Introductions

The brisk walk to the Manor heralded no further fanfare, only a moody silence that brewed between the two men and a brooding sense of danger that gripped the young woman in their midst. Once inside, however, Narcissa Malfoy appeared in the large entrance hall and, applying the oozing, saccharine coating to her voice, welcomed both the younger witch and wizard to her magnificent home – which she also described as "humble." The stark difference between the two "humble" homes she had visited today was great indeed – they stood on opposing sides, yet undeniably reflected the lives and personalities of those that lived within their walls.

The Malfoys were elegance personified: smooth, sleek, streamlined features with aristocratic privilege, controlled by the desire of power in every thought, word, movement, and action. All three shared a cold, stunning beauty, as though they were etched from glass. And, despite herself, Hermione was fascinated by this Wizarding family, so unlike her own. To be raised with such favor, to be bestowed with everything and anything money could buy, to be so classically striking, as though specifically bred for perfection – what was that like? She would have questioned the ability for this family to ever feel authentic, genuine love had she not seen it with her own eyes during the War. Truly, the selfless actions of the parents to ensure the safety of their child revealed a depth within the Malfoys that Hermione would have doubted could ever existed had she not witnessed it time and again during that horrible night.

That terrible night, the Malfoys had shattered what was left of Hermione's child-like, monochromatic view of the world. It was not divided simply into black and white, not good and evil, but into varying degrees and shades of gray. It was a forceful reminder to her that not everything is as it seems. Once first acquainted, it seemed a paradox that the pale haired, alabaster-skinned, pristinely gorgeous beings contained such a vicious, seething darkness within. Though by no means were the Malfoys ever redeemed fully in her eyes, she had had to relinquish the vision of them as being soulless creatures, incapable of love, of passion for anything other than power. Ambition. No, Hermione had to realize that they, this family, felt. They were not inhuman.

Next to Hermione stood another enigma. Another walking contradiction. Severus Snape was the antithesis to nearly everything Malfoy. Where they physically resembled the archetypal heroes in a children's fable, Snape unquestionably shared the physical characteristics of the typical villain. The jet-black, greasy hair, the hooked nose, the black eyes, the black attire, the sneer, the calculating eyes: it was all there. He was the black to their white. But it was he who sacrificed everything in the War, beyond the sacrifices of Dumbledore, beyond even the sacrifices of Harry. So deep was his regret, so consuming was his self-hatred, he willingly gave his life to the Cause. Never trusted but by the one man who orchestrated his own death by the hands of Snape, never fully recognized... Hermione knew that in life, nothing is done completely selflessly. Dumbledore's behind-the-scenes actions had taught her that much. Snape was far from a saint. But he was just as far from being a villain.

Here she stood, between the polished Malfoys and the tarnished Snape, reflecting on her own maturity to see through the façade of childish reasoning, when the voices surrounding her breached her consciousness. "Here come Draco and Pansy now!" It was Narcissa's voice that penetrated her contemplations first. She was looking beyond Hermione and Severus, through the crystal glass window next to the door, motioning at two dark silhouettes trudging their way through the snow and albino peacocks.

"Ah, they can meet up with us in the drawing-room," said Lucius as he strolled lazily in front of the group, gesturing grandly to the room off to the left and gently pulling his wife away from the massive oak door. Hermione stole a glance up at Snape as he carefully removed his traveling cloak, bent forward slightly to assist her with her own, and passed them gently into Narcissa's outstretched hands. His expression was closed, his eyes flitting around the room curiously. Narcissa retreated further down the long hall, cloaks resting on her arm. As Lucius led the way into the next room, Hermione whispered out of the corner of her mouth to her employer behind her, "Are there no house-elves?"

He leaned down to her level, his eyes still staring straight ahead, and whispered facetiously into her ear, "I was under the impression that you succeeded in liberating them all."

She smiled at his quip in spite of herself and strode confidently into the room behind their host. The drawing-room was lavish, as ornate as the outside of the house; it contained gilded furnishings, plush, thick carpeting, and a tasteful diamond chandelier that lit the room with a soft, yellow light, enhancing the beauty of every twinkling object in sight. There was a massive, circular, mahogany table spread before them, tea settings laid out for six upon its gleaming surface. At once, Hermione realized that she had not given the bottle of wine to the Malfoys as she was instructed. Panicking, she whirled around to face Snape, trying to indicate the importance of the situation as she harshly whispered, "I didn't give him the wine. Where is the wine? I don't remember..."

