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Amphitrite	By : AndreaLorraine Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 9422 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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�Oh��
was all she could manage after nearly a full minute of silent, stunned
staring. He seemed to recover more
fully, drawing his eyebrows together in a slight frown and propping himself up
on his elbows.

�Miss
Granger,� he said with a slow nod. �I shouldn�t
be surprised to see you here.�

She
knew now why she hadn�t recognized his voice; it was not icy and frosted with
wintry sarcasm. She had scarcely heard
him speak any other way back at Hogwarts.
But now his voice was deep, mellow, and melodious, completely lacking
the razor-sharp edge she�d thought was characteristic of it. He could lull a small child to sleep the way
he spoke now. And had he just
complimented her, however indirectly?

�Thank
you, Sir,� she managed, blinking a few times.
This image of Snape sprawled on the sand before her completely
contradicted the one that was planted in the back of her mind from her school
days. A small exasperated sigh made his
chest rise and fall abruptly.

�Honestly,
you�re what, twenty-four years of age now?�

�Twenty-three.�

�Are
you going to call me �Sir� or �Professor� or �Greasy git� for the rest of your
life?�

�I
didn�t plan on ever crossing paths with you again, to be honest.�

�I
see. Well, Miss Granger, I�ll tell you
this. You and I operate on the same
intellectual level. I�ve known that
since long before you graduated.
Granted, the Gryffindor in you makes you a bit more rash and insolent
than is prudent, but when you aren�t worked into an emotional frenzy, you�re
actually quite intelligent.�

Hermione
couldn�t keep the confused look off her face.
Who was he and what had he done with Snape?

Another
exasperated sigh.

�What
I�m trying to say is that more likely than not, we will see each other quite a
bit. Especially since your focus at
University is Potions.�

�How
do you know that?� she asked.

�I
may have been a horrible, judgmental, and thoroughly biased teacher, but that
doesn�t mean I don�t keep tabs on my former students. Mostly Slytherins, but there are a few others
that warranted my continued attention.�

�Who
else, besides me?�

�From
your house? Potter and Longbottom.�

�What?!�
she almost yelled. This was the most
confusing conversation she�d ever had!

�Potter�use
your imagination.�

�All
right. But Neville? I thought he gave you ulcers! I swear to Merlin, sometimes you looked as
though you were about to give yourself five strokes and a heart attack all at
once!�

�I
keep an eye on him for precisely that reason.
If that boy ever tries to do
anything even remotely resembling potion brewing I will personally step in and
fire an unforgivable at him and the
ass that agreed to it!�

�That
sounds more like you.�

�Does
it,� he said. It was more of a bemused
statement than a question. �Forgive me
for being rude, Miss Granger, but I must inform you that you know absolutely
nothing about me.�

�That
much is becoming obvious to me very quickly,� she replied, collapsing onto the
sand next to him. �But if it wasn�t the
real you, why were you such a prick during school?�

�You�ve
no idea how difficult it is to groom Slytherins to be Death Eaters and heroes
at the same time.�

�I
imagine it�s difficult to do anything
with them.�

His
eyebrow went up and she realized the unintentional insult she�d just tossed
out.

�I
didn�t mean��

�It�s
perfectly all right. It�s the truth.�

�It
must have been very stressful.�

�Stress
doesn�t even begin to define it.�

�But
it worked. You salvaged a few of them.�

�Not
nearly enough, Miss Granger. Not nearly
enough.�

�You
did everything you could.�

�That
is up for debate.�

�It�s
over now, thank God.�

�Yes,�
he said, but he didn�t sound convinced.
�Over. Anyhow�would you like to
see what I�m laboring over?�

Hermione
nodded and watched in rapt fascination as he opened his palms to reveal a glass
sculpture. It was caked with mud and
other debris except where he�d started to meticulously clean it. She leaned closer; a very careful look told
her that it was in the shape of a dragon, and when it was fully restored, it
would be absolutely breathtaking.

�May
I?� she asked, lifting a hand hesitantly.
He nodded. She touched a clear
part of the glass gently, and gasped when the color within the glass � a deep
blue � changed into sea green where her fingertips rested. That had to mean that there was something
inside the dragon. It was not a
sculpture, it was a vessel. And the
liquid within it�

�It�s
a potion!� she exclaimed with awe.

