked at her. "You offered to help them cheat?"

"The likelihood of them discovering the truth is roughly equal to the probability of Ginny Weasley dumping Neville for Malfoy," she replied dryly.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Young Miss Weasley does send Longbottom rather sickening gazes of longing, doesn't she?"

"I think it's quite cute," Hermione said defensively.

"Cute," he echoed in a derisive tone. "Cuteness is abhorrent and should be restricted only to the vocabulary of giggly little eleven year old airheaded brats."

"That's one of the things I love most about you, Severus," she said with a wry smirk. "Your tolerance and respect for your fellow human beings."

"Five points," he replied idly.

She highly suspected that Severus resorted to taking points from her only when he could not come up with a proper insult, but she also suspected that as often as not, he wasn't serious and so the points did not wind up coming off Gryffindor. "Dirty pool, Severus," she said good-naturedly. "I can't take points from Slytherin when I'm angry at you, now can I?"

"I can. How many would you like removed?" he asked, smiling faintly.

"Oh, you wouldn't even if I asked," Hermione retorted, flapping her hand in the air. "You're still hoping that Slytherin will win the House Cup."

"They might win the Quidditch Cup at least," he said in an off-handed tone. "That is, if Gryffindor loses to Hufflepuff."

Covering her face with her hands, she moaned loudly. "Not Quidditch!" she cried through her fingers. "I get enough of that at mealtimes. Yesterday, Ron decided that the only way to properly explain to Harry the maneuver he was discussing was to actually stand and demonstrate. You can talk about anything except for Quidditch."

"So that's what Weasley was doing at lunch yesterday," Severus replied thoughtfully. "The entire table of professors was wondering why he was flapping his arms about like that. I rather thought someone had hexed him, but Albus was adamant that he was simply impersonating a duck for some unknown reason."

Hermione snorted inelegantly. "It was a Wonky-Smetski something-or-other that apparently has previously undiscovered nuances. I caught that much before ignoring them completely."

"Yes, if Potter and Weasley were my friends, I expect I would spend most of my time ignoring them completely as well," he said.

Stretching her leg to its full length, she managed to dig her toes successfully into his side, eliciting a gratifying yelp. "Leave Ron and Harry alone," she said. "Apart from existing, they've done nothing to upset you. Well ... lately."

"How is Potter doing?" he asked, very nearly looking interested in her potential response.

With a little shrug, Hermione rolled away from her book. She apparently wasn't going to get any more work done this evening. "He's all right, I suppose. Is that concern I hear in your voice?"

Severus appeared to be distinctly uncomfortable. "Rubbish," he said.

She grinned, amazed. "No ... it was. Severus, are you worried about Harry?"

"No ..." he responded evasively. "I just ... it's nearly the end of the school year, you know. And I find it difficult to believe that You-Know-Who won't make a play before the semester is out."

Again she shrugged. "I'm fairly certain Harry's okay. He hasn't been acting out of the ordinary, if that's what you're asking."

"I'm not sure what I'm asking," Severus admitted. "But I find myself disturbingly comforted by the fact that Potter is behaving normally."

"Would you care to know how Ron is doing?" she asked sweetly. "Or how about Ron's new girl ...?"

Severus ran a tickly finger down the bottom of her foot, causing her to shiver pleasantly. "I'd rather not, thank you."

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In the Common Room the next night, Hermione caught herself watching Ron and Harry play Exploding Snap rather more intently than usual. Probably, it was only Severus' question from the previous night that was bothering her, but all the same, her eyes rested on Harry's dark-haired figure more often than not.

"'Mione, d'you want to play?" Harry asked from across the room suddenly, catching her watching him.

Blinking, Hermione recovered herself fairly well. "Uh ... no, thank you. I was just woolgathering."

"Oh ... okay," he said, turning back to the game. She wasn't entirely sure exactly what they were playing. It required the Exploding Snap pack and a handful of Knuts, but otherwise, the rules were not immediately apparent.

But once the cards exploded, Ron scooped up the Knuts with a little cry and shoved them in his pocket, grinning at Harry. Perhaps Ron had won--it certainly seemed so; he was a notoriously poor loser and certainly would have been rather more sulky if the game had gone to Harry. With a cheerful wave in her direction, Ron bounded up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

"He wants to get to sleep early for tomorrow's match," Harry explained. "If we win, the Cup's ours, you know."

"I know," she said tiredly.

Standing, Harry made his way over to her seat and plopped down beside her. "I promise not to talk about Quidditch any more, Hermione."

She grinned. "Won't Ron give you hell if you're not in bed as well?"

"I'm not afraid of him," Harry scoffed smilingly.

Which, of course, begged the question of who exactly Harry was afraid of. But Hermione wasn't about to ask him that. She settled for studying him even more intently than before. Maybe there was something to Severus' unprecedented concern.

Harry wrinkled his nose at her and shoved his glasses against his face. "What, has my face gone green or something?" he asked her.

Startled, Hermione managed a quick head shake and a self-deprecating smile. "Sorry, Harry," she apologized. "My mind's been wandering a bit today."

Giving her a shrewd look, he frowned a bit. "Not too far, though, I don't think. Do you want to talk to me about something, Hermione? You've been watching me all night and I don't think I'm quite that interesting."

She almost responded to his opening, her desire to keep the conversation light and away from the subject threatening to overwhelm her acute. But in the end, Hermione grit her teeth and plunged forward. "How are you, Harry?" she asked abruptly, nearly echoing Severus from the night before.

He blinked. "What?"

"How are you?" she repeated.

"I'm fine," he replied, obviously still rather confused. "Not so much as a sniffle. Could do with a bit more sleep, but after tomorrow's match, I'll be able to sleep in a little more often. NEWTs have got me thrown, but that's true of everyone. Except you. In fact, why aren't you studying now, Hermione?"

Shaking her head, Hermione ran an agitated hand through her hair, hating the curls that tugged at her fingers. "That's not quite what I meant, Harry, and I think you know it."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked with a shrug. "That I'm scared. Of course I'm scared. Everyone knows this is the year. If Voldemort is going to make another try at Hogwarts, he's got less than two months. Would you like me to spend my nights crying in my sleep? Or how about sitting in classes jumpy and terrified?"

"Harry ..." she began.

"It's all right," he replied complacently. "Everyone's worried. I am too, really. But there's not a whole lot I can do, save being careful. And to be honest, I'd much rather be playing Quidditch or trying to remember exactly who Uberic the Ancient was without having to look it up than spending much time pondering my horrible fate. Trelawney does enough of that for me without me helping her along."

Hermione chuckled. "So you're all right, then?" she asked doubtfully.

"As all right as I can be, 'Mione," he said. "And what brought this on all of a sudden?"

"Oh ... someone just put it into my head," she said as lightly as she could. "Can't I worry about one of my best friends?"

"Apparently so," Harry responded.

They watched each other quietly for a few moments until Hermione finally patted his shoulder and stood. "I think I probably ought to send you to bed, Harry," she said. "You know how happy it will make Ron. And besides, I'm tired, too."

"If only to make Ron happy," he groused. "Good night, 'Mione."

"Night, Harry."

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