For Crying Out Loud

A/N: Those of you familiar with the Bat Out of Hell album may have noticed that I have taken a liberty with the track order. For some reason I'd got the last two tracks transposed in my head when I was plotting this out. And so it's staying this way, for reasons that will become clear. Apologies to any affronted Meatloaf fans!

Thanks again to peskipiksi for betaing and encouraging, and thank you to those of you who have left such great reviews. Disclaimer: anything you recognise belongs to JKR, and no-one is paying me a penny for this.

Chapter 6 – For Crying Out Loud

In other circumstances, reflected Snape, he would have thoroughly enjoyed that evening's dinner party. The food had been exceptional, the wine exquisite and free-flowing, and the company congenial. He had been flanked at the table on one side by an elderly spinster who looked to have not eaten for several days and wanted nothing more than to make up for lost time, relieving him of the necessity of making polite conversation, and on the other side by Verity. She had entertained him with an amusing sotto voce commentary on the rest of the guests, so that by the end of the meal he knew who was having an affair, whose business was in trouble, and which of the assembled worthies had a criminal past.

On another occasion he would probably have been flattered by the attentions of such an attractive woman as Verity and might even now be speculating on whether those attentions might be continued in a more physical manner. But tonight, his interest lay in a different direction. Across the table and slightly to the right, to be precise, where Hermione was dividing her not inconsiderable charms between an elderly Colonel and his nephew. The nephew was in his early twenties and clearly rather tongue-tied in Hermione's presence – Snape had seen a lot in the way of nervous laughter from him but little conversation. His uncle had no such reservations and, judging from the snippets that had reached Snape's ears, seemed to have spent most of the evening regaling Hermione with rather risqué (and possibly totally imaginary) tales of his military adventures.

Hermione looked for all the world like she was thoroughly enjoying herself, although the slight roll of the eyes she had given Snape when he had met her glance earlier indicated otherwise. She really was a good actress. Which thought obviously started him wondering just how genuine her actions towards him had been that weekend. He dismissed such ponderings savagely. Now was really not the time.

She did look lovely, though. Her green silk dress clung in all the right places, hanging from thin straps and swooping down almost indecently low at the back. Her eyes were made up to look smokily seductive, and tiny diamond studs glittered at her ears. On a purely aesthetic level, she was special. When her intelligence, independent spirit, and sense of humour were factored in, she was perfect. Oh, hell, he thought. I think she's perfect? Not only does she make me act like a hormonal adolescent – now I'm even thinking like one.

*

Hermione was relieved when Helen rose to her feet to suggest they should all adjourn to the saloon for port and coffee. Colonel Algernon Davenport was entertaining in his own way, but that way was better enjoyed in rather smaller doses than the length of a five course meal. She had kept trying to bring his mouse-like nephew into the conversation, but Nigel (was it Nigel? Neil maybe?) had just smiled bashfully and answered monosyllabically as if he'd never even spoken to a woman before. Although that hadn't stopped him gazing adoringly down her cleavage at every opportunity.

She excused herself gracefully from the two men with a murmured, "It's been a pleasure, but I really must pay my husband some attention now," and eased her way past the chattering guests until she reached Snape's side. He was talking to Verity, but quirked his lips in greeting and slipped his arm round her waist while he finished what he had been saying.

"Well," said Verity with a smile, "I see I'm surplus to requirements. I've tried to entertain him for you, Jane, but I swear he's been not even been half listening. He's got only eyes for one woman, and unfortunately, it's not me."

Snape opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione interrupted him. "No, it's no good denying it. I know you've been ogling old Mrs Fortescue all evening."

Snape shrugged. "I can't help it. I always find a moustache on a woman irresistible."

The three of them laughed; then Verity took her leave to rescue Giles, who had once again been cornered by Stacey Price. Snape and Hermione followed the other guests out into the entrance hall and towards the saloon.

"I think I feel a headache coming on," said Hermione softly. "I'll make my excuses to Helen in a moment, then slip off for half an hour or so."

Snape nodded and kissed her briefly on the cheek, his expression unreadable. "I'll be waiting, wife."

Hermione entered the saloon and found Helen checking the coffee pots. She smiled at Hermione's approach.

