Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 7
- 8
- 9
It was not often that Severus Snape was rendered speechless. Sometimes people might think they had managed
it, but in reality he had merely chosen not to speak. He had let his mouth run its course years
ago, let the cruel, sarcastic comments leak out when it suited him, and it had
the desired effect; it isolated him. Now
he did not need or want that isolation.
He had decided that some things were best left unsaid, and thus he often
restrained himself.

But now, his quick mind failed him. In the face of her flushed cheeks, her
confrontational but vulnerable honey eyes, her sheer proximity�

His cerebral cortex stubbornly refused to supply him with
anything that could diffuse the situation, either positively or
negatively. He could only imagine the
face he was making; he hoped it was nothing she would interpret the wrong way.

�Hermione�� he attempted.
�I��

She tilted her head, waiting expectantly.

�You know�I�well, Salazar�s balls, any man would be a
fool not to like you!� he managed at last.
But apparently, that wasn�t good enough for her.

�I�m not asking about any other man. I�m asking about you.�

�Yes,� he said quietly, fighting the strange urge to
avert his eyes. �I like you. More than I should.�

She straightened up, looking down at him with her brow
furrowed. The small distance caused him
to relax muscles he hadn�t even known he�d been tensing.

�Why shouldn�t you like me?�

�There are a multitude of reasons, Hermione. I�m not going to list them all, but among
them is the fact that I�m twenty years your senior, a former Death Eater, and I�m
just not as attractive as I used to be.�
There, now some of his brain function was returning; he�d managed a
sarcastic remark.

She rolled her eyes.

�Severus, if I cared about any of that, I wouldn�t even
have tried.�

�You shouldn�t have.
There are better people out there for you.�

Her lips pursed in a way that was disturbingly
reminiscent of McGonagall.

�I think I decide who is best for me, thank you.�

He did not think it wise to argue that. No matter how convinced he was that there
were better men in the world for her, she would not stand for being told such
things. Never mind that his own feelings
on the matter were far from consistent; he did not think himself right for her,
and yet, to imagine her with another man made him grind his teeth. What did that mean? What did any of it mean?

She exhaled and sat on the edge of the bed. Hesitantly he returned to the potion, unsure
if the conversation was concluded or not.
For a few moments all that could be heard was the clink of metal and
glass as he stirred.

�Where are you going to sleep tonight?� she asked
suddenly. He didn�t look up from the
potion; he couldn�t let her see the panic that had flashed across his face.

�I hadn�t though about it,� he said a bit too
sharply.

Hermione was ready to feel insulted, but then she noticed
how tense he was. His shoulders were
drawn up, his back too straight, and the muscles in his forearms bunched. She had thought something as instinctual as
liking a person and having a relationship with him or her was relatively
simple; now she realized that in some cases it was not. For Severus, it was anything but simple.

Paradoxically, that only made him more intriguing. He had played so many roles in her life
already, but clearly he was not ready for this one. Somehow, though�somehow she would find a
way. Hermione was determined to make
what she could of their mutual attraction whether he liked it or not. Although�how he could not like it was
beyond her.

* * * * * *

�It�s late.�

�Mm-hm.�

�Come to bed.�

�No.�

�What, do I have a new stretch mark or something?�

�No.�

Rolling her eyes, Dawn gave up. She knew when she could not win; Lucius was
determined to sit up all night waiting for his son. His devotion was admirable, but the weather
had begun to turn. A light drizzle was
falling and the ocean air was cool enough to sneak beneath even the warmest of
robes.

�At least come inside?� she attempted.

�No.�

�Well, don�t expect me to brew your Pepper-up.�

He smiled and turned to her with fond eyes.

�That�s what Severus is for.�

�Just as long as we have that clear,� she replied,
returning the smile. �Come in if you
change your mind.�

He nodded absently, returning to his quiet vigil.

* * * * * *

I feel like I�m being watched.

I don�t know from where or by whom, but I know someone is
watching. It can�t be Dawn; she�s had a
long day and is most definitely asleep.
It�s not Severus. He never
emerged from Granger�s cabin, which, I must say, is quite encouraging.

The site is quiet all around me. The ocean whispers to my right, the waves
even and rhythmic. To the left, the
sound of the city is muted but still present.
For a while I had difficulty fighting my exhaustion. I thought the sounds might lull me into a
light sleep with my head on the table � a very dignified position indeed.

At first it was the
cold that kept me awake. Now it�s that
undeniable sensation that I�m being observed.
It makes me tense, uneasy�I don�t like it. At one time I could have pinpointed exactly
where the watcher was. No matter how
hard I try, no matter how I tune my ears, I can�t do it now.

Every hour that
passes frays my nerves a bit more. The
rain begins to pour down much harder, dashing any hope I may have had of at
least defining a general range of where the observer could be. I sigh, listening to the rain pounding on the
canvas above me.

It�s funny how I
don�t usually think about Draco when he�s away at University. He sends me an owl every now and then that
doesn�t really tell me anything, other than that he�s alive and doing well
enough for some honors. For a while it
bothered me, but then I recalled how I acted when I was away at University so
many years ago � more or less the same.
It�s time for him to really find himself, and he doesn�t need me
interfering. My interference has already
done enough damage.

