The Unfortunates

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CHAPTER ELEVEN: AND AS SEVERUSES GO, THIS IS THE BIG ONE


Hermione found herself practically hyperventilating.

Was it possible? Could it be?

Professor Snape, she thought desperately, sitting here, on my bed, pretending to be some mystery man by the name of Tiberius Granger. Oh. Gods.

Hang on.

Why had Snape, of all people, used her last name when introducing himself? That absolutely made no sense what so ever.

Could it really be Professor Snape?

Or was she just so desperate for contact from the world she used to know that she’d jump to conclusions like this? Had her experiences dimmed her common sense? Surely Lucius Malfoy had other childhood friends besides Snape who were brilliant potions brewers?

With the same, silky voice and cat-like movements? The same dry and sarcastic tongue? Honestly, Hermione. What were the odds?

Her thoughts were brutally interrupted by the sound of Tiberius’s – no, Snape’s! –voice as he got to his feet.

“I apologize,” he said. “My relations with Lucius Malfoy do not concern you. However, I do feel that I am partly to blame for what, ah, disagreements may have occurred between you and that family now.”

She looked up, practically not daring to believe it was really him. He looked so strange and foreign hidden behind that cloak and hood. Could this intimidating, mysterious stranger really be the vile Potions Master?

Oh gods.

Memories of her first evening spent with Snape suddenly rushed back. He’d touched her. Oh gods, he’d been more intimate and caring than anyone before him.

He’d made her come... He’d made her writhe with want.

Well. He’d humiliated her, really, hadn’t he? There he’d been, Professor Snape, the one they’d all loathed, bringing know-it-all Hermione Granger to an orgasm... Oh, how he’d probably relished that moment. Miss Granger, begging him!

But he didn’t know she was Hermione Granger, she suddenly remembered. He still believed she was Mira Gideon.

Her secret was still safe, even if his wasn’t.

Which meant – she couldn’t help but gloat slightly at the thought – that she kind of had the upper hand here. She knew his real identity; he didn’t know hers.

“I... I suppose that’s sort of true,” said Hermione hesitantly, eyeing him intently for any visual proof of him being the man she thought he was. “But what difference does it make?”

He hesitated, glancing around the room as though he felt uncomfortable.

“I,” he began, then hesitated again before continuing, “I should actually prefer to avoid you becoming, as you said, a part of the Malfoy furniture. I doubt it would be particularly... healthy for you.”

“Are you offering to help me?” she blurted out.

“I might be,” he snapped back. “Do not hold me to it, however.”

Hermione bit back a smirk. In a way, she felt much more at ease with him now that she knew who he was. He was no longer a mysterious stranger who could be about anyone, he was just Professor Snape. Intimidating, bullying Professor Snape, yes, but Professor Snape nevertheless. She knew his secret.

And he had, whether she liked to admit it or not, played a big part in her previous life. The life she so missed and longed for. Snape was the only real link to the old world she’d come across so far.

And gods, how she wanted to cling to whatever remnants of that world he’d brought with him into the room.

“I won’t,” she replied, getting to her feet, genuinely smiling.

“Well,” he commented, watching her, “your mood seems to have improved?”

Oh yes, it has, Professor. It certainly has!

“Really? Well, I was just reminiscing,” smiled Hermione innocently.

“Indeed?”

“Yes... It’s strange; I suddenly remembered something my ex roommate Mandy told me about her life before You-Know-Who won the war.”

She could see Snape flinch at the mention of their losing the war, but she didn’t care. He was her only link, and she wasn’t about to let him go. But she found that, in spite of this, she wasn’t quite ready to reveal herself to him yet.

She knew he might be in touch with Harry or one of the others. She knew this, but she just couldn’t bring herself to admit to her Potions Master that he had made his ex student writhe and moan wantonly under his touch.

Not yet, anyway.

