6. Suspicions Confirmed

Chapter Six: Suspicions Confirmed

Thunder shook the castle. Rain whipped in a vortex about the aged walls while the wind wailed its cacophonous harmony through the crevices in the stone, adding to the tumultuous feeling in the pit of Hermione's stomach.

She sat slumped on the settee in front of the fire, her vacant eyes lost in the sensuous dance of the flame. The Polyjuice Potion was finished. In her hand she held a vial that held a lock of Penelope's hair. For a brief moment in her musings, she contemplated tossing it into the fire and watching it burn. She would have done just that, if it would have changed anything.

She sighed heavily and burrowed deeper into the soft cushions. At first she had been surprised to discover that such a harsh man would have a weakness for soft things. That was until she had gotten to know him better and found that beneath his hard exterior was a soft center. Granted, it was rather deeply buried.

The past few weeks had been the best of Hermione's adult life. She had found that her heart had wound its way around Severus like an errant ivy. She could no longer withdraw without severe personal damage. Her initial passion had turned into adoration, which somewhere along the way had transformed into a love she had never experienced before. Now, because of some foolish haphazard idea of hers, she may just lose him forever. Hermione sobbed and buried her face in the Severus-scented pillows.

Why couldn't she have just kept her bloody mouth shut? Whatever had she been thinking? She had always tried to solve everyone's problems. First Harry's and now Dumbledore's. The problems just seemed to get larger and more out of her control. Who was she to think that she had all the answers? And why the bloody hell did everyone have to listen to her anyway? Right now, for all the world, she would have traded her brain for one of her more vacuous ex-classmate's and find simple enjoyment in things like nail polish and hair accessories and reading the latest installment of The Top Ten Ways to Curl a Wizard's Toes in Bed in Witch Weekly. She cursed her overactive brain, not for the first or last time.

She did not hear the door open for all the clamour the storm was creating. When she felt the hand on her shoulder, it awakened something primal within her and her DADA training kicked in. She sprung from the settee with an almost feline swiftness and grace and spun towards her would-be attacker, simultaneously drawing her wand.

Severus blinked, still half-bent over the back of the sofa with his hand extended toward what should have been the still-reclining form of his lover. Quite pleased at her quick reaction as well as at the unexpected response, an almost Albus-like twinkle grew in his eyes. Then his expression crumpled into a state of unadulterated mirth as he gave in to peals of laughter.

Hermione watched his severe countenance crack, at first with a tinge of amusement. But then, as sobs of joy wracked his body and tears trailed down his cheeks, she realised how much she loved to see him laugh, to see him happy. And it dawned on her that the little vial still clutched in her palm was going to change all that. She let the vial and her wand fall to the carpet in front of her, buried her face in her hands and started to cry.

Never let it be said that Severus Snape is heartless or cruel because when he saw Hermione fall apart, he felt his heart tear into a thousand pieces. In three long strides, being careful not to step on the vial or her wand, he enveloped her in his long, strong arms. Her body shook and her shoulders heaved against him as he rubbed her back and murmured incoherently into her bushy curls, cursing himself for his insensitivity.

He knew she had been falling into a trap of despair these past few days. At first he had surreptitiously left chocolate by the bedside, hoping that perhaps it was a passing hormonal thing. The chocolate had disappeared, all right. After all, what woman would disparage a gift of chocolate? But after a couple days, he came to the grim realisation that her deepening melancholy had nothing to do with hormones but everything to do with the fact that the potion was nearly complete.

Only when her sobs had quieted and her hug seemed less desperate did he dare to pull back and look into her reddened eyes.

"Hermione," he spoke softly. He shook his head, momentarily at a loss for words. What could he say to her that would make a difference? He could not bring himself to lie to her, even if a lie could allay her fears.

"Severus, I was wrong to involve you in this. I don't want you to go back." Her voice dwindled to a near-whine.

Severus wiped away her tears and cupped her face in his hands.

