Seventeen for Fear

Chapter 21: Seventeen for Fear

Two weeks after her unplanned visit to Arglist, Hermione still searched for a way to stop Lucius. Solutions proved as elusive as Madam Pince's smile, and frustration soon battled anxiety for the privilege of keeping her awake at night. A trip to the Ministry was the next logical step.

If only the new Minister for Magic inspired the same confidence and respect Kingsley had commanded. Gregor Ustinov had acted so strangely when she'd met him at the Malfoys' Christmas Eve ball, and she wondered how receptive he'd be to her accusations against Lucius. But with each passing day, the pressure to do something...anything...magnified. A giant clock seemed to shadow her every movement, its imaginary ticking a perpetual reminder of a reality she could not escape. Time was running out.

"Absolutely not," said Snape when she told him of her plans.

"I can't just sit here and do nothing while an entire team at Arglist is hard at work."

"Meeting with Gregor is hardly the answer."

"Why?"

"Because you will be little use against Lucius when you are incarcerated."

She looked away and bit her lip.

"Gregor is a man of limited vision," he said. "I doubt he will appreciate...or even understand...how Lucius intends to use the Arglist research. To have any hope of convincing him, you would need to confess your entire history with Arglist, and the moment you do that, he will arrest you for the costly destruction of private property. You will be made into an example: the face of the Ministry's perseverance against criminals."

"Then I won't tell him about the vandalism."

"I see." He arched one eyebrow. "You are willing to sit before the Minister for Magic and calmly lie to him about a crime you committed?"

"I could."

"Perhaps. But whether you should is an entirely different matter."

"Yes, I happen to be familiar with the 'could' versus 'should' argument," she said. Several months had passed, yet those two words had remained on the chalkboard in the Hogwarts laboratory, her private reminder to question everything.

"Then surely you know better than to act in haste. This is not one of your wisest strategies."

Her shoulders fell. "Maybe not, but I'm out of options."

"Not necessarily. From what you saw in that journal at Arglist, we have time to develop a comprehensive plan of attack."

"If they haven't already abandoned that particular line of inquiry." She prayed they hadn't. "Whatever the case, I still think I should tell the Minister what Lucius is capable of."

He folded his arms across his chest and sighed. "Even if Gregor believes you, it is doubtful you could avoid custody while he decides how to proceed. Do not forget what happened to Hagrid when the Chamber of Secrets was opened: the Ministry requires little evidence to hold someone for questioning. Trust me, Hermione...you must do whatever is necessary to avoid Azkaban."

The horrors of the wizarding prison sent a shiver down her spine, yet still she struggled against his reasoning. It wasn't in her nature to shirk responsibility. Razing the laboratory at Arglist...while seemingly justified at the time...was still a serious legal violation. All crimes carried consequences, a reality she had been prepared to accept when she had confessed to Kingsley. But at that time, she had also believed the problem had been solved, the threat nullified.

In many ways, her position was more precarious now than it had been four years earlier. Snape was right...she couldn't risk being sent to prison if she wanted to ensure Lucius was stopped. "I agree with what you're saying, in theory. But I'm not comfortable with no one else knowing of his plot."

He seemed to consider her words. "I suppose that is a valid point," he conceded. "The Ministry should be apprised of Lucius's plans, however unlikely Gregor is to act upon them." He rummaged through a stack of newspapers by the sofa. "The Prophet had something about him travelling abroad ... Ah, here it is ... He is in Africa until Saturday next. I shall inform his secretary I need to meet with him upon his return."

"We need to meet with him," she corrected.

"I need to meet with him."

"I really think I should come, too."

"I really disagree."

"He's bound to ask questions only I can answer."

"Precisely. All the more reason you should stay here. I can provide enough information to steer him onto the correct path if he is willing to follow it. That is what you want, yes?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then it's settled."

She started to argue but thought better of it. The Minister would be less likely to dismiss the accusations if they came from someone detached from the situation, with no ties to Arglist. And her recent encounter with Lucius had proved her deficiency with subtle negotiating skills, whereas Snape would know how much...or how little...to say without compromising her position.

