Chapter 1: Night-time Visitors

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine but Jo's. Sadly.

A/N: First of all thanks to everyone who reviewed! You've totally blown me away with your enthusiasm!

Also thanks to everyone who named me one of their favourites or simply read the Prologue. I never expected there to be so many!

This is the first story I posted, so I was very unsure of its reception – no matter what my friends tell me (luv ya!). The Prologue was especially hard to write and even when I posted it I still wasn't satisfied with it. Sometimes it sucks to be a perfectionist. ;)

But all of your kind comments really gave me a boost to bulldoze any problems the storyline might pose for me at the moment (dratted fifth chapter!).

Leah829 even gave me a great idea for some of the following chapters, although I have to admit it had to have been the perfectly obvious consequence to everyone but me. *smacks forehead*

Oh, and the title is derived from the song 'Wicked Game' by Chris Isaak. Twenty-five points to DawnEB! :)

I just kept replaying that song while writing and I was never really satisfied with the original title 'Price of Redemption'. It simply didn't fit. But to reassure those familiar with the song and its generally depressing lyrics, it only reflects some views the characters have throughout the story and is not foreshadowing how the story will end. I will totally ignore the last line.

I am a romantic at heart after all. :)

Finally I thank my friends, HoneyB and Bi, again for looking it over and boosting my self-esteem, my beta, Dark-Hamadryad, for doing her brilliant work and Snarkyroxy, who joined me after my first post to OWL and who gave me a few ideas for the Prologue and who will fill in as first beta while Dark-Hamadryad is away on her trip for the next two months. Cheers!

And as always to my baby girl, who was waving along happily when Mommy was excitedly bouncing away in her seat the day the story was posted.

Bye,

Shal

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Chapter 1: Night-time Visitors

There was another thing that was puzzling her.

About a week and a half into the holidays, Hermione had been unable to fall asleep. That fact alone was not unusual. These days, untroubled sleep was a rarity she still remembered but no longer experienced. So it had become a ritual of sorts to tip-toe down the stairs and into the kitchen, determined to perfect some of the housekeeping spells she was banned from doing during the day and had therefore been practising on the sly.

Lying in bed, listening to Ginny mumble in her sleep ("Harry, my handsome wild stallion!") and counting the cracks in the ceiling simply wasn't a very productive pastime, in her opinion.

Just when she had mastered the art of having a grubby pan scrub itself clean, a whoosh behind her alerted her to the fact that a guest had Flooed in – at two o'clock in the morning.

She turned around to see Professor Snape brushing ashes from his robes and was all of a sudden acutely aware of her dishabille. Awkwardly, she touched the birds' nest that was her hair and pulled her robe closer together. When he was finished, he looked around the kitchen in a most agitated manner, not noticing her at all until his second perusal of the room was done.

"Well, where is he?" he inquired gruffly.

She frowned. "Who?"

"So, he's not here yet. Damn it, I have to be back before..." he began exasperatedly, then caught himself before he divulged something obviously quite important in front of innocent ears. He straightened and scowled at her as if his near-slip was her fault entirely, simply by existing.

"I'll be out in the backyard," he stated before, billowing cloak and all, he stalked out the kitchen door.

"Nice seeing you, too, Professor Snape. Why he bothers to tell me where he's going, I've no idea," she muttered to herself sarcastically, furiously attacking a new pan until suddenly, a second whoosh announced another late-night visitor.

Now quite annoyed, she turned around again, prepared to snap at whoever it was that the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place was not a train station. The words died in her throat, however, at the sight of the wizard in front of her.

Dumbledore shook ashes from his usual violet, star-studded robes and greeted her warmly as if he had just come over for afternoon tea.

"Good evening, Miss Granger. Though I should probably say 'Goodnight', considering the hour."

"Good evening, Professor," she merely said, wondering what on earth these sudden arrivals were all about and if she should offer him tea, regardless of the hour.

"Er, he's out in the backyard, Professor," she volunteered instead, guessing that a meeting between the two teachers was the most likely solution to this bizarre situation.

The Headmaster smiled at her, nodded and swept past her out the kitchen door without another word. She stood there for a moment, looking confusedly at the door before sidling out of the room silently.

Since following them outside would be neither prudent nor productive – they would hardly stand close enough to the house for anyone to overhear and would surely notice her – she quickly made her way up the stairs to peep over the edge of the window overlooking the backyard to observe them.

They stood just out of hearing range from the house but in perfect view for her to watch.

Snape seemed to have something very important to tell Dumbledore. He seemed unable to stand still, pacing the width of the yard, gesticulating wildly, to her great astonishment. She had never seen the Potions master so upset.

At one point the professor seemed to have finished, and for a long while, the two men only stared at each other, obviously thinking about the implications of what Snape had just divulged. Then the Headmaster joined in the discussion, which was more of an argument, really, considering how vehemently words were exchanged.

Suddenly, Professor Snape shook his head so fiercely and grabbed the Headmaster's shoulders so desperately that she wondered more than ever at what had been said that could make a man who was normally so controlled lose it like that.

