Chapter 14

A/N: I do not own the Potterverse. Thanks and hugs to the inspirational and brilliant beaweasley2 and clairvoyant, without whom....

Severus is still leaping to all the wrong conclusions (rolls eyes)....

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Chapter 14

Snape was sitting quietly by the side of the peristyle garden when she emerged from her rooms. She was wearing the original blue stola that he had transfigured from one of his old tunics and had given to Pertus to dress her in when she had first arrived in his world. She had shortened its length to just under the knee so she could move more easily. Her hair was drawn up into a messy chignon at the back of her head to keep it out of her eyes. Her wand was gripped firmly in her hand. When he raised his eyebrows at her appearance, she stuck her chin out, in what was becoming a familiar and strangely endearing gesture of defiance and challenge, before stuffing her wand into the little side pocket she had created in the skirts of the shortened dress. Everything about her radiated nervous resolution. Snape cleared his throat.

"You had better eat something before we leave," he said, his voice sounding peculiarly rough and harsh in his ears. Still not speaking, she nodded, picked up a peach, and bit into it, catching the excess juice that escaped on the back of her hand. He watched her throat flex as she swallowed, feeling an embarrassing heat beginning to blossom in his cheeks.

"What's that for?" she asked, her voice partially obscured by the fruit in her mouth. She gestured with her free hand at the hessian sack Snape was holding in his lap.

"I usually take some meat with me to distract the creature," he replied.

"Does it work?" Hermione had finished the peach quickly and ripped a piece of bread apart with her nimble fingers. Snape watched her nibble at it. He knew that it was slightly stale but palatable.

Snape shrugged. "To a degree. Eat some cheese. You need the protein."

"Such care for my welfare," she commented pointedly, raising a challenging eyebrow even as she followed his advice.

Snape scowled in response, embarrassed by both her directness and the way his body was continuing to respond to her. She bent down to pick up a fig from the basket on the table beside him, and he saw his mother's glass perfume vial swing forward around her neck as she did so, dully reflecting the early morning light in the garden.

Her throat flexed again as she swallowed another bite of fruit. Snape stared at the glass pendant as if he could make it burn away under his glare.

Gods, he regretted finding the bloody thing.

Last night had been wonderful, magnificent, and far, far too short-lived. He had fully intended to continue his explorations of their physical connection that morning and had lain in the bath that morning, fantasising about what he might be able to do with her and what she would perhaps want to do to him as well after she woke up.

He pictured her now as he had seen her last night, naked and willing in his arms, her beautiful amber eyes full of sin, her hair heavy around her shoulders and tangling in his fingers, her snatch tight, wet, and delicious.

He felt his groin begin to tense and shiver at the thoughts he was having, and his pulse began to thud heavily in his veins.

Oh, get a bloody grip on yourself, you idiot! Because of the vial, his Horcrux, he knew that he couldn't really want her, nor she him; it was the dark thing he had made – that she carried round her neck – that was poisoning their interactions.

Fuck.

He breathed in deeply, steeling himself against his attraction to her, by pushing his emotions down and striving once again to build up his defensive walls. He could only imagine her horror and revulsion if she were to find out about what he had done.

"Are you okay, Severus?"

Snape was startled out of his reveries by Hermione's question. She was staring at him with a measured look that seemed to be part concern, part annoyance, and part frustration. She was clearly still angry with him for pulling away from her, but she was trying to hide it. He felt the tell-tale heat from his face that showed he was blushing again. Hermione sat down heavily beside him, and he felt the tiny hairs on his forearms rise.

"I am fine," he lied and felt a rush of anger at the situation. "Keep eating. We have to leave very soon."

He suppressed a shiver. A small, Slytherin voice in his mind asked him why on earth he was being so noble? Why didn't he ignore his precious moral code and see where this... thing... between them could lead?

