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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.

Chapter List
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Who
did they think they were?

Lilith
stabbed the handle of her wand into the wet sand and ground it in, twisting the
polished stalk of wood. How could they
do this to her? And now, NOW, when she
was just getting good at it, when she was beginning to love it?!

She
pulled her wand out of the sand and brushed the tiny grains off it. They were always like this. Every time she found something she excelled
at or that she enjoyed, they wanted to move on.
It almost seemed like they waited for her to start showing signs of
happiness, and as soon as she did, they began to look for a new place to
live. Why in the nine hells did her
parents have to act as though they were fugitives fleeing the law? Why couldn�t they just settle down in ONE place
and be happy? And for the love of
Merlin, if they were so restless, then why had they decided to have a child?

Lilith
looked around, hoping the environment would calm her. The beach was still and beautiful. The ocean was at low tide and the waves
lapped rhythmically against the shore.
She listened to the rushing sounds for a few minutes and thankfully, her
heart ceased hammering against her ribs and the hot tingle of anger in her
veins began to fade into sad resignation.
Sure, she�d put up a fight this time, but the reality was that tomorrow
she�d go home, and they�d forgive her, and they�d move on again.

She
lay back on the sand, not caring that it would probably get in her hair and
clothes. The moon was out, full and
glistening with a steely silver varnish.
Lilith stared up at it, wondering to herself that if the rays of
moonlight had hands, what would it feel like for them to touch her, to caress
her skin?

She
closed her eyes, clutching her wand tightly in a sweaty palm. Would there be schools of magic where her
parents dragged her next? Would there be
breathtaking beaches, friendly Muggles, and amazing cuisine? It was so unfair. She didn�t want to leave.

Hot
tears began to spill down her cheeks, and she turned on her side, curling up
into a tight ball. Maybe one day she
should really run away. Although in her
case, running away would just be calling some place home � for more than a
year.

* * * * * *

Hermione
woke with a slight jerk. For a moment,
she was confused; her heart was pounding and her eyes were stinging. Why was her face wet? Her hands were shaking as she brought them up
to her cheeks. She�d been crying. Crying in her dreams. Something in her nightly mind-wanderings had
made her terribly sad, but she couldn�t remember what it was. It had become fuzzy the moment she�d opened
her eyes, and with each passing minute, it grew more and more obscure.

Shaken,
she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. She stretched briefly and then went to the
loo. As she splashed water on her face
to rid herself of the appearance of crying, she wracked her brain for
answers. What had she been reliving in
her dreams that had reduced her to tears?
Certainly she�d experienced a lot of sad things, the foremost event
being Ron�s death at the hands of Voldemort, but somehow she knew without
question that the dream had not been about Ron.
Those dreams had a particular look to them, a particular way�they were
greyscale. The only color she saw in
those dreams was the bright orange mop of Weasley hair, the impossible red of
Voldemort�s eyes, and the plaintive green of Harry�s.

No. This dream had been full color. And it had been here, right on this
beach. But other than that, she could
recall nothing. Hermione sighed and
combed her hair back into a presentable ponytail. It did share one thing in common with her
dreams of Ron � it would leave a leaden feeling in her stomach all day.

* * * * * *

Something�s
not right with Granger this morning. I�m
staring at her over my latkes. It�s
still early, so there are only a few people at the table. She didn�t even notice me when she came, and
she doesn�t notice me now, in spite of the fact that I�m ogling at her like an
owl that�s flown into the window one too many times.

She�s
not eating the food on her plate. She�s
pushing it around with her fork, sculpting it into little shapes and
structures, but not a bite of it has gone into her mouth. Something is bothering her. Already.

Women
never cease to amaze me in some ways.
How is it that she can go somewhere, and in twelve hours, the drama has
already begun?

