Redemption

Chapter 6: Kitchen Sink Melodrama

Unwittingly mirroring Dumbledore's actions at that very minute, Snape got out of bed and began pacing his room in the dark.

This was a bad idea. Still familiarising himself with the furniture layout, he immediately stubbed his toe on a sharp corner edge.

"Merlin's beard!" he cursed loudly, performing a contorted dance of distraction, as he hopped around the room in pain.

He always had trouble sleeping in new environments, even ones as luxurious as this. Especially ones as luxurious as this. Of course, this wasn't his first stay chez Malfoy, but in the old days his host Lucius hadn't really had sleeping in mind for his guests. He grimaced. That was a whole era of his life that he wished he could just Obliviate from his memory. The Pensieve helped of course, when his thoughts got too much and began to consume him from within, but he couldn't permanently empty his entire Death Eater history. Like Dumbledore, he believed that some scars should be left to tell their own story. Although, he was forty-four-years old and still hadn't found anyone to listen to his.

Septimus knew snatches of it, mostly garnered from second or third hand information furtively passed around at Snape family gatherings, and occasional references from Snape himself. Dumbledore knew most of it. But no one knew all of it. He wondered if even he himself still did after all this time. He scratched his right arm absentmindedly, then winced as his fingernails reopened the recently formed scab, feeling a warm trickle of blood seep out.

Rationalising that he might as well utilise his insomnia, he pulled his robes back on and decided to check on the progress of the Location Potion.

* * *

Hermione woke with a start. Her heart was thumping madly against her ribcage, as her eyes scanned the room. She was still in that dangerous half-asleep mode where her dream seemed like a possible reality in the darkened room. She rolled over in the large four poster bed, but found only cool and tangled bedsheets waiting for her on the other side, no reassuring arms to wrap soothingly around her.

Glancing at her wristwatch she saw that it was still only three o'clock. Fearing the consequences of falling straight back to sleep after such a traumatic dream, she decided to get a drink of water, hoping to forget the vivid images of her nightmare en route. She tiptoed cautiously to the chamber door, trying to recall where the first floor bathroom was. She had been sure that Draco had resentfully pointed out a tiny room just a few doors down, so slunk out into the darkness in her thin slip.

Wandering down the first floor corridor in virtual pitch-black, she couldn't quite seem to locate the elusive bathroom. Not wanting to inadvertently wander in on someone else sleeping, she decided to make her way to the kitchen, where she hoped there might still be a fire burning down in the grate.

* * *

Snape was standing over the simmering yellow potion, occasionally stirring it anticlockwise with his wand. This was unnecessary but he found that occupying his hands with such an inane task meant his mind was free to guiltlessly wander over more abstract paths. He knew it wasn't healthy to dwell so much on his Death Eater days, but too many memories had been resurrected by his short stay at Malfoy Manor for him to be able to repress them any longer. Images that he had tried for too long to forget, raced through his head unbidden as he struggled to retain his calm exterior. He wanted to scream, bang his head against the wall, denounce himself. He felt as though his head was going to crack in two with the force of it. He needed a distraction, some kind of physical reaction that would refocus his mind from the emotional maelstrom within. He took the small knife out from the inside of his robes and just stared at it for a long time.

"Oh!"

Snape looked up at the exclamation, unsure whether Hermione had seen him eyeing the knife, which he hastily tucked away again. She was standing framed in the kitchen doorway, evidently as surprised to see him, as he was to see her.

"I was just coming down for a glass of water."

She sounded awfully defensive, Snape thought to himself, as though he were liable to snap her head off for her very existence. He noticed that she was wearing a rather flimsy Muggle garment of peach silk that outlined the shape of her figure in the soft light. It was the first time that he had seen her with her hair down and was surprised to see that the soft waves reached almost to her waist. The effect was less one of sexual provocation than ethereal beauty as Snape was reminded of the cover illustration on one of his classical texts, depicting a Greek serving girl drawing water from a well. Still, it really was quite scandalous that she was just wandering around the halls in such a clinging nightdress. Such behaviour would have been most unwise in the days of Malfoy senior.

