Orpheus

Chapter 16

By Pigwidgeon37

Once Hermione's twitching nerves had been restored by sufficient amounts of Firewhiskey, they did of course not change topics. Whether it was her new situation in life, or the fact that she'd matured a lot, or even simply because she was so fond of Alastor Moody, she wasn't sure. She merely became aware that she was now ready to see her mother in a different light, to see her as a woman—and a lonely woman at that, one who had suffered dramatic losses and had a right to some happiness. Although she was surprised at her own thoughts, Hermione could see how Mad-Eye was, in a way, the right man for her mother. He wouldn't have any of her petty, petit-bourgeois prejudice and, unlike many others, he had a life full of contempt for petty restrictions and biased opinions to prove that, yes, one could lead an independent existence and still be a remarkably happy and whole person.

They talked about Mrs. Granger until well past dinner time.

"I'll have spots on my chin tomorrow," Hermione wailed when Moody filled her glass again—the pretence of tea had long been given up.

"Won't matter to old Sev," he said, raising his glass. "To Marjorie and her lovely daughter!" He downed the whiskey in one go and leaned back in his chair, eyeing the young witch. "So, how's the marriage?"

"The marriage is fine, thank you. I think we both enjoy it a lot."

"Good." His scarred face split into a wide grin. "Very good. And teaching?"

Hermione really hadn't intended to talk to him about her worries, mostly because (at least while sober) she was ashamed of them. But now she was pleasantly half-drunk, and there were things she couldn't tell her friend anyway, and suddenly she had the urge to make up for holding back so much—not that she could tell him about the Draught of Life, but she could offer something she hadn't talked about to anybody, not even Severus. Especially not Severus. "Teaching is… well, fine, too. Mostly," she replied, aware that the words came out a bit slurred.

"Mostly?" Moody's hirsute eyebrows rose. "Anything you'd like to tell me, lassie?"

"Yes. Yes, I think I'd like to tell you. But you must promise not to tell Severus."

"Not tell Severus?" He leaned forward heavily, elbows resting on his spread knees, the smile gone from his face. "Hermione, it's no good having secrets from your husband. Not where such… mundane things are concerned."

Hermione sighed. "I know, Alastor. Believe me, I know. But will you promise all the same?"

He shook his head and grumbled something unintelligible. "All right," he said gruffly. "I promise. Now spill the beans."

"Thanks." She leaned over and briefly touched his hand, earning herself a gloomy look and more unintelligible muttering. "But I think you'll understand my reasons once I've told you." So she told him about Lucertola, from the afternoon in Diagon Alley and that first night at Hogwarts to the current situation. "It's nothing I couldn't handle," she hurriedly added upon seeing his brow darken, "But that's not all. I have this eerie feeling…" Even in her semi-drunk haze, her thoughts now seemed ridiculous to herself. But she continued all the same. "I have this feeling of being followed, observed. And I just can't shake the sensation that it's… her. I know it sounds stupid—"

"It doesn't sound stupid at all," he interrupted her. "Not at all. Nothing, mark my words Hermione, nothing sounds stupid or exaggerated where the Malfoys are concerned.”

“That’s what I’ve told myself, too, but—Alastor, she’s merely a child…”

“A child?” Moody gave a short, barking laugh. “A child… Indeed. A child. Remember what that devil’s spawn called Draco Malfoy did in his sixth year? If it hadn’t been for you—well, let’s not go there. Anyway, how can you talk such… such balderdash, yes, sorry lass, but that’s what it is. A load of bullshit. That girl is no more a child than you or I. Capable of anything. And certainly of stalking you. Any idea why she’d do such a thing?”

“Well… yes and no. I mean, she certainly knows I’m Muggle-born. That might be reason enough.”

“For a Malfoy, yes. I agree. But you’re not the only Muggle-born teacher. What about Sprout? Or Avanessian? Have you talked to them?”

Hermione shot him a very guilty look. “N-no. I didn’t want to…” She fell silent under his thunderous glare.

“What?” Moody roared, “WHAT? Did you just tell me that you haven’t been talking about these fears to anybody? Not to your husband, who’s also Headmaster, just in case you’ve forgotten, not to your colleagues, just plain nobody? Are you crazy or what?”