I
doubt that she�s homesick. What is there
to be homesick for? This place is better
than England in many ways.
It�s so relaxed and untamed and good that I hardly find myself
missing the Manor. I don�t even miss
having the sniveling house elves as servants.
Oddly, I�ve found that doing one�s own work can be
curiously�therapeutic. People who have
labored all their lives would probably laugh at me. Either that, or punch me in the face. Perhaps that�s why Arthur Weasley felt
compelled to attack me that one time�

Should
I ask her what�s the matter? That�s not
really the question. If I ask her, will
she answer? That�s the true dilemma. She might answer, but not necessarily in an
honest way. Is it worth asking, even if,
more likely than not, I�ll receive a bullshit response? I�ve given enough in my lifetime to know how
easy they are.

Hm. Thought.
Perhaps I�ll tip Severus off on her dismal mood. Yes, that�s a good idea. I�ll tell him I didn�t want to pry, since I
get the feeling that she doesn�t really trust me. Maybe she would be more inclined to talk to
him. And of course he�ll make a point of
speaking to her, because deep down in his iron-clad heart, he cares about her. And she, being a sentimental little
Gryffindor, will spill everything to him.
He�ll comfort her. She�ll
discover his practically nonexistent empathic side and be swept off her feet.

Er. Right.
Perhaps it won�t be that simple, but it�s a step. And a step forward, even if it�s a baby step,
is better than no step at all.

* * * * * *

Severus
frowned to himself.

�This
can�t be all there is,� he said. Several
heads, including Hermione�s and Lucius�s, nodded in agreement. It was two o�clock in the afternoon, and after almost continuous work, they still could
not locate any other part of the school.

�I
don�t believe this is the whole thing either,� Cyrus, the head excavator,
said. �But we can�t find anything that
even remotely resembles a door or a passage.�

�It
doesn�t make sense. We know this is a
potions lab. But why would they use this
one room for everything?�

�Have
you tried revealing spells?� Lucius suggested.

�We�ve
tried everything,� Cyrus replied, sounding exasperated.

�Maybe
we�re looking too hard,� Hermione said thoughtfully. They all turned to look at her. �Well, you know, perhaps it�s something
really simple that we�ve been overlooking because we think it can�t possibly be
that obvious.�

�Like
what?� Lucius asked rather flippantly.

�I
don�t know�� Hermione said, walking down the aisle between two of the long,
scarred wooden tables. �In Muggle movies
there are always secret buttons hidden in sculptures or bookcases.�

Lucius
wasn�t the only one that snorted.

�In
all fairness,� Severus said, before a debate could break out, �Miss Granger may
have a point. We�ve all been searching
for a magical apparatus to lead us to the other parts of the school. Perhaps it is something less sophisticated.�

There
was a rumble of agreement. Hermione
stole a look at Snape, her brow creasing.
It was not so long ago that he would have scoffed at her ideas,
too. But had he meant what he said back
in school? Did he really think she was a
snotty know-it-all or a na�ve little girl?
Had he ever? Did he still? Hermione wondered why she should care, but
for some reason, Snape�s opinion meant a lot to her. Come to think of it, it always had. That�s why his insults had hurt so much. She hadn�t run crying from the dungeon fourth
year because of the insult about her teeth; Lord knew she�d heard enough of
them to turn a deaf ear. She had burst
into tears because that insult had come from Snape � the one person in all of
Hogwarts that she really sought approval from, and also the one person that
refused to give it.

It
seemed that he approved now�

He
caught her staring at him and quirked his lips slightly upwards. She nodded and then pretended to busy herself
with the search. It was so strange to
see him display his emotions. Hell, it
was strange to think of him as possessing
any emotions. This Snape was totally
incongruous with the one she�d grown up with.
That man had been so cold and mysterious�like one big grey area. No past, no future�just Snape. Just sarcastic unfair Gryffindor-hating
potions genius Snape. Clandestine
Snape. Buttoned-up Snape. Infuriating Snape.

What
was he now? She appraised him as he
examined a shelf for the third time. It
was like looking through a camera that had been flipped to contrast; where
there had been pale, there was now dusky tan. Where there had been lank, greasy
seaweed-on-a-rock hair, there was now lush brown-black hair pulled into a
haphazard and very appealing half-ponytail with a leather cord. And where there had been miles of black,
black fabric covering all but his face and hands, now he seemed almost�whore-ishly
revealed in normal clothing. All in all,
his appearance had approved tremendously, as had his temperament. And yet�Hermione wasn�t sure if she really
liked this Snape. There were still
traces of the old one in his expressions and his speech, but other than that�it
was like her Potions Master had died along with Voldemort.