"I - I had a bad dream," she admitted, wondering why she was laying herself open to Snape's ridicule.

"Yes, this place can have that effect. Too many imprints of the past, too much negative energy."

"Is that why you can't sleep either?" Hermione still stood uncertainly on the threshold; unsure whether her company would be welcome.

"Perhaps. But I rather think my own memories have more to do with that," Snape said neutrally, subconsciously scratching the scabs on his right arm.

Hermione stepped forward and walked across the room purposefully toward Snape. He could see the contours of her body straining against the thin fabric and breathed in quickly, unable to predict what she was about to do.

"Hold your arm out..."

He did so hesitantly.

"Just what I thought; it's still bleeding." She reached out a cold hand and traced around the cuts very gently with the tip of her index finger, causing the skin on his arm to goosepimple as he shivered slightly. "You don't need to play the hero - I know it must be painful for you."

Snape couldn't decide whether she was talking about his arm, his emotional state of mind, both, or something completely different. He decided silence was the best response, which Hermione took as a sign of condonement.

"You're such an enigma Severus," she sighed. "You're so..."

"Sarcastic? Moody?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I was going to say mysterious, but you can have it your way if you want." Hermione looked up into his face and smiled mischievously. She continued tracing her index finger around his wound, before applying a slight pressure with her wand. "Ligatius!"

"I told you before to leave it!" Snape snarled, pulling his arm away suddenly.

"You may be content to wallow in pain, but I for one can't just sit and watch someone suffer unnecessarily without feeling!" she replied with passion.

"It's only pain that keeps me feeling," he whispered hoarsely, grabbing Hermione unexpectedly by the shoulders so she could feel his fingernails digging into the soft flesh, as though he were trying to demonstrate the point. His eyes were searching intensely into her own, causing her to shiver, as she was suddenly aware of her scanty nightwear.

"What about pleasure?" She bit her lip as soon as the words slipped out, unsure of his reaction. He released his grip slightly, but his hands remained on her bare shoulders.

"Pleasure? Pain is the only pleasure I know." Snape suddenly withdrew his touch and turned away, back toward the stove. Hermione reached out and grabbed his arm, spinning him back round again to face her. She had never seen this deep, introspective side to him before.

"Severus? What happened to you?" Her voice was soft, less a question than a statement of sympathy. "Who hurt you so badly?" She reached a hand up tentatively and pressed her palm against his cheek, unsure whether he would reject her and return to Snape the Potions Master.

Instead, he brushed her hand gently away, but not before an uncertain pause.

"Don't try to understand me Hermione. It's - that mind of yours has far more worthwhile projects to occupy it." He smiled grimly, his eyes remaining focused and cold, before brushing past her and leaving the room abruptly, black robes billowing out behind him.

* * *

"It's ready." Terry carried the yellow potion over to the seated man. "You erm, just have to drink the entire beaker. You'll feel a bit shaky on your feet at first, but then you should feel a warmth in your stomach and you'll just know, as a gut instinct, where Hermione is, or to be more accurate, which direction you'll need to take to reach her." He extended his hand across the desk toward the man.

"Oh, don't think that I'm going to fetch her. I'll leave that up to you."

"But, er... won't she think it's odd if I turn up? I've been kidnapped after all, she won't co-operate if she's suspicious. I - I don't think I should."

"Ah, one step ahead of you as usual." He reached into the desk drawer and removed a glass vial full of a steaming emerald liquid. "I trust those apparently abundant brain cells of yours can guess what this is?"

Irked, Terry took the offered vial and sniffed it once, pulling a face.

"You're joking?"

"Unlike my idiot brothers, I never joke about business." His eyes flashed dangerously before his face softened again and a blissful expression descended. "Yes, my Gargoyles had some most interesting information to convey to me about who was, and who was not, present at Hogwarts..."

