Redemption

Chapter 7: Scent of a Woman

Hermione woke groggily, feeling as though her head was full of cotton wool. She opened her eyes experimentally and was relieved to find the room dark. Well, it was more a broom cupboard than a room - she could have crossed from one side to the other in three full strides, if she hadn't been lying in a crumpled dying swan pose on the floor. There was a small window set near the ceiling, but it had been painted over with an uneven blackwash that allowed only muted light through. And a door.

Hermione jumped up, and then immediately fell back down again as her legs gave way under her, causing her to bang her knees painfully on the hard wooden floor. She scrambled up again clumsily, grabbing onto one of the many shelves that surrounded the room for support. Finally her knees stopped shaking, and she made her way stiffly toward the door. She yanked the door handle down, and when it remained shut reached into her robes for her wand - only to find that it was missing. Still missing. Snape had disarmed her.

Why had he disarmed her? What was she doing in this broom cupboard? Where exactly was this broom cupboard? All at once the gravity of the situation hit her, causing her to reach a hand up to her aching head. What was going on? She had thought she had finally reached a breakthrough with Snape - What, by sticking your tongue down his throat? a little voice at the back of her min said. She had been a fool to trust Snape, even with Dumbledore's endorsement. Oh God, did Dumbledore know yet? Know that the man he had trusted, despite history and Snape's many nay-sayers, had bitten the hand that fed him, the mind that had chosen to trust him?

As though linked by some psychic pull, Hermione heard Snape's voice on the other side of the door.

"Alohomora!"

The door was flung open, causing a startled Hermione to blink in the bright light, as she looked at the silhouetted figure of Severus Snape.

"How could you!" She ran over to him, fists raised, wanting to pound all her anger and her hatred into him. But his hands were already wrapped crushingly tight around her wrists, and her frantic writhing was useless.

"I had to," he replied, and Hermione saw that his eyes, usually so impenetrable, were reflecting the truth of this statement. "I had to," He whispered.

"I suppose someone just happened to twist your arm the right way did they? You couldn't stand anymore of your miserable existence as an unloved, pathetic and bitter man! And to think, you ridiculed my work!" she shrieked, "I was right the first time. Fool that I was to think people could change. You're a Slytherin serpent through and through."

"Hermione, I'm not - not what you might think I am."

"Is this where I hear the righteous self-justification? Save your breath, I don't want to hear anything you've got to say. You were right; I don't want to waste my time trying to understand you. I didn't think..." she trailed off suddenly, her vitriol evaporating as she noticed that something rather peculiar was happening to Snape - his hair was becoming flecked with grey. And - and unless this was some trick of the light he appeared to be shrinking. Broadening out slightly too, and -

"Terry!" She didn't know whether to renew her attempt at physical attack, or hug her lost friend. "But you're... you're safe, you're well!"

During the transformation, he had been forced to release his grip on her hands, as Snape's long white fingers had diminished into his own browner, shorter ones, allowing Hermione to fling her arms around his neck ecstatically. He was caught off guard by this uncharacteristic display of affection; their relationship had always been strictly platonic. He laughed pleasantly at her reaction.

"And the Phoenix Potion? What's happened to it?"

"I was hoping you'd ask that. I need your help." And for the second time she followed trustingly as he led her away.

* * *

Snape wondered grimly how odd their little convoy must look. He, perched precariously on the back of Septimus' whizzing broomstick; Draco, cutting through the air like a piercing arrow with an eager and intense look flushing his face, wind ruffling his sleek hair apart; and Neville huffing and puffing behind, trying to keep up.

He felt another hard lurch in his stomach.

"Left! Hard left!" he shouted to Septimus, wobbling slightly on the back of the broomstick as the force of the Location Potion tugged more insistently. He was beginning to feel that if he didn't reach Hermione soon, he would break in two. It wasn't only the physical reaction, there seemed to be an unpleasant side effect to the potion that made him desperately yearn to be with her again. At the moment the Head of Slytherin House's greatest ambition was merely to be by Hermione's side.

* * *

"Here!" Terry pointed to the vial of steaming green liquid. "It's safe. Only... I need your help to activate it."

