Impressions

Disclaimer: I don't own the Potterverse; it belongs to JKR. I'm not making any money from this.

Chapter 11: Impressions

"Harry!" Molly Weasley shouted stridently from the kitchen. "That eagle owl is back!"

Her summons was answered by a thunderous pounding of feet as everyone crowded into the kitchen. Seven sets of eyes were trained on the imperious bird occupying the window ledge. Its head rotated smoothly on its thick neck as it surveyed the room's occupants. Spotting Harry's dark head among the shades of red and pink, the bird fixed its sharp gaze on him, ruffling its feathers impatiently. Harry stepped forward, reaching cautiously toward the small package secured to the bird's leg. It remained motionless as he untied the parcel, staring arrogantly at Arthur and Bill who stood at the front of the small crowd. As soon as it was unburdened, the owl turned, launching itself silently into the dark.

Harry tore off the brown paper and, without hesitation, opened the box. As he expected, it contained another capped vial, filled with what was, unmistakably, another set of memories. Thoughtfully, he swirled the thick, silvery substance, wondering if these would also be about Hermione. Looking down at the box, he spotted a folded piece of paper. As before, the note contained no salutation – just a single handwritten line.

As circumstances change, so do people.

He read it through three times, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Turning to Arthur, Harry pushed the phial and note into his hands. "I'll Floo Moody," he said grimly. Walking past Tonks to get to the kitchen fireplace, he noted the confused expression on her face as she read the note over Arthur's shoulder. She hadn't seen the first set of memories, although he was certain Remus had told her about them. Throwing a handful of powder into the grate, he thrust his head into the green flames and called, "Alastor Moody's house."

After a short exchange, Harry pulled back from the fire. "He's coming in a few minutes," he informed the others. Walking over to Ron, he muttered, "Might as well get this over with, mate." Ron nodded solemnly but didn't speak. It was clear that he, too, was apprehensive.

Barely fifteen minutes later, Harry, Ron and Moody leaned over the Pensieve. As his nose touched the surface of the swirling thoughts, Harry's feet seemed to leave the ground. He felt as if he was rolling forward until, with a jolt, his feet hit the ground. Looking up, he saw they were standing in front of a small cottage.

"What do you think, should we go in?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged.

"I'm going to have a look," Moody growled. As he stepped forward, reaching for the doorknob, the door opened and three people emerged. "Death Eater scum!" Moody snarled under his breath as he moved to the side of the doorway to watch.

Harry and Ron stepped back as well, surprised to see Draco Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and another man, a tall, blond fellow with a full beard, walk out onto the front path.

"It's going well, Draco," the blond man said in a deep, resonant voice. "If you continue at this pace, our preparations should be ready well before the Dark Lord's deadline."

Draco smirked, giving the man an arrogant nod. "Thanks, Nick." Draco's eyes strayed to the woods. Abruptly, his expression altered to a sneer. "That jumped-up Mudblood bitch!" he swore softly. The others, including the three observers, followed his gaze to the two figures that were slowly approaching. Although still some ways off, they were wending their way leisurely between the tree trunks towards the cottage.

Harry recognized them at once. Snape's tall, thin, black-draped form was unmistakable, as was Hermione's bushy mass of hair. He would have known them at twice the distance.

"And Snape – he's almost worse than her!" Draco continued, his rant gaining volume and spitefulness. "He makes me sick, the way he coddles that filthy, little low-life."

"He's only following our master's orders, Draco," Bellatrix said mildly. "Just as you are. Best not interfere, boy," she warned.

"Yes, Aunt," he acceded sullenly.

"Let's go," Bellatrix ordered as she gathered her cloak around herself. She Disapparated with a loud crack, followed closely by the blond man.

Draco remained only long enough to mutter, "I still think that any wizard with a shred of self respect would have refused to associate with a disgusting Mudblood like her!" A third and final crack signaled his departure.

Ron, Moody and Harry stayed where they were, watching the gradually advancing pair. They were walking side-by-side, conversing only occasionally, but in a relaxed manner. As they came into auditory range, the subject of their conversation was apparent: Snape was teaching.

"...and what are its uses?" Snape questioned.

"Well, I believe it's used in Burn Healing Paste," Hermione answered.

