Chapter 10

A/N: These characters are not mine; they are all J.K.R.'s. As always, much appreciation and grateful hugs to the wonderful beaweasley2 and clairvoyant for their support, suggestions, and corrections. Thanks also to those of you who let me know what you think of the story – I really enjoy reading your reviews and answering them.

Thank you to beaweasley2 and Jay for the wonderful banner!

I hope you like this chapter. We are edging towards something here....

Chapter 10

It was dusk in the city as Hermione and Severus emerged from the front door of his house. Pertus opened the door for them, and they stepped out onto the street and into a bustling throng of people. Snape had insisted on carrying all of the potion bottles, charming them to fit into a wooden crate so that they could be carried more easily under one arm. She stole a look at him sideways as the shadows lengthened, and she watched as the low rays of the setting sun lit his face. He had changed into a tunica of a deep sea-blue, finely detailed and embroidered. Over his shoulders, he had cast a light woollen cloak of a golden colour. The tunica, although it was a simple tunic, was long and fitted him well, clinging somewhat to his chest and arms, draping his body in a manner that she had never seen on him at school.

As she watched him, the luxurious fabric slid over his chest with each movement. It was so unlike the black frock coat and britches she remembered him wearing at Hogwarts when she was his student. While his teaching robes had seemed to constrict him and he had always appeared to be so full of rage and bitterness, this tunica accentuated his fluent and graceful movements, enabling him to look more relaxed, even sensual, in comparison to how she had known him in his previous life. She blushed slightly as she realised that she was staring at him. She forced herself to look forwards at the pavement in front of her and think instead about the evening ahead.

It was not too far from Snape's house to the House of the Vettii, one of the best preserved of the Roman insulae in modern day Pompeii, and Hermione's heart was beating fast in anticipation for what she was to see there. The house was famous not only for its fine frescos and other decoration but also for the fact that so much was known about its occupants before the eruption buried it under ten feet of pumice stone and ash.

Aulus Vettius Conviva and Aulus Vettius Restitutus were brothers who had once been slaves. Like many other slaves in the Roman Empire, they had been able to gain their freedom. There was no surviving evidence for how the brothers had been able to achieve their liberty; perhaps a grateful master on his deathbed had granted them manumission, perhaps they had paid for their own freedom by their own efforts in petty trade, or perhaps they had won or gained their freedom by other means. However, they had become freedmen, and one thing was certain: they had become exceptionally wealthy by exploiting a variety of business opportunities within and outside the city. The Vettii had interests in the importation of various goods, they supplied services, and they had engaged in various manufacturing pursuits from olive oil production to leather manufacture. They were the ultimate examples of poor men made good in the cut-throat world of capitalist Roman society. Historians knew about these men not just from the archaeological evidence that was found in their house but also because both of them were members of a local priesthood, the Augustales.

The Augustales was something like a mediaeval guild, or a gentleman's club, or one of the various lodges or associations which later civilisations adopted. The members of the Augustales looked out for each other as 'brothers' socially, politically, and in trade and business. Conviva and Restitutus were important local businessmen, and their home reflected their sense of power and authority – but what had always drawn Hermione to them was their apparently outrageous sense of wit and humour. The historical evidence suggested that the Vettii were complex men who were cognizant of their current place in Roman society but equally aware of their good fortune in getting there and evidently quite happy to rub their more aristocratic neighbours' noses in it.

Her mind shifted to the puzzle of the portrait that had consumed so much of her thoughts during the day. She was sure that there was a recognisable pattern to the equations that surrounded the portrait. It was a linear function – runes that pointed to an action or progression. It was very like those functions that described the lifespan of a person – often described as the 'Polybian Cycle' from birth to death. Despite the circular nature of the Arithmantic equation around the painting, something was interrupting the progression from birth to death... If she could just figure out what... oops!

Hermione almost tripped on the uneven flagstones of the pavement, just catching herself in time, and she looked up to see Snape smirking at her, breaking her train of thought. Tentatively, she put her hand on his arm to steady herself and was pleased when he did not recoil away. Wrapping her arm more confidently through his, she enjoyed the increasingly familiar thrum of their odd physical connection as they progressed slowly through the jostling crowd of people along the street.

"So, how did you come to live in your house?" she asked, partly to divert attention away from her inelegant stumble.

He smirked again but allowed her to keep holding his arm and played along with her interest. "The house was damaged quite badly in the earthquake of 62 AD," he said. "Most of the external walls were still intact, but the roofs had fallen in, and the internal walls were very unstable. When I came to look around the house, I felt immediately drawn to the place. Of course, as soon as I found the underground chambers and saw the possibilities that they offered, I changed the underground shrine that the owner had built into my bath suite, and the store on the opposite side of the hallway I modified into my laboratory. The rest – the gardens and the other rooms – I repaired as quickly as I could as my magic and funds would allow."