I gather my robes
around me. My heating charm has worn off
for the third time. I recast it, feeling
the weariness creeping up on me again.
It would be nice to just retire to the cabin, to climb into bed next to
Dawn�s warm body and sleep until noon. But I need to be here. I need to be here to show him that I care,
because for so long I didn�t.

�Miserable weather,
eh, Brit?� a deep, rough voice asks, interrupting my internal battle. It�s Joeri, the Russian wizard. He strides up to the table and sits across
from me, blocking my view of the ocean.
I don�t care; at this point conversation may be the only thing that can
keep me awake.

�Miserable indeed,� I
reply. He has not spoken to me before,
other than when etiquette demands it. I
wonder why he wishes to speak now. It
seems, for a moment, that he is wondering the same thing. His eyes bore into me intensely, a cool brown
ringed with green.

�I taught at
Durmstrang, you know,� he says at last.
�History of Magic.� I raise my
eyebrows. I don�t know if I�m going to
like the direction of this conversation.
Nonetheless, I engage him.

�I almost sent my son
there.�

�It is good that you
did not.�

�Why?� I ask,
inclining my head slightly. �All my
information indicated that it is a fine school.�

�It was.�

�Was?�

He seems to be
struggling for the right words.

�Do you know why
Viktor Krum disappeared?�

My spine straightens
of its own accord. That has remained one
of the greatest unsolved mysteries of the war.
One day the world-famous Quidditch player had simply disappeared, and no
one could offer an explanation. It was
as if he had fallen off the face of the earth.

�That boy was a spot
of light in that school. All the others,
they were infatuated with the Dark Arts and purification of wizard blood. But Viktor�Viktor had a mind of his own, and
he had the status to be able to make some kind of difference. And he did, let me tell you. Without him, I don�t know how many of those
children would have survived.�

I watch him and keep
my silence. He knows what I was, and
most definitely does not care for it. It
is not the first time a person has spoken to me of their disgust for the ideals
I once held. Severus assures me that it
is therapeutic for them, but it is no such thing for me.

�You know Krum never
took any mark, and distanced himself from the Dark Lord.�

I nod. Voldemort had extended the invitation, but
Krum had responded that it was not wise considering his fame. A shrewd argument, to be sure. Voldemort had let it be, deciding that Krum
was too wrapped up in Quidditch to pose any kind of threat. I had my reservations about the awkward young
man, perhaps because he reminded me so much of Severus at that age. Luckily, Krum was a prodigy at something that
was of no use to the Dark Lord, unlike Severus.

�When the war was
over, many took the stance that no punishment but death or the Dementor�s Kiss
was suitable for the Death Eaters.�

I look at my
hands. I know that Severus and I are
lucky to be alive and free.

�Until I met you and
your quiet friend, I felt the same way.
I didn�t think it was possible to rehabilitate a Death Eater.�

�It was not a matter
of rehabilitation,� I say, fighting the irritation that rises in me. So many people forget that making the mistake
of being a Death Eater does not make a person inhuman. We are all fallible. Unfortunately, some make more severe mistakes
than others.

�What was it, then?�
Joeri says, his gaze hard and serious.
�Why did they let you live?�

I take a breath. I do not like explaining myself to virtual
strangers, but I doubt I will ever be privy to Krum�s fate if I do not
cooperate with his questioning.

�I always prided
myself on being just a little smarter than everyone else. And yet�it took me so long to see that
Voldemort�s logic didn�t make any sense.
A half-blood leading the crusade for purification of wizard blood?� I shake my head, agitated. It bothers me that it took me so long to
realize that the Dark Lord was little more than a psychopath, so obsessed with
his own imperfection that he sought to stamp it out in everyone else. �But it was a means to my desired end, so I
embraced it.�

�What made you see
the truth?�

�My son. He did not have the same�fervor that I
did. He didn�t want to take the
Mark. That, of course, meant that he had
to be exterminated. I realized that all
Voldemort cared about was his cause, and that he would not hesitate to kill
purebloods to put purebloods in power.
No one was safe; not me, not the oldest, most traditional purebloods, no
one. I�m rationalizing it now. At the time it was a much more�visceral
reaction.�

�So you turned before
the end.�

�Yes.�

�Some would think
worse of you for being a turncoat.�

�They did, on both
sides. But make no mistake � it wasn�t
easy. I suffered, and so did my son.�

�Did you fight in the
final battle?�

I nodded once. That I did not wish to talk about, and he did
not press the matter.

�And your friend?�
Joeri asked.

�Severus never
believed in those things,� I say, waving a hand. �He was just so desperate for any kind of
acknowledgement�he had so much intellect but so little love. Voldemort offered him a chance to be praised
and recognized and respected. No one
else ever offered him that. One little
push from me was all it took. He was
right there in the thick of it with the rest of us.�

�And how was he
saved?�

I lean back, my eyes
sizing up the wizard before me. He knows
more than he appears to, that is for sure, but he does not know
everything. My gut tells me he is
trustworthy, though. He must have been
quite cunning to survive the war as a fixture in Durmstrang who was at the same
time opposed to Voldemort�s agenda.
Nevertheless, there are still those out there who would like to see
Severus dead, so the fewer people that know of his time as a double agent, the
better.