�Well,
bugger me sideways��

That
had come from Lucius. Everyone turned to
look at him. He was leaning against a
bust of Hecate; the head was pulled back to reveal a small, glowing platform. Hermione had seen something like it before,
when she�d visited Gringotts with Harry.
It was an identification spell of some sort. One had to put one�s hand above it, at which
point it did something (she didn�t know exactly what) to determine who the
person was. If that person was approved
for entry, they would be let through. If
not, they were rejected.

�An
identification spell,� Cyrus said, visibly and audibly annoyed. �Why such security?�

�Perhaps
there was important research going on here,� Severus replied. �It wouldn�t be unreasonable, if that was the
case.�

�Well,
hurrah for security, but that thing isn�t set to admit any of us,� the one
American in the group, a witch named Dawn, pointed out.

�I
don�t see why we can�t give it a try,� Lucius shrugged. �What is it going to do, rip your arm off if
you�re not the right person?�

There
was a pointed silence, during which every person was thinking that yes, that
might be exactly what it would do.

�Honestly,
you�re all a bunch of pansies,� the blond wizard sighed, and before anyone
could stop him, he placed his right hand against the glowing platform.

Some
people gasped; others closed their eyes, not wishing to see whatever violent
rejection he might get. Hermione watched
with her mouth hanging open. All right,
there was another thing about Lucius Malfoy that hadn�t changed. He was still as mad as a hatter!

Slowly,
though, people opened their eyes again.
There had been no scream, no sound of pain. Lucius stood perfectly still. It was taking an awfully long time to scan
him, but he didn�t dare move. If it was
going to work, he couldn�t so much as shift.
But after a minute passed, and then another, even he began to look a bit
apprehensive.

�What
is it doing?� someone whispered.

At
that moment, the glow that had illuminated Lucius for several minutes promptly
blinked out. Everyone in the room
froze. Hermione looked at the older
wizard with her hand pressed over her mouth; surely his punishment would come
now. His wide blue eyes told her that he
was thinking the same thing.

But
then�a whispering sound, like a hundred voices murmuring different phrases at
the same time, and the opposite wall seemed to dissolve and reshape itself�into
a staircase.

�Merlin�s
beard!� Cyrus exclaimed, his eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets. There were similar statements heard all
around the room. Hermione couldn�t
believe her eyes. It was impossible, and
yet it had worked! She looked over at
Snape; his face showed no reaction, aside from the drawing of his brows and the
all-too familiar furrow between them.
Her eyes then traveled to Malfoy.
He was staring at his hand, his face a mixture of confusion and
surprise.

Everyone
flooded to the staircase except for Severus, Lucius, and Hermione. The cacophony of their voices faded as they
descended into the heart of the school, leaving their British associates
behind.

�I
didn�t expect it work,� Lucius said after a few more minutes of puzzled
silence. �I just wanted to show them it
wouldn�t chop anyone�s bloody arm off.
They wouldn�t have such harsh penalties in a school with children
around��

�Interesting,�
Severus remarked slowly. His mind was
working feverishly on this paradox, Hermione could tell. Lucius, however, didn�t give it much more
thought. With a resigned shrug, he turned
to his companions and said,

�Shall
we explore?�

* * * * * *

After
the day�s discovery, Lucius was the man of the hour. Others had tried to pass the identification
spells and received a mild electrical shock for their troubles. It seemed that the only person the spells
accepted was Lucius. They�d discovered
eight more classrooms, and there was still much more beneath the sand.

Later,
at dinner, they drank to Lucius. And
drank, and drank�the blond wizard had already drunk six other wizards under the
table (one of which was her University professor), and he could still say his
alphabet backwards � in French.