"I gave the gifts to Lucius. When he serves you, politely request the wine," he retorted calmly.

"Have a seat, old friend. And you as well, Miss Granger. So, ah... marvelous to have your company, dear." Lucius paused slightly, observing the young woman with a look of intense fascination, and only when the conspicuous clearing of a throat caused Lucius' eyes to shift away from Hermione to meet Snape's did his deep, rich voice continue, "Severus, care for tea? Or should we dive right into the delectable treat you brought with you today?"

The differing implications of his last sentence were not lost on the inhabitants of the room, and there was a tense silence before Snape spoke. "The absinthe, if you please, Lucius."

"Excellent." As Malfoy senior began to busy himself with the preparation of the drink, pulling out the mysterious green bottle with the magically-embossed fairy that the Potions master had given him several moments ago, Snape added, "And the wine, Lucius. The Muggle wine for the young lady." To his credit, Malfoy paused for only an infinitesimal second before resuming his actions with a mumbled assent.

For a short while, the room was silent save for the tinkling of glassware as drinks were prepared and dispensed. Snape had pulled out a chair for Hermione to sit in before taking his own seat to her immediate left. Unfortunately, it was Lucius who took the seat directly to her right, much to Snape's obvious disapproval.

Hermione sipped delicately at her wine, her eyes fluttering from one man to the other as a power play seemed to take place above her. It was a great relief, then, when the three remaining hosts walked into the drawing-room, although the conversation on their lips hushed immediately upon seeing her. Malfoy junior seated himself across from Hermione, motioning for Pansy to take the chair beside him, closest to Snape. A look of sheer fear crossed her features before finally sitting, and she quickly edged closer to her new husband and continued to dart nervous looks at the sour man to her right. Severus drank the green liquid he was served with a sense of blissful obliviousness to Pansy's distress and stood once more when Narcissa waltzed by, smelling of expensive perfume and handing glasses of elven wine to her son and daughter-in-law before seating herself in the last available chair, next to her husband.

Once the dance was completed and everyone was positioned around the table, seated somewhat comfortably with their respective beverages, the stilted conversation began. "We missed you at Bellatrix's funeral, Severus. Of any funeral, I would have thought you would have deigned to visit hers," stated Lucius pompously as he winked slyly at Hermione, watching with undisguised glee as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"And why is that?" drawled Snape, cocking an eyebrow. All eyes turned to the patriarch Malfoy.

Lucius chuckled. "I had always thought you harbored some... feelings toward her, young friend."

"Feelings?" Snape tilted his now nearly empty reservoir glass to one side, seemingly admiring the way the light played off the last remains of the foul liquid inside. An angry glance at Draco from his father caused the young man to leap from his chair and rush to refill a small portion into Snape's glass before darting off, only to return moments later with a pitcher of ice water, a silver sugar bowl stacked with sugar cubes, and a pewter slotted spoon before reseating himself.

"The budding of first love, perhaps?" Lucius' icy, gray eyes glittered. "A young, eleven-year-old boy and the infinitely experienced girl six years his senior?"

Draco glanced at Snape with the look of idolatry in his eyes. "Eleven?"

Pansy's eyes passed back and forth between Draco and Snape's faces with an expression of utter confusion. "What's so strange about that? Loads of eleven-year-olds fall in love..."

"Allow me to enlighten you, then, Madam Malfoy..." Severus' features took on a hard, predatory look as Hermione, Draco, and Pansy all stared at him in rapt attention. He had never seemed quite as vicious as he did then, grinning triumphantly at his former Slytherin student as she withered under his gaze. Narcissa quietly interrupted with a harsh whisper. "Severus, don't!"

The grin grew even wider as, much to Draco's obvious dismay, Severus simply acquiesced, nodding to Narcissa with mock contrition. The room fell silent. The newest addition to the Malfoy family continued to search the faces around the table in a slight panic, hoping to see the answer to her question written in the expressions of those surrounding her. Then, quite suddenly, Pansy seemed to finally understand the implication in Lucius' earlier statement, as her cheeks began to flame and her eyes, almost imperceptively, narrowed.