He glowered. Because it isn't real, he told his inner Slytherin. He had spent years of his life yearning for someone who had not returned his affections, and he'd be damned to hell if he went there again.

Bollocks. Fuck it. He was ever wont to dwell on things. The sun had risen above the roof of his house and was shining directly into the garden. His hands clutched reflexively on the hessian sack in his lap. Shifting slightly in his seat, Snape withdrew a brown leather shoulder bag from beside him and ran his fingers over the smooth surface.

"What's in the bag?" She nodded her head towards the satchel, still munching on the piece of bread in her hand.

Glad of the diversion from his warring thoughts, he opened it and withdrew the modified syringe. The mechanism was made from brass, copper, and quartz crystal and measured about eight inches long and three inches wide. Inside, Snape knew, was a crystal vial, which he had laboriously crafted into a strong receptacle to hold the magical liquor from the animal.

"Once the blood is inside the syringe, it can be made safe, and we will be able to use magic around it," he explained to her. "I infused the metal around the container with sufficient strength to make it unbreakable and to protect the crystal vial inside." Unwittingly, his eyes flickered to the perfume bottle around her neck, and he felt a renewed wash of guilt overtake him.

Her eyes had grown wide, and she was staring at the thick needle jutting from the end of the syringe. It was the width of a large nail. The skin of the Manticore was thick and resisted magical and conventional attack. He had designed the instrument to be driven hard into resistant flesh. The thought of driving something into flesh, whether resistant or not, pushed his thoughts back to her fabulous body and what he would much rather be doing at that moment with, and to, her....

He stood up abruptly, hoping to Hades that the hessian sack was sufficient to cover his overly eager body.

"Are you ready?" he snapped, slinging the leather satchel over his shoulder and feeling the heavy weight of the syringe settle on his hip. She nodded and frowned, her lips thinning. Clearly, she thought that he was being an arse.

He gestured for her to walk before him to the house's exit while he regained control over his lower anatomy.

They walked through the atrium and towards the front door. Passing through the entrance hall, Snape's stomach turned again as they moved past the silent body of his servant, lying on a simple trestle table. The shield he had placed over Pertus' body caused it to shimmer slightly in the morning light, which was shining through the compluvium in the ceiling. Snape's heart clenched once, painfully, and he realised in that moment that Hermione had also faltered in her steps. Her fingers brushed his arm in sympathy, and he felt the now desperately uncomfortable jolt of their connection. He pulled back from her as if stung and moved towards the door, opening it with his wand and gesturing for her to go through.

"Obsere," he muttered once they were through and standing on the street. He heard the reassuring scrape of the door bolts as they slid into place. Turning to Hermione, he saw how pale she looked under her bravado. He ground his teeth together but said nothing, setting off with determination in the direction of the amphitheatre. She fell into step beside him, seemingly now careful not to touch him as they walked.

After two junctions, he veered suddenly to his right and set off down a side street.

The city appeared to have returned to a sense of normality this morning, despite the tremor that had struck the previous night. Men with wooden shovels and small hand-drawn carts were clearing up masonry rubble. They walked past a number of builders who were advising homeowners on reconstruction and repairs. Despite himself, Snape smiled at the inventiveness and resilience of the people here. There was something impressive about the way that the citizens of this city responded to threats and challenges.

The road was narrow and shaded, with insula blocks packed closely together, and in typical Pompeiian fashion, shops were integrated into residential dwellings along the street. There was some damage from the earthquake evident here, but it looked very much like business as usual in this area of the city. Snape steered her to a butcher's shop and bought enough lumps of meat to half-fill the sack. The meat had been well hung; there was little blood. With a small grunt of effort, he slung the sack over his shoulder.

She said nothing, but cocked her head and shot him an interrogative look.

"For the diversion," he explained curtly.

Perhaps if all went well this morning, he could call on Marcella and Conviva later that day to see if she had persuaded her husband to leave the city.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought immediately. He had to see Sabazios today – with his potion offering and to assure him of his continued loyalty. He also had to check that the god was still comfortable in his quarters.