�I
wouldn�t be picking at it for any other reason.�

�Do
you know what it is?�

�No. But it seems to be more responsive to your
magic than mine. It doesn�t change color
when I touch it.�

�That�s
odd.�

�What
might that mean, Miss Granger?�

�Don�t
go into teacher mode on me now.�

�Just
a harmless question, Miss Granger,� he said, but she could hear the smirk in
his voice. Lord, was his smooth baritone
expressive.

�Well
if you must know, Mister Snape, that probably means it�s a potion geared
towards females.�

�A
gold star for Miss Granger.�

�You�re
still snarky.�

�You�re
still a know-it-all.�

�I
think you get off on arguing.�

Oh
Jesus Mary and Joseph. Had she just said
that out loud? His eyebrows had gone up,
almost into his hairline. His lips
twitched.

�If
I get off on arguing, then you most certainly get off on books.�

�It
depends what�s in the book,� she said, crossing her arms over her chest and
giving him a defiant look. If she was in
for a penny, she was in for a pound.

The
twitching of his lips transformed into a fleeting smile. But before he could say whatever had popped
into his mind, a loud whoop interrupted them.

�Mon
Dieu, Severus! I leave for twenty
minutes and you�ve already found yourself a lady.�

�You
are unequivocally blond sometimes, my friend.�

�The
Muggles do say that blonds have more fun.
Perhaps I should test that hypothesis?� he said devilishly, drawing his
wand.

�Lucius,
do shut up and meet our new associate, although I daresay you already know her
in one way or another. Hermione Granger,
I give you Lucius Malfoy.�

Lucius
was so surprised that he dropped his wand in the sand. Hermione was similarly stunned, and Severus
mentally congratulated himself for shocking them both so thoroughly.

�Hermione
Granger,� Malfoy said, his blue-grey eyes narrowing. �The annoying Gryffindor know-it-all.� But then his aristocratic eyebrow went
up. �You two are awfully chummy, you
know.�

Hermione
glanced at Severus; they were indeed in close proximity to each other because
she�d been examining the glass dragon.

�She�s
just looking at the potion,� he said, a tad defensively.

�Mm
hmm.� Lucius smiled an infuriating
smile, and Hermione began to see where Draco had gotten it from.

�Well,
Miss Granger, I am pleased to make your acquaintance again, and under better
circumstances than the last time. I do
hope you�ll forgive me for transgressions past,� he said, bowing slightly.

Hermione
was absolutely amazed. Snape wasn�t the
only one that had changed. For once,
Lucius Malfoy didn�t look totally polished and undeniably immaculate. That wasn�t to say he didn�t look good; the
beach had that effect on people. He,
too, was much tanner than she�d ever seen him, although paler than Snape. The apples of his cheeks were rosy with
sunburn, which served to further emphasize the impossible blue of his
eyes. Speaking of those eyes�they no longer
reminded her of glacial sheets of ice.
Now, oddly enough, they held a Dumbledore-esque twinkle, but she wasn�t
fooled; once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, and she suspected that he was
living it up now that Draco was off at University. His hair was the same pale platinum and was
half up and half down, clumped and curled slightly from the salt and sediment
of the sea. He was dressed in a loose
white shirt and clam digger pants and had on a rather battered pair of black
thong sandals. Overall, he looked�how to
phrase it�attractively disheveled.

�Mr.
Malfoy,� she said, nodding and extending a hand, not really knowing what else
to say.

�Lucius,�
he corrected, taking her hand and clasping it briefly. �Provided, of course, that I may call you
Hermione.�

All
right, so not everything about him had changed.
He still gave off the aura that everything he came into contact with was
somehow his or was subject to his will.
She experienced the same feeling she had the first day she�d seen him,
that time in Flourish and Blotts before second year. He�d walked right up to Harry as if there
were no rules about personal space, and taken his sweet time assessing the Boy
Who Lived. The two words that had stayed
in her head long after the encounter were arrogant and autocratic.

�Certainly,�
she said, determined to play it cool around him.