"In what form?"

"Um," she bit her lower lip in thought, then brightened as she blurted out, "dried and powdered!"

"Correct," he replied smoothly. "But Chlorophyllum is also an essential ingredient in Wizarding Photographic Developing Fluid. Without it, the other magical ingredient, ginger root, would be inert and our photographs would be no different from Muggle pictures," he said.

"Is that... is it considered a Potion?" she asked in amazement. "We never brewed anything remotely like that in school."

"There are many concoctions that are excluded from the Hogwarts Potions syllabus," he replied dryly. "In any case, it's fortunate that you spotted it, as I need to make a batch of Burn Healing Paste fairly soon. You may assist me if you wish."

"Yes, sir," the young woman replied. Although she didn't smile, Harry and Ron knew her well enough to read the anticipation in her eyes: she was looking forward to a new challenge.

Just short of the front door, Snape halted. Reaching into the pocket of his robe, he brought out a handful of orangey-yellow fungi. They were almost trumpet-shaped, like oddly colored morning glory blossoms. "I, too, have collected some ingredients on today's walk. Tell me, girl, what would you be able to brew with these?" he asked, holding them out in front of Hermione.

Her brow contracted as she examined them, but after a minute, her expression cleared. "Cream of mushroom soup!" she piped, giving him a cheeky smile.

His face took on a pained look. "With Cantharellus? Hardly! Mushroom bisque is the correct answer," he amended, smirking. With a quick Finite Incantatem, he released the tether spell. "Now, go give these to the elves. I'll be downstairs in the lab." Opening the door, he ushered her inside.

Harry was completely taken aback. Where was Snape's trademark sneer? Where were his cruel, sarcastic comments? And he all but thanked Hermione for finding the Chlorophyllum, whatever that was!

As Moody stepped forward to follow Snape through the door, white fog began to billow around them. Harry touched the older man's arm. "Wait a minute!" he advised.

When the fog had dissipated, they found themselves standing in a comfortable sitting room. The view outside a nearby window made it apparent that they were now inside the cottage. Ron nudged Harry with an elbow and pointed silently toward a figure curled up in one of the room's cushioned chairs. It was Hermione. As usual, she sat with a book in her lap. Ron smiled. "She's studying for a test," he said, a fond note in his voice.

Harry watched as she alternated her attention between the book in her lap and a set of notes on the chair's arm, her lips moving soundlessly as she occasionally recited answers under her breath. For a moment he felt as if he were back in the Gryffindor common room; the memories this elicited made him smile warmly, much as Ron had.

At the sound of the door opening behind them, all three men turned. Snape entered, ordering Hermione to accompany him, then swept upstairs to what was, apparently, a shared bedroom. Looking around, Harry noticed a Transfiguration text and a pair of feminine pajamas lying on a folding camp bed. The large four-poster bed nearby was flanked by a set of nightstands, one of which held an ancient-looking Potions manuscript that could only belong to Snape. She has to share a room with him? he thought incredulously.

His thoughts were interrupted, however, as Snape handed Hermione the large paper-wrapped package he carried, directing her to open it. Harry, Ron and Moody watched as she unwrapped it, revealing a warm and very beautiful cloak (in Slytherin colors, no less). In amazement, the three observers watched as Snape made it clear that the cloak was for her and insisted she wear it. Appearing dazed, Hermione not only donned the garment, but she thanked her captor warmly. In spite of his characteristically emotionless expression, Harry got the distinct impression that Snape was pleased with her reaction – and pleased with himself, as well.

"Harry!" Ron hissed, gripping his arm almost painfully. "I don't like this! What the hell is he trying to accomplish?" Ron sounded a bit desperate, and his eyes plainly showed his distress.

Harry understood Ron's concern at once: not only was Snape giving 'his girl' expensive gifts, but she appeared to like it! If it was hard for him, Harry, to see Hermione being so easily influenced, then how much more difficult must it be for Ron. The sudden fog swirling around them cut off further conversation, although their feet stayed firmly on the ground. They waited apprehensively for Snape's next memory.

They were in a laboratory of some sort, the lack of windows indicating that it was probably a basement room. Hermione and Snape were working next to a cauldron containing a thick, light blue fluid. "Why have you shredded these ironwood roots rather than slicing them?" he asked sharply.