* * *

Hermione had taken up Snape's vacated position and was stirring the potion. She didn't need an hour spent tossing and turning in tangled bedsheets to tell her that she would not be able to sleep if she returned to her room. She was still thinking about the slightly rough texture of Snape's warm face, as she stared into the swirling liquid. And his parting words - the closest he had ever come to acknowledging her. She was trying to piece together the rest of their conversation, when Snape's voice cut into her thoughts.

"Hermione?"

She spun her body round to face him, placing her hands behind her back as a barrier against the sharp edge of the kitchen worksurface, causing her chest to thrust out defiantly. She watched him stride stiffly but purposefully toward her, her stomach performing little backflips as she wondered why he had come back. She remained silent, waiting for him to speak. If she had learnt one thing about Snape during the period of their forced partnership, it was that he was not a man one could lead.

"You asked who hurt me so badly?"

Hermione tried to suppress her surprise; she had not expected Snape to be given to such backward introspection once he had deemed a subject closed.

"Perhaps it was a rhetorical question, one that I shouldn't have asked, and you shouldn't have to answer." She licked her lips; she had to be careful here, this was very thin ice she was trying to skate across.

"Perhaps I want to. Perhaps I've been waiting a long time for you to ask that question."

Again, Hermione's response was a cautious silence. This was how Snape worked, what he responded to.

"Disappointment hurt me, disappointment and the inability to articulate my feelings. I - I made that mistake too often, let things slip through my fingers for want of a few well chosen words of affection."

"Is that - do you worry it will happen again?" She bit her lip. Snape was now standing directly in front of her, eyes pinning her against the hardness of the worksurface.

"No. Because now I feel safe enough to do something about it."

Snape reached forward and grabbed Hermione around the waist, pulling her forcefully toward him. Hermione gasped as she was suddenly thrust into his chest, disorientated by his sudden mood swing from vulnerable broken man back to fierce predator. She could feel his hands rippling the silky material of her slip as they tightened around her waist, burning into her like a guilty brand

She looked up into his dark eyes uncertainly, unsure where she fitted into this version of Snape, the side of Snape that usually disregarded her. He returned her gaze hungrily, holding back whilst his eyes asked the question. Finally she answered, curling her arms around his neck, pulling his head down and pressing her lips against his own.

His kiss was strong, passionate, and needy, pulling on all her female instincts. She pressed herself harder against him, overcome by the need to feel as much of her body in contact with his own as possible, as the fierce energy radiating from him intensified. Her fingers woven into the hair on the back of his neck were the only thing holding her up as she swayed drunkenly against his lean body, her legs giving way as his hands moved up her body and into her hair.

Then his hands were travelling back down her body again, following the contours of her shoulder blades, and the groove of her back as his fingers dug into her flesh. She arched her back reflexively, groaning into his lips with pleasure till he released them roughly, her teeth catching on his bottom lip in the sudden movement. But then his lips were on her neck; sharp teeth nipping the sensitive skin and she moaned again, tipping her head back so that her long thick hair fell over his exploring hands.

Hermione would never have guessed that Snape held such passionate, animalistic responses. He seemed to have finally dropped his guard, his famous self-discipline temporarily abandoned whilst he let his human senses run.

His kisses travelled lower as he followed the line of her collarbone down and across, yanking the straps of her slip off her shoulder with his teeth. Hermione shivered, aware of the powerful masculinity that she had unleashed. Instinctively she pushed her hips forward into his pelvis, grinding against his hardness.

Because it was dark, because her eyes were closed, and because she was engulfed by her physical senses, Hermione did not notice the two large round eyes that watched the scene with uncomprehending shock before disappearing abruptly.

"Hermione." He had pulled away but was breathing hard, hands placed restrainedly around her waist. "You must come with me."

"Yes," she replied dreamily, eyes still half closed in her flushed face as he led her away by the hand.

* * *

"Morning," Snape said grudgingly as the boy he loathed walked into the room. He was just pouring the yellow potion into a beaker, so the last thing that he required was a dose of the Neville effect. To his surprise, Neville didn't reply to the formulaic nicety, merely shooting him a scathing look that would have blistered paint. Sure, he and the boy were never going to shake hands and open a B&B in the West Country together, but he hadn't expected such outright hostility from Longbottom. Perhaps he felt his fame could act as a buffer against such formalities. "This is nearly ready; where's Hermione?

