Chapter 11

A/N: These characters are not mine (well, most of them anyway). All grateful thanks go to JKR for allowing their use. This story would not be published here without the help, support, and advice of beaweasley2, and also without the grammatical skills and keen ideas of clairvoyant. Thank you both! The earth moves at the end of this chapter....

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

Chapter 11

Hermione barely had time to take in the extraordinary display of competing fountains and objets d'art that filled the peristyle garden of the House of the Vettii as Conviva walked her through to the triclinium off the right side of the central garden. The sounds of music and laughter were getting louder.

When they entered the large dining room, Hermione saw more guests at the party. Some were reclining on the low benches that were arranged in a crescent shape around the edge of the room, and others were standing in front of the benches, talking to each other. In the far corner of the room, a small group of musicians were playing. A reedy double flute produced a plaintive melody that was accompanied by subtle percussion. The room itself was a riot of colour, the walls richly decorated with a series of mythologically inspired frescos painted onto deep red panels. Beneath the main pictures of gods, goddesses, and heroes, Hermione was delighted to see the undamaged, famous long frieze of cupids at work. In the corners of the room, numerous oil lanterns lit the space around them. She longed to study the pictures in more detail, but realised guiltily that social convention precluded such a study. With reluctance, she dragged her attention to the other people waiting for them in the room. Conviva pulled her forwards and raised his voice to draw everyone's attention.

"Everyone, this is Hermione, Severus' niece." There was a mildly sarcastic cheer from the assembled party, and Hermione heard Snape growl something darkly behind her. Putting his hand up to forestall any further ribald comment, Conviva laughingly introduced the others.

A short, balding man was presented as Publius Artorius Corvinus, a local famer and producer of wine and cut flowers, and his wife, Antonia Tertia, was a small, neat woman with fine, curled hair. The second couple, both taller than the first and more overweight as well, was Gnaeus Stephanus, a local fuller, and his wife Julia Clodia. Stephanus looked like he was enjoying the effects of the fine wine he was consuming. As he lurched forward into his bow of greeting, his wife rolled her eyes in mock horror at his condition. The third couple, Tullius Salvius Rufrius and his wife Licinia Crassa Maia, were olive oil millers, owning and running a series of mills in the industrial northeast of the city.

Restitutus picked up a small hand bell from a side table and rang it. Shortly afterwards, four slaves appeared in the room, bearing bowls of steaming water and linen towels draped over their shoulder. The other guests seemed to realise what was going on and immediately sat down on the couches, facing outwards. The slaves went from guest to guest, loosening footwear and washing the partygoers' feet, patting them dry with care. Hermione felt intensely embarrassed by this attention, even though she knew that this was the established practice before formal dinners in the Roman world. She noticed that the slave who washed her feet was the same young man who had offered her wine. He looked very thin, and his hair was sparse. She wondered if the Vettii – having been enslaved themselves – thought it strange to own their own group of slaves. She looked quickly over to where Conviva was carrying on a spirited conversation with Stephanus. Both men were obviously sharing a dirty joke and completely ignoring the woman who was washing their feet. As she finished, Conviva scowled down at her briefly as she struggled to her feet and withdrew. I suppose not, Hermione thought sadly.

Once the slaves had finished washing the guests' feet, everyone turned to face the centre of the room and reclined more fully on the couches. Hermione found herself next to Snape, who, in turn, had Marcella on his right. Next to Hermione on the left-hand side were Rufrius and Licinia. Across the room, Corvinus and Antonia Tertia lay next to Stephanus and his wife with Fiducius next to Restitutus and his brother.

Another gentle ring of the small hand bell, and the slaves re-entered the room, laden with food for the low table between the benches. Hermione watched with fascination as the first course was laid out before them. Tiny twisted bodies of dormice, cooked in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds (might give those a miss, she thought to herself), lay on one plate. Elsewhere, small hot sausages, damsons, olives, and pomegranate seeds filled other bowls. Without delay, the other guests began to pick at the food using their fingers.

Following their lead, Hermione selected a plump olive and popped it in her mouth. She was conscious that her right leg was brushing up against Snape's, and as he reached forward for another morsel to eat, she had a suspicion that he deliberately rubbed against her thigh. The action sent a delicious shiver through her body, which she knew he felt too.