Although she was unaccustomed to relinquishing control, Snape was clearly the best candidate to address the Minister. She accepted his insistence with a nod. "Since when did you become so bossy?"

He shrugged. "It must be your influence. People who live together often develop each other's traits after a time."

"Hmm. That explains my newfound desire to scowl at my students."

"And your sudden, overwhelming urge to take me to bed at every opportunity?"

She snorted. "I wasn't aware of that one, actually."

"Then allow me to enlighten you." He slipped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her to his bedroom.

Although the Minister was seldom in the office at the weekend, Snape had somehow convinced his secretary to arrange a meeting for the very Saturday morning on which he would return to England. Rather than the relief she had expected to feel as the meeting approached, Hermione's apprehension increased with each passing day. By Friday afternoon, she had handed out more detentions in one week than she had over the course of the entire school year.

A cup of tea and a scalding hot bath were all she desired when she locked her office and returned to the living quarters late on Friday evening. She rolled her head from side to side in a fruitless attempt to relieve the knots in her neck and shoulders. The kettle clattering atop the stove almost covered a soft, persistent knock. She frowned and left the kitchen.

A flick of her wand Vanished the door to reveal Pitty, the tiny house-elf who had delivered the article about Brukowski's death. Her stomach clenched when she saw another enormous scroll clutched in the elf's hands.

"Hello, Pitty," she said and forced a smile upon her face. It wasn't the elf's fault her mail had held such unwelcome news.

"Good evening, miss," squeaked Pitty.

"Have you had an enjoyable school year thus far?" The smile froze on Hermione's face when enormous tears filled Pitty's eyes. The elf's tiny body shook so violently the scroll bounced against her long nose. "Pitty, what's happened ... what's wrong?"

"Nothing, miss," she answered at once, as if the river of fat tears rushing down her face was a natural occurrence. "This came for you."

She took the proffered scroll and immediately saw the source of the elf's distress. An angry red gash ran the length of her arm, oozing thick blood that glistened in the torchlight.

Hermione uttered a squeak of her own and fell to her knees. "What happened to your arm?" She tried to get a closer look, but the elf hopped out of reach, and she had to remind herself to tread carefully. Sitting cross-legged upon the floor brought her closer to Pitty's level, but she still towered over the little creature.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to startle you. But that cut looks serious, and it needs to be healed."

"It's just a scratch, miss."

She frowned at the wound, unable to dismiss the deep cut so easily. Something else disturbed her, as well...if house-elves were capable of powerful magic, why hadn't Pitty already mended her injury? "Do you know how to heal this?" she asked.

An ocean of secrets could have hidden in the large blue eyes that stared up at her, unblinking. After an interminable wait, she answered, "Pitty is still learning the healing magic, miss. Pitty will practice more tonight, after the mail is delivered."

A house-elf's age was difficult to guess, but Pitty's confession seemed to indicate her small size was the result of youth, rather than genetics. Hermione couldn't fault the elf's resolution to learn the proper method for healing herself. Still, the wound looked truly dangerous and convinced her something should be done at once. She doubted Pitty would accept her help outright, so she was forced to find a different approach. She just hoped Pitty's curiosity equalled her determination.

"Pitty, I've been conducting some extremely important experiments, and I wonder if you might be willing to help me?"

The large eyes gazed at her with interest, although she did not answer.

"You see, I need to document the effects of Dittany on powerful, magical creatures, but I've had no opportunity for study as yet. Would you allow me to use some on your arm?"

Pitty peered at the long, dark wound, as if considering.

"It would be of enormous assistance to me," Hermione added. Perhaps the elf's innate desire to serve would overrule her hesitation.

"All ... all right, miss," she squeaked after a moment.

"Thank you." Hermione Summoned bandages and bottles from the cupboard and performed a simple cleansing spell on the wound. Splitting the lone drop of Dittany into smaller portions proved time-consuming, but she couldn't risk using too much. At length, she was able to direct an appropriately tiny droplet towards Pitty's arm. A puff of purple smoke floated from the wound.