Then, with one decisive sentence they were finished. Dumbledore walked swiftly back toward the house, leaving a defeated and incredibly weary-looking Snape behind.

She rushed back into the kitchen as quickly as she could, starting on another pan. She had barely managed it before the Headmaster joined her, standing beside the table behind her. Trying to look as nonchalantly at him as possible, she decided to offer him tea, no matter what time it was.

"Thank you, Miss Granger, but I think I'll pass. It is quite late at night."

"Goodnight, then, Professor," she replied, somewhat at a loss as to which niceties should be observed at two o'clock in the morning.

"Goodnight, Miss Granger, and thank you for being on the lookout so none of the house's inhabitants disturbed us."

She flushed guiltily. "Er..."

"No matter, no matter. I must insist, however, that our discussion, in fact our whole visit to the Rhododendron bushes in the backyard, stays among the three of us."

"Of course, Headmaster, not even Harry or Ron..." she heard herself mumble unintelligently.

"Good, good. While I must decline tea, I think it would be nice to offer Professor Snape one, too. I think it will be just the thing for him," he suggested and with a wave, Flooed back to Hogwarts.

Somehow, she doubted she'd ever see a grateful Snape, but as long as she was occupied and useful in some small way, she supposed it wouldn't matter.

As long as he managed to be civil, that was.

She put the kettle on and began to search for tea. Having tried the cupboards with no success, she finally found some in a far corner on the topmost shelf in the pantry.

Apparently no one ever drank tea here.

She sighed. And they were only tea bags.

Darjeeling, Fruit, Fennel, Peppermint – where was it?

Ah, there!

The Chamomile tea was even more well-hidden than the rest.

Curiously enough, she found it beneath an almost empty packet of Lovers Tea, an aphrodisiac blend she had read about when researching love potions – for class, of course.

She blushed furiously. She did not want to know to whom that belonged.

She took the Chamomile tea from the shelf, walked over to another cupboard and got out two cups, determined to drink a cup as well for two reasons: one, so she did not brew the tea especially for Professor Snape, who would undoubtedly tell her she could bathe in it for all he cared, and two, so she could finally get to sleep.

She added a tea bag to each cup and placed them on the table just as the kettle whistled. After she had poured the hot water into each cup, she placed one in front of the chair she had occupied earlier at one end of the table and the other at the opposite end of the table, thinking it a safe enough distance from her teacher.

She sat down, and while she waited for the tea to steep, she rummaged in her robe pocket for the Valerian she always carried these days to help her get to sleep at night. When the tea was ready, she gulped down the pill with it, relishing the hot, burning sensation in her throat.

She must be really strange to feel like that about pain, she thought wearily, staring into her tea.

After a while, she heard the tell-tale swishing of robes behind her, announcing the arrival of her teacher. His stride faltered for a moment, then continued on more forcefully as he walked past her in the direction of the fireplace.

"Professor Snape? Would you care for a cup of tea?" she asked, without looking up from the cup she held in both of her hands.

He came to a sudden stop, his hand already outstretched toward the pot containing the Floo powder.

"No, I would not, Miss Granger," he replied tersely, without turning around.

"Professor Dumbledore made me promise I'd insist, sir." She was not above lying for a good cause.

Anyone who witnessed the argument in the backyard would've seen he'd been upset. The fact that he generally behaved like a complete bastard did not make her forget her good manners.

A long pause ensued, during which he said nothing.

Probably deciding whether to hex me immediately or reprimand me for my insolence first.

A tense sigh, a swish of robes and a chair was pulled back noisily.

She looked up at him, sitting in the chair across from her and looking down at the tea cup sceptically.

As if she'd be stupid enough to poison him in the kitchen of Order headquarters without an alibi. Honestly!

"Chamomile tea, Professor."

"I know. I detest Chamomile tea."

"So do I, sir. Doesn't taste much like anything, really."

Had he been anyone else, she'd say the expression he looked at her with was surprise. But surely the infamous spy for the Order of the Phoenix couldn't be surprised by someone like her?

Then he took a tentative sip of his tea and winced, obviously disgusted.

They drank their tea in complete silence. She, looking into her teacup, studying its intricate flowery design, and he with his eyes directed at the table-top.

At least at first.

As more and more time passed, he began to stare at her from beneath hooded eyes instead.

"Was there something you wish to say, sir?" she finally asked. She simply could no longer stand feeling his eyes bore into her head. It made her feel weird.

"You're not saying anything," he observed, openly curious.

"And?"

"You haven't for almost half an hour."

"Contrary to popular belief, Professor, I can be quiet. I prefer silence, actually."

"Curious, coming from you. I don't know anyone who talks as much as you do."

"I talk less than Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown!" she replied indignantly. Surely he couldn't compare her to them!

"Now that's not very difficult, is it? In class, however..."

"I ask questions and answer yours when no one else is forthcoming," she interrupted him before remembering that he was her teacher and additionally not a very wise choice of man to cross.

He snorted. "The term 'question' would implicate you don't know the answer to it and yet you do – every time. And I think I made it clear that I do not care for answers that are copied word for word out of the textbooks."