“I just…” She felt ready to cry, just as she had back in her first year after Harry and Ron had rescued her from the Mountain Troll.

“You just what?” He eyed her sternly and, when he saw her eyes go bright, added gruffly, “Now don’t you cry on me, lass. You’ve been reckless and stupid, and you know it. And—” he ruffled her head, making her smile at him weakly “—it seems you needed a bit of a tongue-lashing so you’d come to your senses.”

Had these words come from anybody but Mad-Eye Moody, Hermione would have felt patronized and told them to stop it immediately. But, just as she couldn’t begrudge Sirius his questionable attitude towards women, she was unable to be angry with Moody for treating her like a schoolgirl. Apart from his choice of tone and words, he was also right. “I know. But try to understand my position. I’m a teacher, I’m supposed to be objective. The name of Malfoy carries enough weight as it is, and so I was hesitant to give the others a reason to treat her badly. Isn’t that understandable?”

Rising from his chair—and leaning rather heavily on his staff, as Hermione noticed; but then he’d had more than his fair share of Firewhiskey—he glanced down at her, shaking his head. “It’s understandable, because you’re a damn noble Gryffindor.”

“You’re one to talk! Damn loyal Hufflepuff!” she shot back.

Moody snorted. “I may be a Hufflepuff, and loyal too, but I’m also a damn shrewd Hufflepuff. And…” He stepped close to her, resting a heavy, gnarled hand on her shoulder. “What about the loyalty to your fellow teachers? They might be in danger, you know? Or—”
he cupped her chin in his other hand and bent down to look straight into her eyes “—is there something special you didn’t tell me? Something that concerns only you?”

Are you aware that we’ll have to lie to all our friends? More than we already have? We cannot tell them the truth, it’s impossible. You were right, Severus, Hermione thought, as his words, spoken a few months ago, resounded in her mind. It’s impossible. I can’t tell Alastor, because I’m wading knee-deep in lies, and I’ve sworn a blood oath… Oh, God. This is worse than I thought. “There is… something,” she replied slowly, aware of the rough skin of his fingers against her chin. “But I can’t tell you. Severus knows, though, if that’s any comfort. And I’m absolutely sure Miss Malfoy’s behaviour is completely unrelated to it.”

Both eyes narrowed and piercing, Moody scrutinized her face before finally releasing her. “If you say so.” He returned to his chair and sat down again. “So use your female intuition,” he said gruffly, “and try to figure out whether she’s like that with other Muggle-born teachers as well.”

Glad that his question provided some distraction from her other concerns, Hermione pondered this. “No,” she replied after a while, “I don’t think so. I mean, I’m sure I would have heard about it. Not that any of my colleagues like the girl—not even Valerian does, and that’s saying something… She’s too cold and too inaccessible for anybody to really like her. But that’s exactly why I think they would have mentioned irregular behaviour, if there had been any.”

“Sounds reasonable. So…” Moody thoughtfully rubbed his stubbly cheek, producing a sound not unlike that of sandpaper on wood. “So it has to be you. And I’d bet my wooden leg—” he gave the prosthesis an affectionate pat “—that this isn’t just about Draco’s old grudges. There’s something more, believe me. Auror’s instinct,” he added with a grin.

“Yes, but… what? I’ve never met her before, I haven’t done anything to her. I just can’t imagine—”

“Wait a second,” he interrupted her, magical eye whirling madly. “When did Severus pay that visit to the Malfoys?”

“Er… almost a year ago. Last November,” she answered after a brief reflection.

“Hmm. So… that was a time when nobody knew about the two of you, right?”

“Yes, I just don’t—No! You can’t mean that—”

“She’s no child, Hermione. And good ol’ Sev is quite the attractive type, isn’t he?”

“Well, yes, to me he is, and to a lot of others, too, but—”

“No starry-eyed seventh-years? Come on, lass! Don’t give me—”

“Yes, all right, there are some girls who… well, they seem to be quite fascinated.”

Moody snorted. “Fascinated, my arse. Damp panties, I’d—”

“Alastor!” Hermione glared at him, unsure whether to laugh or punch him.