�He saw the error of
his ways much more quickly than I. There
was a time when I would have been quite content to kill him, but my guilt
stopped me. I had been his friend before
I was his comrade, and I led him into hell,� I reply quietly. �He is lucky to have survived.�

�You are both lucky.�

�What does this have
to do with Viktor Krum?� I ask, tired of discussing things gone over a thousand
times before.

�It has everything to
do with Krum. People like you are the
ones who got him killed.�

So he is dead,
then. I cannot say I am surprised, but I
do not fully understand what Joeri means.

�Viktor had begun to
support people like you and your friend � repentant Death Eaters. He wanted fair trials and humane treatment,
but above all he wanted people to be tolerant.
He wanted them to forgive. So
many, especially the ones close to his age, had been forced into it or pulled
in before they knew what it fully entailed.�

That was another
horrible truth about the war. I had
taken the lives of children on the battlefield, mere children. Gregory Goyle had lost his wand arm to me,
and later on, his life to one of his own classmates. I had been forced to kill Pansy Parkinson
purely out of self-defense. That gave me
no comfort, however, in the dark of night when I closed my eyes and could see
nothing but the vacant, blue-ringed pupils staring up from her dead face. She had been the one promised to my son, the
one I had chosen to perpetuate my line, and though she was rotten to the core,
she was only seventeen. I had been
rotten to the core at seventeen, too.
Hell, I had been rotten to the core for most of my life.

�It is funny that
after a time of such intolerance, the people remain intolerant,� Joeri said
thoughtfully. �The last act of Fudge�s
uninspiring career was to order the discrete removal of Krum�s influence.�

My mouth falls open.

�He had him
killed?� Even I am shocked by this. The Ministry was and would always be corrupt,
but Fudge had been mostly harmless. He
was a fool and an imbecile, but I did not think he would go so far to salvage
his image and keep the people appeased.

�Oh, yes�Viktor was a
big threat to him. The people had almost
forgotten how his refusal to believe Voldemort had returned and his complete
disorganization had nearly lost the war in the early stages. They were ready to embrace him as the
Minister of Magic who had gotten them past the second war. Viktor�s support in the East was growing
every day. If people in the West caught
wind of the opposition to Fudge�s no-redemption policy, it would make him seem
incompetent and bring back all those previous ineptitudes.�

�Could Krum really
have been so much of a threat? He was no
politician,� I say, still having trouble grasping the situation. When I had been in the Ministry, Fudge had
been nothing more than a yes-man. He
would do nearly anything I ordered. I was
not foolhardy enough to think his obedience was out of anything other than
fear, but when had he grown a backbone?
When had he developed ambition?
Perhaps it was there all along, and he had simply been waiting out the
storm. The thought was disturbing.

�True, Viktor was not
the most eloquent person. But when he
was passionate about something, he could sway just about anyone.�

I cannot think of
anything to say. I am still stunned at
the possibility that Fudge was the ultimate Slytherin; perhaps he just appeared
incompetent in order to get everyone to drop their guard. It was fortunate, then, that his retribution
had come quickly. Seven months after the
end of the war, the last surviving faction of Death Eaters assassinated him at
a public appearance in Berlin. Many had lamented his death, but those who
mattered had little to say. Dumbledore
had become Minister after that, and remained so until his death eighteen months
later. From there, Arthur Weasley had
taken the reigns. That had been a source
of some chagrin to me for a while � a Weasley with more power than me! � but he
has done an admirable job and I have gotten used to it.

When I look up again,
Joeri is slicing a cigar in half with one of those strange little Muggle
devices. I always thought they looked
like finger guillotines; I prefer, on the few occasions that warrant a cigar,
to use a spell. He holds one half out to
me, and I take it. It seems to be the
appropriate thing to do. He uses his
wand to light the end, and I do the same.
The smoke is pungent and strong and I can almost feel my lungs
blackening, but it clears my head quite nicely.

�Do they know?� I
ask, watching the smoke curl and disperse in the night air.

�Dumbledore did. He pardoned many of those Fudge had
condemned, although he kept it quiet.�

�That old bastard
knew everything.�

Joeri smiles a quick,
rueful smile at my acerbic eulogizing. I
wonder for a moment if he was one of Dumbledore�s contacts in the Order. It is very likely the case. How could he know so much if he wasn�t?

�I hope your son
arrives soon,� he says after a few minutes, stamping out the cigar against the
table.

�As do I.�

He nods briefly and
stands. But he hesitates when he moves
to walk away.

�Albus always felt
that he had failed the alumni that turned as much as they failed him.�

I sigh. I have heard that very statement so many
times.

�He was only one
man. No one can save you from yourself.�

The Russian wizard
looks at me, his head tilted thoughtfully.

�You�re all right,
Malfoy.�

I chuckle
humorlessly.