"I would have thought you knew that better than anyone else." Neville scowled as he helped himself to some milk from the fridge.

"I am not in the mood for such cryptic exchanges. Either you know where she has disappeared to or you do not. She is not in her room." He continued to measure out the potion, annoyed at the boy's deliberate obscurity.

"What, she didn't fancy spending the entire night with you? Can't say I blame her, at least she's not quite as blind as I thought."

"Of course not. Did she have any reason to?" he replied testily, temporarily stopping mid-task. What was the idiot boy blathering on about now?

Neville looked thoroughly disgusted and spun around from his crouched position in front of the open fridge to face Snape properly.

"Oh, so it's like that, is it? Use 'em and lose 'em, why am I even surprised?"

"Merlin's beard, I know you're more accustomed to asking rather than answering questions, but I thought even Longbottom was capable of simple dialogue. Perhaps your talents are more suited to monosyllabism - Do. You. Know. Where. Hermione. Is?"

"Well I thought she was with you," he replied sulkily.

"Evidently not," he bristled, aware that this inane conversation was costing them valuable time. His brow furrowed. "I thought she was with you."

"Me? Why would she be with me?"

"Well why on earth would she be with me come to that?"

He received another Neville look.

"Last night. I saw you. In the kitchen."

Snape stiffened. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

"What of it? She clumsily attempted to psycho-analyse me before I returned to my room, hardly grounds for companionship."

"No, I mean I saw you. I - I saw you," he paused before spitting the words out, "kissing. It seemed like pretty heated 'grounds for companionship' to me."

"What are you talking about? We held a terse conversation during which there was - was no contact between us. Are you delusional as well as stupid now?" he snapped.

"I saw you! It was hard not to, you slobbering all over her like a dog on heat."

"Must I repeat everything twice for it to penetrate through your skull? Only, I'm not getting paid for such tedium now. I am, however, being relied on to deactivate an extremely potent weapon, and you're wasting my time. I can see I shall have to find her for myself." Snape went to sweep past Neville, but was caught around the arm by Neville's strong grasp.

"Do you - do you really not know where Hermione is? Only... I tried to find her this morning, after what I saw last night, but I couldn't - I thought she was with you, it was the only place I didn't look."

"Look, I don't know what you thought you saw, but I can assure you the last time I saw Hermione was last night when I left her to return to my room - alone. I have no idea what you are talking about. I've been searching for her too. I thought she must be with you." He leaned forward and peered into Neville's face, his eyes flicking across, trying to read his expression.

"And the last time I saw her was last night. In this room, kissing you...?" His brow furrowed, it was no longer an accusation but a puzzled question. In contrast, a look of dawning comprehension crossed Snape's face.

"No, kissing someone who looked like me. Someone who had taken on my appearance. Someone -"

"- Who tricked her! Who's taken her away!" Neville finished excitingly, his forgotten fingers digging painfully into Snape's forearm. Snape didn't seem to notice, he was too busy staring at some unknown focal point, wondering how on earth Hermione could have been tricked into kissing him.

* * *

Hermione went to walk up the staircase, but was pulled back by Snape tugging her hand in the direction of the outer door.

"This way."

"But -"

Snape turned and placed a long white finger over her lips and whispered a firm 'shhh.' She fell silent. His fingers turned to the magical locks on the Malfoy door, which he deftly deactivated before turning back to Hermione.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded, wondering where they were going, and why she was going.

He pulled the door open, inviting in an icy cold swoosh of night air, before half-dragging her out of the door with him, which he hastily shut behind them.

"Here, you must be freezing." And he magicked a warm, but pretty, periwinkle blue robe over her slip. She giggled in appreciation. Then his expression changed.

"Hermione, I - I'm sorry." He bowed his head, unable to meet her eye.

"Don't be sorry Severus I-"

Snape shook off the gentle touch on his arm and took a distancing step backwards.