"Jane, dear, are you enjoying the evening?"

Hermione grimaced slightly. "It's been absolutely lovely, but I've got a bit of a headache. I'm just going to go and take some painkillers and lie down for half an hour, if you don't mind."

Helen's face took on an expression of sympathy. "Oh, no! I'd offer you some of my tablets, but Yuri was quite specific that they were formulated precisely for me, so I don't know if they'd work."

"Don't worry, I've got something very effective – Steven is useful like that." Hermione gave a weak smile. "I'm sure I'll be fine in a little while, so I'll probably see you later."

Helen still looked concerned. "Shall I send Ceri up in case you need anything?"

Hermione shook her head firmly. "No, honestly, I'll be absolutely fine. Thank you, though."

"Well, if you're sure. Have a good rest."

"Thanks, Helen."

Hermione left the room quickly. She caught Snape's eye as she left, giving a brief nod in reply to his interrogative eyebrow. She walked rapidly up the stairs and to their bedroom, then went through to the en-suite bathroom, closing the door behind her.

She took a deep, calming breath and removed her wand from where it had been concealed in her thigh holster. She tapped herself on the head with it and felt the cold chill as the Disillusionment Charm took effect. She knew she wasn't quite invisible, but it would be enough to avoid all but the most determinedly curious eyes. Taking off and discarding her shoes,she padded on now silent feet back out into the bedroom and then to the corridor. She checked in both directions before closing the bedroom door softly behind her.

She paused at the top of the stairs, waiting for the last of the guests to make their leisurely way into the saloon. When she was sure the coast was clear, she walked swiftly down the staircase and ran lightly across the vast entrance hall, only pausing when she reached the door of the study. With a final check around her, she opened the door and slipped inside, silently closing the door behind her. She leaned back against it briefly and caught her breath.

She proceeded then to the door on the opposite side of the room. She moved her wand in a diagnostic spell, but it revealed only the characteristic strokes of a Muggle-Repelling Charm. She tried the handle, only to find the door was locked. Pointing her wand at the keyhole, she murmured "Alohomora!" and felt the handle yield to her touch. She shook her head. Snape was right. Markov really was demonstrating a breathtaking certainty that the wizarding world wouldn't find him.

Going through the doorway, she found herself in a long corridor. It was dimly lit by moonlight filtering through windows to her left. Three doors opened off the right-hand side of the corridor, and there was another at the end.

She tried the first door to her right. It opened easily, and in the low light she could make out audio equipment and a couple of video monitors. Red and green LEDs flickered gaily, their cheerful twinkle belying the undoubtedly nefarious purpose of the surveillance centre. Hermione couldn't tell if there was recording equipment as well – if there was, it could prove a rich source of evidence. Making a mental note to check that point tomorrow, she closed the door and moved on to the next.

The second room was fitted out as an office, complete with computer. Hermione muttered "Finite" to cancel the Disillusionment Charm, then entered, allowing the door to close behind her. She lit her wand briefly, seated herself at the desk, and switched the computer on. Wand extinguished, she waited for the computer to boot up, using the light from the screen to check the desk drawers. She was disappointed, but not really surprised, to find nothing more interesting than printer paper, pens, and paperclips. The computer chimed softly, boot-up complete. Password required. Bugger. Now he shows some caution.

She tried a couple of passwords, more in hope than expectation of any success. 'Helen' didn't work, or 'Penbryn'. With a wry smile she tried 'Voldemort', then 'DarkMark'. No luck. She shrugged mentally. Never mind. One of her unit was a wizard with computers, so to speak. He'd crack it in an instant. She shut the computer down and returned to the dim corridor, only to nearly jump out of her skin as she heard a voice close by.

"Nigel, m'boy, I am perfectly sober and capable of driving home!" boomed Colonel Davenport's distinctive and decidedly un-sober tones.

With a sigh of relief, Hermione realised that the voice was coming from outside the windows. The Davenports must have parked right next to this wing. It was a timely reminder to keep her noise and light to a minimum, though.