�If I�m all right,
then I worry about those who aren�t.�

* * * * * *

Draco was annoyed,
but too exhausted to act on it. The
truck had gotten stuck in the mud, and they were camped four villages away from
Preveza. They were so close, but so far
away.

The urge to complain
was strong, but he was so tired that it did not seem worth it. No one would listen to him, anyway. He burrowed further into his rough blanket,
wishing he was with wizards rather than muggles. It was cold and the floor was hard; as much
as he wanted to sleep, he could not.

Their shelter was a
large gazebo with a leaky roof. Townspeople
whose homes had collapsed were intermingled with them. He had never slept in the same place with so
many people simultaneously. Apparently
he was the only one with a problem, though.
Everyone else was sleeping fitfully; Gerard snored to his left and a
little boy and girl were curled up to his right.

He sighed, staring
out through the wooden slats. The grass
glistened with moisture as the rain continued steadily. The sound of the fat drops hitting the roof
would have lulled him to sleep if he had not been so uncomfortable.

Glancing around, he
wondered if he could get back to his spot without disturbing anyone. Probably not.
But was there a point to just laying there? Not really.
If he started walking now, maybe he could make it to Preveza by midmorning.

Was that
prudent? Rain couldn�t hurt him, and he
had his wand if anyone tried to attack him.
He didn�t know how many kilometers it was, though. Many of the other villages had been close
together, but a few were separated by as much as thirty kilometers. What if these last four villages were far
apart? He could not hope to make it to
Preveza by this time tomorrow if that was the case. Oh, what he would do for a decent broom.

Perhaps he should
wake Gerard and ask him how many kilometers it was to Preveza. But more likely than not, the other man would
not allow him to leave.

Draco stood up,
carefully stepping around the sleeping bodies until he made it to the archway
of the gazebo. Pure, inky darkness met
his glance. Electricity still had not
been restored, and it was too late for anyone to be doing anything by
candlelight.

So what was it to
be? Should he gamble? Or should he just wait? Surely the truck would reach his destination
tomorrow. Somehow, tomorrow did not seem
soon enough. It never did when you
didn�t know if someone dear to you was alive or dead.

* * * * * *

�A peaceful sleep for
a troubled mind,� a soft, sugary voice whispered. She sifted her fingers through silky hair the
color of the pale winter sun.

�Leave him be,� her
companion said sternly. �If he wakes, he
shall hurt you.�

�He will not
wake. No man can wake from the spell I
weave.�

�He is not a
man. He is a wizard.�

�He is both. And you would not speak so loudly if you
truly thought he would wake.�

�Hmph,� he said
shortly, his voice tinged with disdain that they both knew was false. She smiled to herself, brushing the man�s
hair away from his face.

�The likeness is
incredible.�

�There are few lines
as pure as his.�

She looked at her
mate, the changing ocean in her eyes.

�The girl will
destroy that purity.�

�Would that I was
mortal, you silly nymph, or I would have discovered that the purity does not
matter in a much more timely fashion.�

Her face was lit by a
demure smile, but it disappeared quickly.

�Do you not worry
about the weakening of the blood?�

�The blood weakens
itself if it is recycled so many times.
It cannot be any worse than that fate.�

�I trust in your
wisdom, my love.� Her sigh ruffled the
fine strands of the man�s hair

�You find him
beautiful,� he said. It was not an
accusation; he merely stated what was proving to be a very obvious fact.

�Even you must admit
that he is.�

�Indeed. Give him a merman�s tail and he would be one
of the most beautiful creatures in the sea.�

She smiled at the
thought. He bore a strange resemblance
to her firstborn; clearly her mate saw it, too.
Ah, how fine he would look with a coat of shimmering scales.

�They are not easily
deterred,� her partner murmured, staring out at the great fissure that had
opened in the earth.

�I am glad.�

He gave her a
sideways glance, his eyes full of gentle disapproval.

�You are ever the
disobedient wife.�

�And you are ever the
doting husband.�

�Aye, I am, and you
are lucky,� he sighed, running both hands through his wavy hair. �What use have they for these secrets?�

�I have never
understood how the minds of mortals work, but they have a right to know.�

He grunted, his face
contorting in an expression of scorn.

�If I know mortals,
they will start a war over it. They have
already seen too much war. Would you
destroy them?�

�Perhaps this is the
right time. They wish only for peace in
the wake of their last conflict.�

He closed his eyes
for a moment, remembering. Slowly, he
turned back to her, doubt etched in his features.

�Mortals always wish
for peace. A wish is not reality.�

�You have become
pessimistic in your old age.� Her voice
was light with humor, and he envied how relaxed she could be when dealing with
such matters.

�You have grown too
content to place your faith in creatures that are not worthy,� he
retorted. She did not take offense; both
of them knew that she was a supreme judge of character, and if she chose to
grant her favor to someone, that someone would not disappoint her. She smiled a small, knowing smile, and he moved
off, sulking.

As the pair faded
into the misty air, Lucius woke to the ghost of a touch against his stubbled
cheek.

