Chapter 19

A/N: All praise to JKR and her world. Grateful thanks to the incomparable beaweasley2 and Clairvoyant for their help and support. I am sorry that this has taken so long to get to you, particularly as I left you all hanging with an evil cliffie (TM) – I had to finish my first SS/HG Exchange fic before the deadline! Here we go....

Chapter 19

Hermione felt a cold finger beneath her skin. Her chin was tilted upwards, and she looked into Sabazios' face. To her surprise, she felt the unmistakable shiver of personal wards. This creature... this god... was surrounded not just by normal concealment charms – these glamours seemed also to be some sort of magical shield.

She wondered why a god would need to make use of glamours and personal wards?

It was hard to focus on what she was looking at. The god's features shimmered and seemed to blur in a manner that owed nothing to the great burning brazier behind them. It was deeply disconcerting. Hermione caught her breath and was ashamed to feel her body begin to respond to the featherlight touch of his fingers on her skin.

This was not the arousal that she had felt when Severus had kissed her – all earthy excitement and promise; rather, she felt possessed and constricted – like an object or a thing in the creature's grasp. She shivered, but that only served to increase the uncomfortable feeling of stimulation that she was experiencing.

It was perfect. It was frightening. It was terrible.

Hermione forced herself to try to be calm, to think of nothing, to make her mind a blank space. She stared into Sabazios' eyes and became lost in their golden depths.

The god smiled at her, and she quailed in the face of such implacable beauty.

"So, my dear," Sabazios' musical voice reverberated with uncomfortable harmonics, "why are you really here, then, mmmmm?"

"I... I have told you, my lord." Hermione stumbled over her words. "I've brought you the potion you require from my... from Severus the Healer."

Sabazios chuckled mirthlessly again, tipping her head further backwards so that her whole throat was exposed.

"Is this who you say came to Severus from his world, Marcus?" the god drawled loudly, Hermione's chin still held in its fingers.

Hermione's heart sank when she heard a familiar voice.

"Oh yes, great lord." Marcus Fiducius' voice was smooth and urbane once more. Gone was the desperation of a few nights ago when he had threatened to drink her blood in the little darkened room at Conviva's house. Hermione swivelled her eyes around to try to catch sight of the Aedile, but he was just out of her vision.

"And you say that Severus is very fond of her?" Sabazios asked, tilting its head thoughtfully from side to side as it continued to regard her with consideration.

Fiducius moved a little closer, almost to the god's shoulder, and Hermione could now see him. The Aedile's face was calm, but his eyes seemed to glitter in the firelight. He was regarding her with a mixture of disdain and dislike, and the pulse beneath his left eye twitched and flickered. "Yes, my Lord. Severus seems to be... attached to the girl." The Pompeian met her stare with his own, and she briefly re-lived the unpleasant confrontation in the House of the Vettii when Severus had come to her rescue.

Sabazios tongue clicked in his mouth. "I wonder who you really are, little one," he purred. "What is Doctor Hermione Granger, mmmmm?"

Hermione could feel the faint points of his long nails on the vulnerable skin beneath her jaw. She had known that this would happen, and she had prepared for it. She fought to keep her thoughts vague and colourless. Dull and blank, dull and blank, dull and blank, she repeated over and over again in her mind.

Impossible.

Sabazios was in her thoughts, carefully picking his way through her initial attempts to keep everything empty and bare. Unbidden, she saw her own individual memories began to play in front of her much like when she had looked into Snape's consciousness.

Hermione understood the theory behind Occlumency. However, like Legilimency, it was a magical skill that she had only practised a little.

She knew that if she could entice Sabazios with certain memories, she stood a chance of keeping the creature away from what she did not wish him to know. She knew that she had to resist, had to fight, but she needed to be clever. He would push into her mind for her secrets, but she had to control what information she allowed him to see. They needed to be strong memories, ones that she had an emotional connection with. Sabazios wanted to know who she was. Perhaps if she gave him that, he could be kept away from more important concerns.

Praying that she could keep Sabazios away from finding out about the imminent volcanic eruption, Hermione concentrated as hard as she could to bring particular images to the forefront of her thoughts.