"A question to confirm knowledge I am not sure of is unnecessary, then? And if I am not allowed to know the contents of our textbooks, why do I have to read them?" she asked tartly, starting to get angry.

This was really all she needed to top off her day.

"Such drama does not become you and neither does this turning of the facts. You have to be unsure of many things for you scarcely have your hand down." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly.

All of a sudden she noticed that he, too, sported dark circles under his eyes. It reminded her uncomfortably that he was only human. Something akin to what she felt towards Harry and Ron when they were about to do something incredibly stupid settled in her stomach.

This feeling had always been her undoing.

The thought that she now felt like this in regards to her surly teacher raised nothing less than a full-fledged panic.

She put down the tea cup noisily and accidentally sloshed some of the hot liquid onto the table. Thankfully, the object of her musings was too wrapped up in the dissection of her character to notice. Thank God for small favours, indeed!

"You can't control everything, Miss Granger. A risk now and then on an intellectual level aside from your yearly escapades with Potter and Weasley would greatly benefit your character.... I can't believe I am actually suggesting this to a Gryffindor!" He emphasized this with an impatient sigh. "A set mind can't be challenged. In Potions, as in many other subjects, creativity and imagination as well as a flexible mind are much more important than the knowledge textbooks can provide. Besides, rapping out knowledge won't get any of your classmates anywhere. We both know that you know the answer to every question I ask, but not everyone is that fast. Most students don't have the whole term prepared in advance and have to understand the basics first. And being an insufferable..."

"Why don't we postpone this argument to a later date?" she interrupted him, fuming and getting up from her seat.

"Tomorrow will be all right with me. Shall we say ten o'clock? We'll have to change our location, of course, since Mr Weasley will undoubtedly be gorging himself on his second dessert by then," he replied, mildly sarcastic, unfazed that she had interrupted him again.

It seemed it was fast becoming a habit for her.

"I was actually thinking about next term. While it will certainly enliven my undoubtedly boring day then, now it merely keeps me from my bed," she said icily.

"Is the Valerian finally taking effect, then?" he asked interestedly.

She hesitated, surprised how he knew, and debated with herself whether to lie or not. Honesty won.

"No," she replied grudgingly.

"I thought as much," he replied mysteriously and without looking away from her, took a small leather pouch out of an inner pocket of his robes and laid it on the table in front of her. When she didn't react, he motioned for her to open it.

With a suspicious look, she sat back down, feeling very childish for her outburst at his nickname for her, took it and released the leather strings holding it closed. Mindful of Professor Dumbledore's Liquorice Snaps, she poked her index finger inside it cautiously and when nothing happened, took out one of its contents.

There, in the middle of her palm lay a midnight blue version of Dumbledore's Lemon Drops, although she seriously doubted this was a sweet.

She looked at him questioningly.

"Take one half an hour before going to bed. You'll drop like a fly. Much more effective than Valerian."

She held it up to her nose and breathed in.

"A mixture of Jasmine and... Scull Cap?"

"With a touch of Passion Flower. My own creation."

She looked at him, bewildered. He'd offered her something to help her sleep – just like that? No sarcasm? No snide remarks?

"Thank you, Professor," she replied warily.

She swallowed the pill with the rest of her tea, proceeded to secure the leather pouch with its leather strings again and held it out for him to take.

But he shook his head, studying her carefully.

"Keep them. I have more than enough at Hogwarts, and it looks as if you need them."

She was normally not vain (not with hair like hers) but it irked her that someone who generally took no interest in her whatsoever now noticed the dark circles under her eyes. They had to be really obvious if he noticed them.

No one else had, though.

She nodded at him, now more confused than ever, unconsciously holding the leather pouch to her breast.

He got up, then, and washed out his cup in the sink behind her. With her back to him, she was nontheless incredibly aware of his every movement, especially when his long cloak brushed past her legs.

"It's time I left. Thank you for the tea. It was welcome. Goodnight, Miss Granger. I hope I don't need to emphasize that the meeting between the Headmaster and I was in secret."

"But you just did, sir," she dared to tease. "However, Professor Dumbledore already ensured my silence in the matter. So rest assured that Harry won't suspect you of another nefarious plot this term," she said lightly, smiling.

Her smile vanished quickly, however, when he kept staring at her with the same bleak and defeated look he'd had after his argument with the Headmaster among the Rhododendrons outside.

"Professor?" she asked weakly.

He jerked out of his reverie, turned away from her and walked toward the fireplace, grabbing some Floo powder out of the nearby pot.

"Goodnight," he said again and vanished in the green flames before she had a chance to reply in kind.

She stared into the now cold and empty hearth, thoroughly confused.

Who was that, and what has he done with Professor Snape?

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A/N: So, what do you think?

What is our dear Potions master so upset about? I wonder what your theories will be.

All herbs in this chapter were researched and the Lovers Tea truly exists. I didn't try it out though.

I admit I got the idea to postpone an argument for a few hours from a movie. Can anyone guess which one?

I'm going to do that a lot through the course of the story as a way of a compliment. I simply love to guess quotes and can't resist slipping some in.

Up next: An explosion and a witness.