Heart still beating rather faster than usual, she moved to the last door on the right. Opening the door revealed a bedroom. That was a surprise. Although, on second thoughts, it made some sense that Markov might need to stay down here, especially if he was brewing something that needed many hours of attention. The room appeared devoid of any non-essentials, with just a single bed, a bedside table, and an empty bookcase. It reminded her rather of a private hospital room. There was a further door at the back left of the room, which a quick investigation showed to contain a shower and toilet.

Back in the corridor again, Hermione paused before opening the final door. Once more, the handle moved easily under her hands, but the door itself was heavy. Heavy enough, in fact, that it took all her weight to push it open. Interesting, she thought. Reinforced, or lead-lined? The latter could serve to protect all the electrical equipment from any magic performed behind the door. She felt a flutter of anticipation as she peered around the door.

Thank Merlin and all his little pixies! The moonlight flooding through the windows into the large room reflected from the glassware, cauldrons, and bottles arrayed across four laboratory benches. Hermione shut the door behind her, careful not to let it slam. She explored the room methodically, left to right, checking cupboards and bottle labels and building up a mental inventory of equipment and ingredients. All of the components of the Scorpion Sting Potion were certainly present, and much more besides. Heaven knew what else he was brewing in here, though Severus could probably make some educated guesses. Talking of whom.... She checked her watch by the light of her wand. Her self-imposed time-limit was nearly up.

Reaching the back right hand corner of the lab, she came across a filing cabinet. She opened it, and very nearly let out a triumphant "Yes!" She contented herself with a happy smile as she flicked through the paperwork inside. She couldn't make out much in the moonlight or the faint light from her wand, but could see enough to determine that there were order forms and invoices with customer and supplier details. Hopefully, this would be enough for them to track down and destroy any potions that had already made their way into the Muggle world.

A second drawer was filled with handwritten notes in what looked like Cyrillic. He was Russian, then. Which answered one question, but led to several more, chief of which was: What the hell does this lot say? A Translation Spell would work and was simple enough to do, but she daren't take any more time. She wouldn't be surprised if Helen sent Ceri up with some warm cocoa or something if she was away for too long.

Reluctantly, she replaced the notes in the drawer and closed it. She'd come back first thing in the morning, she decided, before Markov arrived. It would be easier to work by daylight, anyway. She cast a quick look round the lab to make sure everything was as she'd found it, then sped off to return to the party.

*

Five minutes later she was back in the saloon, trying her best to look like she was recovering from a headache rather than getting her breath back. Most of the thirty or so dinner guests were still there, and the alcohol and conversation were still flowing easily. Snape must have been watching out for her, as he was by her side almost instantly.

"How are you feeling?" he asked solicitously, reaching one hand out to caress her head gently.

"Much better, thank you," she replied, trying to think of some way they could talk in private.

Snape looked at her assessingly. "You still look a little pale. I think some fresh air would do you good."

"That's an excellent idea."

She took Snape's hand and he led her towards the open French windows at the far side of the saloon. As they passed an empty chair he picked up a cushion from it. Hermione looked at him quizzically. "Wait and see," he murmured.

A couple whose names Hermione could not for the life of her remember were talking just outside, but otherwise the terrace was empty. Snape led her straight ahead, to the waist-high stone balustrade. In one smooth movement he dropped the cushion onto the top, took Hermione in his arms and lifted her round until she was sitting on the cushion, her back to the house, facing out to the moonlit garden, fifteen feet below.

She turned her head and smiled at him admiringly. "Very smooth. Did you plan that?"

"Not at all. I'm just good at spontaneous romantic gestures. Now turn around and I'll massage your shoulders." He lowered his voice. "And we can talk."

Obediently, Hermione moved so her back was to Snape once more. She felt his warm hands on her bare skin. He began to massage her neck gently, his long fingers carefully easing out the tension she hadn't even realised was there.

"Well?" he asked, his voice thrumming softly in her ear.

"Mmm. That feels lovely."

"I meant, well, what did you find?" His voice was heavy with amusement.

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that."

Hermione refused to feel embarrassed. The bloody man must know what a distraction he was proving. She dragged her mind back to the matter in hand and away from the skin under his hands.

Softly and succinctly she related her discoveries in Markov's rooms to Snape.

"So in the morning I think I'll plead another headache and go back to translate some of those papers while the rest of you are at breakfast," she concluded.