Hermione titled her head and said, "Huh." Her desire to study Dittany's effect on house-elves had been a ruse, but the purple mist...so different from the vibrant green smoke when used on humans...still surprised her. The cut healed as they watched in silence. Soon even the bandages she had Summoned were deemed unnecessary.

"How did this happen?" she asked Pitty while sending the supplies back into her quarters.

A shudder wracked the elf's small frame. "The owl thought Pitty was his dinner, miss."

She glanced at the large scroll and recognised the heavy parchment at once. Damn Lucius and his sodding eagle owl, she thought. She could only imagine how terrified Pitty must have been. Given the size of the bird, a dinner of frightened house-elf was not an impossible scenario.

"Isn't there anyone else who can retrieve the mail from the owls?" she asked, ignoring her vow to stop meddling in the affairs of other creatures.

"All house-elves deliver the mail at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry first, miss."

"First?"

"Yes, miss. The mail is Pitty's first task to learn. Then Pitty might learn the laundry, or the kitchens, or the gardens ... or wherever else Pitty is sent."

This confirmed her suspicions about Pitty's age. "What if the headmistress were to request a different assignment for you?" she asked. "One that didn't involve the Owlery?"

Pitty looked fearful. "Pitty would never ask Headmistress McGonagall for special treatment, miss. Pitty is honoured to serve at the most noble Hogwarts School of..."

"Yes, yes, of course," she interrupted. "But isn't there some area of the castle where you'd feel especially honoured to ... um ... serve in? The kitchens? The common rooms? The library?"

She saw a flicker in Pitty's eyes and pounced. "The library?"

Pitty shuffled her feet and stared at the ground. Her whispered reply was barely discernable. "Pitty's mother loved books, miss. Pitty thinks the library is the most wonderful room at Hogwarts."

"I couldn't agree with you more." She smiled and stood. Having no desire to read Lucius's latest missive, she flicked her wand at the scroll and sent it to the kitchen table. After reinstating the door to her quarters, she said, "I shall speak to the headmistress at once."

The elf's resulting protest seemed half-hearted. "Pitty does not wish to trouble anyone, miss."

"It's no trouble at all. I needed to see the headmistress anyway," she lied.

She hurried from the dungeons before Pitty could change her mind. Once inside McGonagall's office, the lecture she received on the ways of house-elves was surprisingly brief, given her dubious history with S.P.E.W. After relating the details of the incident, she had little trouble convincing McGonagall that Pitty belonged in the library.

"Thank you," she said after the appropriate arrangements had been made. "I'd feel terrible if an owl ate her."

McGonagall agreed. "I appreciate you bringing this to my attention. It's hardly worth taking a chance when such a simple solution exists."

Hermione smiled, pleased with the all-too-rare sense of accomplishment.

"I'm glad you came to see me, Hermione." McGonagall laced her fingers together and rested her hands upon her desk. "I've been meaning to speak to you for some time on a personal basis."

"Oh?" The serious tone made her wary. "About what?"

"About the arrangements between you and Severus."

"Ah."

"How is ... everything?"

She swallowed. "It's ... um ... fine?"

McGonagall watched her, lips pursed and a somewhat grim expression on her face.

She tried not to squirm as the silence extended, but restraining the movements of both her limbs and tongue proved impossible. "Truly, Minerva ... it's fine. He teaches his students, I teach mine. Your decision to split the classes seems to be working just fine. And in our spare time, I have the laboratory, and he has his ... whatever it is he has," she said, waving her hand through the air. "It's all perfectly fine. We haven't had any issues with sharing the living quarters, so even that has been fine. Overall, I'd say it's just ... um ... it's..."

"Fine?"

She cleared her throat. "Yes."

A movement on the wall caught her eye. Dumbledore materialised within the frame of his portrait and appeared to listen to their conversation with great interest.

"You were hardly fine with the arrangements the night Severus returned," McGonagall said. "And let's not forget the war you two waged against the House points system earlier this year."

She chuckled. "I believe Severus and I have finished our fight over points now."

"I should hope so." McGonagall lifted her chin and sniffed.