"Activate it Terry? I would have thought that was the last thing we wanted to do." Hermione frowned.

"You unintentionally tainted the secondary root seed - I think because the hair belonged to Neville, so was not collected in an appropriately controlled environment. I need you to just prick the smallest drop of blood into the potion so that your input - the emotional barrier - is recognised and the defence mechanism in the potion removed."

"But Terry, I - we've been trying to disable the Phoenix Potion ever since you were kidnapped. This is great news!" She reached out and squeezed his hand. But to her surprise, he wrenched her fingers off and pulled away.

"It is not great news if your intention is to use the potion." Cold eyes regarded her steadily, waiting, judging the situation.

"What do you mean? You're free from whoever tried to steal the Phoenix Potion now. We can destroy it."

Terry shook his head slowly.

"No. Not free."

"But - but you escaped. You came and found me to tell me, because you knew I would try to rescue you, despite what Fudge might say. You brought me here so we could destroy the potion together..."

Terry felt a wrench at the hurt confusion clouding Hermione's eyes, and tried to communicate his own sorrow back to her.

"Although, why did you need to come in Snape's form - did you have to disguise yourself in order to escape?"

"Hermione, there's something I need to tell you..."

"I'll say there is," drawled an amused sounding voice from behind them.

Hermione whipped around and watched as a tall man emerged from the shadows of a whitewashed pillar in the laboratory, a shock of ginger hair eclipsing his sly smirk.

* * *

"Down! Down! She's down there!" The pull of Hermione was so strong that Snape had to force himself to grip tighter onto the broomstick to stop himself from jumping off to reach her. Didn't this thing go any faster?

* * *

"Percy Weasley? What are you doing here? Are we in the Ministry of Magic then - only the corridor didn't seem very familiar at all?"

Percy laughed harshly at Hermione's evident confusion.

"Well, well. I've succeeded in out-foxing even Hermione Granger. That brain of yours still can't figure out what's going on?"

Hermione shook her head, her confusion mounting.

"Terry here was just about to tell you how he's been lying to you for the last year," he laughed cruelly again, and Hermione wondered why he appeared to find this so amusing. She span round to face Terry again, sure that he would deny this ridiculous claim.

"Hermione I -"

"- You see, Terry is not as he seems. Brilliant Terry Boot, slaving away in some forgotten laboratory hidden in the depths of the Ministry of Magic; disregarded, ignored, no he doesn't deserve that. Any more than do I." He turned away, and began pacing the room, whilst still addressing his monologue to Hermione. She wondered why neither of them was stopping him, but some part of her wanted to hear whatever it was that this clearly delusional Percy had to say.

"Have you any idea how frustrating it is, trying to make my way in the Ministry of Magic with the surname Weasley? It was bad enough when I only had my father's foolishness to contend with, but then those idiot twin brothers of mine opened that wretched Joke Shop, and our family name was dragged even lower into the realms of ridicule. Even Ronald, whom I had held some small hope for - if only because I didn't credit him with the strength of character to do anything truly stupid by himself - has been a disappointment. Of course I was delighted when he first got a job in the Ministry of Magic, even if it was in the pitiful Quidditch department. That was okay, he just wanted a foot in the door, everyone has to start somewhere. But no, seven years later and he is still wallowing in that embarrassing backwater, while I alone try to salvage what little is left of the Weasley name."

He narrowed his eyes menacingly, pausing slightly before continuing.

"Did you know that we are one of the oldest Wizarding names in Britain? Most people certainly don't. Our name should be up there with the likes of the Zabinis, the Malfoys, and the MacMillans of this world, yet instead I am forced to hear it twinned with Potters and Finnigans. How can I expect to rise up to reach my true potential when I have such unfortunate relations tainting my name and my character? I have waited too long, too many years for that recognition."

Percy stopped his pacing and turned to Hermione, eyes dangerously ablaze.

"I should be Minister of Magic. I deserve it. And if people are not able to realise it merely because of my name, then I shall make them realise it!" he screamed, his cheeks infused with vivid patches of colour.

Hermione turned to Terry, scared.

"Terry, he's not well. Let's get him to a doctor. We can destroy the potion later," she suggested.

"No, Hermione."