"Dormouse, Hermione?" His voice was laced with humour as he offered her the plate of sweetened rodents, smiling wickedly as she glowered at him and reached instead for a damson plum.

"So, Hermione," Rufrius began, "where does your family come from? Hermione is a Greek name, isn't it?"

"Erm... My family are from Picenum beyond the Sybilline Mountains," she invented quickly, thinking fast and hoping that no one in the room had any familiarity with that area of Italy.

To forestall any further questions, she took the initiative.

"How much oil do you mill in a season?" she asked and then listened attentively as Rufrius, with corrections from his wife, enthusiastically outlined the extent of their milling activity. Hermione learned that the price of decent olives seemed to be rising far too quickly and the cost of maintaining the expensive wooden presses, which Conviva and Restitutus insisted on sourcing their pressed oil from, were frequently breaking down and in need of constant attention and care. Rufrius was midway through a detailed description of how he carefully passed the first pressing through muslin cloth when Corvinus interrupted him from the opposite side of the room and took issue with the miller's insistence that the olive oil millers were being cheated by the growers.

Hermione's attention became diverted by another discussion that was happening at the other end of the room.

Conviva was speaking to Fiducius, his tone playful but firm. Hermione could see Fiducius was beginning to grow restless on his couch.

"I do not see why we should be asked yet again to foot the bill for repairs to the city when the cost should be met through our normal taxation system." The elder Vettii picked up a dormouse and bit down upon it, making a rather unpleasant crunching noise.

"My dear Conviva," the Aedile spoke with thinly veiled emotion, "you know as well as I that as more families abandon the city for opportunities elsewhere, there are fewer of us remaining to carry the burden of the restoration projects..."

"'Restoration projects'?" Hermione asked Severus, sotto voce.

"Following the earthquake eleven years ago," he hissed back in explanation, but Conviva was also speaking.

"The fact that there are fewer of us here," the older brother argued, suppressing a belch as he reached for another olive, "only means that there are more opportunities for those prepared to remain to repair the city and to exploit the continuing financial opportunities that are on offer here." He waggled his eyebrows with mirth and challenge at his guests. "That is why we will not be leaving, Aedile, no matter what state the water supply gets into. Pompeii has made us rich, and with the gods' aid, it will continue to do so."

"Still," and now Conviva's voice was deliberately teasing in its tone, "I would have thought that the Aedile's office would have finished the restoration of the water supply by now, Marcus...."

Hermione could see an angry flush work its way up Fiducius' neck and onto his face.

The Aedile snapped. "If we had had support from the Imperial coffers, we would have been able to fully repair the city by now, but it appears that Vespasian," the word was spat out, "was not interested in helping Pompeii recover from such a disaster, and neither is his whelp."

"Now, now, Marcus," Resitutus intervened mildly, "you can't blame the Emperor for not getting involved in local politics here – Pompeii should look after its own. Besides," and now it was his turn to smile mockingly at the local official, "even Nero made no investment around here, despite his... familial connections...."

Hermione felt the room go still as the other guests began to listen in to the developing conversation.

"What do you mean, Resitutus?" asked Julia Clodia loudly into the ensuing silence, but Fiducius answered her instead.

"He means, my dear woman, to remind us all of my family's connection to Poppea, Nero's second wife," the Aedile explained. "She was my maternal aunt, you know." He smiled his vulpine smile and picked up an olive in his thin fingers.

"Nero did invest in this area, for your information, Vettius. He owned a number of farms in the locality – and may well have supplied you with your precious bloody olives in doing so."

"I hope not!" Corvinus huffed loudly and comically from the end of the couches opposite Hermione. "We'd never have got the prices we needed if the Emperor had been involved!" He belched loudly, as if to give his words emphasis, and the tension in the room dissipated. Corvinus took another swig from his wine goblet and then began to engage once again in a spirited argument with Restitutus about the price of olives.

But Fiducius' jaw was still set, and the dull flush on his cheeks remained. Hermione saw him stare defiantly across at Snape, his look full of meaning, and she felt Severus sigh a little in response.