It hurt.

She felt her mind twist and yaw under the direction he was forcing her thoughts, and she fought back, pushing memories forward for the god to see.

Who was she really?

She felt him rip into images from her consciousness.

Hermione pushed images of her parents to the front of her mind. Her father's scowls in the bathroom mirror as he fought to comb his hair into shape. Her mother delighting in taste of a really strong cup of coffee. Relaxing with her parents, perusing the Sunday newspapers in Melbourne as the sun shone brightly through the patio windows into the sitting room. Reading about Ron's Quidditch team's latest match. Seeing a picture of Ron spinning wildly on his broom to make the decisive save of the match, ever the hero.

Hermione sensed Sabazios' distaste at the harmonious scene before him and felt him grasp onto her lingering sense of irritation at Ron's picture to follow her emotional link towards him.

Suddenly, she was screaming at Ron as he threw his belongings into an expandable bag, his shoulders hunched and defensive. Hermione threw a counter image across her consciousness of Ron laughing and sharing an ice cream sundae with her at Timis Gelato, a popular ice cream parlour in Brunswick Street. She looked about the room and sensed Sabazios' shock and interest in the glinting, reflective surfaces and the strange mechanical devices in the parlour. She looked back at Ron. He had a smudge of whipped cream on his nose, which made him look rather boyish and attractive.

Unbidden, her mind suddenly contorted. Sharing another meal, a rough fry-up of foraged mushrooms and sorrel, sitting on logs in a cold autumnal camp site. Harry joining them, sitting down beside her. Hermione fought to control her surge of emotion as she saw the memory of her tousled-haired friend, Slytherin's Locket around his neck. Sabazios became interested in the locket, but quickly, Hermione slammed herself into the memory of a storm of bats rushing past her from a cave at Goa Lalay in Java.

Sabazios recoiled with her as the creatures screamed over her head. Instinctively she ducked, terrified but enthralled, as they shot past her into the darkening evening light. Sabazios tried to follow her fear and terror, but Hermione, who had by now become used to the mental game they were playing, countered his thrust with another image of joy and discovery. She was uncovering a beautiful mosaic image of a dancing girl. The detail was exquisite, and Hermione allowed the rush of excitement that she always felt when she found something that had been lost.

Lost? Snape filled her mind suddenly, strong, confident, and comfortable in his tunica, walking with her through the city, and Hermione realised that Sabazios had caught her with a sly manoeuvre and was prying into her feelings about Severus. She struggled to repel him, but her own confusion and upset at her strange situation made the action doubly difficult.

A barb of pain spiked through her as Sabazios pushed further into her thoughts.

Snape stalking along a corridor at Hogwarts, hooded, tense, and bitter as she had first known him... spinning around in front of her, his pale chin jutting out, spittle flying from his mouth, features twisted into fury.... Then lying lifeless and bloodied on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.... Later than that, his pale form, peaceful and composed, dressed in fine cloth as they lowered him with their magic into the granite tomb next to Dumbledore's. With a huge effort, Hermione pulled back from the images, trying to deny Sabazios any views of the magical world she had largely left behind eleven years before.

Sabazios hummed a little in his throat, his head falling to one side as he weighed her up. "Your mind feels... different than these others," he said as he made a dismissive gesture at Fiducius and the other acolytes. "Hmmm–mmm. More deeply, I think...." One hand slid around to grasp her throat while the other cupped the back of her head in a parody of a lover's embrace. Hermione's body spasmed into an arch as the god's presence in her mind redoubled.

Who is this human in front of me? The question rolled lazily through her consciousness. She felt the barbs of the god's Legilimency spike once more into her thoughts.

She caught onto his question and determined to show him only her 'Muggle' life in Australia. She was in a library, researching for her doctorate, revelling in her fascination with Archaeology, her search for answers, her dogged determination to succeed. She revisited her graduation at Maquarie, standing in line to receive her doctorate from the vice chancellor, her heart pounding with pride and satisfaction. Doctor Hermione Granger. Finally!