* * * * * *

Severus jolted
violently awake in a way he had not experienced since his childhood. Not even the mornings after particularly
hellish dealings with the Dark Lord had made him sit bolt upright like
this. Only the terror of a childhood
nightmare could compare; it was the horror of waking alone in the dark, heart
pounding, lungs straining, and wondering if that formless monster was still
there with you, silently stalking in the inky shadows.

Only this time�he was
not alone. His breathing slowed as he
focused on Hermione�s face. She was
still deep in sleep, impervious to the noise and his movement because of the
potion. Her hair was a bit frizzy from
the humidity, standing up in some places from pillow-induced cowlicks. Her mouth was open, and her nose whistled
slightly as she breathed.

His lips
twitched. He had the most ridiculous
urge to smile like a fool. She was beautiful.

Severus stood up,
reasoning that he could not stare at her much longer, because somehow people
always knew when they were being stared at.
He stretched, reaching for the ceiling and lengthening his spine. Then he went over to the sink for a glass of
water. His throat always went dry from
nightmares like that; it was as if he had been screaming for hours, and though
he knew it was only in his head, his hoarseness was a strange physical
manifestation of the turmoil in his mind.

The details of the dream
were fuzzy. He remembered being asleep,
and then his body going numb. A formless
weight pressing against him, his limbs uncooperative, and a shadow at the end
of the bed�and then it was in his mind, and he wanted to claw at his face and
get it out, but he could not move, and the air was so putrid�

His hand shook as he
filled a glass. Would these obscure
half-remembrances never leave him? Years
had passed. Could he ever move on? His mind whispered no. The few years since the end of the War were just
that � few � in comparison to his years in Hell. Time was indeed the great healer of all
things, but it functioned proportionally.
The further you were dragged in, the longer it took to drag yourself
back out. And he had gone just about as
far as you could get.

He gulped the water,
grateful for its cool, crisp flavorlessness.
It was times like these that he missed the predictability of
Hogwarts. There were never any
surprises, and no one ever bothered him.
It was easier to press on when you only had yourself to think of. He looked at the last of the water at the
bottom of the cup. In those days, it
would have been firewhiskey.

Sighing, Severus
turned and looked at Hermione over the rim of the glass. Was this fair to her? Was it right that she be saddled with
him? She seemed fairly sure of what she
wanted (as her ordering him into bed with her had indicated), but what she
wanted and what she needed were two different things. She might want him, for reasons unknown, but
that by no means meant that her judgment or her feelings were 100 percent
correct.

Never mind the
fairness of it all. Where was the sense
in it? She was a Gryffindor, he was a
Slytherin. He was twenty years her
senior, a member of a whole different generation, for Merlin�s sake! They were about as incompatible as
incompatible could get. And yet, if that
was the case, how were they managing to get along so well? And how in the nine hells had she convinced
him to share a bed with her?

Well, that he
actually knew the answer to. He was
getting old. His body simply couldn�t
take sleeping on a floor. He would have
done it, though, if she had not invited him into the bed.

Why had he been so
willing to slip under the covers beside her?
It was all relatively chaste; she was in red linen pajama pants and a
pink frilly camisole, causing the formation of many comments about a walking
valentine in his brain, which he stifled.
He wore light cotton pants and a bizarre oversized muggle t-shirt Hermione
had lent him which declared, �One Tequila, Two Tequila, Three Tequila,
FLOOR.� He was loathe to even wear the
silly shirt (accurate as it was), but he didn�t feel right sleeping beside her
so exposed. It was better than the other
option she had hesitantly presented him with � a grey t-shirt sent to her by
her American cousin that said, �I got my crabs from Dirty Dick�s!� He failed to see the humor in such a vulgar
statement, even after she had explained that Dirty Dick�s was a seafood
restaurant. He wondered why anyone
would eat at a restaurant with the word �dirty� in its name. She had found his disdain quite amusing.

He supposed he could
have borrowed some of Lucius�s clothing, but the thought made him roll his
eyes. Lucius was fond of a very basic
item of muggle clothing, although he only wore them to bed � the plain,
sleeveless, ribbed white undershirt. He
was even fonder of them now that Dawn had mentioned that they sometimes called
them wife-beaters. Typical Lucius.

In any case, he
wasn�t going to be able to fall back asleep, so he could change out of her
ludicrous shirt. He pulled it over his
head and performed a thorough Scourgify before folding it and placing it
neatly on top of her trunk.

A bath would relax
him. He couldn�t face her in this
state. He was a nervous wreck, his mind
abuzz with a million questions all ricocheting against each other.

Severus could not
shake the feeling that he should have just said no. Though he could imagine the effect it would
have on her (because Gryffindors were absolutely awful at concealing their
emotions), a part of him felt that it might be the best thing. Dumbledore had once said that it was never
right to inflict pain on someone for the sake of protecting them; it took away
all their autonomy and needlessly ruined close relationships. But Dumbledore had never felt the way he
felt; the old man had never been ugly like he had, never been a social pariah,
and most certainly never willingly submitted himself to the sort of
unforgivable behavior Severus had. They
were two different creatures, intrinsically, and though he tended to agree with
Dumbledore�s statement, there was always an exception. He was that exception.