“Sorry. Well, that’s a fact, then. So young Miss Malfoy has the hotties for your husband, which explains why she hates you. And if that girl’s really stalking you—How’s she doing at Charms?”

“Not as well as in Potions—” Moody snorted again, and this time she did punch him “—and Transfiguration. Or Defence, as a matter of fact. But above average, definitely. That’s what Sirius says, at least.”

He nodded. “So she might—not that she’d need to use an Invisibility Spell, mind you. I’m sure the Malfoys possess an Invisibility Cloak. Maybe you should have a little talk with Severus and Valerian? He’s her Head of House, he might search her trunk.”

Hermione’s lower lip was already swollen from the rough treatment it had been receiving during the last part of their conversation. When she bit it again, she drew blood. “It just seems so unfair…”

The magical clock in the corner behind her emitted a series of churning and screeching noises, and then bleated, “Dinner time! Dinner time! Din—”

“Oh, shut up!” Moody barked, waving his wand at the obnoxious device.

“I have to go,” Hermione said, getting up. “Severus will already be worried.” She hugged her friend and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Alastor.”

“You’re welcome,” he growled, holding her tightly. “And… think about it.”

“I will,” she promised. When he released her, she went over to the fireplace and picked up the tin of Floo powder. “Honestly, I will.”

The flames turned green, and she stepped onto the grate. “Bye, Alastor!”

“Bye, Hermione. And—”

“Yes?” She turned round.

“Go visit your mother, once in a while.”

*

Lucertola had been well prepared by her grandfather. He had taught her many things during their conversations—spells, curses, the secrets of wizarding economy, his own thoughts and convictions. But he had also told her about the basics of life, not the bees and flowers, of course. No, he had opened her eyes to human nature, its weaknesses and frailties. That was the part she had liked most, and she had put it to excellent use.

During the first ten or so days after her arrival at Hogwarts, she had gone out of her way to become friends with her dorm mates. They were five, including herself; the other four being typical fifteen-year-old Ravenclaws. Focused on their studies, not yet terribly interested in boys. Bright but not shrewd. Easy prey for Lucertola Malfoy who knew exactly what she wanted. Information. Secrets. Confessions.

And that was what she got.

Asunción O’Leary (ridiculous name—father Irish, mother Spanish) had a crush on Professor Black. It was, of course, unrequited, but that didn’t prevent the stupid chick from studying obsessively for Charms and blushing prettily whenever he called on her. She also had a photo of him under her pillow.
Lea Winchham’s older brother was having an affair with the wife of Darius Peddlebott, Head of the Department of International Affairs.
Dee-Dee Spencer (stupid name, but her real name Daedalia was worse, really) was an adopted child, unsure of whose daughter she really was, and haunted by the constant fear it might be some prominent, if dead or imprisoned, Death Eater.
Tatiana Burleigh’s mother, who had been an Unspeakable and now occupied a very modest position in the Ministry of Magic’s archives, had been accused of collaboration with Voldemort. There hadn’t been any concrete proof, but even so she had been removed from the Department of Mysteries, as she represented a safety risk.

So many closets, so many skeletons.

Asunción, Lea, Dee-Dee and Tatiana had been surprised, to put it mildly, when, during their second week of school, Lucertola had established some rather strange rules. She wasn’t to be disturbed when the curtains of her bed were drawn. Her trunk, cupboard and chest of drawers were not to be touched. No snooping around, no borrowing. The same went for her desk, books and parchments. She was not to be followed when she went for a walk. Not even if she fancied a walk after curfew. In case these rules were broken, there were going to be consequences. And when one of the girls asked, half-mocking, half-impressed, which consequences exactly she was speaking of, Lucertola merely smiled.

Two days later, Tatiana had mislaid her Transfiguration textbook and borrowed Lucy’s from her desk. The day after, she was greeted by hissing and whistling when she entered the Great Hall for dinner. “Death Eater spawn” was one of the friendlier names thrown at her. The Headmaster deducted a massive amount of points from each house; but despite his and the other teachers' best efforts, the name of the culprit who had spread the rumour was never found out.