"Well," she answered slowly, "I was thinking that their sap would infuse into the potion more quickly this way. It occurred to me that it may be a matter of timing rather than type. I mean, we've already tried various substitutes for them without getting any real result." She looked up at him steadily, waiting for his response.

"Fine," he snapped, "add them!" His lip curled disdainfully. "It can't be any worst than the last ten trials we've run," he sneered under his breath as he turned away.

Hermione added the final ingredient, stirred ten times clockwise, then twice counterclockwise. The potion immediately turned a rich azure, prompting her to gasp in surprise. Snape whipped around to see what was wrong, and in three long strides had reached her side. His eyes widened in shock as he stared fixedly at the concoction for a few seconds. Recovering his composure, he shot a calculating look at his now-smiling assistant. "Well, Granger," he drawled, placing a hand on her shoulder approvingly, "it seems you were correct." He gave her shoulder a light squeeze and bent close to her ear. "Nicely done!" he said silkily.

"Get your hands off her, you greasy scumbag!" Ron hissed fiercely.

As misty white enveloped them once again, Harry's only consolation was that Hermione's smile was directed toward the completed potion, rather than her companion.

They were back in the sitting room. Harry hoped, for Ron's sake, that the Pensieve session would be over soon. Much more provocation and the redhead would begin raving.

At a knock on the door, Moody pulled both young men to the side of the room. "Better vantage point over here lads," he advised gruffly, placing himself between Ron and the transpiring events.

Harry caught Moody's eye (the normal one) and gave him a nod of thanks. They stayed at the side of the room watching in astonishment as Snape's fellow Death Eater and long-time friend, Rabastan Lestrange, entered the cottage and began making himself pleasant. What the hell kind of game is he playing? Harry wondered. All of a sudden, a possible motive for Lestrange's behavior occurred to him, followed immediately by a crushing fear for Hermione's safety. She would stand little chance if the man intended to attack her, even with an unaltered wand. As it was, she was virtually helpless. But after a few minutes it became apparent to Harry that something much more subtle was happening – Lestrange was attempting to befriend her, putting her at ease by talking about Viktor Krum. And it seemed to be working.

"Krum? She's asking about Krum?" Ron questioned under his breath. "What about me?"

Realistically, Harry knew that Hermione probably had no choice about who she was allowed to talk to, but his anger began to override his reason. How can she sit there, drinking wine with a couple of Death Eaters? he thought furiously. She ought to have gone upstairs, refused to talk to them! He barely registered the content of Snape and Lestrange's conversation as he watched Hermione. She was curled into the sofa, sitting quietly and sipping her wine with a thoughtful expression. He glanced at Ron, knowing that however painful this was for himself, it paled beside what his best friend was experiencing. Something inside him hardened. How could Hermione do this to them? To Ron especially!

It was a great relief to Harry when, as Hermione departed upstairs for bed, the fog surrounded them, and he felt himself float upward. He emerged from the string of memories, landing on his feet in the Weasley's kitchen.

As soon as they were solidly back in the here and now, Ron disengaged himself from Moody's grasp with a savage jerk of his arm. "I'm going to bed!" he snarled, stomping out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Moody favored Harry with a full-blown scowl. "You realize," he stated gruffly, "that they're manipulating her, don't you, boy?"

Harry nodded. He did, but that didn't take away the anger he felt on Ron's behalf. The others were all looking at them, puzzlement written clearly on their faces, but nobody broke the silence. After a minute, it occurred to him that Moody had a great deal of experience with Death Eaters; if anyone could guess at their motives, it would be him. "What... what do you think they're trying to accomplish?" he asked haltingly.

"If it were only Snape, I would have said seduction was his goal," Moody answered. "But with Lestrange involved as well, I think it's something much worse." He paused a moment as if reluctant to continue. "There's a good chance that they're after her loyalty. I'd say she's in grave danger. A trusting young girl like her... against practiced manipulators like those two... You and Weasley have to put your anger aside. We need to figure out a way to save your friend," he advised sternly.

Harry nodded woodenly and excused himself, following Ron's example of an early bedtime. He tried to blame it all on Snape. He really tried. But in his mind's eye he kept seeing Hermione's warm smile as she drew that Slytherin cape around her shoulders.