Now she was screaming at Ron – the last of their rows. As the images played out in her mind, she relived the feelings of liberation and numbness that seared through her as she watched him pack his bags and leave for good.

Sabazios tried to follow her trail of emotions again, but Hermione pushed forward her experiences in Pompeii. Her excitement and interest in the houses, roads, and shops that she had seen; her fascination with the architecture and the unusual layout of Snape's house: the beautiful peristyle garden, the decorated rooms, the atrium, the potions laboratory; the feeling of protection and safety that the house offered to them. Her mind lingered in particular on Snape's private bath suite with its deep marble bath and the grinning mosaic skeleton on the floor.

Abruptly, Sabazios recoiled away from her mind, as if stung, but its hands still clutched tightly around her head. Hermione sagged, but forced herself to stand upright, taking great raking breaths to keep conscious, to recover from the mental assault she had just endured.

"That place...?" Sabazios gripped her jaw, and Hermione whimpered at the harsh contact of his fingers. "That is where your... master... lives?"

Hermione was confused. Why was Sabazios interested in Snape's house after everything he had seen in her mind? She gasped as Sabazios' hands moved upwards from her jaw, digging his fingers into the skin on either side of her skull.

"Is it?" it insisted, its face close to hers, its features shimmering unpleasantly.

"Y–yes, lord," Hermione whimpered.

"What do you know of it? Why is he there? The flooring... Where is the shrine in the basement?

For once, Hermione did not need to dissemble. She was genuinely confused by his questions. Beside her she heard Fiducius shift uncomfortably.

"There – there is no shrine, lord," she choked out. "Only his... ahh... workspace, and his bath suite...."

"And how did he come to live in this house, this potions man with so many secrets?"

Hermione's heart was beating wildly. She was lightheaded with panic. What's he talking about? What's so special about Snape's house, and why does Sabazios seem to know about it? "I...I don't know, lord.... He has lived there for years." She twisted in his grip, her eyes falling on Fiducius, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable. Again, Hermione felt that she was missing a crucial piece of information. "Fiducius helped him to find it when he needed a place to live," she gasped. "Please, may I return to him? I will bring more potions to you."

Sabazios' eyes narrowed, its fingers convulsing again on her face and neck as it thrust again into her mind, searching through image after image of Severus' Pompeian home, as if searching for something, relentlessly tossing aside each image as she parried and danced, pushing memory after memory at the shining god. Soon, he caught the startling image of Snape naked on the edge of his bath, healing his wounds. With a growl of something like triumph, Sabazios pounced on the arousal she had felt as she stared at the muscles writhing beneath Severus' skin as he rubbed the healing salve into his bruises. Desperate to avoid Sabazios following that emotional line, Hermione countered with the shocking image of Pertus, his head caved in, blood clotting in his hair, his sightless eyes shining in the moon- and torchlight, the terrible sorrow that she felt at the slave's death. But then, all too soon, she was staring again at Severus, watching him care for Pertus' body and performing the funeral rite for him, silent tears running down his face, his jaw set and brows fiercely furrowed. Her heart constricted at the sight, her hands twitched, wanting to reach forward, to console him... to comfort him...

Suddenly, she felt the god pull away from her memories and heard the god's laughter. She screwed her eyes shut in relief and reeled in his hands as her head swam.

Sabazios laughed again, and Hermione's teeth were set on edge by the sound of that high, girlish giggle. The god bent over her once more. She dared not open her eyes, but she could feel the creature's hot breath on her cheek. "So, little one... Severus is something more to you than just your owner?" he hissed.

She said nothing, and then she heard the unpleasant sound of him sniffing her face and neck and recoiled instinctively as a long and narrow tongue licked her cheek and lips.

"You taste of Severussss. Why can I smell his blood in you?" the god mused, and Hermione shuddered slightly as she caught the sibilance in the observation. Calling upon reserves of energy she didn't know that she had, she stiffened in its arms, hardly daring to breathe and uncertain of what her response to that question should be. She decided not to answer again and to hope that the question had been rhetorical.