"You did not involve me. I accepted my fate before you were born. Please stop berating yourself." He spoke calmly as if he were speaking to a small child. "This is a war, Hermione. No one is more eager to see it finished than I. You are a brilliant witch, more than capable to look at this situation logically."

"Yes," she nodded at him gravely, "but I cannot look at it objectively anymore."

A feeling foreign to him until a few weeks ago lurched painfully in his chest. He bent to kiss her salty lips, tasting her love for him as if experiencing it for the first time.

"I love you, Hermione," he whispered. "I don't think you could ever possibly understand what it means to me to have you in my life."

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

Blast! He hated it when the hair got stuck in his throat.

He paused for a moment and gagged. Honestly, how embarrassing. Her somber but unwavering gaze urged him to continue. So, he swallowed the last of the potion and braced himself as the transformation rippled through his body.

His hands unconsciously trailed over his new form. He had never used Polyjuice Potion to take on the body of a woman before. What a shame, he thought as his hands found two quite pleasing lumps of flesh.

"Severus," Hermione warned. His hands dropped away suddenly as if burnt. Damn, but that felt good. He filed several possibilities away for future exploration.

"We have plenty of Polyjuice base for when this whole thing is over," she teased.

Was she smirking at him?

"You little vixen." His voice came out sounding rather squeaky, not at all his usual timbre. Severus winced. He had forgotten how much Penelope Clearwater's voice irritated him. He would have to remember to keep his mouth shut at all costs. Just bloody great. Now she was giggling at him, too.

"I know this must be incredibly amusing for you." Snarling as a soprano just did not hold any satisfaction. "Bugger all. I will meet you back here in an hour, if not sooner," he snapped as he flounced out the door.

Her laughter taunted him until the distance became too great to hear her any longer. Only then could he ignore the fact that his body had taken on a different shape. His mind was still unquestionably Severus, and he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Reaching the quarters of Miss Clearwater, who lie safely ensconced and slumbering elsewhere in the castle, he mumbled the pilfered password and entered. He illuminated her chambers with a "Lumos" and gave the room a cursory once-over.

Good thing he had decided to forego lunch. As it was, the half-digested potion threatened to make a reappearance. Everything in his sight was shrouded in flowers and lace. If Madam Puddifoot's existed on the first level of Hell, Penelope's quarters certainly descended much further than that; perhaps the fourth level, he groused mentally. He thanked Merlin and several lines of his descendents that he had chosen a woman who was not obsessed with decorating in copious amounts of foliage.

But then his spy's instincts took over and he saw the lavishness for what it truly was: deception. Severus let his eyes roam deeper into the décor, picking out inconsistencies. He walked over to the vanity and sat on the overstuffed hassock. Staring only momentarily at his reflection in the mirror...it truly was disturbing...he perused the room through its reflection. Then he felt through the glass itself.

Somehow he knew he would find what he was looking for, and he sighed at the predictability and simplicity in which Miss Clearwater's mind worked. She either was very inexperienced or she simply had no fear of being caught. Since she had been coached by the Dark Lord himself, the latter was more likely. A modest incantation, one he used himself at times, revealed a compartment behind the mirror. Inside stood two small Pensieves, one made of obsidian and the other of alabaster.

Rubbing the middle of his forehead to avert the headache that threatened...he always got headaches when he drank Polyjuice...he had a sick foreboding feeling of what he would find when he looked inside each. Glancing briefly into the alabaster Pensieve, he saw images of faculty meetings, encounters with students in the hallways and conversations with the headmaster all tumbling within. At least she chose to leave some memories behind; was this perhaps an indication that the girl had a conscience, or was it just a way to organise her memories and give the Dark Lord a more concise picture? He supposed a closer look at the other would answer that question. The darker Pensieve rippled with fragmented memories of dark revels and private meetings with the Dark Lord. He touched neither one, however, finding his task suddenly too repulsive as the headache crashed down upon him full force. Further exploration would have to wait for another day. It was enough for now that their suspicions had been confirmed.

Having at least enough sense in his headache-induced fog to close and re-ward the hiding place, leaving everything as he had found it, he stumbled blindly from the room and returned to the dungeons.