As the slaves came in to clear the table and replace the appetisers with the prima cena, Hermione drifted into overhearing snatches of conversations. Mostly, the dinner party guests were talking about business matters. Corvinius, his wife, and Stephanus were discussing the cost of importation taxes while Restitutus and Conviva were flattering Fiducius out of his poor mood with compliments on his preparations for the upcoming Festival of Vulcan – clearly a highlight of the Pompeian calendar. Rufrius and his wife were talking quietly about their eldest son, who was evidently a tearaway. Licinia thought an honest day's work would take the boy's mind off prostitutes and drinking. She wanted Rufrius to secure their son a position with one of his business associates.

Meanwhile, Hermione could hear the low rumble of Severus' voice as he talked with Marcella about the current state of the theatrical productions in Pompeii. She helped herself to more food as she listened to the different extracts of conversations.

The prima cena consisted of a variety of different meats, a fat chicken served with cooked eggs spilling out of its innards, and a small roasted boar that had been displayed on its side with marzipan piglets arranged next to it, as if they were feeding. Besides the meat dishes, there were quinces stuck with prickles to look like sea urchins. Gingerly, Hermione picked up one of the quinces and took an experimental bite. The sweet flesh of the fruit parted, and she realised that it was stuffed with some sort of spiced mincemeat. It was delicious.

Fiducius' raised voice brought her back to his conversation.

"Titus is a boy." The Aedile's voice was laced with disdain, but behind it was the characteristic whine of his jealousy.

"Hardly, Marcus," Marcella's voice cut in. "He's forty years old and an experienced military commander. A boy he is not."

The Aedile waved his hand, as if dismissing her argument. "I mean, he lacks experience," he countered swiftly. "Vespasian hardly kept him close, after all. He spent all his time with those barbarians in Judaea. Titus may struggle to assert his authority among the Senate. He is not secure in his palace yet."

"I don't agree," Conviva stated loudly and baldly. "Titus is strong and experienced. He'll ensure a peaceful succession; you just watch him! 'Sides, it's in nobody's best interests to have another war." He reached over to the table and pulled at the flesh of the boar, ripping off a chunk and stuffing it into his mouth, slurping up the roasting juices that had dribbled onto his chin.

Fiducius was not to be diverted this time. "He is a brute, Conviva – did you hear that he has people executed on the spot? What he did to Ailenus only a few months ago? Not everyone in the Senate wants to see that... degenerate... takeover." Fiducius' voice was shrill, rising with passion. "He has no moral standards. What Rome needs now is a return to proper moral authority."

Conviva snorted and guffawed. "What bloody rubbish – what does 'proper moral authority' even mean here and now in the modern Empire? So Titus lived with that Eastern witch for a few months... So what? He sent her away when she made him the subject of gossip in the theatre, didn't he? He's got good sense. More than your relative ever had, anyway!"

Fiducius smiled nastily, but he had recovered his self-control. "I'm not here to defend Nero, Conviva, and you will not embarrass me further over that issue. Believe me, my family is well aware of the lengths that that... creature... went to, to satisfy his desires for pleasure. Remember that I was present in the villa when he kicked my pregnant aunt to death, after all." Julia Clodia and Licinia both cried out and recoiled in revulsion at his words and the image that they conjured, but the Aedile continued, regardless of the offence he had caused. "All I am saying is that Titus should not be too comfortable on his throne.... There are others who have a legitimate claim to his authority, and now is the time to act upon his weakness in the first twelve months of his reign."

"That is treason, and I won't stand for it in my home," Restitutus said sharply, and suddenly there was no humour in his manner at all. He glanced for confirmation at his brother, who was sitting similarly still watching Fiducius warily.

"Oh, relax, Restitutus – we are among friends here," said Rufrius quietly and thoughtfully, taking another drink of wine. "What do you mean, Marcus – are you suggesting that there could be an alternative? What would the benefit of another round of Imperial infighting be for us here?"

The Aedile hunched forward, and Hermione felt Severus tense beside her. His hand was moving slowly down his body by his side. She knew that he was reaching slowly for his wand, which he had slipped into a side pocket of his tunica.

"What I meant was that you cannot guarantee the old traditions will remain forever. What I did learn from my unfortunate association with the fallen Nero was that you cannot count on being able to survive for long without power and that those who support that power will benefit from that association."

"What on earth are you getting at?" Stephanus was perplexed. "What power?"

Fiducius turned from him and looked pointedly across to Snape once again. "Severus knows all about it, don't you, my friend? What is your opinion? You are so quiet this evening."