Time dragged by in tortured seconds. Her pulse pounded in her constricted throat. She began to see faint stars in her vision behind her shut eyelids.

"Take her," the god ordered abruptly, and she felt strong hands grip her upper arms on either side. "Put her in with the others. I will see to her later."

Sabazios released his grip on her head and neck, and she dropped her chin to her breastbone immediately, praying that her ordeal would be over and that she would soon be able to get away. She was not sure she could sustain another Legilimency attack from the smiling god.

"But, my lord... the potion maker...?" Fiducius voice held just the right level of cautious obsequiousness. He was clearly nervous at the prospect of meeting Severus again.

Hermione held her breath and strained her hearing as she waited for the god's response.

"Severus will come. Do not doubt it," Fiducius pressed. "He will not be able to prevent himself from playing the hero. I have seen enough of him to know it. We need the potion, Master, if we are to grow even stronger...."

"Marcus... Marcusss..." Sabazios' voice was mockingly confident. "You must not be concerned, my son. I will not allow any mere human to best ussss, no matter how many clever tricks and potions he has. There are other ways for humans to escape their humanity."

In the pause that followed, Hermione could hear her heartbeat thump in her throat. She swallowed roughly. Her legs shook with the effort of remaining as still as she could.

"Besides, my dear Marcusss," Sabazios said eventually, "We hold Severus' special friend. He will come, but he will also do exactly what I wish him to do. Or the consequences for this little one...." Hermione heard a shared chuckle between Fiducius and the god and felt sick. She had thought to appease Sabazios and buy herself time to decode the portrait. What a bloody fool!

Hermione kept her head down and her eyes focused on the ground. Abruptly, she felt herself pulled backwards, away from the dais, and she stumbled but fought to remain on her feet, back peddling through the harsh grit of the cavern's floor.

She was being half-dragged and half-carried towards one of the metal cages at the side of the cavern. The door to the cage was opened, and she was thrust roughly inside, coming to rest with a barely contained cry of pain, sprawled on her knees upon the floor.

She could smell sweat and the sickly sweet smell of urine in the cage.

Hermione rose to her hands and knees, panting with the effort of clearing her head, using the bars of the cage to pull herself upright. She looked through the cage towards the dais.

A trembling acolyte poured a measure of the Metamorphmagus Potion into a shallow bowl and offered it to the golden figure. Sabazios delicately dipped its finger into the bowl's contents and raised it to its lips. Its eyes fluttered closed as it tasted the brew. The aura around Sabazios pulsed and grew in intensity. The god smiled and then drained the remaining contents of the bowl.

Hermione's watched as its body seemed to blur before her eyes, appearing for a moment to change shape. She had a brief, horrible vision of a mass of bloated flesh wound about by snakes. She blinked, disbelievingly, and saw his form reassemble into the image of a perfectly formed human body once more.

Hermione watched, thinking, I brewed that potion. I caused this. I made this happen. She realised that Severus carried this guilt, too, and wondered how he had borne it for so long.

The figures on the platform were moving around Sabazios. She was too far away to be able to make out the individuals' faces. They were all wearing long, dark hooded robes. She shivered uncontrollably. The parallel with Voldemort's Death Eaters was appallingly clear. She watched as one of the acolytes carefully decanted tiny quantities of the potion into smaller terracotta cups before placing the bottle and its remaining liquid on a small table to the right of Sabazios' cushioned couch.

Sabazios' men moved silently around him, holding a cup each in both hands. At the god's signal, each man raised the cup high above his head and then drained its contents.

"My lord, the time...?" Fiducius' voice was laced with excitement. Hermione felt the vibration of uncontrolled magical energy in the room.

"Aaah, yes, I did promise my loyal subjects the opportunity to enjoy some of the pleasures of the city, did I not? It is time. Gather the acolytes, Marcus. We shall go and explore the city. Tonight, my children, you will walk with me as gods upon the earth!"

"My lord... What about the humans?" Fiducius' voice was cautious and strangely deep – was that from the effect of the potion? Hermione wondered.

"What of them?" replied Sabazios. "The dancers will guard them. They will serve me later, as all humanity shall. Now, my children! Engorgio!"

