Redemption

Chapter 2: Have We No Wine?

If Fudge had expected Hermione to interpret his offer of a 'holiday' literally, then he would have been sorely disappointed. As it was, she had no intention of brooding around the flat by herself, or taking a mini-break away from her non-work. If Fudge wasn't going to take Terry's disappearance seriously, then she would have to take matters into her own hands. And that meant finding Terry.

Looking at things objectively, it seemed perfectly obvious that the disappearance of Terry and the clearance of his laboratory were two inter-related acts. Someone was after the Phoenix Potion.

As Hermione paced the room trying to piece together possible motives, a new horror suddenly dawned on her. She had been uncharacteristically late for work today - what if they had meant to come for her too? She knew as much about the potion as Terry, she knew why they were after Terry, and presumably this would help her understand who was after Terry. But nobody else knew about the potion. Well, apart from Ron and a few of the Quidditch girls, but they had no reason to doubt Terry that the potion was anything more than a harmless lust potion. And none of them would want to - would have the resources to kidnap their colleague. Maybe Terry had been careless. Maybe she had been careless... she had told Malfoy! How could she have been so stupid?

But even Draco didn't know the true potential of the potion; he didn't even know what the potion was. She'd never had the chance to tell him which of Snape's impressive trio of Glory, Fame, or Death she was working on. He had seemed unhealthily keen on the latter, fool that he was. Death was easy; any child could concoct that, but bottling fame? That had always been an enigma. The power of fame could open any door or any heart. Stroll down the street and you were nobody; doors slammed in your face and people pushed you out of the way. Take a swig of Immortal Fame and while its effects flowed through your body, you were invincible, people tripped themselves up in their attempts to obey your every whim. The name was misleading; 'fame' seemed such a fickle word. The Phoenix Potion was more than that: it instilled the strength of charisma; the power of true conviction; a sense of divine purpose - it was pure power distilled. And Malfoy was after it.

Well, pride had got her into this mess, but she was going to make damn sure that it would not keep her floundering in the quagmire she had created. If Fudge would not help her then she would go to a greater wizard who could. Without Harry by her side whispering urgent advice to the contrary, Hermione made up her mind that she would go to Dumbledore for help.

She scribbled a quick note for Harry and Ron, telling them she had some research to do at Hogwarts for the next week. She didn't usually keep secrets from them but knew that neither of them could afford to get into any more trouble with Fudge.

A door slammed loudly somewhere in the building. Hermione shivered. At least she would be safe at Hogwarts, she thought as she began to hastily pack a bag. Yes, she would go and see Dumbledore.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?"

"Yes, do come in Severus."

A black-clad Snape crossed the room toward Dumbledores's desk.

"Please, take a seat." The chintz armchair that usually sat opposite Dumbldore's seat was hastily transfigured into a tall leather smoking chair with a flick of the old Wizard's wand. "Tea, Severus?"

"Naturally."

Dumbledore smiled; he had already begun pouring the cup before waiting for verbal confirmation.

"Biscuit?"

"No thank you."

"Jammy Dodger? Chocolate Hob Nob? Marshmallow Cake?"

Snape declined all offers with a barely discernible shake of the head. He couldn't escape from the strange feeling that Dumbledore was stalling for time. He'd assumed they'd just come to discuss a troublesome Slytherin student, but now he wasn't so sure if there wasn't more to it than that.

Dumbledore watched Snape take a first sip of his tea, and then shifted his glance to some focal point above Snape's head, which was most disconcerting. The silence deepened.

"Headmaster...? Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?"

"Of course. I'm just waiting for our unexpected guest. No point repeating myself twice!" Dumbledore replied cheerfully.

There was a loud bang behind Snape that caused him to slop hot tea onto his lap.

"Ah, here she is now."

Snape turned around just in time to watch a sooty and disorientated Hermione stumble out from Dumbledore's fireplace.

"Professor Dumbledore, I'm sorry to -"

"- Burst in? Not at all. I was just informing Severus of your imminent arrival."

"But...?" On second thoughts, Hermione decided she didn't want to know. "You know Terry Boot's been kidnapped then?"

"Yes, I am far from friendless within the Ministry of Magic, despite Cornelius's strenuous efforts. I must say, I am most pleased the shock of his disappearance has not caused you to lose those famous Granger sensibilities - Hogwarts really is the best place for you now."