She felt Snape's hands tense a little on her shoulders, but he merely said, "If you're sure that's necessary and advisable."

"I am."

"Very well, then."

They remained in silence for a little while, Snape's fingers still moving idly on her skin. She leaned back into his hands, swinging her legs gently as she totally relaxed.

There was a sudden movement from one foot.

"Shit! My shoe's fallen into the shrubbery!"

"That's very alliterative of you." Snape moved to lean over the balustrade next to her. "Though actually I think it's a rockery."

Hermione put her head to one side, considering. "Yes, I think you're probably right. Off you go, then."

Snape turned to look at her, eyebrow raised. "To where should I be going, exactly?"

"Down there. To retrieve my shoe. It's your fault it fell off. You relaxed me too much."

Snape's eyes glinted with amusement.

"I do apologise. I shan't do it again."

"Oh yes, you will. But get my shoe back first. Please?" She smiled with saccharine sweetness and fluttered her eyelashes.

Snape snorted, but sauntered off down the steps to the garden, hands in his pockets. When he was directly below Hermione he looked up at her.

"Where exactly is your absurd item of footwear?"

Hermione peered down and pointed. "Round about there, I think."

Snape stepped unsteadily into the rockery, and Hermione could hear muffled swearing as he tried to keep his balance on the rocks without crushing any plants.

"Oh! I can see it!" she exclaimed. "It's behind the Pyracantha."

Snape looked back up at her, a slightly exasperated expression on his face. "Not helpful."

"The big plant with the white flowers," Hermione explained.

Snape ducked down under the plant in question, then began to swear loudly.

"Ouch! Bloody fucking buggeration!"

"And the sharp thorns," Hermione continued, helpfully.

Snape straightened up, brandishing her silver stiletto like he was about to hex her with it. A faintly evil smile crossed his face as he looked up at her. "I can see right up your skirt from down here, you know."

Hermione hurriedly crossed her legs and, with as much dignity as she could muster, swivelled herself around so she was sitting facing the house.

*

Snape smiled slightly as he returned to Hermione. A one–all draw, that one, he thought. He hadn't really been able to see up her skirt – there wasn't enough light. And obviously he was far too much of a gentleman to have looked.

Hermione was waiting for him, seated demurely on the balustrade, legs crossed at the ankle. Snape knelt on one knee in front of her.

"May I, Cinderella?" he asked, holding out the shoe.

Hermione observed him with amusement.

"Certainly, my Prince," she replied.

Snape held her gaze as he grasped her bare foot gently and deliberately ran the tip of his finger along the sole. He was rather disappointed when she didn't flinch.

"Not ticklish?"

"Not there, no," she replied, an impish smile on her lips. "I am in plenty of other places, though."

"Now that's an invitation," he drawled, placing her shoe carefully on her foot. "I feel I ought to make some observations in the spirit of scientific enquiry."

Hermione looked down at him. "Under laboratory conditions, of course," she responded archly; then he saw the corners of her mouth twitching. He was beginning to recognise that look.

"Come on, then," he said, getting to his feet and brushing the dust off his trousers. "What horribly inappropriate thought has occurred to you now? You may as well say it."

She let her smile blossom. "OK, though you may regret this one. Have you ever shagged anyone on a laboratory bench?"

He laughed, then, and sat down next to her on the balustrade.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but no, I haven't. Why, have you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I've just often looked at a lab bench and thought that as long as the height of the man concerned and the bench matched, it would be a really good position."

"I can honestly say I've never considered the erotic potential of my laboratory. Though you do realise now you've put the thought into my mind..." He paused. Bugger. She really had put that thought into his mind now, and it wasn't just in the abstract. His lab at Hogwarts would be no good, of course, but she had that lovely basement in her cottage, and if he remembered correctly the bench there was around hip height and.... He realised she was watching him speculatively.

"I don't know if you noticed," she said, "but the bench in my lab at the cottage would be just about hip height on you."

"Really?" he responded, as if the thought hadn't been further from his mind. "And, just hypothetically, obviously, would that be the sort of height you were thinking of?"

"Hypothetically, yes, I think the correct hip-height-to-bench-height ratio for the man involved would be around one to one."