�Marvelous,�
he said, once again flashing that annoyingly knowledgeable smile. �Well, I�ll leave you two to your work. I must encourage you to eat at some point,
though. Dinner was fantastic. The shrimp were as big as your nose,
Severus.�

�Sod
off, Malfoy.�

�Gladly,�
he smirked before turning and wandering down the beach to where the tide lapped
at the sand. Hermione watched as he made
his way back towards the site and then paused to stare at the sunset, letting
the waves break over his feet and ankles.

�You
needn�t worry about him,� Snape said after a moment.

�I
can�t help it,� she replied truthfully.

�I
understand. But I mean it. He�d sooner cut off his own leg than hurt
anyone now.�

�I
guess I�m just intimidated. He holds
himself so�so�I don�t know if there�s a word for it.�

�You�ll
get used to it.�

�I
suppose I�ll have to.�

�How
long will you be here?�

�As
long as my Professor is, I guess.�

�Hm,�
was all Snape said to that. When she
looked over a moment later he�d returned to his work with the glass
dragon. Merlin, she wished every man had
hands like his. Even back in school
she�d been mesmerized by them. They were
as deft with the cleaning tools as they were with potions ingredients. Bend, flex, flick of the wrist, tense, brush�her mind
catalogued the minute motions of his fingers, marveling at how controlled he
was.

He
knew she was watching him, but found that he didn�t mind. He continued as long as the light allowed
him.

�It�s
dark.�

�Mm.�

�Aren�t
you hungry?�

�Are
you?�

�No,
but if I don�t eat, I�ll never hear the end of it.�

�Let�s
go, then.�

And
so it was that they made their way back to camp side by side, silent but
strangely comfortable in each other�s presence.

* * * * * *

Well,
this is quite a development.

I
always knew Severus liked her more than he let on. How could he not? She was so bloody smart, much to both my and
Draco�s dismay. I spent seven years
living with Severus. I know what kind of
women he�s attracted to. There aren�t
many of them in the world, but Hermione Granger is one of them.

She
looked as surprised to see me as I am to be here. I�m drifting more powerlessly than the strip
of seaweed that is buffeted up against my foot by the waves. It�s been a while since I left the
Ministry. The problem is that I don�t
have any specific passion like Severus does.
For so long my passion revolved around the cleansing of wizarding blood
and the dark, cloaked circle that attempted to make it happen.

I
changed sides during the war. Voldemort
killed Narcissa in a fit of boredom one day; it angered me but I overlooked
it. I was too obsessed to really
care. That first thing didn�t have much
of an effect on me; as many people suspected, she was a just a trophy
wife. There wasn�t much love between us
� none at all, actually - and in my opinion Narcissa was far too apathetic when
it came to Draco. It is odd for me to
have thought this way back then, when I was so bloodthirsty and detached, but
Draco really was and is the center of my world.

That
winter, Voldemort decided he wanted to play with the Malfoy heir. He was to be, the red-eyed bastard informed
me after I arrived at the meeting, the sacrifice for the winter solstice
revel. This time insult was added to
injury and my seemingly non-existent paternal instincts went into
overdrive.

The
moment I saw my son up on the sacrificial altar, I lost it. I simply pulled my wand and started firing
unforgivables. Severus, not entirely
understanding the coup, but knowing a chance to gain an ally when he saw it,
also pulled his wand. I was killing
anyone that got in my way. Voldemort had
aimed an Avada Kedavra at me, but Severus aimed his own and the two spells
ricocheted. One hit Peter Pettigrew, and
the other sizzled harmlessly into a tree.
By then I had already gathered up my son, but with Draco in my arms, I
couldn�t use my wand properly. Severus
moved to cover me, and Mundungus Fletcher, who I later learned had been
monitoring the meetings in his animagus form, a raven, came down out of the
trees with his wand ready and deadly accurate.
But then Fletcher was partially hit with a petrification spell. Severus had been deflecting a curse fired at
my left side when Voldemort decided to have another try at the killing
curse. Severus turned in time to see the
green bolt of energy and steeled himself for death, hoarsely ordering Fletcher
and me to get the hell out of there. And
then something knocked him hard on his side, something big, fuzzy, warm, and
canine-smelling. I didn�t see much more
than a blur. He went down, and the curse
missed him, hitting Gideon LeStrange instead.
I turned and ran with Draco, Fletcher at my heels. Severus later told me his neck jarred upon
hitting the ground and he had been momentarily stunned, but suddenly the fuzzy
lump of flesh on top of him turned into a man, and he was shouting something,
and then, in one massive nauseating lurch, they were at the gates of Hogwarts.