He knew that Sabazios would have been safe during the earthquake. Marcus had persuaded him to weave the same magical protection that he had imbued within his own house into the huge water cistern that the Thracian god was occupying.

In addition, he would have felt it if Sabazios had tried to breach the wards to leave the city. For now, the situation was as it had been.

What of Marcus? A deep anger coursed through his body at the thought of his one-time friend. He hoped that he would come across the treacherous, murdering bastard again, but he was sure that the Aedile was long gone. For a moment, he entertained the thought that Marcus had run to Sabazios to drip poisoned lies in the god's ears about Snape. It was possible of course. Snape's heart beat a little faster at the prospect. Then he clamped down on his fear, ruthlessly pushing it to one side. If Marcus had run to Sabazios, then so be it. Deal with the dragon once it's out of the egg, Snape reasoned grimly. For now, they had a Manticore to bleed.

***

"Where is the creature?" Hermione asked after a while, a little out of breath. They were walking quickly, and she was struggling to keep up.

"They are kept with the other wild beasts for the amphitheatre show in the vivarium on the outskirts of the city." Snape spoke in a matter-of-fact way, and he slowed his pace marginally as he responded to her.

Hermione took a breath and nodded – she had heard of these zoo-like holding areas, often underground, where exotic animals from all over the Empire were held until the wild beast shows that were so popular among the Romans could be held.

She looked again across at him as they walked along. He was studiously avoiding meeting her eye, and once again, she felt an acute stab of remorse and irritation at his changed attitude towards her.

She felt drawn to him, both physically and emotionally. He radiated a kind of physical confidence that seemed at odds with his sometimes-diffident attitude. He had a brilliant mind, and yet the sarcasm and wit, which he had used to such cruel effect when she was a child, seemed to have been mediated and mellowed. He looked at her with such intensity, and on the few occasions when he had smiled at her, she had been thrilled by the connection between them. It seemed to be – she cast about for a way to describe it – private... intimate.

She reflected with a pang of regret and a deep roiling frustration: quite apart from anything else, it was certainly the best sex she'd had in years, if ever. Ron had been generally enthusiastic and energetic, but sex with him had been vigorous and earnest and, at times, quite satisfying, but it had increasingly lacked that deeper sense of connection that she had yearned for. Since she had broken up with Ron, sexual opportunities had been few and mostly unsatisfactory.

Last night, she had found Snape surprisingly tender and gentle. She had been hugely surprised that he had been keen to pleasure her before himself (not something that could ever have been said for Ron, she thought dryly), and he had touched her with a trembling sense of hesitancy, which had been both maddening and thrilling in equal measures. There had been a constrained vulnerability in his actions, even as he reached his own release, which had made her virtually come apart with pleasure. The little contented sigh that he had let out before rolling gently to his side and snuggling against her had been even more remarkable.

She'd had a wonderful time, and she was convinced that he had also enjoyed it. She had relished his physical attention, and despite his seeming regret about what had happened, she sensed that their weird connection still existed. She let her breath escape in frustration. So why did he pull away this morning?

Well, for some reason he had, and she would be damned if she were going to throw herself at him, or worse, insist that they "talk" about it. Stupid Slytherin, she thought, what are you playing at? Determined not to descend into a needy and frustrated condition, she forced her mind to return to the challenge ahead as they stomped along the uneven streets.

"When I walked around the city, I went to the amphitheatre," she said, breaking the silence. "I didn't see a vivarium when I was there."

Snape nodded. "I'm not surprised. The entrance is hidden at the rear of the structure, and the holding pens are underground," he said flatly.