The four girls didn't have boyfriends, but they were quite close with the four boys in their year. The boys, none of whom had an ounce of sympathy for the newcomer, didn't need any reasons—and the four girls didn't give them any, they just asked them to teach the little bitch a lesson—to ambush Lucertola in the corridors the following day after dinner, on her way back to the Ravenclaw quarters. Unfortunately, they hadn't planned their attack too well. Professor Vector came upon them when the battle was in full swing, Lucy defending herself against the four with considerable success. What Lucy's roommates had not taken into consideration was the seemingly obvious conclusion, drawn by the Headmaster and their Head of House, that this was another attempt at blaming a student for her family's faults. The teacher's suspicion was confirmed by four different, implausible and totally incoherent stories from the stammering, blushing culprits. Ravenclaw lost another one hundred and twenty points, and Lucertola had the satisfaction of merely being warned against duelling in the corridors; but it was hard not to see how proud both Headmaster Snape and Professor Vector were of her duelling skills.

From that day on, nobody came near Lucertola Malfoy’s belongings. Her roommates eyed her with hate and contempt, but none of them felt like going to Professor Vector or the Headmaster.

It was time to use the Invisibility Cloak.

While in the classroom, Lucy limited herself to very subtle means of unnerving the Mudblood. She stared, she smirked, she asked seemingly ingenuous questions aiming to ridicule the Muggle Studies teacher; she shot the Mudblood pointed looks and then bent over to whisper something in her neighbour’s ear, giggling. But when interrogated, the recipient of the whispered communication never failed to reproduce, without blushing or stammering, a harmless message which was completely unrelated to Hermione.

Lucertola saw, with growing satisfaction, that the Mudblood seemed quite uneasy. And once she had successfully eliminated any danger of being spied upon, she took to prowling the corridors in the late afternoon, evening and night. Very soon, she knew that the Snapes had their own laboratory in the dungeons. Considering that the Headmaster was also a Potions Master, that wasn’t overly surprising. What made her raise her eyebrows and smile to herself, though, was the fact that the couple went down there together, usually once a week, and the Mudblood went on her own as well, sometimes up to three times a week. Whether alone or together, they always had an air of stealth and secrecy about them, she soon recognized; they looked up and down the corridor before undoing the wards a little too often for Lucy to believe that this was a mere precaution against the passwords being overheard by students. Moreover, they never ventured down into the dungeons at reasonable times. The Mudblood had lots of free periods, and the Headmaster, albeit a very busy man, could easily have adjusted his duties to her timetable. Then, there was the by no means negligible fact that, three times during the month of September, the Mudblood had received parcels by owl, at the usual time when everybody was eating breakfast in the Great Hall. But she never opened them like everybody else. On the contrary, whenever one of the other faculty members pointed at the parcel, obviously asking what it contained, the Mudblood shook her head and made a quick exit, which the Headmaster watched with a frown.

Something was up, Lucertola felt it. They appeared to share some secret, but obviously the Mudblood was pursuing her very own goals as well. She was betraying the Headmaster. If not her jealousy, Lucy’s indignation at this vile, disloyal behaviour would have been enough to further spur her curiosity.

She got lucky towards the end of October. It was already past eleven p.m., on a Monday. The hallways were empty. Lucertola was waiting in a small niche at the junction of two corridors, from where she had an excellent view of the laboratory door. Voices and the sound of footsteps announced the Headmaster and his wife. Lucy held her breath, not daring to sneak any closer for fear of being discovered by the sound of her heartbeat or breathing. But maybe they'd pronounce the password a little more loudly, just a little, so she might distinguish the words… When the Mudblood murmured the incantation as softly as always, Lucy angrily bit her lip and was already about to leave. But then the unusual happened: the Headmaster emerged from the room again, and swiftly went away in the direction they had come from. Maybe he had forgotten something? Never mind, Lucertola thought, almost bouncing with glee. Because the door was ajar. She sneaked closer, noiselessly, stealthily, and closer still, until she could see the Mudblood busy measuring some ingredient or other on the far side of the room.

It was now or never.

