The Trail of the Black Star

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When he returned to the tent, he found her scribbling in a notebook at the kitchen table. A mug of tea sat by her elbow, untouched.

"Have you eaten?"

She looked mildly surprised, though he couldn't say if it was from his harsh tone or the question. "No, I haven't."

"And how many more tests were you planning to run this evening?"

"About ten, unless I'm able to make the potion last longer then fifteen minutes. Or if I run out of hair."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I got tired of pricking myself with the penknife, so I've been plucking hairs off my arm instead."

"Miss Granger, you will depilate yourself no further tonight. You will finish your tea, eat some supper, and go to sleep." He scooped the last of his squash concoction from the pan onto a clean plate and placed it in front of her.

She looked at him suspiciously. "Why this sudden concern for my welfare?"

"You forget that I require your assistance returning to Cusco tomorrow morning."

"So this isn't a purely altruistic gesture on your part? I'm shocked."

Was she angry? Not if the slight smile on her face was any indication. Unsure of how to respond, he nodded curtly and returned to the laboratory.

When he had closed the door, he sank wearily down at the bench. He was surprised to find that she had already cleaned the glassware, stored the remains of the corn base, and put his notes and books into a neat pile.

Her own notes were strewn haphazardly on the other side of the lab. He had no doubt that her lab would be back to its normal state of chaos within a day of his departure. The thought was slightly comforting.

He visited the washroom briefly to change into his nightshirt and prepare for bed. His reflection was little changed from the previous evening, though he was quite taken with the difference Hermione's leave-in treatment had made in his hair. He took a small sample of the conditioning treatment and hid it in his bag.

She was reading in the chair when he emerged.

"Thank you for supper, Professor. I hadn't thought of adding brown sugar. It was delicious."

That was unexpected. "You're welcome."

There was a slightly awkward pause.

"I suppose we'd both better get some rest."

"Yes." 'Yes!?' What was wrong with him? Wait a moment, she hadn't conjured him a bed. Surely she didn't expect to-

Apparently, she did. Off went her trousers, up went the duvet, and soon there was nothing visible apart from a curly brown head.

He did the only thing he could think of - he turned off the light and slid into bed next to her. His back was to her, and the mattress jostled as she turned over to face him. She had moved closer, and he was aware that the sag in the old mattress was tipping him towards the centre and precariously close to her.

"Severus?"

"Mm?"

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

He edged further away from her. "You may, but I very much doubt you will get an answer."

"During either war, or the in-between, did you ever do something like this; a trip just for your own pleasure?"

The question was not one he'd expected to hear. Perhaps that's why he answered it.

"To do so would have been imprudent. Too many things were at stake for me to act on such selfish motives."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. I suppose you wouldn't entertain answering another personal question?"

"Absolutely not."

"Where did you learn to kiss like you kissed Brittany last night?"

He shot upright in bed. "What?!" His shock quickly turned to outrage. "How dare you!"

She rolled over to her side of the bed and lay on her back. "Oh dear. This isn't going well at all."

His outrage was giving way to confusion. "What isn't going well? This line of deliberately rude and intrusive questioning?" While she spluttered indignantly, a new and ugly thought occurred to him.

"No, you impossible man, I'm trying to-"

"Dig up failed romantic exploits to amuse your friends. Really, Granger, and I thought you had some maturity."

"That's not it at all! If you would just listen-"

"I have no interest in anything you have to say. Good night." He was about to flop back down again when the lights blazed on.

He blinked at the girl in bed next to him, who was gripping her wand tightly. Her cheeks were red, but her voice was steady.

"Professor, please listen to me. I'm trying to find a way to ask-" she was searching frantically for the correct phrase. He stared at her in mute amazement. She continued, cheeks flushing darker.

"I would like to spend more time with you."

"I am sure that there are a number of Potions Masters in Peru. I even know of one at Universidad-"

"Severus, you're not listening to me. I'm not interested in any Peruvian Potions Masters. I am interested in you."