This was one of the
few areas in which he could identify with Harry Potter. In the last two years of school, the boy had
grown sullen, quiet � nothing like the idealistic first-year he had been. Of course he still kept up with his best
friends, but he did not give other people the time of day. The boy had not wanted to get close to anyone
else; as it was, he agonized regularly over putting Hermione and the Weasley
boy in danger. In the end, it had led to
Ronald�s death. But, as the old man
pointed out, Ronald had made those choices all on his own. No one had asked him to be a martyr. Was it better or worse that Harry had not
pushed him away? No one could really
say, but Severus was beginning to think it was better. If Weasley had not had the courage or desire
to save Potter, someone else would have.
More likely than not, that someone would have been Hermione. It was terrible for him to think like this,
because there had been more honor in the hot-tempered Weasley boy than there
would ever be in him, but he could not help it.
He was incontrovertibly biased.

That was the only
time Severus had felt a bit of sympathy for the Boy Who Lived � there had been
no joy in his victory. Dumbledore had
worried about the boy. Indeed, for a
while he seemed to take a turn for the worst, barely coming out of his room,
and turning not to the firewhiskey, as Severus had, but to the hallowed
Cannabis leaf for his self-medication.
Only one person had reached him through that chemical haze � Ginny
Weasley.

Her love had been
both a blessing and a curse to Potter.
He was incredulous that anyone could care so much anymore; his role in
the great war was over, and in his mind, he was useless. She had shown him, in a patient, no-nonsense
fashion culled straight from her mother, that she and many others loved him and
would not let him waste away. Slowly he
started to come back to himself, but doubt would paralyze him at times. In his perception, Ron�s death was his fault,
and he could not understand why Ron�s sister would want anything to do with
him.

This, of course, he
had all been privy to in those dark times at St. Mungo�s. Lucius was not the only one that had rambled
at his bedside. Dumbledore had come
fairly often before his duties as Minister of Magic took over his time. McGonagall would read to him twice a week,
and though he had already read most of her selections, the lilt and cadence of
her voice was pleasant. He had even had
a visit or two from Lupin, who was awkward and did not say much. And once, just once, Harry Potter himself.

�You knew the
secret. You knew that there was no use
in living like there was a future beyond Voldemort.�

At the time, Potter
was right. But now�clearly there was a
future. He glanced at Hermione once
more. She had shifted in her sleep, her
arm draped over the spot he had previously occupied.

The future was always
uncertain, but perhaps now he might look forward to it with some small degree
of anticipation.

* * * * * *

Lucius did not
remember falling asleep. The sun was
beginning to brighten the grey horizon, and the air was hazy with
humidity. The sensation of being watched
was gone, and in its place was something worse; the sensation that someone or
something had been very close to him, perhaps even touched him.

He stood up, his eyes
darting warily about. There was no one
in sight. The area was still deep in
slumber, and there were no footprints in the sand anywhere near him. Even Joeri's had been erased by the wind and
rain.

Lucius rubbed his
palms against his face. Maybe the lack
of sleep was making him paranoid. But
his instincts were always fine-tuned, even if they were a bit neglected
nowadays. To doubt the feeling in his
gut would be to doubt the thing that had kept him alive for the last forty
years.

Draco had not
come. He sighed, blocking out all the
horrific images that formed in his brain.
Draco was a strong and versatile wizard.
He would make it. Yes, he would
make it. Malfoys always did.

He was about to make
his way toward the ramshackle kitchen when the sound of flapping wings made him
turn back. A hawk was gliding low over
the sand, coming directly towards him.
It didn't look like it was going to attempt to avoid him. That could only mean it was coming to
him. He stuck out his left arm, but not
without first making sure that his robe was thick enough to withstand the
raptor's talons. Seconds later, the hawk
pulled up and landed cleanly on his wrist.

A fresh bloom of joy
filled him when he saw that a scrap of paper was attached haphazardly to the
bird's leg. Eagerly he unwrapped the
crinkled paper, and, as he'd hoped, Draco's small, elegant hand adorned it.

Father,

I am with a search
and rescue team that left from the train station yesterday. We were supposed to have made it to Preveza
last night, but the truck got stuck in the mud caused by the rainstorm, and we
had to stop. I am four villages away. If all goes well, I should be there by
tonight, if not sooner. I hope this
finds you well and that you remembered to cover your arm with your robe before
letting the hawk perch.

Lucius grimaced. There had been an incident a few years back
involving a hawk. After he had turned
away from Voldemort, he had been put in a safehouse for a time while Dumbledore
and the Order decided what to do with him.
They usually sent mail with a raven or a pigeon, but once it had come
with a hawk. He hadn't looked up when he
heard the beating wings. His
indiscretion had been rewarded with eight neat little punctures on his
forearm. Eight exceedingly painful
punctures.

Well, he had learned
his lesson. He stroked the proud head of
the hawk as he walked back towards the table he'd been sitting at all
night. He let the bird perch on the
bench as he transfigured a shell into a quill and set about writing his reply
on the back of Draco's.