"It's a lovely house," she said, and Snape grunted.

"Actually, there is more to it than that, Hermione," he said. "A rather infamous local character owned it before I did." He paused, helping her to negotiate a basket of clothes on the street, and Hermione's interest was immediately piqued.

"Oh, yes?" She squeezed his arm, urging him to continue.

"He was a successful merchant, but in his old age, he became obsessed by the idea of cheating death. He spent thousands of denarii on hack cures and pseudo-magical potions and spells, convinced that he could become immortal. He tried Greek, Persian, and even Egyptian enchantments, giving houseroom to any charlatan or fakir that presented himself at his door. His neighbours made fun of him to start with, but then they began to get frightened of his behaviour. When he disappeared in the earthquake in 62, everyone took it as a sign from the Gods that he had been meddling in things beyond his station, and not even his son came to mourn him."

"So, you bought it," she supplied helpfully.

He stopped, and his lips quirked again at her. "Ob-viously," he replied self-mockingly. She grinned and elbowed him gently in the ribs, causing him to wince theatrically and then smile tentatively in return.

They were passing a series of shops on their right. The brass and copper wares of a lamp seller were suspended from the entrance to the shop. She was drawn towards them, laughing self-consciously as the proprietor offered her an elaborately shaped wind chime in the shape of a winged phallus with bells hanging from the glans and wing tips. Hooting with laughter at Snape's expression, Hermione politely declined the opportunity to purchase it, and they moved on. Hermione did not let go of Snape's arm, even though the pavements were less uneven now. He appeared not to notice.

They walked on through the throng, periodically stopping to allow people to move in front of them, hopping onto the tall stepping-stones that crossed the street every so often when they had to make a turn. It was a lovely, warm evening, and as she became more confident about dodging people, belongings, and traffic with Snape's firm arm steadying her and his warm skin sending delightful tremors shivering through her left side, Hermione began to enjoy herself. She prevented him from stepping inadvertently into the path of a cart, and he rocked back into her, glowering. She giggled at his expression and was rewarded when it softened into a self-deprecating half smile that she found she liked very much.

"Busy traffic," he muttered and swept on with her on his arm.

They made their final turn, entering a wider and more opulent street. Snape's house was in a poorer district of the city. This street had slightly wider pavements, and the houses were fewer and larger. They were now in the northwest section of the city, not too far from the Vesuvius Gate. Her anticipation rose even further as they slowly wandered past the bustling entrance to a house she recognised from her dig as being the House of the Golden Cupids. Across the street was a rowdy bar, the patrons spilling out onto the street drinking local wine and laughing with good-natured bawdiness. She could hear music and more laughter from the house in front of them. They were nearly there. Her grip tightened on his arm, and he slowed down even further, turning to her with a raised eyebrow.

"It's just that," she began as they stopped in the street and faced each other, "I know that I'm supposed to be terrified and everything – about the volcano, the Aedile, Sabazios and his new Death Eaters, but... I mean... for goodness sake, we are about to go to a party in the House of the Vettii...!" It was so hard to explain, but her eyes danced, and she felt a soaring feeling in her torso that sent her stomach into flip-flops. Adrenaline was thundering through her chest, and her head was suddenly full of bursting champagne bubbles. With no further thought, she reached up to him on tiptoes and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

She had meant it as a quick expression of excitement and anticipation, but had not counted on Snape's reaction. With something like a growl, he grabbed her roughly and leaned down into her kiss, deepening it and taking control.

***

He had felt a moment's hesitation of shock and surprise as she kissed him, but Severus had recovered quickly. Grabbing her around the waist with his free arm and cursing the bloody potions crate tucked under the other, he kissed her back with a ferocity and enthusiasm that he had long thought he was incapable of feeling.

He felt Hermione tense for a second or so as he took control, but then she returned his deepened kiss as fervently as he had offered it. She tangled her fingers in his hair and opened her lips as his questing tongue dragged across her mouth. She moaned quietly as his hand reached lower to cup her buttocks and to pull her even closer against his lower body. Blood thundered through his head, and as she ground herself against him, he hardened with such speed that he suddenly felt light-headed.

He shifted position slightly to move the potions crate further out of the way so that he could press her breasts more closely against his body and thought that he would never be able to breathe properly again. He wanted to absorb her into his skin. Some fierce sort of animal was roaring in his chest. The sounds of the city – the mock cheers and coarse encouragement from the patrons of the bar, the grumbles and complaints of the people trying to get past them on the street – receded, and they were two people lost in each other.