Snape paused before answering. When he did, he spoke slowly and with care. "I would not presume to take part in this conversation – as a humble foreigner, not a Roman citizen, I have no say in the politics of the day or the future, for that matter." He paused again, but then continued, placing a firm emphasis on his words, "All I will say is that holding an absolute power does not mean that you would wield it for the good of all – such ambitions are rarely realised." He held Fiducius' stare with his own until the Aedile smiled with abashed charm at his hosts and, in doing so, broke the connection with Snape.

"I'm sorry, but what are we talking about?" Julia Clodia's face was as full of bewilderment as her husband's.

A wave of laughter from the other guests rolled around the room at the fuller and his wife's confusion as the subject matter changed back to safer matters, such as the price of olives. Hermione felt Snape relax, as he gradually withdrew his hand from the handle of his wand and reached for his wine goblet instead.

*

An hour or so later, dinner was eaten, and the guests were free once more to move about the house. Politics had not been mentioned again around the table, and the Aedile had quietened down as the talk had become centred once again on his preparations for the much anticipated Festival of Vulcan.

Fiducius promised something extraordinary, a show that the people of Pompeii would remember for generations to come. He refused to be drawn on the details of the entertainment that his department had planned for the evening of the Festival, despite the close questioning of the dinner guests. Marcus clearly enjoyed having information that others did not possess, and Hermione did not like the supercilious sneer that played across his features as he deflected their questions.

Seeing the other guests engrossed in their conversations, Hermione excused herself from the dining room and walked outside into the peristyle. The night had closed in, and although the garden was lit with dancing flames from various candles, there were many dark shadows to slip into. She desperately wished to explore the house further, and she was determined not to miss the opportunity to do so.

The peristyle garden was much as she remembered from modern times, a riot of tasteless statues and an effusion of spitting fountains crammed into a space that was far too small for all of them. The main rooms off the peristyle were lit, and Hermione wandered around the second atrium, drawn towards the huge and elaborate shrine that dominated the space.

In the painting at the rear of the shrine, the image of two Lares (human-shaped guardians of the family and the hearth) flanked a representative of the Vettii family who was depicted making a sacrifice. Beneath the image of the three figures, a giant snake coiled and writhed. Even though Hermione knew that the snake was representing an agathodemon – a beneficent spirit – she still found the likeness of the giant snake unsettling. Small candles and oil lamps burned beneath the image, causing it to shift and flicker in the darkness.

On impulse, Hermione picked up one of the little terracotta oil lamps and moved towards what she remembered as the kitchen. The slaves had retired to their rooms, and the confined space was empty. The fires underneath the cooking pots had been doused. Hermione was not looking for the kitchen, however, but the room that she knew lay beyond it. True enough, as she turned the corner into the small box room that the kitchen led to, she found the room she was looking for.

*

Snape had also walked out into the garden after dinner, but he had another purpose in mind. The meal had been as entertaining, challenging, and provoking as he had thought it would be. There had been little time to contemplate the extraordinary reaction he had had to Hermione's kiss before the dinner had begun, and he was still not free to think about it yet. Instead, his mind was filled with anticipation for the days ahead. He had seen further evidence of Fiducius' ambition and his desperation, and he knew that the warm friendship and camaraderie of his friends would push him to do anything to prevent his friends from perishing in the upcoming cataclysm. He took Marcella's hand in his, and he drew her into one of the shadows around the outside of the peristyle.

"Marcella, thank you for inviting me here tonight," he began, trying to think of the most effective way to proceed. He always felt awkward when discussing such matters. He took a deep breath and tried to fix her with his most sincere and compelling look.

"You know that I owe you and Conviva everything," he said. "When I arrived after the earthquake, you looked after me, and you helped me to recover from my injuries. I... think of you more closely than my birth family." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the two small vials of perfume that he had brewed for this occasion, pressing them into her hands. She accepted the gifts with her customary grace, sniffing the little vials with evident appreciation and enjoyment.

"You need to get out of the city, Marcella," Snape said softly and urgently. "You need to leave now and stay away for more than a few days."

Marcella smiled and shook her head. "You know that he won't go, Severus," she replied equally quietly. "Conviva does not believe in signs and portents. The Lares look after us – the gods are on our side. Even if he did, he would not leave his businesses; he worked too hard to let them fall into someone else's hands."

