Concern for Your Immortal Soul

Chapter 3 Concern for Your Immortal Soul

"Did it never occur to you, Miss Granger, to locate your Apparition point at the top of the hill rather than at the bottom?"

"Yes, it did, but there's no decent cover at the top, just rocks and the lighthouse."

Really, he thought, he shouldn't be complaining: if she made this climb at least once a day, that would account for the firmness of her gluteals...now precisely at his eye level, several paces in front of him.

The initial shock had worn off slightly, and his lascivious interest in her arse had reasserted itself, compelled as he was to observe its movement as he climbed the steps behind her.

"It's not far now; that blue house just up there." Damn the girl, she wasn't even out of breath. He, on the other hand, was collecting more firsthand evidence of the health benefits of ten years' confinement in a cell the size of the average bathroom.

They entered the house through a side door, passing through her wards into a high-ceilinged sunlit room lined on one side with books and on the other with laboratory equipment. The room evidently spanned the width of the house, as the wall opposite the entrance sported a pair of French doors that gave onto a small balcony overlooking the ocean.

His gaze swept over the ranks of gleaming equipment: shelves upon shelves of cauldrons, burners, glassware, stainless steel utensils, protective gear. In one corner stood an apparatus that looked like a complicated multihead shower.

"Is that a HazPot station?"

"Yes, it is," she said proudly. "The latest model, from Paracelsus Supply. I ordered it last month."

Snape felt an acid wave of envy wash over him.

"Professor? You should sit down; you're not looking at all well. Shall I put the kettle on?"

He nodded brusquely. Just leave, please. Go away and leave me alone in this beautiful, terrible room.

She did not leave, however. Instead, she set a pot of water to boil on a laboratory burner and procured a tray of tea things from one of the cabinets.

God damn it all to hell. This was supposed to be my life.

Except that in his version it had always been Barbados.

That vision, of Life After the War, had sustained him through many a long, dark night of double servitude; many a morning spent recovering from a punitive round of Cruciatus dealt out by the Dark Lord. He would lie in his bed, drowning in pain and fear, and imagine how life would be: a modest business of his own, managed from a sunny cottage much like this one. Mornings spent brewing potions for a small, exclusive clientele; afternoons sitting, book in hand, on a veranda, sipping drinks with tiny umbrellas stuck in them.

It had been a healing balm for his frayed nerves and ulcerous stomach, that vision. A place for his mind to go when the immediate reality became intolerable.

After the War he would be warm.

After the War he would answer to no one.

After the War he would be free.

Instead, ten years later, he was once again in thrall. Pale and weak from his stint in Azkaban, his profound dread of being sent back there making him willing to serve, to scheme, to lie. Full circle, no closer to his dream after a decade of fear and cold and misery and exhaustion.

A chirruping noise had begun to emanate from the napkin-covered basket that Hermione had set on the floor by the French doors; on hearing it, she crossed the room and removed the napkin to reveal a brown and white guinea pig. "What a good girl you are," she crooned, scooping the creature up and carrying her out to a small hutch on the balcony.

"You've stolen their napkin," Snape said mildly when she returned.

She looked down at the cloth in her hand and shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first thing I've stolen," she said, "and I don't expect it will be the last. I imagine they'll get over it." She glanced a little nervously towards a high bookshelf, and he followed her gaze to see a row of ancient tomes with Spanish titles on their thick spines.

He regarded her with frank astonishment. "Miss Granger, is it possible that you have stolen books from the Salamanca University library?"

"All things are possible, Professor."

Sarcasm enriched the dark voice. "I'm shocked that you have so little concern for your immortal soul."

"I beg your pardon?"

"If I recall correctly, there is a prominently displayed papal declaration in that library, threatening the excommunication of anyone who removes or defaces a book."

"One, I'm not Catholic, so I don't give a rat's arse about excommunication; and two, I'm just borrowing them. I'll return them when I'm finished. No one reads that stuff but me anyway." And then, in response to his look, "What?"

"Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?"

She gave him a long look. Finally she said, "I survived her."

"Fair enough." He took the cup of tea she was offering him and spooned sugar into it. "So, would you like to tell me about this Invisibility Potion? Is that something of your own devising?"

"It is, yes. Do you remember Fred and George's Peruvian Darkness Powder?"

He shook his head.