“She told me about Hogwarts,” continued Hermione. She could feel Snape react ever so slightly to the mention of the school, but he didn’t speak. “It sounded like such a fun place...” Hermione smiled; her look turned absent as she brought back her own memories. “Mandy used to talk for hours about all the students and the teachers...”

Snape was eyeing her intently, she could tell.

“In fact, Mandy talked in particular about this one Professor she had,” laughed Hermione, as though escaping to a world long lost, “in Potions. According to her, he was so vile, so horrible... The greasy git, they used to called him...”

Though he remained silent, furious air was practically radiating from Snape now, but Hermione was enjoying herself immensely. After all, Snape couldn’t exactly reveal himself to her as the one and only greasy git she was in fact referring to, so he was forced to just stand and listen to her mockery.

But really – when all came down to it she wasn’t in the mood to mock him. She wanted to worship him, actually, to throw herself at his feet and thank him for showing up and proving to her that there might still be hope and resistance... But she had too much dignity to do anything of the sort.

“Sounds more like a man who knew proper discipline,” said Snape through clenched teeth, looking away.

“Oh, I should think so,” smiled Hermione, then turned sober. “But I really don’t think he was all that bad.”

Snape looked at her again. “No?”

“No... I bet he was just misunderstood. According to Mandy he fought in the last battle. She said it was suddenly revealed that he’d been working for Dumbledore for years as a spy, at his own personal risk. That’s very brave, I think.”

“Hm,” commented Snape simply. “Said anything else, did she, this friend of yours?”

“No,” replied Hermione; she wasn’t sure about how much of Severus’s past was actually known to people outside the Order and the Ministry. She doubted Mandy had known too much though, and it wouldn’t be plausible to reveal too much to Snape. She just wanted to let him know she appreciated what he’d done.

“She didn’t know everything, naturally; there were a lot of holes. But he seemed like a very brave man, despite his nasty way of teaching. I wonder where he is now,” she finished, daring a glance at him.

Snape was standing as though frozen, his blank, black eyes were just visible, glittering underneath his hood, and he looked as though he was far away.

“I am sure he is... surviving,” he said at last.

“You think?”

“I do.”

“Then there is hope,” she whispered.

He looked down at her, his eyes back with her now.

“There is,” he said quietly, his guard falling for a second as he gently stroked her cheek. Then, before she even got a chance to respond, he was at the door, muttering a quick, “I’ll be in touch” before vanishing.

Hermione sighed and threw herself down on the bed.

Oh gods.

It was Professor Severus Snape.

--

He’d escaped everyone that evening.

The moment he’d returned to the unbelievably well hidden and remote location of the Snape home he’d made straight for his own rooms without so much as sharing a word about his visit to Lilly Barrette’s with any of the other Rebels, curious though they were about any news that he might have received.

His room was located on the third floor, and looked exactly as it had when he’d been a kid – in other words, it was practically impossible to tell that anyone lived there at all, or had in fact done so, ever. The only difference from when he’d been a kid was that he had installed a larger bed – the thought of sleeping in the bed he’d spent all those dreadful teenager years in made him sick to the very core.

He stepped into the big room and in few long strides had crossed it and reached the large porch vis-à-vis the door. The porch was, like the rest of the enormous house, done in gothic style and held a kind of gloomy, unsettling feeling. The view, though beautiful, did not lighten Severus’ mood as he pulled out a packet of wizard cigarettes and lit it with his wand, gazing occasionally at the full moon above him.

Hm. So that’s why Lupin hadn’t been around when he’d come back, then.

He enjoyed the taste of the nicotine and drew a large breath. Yes, he knew cigarettes were bad for you and yes, he knew they turned your teeth yellow, but quite frankly he didn’t care.

What difference does it make if my teeth are yellow?

He sat down on the wide edge of the porch’s railing and lifted a big, boot-clad foot up on it too to support his weight. His gaze drifted down to the garden below in between the night shadows of which any number of secrets could lie, hidden.

Severus had always hated that garden.

