Redemption

Chapter 3: The Morning After the Night Before

Terry had been up all night, and it showed. His eyes looked stretched and misshapen, his skin creased and dehydrated. His hair had always made him look older than his few years. He had been fifteen when he had noticed the first grey hairs appear amongst the dark brown ones like spun silver. Strangely it now had the effect of making him look younger; rumpled erratically from hours of frustrated fingers running through it, his tousled locks could almost be considered boyish. Or just further evidence of his consigned status as a mad scientist, he thought dryly.

It didn't help that He kept interrupting at irregular intervals, agitating for results. He didn't seem grasp the subtlety of his science - correction - his art. Not for the first time, Terry thought bitterly how his talents and his work were wasted on such people. They didn't understand the process, didn't seem to want to understand, wallowing merrily in their own pit of ignorance. That's why he preferred to work alone, with the only person he could rely on to show some initiative, some genius. Or at least someone who recognised his initiative and genius. Hermione. If she were here, things would be going so differently...

* * *

If Terry had known that his treasured protégée was currently obsessing endlessly about an aborted clinch with Durmstrang's Flying Teacher, his wistful admiration might have been dampened somewhat. She tossed and turned in her suddenly unbearable bed, before giving up all pretence at trying to sleep, and lighting her wand with the Lumos spell.

She pulled on her dressing gown, shivering slightly at the cool dawn temperature, then padded into her sitting room. Her own library suddenly seemed much less impressive after her snatched peek at Snape's - and it wasn't as though she was going to be able to borrow any of his treasures before sometime soon in the next century.

Hermione stretched and yawned, annoyed that she should be overwhelmed by a wave of tiredness after only stepping out of her bed. She pulled out a well-worn book from the middle shelf, and proceeded to make a little nest for herself in her favourite armchair by the still smouldering fire.

* * *

While Hermione dozed in fits and starts by the fire, Terry was finally starting to get somewhere with his own little conundrum.

"Of course!" For the first time since his ordeal had begun he almost smiled. Hermione would have smiled too if she were there with him - she was always berating him for thinking out aloud.

But he was excited now, jotting down notes at an electric speed as the solution to his woes spread out across the parchment page - like a spider weaving his web. But no matter, the time for aesthetics would come later, he had other priorities right now. He had to trap all his thoughts onto parchment quickly, before his inspiration left.

* * *

Snape was watching a magenta liquid slowly drip, drip through distillation, checking that the apparatus was properly secured and all was as it should be. He was a fastidious potions brewer, even for potions of seemingly little import, but especially for potions such as this one, whose only test would only come with its use.

There was knock at the door to his classroom. He scowled.

"Enter!" He didn't need to be a skilled Legilimens to know who was interrupting his work in such an annoying manner. Snape didn't look up as Hermione opened the door, and crossed the room to the bench he was working at.

"Severus, Dumbledore sent me to tell you that he was taking your nephew on a tour of Hogwarts grounds before breakfast." Hermione couldn't quite bring herself to speak Septimus' name to Snape. "Er, is there anything I can do?" She hovered uncertainly in the background, not sure what his reaction would be after last night.

Snape was just about to reassure her that her 'help' was almost definitely not required when a malicious thought crossed his mind. Well, why not?

"Yes there is actually."

Hermione looked up eagerly.

"You can wash out those petri dishes."

Several sinkfulls of hot water later, and Hermione had barely reached base camp of the mountain of dirty apparatus awaiting attention. It seemed as though Snape had piled equipment from a week's worth of lessons onto the wash trolley. Not to mention the small army of fermenting coffee cups, which she really shouldn't have to clean for Snape, but did so anyway with a quick flick of her wand, doubting very much whether there was anything reactive enough in caffeine to necessitate manual cleaning. As she placed a clean cup on the draining board, she suddenly remembered something from her school days.

"Hey, didn't this used to be a punishment in your detentions?"

Severus looked up from the scrolls of essays he had been marking, the corner of his lip rising slightly in a half-smile that Hermione missed as her back was turned.

"Well done, Miss Granger. Indeed I did delegate such tasks to my more tedious charges."

Hermione refused to rise to the bait; she thought she owed Snape that much at least. Besides, she dreaded to think how he would use his latest piece of information about her private life in his growing arsenal of insults. She scrubbed at a blackened stain harder, trying to remove its irritating presence.