There was a sudden burst of conversation from the direction of the French windows as a small huddle of people stepped out onto the terrace. The group stayed near to the house, several of them lighting cigarettes. Giles Pemberton was with them, and Snape nodded to him in acknowledgment.

Still apparently watching the new arrivals, he said softly, "So, in this hypothetical situation of yours, what exactly would be the position of the participants?"

"Well," began Hermione, quietly, "to take a random example, I would be sitting on the bench while you stood in front of me, so I could wrap my legs around you."

"Hence the importance of the relative height of the bench," continued Snape, rather proud of how steady his voice was remaining.

"Exactly. Clearly, as a scientific exercise, the experiment would have to be repeated several times to ensure a reliable result."

Merlin's manhood, she's good at this. He allowed a slight smile to quirk his lips as he added, still not looking at her, "And might I also suggest that some other comparable work surfaces be tested as well, to serve as controls?"

He could hear the answering smile in her voice as she almost purred, "Now, that is an excellent idea. Hmm... I think the kitchen counter and the dining table might suffice for that purpose. I venture a hypothesis that the former might be a little too high and the latter a little low, but that could be tested easily enough."

"What about the table in your garden, under the oak tree?"

"Outdoors? Very adventurous. Wouldn't you worry about our... experiment being observed?"

Snape turned slightly to face Hermione then. They were sat close together, but still not touching. He knew she must be able to see the desire in his eyes as he responded honestly, "The way I feel at the moment, I would take you right now on this wall with no qualms whatsoever about the audience."

She regarded him frankly, with heat and affection in her eyes. "And I would probably let you if you tried." She paused, and reached out her hand to cover his where it lay on the stonework between them. "But it wouldn't be a terribly good idea."

Snape felt the warmth of her hand on his as if it burned. "A little too indiscreet?" he asked, with a lightness he could not quite feel.

"No, it's not that." She grinned as she looked up at him mischievously though her eyelashes. "I'm more concerned about that drop behind us. We'd both break our necks."

He felt an answering grin tugging at his mouth as the tension evaporated into humour. "It'd be one hell of a way to go, though."

She chuckled then, and he let his own throaty laugh escape as he turned his hand to entwine his fingers with hers.

"You do realise I am not going to get a wink of sleep tonight, woman."

She smiled sweetly up at him and opened her eyes innocently wide. "Oh, I am. And I'm planning on having the most wonderful dreams."

*

In the event, it was Hermione who dozed fitfully while Snape slept the sleep of the righteous beside her. She rehearsed scenarios for the next day over and over again in her head. When they finally met Markov, they would have the element of surprise on their side, and he would be outnumbered, magically at least. Ideally, their first meeting would be engineered to occur with as few Muggles present as possible. With luck, Markov would not recognise Snape, and they would be able to isolate and apprehend him at their leisure, but it was reasonably likely that the two men did know each other, in which case it would be a matter of capture first and tidy up the mess later. Her team were just a phone call or Patronus-cast away, and the local Muggle police had been apprised of the situation (or a heavily-edited version, at least) and were on stand-by.

She rather hoped that the evidence to be collected from the lab would also implicate Archie Price. The Muggle police tended to get a little disgruntled if they weren't left with a suspect to play with after helping with one of the Unit's investigations, and it would certainly be incredibly satisfying to hand the odious Mr Price to them in handcuffs. She smiled then at the memory of Archie standing dripping in the river earlier. Severus had been utterly magnificent.

It was no use. She finally had to admit that, at the very least, she had a huge crush on him. And at the most? Well, she wasn't going to think about that now. She had an important job to do tomorrow. Today, actually – it was past midnight before we came to bed.

She propped herself up on her elbow and studied Snape's face in the dim light, its angular planes thrown into sharp relief by the moon's rays. He was lying on his back, one arm flung above his head and the other stretched out towards her. She lay back down, snuggling in until she was lying on her side next to him, head on his shoulder and one hand resting on his chest. After a second's thought, she bent her knee and brought her leg up until it rested on his thigh. Oops, a bit high. That's not his leg I can feel. What is he dreaming about? She felt a sudden delicious curl of lust in her abdomen. I wonder how he'd react if I just climbed on top of him? Such a shame to let that go to waste. Her body shook with a suppressed giggle at the thought, then she jumped slightly as Snape said softly, "You seem to be making a habit of waking me up by laughing at me. Would you care to share the joke?"