Her relationship with Snape had certainly progressed since their initial meeting on Halloween, in this very office. Perhaps it was unwise to try to hide it any longer. "I believe it's safe to say we're done fighting, full stop." She drew a deep breath to gather her courage. Keeping her voice even, she asked, "Might I inquire, Headmistress, as to the rules regarding relationships between staff members?"

Two perfect, pink circles appeared on McGonagall's cheeks.

From his portrait, Dumbledore clapped his fingers together. "Ho-ho, Minerva. I do believe you owe me a bag of sweets!"

McGonagall cast a stern gaze at the wall. "Our wager involved more than a relationship."

"Just a matter of time," he replied, bouncing.

Hermione stopped wondering how it was possible to deliver sweets to a portrait and frowned. Her gaze swivelled back and forth between them, and she barely stopped herself from spluttering. "You've been wagering about this? About Severus and I ... becoming involved?"

"Oh, don't look so appalled, Hermione," McGonagall said. "When you're eighty-seven and headmistress, let's see what you do to occupy your time!"

Living with Snape had taught her the power of a slowly raised eyebrow, and she did not hesitate to employ it now. "I take it you were wagering against us, Minerva?"

Dumbledore chortled while McGonagall became engrossed with tidying the quills on her desk. "You weren't exactly friendly on Halloween!" she pointed out with a huff.

She couldn't help but smile at that. "That's true, of course. I'm still not quite sure how this happened. We despised each other intensely, I assure you."

"Ah, but hate and love are closer than you might think," said Dumbledore.

"No one's mentioned love," Hermione reminded him. There was that blasted word again, creeping into conversations where it had no business. It made her just as uncomfortable now as when it had first floated into her mind. She turned to McGonagall. "We're not in love," she insisted, refusing to examine just whom she was trying to convince. "We care for each other, of course. We have similar interests, and we enjoy each other's company. It's nothing more than a close relationship ... A relationship I'd very much like to continue, if that is acceptable within the boundaries of the school."

McGonagall nodded. "So long as you conduct yourselves with an appropriate level of decorum, I don't perceive any problems with it."

"You can rely on us to act professionally." She was quite proud of her ability to maintain a neutral expression despite her mind filling with memories of their antics in the private storeroom.

"Why are young people so afraid of love?" Dumbledore asked with a sigh.

"I'm not afraid," she protested. "And I'm not exactly young, either."

Her words dragged the corners of his mouth into a rare frown that chased the sparkle from his eyes.

"It's not fear, Headmaster," she assured him. "It's reality. Only a fool would fall in love with someone who will never love them in return."

He slid his half-moon spectacles down his nose and peered at her. "Perhaps," he said. "But refusing to acknowledge love is the act of a fool, as well. And isn't withholding love far worse than foolish? Allowing what could easily be a false assumption to guide such an important decision is dangerous and cruel...to both parties."

It was impossible to hold his gaze without flinching, so she stared at her hands, clasped in her lap. Had she made a false assumption...was there room in Snape's heart for more than Lily?

A fleeting image entered her mind, a misty vision from the memories Snape had given to Harry. She saw the Patronus he had cast, heard his tortured reply of "Always" when Dumbledore had asked if his love for Lily remained. The silver doe wasn't a mere assumption...false or otherwise. It was proof of a love strong enough to transcend both death and time. And it was all the confirmation she needed to know the safeguards around her heart were vital.

She wasn't quite sure how the conversation had taken such a turn, but it was past time to end it. "Thank you for your advice, Headmaster," she said. "But I know what I'm doing."

He dropped his shoulders but replied, "My pleasure," before turning to depart his frame.

Hermione rose from her chair and said, "Goodnight, Headmistress. I appreciate your willingness to change Pitty's duties."

"Goodnight, Hermione." Her gaze did not lift from the neat line of quills upon her desk. Despite having wagered against their relationship, it seemed even McGonagall was disappointed with her response.

Hermione returned to the dungeons, her mood darkening with each step. How many successful relationships had McGonagall and Dumbledore had? What right did they have to judge the way she handled her feelings for Snape? She poured a glass of wine and muttered her way into the kitchen.