Draco,

I am glad that you
are alive and well. I apparated to the
train station yesterday evening looking for you, only to be told by a rotund
woman that you'd taken off with some missionary group. Take your time getting here; you are not
missing much right now, as much of the site was damaged by the earthquake. As you can probably guess by the absence of
blood stains on the paper, I remembered to cover my arm. I do hope you remembered to cover yours,
smart ass.

Unable to contain a
smirk, Lucius re-attached the letter to the patient creature's leg. He looked about for something to reward the
hawk with. After a moment, a small crab
caught his eye, and he caught it with a summoning charm. He lowered it onto its back on the table, and
the hawk did the rest of the work, cracking the weak underbelly with its
beak. After it had feasted, it preened
for a few minutes, and Lucius reinforced the spell Draco had used to direct it.

He was smiling when
it flew off. Now that his worry was
gone, perhaps he could steal a few hours of sleep before the day truly
began. Predictably, his mind strayed to
the woman waiting in his bed. Hm. Perhaps sleep would have to wait.

* * * * * *

Dawn woke to an arm
snaking around her waist and a hot mouth sucking on her earlobe. It was a pleasant way to wake, but she was a
little disoriented.

"Mmm...is your
kid here?"

"No." His hand slid down the front of her shorts as
he said it, trailing brazenly between her thighs. The tingle of pleasure began, surging hotly
across her skin.

"Lucius."

"Yes, my
dear?" He accompanied his silky
inquiry with a small thrust of his hips, brushing his pelvis against her rear.

"I'm guessing
everything's all right?"

"Oh yes,
splendid. He owled. Any more questions before I fuck you
silly?" The hand in her shorts
snuck around to cup her buttocks. There
was a pause as she thought of her answer.

"Do I get to
pick the position?"

Lucius laughed, his
breath tickling her neck.

"Positions, my
dear. Plural."

She turned her head
so that her lips brushed his and whispered,

"No further
questions."

* * * * * *

"What are you
reading?" Hermione's voice drifted
from the bed, low and husky with sleep.

Severus glanced up
from the thin paperback. Hermione was
curled on her side, her head resting on her folded hands.

"My birthday
present from Minerva," he replied.
"An anthology of the works of William McGonagall."

She smiled, laughter
in her eyes.

"How is
it?"

"Absolutely
appalling."

Hermione giggled.

"Is there any
relation?"

"Yes indeed, he
was her uncle."

"Good thing she
stuck to transfiguration, then," Hermione mused, chuckling.

"It was
retaliation for the present I sent her at Christmas," he said, his lips
twitching faintly. "A walking stick
with a mirror attached to the bottom. A
pervert cane, if you will, only this mirror is invisible to all but the user
and charmed to see through clothing."

�Severus! That�s terrible!� Hermione gasped. Her expression of chagrin crumbled after a
moment, though, and she dissolved into giggles.

�You have never seen
some of the presents she gives to me,� he retorted. �Believe me, mine are tame in
comparison.� He was smiling as he
returned to the book of poetry.

�Read me one.�

He turned to her, his
face aghast.

�If I�m going to read
you poetry, it will most certainly not be that of William McGonagall!�

�Please? I want to know if it�s as bad as they say it
is.�

�It is.�

�Just read one.� Internally, she marveled at how relaxed he
seemed today. Yesterday he had been so
jumpy, so irritable. Had it all been
because of Anatole? Sharing a bed with
him ought to have made it clear enough that she wasn�t about to elope with the
handsome Greek man. However, she had to
wonder how he would react if Anatole was around. Would he always be jealous? Would he always have moodswings?

Grudgingly, he was
turning the pages of the book, looking for something suitable. Truly, there was nothing he would ever want
to read to a lady.

�You�re really going
to make me do this?�

She nodded, giving
her best wounded puppy look. There were
few men in the world who could resist that look; a few years ago Severus would
have been one of them. But now he caved,
just like Ron always had and Harry still did.

�You asked for
it. This is the worst I�ve seen so far,
from �The Collision in the English
Channel.� He cleared his throat, straightened his back,
and held the book out in front of him. �Oh! it was a miracle how any of them were saved, but it was
by the aid of God, and how the crew behaved; because God helps those that help
themselves, and those that don't try to do so are silly elves.�

�That�s�inspiring��
Hermione said, cringing slightly.

�Ha. I could have written that at three years
old!�

�You
could have written something better than that at three,� she replied,
snickering. The feckless verse was just
as amusing as picturing Severus at three.
He had probably had that furrow between his brows even then; she could
only imagine the trouble he�d caused, playing with chemicals and compounds at
that age.

�No
more,� he declared, setting the book down.
�I feel my brain cells dying with each consecutive line.�

Smiling,
she contemplated him as he re-arranged the desk. He wasn�t lying that first day when he said
she knew nothing about him. There was so
much to him that she never would have thought possible; slowly, that spiteful,
sullen man she had known was fading into the back of her mind, and he seemed
like a new acquaintance, someone she had never met before. And yet there were things about him that were
the same; his sarcasm, his low tolerance for stupidity, his unparalleled
intellect�

At first
it had been hard to reconcile, but now she could see that Severus then and
Severus now were the same person. The
only metaphor she could think of was that of wine; he had been distilled, stored,
aged, and now he was near perfection.