Hermione's grasped the bars of the cage and pulled herself into a seated position in the shadows, watching with widening eyes as the god seemed to grow physically in stature and become larger and larger. As he grew, he appeared to shine more brightly, become even more painful to look at, his glamours increasing in intensity and pulsing with energy. He spread his hands out and swept them around him.

To her horror, she saw the others also begin to grow in size until they were almost fifteen feet tall. The god laughed in delight and then led his followers from the podium, past the brazier and the circle of unconscious dancers lying about it. They walked with aggressive purpose in the wake of Sabazios. When they reached the other side of the cavern, she saw them disappear into the shadows.

Hermione shuddered with relief.

She turned around and slid down the bars until her bottom thumped onto the floor. She put her head in her hands and shakily tried to come to terms with the events of the last few hours.

She felt in her tunica for her wand, which she had tucked into a Transfigured pocket on the inside of her clothing. It was still there. She rubbed the place between her breasts where her pendant usually lay.

Gone.

She let out a shaky sigh.

The more she thought about it now, the greater the difference she felt between Slytherin's locket and the old perfume bottle. While the locket had seemed to leach all hope and optimism out of the wearer, she had always felt that the little bottle had soothed and calmed her.

Well, she was certainly feeling far from calm and soothed now.... Her chest was aching without it, and she felt desperately uncomfortable.

She should not have felt upset like this without the thing around her neck, surely?

She considered her feelings for Snape. Again, she was astonished at how quickly her feelings had grown for him and how strongly they affected her here in this place.

Hermione was not much of a romantic in real life, but she had made an exception to that emotional rule for the memory of Severus. It was embarrassingly true that, for years, she had put the dead wizard on a pedestal... had idolised him, even. She had admired his self-sacrifice and dedication to his duty. She had been envious of his determination to do the right thing, to follow Dumbledore's orders, even though it made him a murderer who would be hated, his actions misinterpreted and misunderstood.

A shrewd Muggle psychiatrist had once told her that she was simply using the memory of Snape as a means to keep others at a safe emotional distance. Naturally, she had disagreed with his suggestion and had refused to go back to revisit the therapist. She had been frightened, both by her transparency and his insight.

She now blushed when she considered the stupid, girlish crush she'd had and compared her feelings for the dead martyr to the living man. Meeting Severus, working with him here is this world and in this time, sharing some of his secrets, seeing something more of his own cares and feelings, had put flesh on his bones and had turned him from a revered image to an earth-bound reality.

She wondered how far the Horcrux that she wore around her neck had controlled those feelings.

Now that she'd had time to distance herself from her actions, she was beginning to suspect that knocking Snape out and bringing the potion herself to Sabazios had been more of a grand and foolish gesture than a practical act.

Oh God, I wish he was here! She rubbed her face with her hands, regretting the strength of the hex that she had used on him. Unthinkingly, she had removed any chance of a rescue. Hadn't she been the one who made the argument about them working together in this place? She was on her own. Idiot. Idiot.

She grasped her wand, thought of the Stunning Spell she had used and said, "Finite Incantatem!" as loudly as she could in her mind. Maybe it would work... although she feared that it would not. She sighed. There was surely no way he could break through that curse and awaken. It would take a superhuman effort of will to be able to do so.

Well, part of the plan had worked. Sabazios had given every sign of wanting to stay around in the city. She was still alive, and the god did not appear to know about the imminent eruption. At least she had kept that from him.

The only problem was... This cavern looked as if it was too deep in the earth to be affected by the eruption. She had to find some way of drawing him out of this safe environment to allow the volcano to destroy him – if indeed that were even possible.

Snape's plan now seemed to be far less of a sure thing from her new perspective.

Then there was the issue of how in Merlin's name she was going to manipulate the portrait runes to enable them to escape this time and return home.

She allowed her head to loll backwards against the metal bar of the cage, her eyes still shut in exhaustion. Okay, she thought tiredly, what's your next move, Hermione?

A scuffing noise in front of her made her open her eyes quickly in alarm.

Sweet Merlin! She had forgotten about the animals in the cages!