Lucertola had seen the door open and close often enough to know that it didn't creak. What made her hesitate was that she had no idea how the room behind the door might look. Was there a possibility for her to hide? Invisibility Cloak or not, she couldn't afford standing someplace where one of them might accidentally bump into her. What if… She shook her head, mentally scolding herself. This was the first opportunity in weeks, and she'd be a fool if she wasted it. True, she would have felt better if she actually had a plan. But sometimes it was necessary to improvise. She slipped into the laboratory, and almost let out a sigh of relief. The wall to her left was lined with three heavy, solid cupboards, each of them large enough to accommodate four girls her size. The three cupboards, however, weren't as long as the wall they stood against, and between the last of them and the corner was some space left, a small niche, as deep as the cupboard and maybe two feet wide. A quick glance ascertained that the Mudblood still wasn't looking her way, and Lucy hurried to her impromptu hideout, made sure she was still covered by the cloak from head to toe, and sat down quietly.

The dark corner might be an ideal place for her to remain hidden from view. But, she noticed, this was also a severe disadvantage in that she couldn't see what was going on, at least not without moving. Then again, she thought, once inside the laboratory, there was no reason for the couple to keep their voices down. So she would have to be content with listening. And once they'd left, she could take her sweet time inspecting everything. No need to worry, really. When the Mudblood started pounding something in a mortar, Lucertola took advantage of the noise to take a piece of parchment and an extra-soft quill, which wasn't going to betray her presence by its scratching noises, out of her pocket. Not a moment too early. She had just positioned herself so she could write legibly, when the door fell shut, and the Headmaster's footsteps resounded on the marble flagstones near her.

Quill poised and breath hitching in her throat, Lucertola listened. The Headmaster's voice was more audible; most of what the Mudblood spoke was lost in the dry acoustics of the ancient, vaulted room.

"… cheat on me, after… months of marriage. …would never have thought…" said the Headmaster.

Lucy felt her mouth go dry. She'd been right! The Mudblood was a cheap slut! And now she laughed! For a moment, Lucy regretted to be holding a quill instead of her wand.

"If this happens again… ways of punishment," said the Headmaster.

Then, Lucy heard a crashing sound, of glass probably, or crystal, and the Headmaster uttered an impressive string of expletives. Had he slapped the Mudblood? Or had she thrown something at him?

"… too tense," the Headmaster said. "… impossible to work with… concentrate…"

Finally, she understood something the Mudblood said. "… be such a spoilsport, Severus, let's…"

Now he had lowered his voice so much that Lucy couldn't make out the words, also because her heart was hammering and all she heard was the blood pounding in her skull.

"… love potion… trouble…" said the Headmaster.

Then there was the sound of hurried footsteps, the torches and candles were extinguished, and seconds later the door closed with a thud. Lucy sat in her corner, in the total darkness, shivering. Whether with fear or with delight, she wasn't quite sure.

*

The walk from the Three Broomsticks to the castle had sobered Hermione sufficiently. On her way, she had turned the conversation with Moody round and round in her head, trying to come to a decision. Should she really tell Severus about her suspicions? Should she involve Valerian Vector? When she reached the entrance, she had made her choice: she would give the girl two more weeks and observe her more closely. She would acknowledge her own unease instead of constantly berating herself for it, write down every single strange occurrence or sensation and, when she was sure, talk to Severus.

It was almost nine o'clock, long past dinner time, and so she went straight to their quarters. As on most weekdays, Severus had returned to his office after dinner, and so she merely announced her return via a brief Floo call before asking Twitchy to bring her something to eat. With a plate of still-warm shepherd's pie and a book, she sat down on the floor near the fireplace, eating, reading and cuddling Pluto and Hades.

After a while—she had completely lost track of time—both Kneazles suddenly pricked their ears and turned towards the fireplace. A second later, the flames turned green and Severus's head appeared on the grate. "Hermione? Are you very tired or would you like to go down to the lab for an hour or so? I think I had an idea how to minimize the amount of Sirens' tears we need."

Smiling and nodding, she put a bookmark between the pages and got up. "In the entrance hall, in five minutes?"

"I'll meet you there."