Oh, Merlin, he had wanted to do this ever since she had arrived. She was so beautiful and fierce and clever – she burned with a sort of flame that seemed to ignite something unbelievably powerful in him. Earlier that evening, seeing her wearing the new dress with her hair twisted up into a rough knot at the back of her head, her eyes shining, and her lips parted into that shy smile as she twirled in front of him for his approval... He had called upon every ounce of self-control not to grab her then.

But now she had kissed him, and immediately, he was snogging her like a randy and desperate teenager in the middle of the street outside his friends' house, feeling like he could almost come there and then with the pleasure of it.

A small rational part of his brain questioned his actions. They were standing in the street, in full view of all passing by. He had trapped her here with him, and he did not know how to get her away and save her. Neither of them was likely to survive the next few days' events.

No-one had ever wanted him. Even here.

Greasy bat.

Slimy old man.

Old enough to be her...Don't care, don't care, shut up! the hopelessly aroused part of his mind screamed in response. He was not particularly experienced in such matters. What happens if I...?

Hermione moaned again as he moved a leg between hers and rubbed his hand on her arse. Her tongue danced across his, and her fingers were now pulling at his hair with a strength that was almost painful.

***

Oh God, oh God, oh God–oh–God–oh–God! Hermione was not currently capable of rational thought. Her entire body was aware of nothing but itself and of him. She had never been so turned-on in her life. All she could do was keep kissing him and kissing him, even though she was finding it hard to snatch breaths and her calves were beginning to ache from standing on tip-toes as she was pressed into his body. She was trembling from the exertion and the passion of the moment. Her hands grabbed bunches of his fine hair, and she could feel his chin rasping against hers as he plundered her mouth; he was clearly as aroused as she was. When he moved his leg to rub between hers, she thought she would collapse from the pleasure of it.

A sudden jostle from a passer by on the busy street knocked Hermione backwards and brought both of them to their senses. As they broke apart, both breathing heavily, Hermione felt an almost painful catch in her stomach, as if something inside her had been stretched too far and snapped back. It was an echo of that sense of loss that she had grown so used to over the past few years at home. She fought for composure and recovery, keeping her eyes low on his chest, noticing that it was rising and falling erratically as he, too, attempted to calm down.

"Well," she said, and her voice was unsteady, so she forced a little laugh. "That was rather unexpected. Are you okay?" She chanced a quick glance up at him and was not surprised at all to see him staring at her with a look full of flushed and defensive intensity. She smiled at him and was pleased to see that his expression shifted and relaxed slightly. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His lips – her own mouth still tingled from the connection to those lips! – quirked once more, and then a true smile seemed to ghost across his face for a moment before he stepped back, adjusted his clothing at the front, and ran his free hand through his hair.

"I am not entirely sure, to be honest," he said, and she was relieved once again to hear an unsteady note of humour in his voice. "Bloody hell, woman. I don't know where that came from... You have..." He took another rather shaky breath, and that almost-smile flashed again. Then he coughed and shook his head a little, as if trying to clear his thoughts. Hermione could not think of anything sensible to say. She was still trying to sort out her own reaction to the sudden passion of their kiss.

"Much as I might prefer to continue... this... further, Hermione, we have just made a spectacle of ourselves on the street. And we have a delivery to make and a party to attend." He proffered his arm to her with a characteristic inclination of his head. "Shall we go?" he offered.

He was right. They both needed to refocus. Time was pressing, and they both had important tasks to undertake. Now was the moment to remember that she was an intelligent and educated person and not just a seething mass of raging hormones. She placed her hand once more on his proffered arm and nodded her assent as he led her once more towards the entrance to the House of the Vettii.

*

Hermione's eyes opened in unabashed wonder as she crossed the threshold of the house and offered her palla to the slave waiting in the entrance hall. Snape unclasped and shrugged out of his cloak, following her inside with the little potion vials rattling slightly in their crate. The entrance hall of the house was much as Hermione remembered from her dig, and she was delighted to notice the famous wall painting of Priapus, the Roman god for fertility, wealth, and gardens. He was depicted in a relaxed pose, leaning against a wall beside an overflowing basket of fruits, the Phrygian felt cap of a freedman perched merrily on his head while he weighed overflowing money bags against his hugely outsized penis (a Roman symbol of luck and good fortune) on a set of scales he dangled from his right hand. It was an outrageous image, a talisman for prosperity and a refutation of the evil eye. The humour as well as the message of the image was clear – a pun on the Latin words penis and pendere (to weigh) and a statement that said 'our good fortune has given us wealth beyond measure'. Hermione had always loved the earthy positivity of the image, and she smiled, both in recognition and amusement, at the outrageous nature of the portrait.