Hermione smiled to herself as she moved her leg slightly against his erection. "Only if you'll tell me what you were dreaming about."

Snape drew his arm around her and slid his fingers up under the hem of her vest top to trace gentle circles on her skin. "I've got no intention of telling you, but I might be persuaded to show you."

Hermione stretched herself like a cat, pushing into his hand as she straightened her leg and rubbed it down his thigh.

"Tempting as that offer is, I still have a headache, I'm afraid." And there's a bloody microphone next to the bed. "Maybe tonight."

"I'll hold you to that." Snape rolled onto his side to face her and wrapped both arms around her loosely.

Oh, yes, please hold me to that. "I could probably manage a goodnight kiss, though," Hermione said, smiling as she held his gaze, watching his dark eyes glitter in the moonlight.

He moved towards her slightly and kissed her very softly on the lips, then drew back, observing her almost uncertainly. Hermione felt that he was waiting for her to make the next move.

So she did. She put her hand to the nape of his neck and pulled him close again to kiss him firmly. His lips opened beneath hers, and she swept her tongue against his, tasting sleep and toothpaste and whisky, and suddenly he was kissing her back deeply, taking the initiative as he rolled them slightly, pushing her onto her back and half covering her with his body. He ran his hand in a firm caress down her side. She moaned into his mouth as their tongues licked and tasted each other, tangling one hand in his hair and slipping the other beneath his T-shirt to stroke the warm skin of his back. Sweet Merlin, I want this man now. Sod any eavesdroppers. Just this once I'll let my libido outvote my brain. Fuck, he's stopping. Don't tell me his brain's won the argument. He's a man. His brain isn't supposed to get a vote.

*

With a Herculean effort Snape pulled back slightly from Hermione, kissing her once more, chastely, on the lips before resting his forehead gently on hers. He closed his eyes. They were both breathing heavily. Well, that was bloody close, he thought. Nearly forgot about that fucking microphone. Four more seconds and I'd have been ripping her clothes off and ... Think about something else. Quickly.

He raised his head and opened his eyes. Hermione was looking up at him with a wry smile that somehow managed to convey a mixture of lust, disappointment, and understanding.

"I've got a strong feeling this headache will be gone in a few hours," she said conversationally.

"I do hope so. It must be frustrating for you."

"I can tell it's hard for you, too." She grinned impishly, equilibrium and humour apparently restored.

He kissed her again then – swiftly this time, before they could get carried away. "Come on, then, wife. Let's try and get a couple of hours' sleep at least."

He settled them both on their sides, drawing her back tightly against his chest. She interlaced the fingers of one hand with his where it lay against her stomach.

"Sleep well, my love," she murmured.

"I'll try," he replied, fully aware that he was not, in fact, going to sleep for an instant until he'd given himself a mental cold shower and cleared the fog of lust from his brain. With a sigh, he began to silently recite the Chief Warlocks of the Wizengamot since 1023: Edrelbert the Unreliable, Cymric Wulfstan, Godric ap Hywel ap Rhys ap Myrddin....

*

He finally drifted off somewhere in the middle of the nineteenth century and woke a few hours later feeling decidedly unrested. His unsated libido was vying for attention with the gnawing anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He was finding it incredibly difficult to allow Hermione to wander off and explore Markov's laboratory alone. At the very least, he wanted to accompany her. And a small but significant part of him was desperate to tell her to go home and leave him to tackle Markov.

Rationally, he knew that Hermione was at least his match when it came to magical ability, and that she would quite happily confirm the fact by inflicting something inordinately painful on him if he even attempted any display of chivalry that could be read as doubt about her competence. And he had no such doubts. Not really. It was just that she was so young (not that young, a still lust-infested corner of his brain protested) and relatively inexperienced. And despite all of my protests about wanting a quiet life, I am still a control freak with a hard-to-suppress urge to protect people. Especially the ones I love. Love? Merlin's right buttock, where did that come from?

*

Hermione noticed that Snape seemed quiet and distracted as they were getting dressed that morning. Probably didn't get much sleep after I pounced on him, she thought somewhat guiltily. They had staged a conversation about her missing breakfast because her headache was not quite gone, and Snape was nearly ready to go downstairs.