After another hour spent silently scrubbing furry residues, and smelly memories of past experiments, Hermione thought she had bloody well earned some intellectual conversation from her austere companion, especially as she was foregoing breakfast for this.

"So how are you intending to use this neutralising potion?"

"Book of Potions, Grade 2, page 78: '...once the potion has turned from a rich magenta to a mellow purple, remove the flask and pour over the potion you wish to neutralise...'" he quoted lazily.

"Actually, I think you'll find the second half of that sentence carries onto page 79," Hermione snapped back, again missing that strange half-smile that he had come to reserve solely for her. "I meant, how are you going to administer it? We don't even know where the Phoenix Potion is."

"Then perhaps you should say what you mean in future, instead of flattering me on my ability to interpret your cryptic utterances." There was a small pause. "A location charm should suffice. We are waiting for Fawkes to return from an errand this evening, so we can use one of his feathers to match the root seed. It should prove simple enough."

"You know, when you think about it -"

"- I believe the beauty of thinking is that it requires no verbal output."

Hermione fell silent. This was a bridge that was going to take a long time to build.

* * *

Hermione had returned to her rooms before the first bell call could fill the corridors with bleary-eyed school children, shuffling to their first lesson of the day. She had been up since dawn, first reading in front of the fire, then helping Snape in his classroom, and her appetite was beginning to catch up with this unusual routine.

She was just scouting around for the promised House-Elf breakfast tray, when she spotted a large brown owl tapping impatiently on her window. She strode across the room and opened the window, bracing herself for an unpleasant assault from the cold air. The owl hopped in indignantly, and immediately flew over to the fire, appearing to find the mantelpiece a satisfactory perch.

"Ooh! What have we got here?" Hermione always talked to owls as though they were cuddly little kittens, something that greatly annoyed Ron but had seemed to please Pigwidgeon when they were at Hogwarts. She reached forward, and was disappointed to find that it wasn't an unexpected letter, but just a copy of the Daily Prophet that she had forgotten she still subscribed to. "Oh, well! Can't have everything." She brushed the white chest feathers of the tense owl, and placed five knuts in the leather pouch attached to one of its bony feet. It bristled slightly at this uncommon touch, then relaxed under her gentle petting. Seeming to decide this was as good a place as any to rest from his journey, the owl hooted softly once then closed an eye warily.

However, five seconds later its eye sprang open again, as Hermione let out a strangled scream. The owl hooted with obvious annoyance, then flew out of the open window without looking back. If it had, the owl would no doubt have been surprised at the voracious way the strange girl was reading the front page. For, plastered across the front page, was a grinning picture of Neville Longbottom. However, instead of the usual accompanying headlines like 'My Night of Passion with Neville Longbottom' or 'How I Lost Two Stone : Neville's magical diet' was a two inch banner line that simply read: 'MISSING!' Hermione read on:

'Last night, the entire Magical World was reeling with the news that Neville Longbottom is missing. A Missing Person's Report was filed yesterday at 9:29 p.m. while a desperate search began for the famous pop idol.

Neville, whose hits include 'Don't wanna let you go' and the number one smash hit 'Could it be Magic?', was last seen two days ago, when he performed a special concert in aid of St. Mungo's. However, he did not turn up for an awards ceremony later that day, and his continued absence has begun to worry fans.

Could it be that Neville - whose parents suffered from severe mental maladjustment - has fallen ill himself? Or could this be a sinister kidnapping plot? Rita Skeeter, our very own 'Showbiz Kitten', will continue to keep you updated as more leads appear.

Turn to page 3 for an account of Lavender Brown's night of naughtiness with the star.

Turn to pages 4,5, and 7 for a look at Neville's troubled history and tragic childhood.

Have you spotted Neville? Send an owl to our special hotline!

Two old school friends gone in as many days... it seemed almost too much to be just simple coincidence.

* * *

Snape sighed as he packed the last of the potions ingredient away. He was not usually given to such whimsical musings but it had been a particularly trying day today. If he thought the substitution of his breakfast with Miss Granger's presence had been a bad start to the day, it had only got worse. The only good thing that could be said about the day was the impressive rainstorm that had whipped up mid afternoon.

He moved a large shoebox along the shelf of the store cupboard, making space to rearrange some samples more effectively. He could hear Septimus banging around in the adjoining classroom, whistling merrily to himself. He couldn't blame him for being cheerful, but he damn well reserved his right to be irritated by it.

"Hey, what's with the purple goo, Severus?"

