Revelations

A/N: For those readers easily squicked, please skip the first part of this chapter. It's not too graphic, but still. Don't skip the entire chapter, however, because you do find out something important! Thanks.

******

"Severus, come on. It's really not that bad."

In response, the irate Potions master crossed his arms and sneered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We don't have time for your childish theatrics, Severus. Now, come on."

"I feel ridiculous," he muttered.

"Well, you look good," she said, and she blushed at the warm look in his eyes. It was true. The green scrubs fitted him nicely, baring his arms and his neck.

"Well, in that case..." he purred, smiling.

"Let's go," Hermione said, pulling him through the foreboding double doors. She shivered, and she didn't know if it was due to the cool mortuary or the feel of Severus' skin beneath her fingers.

She thus entered the mortuary in St. Mungo's, a familiar resigned acceptance weighing her down. When she had first started at Special Investigations, she had considered the idea of going back to school for pathology. The idea of finding killers based on the evidence of the bodies they left behind had excited her.

Now, however, she thought only of another victim, lying dead on a cold, indifferent mortuary slab.

For this case, Hermione and her partner had been working specifically with one brilliant pathologist. Desdemona Drake was extremely intelligent, efficient, and did not water down her findings, much to Henry's chagrin. She was tall, wiry, and her dark hair was cropped and streaked with blood red highlights. Hermione had once gone out to drinks with Des, where the pathologist had spent the better part of the night regaling Hermione with tales of her days as a young Healer trainee, the most gruesome of which involved an overly eager wizard and a Muggle vacuum cleaner. The night had ended with drunken discussions about how one could commit murder and get away with it. Hermione had noticed that the men in the bar carefully avoided their booth.

Des, completely covered by the required plastic gloves and the protective robes and face mask, was removing the brain from Catherine Abbot's corpse, a pensive look upon her lovely face. She carefully placed the brain on a set of scales, dutifully cataloguing the weight.

"Hermione," she said. "Bit late, I see. Your partner is already here."

Des nodded her head towards Henry, who was determinedly studying the ceiling, his face a sick shade of green.

Des quickly flicked her eyes towards Hermione and Severus.

"Severus Snape," she said emotionlessly as she carefully placed the brain to one side. "So glad you could join us."

Des nodded her head once and washed her gloved hands.

"Guess what I found?" she asked proudly.

Hermione smiled at her tone.

"Five small, circular bruises. Consistent with fingers, Hermione. I'm hoping we'll be able to lift a print."

Henry, his eyes tightly shut, grimaced. "Where was it, Des?"

Des laughed. "Henry, you look like you're going to faint."

Hermione stifled a giggle when she noticed the self-righteous smirk on Severus' face.

"Her left cubital fossa...her inner arm at the elbow," Des answered him, still smiling. "I don't know what information we can get from it.... It's not that clear. But it's something, at least."

"Anything else, Des?" Hermione asked.

The pathologist shook her head. "Well, judging from the temperature readings when we found her, she's been dead for three, four days. Stomach contents consisted of sausage and eggs. This girl was killed after she finished breakfast, Hermione.... You should check into her schedule. Did she regularly go anywhere in the mornings?"

Hermione shrugged. "Ask Henry. He's been on the paper trail."

Henry opened his eyes and groaned as Des extracted the heart and lungs enbloc from the open chest cavity.

"Yeah," he mumbled, visibly sickened. "She didn't go many places other than work...she was working as a journalist at the Daily Prophet. She had a boyfriend. He's still being questioned. Mother died in childbirth. Father's in Azkaban for tax evasion. We're hoping the boyfriend will give us something."

Des shrugged. "It's something to think about, anyways," she said as she used her wand to separate a lung.

"Any signs of curses to immobilise her?" asked Hermione.

Des frowned. "That's what's weird, Hermione. Nothing typical. We've got the puncture wound, consistent with the other victims. And the bruising. It's almost as if... she knew him. Very little signs of struggle."

"And you believe the potion was responsible for her death?" asked Severus abruptly. Hermione was surprised. He had only reluctantly agreed to come with her and had spent the entire time unusually silent.

"I do, yes," Des replied. "I still have to take samples for the tox screening--blood and tissue samples--so I'll know more then. But if it's like the other four, chances are that we won't find anything unusual."