She went into the bathroom to comb her hair and was slightly surprised when Snape followed her in and closed the door. He stood close behind her as she looked in the mirror, and his eyes met hers in the reflection.

"I assume we're safe from being overheard in here," he said quietly.

Hermione nodded. "As long as we keep our voices down. Are you OK?"

Snape gave a rueful smile. "I'll just be relieved when we have Markov safely in custody. Do you want me to Disillusion you? It's one of those charms it's always easier to do on someone else than on oneself."

Hermione smiled gratefully at him in the mirror. "That would be perfect. Thanks."

She watched her reflection in interest as he raised his wand then tapped her firmly on the head with it. She could see the spell as it travelled in a chilly wave down her body. The effect was eerie. She was nearly invisible, but if she concentrated hard she could see herself more clearly, her ghostly image becoming almost tangible.

She turned to face Snape. "I don't know if you can tell, but I'm smiling at you. I may come in to breakfast after I've finished in the lab, but if not I'll meet you back up here."

He nodded once. "Very well. Have fun. If you do decide to come in to breakfast please remember to cancel the charm or you'll scare the life out of everyone. And yes, I can see you well enough to know you're sticking your tongue out at me now. Immature wench."

"Grumpy old git," retorted Hermione. "Go and get your coffee – I'm sure you'll be back to your usual charming self once you've got some caffeine in your system."

"I think I'll stick to tea, thank you. You've shredded my nerves enough in the last twenty-four hours that more stimulation is the last thing I need."

Hermione rather liked the way his melodious voice lingered over the word 'stimulation'. She reached up to kiss him gently on the cheek, then waited for him to leave the bathroom and bedroom before following him soundlessly and almost invisibly.

*

Five minutes later found her in the now sunlit laboratory, rifling through the second drawer of the filing cabinet. She pulled out the first folder and took it over to the nearest bench, spreading the pages out in order in front of her. With a flick of her wand and a muttered incantation, she cast a Translation Spell. Instantly, golden letters rose above each page and hung floating in the air above the original text. A variation of the spell would transfer the translation to paper, but that could wait. For the moment she just wanted to satisfy her curiosity.

Scorpion Bite Potion, she read. For subjugation of enemies and...

She felt a sudden warmth spread through her body. In the fraction of a second it took her to realise her Disillusionment Charm had been cancelled, she began to turn, casting a Shield Charm. "Prot..."

But it was too late. Her wand skittered out of her hand as she was Disarmed, and before she had even turned to face her assailant, she heard the word "Incarcerous!" and ropes appeared from thin air to tether her limbs tightly to her body. She felt her legs buckle as something hit her from behind and realised it was a chair as the ropes extended further to tie her down to it.

"So, Ms Eastwood," said a strongly accented voice. "Who are you really, and why have you brought Severus Snape to my home?"

*

Hermione watched Yuri Markov grimly as he moved to stand in front of her. Why was I so bloody stupid as to work with my back to the door? Now she could see his face, she recognised it instantly – the charm he had used to prevent her remembering what he looked like obviously cancelled itself in his presence. In other circumstances she might have appreciated the finesse.

His eyes were a very pale, icy blue. His face had a Slavic cast, with high cheekbones and a long, narrow nose. His black hair was cut short and contrasted sharply with his chalky skin. His thin lips were twisted into a slight sneer as he looked down at her.

"I am waiting for an answer, Ms Eastwood. Or whatever your name really is."

He tapped her wand against the bench. "This would seem to indicate that you are a witch. That fact alone proves you are not who you say you are."

Hermione met his gaze defiantly. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr Markov."

Markov grunted. "Liar. Well, let us start with me telling you what I know already. I asked Mr Price to give me a preliminary report on you and your alleged husband, and I had a very interesting telephone conversation with him last night. You will no doubt be delighted to know that he likes you, though he would rather fuck you on the negotiating table than have you sat at it. He was less complimentary about Dr Singer. I paid little attention to his complaints until he recounted a very interesting story about what your husband did to Turpin. In his words 'it was just like magic'.