Hermione, puzzled by this emotional display of her former Slytherin classmate, had, of course, understood the Malfoy senior's meaning immediately, but preferred to not dwell on the imagery that it manifested within her mind. In fact, upon hearing and deciphering this news, she quickly ignored it, preferring immeasurably to pretend it had never been revealed. So it was thus that Hermione, other than the two older men, was the only occupant in the room that was not visibly startled by the information, and she lifted her glass of wine to her lips, took a delicate sip, and smiled serenely at the witches and wizards gathered around her. This action, done while everyone else seemed to be frozen where they sat, earned her Snape's full attention. Looking down at her, he gave her a tiny hint of a smile. An actual, genuine smile.

Then it occurred to Hermione that, in addition to anti-poisoning agents and crushed beozar, she tasted a hint of Calming Draught. She knew that she should be inconsolably angry, but as it seemed tranquility itself flowed through her veins, she decided she could revisit these feelings of betrayal and distrust and confront him about it later. She focused her attention back to Pansy – the witch was glaring openly at her behind eyes now so narrowed they were nearly shut. Hermione cocked her head to the side in a quizzical fashion while she stole another sip of her wine.

Hermione was not the only one who had noticed the young woman's actions. Draco had followed Pansy's eyes as she stared at Snape with an expression that the young Malfoy heir had never seen before. He saw the exchange, the smile, between the Potions master and his apprentice. He felt a response from Pansy instantly: her muscles became taut and stiff, a heat radiated from her; she seemed poised to leap across the table at the young witch opposite. Suddenly feeling enraged, Draco broke the silence as he snarled, "What are you two doing here anyway?"

Narcissa quickly admonished Draco for such ill-manners, but he paid her no mind, centering his attention instead entirely on Snape. His former teacher drawled, "Bad form to interrogate guests, Mr. Malfoy." Snape slowly pulled a single cigarette from within his robes, and with a snap of his fingers,the cigarette was magically lit. He took an infuriatingly long pull off the cigarette, and Draco watched in escalating tension as the man parted his lips, allowing the smoke to pour out. "Try asking me again, Mr. Malfoy, a bit more... politely."

Completely incensed, the young Malfoy sputtered a bit before finally asking, through clenched teeth, "May I inquire as to what business you have here, Professor Snape?"

"You may." Another long pull off the cigarette. Hermione tried desperately to hide her grin. She must have failed, as Draco's jaw clenched tighter still when he glanced at her. There was a significant pause as the young man tried to compose himself.

"Professor Snape, what is your business here?" Draco tried again. Hermione tilted her head to observe the Potions master. She, too, had been very curious as to why they were there, why he would bring her here, of all places. She sipped her drink again as she joined Draco in awaiting Snape's reply. She noticed that, out of the corner of her eye, Pansy suddenly looked down into her lap, avoiding her husband's questioning gaze.

"Well?" screamed Draco, abandoning all attempts at controlling his temper. A tiny metal creature resembling an insect scurried across the table to Snape and halted directly under the cigarette before its entire back broke open, unfolding itself over and over until it spread out nearly six inches in diameter. The rest of its body followed suit until it became nothing more than a small, steel bowl, catching the ash that crumbled off the end of Snape's cigarette. Hermione found it suddenly odd that she was so enthralled by a magical item, so intently focused on it, that she nearly missed the conversation that was taking place around her. She wondered briefly if it was another effect of the Calming Draught, or if something else had been slipped into the wine. She wrenched her attention back to the argument, hearing just a small snippet:

"No, no, no! I refuse to let my wife go back to that fucking castle with that bastard," Draco punched a well-manicured finger into the air, pointing at a smirking Snape, "or that damned, filthy Mudblood..."

A sharp, resounding crack caused both Hermione and Pansy to visibly flinch. Snape had leapt to his feet, allowing his chair to dive to the hard floor, while leaning over the table and shoving his wand against the young man's throat. It was a movement that was so fast, so graceful, that Draco had utterly failed to pull his own wand out in time. Instead, he squirmed under the hard stare of the man before him, a proud sneer on his face even as he attempted to back away.

"Do not ever say that word in my presence again," growled Snape. "Is that clear?" When the young Malfoy opened his mouth to retort, Snape's wand dug deeper into his skin, causing Draco to gag and wheeze.

"Severus, kindly remove your wand from my son's jugular and aim it elsewhere," Narcissa hissed with such a calm, icy chill that both Pansy and Draco shuddered. Unnoticed until this moment, she had risen to her feet just as Snape's chair rebounded against the floor, aiming her own wand at her former classmate's profile. Snape seemed to ignore her, focusing intently instead on the writhing boy before him. Hermione's eyes met those of a fearful Pansy. Palpable energy sizzled and audibly buzzed around the room.