Her fingers tightened on the smooth wood of her wand, and she pushed her hair back from her sweaty brow as she peered into the darkness of the cage before her.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see a small group of figures, clumped together at the furthest end of the cage. She relaxed as she began to make out human forms rather than bestial.

Hermione saw one figure break away from the group of cowering figures in the shadows at the rear of the cage and begin to crawl towards her haltingly. Her fingers tightened defensively again on her wand. Caged, desperate humans could still be dangerous. She watched the woman approach her. She had been badly beaten, her face marked by savage cuts and bruises, her clothing was torn and bloodied.

Hermione stared in dumbfounded recognition as the woman drew closer, and her face came into the firelight from the brazier.

It was Marcella.

***

Conviva cursed his soft nature. He had no idea of the time, but he seemed to have been stuck in this unpleasantly charged underground atmosphere for far too long. Why had he agreed to watch over an unconscious man? This was surely a job for a household servant!

He was late for his agreed upon meeting with his brother, a pleasant prospect involving some lovely old falernian. There had been no opportunity to get word to Restitutus to tell him he would be delayed. He had shouted for a slave, but none had appeared.

Meanwhile, Severus was.... It was impossible to say that he was behaving oddly because he was not 'behaving' at all. He still lay silent and unmoving, half-naked on the trestle bed. Conviva sat down again on the uncomfortable stool and tapped his foot on the floor.

He tapped it again.

He cleared his throat.

He shifted his buttocks awkwardly.

It was chilly in the room, and Conviva noticed that Severus' skin was turning mottled, the hairs rising slowly into goosebumps. It suddenly seemed very quiet indeed inside the cellar room. Conviva shivered. Was it getting even colder in here? Don't be bloody ridiculous!

Conviva reached across to gently tug the blankets up over his friend's chest.

"GRANGER!" Snape's bellow filled the laboratory, reverberating off the walls and even causing the lighter glass phials to vibrate in anxious sympathy.

With a startled cry, Conviva reared backwards, almost falling off the uncomfortable stool he had perched upon to watch his friend. He flailed his left arm out and caught himself on the side of the bed, pulled hard, then pitched himself forward, instead, over his friend's prone body.

He was nose-to-nose with a furious and utterly wide awake Severus.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Severus snarled. His stare was terrifying in its intensity.

"Hermione asked me to watch over you while she went out," Conviva stammered dumbly and was ashamed that his voice sounded so high pitched. He was still frozen in place above Severus' face, his arms braced on either side of the other man's shoulders.

"What?" Severus jack-knifed upwards on the mattress, spilling his blankets onto the floor and causing Conviva to jump backwards off the bed to avoid having his nose broken. Severus struggled upright and shoved himself to his feet, where he swayed slightly but then steadied.

Conviva watched, too shocked to move as his friend took stock of his surroundings. Less than a few hours previously, Severus had had broken bones, and his torso had been a mass of bruises and bloody cuts. Now he was standing lightly on the balls of his feet, flexing his hands and breathing aggressively, deeply... looking for all the world like a gladiator about to enter the amphitheatre. His ripped black tunica was still belted around his hips, but he was naked from the waist upwards, dried blood and yellow bruising painting his torso with wild patterns. Conviva quailed slightly at the image that he presented: an avenging, barbarian spirit.

"Where the bloody fuck did she go?" Severus grabbed Conviva's tunica and pulled the other man close.

"I don't bloody fuck know!" Conviva bellowed back, partly out of relief and partly out of fear, shoving Severus backwards. He watched, with some satisfaction, as the other man winced when his injured shoulder was twisted. Not quite recovered, then, thought Conviva nastily, regaining his equilibrium a little.

Severus looked almost deranged with worry as he paced the lab.

Conviva shrugged. "She said she had to take something to one of your clients. Then she grabbed a bottle, filled it with something from that cooking pot over there and walked out. Oh... she also told me to tell you that she forgives you for what you did and..."

"She said bloody what?" Severus asked him in a strangled tone, running his hand through his greasy hair.