"I think you're giving me too much credit, Miss Granger. Now that you've seen the proper way to distil the orchid essences, you really won't need to-" He cut off abruptly as she made an irritated noise, grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him.

Fireworks went off under his eyelids. Her lips were warm, her mouth hot, and the hands whose thumbs were caressing his cheeks held his head firmly in place while Granger systematically snogged away nagging questions. His mind was spinning. Where had she learned to kiss like that? What was her game? What could she possibly have to gain by kissing him?

When she ended the kiss, she smiled at him fondly. "Impossible man, don't you know when you're being flirted with?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Miss Granger, is there something you want?"

"I just told you. I would like to know you better. Nothing terribly complicated about that, is there?"

"Why me?"

"You're interesting."

He pulled his hand away from hers. "Miss Granger, if you hope to get anything from me, I expect you to tell me the truth."

"That is the truth."

"People do not suddenly kiss each other simply because they find one another interesting."

"With all due respect, sir, I would wager that a majority of kisses occur for just that reason."

He felt his temper rising. "And in your paradigm of normalcy, what else occurs when people find one another interesting?"

She had the nerve to smile at his sarcasm. "Planned social interaction for one or more activities that both parties enjoy, commonly referred to as a 'date.' If, after said 'date,' both parties continue to find one another interesting, further interactions are planned."

"It sounds like such fun," the word fairly dripped with scorn, "but, unsurprisingly, you fail to grasp the unpleasentries involved."

"Like what?"

"Like finding appropriate venues for interaction, keeping up societal appearances, constructing multiple social representations of the self, and above all, sizing up your and your prospective partner's motivations for doing the same. And all this is even before considers any long-term arrangements. It is an endlessly tiresome enterprise, and one that I have no patience for."

"Your version of dating does sound very tiring. Perhaps you should give mine a try."

"I am being serious, Miss Granger. And there is always the question of sex."

"I usually don't on the first date."

"I meant, little fool, how does the concept of sex fit into your idea? You make it sound as if dating is all sunshine and daisies. Sex and power are constant presences in all interpersonal relationships. To play down their existence is to make oneself vulnerable to their allurements. If you do not think about them, you have no defences against them."

"This conversation could have come from 'Beginner's Guide to Misanthropy,' co-written by Machiavelli and Freud. There's no need to take things so seriously."

Froyd? "Fascinating as I find this conversation, I would really like to sleep now." He lay back down and turned away from her.

"You never answered my question, Severus."

He sighed, back to her. "I was unaware you'd asked one that required a response."

"And you accuse me of lacking subtlety? Fine. You win. Severus Snape, would you do me the honour of accompanying me on a lunch date tomorrow in Cusco before you leave the country?"

No way to sneak out of this one. "I think not, Miss Granger."

"Why?"

In an instant, a life with Hermione flashed before his eyes; his ancestral home in the Cotswolds with the windows flung wide open to let in light and breeze. A flock of children with mops of curly black hair. Friends and dinner parties far away from the Hogwarts dungeons. Away from the darkness and solitude that gave him comfort. It was not a life that he desired, and not one that he could accept.

"I don't feel that I can offer what you would have of me."

"I don't see how you can possibly presume to know what I would have of you. You barely know me. I asked you for a date, not for your hand in marriage, for heaven's sake."

"Nevertheless, my answer remains the same. If you respect me, then you will respect my wishes and my privacy. Good night, Miss Granger."

"I begin to understand," she remarked with steel in her voice, "why you prefer your empty-headed beauties to someone with similar interests who respects your brain and can deal with your tempers. Savour your emotional detachment, Professor. It comes at a price that I, for one, would never be willing to pay."

She extinguished the lights and rolled over to her side.

He said nothing. For the second night in a row, sleep was fitful.