�Where
does he put it all?� Hermione mused aloud.
She had expected him to be a cheap drunk, considering that Draco was
more or less gone after two or three shots of anything. Then again, he was a bit slighter than his
father, having inherited Narcissa�s waifish bone structure. Lucius was more solid, but the way he was
drinking, it shouldn�t have mattered.

�We
used to theorize that he has a mutated liver,� Snape said from across the
table. There was an amused inflection in
his voice. �Give him time. But stay away from him. He gets rowdy.�

�Rowdy?�
she inquired, raising an eyebrow.

�Pray
that he doesn�t feel the urge to sing,� was all Snape said.

The
table vibrated as Lucius and his three remaining drinking partners slammed down
their shot glasses.

�Onze!� he announced joyfully, waving the
half-empty bottle of ouzo around.
Hermione could not help but smile; of the three that were leftover, only
Dawn seemed to have a fighting chance.
The American woman was holding her own.
Although that shouldn�t be surprising; Hermione had heard that in America, when University students were bored, they
drank. She probably had a liver of
steel. �Maintenant, douze!� came Lucius�s call as he refilled the four
glasses.

�Is
he also immune to hangovers?� she asked.
This actually drew a chuckle out of Severus.

�No. He�ll not be very pleasant tomorrow.�

�At
least that�ll give me a reason to avoid him.�
The words were out before Hermione could stop herself. Snape�s eyebrow went up, but he said nothing.

They
both watched as the twelfth shot went down, and with it, one more of the
imbibers. It was Dharvish, a quirky
Indian wizard. He slumped against Dawn and
turned over his shot glass.

�I
thinkkkk�� he slurred, swaying slightly, �I�ve had �nuff.� He tried to stand, and never would have made
it if Dawn hadn�t steadied him.

�Good
show, chap!� Lucius said, raising his glass in a salute. Cyrus and Dawn, the two remaining
contestants, mirrored his actions before sending him off in the general
direction of the cabins.

�T�Tr�fuck
me, I forgot thirteen!� Lucius announced merrily.

�Trieze,� Dawn supplied.

�Ah, oui, trieze! Vous n�avez pas de chance! Buvez!�

Another
shot went down.

�Miss
Granger,� Severus inquired, leaning slightly over the table, �would you like to
take a walk to escape this spectacle?�

Part
of her wanted to see who won, but the greater part of her jumped at the chance
of time alone with him. It had been
surprisingly pleasant yesterday, and oddly comforting. Perhaps he�d felt the same way?

�Sure,�
she said, standing. �Although I am still
curious about Mr. Malfoy�s �rowdiness�, as you phrase it.�

Snape�s
eyebrow arched severely as he offered his arm.

�He
won�t be keeping you awake in the wee hours of the morning with his stunning
renditions of Les Feuilles Mortes and
other French classics��

As
if on cue, Lucius�s voice rose in a loud (and very obviously drunken) tenor.

�C�est une chanson�toi qui resemble��

�Merlin
save me, he�s starting early,� Snape grumbled.
Hermione laughed and could only laugh harder when he shot her a somewhat
scathing look. There was a bit of the
Snape she knew, only that Snape never would have offered her his arm for (oh, the
clich�!) a long walk on the beach.

�At
least he�s not an angry drunk,� she said by way of consolation.

�I
suppose.�

They
walked a few paces in silence, broken only by Snape�s annoyed sigh as Lucius�s
voice echoed on the wind,

�Quatorze!�

�I
never thought I�d see the day�� Hermione murmured.

�Yes,
surely the apocalypse is upon us,� was the reply, laced with gentle sarcasm.

�You�ve
changed. A lot.�

�You
haven�t.�

�Why
did you leave Hogwarts?�

�There
was nothing left for me there. I put my
life on hold for nearly twenty years, Miss Granger. I thought it was about time to go out and do
something I could actually enjoy.�

�Why
are you talking to me like this?�

�There�s
no reason I shouldn�t be, is there?� he asked, tilting his head.

�No,
but�it�s just�not you.�

�I
told you earlier that you know nothing of the real me.�

�I
know, but it�s difficult to reconcile this image of you with the Professor I
knew.�

�Shall
I powder my face and dress all in black and go about deducting house points
tomorrow, just for posterity?� he asked.