Snape bristled; nothing was 'with' the potion, well, apart from a grammatically misplaced conjunction. He kept silent.

"Are you still alive in there? Or do you want some time alone with your special equipment." Septimus snickered.

Snape drifted out of the storeroom like unfurling fog.

"Shame I didn't harbour the same considerations for you last night, isn't it?" he sneered, as he set about bottling the neutralising potion before Septimus could investigate further.

"Yes it is rather," Septimus agreed cheerfully. "I must admit, I can rather see why you're so smitten with her now."

Snape's inner poise evaporated as he let out a strangled choking sound.

"Don't get me wrong, not my type at all - she's not a blonde for starters - and far far too studious. But that's practically a wet dream for you isn't it?" Septimus winked at his uncle.

"Sadly, some of us carry more extensive criteria for our partners than 'Can she bark in bed?'"

"Perhaps that goes some way to explaining why you're a forty-four year old bachelor..."

"And why you're a twenty-nine year old divorcé?"

They both grinned at each other. It hadn't been nearly so much fun being the black sheep of the family until Septimus the perennial black lamb had turned up.

* * *

Hermione had spent the rest of the day cooped up in her room reading. She didn't mind the confinement too much. It was quite nice cosying up to the fire while the wind outside rattled her windows, and sprayed the glass with a fine layer of lake mist - like a persistent sneeze, she thought.

It was just beginning to get dark outside, and Hermione's room was lit by the soft glow of a tall lamp, when there was a knock at the door. Puzzled that someone had managed to penetrate the inner corridor, she rose cautiously to the door and peered out of the fisheye peep hole. Snape? What was he doing here?

She opened the door slowly and was surprised to be greeted by the jovial tones of Septimus, although it was not hard to see how she had managed to mistake the nephew for the uncle, as he was draped in Snape's usual uniform of long black robes.

"Hello Hermione!"

Just like that, no hint of embarrassment, as though last night had never happened.

"How did you get in here?" she realised too late that confusion had replaced politeness.

"Well, and a fine 'how do you do' to you too!"

"I mean, well, the only way into this corridor is through a charmed wall, and you have to know which brick to tap and say the password."

"Really? Severus showed me how to get in over there." He pointed to the end of the corridor, where the beautiful walnut wardrobe stood.

"Would you mind showing me?"

"Well we have to go that way anyway - I've been sent to fetch you."

"Oh." Hermione was slightly disappointed that this was not a social visit. But then maybe this way was for the best - she had enough complications and confusions in her life as it was, without adding a new twist. She had just made up her mind to forget about last night, when Septimus brought the subject up himself.

"Listen, I'm sorry about last night. I think I rather acted out of turn."

"Forget about it," she mumbled, pretty sure that was exactly what he was trying to do.

"I never knew talking about my uncle would prove to be such an aphrodisiac." He grinned at Hermione, and she couldn't help but return the smile.

"Anyway, I'm surprised you haven't been told about this doorway." They had just reached the wardrobe, and Septimus was yanking open both doors. "After you."

She stepped into the warm darkness, wondering why she had never thought to look in here for a concealed doorway before - she supposed it had just seemed a little too obvious to someone brought up on C.S. Lewis.

Septimus stepped into the wardrobe, and pulled the doors shut, creating an uncomfortable tension in the confined space.

"Now don't worry, I'm not trying to take advantage of you, but you have to close the doors behind you for this to work. Lumos!"

The interior of the wardrobe lit up, casting Septimus' face with his long, hooked nose into ghoulish relief, so that he suddenly didn't seem so attractive after all.

"Alohomora!"

The back of the wardrobe opened down the middle of the wooden seam. Light flooded in but Hermione's unadjusted eyes were unable to make out what was on the other side. As she stepped out blinking, she started slightly. It was a corridor of exactly the same length and proportions as the one she had just left behind - even the furniture was situated at the same points along. But the suits of armour at the far end were made out of a silver, rather than bronze metal; the walls were panelled with ebony, rather than teak wood, and the carpet was a rich green colour. The darker colour scheme gave the identical corridor a very different feel. It felt... more sensual somehow.

Just as Hermione was about to enquire what was housed down this newly discovered passage her question was answered as the single door set exactly half way down the corridor creaked open and Snape stepped out. All this time she and Snape had been next-door neighbours! There was probably only a single wall separating their bed-rooms. Hermione shuddered.