"But the volcano... It's becoming dangerous – you must believe me." There was a desperate, pleading quality to Severus' voice. He put out a hand and touched the woman on her cheek, thinking of the time when she held him through the fever of Nagini's bite. He owed her and her family for his life. Why wouldn't she listen to him?

"Take the children then," he urged, moving closer to her. "You can visit your estate on the far side of the bay. Just for a few days." He smiled as winningly as he could. "Promise me that you will ask him?"

"And you, Severus?" Marcella smiled again at him fondly. "Will you be leaving the city? I thought that you would be one of those to pursue other opportunities elsewhere... perhaps with your niece...?" She waggled her eyebrows at him, obviously delighted by his scowling, embarrassed response.

She relented at his darkening expression.

"Severus, you are the brother I have never had. I love you, but you cannot control me. My husband decides where we go and what we do, and if he says that we say in the city, we stay. I am sorry." She smiled a genuine smile at him, and once more, he felt the frustration and fear nearly overwhelm him as another loved one took a path he could not prevent or follow. She stepped back. "Thank you for the perfume – it is lovely. But now I fear it is growing late, and you need to escort your... Hermione... home."

*

The room that Hermione was standing in was about five feet by ten feet. It was empty but for a low trestle bed and a life-sized statue of the god Priapus. Around the room were various erotic pictures depicting a wide variety of sexual acts, from bestiality to orgies, imaginative and suggestive, humorous and intoxicating. There was disagreement among modern day historians and archaeologists about the use of the room. Some maintained it was evidence that the Vettii hired this room out to prostitutes for their use. Others disagreed, citing its position in the heart of the house and right next to the working kitchen. Having met Marcella in particular, Hermione found it hard to see her allowing such a business to operate in her own home. Perhaps it was simply a bedroom with suggestive decoration. She turned to leave, but then realised that there was somebody else behind her. Thinking irrationally that it was Severus, she turned around, ready to defend her presence in a room full of erotic pictures.

It wasn't Severus.

Lit by the little flame of the oil lamp in her hand, the face of Marcus Fiducius moved out of the darkness towards her. She could hear his breathing, which was heavy and thick. She could smell sweat and fear and desperation on him as he took hold of her arm and held it in a tightening grip.

"I know that you are special, Hermione," he said, and she could smell the sweet wine on his breath. To her distaste, she could see a thin dribble of spittle on his chin. "Your blood... Your blood holds the secret of magic. I need the potion to gain the power I deserve, and Severus can provide this – but what if I take your blood anyway? What if I drink from the source directly?" He moved even closer to her face. Fear caused Hermione to freeze for a moment, forgetting her capabilities. For a second, she was a frightened young woman, pinned to a wall in a deserted area of a house. Fiducius leaned closer, opened his mouth, and slowly licked his tongue from the base of her neck to behind her ear. Gorge rose in her throat, and she began to struggle, her hand fighting to reach her wand in its concealed pocket.

The little lamp she had been holding fell to the floor and smashed, but the light in the room intensified as the entire contents of the little light caught fire and burned away by their feet. Fiducius snickered and pushed his right leg through hers, catching her wrists in his fingers and bringing them away from her body up above her head so he could clasp them both in one hand. He bit at her neck above her collarbone, nipping her skin between his teeth. Hermione began to thrash in earnest, and he moved his free hand to cover her mouth when she made to scream for help.

"Don't struggle so, little one," he whispered, forcing her to comply using the weight of his body. "Just a little taste... in the name of the city...."

Hermione began to focus her energies. She had never been particularly skilled in the use of wandless magic, but for now, all she needed was a pulse of energy to stun him so she could get away. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

"Now, now," Fiducius admonished, still nibbling and licking her throat, "that's why there's a bed h..."

Abruptly, his weight was no longer on her as, with a shout, she felt him ripped away and slammed into the wall beside her. She opened her eyes to see Snape's right hand curled around Fiducius' throat, his wand driven hard into the Aedile's cheek.

"Hello, Marcus," Snape said tersely. "Having fun?"

Fiducius squirmed, but magic was helping Snape, and even though the men were of equal size, Severus held the other man easily in place. Hermione realised that she was holding her breath and let it out with a deep shudder, putting her hand lightly on Severus' arm.