She started at Terry's quiet, but unmistakably determined command.

"I - I agree with him. If he just takes the potion once, then people will realise how wrong they were. And how important my work is too. Don't you see that? Aren't you tired of filling funding application after funding application out, only to be met with the same blunt refusals, the same blank faces of incomprehension? Imagine a world where our brains are recognised, praised even, rather than merely furthering our ostracisism. Percy can do that, Percy can make sure we never have to struggle either financially or intellectually again. Think about it Hermione!"

"What are you saying? That - that terrorism is okay, provided you get some personal benefit out of it?" Hermione was struggling to keep her voice even.

"Not personal benefit, benefit for everyone. With Percy as Minister of Magic things will change, great things will happen! I - I want you to join us." His desperate, piercing stare betrayed the quiet calm of his voice.

"Join you? We didn't vanquish Voldemort merely to invite another dictator to take his place," she spat.

"I'm not a dictator!" Percy shrieked, the same red blotches rising angrily on his face. "I'm merely taking what's rightfully mine, what I've earned. In years to come people will remember getting rid of Fudge as the best thing they ever did. I will bring the Magic community into a new era."

"Hermione, with you by my side, with each other, we can't fail." Terry's eyes shone with real conviction, and his voice wavered with a hopeful enthusiasm that Hermione would never have associated with the Terry Boot she knew.

"By your side? I'm not by anyone's side. The only thing you've made me realise is that I must rely on myself to stand alone." She stopped, as his words triggered a recent memory. "The kiss... when you took on the shape of Snape, why the kiss?"

Terry coloured.

"Hermione, you don't know what you mean to me. I - I don't just propose a working partnership, but for us to be together in every possible sense. When I heard you and Snape talking, I knew he had tricked you, tricked you into false feelings for him -"

"- I don't have feelings for - for Snape!" she paused. "For chrissakes Terry, is that what this is, is this supposed to impress me? Why didn't you just do the normal thing and ask whether I wanted to go for dinner sometime? You didn't need to plot a political coup!"

"How very touching Terry. But let's deal with such irrelevant details later," Percy scowled. "Hermione, you're either with us or against us. If you're against us... God help you, but if you're with us now is the time to declare your allegiance."

* * *

The broomstick was plummeting downward terrifyingly fast. Sure that no one was watching, Snape shut his eyes tightly. Despite Septimus' assurance, this unpleasant episode had only reconfirmed his intense hatred of flying.

He felt the broom suddenly swing upwards, reaching a level plane before decelerating quickly to a stop.

"We've landed. You can open your eyes now Severus."

Snape scowled at Septimus' mocking voice, and gratefully disembarked from the broomstick, relieved to find solid ground beneath his shaky feet. He looked up in time to watch Draco land accurately beside him, and then Neville crash into a thorny looking bush about thirty feet away.

"Will someone please fish Longbottom out?" Snape sighed disinterestedly, before walking off briskly in the direction of a cluster of farm buildings, set in the middle of the deserted countryside. He could no longer feel the nagging pull, and was starting to worry whether the Location Potion had prematurely worn off, until suddenly -

"She's over there, right inside I think." he gasped as he felt a fresh wave of longing rip through his body. He knew it was only a chemical reaction, a mixture of endorphins and serotonin, but at the same time he couldn't stop the mental imagery that flashed through his head, as he remembered Hermione reaching out to him in the kitchen. He wondered how she would feel were he to return her touch. He bet she would feel soft and warm, light as a feather, creamy skin waiting to be -

"Well come on then!" Septimus had grabbed Severus by the sleeve and was urging him forwards. "We didn't come for a sight seeing tour of an English cowfield. Whoa, mind your step there, I just trod in something rather unpleasant..."

"Bloody idiot. Trust you to find the one prickly landing within a five-mile radius of grassy knolls. I'll be picking these thorns out for the next week." Draco scowled as he and Neville breathlessly caught up with the others. "I tell you, twenty-five percent is not enough..."

"Aw, man, I just stood in a huge pile of cow mess." Neville whined, energetically wiping the offending foot on a patch of wild grass.