"Seen something you like?" Snape's murmur in her ear was laced equally with humour and disdain.

She turned around to face him, her smile still evident, and she raised her eyebrows, deliberately raking him with a thoughtful glance. "What? Jealous, Severus?"

He snorted and pushed past her, moving towards the centre of the house, carrying his newly enlarged crate of potions before him.

The house seemed to be full of noise and life. Hermione could hear laughing and chatting coming from the direction of the central peristyle garden on the opposite side of the entrance atrium. As she moved through into the main chamber in front of her, Hermione could hear the high-pitched tone of Roman flutes, a bright and dancing melody that was supported by the gentle percussion of small cymbals and a tambourine. She followed Snape towards a small group of people by the entrance to the peristyle in the centre of the house. There were three men and one woman, each holding a wine goblet and chatting animatedly to each other. As he reached them, the foursome parted, and Severus was welcomed with enthusiasm by the two men closest to him, one of whom called a slave over to relieve him of his burden before slapping Severus on the shoulder in welcome and calling for wine.

Hermione and her fellow excavators at the dig had often speculated about the appearance of the Vettii brothers. More was known about them than many other inhabitants of the buried city, but still, there were no archaeological clues as to what they had looked like, how tall they were, and whether they were local to the area around Naples or came from further afield. Both men were tall, thin, and attractive looking, with open and welcoming expressions, equal shocks of auburn hair and freckled faces. Their demeanor was teasing and intelligent. Their dress was flamboyant and gaudy. Gold jewelry glittered from their necks and fingers.

"Severus, old man!" greeted one brother. "You're late."

"But you brought a friend," added the other, eyebrows raised in a comical fashion, looking at Hermione as she approached to group to stand beside Severus.

"Conviva," Snape nodded in greeting to each brother, "Restitutus." He frowned at the two men who grinned back in cheerful unabashed fashion. "As you have frequently urged me to bring a companion to such affairs, I am pleased to introduce to you all Hermione. My... niece."

"Ahhh, the famous niece!" Restitutus laughed, extending his hand to Hermione and clasping hers in a warm and friendly greeting. "Lovely to meet you, Hermione. I am Aulus Vettius Restitutus, and this is..."

"His more handsome brother, Aulus Vettius Conviva." Conviva was smiling also and turned to introduce the woman standing beside him. "This is my wife, Marcella."

The woman Conviva introduced Hermione to was very beautiful. Long dark hair tumbled around her shoulders. Her face was heart shaped, and her skin was pale with widely spaced large eyes that glinted with a hint of her husband's quick intelligence. Marcella smiled at the younger woman and also extended her hand, then looked across at Severus, who was standing rather awkwardly looking at the two of them.

"Good evening, Severus," Marcella's voice was sure and rich. She leaned forward and kissed the austere man on the cheek, moving with the obvious ease of close acquaintance. Hermione felt an irrational stab of something at her gentle caress, but she kept her features carefully polite as the older woman turned to face her.

"Lovely to meet you, my dear," Marcella said graciously. "Welcome to our home. Would you like some falernian?" As she spoke, a young male slave appeared at her elbow, bearing a tray with goblets of wine standing on it. Hermione smiled her thanks to the young man and took a sip of the sweet liquid before turning her attention to the fourth member of the group. With a sudden and startling shock, she realised that she recognised him.

"Of course, you have already met our esteemed guest, Aedile Fiducius," Marcella continued politely. The Aedile bowed low to Hermione, flashing his wide smile and looking between Severus and Hermione.

"Ah, the lovely Hermione, what a pleasure again," he drawled, his eyes raking her from top to bottom in appraisal. "You look even more beautiful tonight than you did earlier this morning."

"Aedile." Hermione took his hand briefly, attempting to keep her voice low and steady and her smile plastered firmly in place. She noticed a sheen of sweat on the Aedile's face that seemed to have nothing to do with the heat of the evening or the wine, and his hand trembled slightly in hers.

"Come on, all of you, enough chatter; were late for dinner," Conviva insisted, taking hold of Hermione's arm above the elbow and steering her away from Fiducius and towards the garden.

*********************

Harry barely remembered the journey back to Naples. He knew that he, Alberto, and Gabrielle had raced for the scooter and that Alberto had caused the little machine to achieve speeds that he had not thought possible in their race towards the Ospedale Antonio Cardarelli in central Naples.