"Now, to him that was just an expression, but as you can imagine, I thought it merited some further investigation. I resolved to return here a little early to check out some of the camera and microphone outputs. My decision was vindicated when, as I was preparing to leave, the silent alarm for this wing of the house was triggered. Clever things, Muggle burglar alarms."

Bugger, thought Hermione. I missed that one. He's not quite as complacent as we thought.

Markov continued speaking, pacing now in front of her. "So I returned in the early hours of this morning without alerting anyone to my presence. First of all, I checked the security camera, but you cleverly made sure your spouse kept his face turned away from it. As it happens, I have only seen Professor Snape's face once, and I may not even have recognised him straight away. But then I listened to some of the audio recordings from your bedroom. I assume you knew it was bugged? I would hope you usually have more interesting conversations. Although events at 2 a.m. were rather more exciting. Tell me, did you find out what Severus had been dreaming about?"

Hermione shuddered at the thought of Markov eavesdropping on them and was heartily glad that things hadn't got any further out of hand. She continued to glower at Markov in silence as he carried on speaking.

"But I digress. You kept your husband's face hidden but you didn't think to hide his voice. You forgot one thing about the Death Eaters. They did insist on wearing those ridiculous masks. So, almost always, when I met with the Dark Lord to apprise him of events in my country, the face of his most trusted lieutenant was hidden. But not his extremely distinctive voice, which I got to know very well. Imagine my surprise when I heard it in my house.

"So, for the last time, who are you, and why have you brought Severus Snape here?"

Hermione's mind raced as she tried to think of a way out. Her wandless magic was good, but unlikely to be effective against an armed Dark wizard. Her bag contained her gun, among other things, but had fallen on the floor when she was captured; it was currently out of reach. She needed to remedy that. She tried stalling for time. Perhaps she could sow enough doubt in Markov's mind that he would release the ropes, at least.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Steven's just a Muggle who's good with horses. We've been married for three years. I can't help it if he sounds like Snape. Listen, obviously I am a witch, but I'm still here because I want to do business with you. You apparently prefer to work with Muggles nowadays, so that seemed like the best way to approach you. I had every intention of telling you the truth this weekend."

Markov looked at her steadily. He seemed to be considering what she was saying. Then he shook his head.

"You are still lying. But never mind. I will have the truth from you. Eventually."

He flicked his wand, and a bottle flew to his hand. With a chill of dread, Hermione recognised the vermillion hue of the Scorpion Bite Potion.

Markov tapped a finger to his lips, considering. "I think half an hour should suffice to begin with. Then we shall see if you are minded to be a little more forthcoming."

He moved over to stand right next to Hermione. She instinctively tried to flinch away but he gripped her arm tightly. He unstoppered the bottle and let one drop of the liquid fall onto her wrist.

Hermione was surprised at her detachment as she watched the red colour spread slightly across her skin. She knew how the potion worked. In a few seconds, a burning pain would start to radiate across her body. It would happen in waves, each peaking higher than the last before waning slightly. That was one of the reasons for the potion's efficacy. Instead of causing prolonged unconsciousness, it tricked the body into waking repeatedly as the pain apparently subsided, denying the relief of blissful oblivion. Clever, really.

She felt the first white heat shoot out from her wrist. She looked defiantly up at Markov, who was watching her with every appearance of enjoyment.

"Now," he said. "I think we will release the ropes. That will give you the freedom to writhe in agony. I don't think we want any broken bones. Yet."

Bastard. Hermione felt the ropes release, but was able to do nothing but slide to the floor as the potion took hold. She was aware of Markov speaking again. "But I think I will Silence you. I need to make a telephone call, and the screams might be a little distracting."

She faintly felt the charm act, but was more concerned with the wave of pain that had now reached the very tips of her toes. Just as she felt she could stand no more, the pain level dropped slightly. Now, if I could just reach my bag.... But no sooner had the thought entered her mind than the torture began again. This time the wave of pain rose higher and higher. She knew she was going to lose consciousness. As she felt the world go black around her she silently screamed one word into the vault of her mind. Severus!

*

On the terrace there was a sudden report as Snape dropped his tea-cup. It shattered into a hundred pieces, scattering its liquid contents like a necklace of amber carelessly strewn across the stone.