"Right." She shrugged, accepting his explanation. There were extensive remains in Rome, beneath the Colosseum, of holding cages for wild animals for the beast hunts. It was widely known that dangerous animals were stored in vivaria close to the amphitheatres, even out here in the provinces – and the Pompeian amphitheatre was so large it could have accommodated such a thing. To Hermione's knowledge, the Pompeian amphitheatre had not been extensively excavated, beyond freeing it from the debris of the volcanic eruption. It was fascinating to think that a similar subterranean set of tunnels and holding pens might be below the mighty structure. She made a mental note to research this thoroughly when she got back home.

If I get back home. She blinked at the sudden thought that she might never return to her modern world.

The day was blisteringly hot. Heat radiated from the stones of the street, and the smell of the sewage and other rubbish along the street was high and rank. Hermione could still see evidence of the recent quake as they walked past the palaestra (the training ground for gladiators to the west of the amphitheatre). Three of the tall fluted columns that partially supported the loggia on the southern side of the open space had collapsed. There was a small group of workmen erecting wooden scaffolding in order to support the gallery while stonemasons were busily repairing the columns and using a makeshift crane to lift the different sections of the column back into place.

When they reached the end of the palaestra, they swept around the corner, and once again, the Pompeian amphitheatre, huge and imposing, faced Hermione. As before, there were a number of people milling about in the square where the amphitheatre stood, some buying and selling goods and items, more just simply passing the time of day with each other. A few stalls were selling wine and food in the square.

Severus stalked past the stalls and people, walking around the western side of the building, past one of the external flights of stone steps that led into the upper stories of the seating for the amphitheatre. It was quieter here with hardly anyone in evidence.

He turned to her as they reached the southern end of the building. "Look there," he directed, indicating a pair of fir trees at the edge of the square close to the city walls. Between the two trees was a low, square brick structure measuring about five feet in width. In the centre of the side facing them was a dust-covered grating, partially obscured by a canvas sheet.

Hermione squinted at it. "What's that?"

"An entrance to the vivarium," he replied. "The animals are taken in through a different, larger entrance outside the walls so there's no risk of them escaping and running amok in the city. This way in is for the magistri – the animal trainers and attendants." He frowned. "Or, of course, it's also a way out – an escape route."

"Is anyone else going to be down there?" she asked.

"It's not in use during this time of year," Snape answered. "It's too hot for beast shows. They only put on about four or five venatio a year, usually during the winter or spring.

"The Aedile's office controls access to these tunnels and holding pens," Snape said as he continued to walk stiffly around the walls of the amphitheatre.

"Where did the Manticore come from?"

"Greece. It was captured in Northern Thrace. It had been scheduled to be exhibited in the Colosseum, but Marcus diverted it here. Presumably those transporting them thought that it was some form of exotic lion. What do you know about Manticores?"

He had slipped into 'professor' mode again, but she found that she didn't care. Eagerly, she scanned her memory for the information. She had not continued to study Care of Magical Creatures at school beyond the third year, so most of her knowledge had been gleaned through the hours of additional reading she had undertaken both in Hogwarts' library and later at her university in Australia.

"They have the body of a lion, the tail of a scorpion, and the face of a human," she began, remembering a particularly useful book she'd bought for her lessons her third year, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. "They are notoriously difficult to train or to communicate with, although Hagrid managed to do so. Medieval writers thought that their voices were harsh, like trumpets, but later scholars think that there is evidence which points to some sort of telepathic abilities – speaking directly into your mind. Their skin is resistant to spells and very, very tough. Manticores are classified as being sentient life forms, but their tendency towards extreme violence has meant that they are categorised as creatures rather than magical beings...." Her voice trailed away.

Snape's mouth had quirked into a small smile. "Impressive, Miss Granger," he allowed, nodding his head towards her with irony.

Unabashed, she stared back at him, daring him to call her a know-it-all, and then she flicked her glance towards the barely concealed entrance to the vivarium.

"How are we going to get in unnoticed?" she asked, unconsciously dropping her voice to a whisper. He flashed her a look of amused exasperation, then turned and drew her closer to the outside walls of the amphitheatre.