"I didn't want to do this, but you have to understand it's for the greater good. Expelliarmus!"

Her wand flew out of her hand as she slumped to the floor, hit unconscious by the force of his spell.

* * *

"How could you possibly have thought that was Snape - Hermione kissing Snape? You dunderhead!" He leaned back in the black executive chair chortling mirthlessly.

"Yes thank you Draco, I'm sure we all find the idea of Miss Granger's apparent lapse in taste equally incredible," Snape replied icily. The truth was, he still couldn't work out how the impostor had managed to induce such a reaction. Perhaps some sort of lust potion? But why?

"Well sorry for not automatically assuming someone in your kitchen was actually a Polyjuice spy," Neville replied defensively.

"Looks like she wants to keep it in the family Sev." Septimus had turned around from his fascinated perusal of one of Draco's Muggle newspapers, to flash Snape a mischievous grin. "Well, if she can't have the younger dashing nephew she may as well try her luck with the older, uglier uncle."

Snape flashed Septimus a dangerous glint of his black eyes, although he seemed largely oblivious re-immersed in the gossip page of The Sun newspaper.

"Yes thank you Septimus, that observation will no doubt prove invaluable to our current assessment of what is to be done about the situation."

Septimus was too busy trying to figure out 'which famous A-list actor claims to be devoted to his wife and mother of his two children but is actually conducting a steamy affair with the co-star of his latest blockbuster?' to note the turn of conversation.

Draco spun around in his executive chair a couple of times, before picking up a domed glass paperweight, weighing it carefully between his hands.

"You know, it really shouldn't be too hard to rescue Miss Granger - should you so wish."

Snape cocked his head quizzically, Neville scowled, and even Septimus risked a sideways glance.

"Well think about it, what do we currently have sitting redundantly in a beaker in the kitchen? I'm sure we could find one of Hermione's hairs around here to add to the Location Potion. And it seems to me that whoever has taken Hermione has taken her to the potion."

Neville began a frenzied search of his robes.

"She hugged me last night, should have one here somewhere..."

But he was forced to concede defeat after five minutes of fruitless searching, and rose to fetch the potion from the kitchen by way of an apology for having clean robes; his unexplained and sudden movement out of the door forestalling the objections that would surely otherwise have followed.

Draco sighed.

"Perhaps I picked one up when I wrestled her to the ground as an intruder."

However, his thorough search revealed only that he was inexcusably still wearing the same robes as yesterday. Neville shot him a disgusted look as he sidled back into the room and placed the beaker triumphantly on the office desk.

Snape turned to Septimus, his raised eyebrow asking the question.

"Don't look at me. No inappropriate touching going on yesterday - day too late for that my friend."

To everyone's surprise, Snape then began searching his own robes.

"Well I was forced into proximate physical contact when I had to share a Thestral with her," he snapped. "Apparently it had some benefits after all." He held up an impossibly long, wavy strand of brown hair and reached for the potion. As he dropped Hermione's hair into it, the yellow liquid released a brief, but violent, fizzing reaction before returning to its original dormant state.

"I suppose I can make allowances for special circumstances and fly by broom for once," Snape sighed, preparing to down the potion.

"Oh no you don't!" Septimus was on his feet now, advancing toward his uncle. "I'm coming with you."

Snape appeared to consider this.

"Well, your flying sucks, you need me."

"Granted." He nodded, and then turned to address the others. "There is enough for one person. I shall take the potion and Septimus will transport us."

"Me too!" Neville piped up, "Just the two of you isn't going to be much match against whoever masterminded kidnapping Hermione. And Terry."

"Look Neville," Snape spoke through gritted teeth, "we haven't got time for pseudo-heroics."

"Quite right. You need another Slytherin," Draco spoke quietly, his back to the others.

"Yes?" Snape raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Draco spun back round in the chair to face the other adventurers.

"Well, he has a point. You need my skills too."

"And you?" Neville was cautious, what was in this for Draco?

"I need to drop into Sainsbury's Local on the way back. We've run out of milk, Neville," he smirked.

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