Yes,
that was one momentous night. I, Lucius
Malfoy had defected to the Light out of sheer, raw love for my son. I can�t say I blame many people for not
believing me at first, but Draco�s needs were more immediate and I was allowed
to stay at the castle. Thirteen Death
Eaters had died courtesy of the combined efforts of Snape, and Fletcher, and
myself, thus significantly reducing Voldemort�s numbers. And Sirius Black had saved Severus Snape�s
life. From that night forward the two
men had buried the hatchet; they were on the same side, after all, and were
concerned with the safety of the same people.
The Order was ecstatic at this last development. Certainly Snape and Black still scuffle once
in a while, but it�s just their short tempers.
It was much easier to conduct meetings and plot effectively without the
two of them glaring daggers at each other over the table. And, since he�d thawed towards Sirius, Snape
had also thawed marginally towards Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Remus.

I,
however, had not. I still had my
attitudes and my superiority complex, but Dumbledore and the Order would not
hurt Draco, and would also vanquish the bastard that had, so that was where I
directed my energy. Not that I had much
as it was; Voldemort was enraged at my disobedience and routinely cast horrific
charms and curses over me through the Dark Mark. I nearly died in front of all of them at
dinner once; Voldemort had cursed me with the Febricula Fatalis. It was an
awful curse; it slowly raised the body temperature of the victim over a course
of 48 hours until his or her very blood boiled, frying the brain and organs in
an exceptionally painful method of death.
I was lucky, really. Since the
curse had been cast over a long distance, and onto a talisman rather than
directly onto my person, the effects of the curse abated in forty hours. It had still spiked my temperature well past
the safe range, and Draco had sat by my bed for hours, clenching my burning,
clammy hand, holding back tears and praying in French over and over again. There was a terrifying moment where my heart
stopped, or so they tell me; I don�t remember.
But Madam Pomfrey was able to bring me back. Bless that embattled mediwitch�

The
end of that incident signaled the first crack in my armor of aloofness. I had occasionally stepped in on some DADA
classes; I was an expert, after all. But
other than those infrequent appearances, none of the children ever associated
with me. And yet I woke up to a
veritable mountain of cards and small Hogsmeade-bought gifts. Given selflessly by students who didn�t even
know me, and worse, students who did and still wished me well. Get well soon, Mr. Malfoy, a Hufflepuff first
year named Tara Oakley had written. Not
even a month before, I�d terrorized the poor girl for failing to disarm her
partner the first time in a class exercise.
It pissed me off at first � stupid children, being so forgiving! It would get them nowhere in a war-torn
world! Holding a grudge could save your
life!

Then
I witnessed Hermione Granger, the mudblood, entering the cubicle (thinking I
was asleep) and draping a blanket over Draco, who had at last succumbed to a relieved
slumber. That also infuriated me � how
dare the mudblood touch my perfect son! -
until Draco explained to me that Crabbe and Goyle had attacked him, and
the Gryffindor trio had saved him from being buggered and beaten to death in
the dark, cold dungeon corridors. It had
become so bad that Snape and McGonagall had both given Draco permission to
sleep in the Gryffindor common room, where the Slytherin thugs couldn�t lay
their hands on him.

I
persuaded Pomfrey to show me the records after Draco�s run-in with his former
bodyguards; even with the Golden Gryffindors intervening, my son had needed 50
magical stitches, resetting of two broken fingers, minor healing of bruised
ribs, the regrowth of a tooth that had been knocked out, and over four hours of
healing attention for other various bruises and abrasions. I shudder to think what the boy would look
like if Crabbe and Goyle had had their way.
I made the most effort I ever have to be courteous to the Gryffindors
after that. I didn�t scowl at them. I tried very hard not to make derogatory
comments towards them. And I stopped
using the world �mudblood�. It was the
least I could do. But after so many
years, it was difficult to simply give up all my prejudices; I found that they
were ingrained into my mannerisms, my speech, my entire personality. I wanted to be free of them, but I knew it
would take time. So even as Draco became
closer to and actually befriended The Boy Who Lived and his best friends, I
still maintained my air of aloofness. It
was acting, and I had to play my part.
Severus had taught me that.