�Don�t
forget to skip your shower,� she added.
And immediately she said, �I�m sorry, that was unkind.�

�I�ll
have you know, Miss Granger, that it was a flame-retardant potion. I did not simply decide that hygiene was not
for me. I had no desire to have my hair
lit on fire by Longbottom or some other incompetent student.�

Hermione
should have felt bad about her comment, but instead burst out laughing at the
mental picture his last statement invoked.
He gave her a sideways look and then rolled his eyes.

�You�re
picturing me on fire, aren�t you.�

That,
of course, made her laugh so hard that she doubled over. Shaking his head, Severus said, �Here�s as
good a spot as any.� And with that, he
lowered himself to the sand and stretched out, waiting for her laughing fit to
pass.

�I�m
sorry�it�s just�I�ohhh�� Hermione clutched her stomach, which was beginning to
hurt from laughing so hard. Eventually
she calmed down, breathing hard and wiping tears of mirth from her cheeks.

�I�m
sure that wasn�t the first laugh you�ve had at my expense.�

�No�there
was that time with the boggart��

A
snort.

�What
was it, a pink cocktail dress?�

�Something
like that.�

�What
did you see before you banished that boggart, Miss Granger?�

�Do
you promise not to laugh at me?�

�Considering
the circumstances, no.�

�All
right, all right. I saw McGonagall
yelling at me � telling me I�d failed everything and I was getting kicked out
of school.�

She�d
expected him to at least chuckle at that; it really was ridiculous. But he only shook his head and replied,

�I
sorely wish I had such benign fears.�

She
didn�t really know what to say to that.
She�d never considered this angle of things. What would
Snape see if confronted with a boggart?
Would it be Voldemort? The Death
Eaters? The faces of people he�d hurt or
killed? A barrage of all those
things? Or would it be something else
entirely, something she couldn�t even fathom?

He
cleared his throat, which brought her back from her mental wanderings.

�Is
everything all right, Miss Granger?�

�Of
course, why wouldn�t it be?� she said, frowning slightly.

�Lucius
told me you seemed a bit out of sorts this morning.�

�So
that�s why he was staring at me at breakfast.�

�Yes. He said that he doesn�t think you trust him,
and that maybe you�d speak to me.�

�He�s
right, I don�t trust him. And it�s
nothing. Just a bad dream, is all.�

�Ah. I was hoping that you hadn�t received bad
news, or anything of that nature.�

She
turned to look at him.

�No,
just a silly dream�� she murmured, contemplating his profile. �Thank you for caring, though.�

He
gave a nod and a small, fleeting smile.
Then he lapsed back into his troubled silence and she followed suit,
making herself comfortable on the sand.
A few minutes later, however, she sat up rapidly, having realized
something.

�What?�
he asked.

�Nothing.�

A
slight raise of an ebony eyebrow. It
annoyed her that he could say so much with that one tiny gesture.

�I
was just remembering�the moon was in my dream.
Only it was full.�

They
both glanced at the waxing moon.

�You
weren�t, perchance, being chased by a werewolf, were you?� he asked, only
half-serious.

�No. I don�t know what was happening.�

�Hm.�

She
settled back down on the sand, folding her hands behind her head.

�It�s
gorgeous. You could sleep out here,� she
said around a yawn. When she got no
response, she closed her eyes.

Ten
minutes later, Severus glanced over at her.
Hermione had fallen asleep. He
sighed and shook his head. Exactly how
and when had he started caring about the annoying little Gryffindor? He had the distinct feeling that something
big was going to happen out here.
Nothing this momentous ever came without its share of backlash. And he had to admit that he was beginning to
feel�protective towards the curly-haired girl � no, woman, he corrected
himself. Of course, it was only because
she was one of the better brains in the wizarding world, and he tended to favor
those that were talented with Potions.
It certainly had nothing to do with anything else. Nothing at all.