The scroll she'd abandoned earlier rested upon the table. She snarled at the paper, surprised her mood could sour any further. With a deep sigh, she abandoned her wine and sat.

Two photographs fell into her lap when she unrolled the length of parchment. The scroll fell from her fingers when she looked down at the first image and froze. Her parents stood before their home. Seemingly unaware of their photographer, they went about their activities, her father watering his prized hydrangeas while her mother stood to the side, sipping from her mug of coffee before laughing at something he had said. The charming scene blurred as Hermione's hand shook.

Dread threatened to steal her breath, but she forced herself to retrieve the second photograph. It took a moment to decipher the image, but when she finally realised what she held in her hand, she stood so fast her chair toppled onto its back. She kicked it aside and stumbled to the sink.

Her stomach rose as she opened the tap for cold water and splashed some upon her face. The photo remained on the table, but she hardly required it to recall the sight of Mikolaj Brukowski, his face unnaturally bloated and discoloured above the rope around his neck. His lifeless eyes were wide open, covered in a milky film that made it clear he'd been dead for several days when the picture had been taken.

As the implication of the combined images sunk in, terror wrapped its icy fingers around her throat. She snatched her wand from the table and cursed the time she had wasted in the headmistress's office. If Lucius had harmed her parents...

She couldn't think of that now, couldn't think of anything but ensuring they were safe. It had been several years since she'd had any need to cast her Patronus, but short of asking McGonagall to reverse the Anti-Disapparation charms on Hogwarts, it was the fastest way to reach them. Her first attempt yielded a feeble grey mist. Fear distracted her, but she pushed it from her mind and focused on finding a strong, positive memory.

"Expecto Patronum!" She jumped when her familiar otter failed to materialise but spoke to the creature that had appeared in its place. "My parents...please go to them, please see if they are in any danger. Tell me if there are any traces of magic other than my own in and around their home."

The animal flew from the kitchen and nearly ploughed into Snape as he entered their living quarters. He cursed and ducked his head, performing an odd little jig that would have been humorous if not for the reason her Patronus had been cast.

He straightened his robes and joined her in the kitchen. "What the devil was that?"

"My Patronus." She turned away, unwilling to examine why its form had changed or what the new guise might symbolise.

"That was not an otter," he said.

She flicked her wand at the tap she'd left running and wondered when he'd had reason or opportunity to learn the shape of her Patronus. Rather than respond to his statement, though, she crossed the room and retrieved her fallen chair.

"What happened in here?" He was beside her in an instant, his hand upon her arm. When she remained immobile, he tugged at her, pulling her around until she was forced to meet his gaze.

"Tell me," he said.

"Lucius. He sent ... He..."

"What? What has he sent now?" His fingertips dug into her shoulder.

She couldn't bring herself to relate the threat, to describe the grisly images, as if giving voice to such horrors would only cause them to manifest. She pointed to the table and said, "He sent those."

He studied each photograph, deep lines creasing his brow. "Your parents?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And Brukowski." It wasn't a question. He set the photos aside and opened the scroll.

"What does it say?" she asked in a whisper.

"You haven't read it?"

She shook her head. "I didn't get past the photos."

He watched her for a moment before scowling at the unfurled length of parchment. "It says, 'Think of all the suffering you could prevent.'"

"I see." How clever Lucius must have thought himself, twisting the plea she had made to him at Arglist, using her own words against her.

"You sent your Patronus to your parents?"

"Yes."

He nodded.

"I'll leave for their home as soon as it returns," she said.

"Do not worry yourself just yet. Lucius will not act until he is certain you have received the scroll. Even then, he will likely wait."

"How can you know that?"

His eyes became hooded. "I've spent enough time inside his mind to understand how it functions." He returned the scroll to the table. "This is a game to him, nothing more than a series of moves and countermoves. He knows exactly what those images will do to you. He's depending on them to terrify you, to stay with you every moment of every day, until you cannot picture your parents without seeing Brukowski's face. Your thoughts will fester and you will become paranoid, too afraid to make any move for fear it might be the wrong one. He will wait until you are convinced the situation is hopeless, and that is when he will strike."