"No, I don't suppose you would; you weren't exactly in their inner circle, were you?"

"Hardly." He took a sip. Not surprisingly, she made very good tea.

"Well, I went there...Peru, I mean...looking for the source of that powder. I figured if it had the power to suck the light out of a room, there must be other things it was good for."

"And you found it?"

"Yes, it's a plant, Carica parviflora, from the Tumbes-Piura forests. The powder is made from its flowers, which are quite tiny."

Aaand, she's off, thought Snape. This was the Hermione Granger he remembered: absorbed in her subject, her voice earnest, her eyes shining, absolutely convinced that everyone else found whatever arcane subject she was researching as fascinating as she.

Which...at least in this case...he did. "So," he said, "you found a source for this plant?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "It's a woody shrub about a meter high. It blooms twice a year, which naturally is when they collect the flowers. I dug up several specimens and brought them back and planted them in the greenhouse."

"You have these plants growing here?"

"Yes, of course," she said impatiently. "But that's not the interesting part. Here's what's fascinating. I used some of the roots to brew a potion."

"Which...let me guess...you fed to that hapless creature out on the veranda."

"Well, I knew it wasn't poisonous. And I couldn't very well drink it myself. I mean, that's why they call them guinea pigs, isn't it?"

"I rather think you have that backwards, but do go on."

"So here's the thing. The potion not only confers invisibility, it makes the subject completely undetectable by any of the five senses. Well, four, at any rate: I haven't actually tried to taste her."

"You've tried smelling her, then?"

"Better than that. When she's had the potion, Crookshanks can't even tell that she's in the room, and believe me, when she's in her natural state he's very interested."

Snape looked about the room in mock alarm. "Good god, don't tell me you still have that monstrous creature?"

She laughed. "I'm beginning to think he may be immortal. But he sleeps most of the time these days."

"Four senses, you said . . . but you were feeling for her under the table at the restaurant."

"Yes, but not feeling for her exactly. What happens is, if you touch her there's no sensation: you don't feel her warmth, or the softness of her fur. But you're aware that there's an obstacle, because your hand can't pass through her...that's just elementary physics."

"So you feel a resistance." He was aware that his bitterness and resentment were melting away, replaced by a growing curiosity. Merlin's teeth, but she was bright. Why the hell hadn't she been sorted into Ravenclaw?

"Exactly." She was beaming.

"Hmm. I can see how such a potion could be very useful indeed."

"That's what I thought, at least at first. I mean, complete undetectability, how great would that be? Better than an invisibility cloak. But there's a bit of a problem."

"There always is."

She smiled ruefully. "It's the clothes."

"What about them?"

"Don't you see, the potion affects only your body. Your clothes stay visible."

He snorted. "So you have to go naked, or it's no use at all."

"Exactly." She was grinning hugely now. "Which is what I was doing in the restaurant when you saw me."

"Going naked? I believe I would have noticed."

"Not going naked, don't talk nonsense. I was timing the effects. I figure if you have to go naked, then it's rather important to know exactly when the potion is going to wear off. So I've been giving Tuppenny measured doses and recording how long it takes for her to become visible again."

"Why couldn't a person just carry a supply and take a second dose when the first one started wearing off?"

"In what?"

"In a vial, of course . . . oh, I see."

"Precisely. You can't exactly go about your nefarious business accompanied by a mysterious, fully visible, floating vial."

"So timing is everything."

"Yes." She looked exhilarated: her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. "I can't tell you how much I've missed having someone to discuss my work with. It was such luck that we happened to run into each other."

It was later in the afternoon than he had realized: the sun was low in the sky and a chilly breeze had begun to blow in through the open French doors.

"Fortuitous indeed," he said.

A/N:

Many thanks to my wonderful beta/Britpick team: corianderpie, exartemarte, and lifeasanamzon.

Carica parviflora is a real plant; you can read about it, and see a picture, here. http://www.bihrmann.com/Caudiciforms/subs/car-par-sub.asp

The Salamanca library does indeed have the referenced sign, posted around the year 1440; you can see it here.

http://qalachaki.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d2djpi7

The village where Hermione lives is loosely modeled on Cudillero, Spain. You can see a picture here:

http://www.casavitorio.com/surroundings/img/grande/cudillero.jpg

The line "Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?" occurs in one of the HP films but not, as far as my research can tell, in canon.