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Palanqa Research Camp

28 June, 6:30 am

For the second morning in a row, he was rudely awoken. He had to admit, it was far preferable to be woken by gentle shaking than by blaring wards, but it was still far from ideal.

"Professor. Professor! Wake up! The CHUMPs are coming!"

He responded with an unintelligible snarl. His eyes were assaulted by brightness- the flaps of Hermione's tent were wide open, and sunlight was pouring in.

"The Coca Harvest Undercover Magical Police, remember? We haven't much time. Get dressed. They'll be here any minute!" She was pacing anxiously around the tent, gathering various items. "I've got your book of poetry and all of our research. Is there anything else you want me to hide in the fire pit?"

The gravity of the situation jarred him into wakefulness. He pulled on his robe. "No, the rest of it is unimportant."

She thrust her load of apparent detritus into his arms. "Take this lot out. I'll do a final scan for anything with sentimental value."

He could find no reason to argue. The morning was lovely; either that, or he was adjusting to the elevation and climate. The other researchers were arranging their precious armloads in a large cement-lined hole that now gaped beneath the pile of cinders from last night's fire.

He noticed a small selection of his own works and assumed that Brittany had learned from the last raid. Other objects included a Muggle-style stereo, piles and piles of ancient-looking books, a shadowbox filled with mounted butterflies, a box of Belgian chocolates, a Chinese lute, and some small Incan statues, presumably someone else's research project. He was amused to see a box filled with Martin Miggs and Patricia Ipswitch comic books.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Brittany, who was carrying another stack of paperback novels with one arm, and a large flask filled with something that glowed under the other. He chose this moment to make a beeline for Hermione's tent. Hermione, meanwhile had gathered another armload of potions research, her broom, and the nearly empty bottle of rum.

He motioned for her to stop.

"Why are so many people putting their research into the fire pit? I was under the impression that you were free to study whatever you wanted here."

"We are, but the CHUMPs have a tendency to disrupt experiments and make off with research if it strikes their fancy. I'm lucky. The CHUMPs think my quipu are just eccentric wall hangings."

"What a charming group of constabulary. I look forward to never having to deal with them after today."

"Lucky you," she grumbled, loping off to the fire pit.

Severus quickly dressed himself in his most intimidating clothes, as Hermione appeared to have done. He doubted his neatly pressed Savile Row trousers would make quite the impression on the CHUMPs as her wide selection of knives and machete would.

Hermione had just released her owl when he emerged from the washroom.

"I don't suppose that was an order for breakfast."

"I wish. I was letting the Toqokachi Research Camp know that the CHUMPs were coming. Since they inspect the camps in the same order every time, we've gotten pretty good at giving each other advance warning. We send the first couple of camps on the list regular donations of contraband so that they'll continue to give the rest of us advance notice."

"Positively devious. Your idea?"

"Naturally."

No sooner had her owl disappeared into the trees, the arrival of the CHUMPs was heralded by a loud announcement for all researchers to gather in the centre of the camp. Severus followed Hermione to the small crowd milling about the fire pit, which was now sealed and smouldering.

There were four of them, three wizards and a witch, dressed in wrinkled grey uniforms with yellow piping. All looked unkempt but superbly smug. A wizard with a drooping black moustache spoke first.

"You know why we are here. The same procedure as usual, please. You will line up while your tents are inspected."

Severus reluctantly joined the line. Generalissimo Moustache walked down the line, scratching behind his ear with his wand and asking questions that no-one in their right minds could answer incorrectly, such as "Have you ever purchased drugs from a smuggler," and "Have you ever grown coca?" The answers were automatic and generally sounded bored, but they seemed to satisfy him.

When the man reached Severus, the man inspected him from head to toe.

"Who are you?"

"I am Severus Snape, Potions Master."

"Where are you from?"

"Great Britain."

"Why are you here?"

"I have been consulting on a project with Miss Granger."

"How long will you be staying?"

"I leave this afternoon."

"Have you witnessed any drug smuggling in the area?"