It, along with the house, obviously, worked as a constant reminder to what this place really was, regardless of its current purpose. And the garden appeared, like the family who’d lived in the house all those years ago, pretty and infallible at first. But then, if you took a closer look you could see the hedges hadn’t been trimmed in ages and weed was slowly sneaking its way up from underneath the stone tiles, discreetly yet surely enough ruining the idyll that (supposedly) was this glorious garden.

Severus finished his cigarette, but made no move to retreat back into his room, despite the chill that was creeping up his spine as night drew nearer.

He felt nostalgic. Nostalgic, melancholic and downright in pain.

And he hated that feeling.

Every now and then it would come – it always had, throughout his entire life – and consequently ruin the rest of the day with its negativity. It was one of those things that were there due to Severus’ complete failure at producing a good life for himself. On occasion, it would suddenly strike him, and although he completely loathed the feeling and always buried it deep within him, below whatever other emotions and qualities he might find (such as anger and sarcasm), it was still there, gnawing at him as though trying to slowly tear him apart.

Severus seriously suspected he wouldn’t have had this occasional rush of misery in his life had he only managed to succeed in some way or another. Hell, if he’d just had something to be happy about, then perhaps it would all go away... Because what was it he lived for now, in the end?

His dedication to Dumbledore, sure, to a certain point, but Albus was dead and couldn’t exactly be there to check that he paid his dues... Still, Severus was dedicated to the purpose alone too, despite Albus’ death. And Severus had managed to lose himself in the ultimatum of a lifetime: Either help the light win or get killed for his treason against the Dark Lord. And the latter was not preferable.

If only he’d managed to maintain his spy cover during the final battle – then he would still be on both sides, and could part with whoever won, as cowardly as that did sound... But he was a Slytherin, after all, and a Slytherin does what it takes to keep himself alive, despite whatever principles (and lives) one might shatter in the process.

Lives like Mira Gideon’s, for example.

Severus frowned.

Now hold on a minute – where did that thought come from?

What did Mira have to do with anything? What did she have to do with Severus’ way of life, with his theory that he must save himself at whatever cost? It’s not as if she played any part in his life, other than as a source of information...

But she isn’t a source of information, is she, said the nasty voice in the back of Severus’ mind, at least not any more... Malfoy won’t ever tell her anything now, he is suspicious... So why do you bother with her?

Because you never know, Severus’ mind replied, she might still be of use. Anything can happen. Perhaps Malfoy’s tongue will slip again; it’s not impossible.

But it’s improbable, said the nasty voice evilly. Let’s face it, she is done for... Malfoy has threatened her because of that ‘part of the furniture’ incident, and so it is not as if he will ever let anything slip now... More likely he’ll kill her.

He won’t, thought Severus before he could stop himself, even if I have to see to it myself, he won’t.

Oh, suddenly you’re a hero, are you? Pathetic, Severus, that’s what you are... Drowned in melancholy and downright pathetic. And you can forget all about Mira, because that ship has sailed. She’ll stick to refusing to be a part of the Malfoy household, and consequently they will kill her. Bye-bye, Mira, nice knowing you.

“Wait a moment,” said Severus aloud, not even bothering to snort at his own ridiculous internal debate. He got up from the railing’s edge and began pacing the porch.

Part of the furniture... That’s what she’d called it.

What if she really were a part of the furniture?

Thinking it through logically, the idea suddenly struck Severus as not such a bad one after all. If Mira worked at Malfoy Manor, she would be there constantly, probably overhearing several conversations within the house, being literally a part of the furniture...

She’d be able to gather up loads of information. Even if neither Malfoys told her directly, she was bound to pick up on something, working there day and night, living there.

She would be on the inside.

She would be Severus’ insider. She would provide information. She was still of use to him, and if she really was dedicated to the light (as he had no doubt she was) then surely she would agree to it?

He snorted at that.

Bloody likely. She’ll surely agree to move into Malfoy Manor and become the sex toy of a sadistic father-and-son duo – why not; what could possibly be wrong with that plan?

