Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Temporal maneuvers in the dark

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"... And would you, Severus Tobias Snape, swear to the fact that Draco Abraxus Malfoy was coerced in his actions and, therefore, that he was not a willing follower of Tom Marvolo Riddle?" The Assistant Interrogator is a young man, not much older than Draco. His accent is a rich French burr.

Beauxbatons, Severus thinks. Not one of mine. It seems that the Ministry is anxious to avoid any accusations of bias in these trials.

His stomach roils sourly as he remembers Shackelbolt's sanctimonious speech at the start of the morning's work. His neck itches, the newly formed skin of his scar sensitive and raw against the stiff collar of his robes.

The Wizengamot takes less than twenty minutes to send Draco Malfoy to Azkaban.

Snape's body twisted on the bed, hands grasping at blankets, legs writhing beneath the rough cotton sheets. A pause in the motion, and then he relaxed, falling into a deeper slumber.

A purple and green ticket rested beside an empty vial of Sleeping Draught on the bedside table, his name inscribed upon it in Lucius' insouciant scrawl.

***

"Shouldn't we be both be wearing white?" Theodore Nott's voice was amused as he looked Hermione up and down in the Entrance Hall of the castle. He was wearing a pale suit of ivory linen, the blazer jacket edged in green. His shirt was open at the neck, and a straw boater perched jauntily on his head. Under her gaze, he performed a slow pirouette on perfectly shined shoes and held his hands out at his sides for her approval.

She laughed at him despite her nerves. "The players have to wear white at Wimbledon, not the spectators, Theodore; I'm perfectly happy in this, thank you." Her own dress was a deep blue and quite long. She had shrunk her ball gown and high heels into a tiny package in her purse for later on. They rested there alongside her wand, the tickets, and a small canister of Weasley's Stinging Spray that Ginny had insisted she take with her.

He sniffed, putting on an air of hurt pride. "Well, I like to dress to impress. Those school robes can be so gloomy. If a wizard can't put on a bit of a show, well then..."

She laughed and stopped him with a hand on his arm. "You look very dashing, Theodore," she reassured him. Why did wizards find it so difficult to dress appropriately for the Muggle world?

"You don't look too bad yourself," he returned, recovering a modicum of his earlier swagger, "for a foolhardy Gryffindor."

She blushed at his obvious flirtation and blew a raspberry at him, curiously buoyed up by his irreverent presence. "I've got the tickets. Come on, let's go."

"Aren't we waiting for Professor Snape?" Nott asked innocently, tipping the boater to the back of his head so it sat at an even more rakish angle.

Hermione's lips set firmly together. "No," she answered shortly, remembering her recent attempt at communication with Severus. It had been rather one sided. Frustrated by his recent intransigence and his refusal to discuss their stupid spat in her chambers, she had gone to his rooms that morning to try to sort out the situation. She had shouted through the locked door to his chamber, but he had made no response, and she had given up after a few humiliating minutes.

Nonetheless, she couldn't stop her eyes from drifting in the direction of the dungeons. There would have been something comforting about his presence beside her as she faced Malfoy.

"I don't think he's coming after all," she said after a moment and turned back to face her companion.

She saw Nott's face flicker with some sort of complicated emotion at her news, but he made no comment, and his easy smile quickly returned to his lips.

"Very well, then," he said, sweeping his arm before her. "Onwards to Muggle London!"

Hermione took a deep breath, telling herself to focus on what she was doing. She had to find out what Lucius Malfoy was up to if she was going to put the past fully behind her.

***

She was late.

Severus fumed quietly as he waited in the Entrance Hall, casting the Tempus Charm for an unnecessary fifth time in as many minutes.

His shoulders felt tight under his unfamiliar Muggle clothing, and he flexed his fingers around his wand, trying to prevent them from scratching at his neck.

Why had he taken the sleeping potion? Silently, he chastised himself once again, but the bloody woman had him so upset that he had been unable to sleep properly for days. The blissful oblivion of one night's sleep before the trial of meeting Lucius for the first time in years had seemed so enticing....

He flicked his wand again, scowling at the numbers it revealed until they faded into nothingness.

He tried to remember the dream that had wakened him in the middle of the night, despite the deadening effects of the draught. He had a lingering sense of unease in his mind about it, as if it had contained some larger meaning for him.... But like an insubstantial zephyr, the memory of it slipped away from him as he tried to grasp hold.

He tapped his foot on the flagstones and cast the spell again. She was nearly twenty minutes late. They certainly needed to leave now if they were going to reach their destination by the time on the ticket.

At least he had not invited Nott after all. That little shit had taken to grinning smugly at him in the staffroom as if he knew the punchline to a riddle that Severus had not even told. It had taken him a few days to recover from the humiliation of Hermione's reaction to the idea that he had not intended to invite her to accompany him to Wimbledon – long enough to realise that he may have misinterpreted her initial reluctance to allow their... association to be more widely known.

He had thought to speak with her about it, to say something.... But they seemed to be forever surrounded by people in this bloody castle. He had considered going up to her rooms, but he was damned if he were going to wait outside another woman's door, begging for forgiveness. He would apologise in a calm and dignified fashion when she arrived to meet him, and they would progress from there.

He kicked his boot at the floor once again. Whenever she gets here, that is. They shouldn't be late. Lucius would be insufferable about the cause. Perhaps he should go to her rooms after all. He cast Tempus again and hissed in frustration.

When it came to Hermione, he seemed to find it hard to keep his thoughts in a coherent order.

"Good morning, Severus!" Pomona Sprout's gratingly cheerful call jarred him out of his thinking. The Herbology professor bustled across the hallway, wrestling some sort of tentacled vegetation under her arm.

"I'm just moving this Tarantula Daisy from Minerva's office. He's getting a bit too big for his boots, aren't you, deary?" The plant waved a vicious spiked prong in response, which she effortlessly caught and pinned to her side with the ease of much practice. She leaned forwards conspiratorially. "Tried to throttle a First Year yesterday, poor thing," she whispered. Snape wasn't sure if she meant the plant or the student.

Sprout looked Severus up and down appreciatively. "You look very dapper, dear. Why haven't you left yet?"

How was it that Sprout always knew everybody's business? "I am waiting for Professor Granger," he bit out eventually. "She's late."

Sprout sniggered and shook her head. "I'm afraid you've missed them, Severus. Hermione left about an hour ago with Theodore. I'm told that she did try to wake you up...."

"Th...?" he blurted, then clamped his lips shut before forcing them into a smile and bidding her good day.

He could still hear the bloody woman chortling behind him as he stormed down the steps of the castle towards the Apparition point.

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A/N: I'm sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. All praises are due to beaweasley2, Clairvoyant and nagandsev.

Still don't own 'em - no money made!