He returned
his contemplation to the night sky. She
was right, it was truly nice enough to sleep outside on the beach. But come morning the tide would roll in, and
they�d most likely wake up soaked. Not
to mention that it would look rather suspicious if they didn�t return to
camp. Couldn�t have any rumors
starting. Although, he mused, by the
time Lucius was done with his partying, he doubted anyone would even have the
brain capacity to notice they were missing.

A
few minutes later he stood, his joints popping in protest to the sudden
movement. Merlin, when had he gotten so
old? He bent down to gather the
slumbering young woman in his arms, grimacing as his back made him aware of its
dislike for his current activity. Lord,
he was old. So old.

That�s
all it was, he assured himself as he walked slowly back towards camp with
Hermione in tow. Just the desire to
preserve a good brain and the body that housed it. Nothing more.

* * * * * *

Eeuuurgghhh. Hello, this is Hangover Central, Lucius
Malfoy speaking.

Ugh. It feels like someone�s shoved an entire
plantation�s worth of cotton into my mouth.
I�d kill for water, but the sink is so far away�

I
try to sit up, and two things stop me.
One, a wicked slice of pain behind my eyes, and two, the extra body in
the bed. Bloody hell. I push the blanket down, hoping she�s at
least pretty.

Hm. It�s Dawn, the American witch. How in the hell did this happen? She�s very pretty, I�d even go so far as to
say beautiful, but I find her to be a bit rough around the edges. Too straightforward and uncouth for my
tastes. I can tell that she thinks the
exact opposite about me; tight-assed British bastard, always thinking he�s
superior to everyone else. That�s fair,
I suppose.

So�if
we both dislike one another, how is it that we wound up in bed together? I push the blanket down a little more; maybe
we just passed out in the same bed.
Hm. No such luck. She does have perfectly delectable breasts,
though.

I
can�t resist; I lift up the blanket and look at the rest of her. Argh.
Of all the times not to remember my nocturnal activities. In spite of my less than coherent condition,
I feel my hormones surge. I promptly
drop the blanket back over her. I
shouldn�t work myself up. I couldn�t
possibly move to satisfy myself, even if I wanted to. And I doubt that she�d really appreciate
waking up to that.

Still,
this could be interesting.

�So
the King of the Bottle awakes.�
Severus�s voice rolls over me, making me wince. I know he�s speaking softly, but it still
makes my head throb.

�Severus,�
I croak. �Please tell me you have a
hangover relief potion.�

�I
might,� he smirks. �But shouldn�t your
lady friend be your priority?� Smarmy
bastard. He�s sitting Indian-style on
his bed working on that potion; there�s a pan in his lap for everything he
scrapes off it.

�Do
you have enough for her, too?� God, my
voice sounds like I have the consumption.

�I
suppose,� he says. �But I think I should
let you suffer a little while longer.
After all, I didn�t get to bed until four due to your�activities.�

�Arsehole.�

�Your
pet names flatter me, Lucius.�

�A
pox on you,� I grumble. �Would you at
least get me some water?�

�I�m
not your house elf.�

�Merlin�s
balls, no one said you had to stay sober and miss all the fun.�

�Cease
your whining, I�ll bring you some water, you drunkard.�

He
does, although he takes his sweet time.
He even steadies my hand as I drink it.
Sometimes I forget what a good man he is. My eyes begin to droop almost immediately. I think he�s put some sort of sleep inducing
agent in the water. Bloody potions
freak, he�s going to kill me someday.

Just
before I drift off, I remember.

��D�you
talk to Granger?� I ask fuzzily. My,
whatever he slipped me, it�s potent.

�Yes,
she�s fine. Just some bad dreams.�

�You
should comfort her,� I mutter. I hear
him laugh; he sounds far away. I should
have known better than to trust him. Of
course he�d drug me.

�Yes,
I�m sure that�s exactly what she wants: to seek comfort in the arms of her old,
greasy Potions Master.�

I
try to say something more, but my mouth won�t obey. I think it instead, only it somehow winds up
being in French. I always seem to revert
back to it when my mind isn�t quite right.
It sticks with me as I fade back into my slumber.

Ce n�est pas trop complique. On a besoin d�amour�
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