"I assume this has some relevance to me?" Snape raised an eyebrow sardonically, praying to god that Dumbledore's answer would be in the negative and this was all just an unfortunate coincidence.

"Strictly no Severus, but I rather thought it might be something that would interest you enough to volunteer involving yourself with." Snape very much doubted that this was possible, but Dumbledore's genial smile silenced any protestation to the contrary. "It seems we have the rather disturbing case of a botched burglary on our hands."

"What has been taken?" Snape spoke slowly, cautiously.

"A quite exquisite potion that I believe Mr. Boot and young Hermione here had been working on. But perhaps I'd better leave the explanation of its many wondrous properties to the expert."

Snape whipped around to glare at Hermione, but she couldn't quite find it in herself to look him fully in the eye. All she could think about was his body pressed so menacingly against hers, his threatening words hissing in her ear. She reddened slightly, and then took a deep breath. She was not going to be intimidated into an inarticulate wreck. She might not have brawn worthy of a Slytherin, but she certainly had the brains necessary for a Ravenclaw, and the courage of a Gryffindor. But this was not going to be easy.

"Remember the speech you gave at our very first potions lesson, about the subtle science of potion making, the power of liquids -"

"-That creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. The same speech I orate every year for the benefit of foolish wand wavers. Little good though it does me," Snape added bitterly.

Hermione ignored the tetchiness.

"Well it seems that Terry Boot, for one, rather took it to heart. He's been - we've been - trying to bottle fame for the past year. And... we seem to have succeeded at last with our Phoenix Potion."

Snape started, a thousand unspoken technical queries whizzing through his mind, before he managed to refocus his thoughts.

"So, let me recap." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. "You deigned to create an extremely dangerous weapon out of some misguided attempt at playing God, then allowed it to be stolen by an unknown assailant? Merlin's beard!"

Dumbledore sat in silence; he rather thought it was best to leave the pair of them to it, although if one of them began haemorrhaging dangerously he supposed he'd probably intervene.

"We don't all create powerful substances with the intention of using them for the Dark Arts you know!" Hermione snapped, desperately wishing that she could think of an example to support her case.

"Indeed. How does that muggle saying go... 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions'? Well I think you and Mr. Boot have just re-tarmaced a good section of the route."

Hermione opened her mouth then shut it again.

"You said it was a botched burglary?" Snape had turned back to Dumbledore, ignoring Hermione.

"Indeed. They didn't quite manage to take everything. I severely doubt whether the potion can be activated without this key ingredient."

Hermione snapped out of her reverie just in time to catch Snape's eye. She looked down in embarrassment.

"They took everything. I saw for myself; the laboratory was completely emptied," Hermione breathed, the gravity of the situation beginning to sink in.

"You see, not quite everything."

When Hermione did not reply to Dumbledore's twinkling encouragement, a resigned Snape leant forward, fixing her with a steely gaze.

"He means you, Miss Granger."

* * *

Holed up in a laboratory at some unknown location Terry was beginning to sweat. Maybe it was just the heat from the blue flame he was leaning over, or maybe it was the tall figure who was leaning over him, hissing admonitions into his ear.

"I thought you said the potion had been completed? Why isn't it working?"

"I don't know... it doesn't make any sense..." Terry peered at a chart full of numbers and complicated looking formulae. But they must have made some sense to him for he reached forward and circled a section. "Certainly the data is consistent with the intended effect. See," he tapped the end of his quill against the highlighted section "the catalyst is propelling the magnesium oxide -"

"I don't care if the Pope is shitting in the woods. Just get the potion working and then send for me."

He stomped out of the room, a flurry of crisp robes as the door slammed behind him.

Terry gulped. The air in the damp room had suddenly become much thinner.

* * *

Hermione was still seated in the Headmaster's Office, waiting for Dumbledore and Snape to return from luncheon in the Great Hall. She might not be supposed to be at Hogwarts, but the Head and the Potions Master most certainly were.

She glanced around the empty room, a funny tingling sensation spread out from her stomach at the thought of being left alone in the nerve centre of Hogwarts. Just as that small, yet perennially ignored, voice in the back of her head was urging her to open some of the drawers to Dumbledore's desk, or take a peek inside the leather bound diary, another voice spoke up behind her.