Worry and fear filled Harry's chest. He had not seriously considered the possibility that Hermione would be injured. His conversation in the Three Broomsticks with Ron had confirmed his own assumption that she was travelling again, that her nonsensical inability to settle down had prompted her to run away and disappear once more, just like she had done on many occasions in the past. She had been hurt before – Dolohov's hex from the Department of Mysteries had taken some time to heal, and she still bore the slightly raised scar from Bellatrix's blade on the side of her neck. Harry knew that Hermione had been deeply affected by her experience in the final battle against Tom Riddle. She had grown distant, emotionally speaking, from her friends, becoming hard to reach, colder, and more sarcastic. Even restoring her parents' memories had not returned their relationship to where it had been before she had sent them away. Harry closed his eyes and wished with all he had that she would be able to recover from whatever had put her in the hospital to begin with.

It was late afternoon, and the traffic had increased to unimaginable levels. The Vespa swerved off the E45 Autostrada to cut across the city centre to reach the hospital. Alberto negotiated the little scooter expertly between stationary cars, buses, vans, and trams, but eventually, as they reached the central district of the city, they faced a huge traffic jam that had gridlocked all the roads in front of them. As the Vespa slowed down, Alberto leaned back to Gabrielle and shouted something in her ear before giving Harry a significant look. Gabrielle twisted around and shouted, "Hang on, Harry!"

"What? Why?" Harry's fingers convulsed on the seat under his thighs again, but he could see that there was no way through the massed vehicles before them, no matter how skilled Alberto was in driving the magical machine.

He was shortly proved entirely wrong, however, as with a sickening wrench, Alberto launched the little bike at the rear of a Fiat 500, pulling the scooter's handlebar sharply towards him and twisting the accelerator handgrip and shouting, "Evanescere!" The scooter simultaneously disappeared from sight and shot up the back of the little wedge-shaped car, using it like a makeshift ramp to launch the scooter into the air.

Harry looked down and saw that they were not terribly high, perhaps thirty feet above the traffic below. His respect for the little, theatrical Italian's driving skills redoubled as he realised that Alberto was now negotiating the winding streets of central Naples as well as dodging a bewildering array of wires, clothes lines, and flags that the Muggle residents had strung between the high buildings on either side of the roads and passageways that they were threading their way through.

Very shortly, they were able to land again outside the imposing entrance to the hospital. Alberto parked the bike under one of the large Cyprus trees near the entrance steps, leaving the machine Disillusioned. Harry's heart was still thumping in his chest. There had been no time to get the full picture from Alberto in the rush to travel back to Naples.

Gabrielle had said something quickly about Hermione's body being found lying in her excavation pit by her students. Her students had been unable to rouse her, and so, they had called an ambulance immediately. Because she had been unconscious, Harry realised, explaining why Minerva's Patronus had not been able to contact her.

Harry just hoped that the Muggle doctors had not done anything... well... Muggle... to her – he just wanted to see her safe to St. Mungo's so she could receive proper care.

Without waiting for the others, Harry bounded up the steps to the hospital entrance, holding his wand flat on the palm of his hand as he pushed through the entrance doors.

"Invenio Hermione Granger," he ordered the wand, scowling furiously at it as it gently revolved and searched for Hermione. Ignoring Gabrielle and Alberto, who had both rushed over to the hospital reception area and were speaking urgently to the woman behind the desk, Harry spotted a set of stairs to his right, and he began to take them two at a time as he watched his wand twitch in his hand and show him the way. He became aware that Gabrielle and Alberto were following him some twenty feet behind.

He climbed two sets of stairs, then took a right turn, then a left down another corridor. His wand was pulsing in his hand, urging him onwards. Soon, he found himself standing in front of a set of white metal-and-glass double doors which opened on to a small ward with six beds in it. The beds were empty, save for one in the far corner of the room next to the window. A small group of people was gathered around the bed. Beside them were machines that made subdued noises and were connected to the patient by wires and thicker tubes.

One of the people clustered around the occupied bed, wearing the long white coat of a Muggle physician, stepped to one side, and Harry suddenly could see the identity of the prone figure lying under the bed covers.

Hermione. Harry's heart clenched hard in his chest.

He put his hand on the door. Then he squared his shoulders and paused for a moment, collecting himself. Gabrielle and Alberto arrived, panting and out of breath behind him. Gabrielle looked over his shoulder to the bed at the end of the room and her breath caught. Instinctively, she put her hand on Harry's shoulder. Together, they pushed the heavy doors open and walked towards Hermione's body.