"Hermione. Dumbledore has sent for us. I thought it best if we used covert channels of transportation, considering your position."

Hermione nodded.

"Erm, is Septimus...?"

"Dumbledore has decided that he will be a useful ally. He has been fully briefed on the situation."

Hermione nodded meekly again, in her distraction not noticing the facial pantomime Snape was conducting in Septimus' direction, as he raised his eyebrows and nodded urgently toward Hermione. Septimus sighed in resignation.

"If you don't mind me asking Hermione, how did you and Terry get around the usual problem with brewing Immortal Fame - namely, how did you get the thyme leaves to react exothermically with the newt hearts?" Septimus enquired, perfectly politely.

Hermione eagerly launched into an explanation of their theory, wondering how long it would take before Snape raised some pedantic objection to her methods. Surprisingly he said nothing, silently leading the way in front of the animated couple.

* * *

Dumbledore waited patiently in his Office, looking out of the window for the familiar rainbow streak that would signal Fawkes's return. He suddenly had the mental image of a younger self, waiting up for teenage children, clucking like a worried mother hen, and smiled to himself.

"Ah, here we are." He opened the window as a decidedly tired and dusty looking Phoenix swooped in.

As if on cue, there was a sharp knock at the door.

"Enter!" Dumbledore swung round to face Snape, Hermione, and Septimus, beaming affably. "Do please take a seat." This time he had transfigured in advance and watched with some satisfaction as Snape arranged himself elegantly into a tall, upright leather chair, Hermione sank into a squashy overstuffed velveteen armchair, and Septimus lowered himself with much unnecessary aplomb onto a waiting beanbag.

"Excellent." Dumbledore wandered over to Fawkes' perch and gently set the bird down. "I believe the neutralising potion is ready Severus?"

"Yes Headmaster." Snape took an opaque vial from the insides of his robes and placed it on the desk in front.

"And Septimus? You have arranged some transportation?"

"My broomstick's ready and waiting Sir." He winked.

"All that remains then is for me to pluck a feather from Fawkes. Due to the power of Phoenix magic the location potion should work immediately." Dumbledore turned to the Phoenix and regarded him gravely. "Sorry about this old chap, but I'm afraid this is going to hurt a bit."

He was just reaching forward when something terrible happened. Hermione, who had only heard Harry describe such an event, almost fell out of her chair with shock as Fawkes burst into brilliant flames. In a matter of seconds, the adult bird was reduced to a smouldering pile of ashes.

"Ah." It seemed that Dumbledore had noticed the problem too.

* * *

"What do you mean it's still not ready?" the tall man thundered menacingly. Terry took his lab goggles off and rubbed his eyes resignedly.

"It'll just take a little longer than planned. I'm not saying I can't do it. Because I can. At least I know why it isn't working now," he paused, "Jeez, you've been waiting long enough anyway."

This was evidently the wrong thing to say. The tall man lunged forward and grabbed Terry by the lapels of his crumpled lab coat.

"That is little comfort to me now!" He yelled into Terry's face, his mouth contorted with rage. Up close, Terry could see every freckle standing out against the man's bright red face. "Why am I even bothering to keep you alive?"

"Look, it'll only be a little longer - I promise! I swear, I know why it isn't working. I can fix it. Just give me the chance!" Terry babbled almost incoherently.

"Explain." He released Terry, who sank down onto a waiting stool, trying to recover his composure.

* * *

Hermione was the first to gather her wits in the stunned silence that followed.

"How long is Fawkes going to take to regrow his feathers?" Panic raised her voice about an octave.

"About a month," Dumbledore replied in a small voice, "It seems I overlooked one very big aspect of our plan."

"Happens to the best of us Sir. We've just got to think laterally." Septimus was still staring in awe at the remains of Fawkes.

Luckily for Septimus, Snape was too caught up in his own calculations to react to his nephew's severe understatement.

"Hermione, the secondary root seed. What sort of ratio are we looking at?"

"It's actually fifty-fifty - it's only called a secondary root because it's added after the primary, it's not a reflection of ratio."

"So technically there's nothing to stop us using a tracking charm on the secondary root seed, it should still exert a strong pull?"

"Very good Severus," Dumbledore nodded in agreement.

"What did you use for the secondary route seed?" Severus had got a scrap of parchment out and was poised ready to write down the answer.

"Er... Neville Longbottom's hair."

Snape sat very very still, his quill paused unwaveringly over the parchment, frozen in position.

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