Lucius leisurely stood, unaffected by the tension surrounding him. "Narcissa, if you would please take Draco to the kitchen and administer something to calm him." It was less a request than a polite, gentle command. His wife slowly lowered her wand, her eyes never wavering from her target as she slid between her child and the older wizard and tenderly pulled Draco to safety, holding on to him as though he might collapse as she led him out of the room.

Lucius turned to Snape and motioned for him to take his seat. "I'm truly sorry," and here he still addressed his apology solely to Snape, never once glancing Hermione's way, "my son's thoughtless words were both rash and beyond rude." For dramatic effect, Lucius stooped slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a long-suffering sigh. "My family has graciously been given a second chance, and we are among the first to volunteer to reform this vile prejudice..." His speech droned on and on, and Hermione found that she could no longer listen to the blatant lies that were pouring from Malfoy's mouth. Instead, her mind reeled over Snape's reaction to a word that she, truthfully, had learned long ago to dismiss. Severus Snape. Former Death Eater. Upset over a word like "Mudblood"? Why the hell am I here? she wondered.

Snape reseated himself next to her, then glanced her over, as though to make sure she was all right. She gave him a puzzled look in return. Perhaps I've been drugged with a confounding ingredient also? she pondered. Her thoughts didn't make sense to her, her mind was completely disorganized. That, in itself, would have angered and frightened Hermione beyond all sense, yet... she felt extremely at ease, utterly immune. She didn't seem able to grasp onto her anger when it flared, or if she did, she was unable to retain it.

Snape smoked the cigarette, tapping the accumulated ash into the small bowl. The paper-wrapped stick of tobacco had never left the fingers of his left hand, even during the dangerous confrontation just moments ago. Pansy trembled like a leaf in her seat, darting glances at Hermione, Snape, and her father-in-law, looking as though she was ready at a moment's notice to flee the scene.

Lucius peered at Pansy curiously, then said, "Ah, don't worry dear, Draco will be fine. Being coddled like a whelp by his mother, no doubt." He mistook Pansy's obvious signs of fear as concern for her husband – or, he just chose to invalidate her emotions; Hermione was unsure. Either way, Pansy's shivering grew more intense under his gaze.

Snape reached into his robes and pulled out a small scroll. He unrolled it carefully and slid it across the table to the young witch. "The agreement. Read over it and sign it if you find it amenable."

She reached for it with shaking hands and perused it quickly. "I...I agree," she stammered. "W...Where is the quill?"

Snape smiled and handed her a quill he had retrieved from the depths of his robes. "You agree to everything, Mrs. Malfoy? Think over it carefully, for the consequences of breaking the contract will be dire. You will obey my every instruction and command?" Pansy nodded her assent. "You will treat me with respect?" Again, she nodded, though faintly. Hermione watched the goings on with confusion. "You will treat all faculty, staff, and apprentices with equal respect?" Another nod. "Above all, you agree to report directly to Hermione Granger and treat her as you would treat me? Should she have any complaint of your behavior, or find you wanting in any area of potions work, you will be dismissed, is that clear?" Hermione mirrored her expression as Pansy nodded once more, numbly. "Then it is agreed." Pansy lifted the quill from his hand and signed the parchment with a small gasp and a wince. In horror, Hermione saw that the ink the quill drew was not ink at all, but blood from the back of Pansy's hand, reminding Hermione of the sadistic torture Harry endured under Umbridge. This time, she caught the anger boiling within her and held it tight.

The parchment glowed a brilliant gold, the light illuminating the entire room, before it emitted a soft pop and ceased to exist. "Mrs. Malfoy, if you would be so kind to greet your fellow apprentice." Pansy swayed as she stood, bracing herself on the table as she extended her hand to Hermione for a shake. Hermione, however, screamed.

***

The rest of the events within Malfoy Manor passed in a blur for Hermione. She vaguely remembered a feeling of guilt when she had glimpsed Pansy's expression as she had screamed. She had a sliver of a memory of a bag of jingling coins being handed to Snape from Lucius, and then to her from Snape moments later when they were alone with something spoken to her about needing to purchase her own supplies for brewing. She faintly recalled Snape's quick farewells as he led her out the door and steadied her with his hands. But that was all she could remember. Once outside, near the entrance gate to the Manor, standing in the snow in the late afternoon sun as it slowly set in the horizon, things seemed much clearer. Her mind tidied itself up, no longer under that strange spell that caused it to wander aimlessly. Her anger was quick, and it flooded her senses, causing her limbs to twitch with the need to physically relieve the rage boiling inside by throttling the man beside her.