Severus�

Voldemort
hadn�t tortured him through the Mark as he had with me. That was what had frightened me the
most. The Dark Lord knew that Severus
was a traitor, and yet acted as if nothing was amiss. But we all knew that he had his plans for the
spy, and it was only a matter of time.

That
time came six months before the end of the war.
Crabbe and Goyle (it was undeniable, the two idiotic goons left their
fingerprints all over the place) had placed a portkey in the Potions classroom,
one they knew Snape would touch. And in
the middle of Gryffindor/Slytherin Double Potions, Snape had simply
disappeared.

He
was found two weeks later. He looked
like the prisoners in Azkaban do just before they die. Gaunt, disjointed, grey-skinned, dull-eyed,
spindly-boned, and utterly, utterly devoid of hope. No one knew what had been done to him, and he
wouldn�t speak. The only thing they
could do was send him to St. Mungo�s, hoping that whatever had been done to him
could be reversed.

He
tried to commit suicide twice and didn�t speak a single word for three
months. He barely ate, in spite of all
the efforts of the nurses. And then, by
all accounts, one day he simply snapped out of it. It�s been said that he walked calmly up to
his nurse, and, even using her proper name, asked her for a book and a ham and
cheese sandwich. Apparently he even
asked for mayonnaise.

A
gentleman to the last, Severus Snape.

He�s
gotten much better since then. I still
have to harass him to make sure he eats properly; he tends to forget. He still hasn�t spoken of what happened back
then, but I know he has nightmares. But
they�ve tapered off significantly, thank Merlin. I live in the same cabin as him here, and he
hasn�t woken up screaming even once so far.
Knock on wood�

I
wish I knew how his mind worked. He�s so
different now. He returned to teaching
at Hogwarts after his ordeal, but Draco told me he was much more lenient and
sedate. I suppose he had no reason left to
perpetuate the �Greasy Git� image. He
was still recovering at that time, I think.
Perhaps he felt like I feel now: adrift, confused, and unwieldy.

He
was the caterpillar then; he�s the butterfly now. It�s a corny metaphor, I know, but it�s the
truth. He left Hogwarts a year after
Draco graduated. Dumbledore didn�t want
him to go, but I think the old man knew it was about time to let Severus live
his own life. He went home to his
maternal side of the family in Russia for a year or so.
I don�t know what he did there, but whatever it was, it was damned good
for him. He returned to England a completely changed man. I�ve heard stories about the day he visited
Hogwarts; he�d stunned the entire school into silence because he looked
healthy, his hair wasn�t greasy, he didn�t snap at anyone, he actually smiled,
and for Merlin�s sake, he was wearing something besides black.

It�s
getting dark. I wiggle my toes in the
moist sand, sighing. The only thing
Severus is missing now is a good woman in his life. Incidentally, that�s one of the things I�m
missing as well. Hermione Granger is
attractive; I�m sure I could seduce her, if I really tried. But she doesn�t like me. She doesn�t like me at all. I�ve given her no reason to. That, and I�m nearly two decades older than
her. So is Severus, of course, but who
cares? She likes that tall, dark, and
oddly handsome combination � she dated Viktor Krum, after all, who, at
eighteen, resembled Severus a great deal.
I glance behind me; they�re sitting next to each other on the sand. He�s working on that blasted potion, leaning
slightly toward her. She�s watching him
intently. Strange. Severus usually hates it when anyone observes
him so closely. Merlin, how loudly body
language speaks. You�d have to be sodding
blind and deaf to miss the chemistry between them.

I
resume my walk back to camp with a disgusted snort. What is the world coming to when I, Lucius
Malfoy, am reduced to playing matchmaker?
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