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Hermione sighed. It had been a very long day. She had worked her way through an exhausting Charms lesson, read the next chapters for Potions and Transfiguration, taken her usual post-lunch walk with Snape and assisted him during an extended afternoon session in the lab. Perhaps, Hermione thought wearily, now that dinner is over, I should just go to bed. No sooner had she resolved to head upstairs, than a familiar rapping was heard at the door. One of the elves appeared and answered it, revealing Rabastan Lestrange. Since that initial unexpected visit a few weeks back, he had taken to dropping by two to three nights a week. Snape seemed both unsurprised and mildly pleased with this change in their evening routine. And after the first week, Hermione had reluctantly (and privately) admitted that in spite of what she knew about him, she enjoyed Lestrange's visits as well. Where Snape was terse, he was affable. Where Snape was measured and watchful, he seemed almost careless, willing to approach virtually any topic. And of course, the simple addition of a third person automatically made for livelier, more varied conversations. Yes, she appreciated the novelty of Lestrange's presence. She did not, however, abandon all caution where he was concerned.

This evening he had brought a portable telescope with him which he intended to set up in the clearing in front of the cottage. A few days prior, Hermione had discovered that Lestrange was an enthusiastic amateur astronomer. She had tentatively inquired what he thought about the evidence suggesting a tenth planet in the solar system, inadvertently launching him into an animated discussion. Although she had achieved an outstanding on her Astronomy OWL, Hermione had chosen not to take NEWT-level classes in the subject. Listening to him as he described how the planets affected certain aspects of spell-casting, she had begun to regret her decision. In classic need-to-know-it-all mode, she had asked whether he was able to track the motions of Callisto, an important celestial object in certain Arithmancy calculations. This led to his discovering her passion for Arithmancy and, in turn, to his offering to help her chart Callisto's present location. Hence, the telescope tucked under his arm.

"The sky is uncommonly clear tonight, especially considering the time of year," he proclaimed earnestly. "Perfect viewing conditions! Come, Severus, put away your book. Miss Hermione, surely you want to view the moons of Jupiter," he coaxed.

Hearing her given name startled her – it was the first time he had used it. "Um, I was actually thinking of going to bed early tonight," she prevaricated with uncertainty. "But I would like to see them... Perhaps just for a bit?" She looked to Snape, hoping he would agree, as she had no intention of going without him. Lestrange's familiarity had made her distinctly uncomfortable. Snape gave a sharp nod, indicating his willingness, and she headed upstairs to gather her cloak.

She returned a minute later, dressed in her long, green cloak and carrying Snape's black one over her arm. After he had swung it around his shoulders, she held out her arm to him in an almost automatic gesture, allowing him to cast the tether spell.

Lestrange watched them, a knowing gleam in his eye. He had caught the nuances of the young woman's behavior. She had not looked to Severus for permission, but for reassurance and protection. He was sure of it. And he recognized that cloak she was wearing: the eight-pointed silver stars were the sigil of the Prince family. Meaning that the cloak could only have come from Severus, he concluded. Interesting....

Outside, the heavens were a blaze of diamonds against the dark vault of the night sky. Crisp, cold air swirled about them as they huddled in their warm cloaks, waiting for Lestrange to set up and focus his instrument. Hermione stood next to Snape, but her eyes were directed upward, mesmerized. The contrast of the innumerable white stars amidst black space took her breath away. At last, bringing her gaze back to earth, she looked around at the trees. "It's beautiful here at night," she sighed. "So unspoiled." She glanced at Snape, only to find he was watching her intently, his face inscrutable. "I think," she said holding eye contact with him, "that the woods at night are almost as hypnotic as the beach at night – but in a completely different way. Don't you think so, sir?"

"I don't generally indulge in romantic notions," he responded with a touch of asperity.

She rolled her eyes. "Big surprise," she muttered. Turning to watch Lestrange fiddle with the telescope, she inquired, "Did you find Jupiter yet?"

"Yes, and all four Galilean moons are visible right now!" he replied with excitement. "Come and have a look," he invited her.

Hermione took her place at the instrument, bending to peer through the eyepiece. The Jovian system jumped into view: a large, orangey-colored striped marble surrounded by its four largest satellites. "Is Callisto the one on the far left?" she asked.