"Would this latest pickle you've landed yourself in have anything to do with our friend Harry Potter, perchance?"

Hermione swung round to face Phineas Nigellus's portrait. She should have known it would be him.

"You know, I'm not some detached being whose fortune is determined by everybody else's actions. I do have some control over my destiny." The hesitant tone of Hermione's voice turned the intended insult into a hurt defence.

"Suit yourself." Phineas shrugged his shoulders and disappeared out of his portrait. Not for the first time Hermione wondered whether some of his blood still ran through Snape's veins. They both had that annoying trait of appearing completely disinterested and disdainful of everything that went on around them. However, even her envy was aware that such calm dignity came at a high price; namely the isolation of the self. If no man is an island, Snape had certainly made himself into some sort of peninsula. Hermione could only imagine what it must feel like to be completely cut adrift, immune to praise and insults alike - independent.

She sat up as she heard muffled voices, then the sound of the doorknob turning as Dumbledore entered. Behind him slid a resentful looking Snape, who looked as though he had chosen a particularly sour dish for lunch. His lip curled in distaste when he caught sight of Hermione in the tall upright chair.

"Ah, glad to see you're still here safe and well! Severus and I have just been discussing strategy." Dumbledore beamed at Hermione as he took his customary seat behind the large desk.

"Strategy?" Hermione distinctly saw Snape roll his eyes. "What has Sn - Severus got to do with this?"

"Well I rather thought he might be of some help to you. It appears to me that we have an escalating situation on our hands. Someone has broken into the Ministry of Magic and stolen a very powerful, a very dangerous, project. Yet the snatching of Terry seems to suggest this thief is no Potions expert."

"So you think Terry is still alive then?" Relief flooded over Hermione, as the unspoken implications of Dumbledore's words caught her straight away.

"Oh yes, he'll be quite safe; he is far too valuable an asset. We can only assume that they meant to take you also, to wipe out any evidence of Project Phoenix ever existing - Merlin knows, Cornelius washed his hands of all knowledge quickly enough. You, however, appear to be a liability to that plan."

"You mean I'm next." It was more a statement than a question.

"I'm afraid I'm rather inclined to think so too. The older staff will be informed of your presence at Hogwarts, but I think it best if you make sure none of the students see you in the halls," Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"Is there anything I can do? To stop this? My knowledge of the potion must be second only to Terry's."

"You may yet have a chance to stop all this in its tracks, but I believe it all depends on how the potion was brewed?" Dumbledore turned to Snape, who had been standing looking out of the window into Hogwarts' grounds, his back to the others. On hearing the quizitive tone of Dumbledore's voice, he spun round to face the room again.

"Hermione, what did you use as the primary root seed for the potion - I believe traditional wisdom surrounding the myth of Immortal Fame has emphasised the need for two root seeds?" As Snape drawled offhandedly, Hermione felt as though she had been transported back seven years into a classroom again, and coloured slightly.

"A phoenix feather. From Fawkes," she replied.

"And did you add it yourself?"

Hermione didn't need to think too hard; it was after all, little more than a week ago that Terry had dropped in the penultimate ingredient, before testing the result on Ron. She shook her head, unsure from Snape's expression whether this was good or bad.

"And the secondary root seed - who added that?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"Terry again. At least I assume he did - I wasn't actually there, I just collected the seed for him."

"That is most unfortunate. If it had been by your wand we could have attempted to cast a Reversi Incantatum spell."

Hermione nodded, deeply impressed that Hogwarts' Potions Master was able to perform such a complicated procedure that required the tricky combination of Finite Incantatum and Priori Incantatum. Snape raised an eyebrow at her response, surprised that she was familiar with such an obscure charm. It was an archaic spell that had not appeared in print for nearly two centuries, having fallen out of use to be replaced by more evolved, yet less relevant charms.

"What about a Sourcius Procurus spell?" Hermione succeeded in surprising Snape for the second time in as many minutes. Well, well, perhaps her arrogance was founded on something after all.

"The pull of your limited claim on the potion is not strong enough." Any admiration he may have felt was hidden behind the usual brusque tone of his voice. "I think we are going to have to go about this the old-fashioned way."