"What about the blood?" asked Severus.

Des grinned appreciatively. "Haven't done that yet. You're a Potions master, right?"

Severus nodded.

"Then you're qualified, if you want to help me."

Severus stepped past Hermione almost eagerly.

"A man after my own heart," the pathologist joked, looking Severus up and down. "If you weren't a convicted murderer, Snape, I might even consider dating you."

He smiled slowly in reply. "I've got until Friday. If Granger doesn't mind, that is," he purred, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Hermione resolutely ignored the sudden sharp stab of irrational jealousy.

"And a sense of humour!" Des quipped, turning to Hermione. "Why is it that all the good ones are either taken or crazy?"

"That is the problem, isn't it?" she replied smoothly.

Standing next to Des, Severus took a large syringe and stabbed the victim's leg, sliding the needle in gently. He slowly withdrew the plunger, careful lest he apply too much pressure and collapse the vein. Hermione noticed with appreciation the intense look of concentration upon his face. She didn't know a person in the world who could match Severus' intensity. He simultaneously frightened and excited her.

With a flick of her wand, Des transferred the blackish-red sample to a vial.

"You'll have to give me a day or two before results, Hermione," Des said. "I'll contact you once I've written up a report."

The double doors swung open before Hermione could reply. Surprised, she looked towards the entrance and saw her boss. His hair was tousled, and he was frowning.

"Granger. Come out here. I need to talk to you." Solomon's voice was insistent, and Hermione shrugged her shoulders and snapped off her gloves.

"Okay, sir." Hermione stepped out of the mortuary. "I was going to check in with you after, sir."

She followed him into an unused office.

"Shut the door, Granger."

Perplexed, she did as asked and turned towards her boss.

"Listen," he said. "I talked with Henry earlier.... I think we should take Snape back to Azkaban."

Hermione's eyes widened. "But Severus is working on the potion, sir. He'll figure it out. I know he will."

Solomon shook his head. "He could, Hermione. That's true. But I'm more concerned about you. And so is Henry. I know that I asked you to do this. I did so against my better judgement. That... monster in there doesn't deserve this. He's too dangerous."

"He's done nothing to me," Hermione protested.

"We can find Angel some other way. There's always another way."

"Perhaps we could. After he kills another witch. And another. Until he slips up somehow. Is that what you want, Solomon? Severus is the best chance we have. He can't hurt me. He's bound by me."

"Henry told me that earlier, you stuck up for him. Snape."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, Grayson's just upset because he lost a little verbal sparring match with Severus." Despite herself, she found herself almost grinning at the memory. She had forgotten how ruthlessly Severus could take someone's self-esteem and shatter it with a few well-placed insults. She had also forgotten how utterly attractive she found this trait.

Solomon cocked his head inquisitively and stared at her. "What happened between you two, Hermione?"

She didn't know what to tell him. Three years ago, Solomon had caught Hermione sobbing in her office, clutching the front page of the day's Daily Prophet. An extensive article, written by none other than Rita Skeeter, had described in lurid detail the life and crimes of Severus Snape, Death Eater and murderer. Snape's visage had scowled ferociously from the front page. Solomon had gently unclenched her fist and taken the paper from her. He had kneeled next to her sobbing form and simply put his arm around her. Ever since that moment, Hermione had been driven in her work by an almost obsessive dedication to her boss. And until this moment, Solomon had never asked what had happened between her and her professor.

"Solomon," she whispered. "That was so long ago. It doesn't matter anymore."

"But it does, Hermione. It does. Because I fear that you... care for him. And you can't. You can't care for him."

"Sir..."

"No. Listen to me." He was angry again, and Hermione found she was almost scared of him. She could feel magic pouring from him in powerful waves. He stepped closer to her and grabbed her rather roughly by the arm.

"Listen to me," he growled. "You may think you know him, Hermione. You may even start to believe he's innocent. That he was set up somehow. You can't. I won't let you. I was there, Hermione, at his trial. I saw him, and I know a guilty man when I see one. He is not a man. He is a monster, and you can't forget that."