"Yes, that's it. It's the dark grey one." Lestrange bent close to her ear. "Do you know which one is Europa?" he queried softly.

She chuckled, remembering how Harry had once mistakenly thought that Europa was covered in mice. Straightening, she said, "It's the one with the smooth surface, second out from the planet, right?" He nodded. "Do you want to see?" Hermione asked Snape, stepping back to give him access.

Snape moved into place, peering into the eyepiece for a minute. Without lifting his head, he inquired, "Did you bring a chart to record this on, Rabastan?"

"Yes."

Snape straightened and extended his hand for the sheet of parchment, but the other man smiled faintly and declined to give it to him with a shake of the head. "I thought perhaps Miss Hermione would prefer to pinpoint Callisto's location herself. After all, I did bring the 'scope up here for her sake," he said with an easygoing smile in Hermione's direction.

Snape scowled a moment, then stepped to the left of the telescope. "Very well."

Hermione took the parchment that Lestrange held out to her. He produced a quill and ink from a pocket of the telescope case and gave her those as well. Bending again to the eyepiece, she began carefully marking the position of Jupiter and each of its four largest moons with respect to the background star field. As she worked, she became aware that Lestrange was standing close, his left arm brushing lightly against her right. She subtly transferred her weight to her left foot, allowing her to shift slightly away from him without being too obvious. However, this had the consequence of bringing her in close proximity to Snape. When she had marked all the relevant planetary, satellite and star positions she could, she straightened and began to review her work. Suddenly, she was hyperaware of the silence and the darkness all around her. The tall, warm presences of the two men were close, very close, on either side of her.

"It's not a test," Lestrange joked, breaking the tension abruptly. "I promise you won't get a failing grade if every star is not perfectly positioned, Miss Hermione!"

Hermione grimaced at the awkward-sounding appellation. "I feel like I'm in a bloody Jane Austen novel," she griped. "Either use my first or last name, sir. None of this 'miss' business, if you don't mind." His answering smile was broad, and she realized her tactical error at once. Damn Slytherins! she thought with dismay. That's not the result I was after at all.

"Why, thank you, Hermione! First names are so much simpler and more pleasant, don't you think?" Lestrange said, smirking. "In return, I insist you call me Rabastan."

"No!" she blurted. "I mean, thanks – but I couldn't do that, sir. I wouldn't feel comfortable." She turned to Snape. "I'd like to go to sleep now, sir. Could you release this so I can go in, please?" she asked raising her arm so that he could nullify the charm that bound them together.

"I'll go in as well," Snape replied in a neutral voice as he took her arm. "Rabastan, why don't you pack that up and come in for a drink," he suggested over his shoulder as he steered Hermione to the door.

When Lestrange entered, his telescope folded into a compact bundle inside its case, Snape was already seated, a glass of amber liquor in his hand. There was another waiting on the coffee table for Lestrange. Scooping up the snifter of brandy, he sank into the nearest chair, sipping his drink gratefully. "You shouldn't work Hermione so hard during the day, Severus. You're depriving us of her delightful company," he accused his friend with mock severity.

"But of course," Snape agreed smoothly. "Her entire purpose, according to you, is to provide pleasant conversation for your leisure nights."

Lestrange laughed outright. "Yes, and wouldn't that be pleasant, indeed. Well, my friend, I do see why Krum is so taken with Hermione Granger." Snape made an inarticulate scoffing sound. "Really, Severus, you have to admit, she's intelligent, agreeable, young and pretty. Shame about her birth," he said regretfully. "If she were even half-blood...." He lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

"I advise you," Snape told him quietly, "to make your admiration a little less apparent to the girl. I don't want you to alarm her."

"With you as her protector, I'm sure she's not truly afraid," Lestrange said blandly.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You're goading me," he growled softly.

Lestrange smiled but didn't risk an answer. Severus was too sharp. If he said anything further, his friend would, no doubt, be clued-in to what he was up to. And he didn't intend to let that happen. Sometimes, he reflected, it's an advantage to be open-tempered. People never suspect any motive except the one that's clearly in view. Let Severus believe he was attracted to Hermione Granger. He would accept the reprimand and then back off, leaving Severus to realize where his protectiveness for the young woman truly originated. Perhaps it will goad him into action... I'd like to see that, he thought as he regarded his friend. And who knows, if Severus gets 'closer' to Granger, it may help ensure that the Dark Lord's plan succeeds.