Hermione frowned in puzzlement.

"A manual neutralising potion," Snape sneered patronisingly.

* * *

Septimus stared in wonderment at some of the titles on the tall bookshelf. Some of these hadn't been in print for decades! He pulled a dusty tome out from the very top and whistled appreciatively. Correction: some of these hadn't been in print for centuries. He wondered if Uncle Severus had read them all. He supposed it wasn't as if he had anything else to do with his time, no familial distractions to speak of. He had to admit, there was a definite whiff of a bachelor pad about Snape's chambers - not least of all the obsessive tidiness that pervaded throughout.

He bent down to look at more of his uncle's extensive library that had been stowed away in cupboards below the in-built wooden shelving. He was surprised to find muggle literature mixed in with the more conventional Wizarding texts. His references ranged from Tolstoy, Poe, Shakespeare, Virgil, Dickens, Defoe, Swift, Hardy, Dante, and Cicero... quite the Renaissance man, Septimus thought with amusement.

"My God, wonders never cease; Septimus with a book in his hand."

Septimus jumped about a foot in the air.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," Snape smirked.

"Why do you always do that, sneak up on people?"

"I do not 'sneak', I merely tread without the usual clumsy clodhoppings of the inelegant."

"Well I'm glad you're back, I'm about ready to faint from hunger! Shall we go to dinner?" Septimus' stomach rumbled loudly in applause.

"Ah."

"What do you mean, 'ah'? Don't 'ah' a hungry person."

"There has been a change of plan. You are not to dine in the Great Hall this evening."

"Wow! I know Severus Snape's hospitality isn't exactly famed, but I'd never heard of him actually starving his guests before."

"Don't worry, you'll get your daily bread, there's just been a change of venue. The House Elves are going to bring a platter of food down here."

Septimus cocked his head and looked at Snape quizzically.

"Apologies dear nephew, but I'm afraid you've drawn the short straw - you are to dine with Miss Granger."

* * *

Dumbledore surveyed the Great Hall with a grave expression on his face. Amongst all the chattering, happy faces it was hard to imagine that there might be a snake in the grass. But you couldn't blame the children; it was the sins of the fathers. The Malfoy juniors of this world. Attitudes and prejudice bred, not formed. Yet it still pained him that he could not trust his own students with the knowledge of Miss Granger's presence.

Dumbledore turned to Snape, not for the first time glad to have such a man by his side.

"How is young Septimus finding Hogwarts? I do hope you're going to give him a proper tour."

"Ah, you wish me to show him what he's missing at Durmstrang?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"Oh no, far be it from me to poach another school's Flying Teacher, despite the lengthy vacancy of our own post. Did you know, last week we had Miss Granger teaching Quidditch to the third years? I think she probably learnt more in that hour, than in her whole five years of tutelage from Madame Hooch - at least she now knows how to fall off safely at any rate."

The mental image of Hermione clinging to a broom handle for dear life caused Snape to smile -slightly. He had not shown much aptitude for the subject himself during his time at Hogwarts; he had felt on much safer ground studying disciplines that could be learnt from books.

"Well his timing was impeccable as usual," Snape replied dryly, "I suppose this latest mess Miss Granger has dragged us all into will take up most of my time."

Dumbledore hid a small smile behind his silver beard. He couldn't think of a project more tailored to Snape's interests and passions than the Phoenix Potion conundrum.

"I only hope Septimus hasn't been driven out of Hogwarts already by his inane dinner company. Believe me, I speak from bitter experience. Headmaster."

Dumbledore's smile widened beneath his useful concealment.

* * *

Hermione had been a little disconcerted on first meeting Septimus. It was like coming face to face with a young Snape - or at least nose to nose. He had that same prominent hooked nose and strikingly black hair, but his face was slightly rounder and had a lot more colour in it. And gosh, Hermione could almost find him attractive. Especially after her fifth goblet of wine.

She was enjoying his company a lot more than she thought she would, upon first hearing who she was to be dining with, and was grateful for Dumbledore's consideration. The Snape likeness seemed to be only skin deep for she found Septimus surprisingly easy to talk to. Especially after her fifth goblet of wine. Hermione had even felt emboldened to nose around Snape's sitting room, predictably enough delighting at his superb library ("But what has he got Jane Austen for?"). She had also had a giggle over some truly disturbing Dark Arts paraphernalia that had puzzled her for a long time, until Septimus had slyly whispered in her ear what purpose they served - to her great embarrassment.