Snape was becoming unaccountably annoyed by the idle chitchat. Didn't they realise how he was feeling, how he had to find Hermione, how it was the most important thing in the world? He shook his head hard, trying to find his own thoughts amid this muddled mess. No, he needed to find the potion, the Granger girl was immaterial... Immaterial... Material... Lack of... He was remembering how seductive she had looked last night...

Lost in thought, he barely noticed that they had reached the farm buildings. Clambering over a wooden gate, he began walking down a cobbled path that led under the arch of a redbrick building, and into a large courtyard. On the left was a wobbling tin structure that had evidently once served as a hay barn; directly in front what appeared to be a cow shed containing row after row of open and empty stalls; and to the right a low but long, rectangular farmhouse.

The tugging was there again. Wordlessly he walked toward the farmhouse door, annoyed to find it locked.

"Alohomora!" Draco shouted the spell out before Snape even had time to reach for his wand. He was too preoccupied however to acknowledge the help, and pushed past Draco rudely. As he entered the traditional farmhouse kitchen, his heart beat sped up to an excited pit-pat pit-pat as he felt Hermione's nearness run through his body like an electric jolt.

"She's here. She's underneath our feet. I can feel it."

* * *

"I tried not to include you in this, Hermione, I really did. I even went against Percy's... advice. Do you think that train failure the day I went missing was just a coincidence? But I had to, in the end, you understand that don't you?" Terry was frantically trying to make Hermione listen, make her understand that it was not her fault that Percy was currently tying her up to a pillar.

"And I'm supposed to be grateful for that am I?" she laughed scornfully, "You obviously don't know me nearly as well as you make out, if you thought for one minute that I would go along with this."

Terry gave her a sad, doleful look before turning back to Percy.

"Just - just try not to hurt her unnecessarily, okay?"

* * *

"Are you sure she's underneath?" Septimus alone felt confident enough to question Snape's increasingly obsessive conviction. They had been searching the ground floor of the farmhouse for some time now, and had still not found a way underneath the flagstoned floor. Snape's sense of frustration was mounting - he felt like a cat chasing the tantalising scent of a long vanished mouse.

"I can feel it! It's pulling me down, we just need to search a bit harder." The savage tone of his voice was enough to convince the search party to continue.

Perhaps they would have been more successful if Neville hadn't kept knocking things over, and Draco hadn't kept stopping to examine the Muggle artefacts. Having grown up in a historic Wizard manor this was all new to him, and he had found himself becoming as fascinated with how the other half lived, as Hermione had been in his home. He had never even been friends with someone whose abode did not include the suffix -hall, -mansion, -manor, or -castle.

"Right, well I think we've managed to establish that we're not going to just stumble across an open stairway. We need to start thinking about concealed entrances." Septimus mused. "Let's move some furniture!"

Neville looked hopeful.

"Er, perhaps not you Neville. We need you to erm... why don't you make us all a cup of tea?" Septimus suggested kindly.

Neville's face fell, but he picked the kettle up off the stove heroically, as the rest of the party set about rearranging the kitchen, peeling back a heavy Welsh dresser from the wall.

"Funny, this tap doesn't seem to be working," Neville sounded puzzled as he tried to fill the kettle. Unfortunately his comment was lost in the general scuffle caused by Draco and Septimus pushing the dresser back against the blank wall with disappointment. "Perhaps the plumbing's a bit out..." His eyes lit up as he realised this could be an opportunity to redeem himself.

Septimus had disappeared into the next room with Snape, while Draco was going through some knick-knacks he had discovered in the dresser drawer. Neville opened the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink, and crouched down to peer inside.

"Gu-uuuuuuys, you are not going to believe this!" he yelled excitedly.

"What now Neville?" Draco drawled lazily, not even looking up from his nosy through the cluttered drawer.

"Septimus!" Neville got to his feet and shouted until Septimus ran into the room, Snape two steps behind. "I've found it! I've found it under the kitchen sink!"

"I was under the impression that we were looking for a hidden entranceway, not a pair of Marigold rubber gloves," Snape answered dryly, turning to leave the room again. Septimus however had already crossed the room to Neville's side.

"By God he's right!" Septimus exclaimed as he peered into the cavity and examined the top of a wooden ladder.

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