She shuddered. Snape's casual insight chilled her almost as much as Lucius's methods.

"If he's harmed them..."

"He hasn't," he said. "Not yet, at least. He would not bother with such threats if he had any immediate plans to act against them."

She drew strength from his confidence but chewed her lip, debating whether to travel to her parents' home tonight. Fifteen years might have passed, but they were still rather jumpy over the magic she'd used on them during the war. She didn't relish the prospect of worrying them again...especially if, as Snape believed, Lucius was more intent on coercing her than harming them. Once her Patronus returned, she could decide how best to proceed. Waiting only heightened how powerless she felt as she moved around the kitchen in ever-widening circles.

"He has to be stopped," she mumbled.

"And he shall be."

Determination returned like an old, familiar friend. She stopped pacing and lifted her chin. "I'm going to the Ministry tomorrow."

"Don't be rash," he said, teeth clenched. "I realise you are upset, but we agreed I should meet with the Minister alone."

"That was last week. This changes everything."

He folded his arms. "What use do you suppose you will be to your parents...or to the entire population of Muggle-borns for that matter...when you are locked in Azkaban, slowly losing your mind?"

"That's not fair. You know I have to..."

The sudden reappearance of her Patronus halted her argument. She listened to a lengthy report on her parents and felt some of her tension ebbing. Only once she was assured of their safety did she stop to admire the enormous silver bat flapping around their heads. Its wingspan was well over a metre, yet it navigated the room with grace. The large, pointed ears and expressive round eyes actually made for a rather cute face. She had heard the giant fruit bat referred to as a flying fox, and seeing one so close, she could appreciate the resemblance.

Its mission completed, the bat evaporated into a swirl of shimmering mist.

"A bat?" asked Snape. He raised his eyebrows so high they disappeared into the shock of black hair that had fallen across his forehead. "Your Patronus has changed into ... a bat?

She couldn't tell whether his disdain was a result of the change itself or if he simply disliked bats. Whatever the case, she was in no mood to discuss it now.

"I'm going to the Ministry tomorrow, Severus...with or without you," she said.

"We have been over this countless times," he said and scooped the hair from his eyes. "By all means, visit your parents tomorrow ... Content yourself by ensuring they aren't vulnerable. But you must return directly to Hogwarts afterwards."

"I'm not asking for your approval," she countered. "And I hardly require your permission for this." Perhaps the paranoia was already taking hold, but she couldn't stop herself from saying, "You have no right to dictate where I can and cannot go. Just what are you hiding now, anyway? Why are you so determined to keep me away from the Minister?"

"I thought I had made my reasons very clear." His eyes flashed like daggers, a perfect match to the cold steel in his voice. "But perhaps my concern just isn't good enough for you."

She shrank from his vehemence, but his anger quickly shattered her suspicion. "Of course it is," she whispered, closing her eyes. She was no stranger to guilt, yet even the familiar bitterness of regret couldn't replace her unease. "Forgive me, please ... I can't seem to control any of the thoughts running through my head."

He nodded and said, "I understand."

"I'm glad," she said. "I hope you can also understand why I must do this. I will not rest until I've used every means possible to ensure their safety."

His lips mashed together while he studied her. Just when she was certain he would never speak, he sighed and said, "Very well. Tomorrow morning, we shall journey to the Ministry together. But for your own sake, Hermione...please allow me to lead the conversation with the Minister."

She shrugged. "Okay." Unless there's something really important I need to add.

He tucked the scroll and photographs into his robe. She wished she could forget the images so easily, but in this instance at least, out of sight did not equal out of mind. She drained her glass of wine while he watched her through narrowed eyes.

"Shall we try to sleep?" he asked.

With a nod, she accepted his outstretched hand.

He squeezed her fingers. "This will all be over soon," he whispered.

Rather than provide comfort, his words sent goose bumps along her arms. Long after he had fallen asleep beside her, she lay awake and listened to his rhythmic breathing while his reassurance echoed through her head.

This will all be over soon.

A/N: Thanks ever so much to Karelia and Little Beloved for the speedy beta on this chapter!