"Solomon, don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"Hermione, you don't understand." His grip on her arm tightened almost painfully, and Hermione wondered if she would have a bruise in the morning. She looked at her boss closely. He inhaled sharply, and Hermione saw tears glittering in his eyes.

"You see, Hermione," he continued, his voice now shaky with emotion. "Snape killed nine people that one night. What I never wanted to tell you was... Emma Rochester. He murdered my wife that night. My wife." His voice cracked.

Hermione swayed, and for an awful moment she thought she was going to faint. Only Solomon's grip was mooring her to reality. What had she done? Her sins ran through her mind like a never-ending litany. She had loved him, lusted after him, formed a truce with him. And she would have let him fuck her against her kitchen wall. She closed her eyes. How could she be a good person with all of this standing as evidence against her? What would Harry think if he were still here? Harry, who was all that was good and heroic in her mind. And Solomon. How could he even look her in the eye, knowing that she had actually smiled whilst remembering the man who had remorselessly killed his wife and eight other people?

"Solomon. I... I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

He shook his head. "Hermione, I am not telling you this to make you feel guilty. I'm telling you this to remind you of what Snape really is."

"I understand, sir."

"Now," he continued. "I think we should take him back to Azkaban."

She exhaled unsteadily. "Please, sir. That won't be necessary. I... I'll be in control now. If he can figure out what that potion is... if he can help catch Angel, then it will be worth it."

Solomon sighed. "But only if you're sure, Hermione. You need to be sure."

"I am," she declared, hoping her voice sounded strong.

"Fine. You have until Friday morning. But then we are taking him back to Azkaban, where he belongs."

"Should I send you my report about the potion tonight, sir?"

He nodded. "Yes. It won't be necessary to come in. Just write it up and owl it to me."

"Thank you for telling me," she said quietly.

In response, Solomon gently pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. He rested his chin on her head, and Hermione felt completely safe from the world around her.

"Be safe, Granger," he said as he pulled away from her and left the room.

She was stunned.

In the few moments it took for her to walk back into the mortuary, she considered her life. Her choices. Her morals. Her internally held beliefs of right and wrong.

It's the things we choose. What we choose makes us.

She believed Dumbledore had said something similar at one point. She had never fully understood it until now.

Until now, she had simply reacted to certain catalysts in her life. Harry, Severus, Solomon. Important people came into her life and out of it just as quickly. From Harry, she had learned bravery and friendship. From Severus, love and heartache. From Solomon, loyalty and dedication. What was she to do now with all of these lessons, now when her heart yearned for the one thing that directly opposed her lifelong moral convictions? What was she to choose?

She quietly entered the mortuary and observed Severus. He was talking with Des, his eyes alight with new discoveries. Her stomach twisted painfully. How could she love this man to the very depths of her being, when she knew what he had done? What did that say about her?

Shaking her head, Hermione resolutely decided that she was not going to answer those questions immediately. It didn't matter. All that mattered was what she was going to do now.

******

Hermione refused to talk to Severus until they arrived home. He went immediately to his cauldron to check the potion. When she confronted him, her voice shook with anger.

"I talked to my boss tonight," she began. "My boss, Solomon. Solomon Rochester." She imagined that her voice sounded cold and harsh.

Severus stopped stirring and looked at her. "Rochester?" he asked sharply.

"What, does that name sound familiar, Severus? Ring a bell at all?" She walked closer to him, and her hand itched to slap him across his face.

For one fleeting moment, Hermione thought that she saw Severus' eyes grow dark with regret and guilt. Almost the instant she recognized it, however, it was gone.

"No," he said calmly as he looked down into the cauldron. "I can't say that it does."

Her hand tingled again, and before she even knew what she was doing, Hermione closed the distance between her and Severus and slapped him as hard as she could. She saw her handprint white upon his face.

Severus brought his hand up to his face and touched his cheek. His lips quirked.

"Why, Miss Granger," he said, clearly amused. "I had no idea you liked it so... rough."

Still momentarily stunned with her daring, Hermione barely registered what he was saying. She expected him at any moment to start raging. At the very least, she expected him to take points from Gryffindor. She most certainly did not expect him to start chuckling. Her eyes narrowed.

"What...what are you doing? I just slapped you!"