* * * * * *

Gerard
looked perplexed as Draco suddenly stood up in the bed of the moving pickup
truck.

�Assieds-toi!�
he said, looking at the young man as if he�d grown another head. �C�est dangereux!�

Draco
turned to him, a radiant smile on his face.

�Arretez! Arretez!
Dites-lui arreter!�

Gerard yelled
for the driver to stop, and a moment later, they rolled to a standstill.

�Qu�est-ce
que c�est?� he asked as Draco grabbed a blanket and draped it over his arm.

�Le
faucon,� he replied, pointing. A hawk
was flapping rapidly toward them, and Draco held out his arm. Gerard watched in wonder as the bird pulled
up and landed neatly on his companion�s arm.
Draco patted the bird�s head and unwound the battered scrap of paper
from its leg.

�Une
lettre?� Gerard asked, incredulous.

�Oui, de
mon pere.� Draco chuckled as he read it;
his father did not make jokes or use sarcasm when things were bad, so he must
be in fine spirits, thank Merlin. �Tout
est bien.� Smiling, he took one of the
crackers Gerard had been eating and fed it to the hawk. The other man watched, speechless, as the
bird picked carefully at the cracker. At
last, when it was finished, Draco sent it off with a flick of his wrist and a
curt order of,

�Go!�

He turned
around and sat back down, the scrap of paper still in his hand. Gerard regarded him curiously. Draco had forgotten that muggles did not
generally use birds for mail.

�Ma
famille exerce les oiseaux,� he lied quickly.
�C�est facile, pour moi.�

Gerard
nodded, apparently satisfied, before telling the driver they could move
on. He could see that a weight had been
lifted from the boy, even if its method of removal was more than a little
strange.

* * * * * *

�I can�t
believe they let us go,� Nick said, his hands wrapped around a mug of
coffee. �I thought they were going to
oblivimiate us, or whatever.�

�I guess
Dawn is pretty convincing,� Anatole muttered, nursing his own mug. He sighed heavily.

�I hope
so. Her boyfriend really has it in for
me, I think.�

Anatole
shrugged.

�What�s
the matter with you, Anatole?� Nick asked, leaning forward. �We�ve just discovered that wizards and
witches and magical creatures are real, and you have nothing to say? That�s not like you at all.�

Anatole
shrugged again, staring into his coffee.

�It�s
Hermione, isn�t it.�

He nodded
sadly.

�The girl
I like is a witch. What could she
possibly want with a boring person like me?
I can�t do any magic or brew any potions. What do I have to offer?�

�She
doesn�t strike me as the kind of person who can be won with flashy things like
that.�

�But that
other guy really likes her, and has known her longer. It would be wrong of me to pursue her.�

Nick
grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, just once.

�It would
be wrong if it was me. But you don�t
know this man. He�s not your best
friend. You have as much of a right to
romance her as he does.�

�I don�t
think it�s a good idea. You�re not even trying to get with Dawn and her
boyfriend is ready to kill you. Besides,
think how complicated it would be�how out of place I would be in her world, and
how secretive we�d have to be with my family��

It was
Nick�s turn to shrug.

�She
might be worth it, Anatole. But I can�t
figure that out for you.�

He
nodded.

�She
might be.�

* * * * * *

�Another
test.�

He looked
away from his brother, frowning. He had
not wanted to initiate the first test, and now the witches and wizards were
growing on him, as they had on his wife.

�What did
you have in mind?�

�I will
summon Artemis. The moon will wax full
tonight, and the child will awaken.
Sweet Lilith shall see the sky again.�

�She has
slept for millennia, brother. She will
kill them all in her bloodlust.�

The
handsome god smiled in that pitiless way of his.

�That
remains to be seen.�

�They are
not our toys to play with. They are part
of us, or have you forgotten?�

�I have
forgotten nothing. Time saw men grow
weak. If the same has happened for
wizards, our secrets are better left buried.�

Poseidon
nodded once. His brother was right. These events held implications that might
very well change the world as they all knew it � god, wizard, man, and beast.

�I see
the necessity, but know that I wish them success. My lady and my offspring are most averse to
blood in my waters.�

Zeus
chuckled, waving his hand.

�We shall
see, my dear brother, we shall see.�

Translations:

Gerard: �Sit
down! It�s dangerous!�

Draco: �Stop!
Stop! Tell him to stop!�

Gerard: �What
is it?�

Draco: �The
hawk.�

Gerard: �A
letter?�

Draco: �Yes,
from my father. All is well.�

Draco: �My
family trains birds. It�s easy, for me.�

A/N: Relax, people, you don�t have to tie me to
the computer to get me to update. I�ve
just been insanely busy since February, but school is over in less than 2
weeks. Then I�ll have 3 glorious months
to write, interrupted only by work and 17 days in July during which I will be
in Europe.
Just think how much I�ll want to write this story once I�ve actually
been to Greece!
Enjoy the chapter!
- 7
- 8
- 9
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Amphitrite