It would take a miracle to convince her to do something like that. All other details of the plan could be sorted out somehow, but the tricky bit would be to convince Mira... She hated the Malfoys. The thought of living there would surely make her sick.

But he would just have to try, wouldn’t he? Surely, if he played his cards right, he could manage to convince her... He knew she at least didn’t mind him, perhaps even liked him, and compared to the other men who visited her he knew he was well in.

You can do it, said the voice in the back of his head with satisfaction, you’re going to bloody well have to, aren’t you? Force her, if necessary. She is only a source of information, after all... A tool. Useful, but still only a source for you to use.

“Fuck off; she is more than that,” he snarled silently, before he could stop himself.

The chill on the porch suddenly became very evident to him.

--

Hermione spent her following morning as far away from House of Lilly Barrette’s as reasonable.

She was experiencing something altogether new: Her world was falling apart.

For some reason, the recent changes in her life had messed her up bad. First of all, there was working for Lilly. No one could claim that would do any person any good. Secondly, there was Draco Malfoy (not to mention his father!) who seemed to live for the single purpose of fucking up what little of her life there was left.

Then, of course, there was the Artist formerly known as Tiberius Granger: Professor Snape. The man who’d seriously – and with outmost dedication – assisted in make Harry’s (and certainly, to a point, Hermione’s) school years thoroughly miserable. The man who had, for no apparent reason, turned against the darkness he had been so dedicated to and instead offered his devotion to the light – and to Dumbledore. Hermione could remember many a late night conversation with Harry and Ron about the improbability of it all.

And now he was here. Back. In her world, as she liked to call it. In this new edition of the Wizarding World; this dog-eat-dog world. And for some reason his presence disturbed her.

Because up until this point, Hermione’s only connections with the old world had been Mandy and Draco Malfoy. Not that Malfoy hadn’t been a considerable part of her previous life, when it came to that, but she’d never had anything in common with him or showed him any kind of respect. But with Snape... oh, that was an entirely different story. She had always respected him. His knowledge, his dedication to Dumbledore and not to mention his natural poise and elegancy (experiences from the Shrieking Shack excluded, obviously).

Why did he have to be the first one in six months to show her signs of care?

To actually consider her thoughts on things?

To put her pleasure in front of his own...

Oh, if only he’d showed up like himself, being the greasy git he’d always been, snapping at her and calling her stupid, then she would have no problem whatsoever with him returning to her life. Then she’d rejoice without delay.

But no. He’d chosen instead to appear in the form of a total stranger, thus giving poor, unknowing Hermione reason to believe that “Tiberius Granger” was just another client. Another anonymous face to identify with the amount of money paid.

But it was Snape.

After having spent most of the morning and afternoon just wandering in the shadows of Diagon Alley, desperate to keep out of trouble, Hermione at last had no choice but to return to Lilly’s. She wasn’t really free to come and go as she pleased, after all.

But the walk had done her good. And if nothing else, it had prevented her from just sitting around in her room and waiting for either a vengeful Malfoy or an information-seeking Snape to turn up.

Snape.

Oh, gods. How unbelievably complicated.

So many worries... Worries Hermione wished she could be without, if only for one day. Just to remember what it was like not to really worry.

But that day, if it ever came, certainly didn’t do so today.

For the sight that met Hermione as she re-entered House of Lilly Barrette’s that afternoon was none other than that of the “cloaked stranger”, standing by the bar, on the exact spot on which he’d picked her up not two weeks ago.

Drawing a deep breath, Hermione pulled herself together and approached him.

Not Tiberius Granger – but Snape.


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A/N: What do you think? It might not have been the continuation you were hoping for, but all in good time, as they say...

Thanks, as always, to my brilliant beta JessiokaFroka. Some of you might wonder, as she did, why Severus didn’t react more to the nasty comments about him... But he’s a spy, after all, and he can’t risk to reveal himself now, can he? What happened in the last chapter was merely a slip of the tongue, after all...