His laughter slowed. "I'm sorry if I offended you, Hermione. I just didn't think you had it in you."

"You deserved that," she whispered, and she believed the words as she said them.

"Yes. I most likely deserve much more." He had stopped laughing now and stood before her, his hands clenched at his sides.

"Oh, Hermione," he said quietly, and his voice shook. "What have we come to?"

She looked away from him. She looked out her window, imagining that she was somewhere else. Someone else.

"Did you kill her, Severus? I need to know. Just tell me."

He placed his fingers under her chin and gently turned her face back towards him.

"Emma?" he asked. "Emma Rochester?"

She nodded, and Hermione was suddenly very afraid of his answer.

"I did."

Hermione felt a lone tear slide slowly down her cheek. Severus brushed it away with the pad of his thumb.

"Do you regret it?"

"I've regretted it everyday since."

She nodded and stepped away from his hand, warm upon her face. "I need to leave," she breathed. Hermione walked out of the kitchen but paused as she reached the door. She cursed herself for her weakness.

"Severus," she said, unable to turn around to face him. "If you could go back, would you have done things differently? Would you have... chosen me?"

His voice, when it came, was soft. "I've had seven years to answer that question to my own satisfaction, Hermione. And I can only tell you that I quite simply don't know."

She gripped the doorframe. When she left, tears were silently streaming down her face.

******

Severus stood in the kitchen, alone. He heard the door shut behind Hermione, and the sound jarred him out of his memories. His nightmares.

He tried desperately to summon an anger he just did not feel. He had every right to be angry with her, the foolish woman. She judged him too hastily. She didn't know all of the facts, and he would be damned if he told her what she did not ask.

No. She would have to come to the right conclusions herself.

He opened the refrigerator in a desperate hope to find something strong and mind-numbing. Fuck her and her potion. He did not sign up for this.

He saw a bottle of wine on the counter out of the corner of his eye. Dark, red wine. She always had enjoyed wine. He rummaged through her cupboards in search of wine glasses. When he found them, crammed behind several large, colourful mugs, he realized with a start that they were his. Or used to be. Apparently, Miss Granger had gone into his quarters and took his wine glasses as... as what? A souvenir? He shook his head. Foolish Gryffindor sentimentality.

He poured himself a full glass of wine and headed for his room, taking both the glass and the bottle with him. If she felt it was appropriate to take the evening off, then far be it from him to protest.

He grabbed a book and sat on his bed. Settling in, he tried to focus on the words before him. He had royally buggered up his life once again. First Lily. Now Hermione. Somehow, he always managed to hurt those closest to him.

But they hurt you, too.

It mattered not, now. He would be back in Azkaban in two days time.

Briefly, he thought back to their little interlude in her kitchen. She had been so responsive, so deliciously open to possibilities. He remembered her skin, hot beneath his caress. Her eyes, darkened with arousal. Her throat tasted like honey and tears. Sweet and salty on his tongue.

Cursing, he realised he was painfully hard. Quickly, he got up and shut his door, wishing he had a wand for a Silencing Spell, but no matter. There was no one to hear him.

Severus returned to his bed and let his mind wander over his more erotic dreams of late. Hermione, kneeling before him, her mouth tight and hot around his cock. Sprawled deliciously naked across his bed, saying delightfully wicked things as he fucked her. Pressed against the wall as he pounded into her, her eyes alight with lust and love.

"Gods, Hermione," he muttered raggedly before reaching into his robes and unbuttoning his trousers. He took his cock in hand and pumped painfully hard.

Fuck me, Severus, she said in his mind, and he groaned.

I need you, Severus, she moaned as he licked her to completion.

I love you, Severus, she whispered as he made love to her slowly and sweetly on her bed.

"Yes, I love you too!" he shouted as he came.

Severus closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. He tucked himself back into his pants and sighed. Forgoing his glass, he reached resignedly for the wine bottle. He needed to drink until he couldn't remember anymore.

******

A/N: Thanks to my beta, mgm86, and the admins at TPP. Couldn't do it without you! The invaluable reets67 gets credit for everything autopsy-related in this chapter. And to reviewers--keep letting me know what you think! Especially now, as you know Severus is guilty... maybe.