Around the outside of the building at regular intervals were tall arched alcoves, measuring almost twenty feet in height and about seven feet across. Hermione felt Snape steer her into one of them and press her into the shadow of the wall. He froze in place, holding her near to him and intently watching the passing of people and animals in the square before them.

In the enclosed space of the alcove, she was intensely aware of his body against hers, the sweet-sour smell from his skin, and the clamouring of her physical reaction to him. She knew that she was breathing more heavily and berated herself for her foolishness. Concentrate, for goodness sakes! This is going to be dangerous. Stop dreaming like a lovesick mooncalf! Trying to ease this uncomfortable proximity, she shifted her body away from his. He seemed to be waiting for something. He wasn't moving or looking at her. He simply held her by the upper arms and looked over her left shoulder out onto the square. What is he doing?

Seemingly oblivious to her pathetic squirming, Severus looked around again and then flicked his wand. Hermione felt the cool sensation of the Disillusionment Charm flow over her. As she stared at him, he quirked an eyebrow and gradually faded from view as well.

You're a witch, Hermione, she groaned inwardly. For Merlin's sake, please start thinking like one!

She felt his hand travel lightly to her collarbone, then slide down her shoulder and arm once more. Rather than have him proprietarily take her arm again, she raised her hand up to clasp his. She was pleased when she felt his fingers tighten, accepting her hold. A few more seconds passed in silence, and Hermione felt his breath fall on the skin of her neck and collarbone.

Just as she was about to reach closer, answering the call of her insistent longing for him, he made a slight sound in his throat and tightened his grip on her fingers, silently guiding her out from the alcove and over to the grate between the two trees.

The spell was well cast, but like all Disillusionment Charms, the results were not perfect. She could make out a faint shimmer, which indicated the outline of his body. With luck, the heat of the day, and the faint haze it was also creating, would serve to hide them further. His hand left her arm, and Hermione saw the piece of canvas that was draped partially over the grate lift slightly and slowly pull to the side. There was a further pause, and then she jumped slightly when she heard the lock of the grate snap open and the bolts securing it in place slide backwards.

"Hermione," his quiet voice was tense, "are you ready?"

She blushed as she remembered the last time he had used those exact words with her and was so grateful that he could not see her reaction.

Keeping her voice neutral and steady, she said, "Let's get on with it, Severus."

After one final pause, during which she was sure that both of them looked around the square to check that the area around the entrance to the vivarium was unobserved, Snape lifted the heavy entrance grate and ushered her inside, shutting it carefully behind them. Hermione shivered as the heavy bolts on the grate slid quietly back into place.

They were in.

The corridor they were walking through was dank and dark. Snape held his wand aloft in front of them, and its pale, bluish glow illuminated the brick-lined tunnel for about twenty feet ahead. The smell of damp and decay filled her nostrils, competing with a high and sharp fecal smell, as they progressed downwards at a gentle angle. The tunnel was narrow, about five feet across, and Hermione bumped against him as they walked silently along. She could hear nothing apart from the beating of blood in her ears and the harsh sound of their breathing. It grew colder the deeper they went, and Hermione could feel the hairs rising on her arms as she walked. Snape did not seem inclined to talk, and she grew ever more nervous as they made their way along the length of the entrance to the vivarium.

"Severus," she began and was shocked at how her voice seemed to echo loudly in the corridor; she held up her hand to forestall his angry shush. "Sorry," she hissed, modulating her voice to a whisper, "but... How are we going to do this?"

Snape put a hand on her arm. "Wait a moment, and I'll explain," he murmured back as they stepped into a large room at the end of the entrance corridor. The room was square with at least three exits leading off it. Hermione watched as Snape walked across the room to a torch that was set against the back wall. He picked it up and muttered, "Facem Inflamare," and watched as little blue flames danced along the torch's length and set the wadding of cloth at its end on fire. Illuminated by the light of the torch, Hermione saw Snape give her a provocative stare and raise his left eyebrow.