"No."

"Have you seen the cultivation of plants used to make illegal drugs?"

"No." Severus was getting impatient.

"Those trousers wool?"

What? He noticed Hermione frantically shaking her head out of the CHUMP's range of vision. He wasn't quite sure what it meant. He fixed the man in a venomous glare.

"I beg your pardon!"

The man was undaunted. "Your trousers. Are they wool?"

"Wool and cashmere."

"Wool and cashmere cannot be imported into this country without a license. You will give me your trousers, please."

Severus felt his carotid artery being to pound. He heard a few soft snickers from further down the line. His modulated his voice into "dangerously soft."

"These trousers are my personal possessions, purchased in England, and they will be returning to England with me. They are neither imports nor exports. Furthermore, I am not here on your courtesy, and you have no jurisdict- ow!"

Hermione had stomped on his foot.

The Moustache appeared not to have heard his protest. "I will collect your trousers when I have inspected the others." He turned away from Severus and continued down the line.

Severus cleared his throat. The man turned. "You have a question, señor?"

Hermione stomped on his foot again. Severus swallowed his tirade and managed to choke out, "No."

"Good." He called over his shoulder, "Inez!"

The lone female CHUMP stuck her head out of a tent. She was now wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap. One of the Americans cursed under his breath.

The inspecting CHUMP said something rapidly to Inez in Spanish. She nodded and jogged briskly to Hermione's tent. The Moustache nodded to himself and proceeded down the line.

"Why did you stop me?" Severus hissed, turning his ire on Hermione.

"You don't want the CHUMPs angry with you. They'll detain you for days if you look at them funny" she whispered back. "We thought we'd never see Tino again after he tried to stop them from taking his guitar. They almost revoked his research permit. You'd better take off your trousers."

"What he tell that woman to do?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "He told her to search my tent for more trousers like the ones you had on. He says that you look about his size. He's nearly done with the others. Professor, I'm really sorry, but if you don't take off your trousers, there may be trouble. Please!"

Severus could barely unfasten them; his hands were shaking and he was so furious he could hardly see. Through heroic effort, he managed to have them removed and folded neatly over his arm by the time the Moustache returned to him. He thanked his lucky stars, what few of them still shone, that he had opted for boxer shorts that morning.

"Excellent," the Moustache said, taking the trousers and holding them against himself to check their length. "I hope you will read the import and export guidelines more carefully on your next visit to Peru. Have a nice day."

As if waiting for this cue, the other CHUMPs exited from their respective tents; arms filled with knickknacks, clothes, and books. Severus was most dismayed to see that Inez appeared to have taken every last pair of trousers he had packed, even his jeans. They gathered together, laughing and admiring one another's finds. They disapparated in rapid succession.

Immediately, the line dissolved into furious conversation, but Hermione sprinted into her tent. By the time Severus had crossed the camp with as much dignity as a man with no trousers can, she was bent over a bowl that looked very much like a penseive.

"Saving my humiliation for future generations?" he inquired nastily as he yanked the duvet from the bed and wrapped it around his bare legs.

She rolled her eyes. "I thought we'd been through this already, Severus. And if you must know, I put tracking charms on a few choice items around the camp. I'm checking to see if any of the CHUMPs took the bait this time."

She watched the swirling surface silently for a few moments, but then emitted a disgusted noise.

"They must test for spells before they loot. That's the only reason they would leave the things I've charmed or the things Tino has booby-trapped and poisoned."

"Poisoned?"

"Nothing deadly. He's just really sensitive about his guitar." She gave him a small smile. "I suppose we'd better find something for you to wear. If worst comes to worst, we can always transfigure something, even though the spell will probably wear off after a few hours. I do have that pair that you wore on the orchid hunt-"

"I would rather wear nothing."

"I'll see if Tino has anything. He's probably the closest to your height."

He offered no thanks as she left the tent. She didn't seem to expect any.

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