The man, however, seemed not only to sense this urgent necessity brewing within the young apprentice to tear him limb from limb, but he seemed to welcome it as he stood near her on the lawn, spreading his arms out to each side. And faced with this opportunity, Hermione did not even slightly hesitate as she strode up to him, glaring into his laughing eyes, and slapped him soundly with every ounce of strength in her, every molecule of anger against current and past injustices guiding her hand to his cheek. He was hit with such force that his head snapped to the side with the sickening sound of neck bones popping, his entire body following his head as it spun to the opposite side. He was airborne for a moment before landing a foot away, breathing ragged, in the snow. She silently gasped in awe of her own power, never doubting for a moment that magic had played a vital part in her attack.

She stood resolutely, unsympathetically, as she waited for him to rise. She welcomed any kind of retaliation. She cared not for consequences. Her hand hurt, but her anger was not yet fully released. He slowly picked himself up, brushing snow off his clothes. He shook his head violently as though trying to regain his wits. There was a hushed silence across the expansive hills of the Malfoy Manor lawn. Snape staggered to her, staring into her eyes with an emotion that Hermione couldn't place. "How dare you..." he began in a deep growl.

Fear and anger once again compelled her as she advanced on him and, once reaching him, kneed him solidly, forcefully, powerfully in the groin, effectively rendering him unable to continue his sentence. He crumpled before her with a hiss of pain before rolling over, away from her direction, and violently vomiting. Her anger dissipated immediately, replaced by guilt, shame, and another rush of fear. Haltingly, she stepped forward to his prostrate form.

He seemed to be bracing himself for another assault. His teeth and jaw were clenched, but as he looked up at her, she saw no rage in his eyes. She noticed a bruise already forming on the side of his face. She stumbled backward. He raised himself onto his elbows, then his knees, then into a kneeling position, and finally into something that could barely be called a stand, before collapsing and retching into the sparkling snow once again.

Hermione's eyes were wide as saucers in pure fear as she watched him struggle to right himself. What have I done? she mentally shrieked. As she fought hard to gain control of the situation, she remembered her state within the Malfoy home. The wine. The drugged feeling. "Did you drug me?" she suddenly shouted at him. "The Calming Draught? And something else? Answer me!" He flinched.

"No... Miss Grang...... S...something... drink... f-felt... it too..." he hissed in between deep, gulping breaths.

"What?" she demanded, though her voice had lost its edge. "You felt it too?" He nodded, then spat out what looked like the remains of sick. She sighed, stooped down to help him up, valiantly ignoring his attempts to pull away. "If you're going to be sick again, let me know, so I can...I'll hold your hair," she said softly, in a much more gentle voice, though her tone was dripping with uncertainty and fright even as she attempted to channel Molly Weasley's shrewd and matronly attitude. "And I'll Apparate us both back to Hogwarts. Come on, that's it. Quit being so proud and lean on me! I can steady us both." With a plan of action, she could ignore the pangs of guilt and overwhelming shame. Together they staggered through the gate to the Apparition point – she attempting to focus on anything but what just happened, and he just trying to stifle groans of pain and the need to be sick.

Author's Note – Happy New Year to all!

Huge, huge gratitude and loads of hugs to my beta (a brave soul who voluntarily wades through my ocean of mistakes with nay a compliant), Angel Mischa, and to Amsev, who has provided invaluable assistance with various aspects of this chapter and the next. Without these two, this story would not exist. And as aways, any mistakes remaining are mine, because I tend to not listen very well. ADD and all.

Oh! And just explain a little about Hermione's violence: First, if you were dragged to a "tea party" with questionable and dodgy people, then found yourself subsequently drugged you'd be pretty upset as well. Second, let's face it, Snape's been a git. Third, there is evidence in canon of Hermione's violent outbursts (i.e. punching Draco in third year, the painful canary incident with Ron, and so on). Fourth, I wanted Snape's crotch to make an entrance somewhere in this chapter. Seeing as going around and flashing everyone is a bit out of character, this will have to do. Rest assured, he's very angry with me right now.

Up Next: Snape's three-piece suit? Twig and berries? Wedding tackle?