She grinned in response. "How did you know?" she asked quietly with a faint chuckle.

"I had no idea at the time," he replied. "I was just trying to stop that idiot Quirrell in his attempt to kill the saviour of the wizarding world before Vector pushed me over and shouted something about my clothes being on fire. It was only later in the staff room that the news of your... precocious talents... came to light."

She pulled a face. "It seems to be a little late to say sorry," she whispered.

He regarded her steadily and not without humour, but then his face clouded a little in the firelight. "It's alright," he muttered. "That was nothing compared to what bloody Longbottom did in your third year."

"Ahh," she said sympathetically, remembering the Boggart. "Yes... well.... You weren't exactly friendly towards him, were you? No wonder he was terrified of you."

Snape snorted quietly. She thought that he might have been blushing, but it was so hard to tell in the limited, dancing light.

"You didn't have to sit through Lupin's account of the event in the staff room later that evening," he said, and there was real awkwardness in his body language now. Hermione felt an increasingly familiar surge of empathy rush through her body, and she leaned forward to touch him, but he had walked over to another torch and touched the first one to it, lighting the second. Immediately, the level of light rose in the room. Setting the two torches into place in the walls, Snape beckoned her over to the centre of the room.

He squatted on his haunches and indicated that she do the same. Using the handle of his wand, he quickly sketched out a rectangle in the fine gravel on the floor with lines radiating outwards into a series of corridors and smaller chambers. Snape was all business now.

"The Manticore is held in a pen about a hundred yards north of here," he explained, drawing a cross in the centre of the rectangle. "This corridor here," he said, indicating the crude map on the floor, "leads down to the cage. Once we are ready, I want you to distract the creature from outside the cage while I enter the enclosure from this side entrance." Severus stabbed his wand at the diagram on the floor.

"If you can keep its attention for about a minute, I will be able to get everything I need. The animal's skin is not very sensitive, so if I am not seen, the process will be straightforward. Remember that we cannot use magic at any time until the blood is safely locked inside the syringe; otherwise, the blood will be tainted."

Snape sat back on his haunches and pulled the leather satchel that was slung over his shoulders around in front of him. Flipping up the front flap of the bag, Snape withdrew the metal-clad syringe from it and showed it to her. It was about eight inches long and three inches wide with a thick needle at one end and an elliptical handle at the opposite end. Surrounding the translucent phial of quartz at its centre was a brass sleeve in two layers like an interlocking net. Hermione rotated the syringe in her hand, marvelling at the fine workmanship of the mechanism.

Gently, Snape plucked it from her hands. "You push the needle into the vein and then pull on this handle." He demonstrated to her, pulling the plunger smoothly out. Then he took the syringe in both hands and twisted it sharply. There was an audible metallic click, the open areas of the brass sleeve moved in his hands and meshed together, and the quartz was entirely enclosed by the metal.

"Once the metal is closed around the crystal phial at the centre of the syringe, the blood is sealed and, therefore, protected, and magic may be used around the container."

"Just like that," Hermione said, a note of almost hysteria in her voice.

"Just like that," Severus confirmed, his eyes burning into hers. Everything he had not said was in that look. Hermione took a deep breath and nodded.

They both stood, and Severus handed her the bag of meat before walking over to the far side of the room and picking up one of the torches from its sconce on the wall. There, hanging from wooden pegs on the wall, were a series of leather straps and some leather cuirasses. Hermione recognized them as being the standard protective armour for the bestiarii – the beast masters who fought animals in the arena. Efficiently, he shrugged into one of the cuirasses and wrapped leather straps around his wrists and forearms to form some sort of protection.

When Snape was ready, he turned and smiled at her again tightly before indicating that she should follow him through the doorway to his left. Taking the torch from her fingers, he led her into the darkness.