"Um, her exact words were..." Conviva screwed up his eyes as he tried to recall what the girl had said, repeating, "'Tell him that I understand why he did what he did and that I don't blame him for it.'" He opened his eyes in time to catch Severus' face flush a dull red and his expression evolve from stunned, to disbelieving, embarrassed, and contemptuous.

Immediately, Severus spun on his heel and stalked towards the metal cooking pot and its shimmering contents. He hovered over it for a few moments, appearing to check the roiling liquid within. Seemingly satisfied, he grunted, then moved to the shelves with the broken pots and containers on them. As he picked out various items, Conviva could hear Severus muttering under his breath, but the baffled Pompeian could not make out the words that the other man was saying.

Judging from the man's body language, however, he did not think Severus had taken kindly to Hermione's forgiveness. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Severus frowned and didn't answer. He picked up a few bottles and tipped the contents into a ceramic bowl, stirring them together with a metal spoon. "What day is it?" he asked gruffly, not looking at his companion.

Conviva paused for a moment. "It's the evening before Vulcanalia," he replied and then added rather petulantly, "I should be meeting Restitutus and Fiducius to go over our preparations for the feast in the Forum tomorrow rather than watching over your worthless backside."

The dour man shot him a quick, guarded look. "Fiducius?" he asked. "Have you been in touch with him since the evening of your dinner party?"

Conviva snorted. "No. But that doesn't mean the snake won't be expecting us to pull out all the stops to make the event something special. He has some new friends he keeps telling us he wants to impress, you know."

Severus smiled grimly, his lips a thin line. He finished stirring the contents of the bowl and then, without ceremony, picked it up and gulped the liquid down, grimacing slightly afterwards and holding on to the bench in front of him for support.

After a few seconds, Severus straightened up once more. He turned around and regarded Conviva carefully.

"You need to listen carefully to me, Conviva," he said. "You need to take Marcella and the children and get out of Pompeii."

Conviva rolled his eyes. "Oh, Hercules, not you too, Severus," he groaned. "After the earthquake two days ago, Marcella insisted that the children leave the city for the rest of the summer. She's on her way to Salernum right now with the boys. I'm going to join her as soon as the festival is over. Silly woman, I think she's gone crazy in this heat!"

Severus shook his head. "You need to go now, Conviva. With or without Restitutus, you need to leave. Now."

Conviva snorted and made to retort, but his friend appeared to be distracted.

Severus rifled through his bed cushions, then picked up his blankets and shook them. He had begun prowling around the room, searching the shadows. He was clearly looking for something. He glanced across at Conviva, as if he were trying to make a decision, held his hand out and paused, as if waiting for something, shook his head, then continued onwards.

Conviva watched him, feeling as confused as he had done when he watched Hermione prepare to leave the chamber. What in Hades is he doing now? Have they both run mad? Severus scratched his chest and rolled his shoulders tentatively. Then he rubbed his hand over his stomach and scowled again. Is he still in pain? Mother Gaia, what is the matter with him?

Conviva watched Severus move stiffly over to the far wall.

He seemed to pause slightly before he bent over and picked something up. As he turned around, Conviva could see that it was a small glass pendant of some sort. The silver chain dangled from between his fingers. Severus rolled it between his fingers, and he seemed to be lost in thought.

"I'm going out," he said shortly, by way of explanation, as he headed to the door.

"Where?" asked Conviva, exasperated.

Severus stopped. Conviva could see his eyes glittering in the light of the room and his jaw was clenched. "I mean it, Conviva. Get out of the city. Right now," he said.

"Where are you going?" Conviva insisted, bewildered by his odd behaviour.

"I'm going to find that bloody woman and wring her bloody neck," he replied curtly, rubbing his fingers over his stomach gingerly before turning to leave.

Conviva was left alone in the darkened room with its strange contents.

He looked about him and shivered, thoroughly unnerved. From the hallway outside the room, he could hear Snape's feet stomping purposefully up the stone steps towards the peristyle.

He shivered again and made a decision. "Well, put some bloody clothes on before you go!" he shouted after the retreating figure and scrabbled to follow him up the stairs.