Hermione could of course have joined him in his office, and that was what she'd done the first times they’d gone to the laboratory. Always with the same result. She arrived, punctual as she was, after exactly five minutes, only to find Severus still at his desk, mumbling something about being ready in just a minute. So she sat down. When, five minutes later, he was still sitting there, she got up and went over to his desk in search of some scientific magazine she might read. He shot her a dark glare, informing her that it wasn't worth the trouble, as he'd be finished in a minute. Her tart question as to whether he was living in a different space-time continuum was answered by a scathing retort about his inability to concentrate when she was pressuring him. From that point onwards, their exchange developed a life quite of its own, turning into a major fight. After the third time it happened, they had made up right there in his study—the memory still brought a smile to Hermione's lips and most of her blood to her belly—and decided that it was better to meet halfway down to the dungeons, in the entrance hall. A successful compromise, because Severus, who had no scruples about making his wife wait for him in his own office, would never have left her standing in the draughty entrance hall.

Severus was already there when Hermione came down the stairs and went towards her to greet her with a kiss. His intentions were thwarted, though, by the two Hufflepuff prefects, who had spotted him on his way down and followed him, as they had to tell him something they deemed extremely important. Hermione waited patiently until he had got rid of them, so they could continue their way to the dungeons.

“Why they would think I’d want to know that Peeves locked all sixty-seven familiars into the showers is a mystery to me,” Severus muttered.

“Well, you’re well acquainted with the Bloody Baron,” she replied, slipping her arm around his waist, “I suppose that’s why.”

“But they’d already let the whole bunch out!”

“Yes, but I’m not overly astonished that they’d like to see Peeves punished. Can you imagine the tantrums the first-years must have thrown? That’s quite a handful for two sixth-years. Besides—” she patted his bum through the thick robes “—has the concept of just punishment lost all its appeal?”

They had arrived at the door, and Hermione spoke the incantation to open the wards. Once inside, she lit the torches and candles and turned round to see whether Severus had followed her, so she could close the door again. He was leaning against the doorframe, shaking his head, a rather crestfallen expression on his face.

“Severus? Is something wrong?”

“I suppose you could say so.” He grinned. “I’m getting old, Spikes. This is the very first time in my life that I’ve forgotten my wand. I must have left it in the office.”

She stepped close to him and, making herself as tall as possible, kissed the tip of his nose. “Never mind. Go fetch it, I’ll prepare the ginger roots in the meantime.”

Silently giggling to herself, for she imagined the mayhem that must have taken place in the Hufflepuff common room, she set about weighing, cutting and pounding the dry roots, careful to work them into finest powder. The door closing with a soft thud told her her husband had returned.

“So,” he said, taking off his robe and carelessly throwing it on a chair, "it seems my wife has decided to cheat on me, after only three months of marriage.” He stepped closer and encircled her waist with his arms. “And with Mad-Eye, too,” he whispered into her ear. Hermione shuddered slightly and leaned into him. A gentle flick of his tongue against her earlobe, and he raised his head again. “Really, Mrs. Snape, I would never have thought you went for the type."

Hermione laughed and snuggled closer into him. “A terrible thing to do, isn’t it?”

"Terrible. If this happens again, woman, be sure I’ll find equally terrible ways of punishment."

His hands strayed up to Hermione’s breasts, caressing them until her nipples hardened, and then, suddenly, pinching them. Hermione gasped at the unexpected sensation and, in a rather uncoordinated movement, swept the mortar and pestle off the workbench and to the floor, where it shattered with a loud crash. Severus who hated to see ingredients going to waste or any of his beloved, hand-picked tools being damaged, uttered a string of expletives—directed more at himself than at his wife—and drew his wand to reassemble the shards. When he was done, he wagged his forefinger at his wife, who was leaning against the workbench with her arms crossed, watching him amusedly. "I think all this talk about punishment has made me way too tense," he drawled. "And I find it impossible to work with a throbbing erection. It doesn’t allow me to concentrate properly."

“Indeed?” Hermione grinned at him. “And there I was, thinking you’d had an idea about the Sirens’ tears…” She moved closer to him and let her left hand glide over his lower abdomen, causing him to inhale sharply. "Now don’t be such a spoilsport, Severus, let's continue our work." Her touch became a little firmer. “One might think that this was a love potion, not some spilled ginger root you’ve got on your robes.”

"If we were brewing a love potion, we’d have less trouble, my darling. Come on, let’s call it a night." He kissed her briefly but deeply, gathered his robes and quickly led her to the door. While he held it open for her, Hermione extinguished the lights.

They made it back to their quarters in record time.