"Put the wand down, Severus," she said quietly. "I'm fine... really."

Fiducius rolled his eyes. "Severus, I barely touched her," the Aedile said, his voice slightly roughened by Snape's hand on his throat. Snape snarled silently, pushing his wand further into the man's cheek. Fiducius' head jerked backwards, hitting the wall hard.

"This is us finished, Marcus," Snape growled, "No more potion, no more interventions. No more. I will deal with Sabazios directly from now on." He looked deeply into his erstwhile friend's eyes, and Hermione could see that Severus was trembling.

"You disgust me," Snape hissed. "Now leave, and if I ever see you again..." He released the other man's throat with a violent action that practically threw Fiducius away from him and towards the doorway.

The Aedile paused in the doorframe, his hands reflexively clutching at his throat, and shot them both a look of utter hatred, loss, and revulsion before stumbling away. With an almost-sob of relief, Hermione threw herself into Snape's arms. He held her close and tightly, and her body rejoiced once again at their connection. Hermione realised that she was still trembling and that Snape was also.

He did not try to kiss her again; he just squeezed her strongly to him, breathing in time with her gasps and stroking her back firmly. It was a few seconds until she understood that there was something wrong, and she began to understand that they were actually trembling because the room was shaking around them rather than from their own exertions. A low rumbling noise could now be heard, accompanied by frightened shouts and screams from the people in the house and, more distantly, the sounds of screams from the street and the smashing of masonry. Hermione looked up at Snape, and her wide eyes met his in the darkness.

"Earthquake," he gasped unnecessarily. Then, as the ground gave a particularly noticeable shudder, he grabbed her arms and shook her.

"Hermione, your wand! Quickly!" He flourished his wand quickly over them both. "Protego! We have to get the people out – run!" She took his hand and fled towards the entrance hall.

"Severus? Hermione!" Marcella's voice was high and frightened. They found her in the entrance atrium with Conviva, a female nursery slave, and their children, two frightened-looking boys about seven years old. The other guests were rushing past them, hastily taking their leave before diving out into the street.

"Marcella," Conviva was shouting, "I'll check the rooms! Take the children with you and head for the Gate!"

Hermione and Severus emerged from the shaking kitchen, turning frightened eyes towards the ceiling. Loose tiles were already beginning to slip from the roof and crash into the water of the impluvium in the centre of the atrium. Hermione cast a silent Protego Charm over the frightened family and grabbed Marcella and the female slave by the arm, dragging them to the entrance of the house and out into the street.

The ground gave another upheaval, and there was a rolling and grinding sound. Hermione stumbled, but kept running alongside the other women and the children towards the Vesuvius Gate.

As they drew closer to the city walls, Hermione began to feel the nauseating rush of the city's wards close in on her, and she knew that she needed to stop. With a shout and a shove, she pushed the female slave forward and told her to run for safety. The slave needed no encouragement, and the woman stumbled onwards towards safety among the crowd of fleeing citizens. Marcella was too focused on the children to notice that Hermione was no longer with them.

Trying to keep her balance as the ground dipped and swelled, Hermione turned again for the House of the Vettii and pounded back to find Snape.

She found him inside the entrance atrium, standing over the prone body of Conviva. Oh my gods!

"What the hell are you doing?" Hermione shouted at Snape.

He held his hands out in placation and shouted back above the roar of the earthquake and the sound of frightened people and falling masonry. "Conviva wouldn't leave the strong boxes in the atrium!" he bellowed. "I had to stun him and cast a temporary Shield Charm. He'll be fine! When he wakes up, he'll think he got hit by a stray piece of masonry and it knocked him out. Are you ready?"

"We can't get out of the city – the wards!" she yelled, flinching as a roof tile hit her shield and crashed to the floor. The building was making ominous creaking noises around them.

Snape rolled his eyes, "I know about the wards, you stupid woman," he yelled back. "I helped to create them, remember? We need to get back to my house and check on the potions lab."

Hermione's eyes opened further, and she stared at him as the implications of what he was saying sank in. The potions lab! The Metamorphmagus potion could be destroyed.... Shit!

They turned and ran towards the District of the Faun as the streets shook, the people screamed and ran in panic around them, and the ground continued to shift and roll beneath their feet.