*****

Upon reaching her room, Hermione decided a nice hot bath was what she needed after the cold of a November night. She retrieved her pajamas while the tub was filling, then settled into the steaming water with a sigh. Lestrange's behavior worried her. Up to this point, he'd been merely polite and friendly, taking obvious enjoyment from conversing with Snape and herself. Tonight, though – he had been a bit too familiar for her peace of mind. Snape had noticed too and had subtly extricated her from the unnerving situation. She wondered if he would talk to Lestrange about it. It's probably egotistical to suppose they talk about me when I'm not there. In any case, she was certain that Snape would prevent anything from harming her.

The hot water had successfully relaxed her muscles. Her body felt languid, letting her know sleep would be welcome soon. Her mind drifted randomly. She remembered the sumptuous Prefects' bathroom at Hogwarts: she had enjoyed that immensely! Her parents' whirlpool tub was nice, but nothing compared to bathing in a swimming pool full of warm water and colorful, scented bubbles. "Mmmm," she groaned, remembering the feel of the slick marble steps beneath her, as she had lain in the shallows, luxuriating among pink clouds of foam. From there, her thoughts slid easily to another bath she had taken: one where she was lying along the second step of the bath, immersed in the warm pool and partially covered by bubbles, caressing herself. She closed her eyes, reliving and reenacting the memory as she stroked her breasts. She brought Ron to mind, picturing his wonderful smile, his tall, lean body. Her hands stroked down her abdomen and between her legs, seeking. She imagined them kissing, trying to recapture how she felt when their lips were pressed together. But something was missing; it had been so long – too many months – she could hardly remember what his lips felt like on hers. That realization brought her up short, popping her fantasy like a soap bubble.

Opening her eyes, she sighed again, this time in frustration. That bath memory had aroused not only her thoughts and feelings, but her body as well. Right, she decided, back to the old standby. Closing her eyes, she pictured Keanu Reeves, standing knee deep in the water of the Prefects' bath, his lithe body clad only in a Speedo brief. Mmmm, that's hot! She imagined herself walking to the water's edge and lowering herself to the first step. She brushed her hands over her nipples, feeling them harden. He reached out his hand to hers, clasping her fingers, drawing her down another step to stand in front of him. Her hands slipped smoothly over the soft, wet skin of her ribcage and stomach, skimming over her pubic hair to tease her clit. In her mind's eye, her lover was a tall, dark figure, dimly seen in the low light. She looked up into his dark eyes; they were deep, unfathomable. Another picture came swimming to the surface of her mind: dark eyes in a pale face, watching her intently, inscrutably... a fleeting image of herself, flanked by two tall, warm, male bodies, as she leaned to the left...No! she gasped internally, jerking away from the remembered tension. Her eyes popped open. Had it been sexual tension? Was that what had happened out there?

She took a deep breath. Best not dwell on that. She felt an ache between her legs as her partially aroused body told her it wanted more. Okay, but no more tall, dark and mysterious. A blond then, she decided, with blue eyes and smooth, tan skin... Leonardo DiCaprio. She began again, imagining him kissing her, caressing her body as she lay back in the warm water, her fingers rhythmically circling and stroking her clitoris. She imagined her lover's blond hair dragging across her torso as he tongued her nipple lightly. Her hand motions became faster as her orgasm approached. She pictured her lover kissing his way down her body as her anticipation built. Finally, she came with a moan of satisfaction. As the pulses of pleasure waned, she relaxed fully in contentment. Ahhh... Thank God for unattainable men, she thought. What else are they good for except fantasies?

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My sincere thanks to Larilee for her work as my beta reader and for her helpful advice.

Author's Notes:

1. Chlorophyllum (Green-spored Lepiota) is a poisonous fungi seen in late summer to early fall; Cantharellus (Chanterelle) is an edible (and delectable) fungi found throughout the summer and into early fall.

2. Why did I pick Callisto to be a significant celestial body? Because it looks cool!