"You're not like your uncle at all, are you?"

"Is that a compliment?" Hermione had the good grace to blush. "Well we're not actually related that closely. I'm his cousin's son, but the age difference means he's always been just plain Uncle Severus to me."

"I knew it! Faith in my own intuitive skills has been restored - there is no way that man does not suffer from a severe case of only child syndrome." She lunged forward for her sixth goblet of wine, missing her target by several inches.

"I gather the two of you don't exactly see eye to eye?" Septimus took a measured sip from his own goblet, eyeing Hermione keenly.

"You could say that," Hermione sighed, suddenly feeling maudlin. She took a reinforcing sip of wine. "As a student here, I tried everything to wring some grudging praise out of him. As a student teacher, I've tried everything just to wring a grudging civility out of the man. He's just... impossible! Infuriating! So damn hard to please..."

"Yet you want to please him?" Dark eyes regarded Hermione over the brim of a goblet.

"Yes. No. I don't know. Is it awfully sad for a grown woman to still yearn for the respect of an old teacher?

"Probably. But then what worth is praise that can be won so easily?"

"Well it's probably worth more than Snape's hatred. Not that that's difficult to earn."

"Come, he doesn't hate you."

"Last week he spat in my face, called me a mudblood bitch, physically assaulted me, then threatened me with... well actually I have no idea what he was threatening, but it sounded impressive anyway."

Septimus leaned forward and laughed pleasantly, and for some reason Hermione was able to find humour in the situation too.

"That would explain his abysmal standard of fencing then. If it's any consolation, he seemed pretty shook up about his behaviour - and I think that's the closest he gets to contrite. You've got to understand, he doesn't like the feeling of losing control, but when he does lose control... well, he makes up for all those times of repressed self-discipline in one fell swoop."

"You're trying to interpret the psychology of Snape? Point one, I don't think we've drunk nearly enough wine yet, and point two, I think we'd be here all night."

"There's no reason for either of those points to go unfulfilled..." Septimus reached over and topped his goblet up with more wine, before crossing the space between their two armchairs and taking Hermione's goblet out of her hand, on the pretext of a refill. "Severus is a fool."

Hermione looked up, surprised at this sudden non-sequiteur, to find two black eyes staring intently into her own. For some reason her own eyes refused to blink. Those dark eyes reminded her so very much of Snape's, but without the same feeling of depth. Staring into Snape's eyes was like looking down into the abyss, but Hermione could see her reflection in Septimus'. But then maybe she had never been this close to Snape before...

"You really are quite delightful you know." Septimus reached out and brushed Hermione's cheek with the back of his hand. "Quite delightful." He trailed his hand slowly down her face, under her chin, and lightly down the side of her neck. Hermione responded instinctively, her eyes half-closing with the deliciousness of his careful touch. His fingertips were now making little circular motions on the bare flesh above the neckline of her robes, and the roughness of his hardened skin sent a shiver rippling over her exposed flesh.

Hermione suddenly snapped her eyes open again. What was she doing? This was Snape's nephew! But before she could return fully to reality, his other arm had circled behind her back and he had begun stroking her firmly down the length of her spine, his knuckles ribbing and kneading downwards. She arched her back appreciatively and let of a small unbidden murmur of pleasure. She had been working so hard for so long, she felt as though Septimus was slowly unravelling a large knot that had accumulated without her noticing. It felt so good to be touched by large, strong hands - just a little longer she promised herself, then she would pull away.

"Feel good?" He whispered into her face, tilting her chin so that she was once again looking into Snape's - no, Septimus' she reminded herself - eyes. They seemed to be asking a question, which Hermione answered by pressing her hips forward into Septimus, responding to the sudden pressure on her lower back.

Septimus was just lowering his mouth to Hermione's, and she could just feel the warmth from his lips - the point of almost contact, of built up tension and anticipation - when the door flung open.

"Well, Well, Well," Snape smirked as he strode unabashedly into the room. "Sudden lapse in judgement, Septimus?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *