Dirty Revenge

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe is the property of J.K. Rowling and her publishers. Anything you recognize belongs to her. I am not making any money from this.

Chapter 12: Dirty Revenge

Well, that's it, Hermione thought, closing the Herbology text. She was as ready as she'd ever be for the test Snape had promised tomorrow morning. November was drawing to a close, and she was pleased that she had finished with the text in well under four months. Tomorrow's exam was to be a 'final' of sorts. Of course, she was very far from finished with Herbology if she wanted to pass the Herbology N.E.W.T. someday. All she had really done was rote memorization from the book. It had been impossible to learn the practical aspect of the discipline. No greenhouses here at Minion-Malfoy Retreat. Nor at Snape's house. And Herbology, she knew, was comprised of about one part theoretical knowledge to four parts applied knowledge. Someday, I will learn the rest...­ she thought with determination. Unfortunately, at this point the depressing reality of her situation occurred to her. Assuming I ever get the chance to sit the exam, she reflected solemnly. That could only happen if Harry defeated that inhuman monster, Voldemort. She heaved a sigh of resignation.

Hearing the gusting breath escape the young woman sitting a few feet away from him, Snape flicked his eyes in her direction. "Something the matter, Granger?" he inquired softly.

"Just wondering..." She trailed off, uncertain if she should say what was on her mind.

"Well?" he prompted, lifting an eyebrow.

"...­if I'll ever be able to take the N.E.W.T.s," she said quietly. She was staring bleakly down at her lap. Her whisper was so soft, Snape almost didn't catch it. "If I'll even have a future...."

Snape continued to watch the girl, but said nothing. There really was no good answer. After all, he couldn't even guarantee his own future. And he could see, quite plainly, that she was on the verge of tears. Better to stay silent than to tip her over the edge into a crying bout, he reasoned. He had neither the aptitude nor the inclination for dealing with emotional females.

She looked away, drawing the back of her hand across her eyes. Then with a shuddering breath, she stood. "I'll be upstairs," she uttered calmly, turning quickly and disappearing up the steps.

Good, Snape approved silently. She mastered her emotions. How unlike her friends she is, he mused. That arrogant brat, Potter, never managed to do half as well! And Weasley, like the rest of his family, displays every thought and feeling on his face – practically flaunts them! He grimaced at the memory of those idiots! Granger is far more adept than her friends in many areas. She is relatively intelligent and, thank Merlin, logical! He despised irrational thinkers. And, in spite of her tendency toward periodic mood swings, he generally appreciated her company. With a jolt, he realized that he was agreeing with Rabastan's assessment of the girl. No, he corrected himself, young woman. Rabastan was right about that as well.

-----------------------------

Harry was getting impatient. It was nearly five weeks since they had destroyed the Horcrux at Hogwarts, and he had not made any further progress on his mission. In fact, November had been nothing but drudgery on top of toil capped with worry. Professor McGonagall's retribution over the destruction in the Trophy room had got the month off to a rousing start. He and Ron had spent two entire weekends cleaning up and repairing the place! But the truly difficult part had been explaining their actions without revealing the existence of the Horcruxes. Harry rolled his eyes, remembering his desperate mental scramble to fabricate an explanation....

∞...∞...∞

"Potter! Weasley! Remus! Explain yourselves immediately!" demanded Professor McGonagall.

"Ron and I wandered into the Trophy room after visiting our old dormitory, Professor. We were just looking around when I spotted Riddle's Special Award," Harry explained rapidly. "When I saw it, my scar started to burn really badly, and I... I lost control. I guess I just reacted with an offensive spell," he finished lamely.

"Yeah, Professor," Ron interposed. "And when I saw Harry grabbing his forehead, I thought he was under some sort of mental attack – like what happened two years ago when he saw all that stuff Voldemort was doing! I melded power with him, thinking maybe it would help him somehow – but...." He shrugged eloquently, gesturing to the chaos around them.

"And what is your story?" she asked sharply, turning to Remus.

"He came in after the blast, Professor," Harry interjected hurriedly.

"Yes, I... I was just was looking for the two of them," Remus added, latching on to Harry's cobbled-together alibi.

∞...∞...∞

Harry shook his head, remembering how McGonagall had glared suspiciously at all three of them. But she had not disputed their tale. Remus had escaped the stern Headmistress' wrath, but Harry and Ron hadn't been so lucky. Minerva McGonagall still glared at the two young men for the first ten minutes of each Transfiguration lesson.

Unfortunately, the cleanup of the Trophy room had only been the beginning of November's unpleasantness. All their teachers, both at the Burrow and the Ministry, seemed to have colluded to produce a mountain of coursework for the young wizards. On top of all that, Harry and Ron had been extremely shaken by what they had seen in the Pensieve. Harry couldn't throw off the feeling of foreboding; the memories he had witnessed seemed to have crept into his subconscious to pick away at him.

For much of the month though, Harry's biggest concern was Remus. All through November they saw not a hair of his prematurely greying head. Mrs. Weasley said he had spent the first couple of weeks on Order business: he was with the werewolves again, gleaning any information he could come by. But as the month wore on and Remus didn't return, Harry became worried. Finally, after pestering Moody for most of a Defense lesson, he learned that Remus had gone through a harrowing transformation. He had been forced to stay with the werewolf pack during the full moon, undergoing the painful change without benefit of either medicine or restraints. He was still recovering nearly twelve days later.

At last, when the calendar was finally flipped to December, Remus turned up at the Burrow. He was drawn and pale, but his usual cheerful self. At the first opportunity, Harry ushered the older man aside for a quiet word. Harry was eager to dispose of Slytherin's locket and wanted to plan the best way to go about it. Remus, however, solemnly informed Harry that it would have to wait – he wasn't strong enough yet to direct the complex magic involved. Harry had acceded more gracefully than usual, stifling his impatience in the face of his friend's obvious disability. Privately, he decided that a trip to Knockturn Alley was in order; he would attack the Horcrux problem on the second front.

-----------------------------

"Aguamenti!" Water jetted from her wand into the basin. "Evanesco!" The water vanished without a trace. Good! I think I've got the hang of it now! Hermione congratulated herself. Now for the hard part. She focused her will on the charm and pointing her wand at the basin, thought, Aguamenti! Nothing happened. Again: Aguamenti! Still nothing. Damn! Focus Granger, she chided herself. Once again: Aguamenti! "Yes!" she crowed, looking happily at the filling basin on the floor in front of her. Snape had been working her mercilessly on nonverbal charms for the past week. Nonverbal magic, according to him, was the litmus test of excellence in the wizarding world; it was mastered only by those with true talent and power. Well, she wasn't sure she could achieve mastery, but she would settle for facility.

I can't wait to show Snape! she thought, a touch of excitement jumbled with her satisfaction at finally getting the knack of it. He should be pleased with my progress. Although she had always been eager for the approval of her teachers, she was aware that her current reaction to Snape's opinion was qualitatively different in some way. She hadn't yet taken the time to analyze the warm feeling she experienced when he approved her successes – she was still enjoying the pure novelty of praise from that quarter. He had also been less taciturn over the past few weeks, often conversing with her quietly in the evenings, as he was wont to do with Rabastan Lestrange. And she enjoyed their time together. A year ago, if anyone had told her she would look forward to conversations with Severus Snape, she would have said they were either mental or completely pissed. She grinned at that thought, then, realizing she was wasting time, shook her head. Standing here daydreaming won't impress Snape, that's for sure! she reproved silently. I had better get back to work. She returned to practicing the charms drills he had set her to learn.

Forty-five minutes and four successful drills later, she was interrupted by the arrival of Malfoy. Narcissa Malfoy. Oh joy, she thought sarcastically, the light of the magical world has arrived. Aside from Draco, there was no one whose presence at the cottage she appreciated less than his mother, Narcissa. The other Death Eaters who came to work with Draco largely ignored her existence; she returned the favor, with interest. But Narcissa Malfoy was a different story. She had come to visit Draco on two prior occasions, each of which stood out in humiliating detail in Hermione's memory. During her first visit, mother and son had engaged in a contest of sorts: who could think up the most hurtful, demeaning comments about 'the Mudblood.' In the face of two Malfoys and no Snape (who was out at the time), Hermione was forced to beat a strategic retreat to her bedroom. Her second encounter with the blond woman was not much better. Narcissa had found her alone in the cottage (aside from the elves) and knowing she was unable to retaliate, had proceeded to insult her parents, her friends, her appearance and her virtue. Refusing to acknowledge the stream of vitriol and determined not to run away again, Hermione had endured nearly thirty minutes of the witch's 'company' before Snape's arrival put an end to it.

Today, as usual, Narcissa entered without knocking, an air of arrogance and self-assurance practically projecting from her in waves. How does she manage that? Hermione wondered. Aloud, she said merely, "Draco isn't here." She pointedly did not look at the other woman. I'm not going to take any crap from her today! she decided. I've had it with her supercilious attitude.

"How dare you even address me, you filthy little Mudblood!" Narcissa retorted coldly. "You will remain silent in my presence or I will cast a Silencing Spell on you until you learn your place!" She clapped her hands sharply to summon an elf. "I am here to see Severus Snape, tell him I am waiting in the sitting room," she snapped at the elf. The creature bowed and scurried toward the laboratory door to carry out its orders.

Hermione seethed internally, staring hatefully at the older woman's back. Narcissa, sensing that she was being watched, turned to look at Hermione. "What are you still doing here?" she demanded. "Get out! Now!"

Hermione's chin lifted a bit. "Snape expects me to stay here, practicing the charms he taught me. I'm not leaving until he tells me to!" she said defiantly, turning her back on the blond woman deliberately. She knew the haughty action would anger Malfoy, but she didn't care. It's time she got back a little of what she dishes out, she thought heatedly. Hermione forced herself to ignore the other woman, and returned to practicing the nonverbal water summoning charm. As the basin at her feet slowly filled with water, she heard pacing.

Narcissa began muttering, as if talking to herself, but just loud enough to insure that Hermione would be able to hear. "Where in the blazes is Severus? He'd better get here soon – I'm not going to stand around here all afternoon. By Salazar, I don't dare sit on the furniture here anymore, there must be dirt ingrained in every piece by now. Hmmph! I suppose it will have to be burned and replaced after the Dark Lord disposes of the Mudblood scum."

Hermione felt her face flush with fury. That's it! She pointed her wand at the water in the basin. Fimusco! she thought. Nothing happened. "Fimusco!" she whispered, abandoning nonverbal magic in her anger. Lumpy, brown clumps poured from her wand, gradually darkening the water, turning it into a thick, sticky mass. "Globus!" she mouthed, Conjuring a Gryffindor-red balloon. With a twist and wiggle of her wand, she lowered it to the basin and filled it. Hmm, another, I think. "Globus!" she whispered again. When the second balloon was ready, she shot a glance at Narcissa Malfoy. Still pacing and still ignoring me. Good. Wingardium Leviosa! she commanded silently with an expert swish and flick of her wand. The balloons rose silently. When she was satisfied with their placement, she jerked her arm upward, releasing the Levitation spell.

Splat! The first balloon caught Narcissa Malfoy on the crown of her head, while the second smacked onto the floor immediately in her path. In mid-stride when the balloons dropped, the blond woman stepped directly into the morass at her feet. Her foot slid forward, and with a screech, she went down, landing on her rear in the puddle of gluey, brown mud. Wiping the muck from her eyes, she saw Hermione watching with a grin.

"Oops! Sorry," Hermione said flippantly, not sounding remotely apologetic. "I must have accidentally left those around after my last bath." With a triumphant smile, Hermione spun on her heel, heading for the kitchen. Moments later an electric shock of prescience shot up her back, sending her diving instinctively to the right as a shouted spell rang out behind her.

"Diffindo!"

The hex streaked through the air where Hermione had been a moment before, slamming into a portrait and splitting the canvas. Hermione landed on her belly and scrambled behind a chair, hearing the other woman's scream of frustration at missing her target. Heavy footsteps pounded into the room.

"Expelliarmus!" Snape shouted, disarming Narcissa and neatly catching her wand. "What in Merlin's name is going on here!" he demanded, glaring at the only person he could see: Narcissa.

"That bitch..." Narcissa began.

"She tried to kill me!" Hermione interrupted, springing to her feet and pointing to the canvas bearing the evidence of Narcissa's hex.

"This low-life spawn of Muggles attacked me, Severus. I demand that you punish her!"

"That's impossible," Snape contradicted. "She cannot attack another person – her wand won't function offensively."

"Well, she managed this! Or did you imagine I covered myself in this muck?" Narcissa asked rhetorically.

"She got what she deserved!" Hermione returned vehemently. "The insufferable, conceited harridan! I'm sick of her abuse. If she was half as great as she thinks her 'blood' makes her, she would have seen it coming!"

Snape scowled at Hermione for a few moments. "Granger, go upstairs," he ordered in a dangerously quiet voice. "Now!"

Breathing heavily and still enraged, Hermione stared into his eyes a moment. "Fine!" she growled. "I should have known you'd take her side." She jammed her wand into her pocket and stomped up the stairs.

Snape looked appraisingly at the mess on the floor of the sitting room, noting the two scraps of red balloon amongst the mud. He suppressed a smirk. Diabolically clever. "Scourgify," he said, clearing away the evidence of Narcissa's humiliation and offering her a hand up from the floor.

"What are you going to do about that girl?" she asked imperiously, as Snape handed back her wand.

He narrowed his eyes, staring at her coldly until she became uncomfortable and looked away. "I daresay she was not unprovoked, was she, Narcissa?" he asked silkily. Noting the slight shifting of her eyes, he knew he was correct. "As I thought. I believe you should leave now, Narcissa," he said in a deceptively calm voice.

"This house is Malfoy property!" she retorted. "I have every right to be here!"

"And just as you have rights, you also have duties." He advanced on her threateningly. "If you hurt Granger, you will pay the price in blood at the Dark Lord's feet!" he hissed. "He has ordered that she not be harmed, or had you forgotten that? You're fortunate that she is a better duelist than you – even with her current wand!"

"You dare to compare that Mudblood slut to me!" Narcissa snarled. She stared at Snape, disbelief written clearly on her face. "Severus, what has happened to your pride!"

Snape stared back implacably. He was furious, but he held his anger on a tight leash.

Abruptly, Narcissa changed tactics, sinking into a chair and looking up at him imploringly. "Severus, we are old friends; let's not argue." She sighed theatrically. "It's just that I'm worried about you, spending all your time with an inferior creature like that. You can do much better."

"Really?" he asked scathingly, stepping closer to glare down at her.

"Of course!" she said smoothly. "Your talent and rank in the Dark Lord's circle will insure it! I'm sure you wish to carry on the Snape line, and there are always witches of good birth looking for an acceptable match."

Snape's face twisted into an ugly sneer. "Ah, so you know many such women, Narcissa? Perhaps you have some names for me?" he asked in a voice just above a whisper. He stepped even closer to her and watched in satisfaction as her eyes widened with a touch of fear. "Is there a cousin of yours that you would recommend? Or maybe the daughter of a friend?" Bending down, he placed his hands on the armrests of her chair, effectively trapping her, intimidating her. Then he played his final card. "Or perhaps," he suggested, moving forward into her personal space, "you are convinced that Lucius will not be returning." Her eyes widened further as she leaned back unwittingly. "Would I be an acceptable replacement should you find yourself a widow, my dear?" he breathed.

"Lucius will be free soon, Severus," she gasped. "I didn't mean to imply..."

"Save your breath, Narcissa!" he interrupted, jerking upright and striding across the room. "And confine your 'concern' to your own family! I will mind my own affairs." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and narrowed his eyes at her. "I trust I have made my point?"

"Yes. Forgive me," she apologized, jumping to her feet. "I... I must go. Good day, Severus." She practically ran from the cottage, the crack of her Apparition sounding before the door had swung fully shut.

Impudent, presumptuous woman! Snape fumed. He felt a savage satisfaction, knowing he had scared her badly, but his anger was not assuaged. He would never be able to deal with Granger in his current mood. "Accio cloak!" he called. Plucking the garment out of the air, he swung it around himself and called for an elf. "I will return in an hour. You know what to do!"

The woods were dismal – grey and featureless this time of year – like the sky, but Snape hardly noticed his surroundings as he strode down the path, brooding. Narcissa's words had unwittingly opened an old wound. One that he had, until today, believed to be scarred-over and inert.

He'd known since early adolescence that he was unattractive to girls. Almost without exception, young, adolescent girls wanted the good looking boys; older girls sometimes progressed to wanting 'fun' boys, or popular, Quidditch-playing ones. All attributes he would never manage to acquire. He had intelligence, cunning and a fierce desire to prove himself – none of which were tenable coin in gender relations. Until his O.W.L. scores came out. Suddenly, there was a small subset of girls eager for something he possessed: knowledge. That they were all girls with the reciprocal problem he faced (they had neither the beauty nor popularity adolescent boys desired) bothered him not at all. He bartered with them: snogging sessions for help with Potions essays, tutoring in exchange for more intimate trysts. He learned a great deal.

When he left school, however, he found he had lost his bargaining chip. The young women he came in contact with (mostly from families that shared his 'ideological leanings') wanted men with good bloodlines and money. They all knew of his Muggle father and his relative poverty. Those two circumstances, combined with his unappealing visage, ensured universal rejection. When he realized that no amount of knowledge and skill would induce a pure-blood to form an alliance with him, he reverted to treating sex as a transaction. The courtesans he infrequently visited gave him what he wanted in exchange for money – it was satisfactory.

And now, Narcissa Malfoy, with her privileged life, her 'Most Ancient and Noble House of Black' heritage and her unspeakable arrogance, had re-opened the lesion, shoving his nose into what was forever, irrevocably beyond his reach. There is no 'Snape line' for me to continue, he thought contemptuously, prowling the uneven trail between the trees. Tobias Snape was a Muggle, and the Princes have never acknowledged me. Damn that pure-blood ideal to the lowest hell!

Eventually, his anger spent, he regained his cold logic. He had always procured what he needed, if not precisely what he wanted, using his wits and talent. And he always would. He would triumph in the only way that ultimately mattered – he would survive.

*****

Snape found Hermione in the kitchen, eating lunch. He slid into a seat across the table from her, a house-elf inserting a plate in front of him so quickly it seemed almost to have been conjured. He regarded Hermione flatly for a few moments. She stared back defiantly, obviously still angry and unrepentant. When he spoke, however, he did not voice the reprimand she expected. "You used a charm on an inanimate object, I suppose," he said finally.

She nodded. "And partly using nonverbal magic," she added, a glimmer of mischief returning to her eyes.

"A unique revenge," he observed. "Foolish, but original, at least."

"No." She shook her head in denial. "I can't take credit for it. I actually stole the idea from Peeves," she said smugly. Then, her face took on a more serious expression. "You're not angry with me?" she questioned pensively. He just shook his head. "I thought... I thought you had taken her side," Hermione said, stammering a bit.

"Why would you think that?" he asked neutrally.

"You sent me off like an errant child," she retorted, sounding distinctly resentful. "And after all, I'm not some blond-haired, blue-eyed pure-blood. I'm not the witch you made an Unbreakable Vow to and risked your life to help!" she finished petulantly.

Snape scowled; there was something odd about her voice. She almost sounds...­ jealous, he thought incredulously. Impossible. "As I told you before," he explained aloud, "I made that vow for two reasons: to alleviate the suspicions of some of the Death Eaters and because the Malfoys have been my friends for many years. There is nothing beyond the bounds of long familiarity between Narcissa and I. In fact," he smirked, "Lucius would probably kill anyone he suspected of having designs on his wife!"

''I see," she responded, biting her lip thoughtfully.

She looked mollified by his answer. It was jealousy! he concluded, suppressing any outward signs of the sudden wave of gratification he felt. After a minute, she abruptly changed the subject, updating him on which nonverbal charm-drills she had completed. As he ate, he listened to her chatter, contributing only minimally to the conversation. Mentally, he pondered whether her jealousy toward Narcissa had more to do with her dislike of the other woman or a desire for his attention and approval.

*****

Although he wanted to get back to the work Narcissa's arrival had interrupted that morning, Snape judged it worth his while to take Hermione out for their usual afternoon walk. He felt an urgent need to observe her reactions to him. Perhaps, he deliberated, I should test the waters. Subtly... "You should be cautious around the Malfoys, Hermione," he advised her. "All three of them are capable of casting the Cruciatus Curse." He gave her a sidelong glance to judge her reaction. It was the first time he had addressed her by her given name, and despite the serious subject matter, she looked pleased.

"I know," she answered softly. "Harry told me that Draco tried to cast it on him last year at school."

Snape was mildly surprised; he hadn't been aware of such an incident. "I am going to direct the house-elves to stay with you when I am elsewhere in the cottage." At her disgruntled look, he cautioned her again. "It is for your own protection. When Narcissa tells Draco what has transpired today, he will likely seek revenge." Hermione looked both resigned and slightly rebellious, but didn't argue.

"Tell me the sequence of events from this morning's incident," he directed.

"She came in and sent an elf to fetch you, then proceeded to try to kick me out," Hermione related. "I refused to leave and went back to practicing the nonverbal charms you set me. While she was waiting, she started with her typical insulting comments. I guess I just reached my limit. I won't be a helpless victim and take whatever she throws at me, Snape. You don't know what it was like! You weren't here the other times – you didn't hear all the things she and Draco said about me!"

"Actually, I have heard them all," he responded quietly. "In fact, I would wager that I know precisely the sort of things they said. Do you think having only one Muggle parent exempts me from the scorn of the most fanatical pure-bloods?"

"But I'll bet you didn't sit there and take it!"

"Often, I had no choice but to do just that. So," he queried, "you decided to retaliate?"

"Yes. But then I foolishly turned my back on her and she tried to hex me!" she recalled ruefully.

"Foolish indeed," he commented. "What spell did Narcissa use when she attacked you?"

"The Splitting Curse. I thought that was only for inanimate objects..."

"No," he denied. "It works quite well on skin." She shuddered slightly at the thought. "Was it poor aim or the mud in her eyes that prevented her from hitting you?" Snape asked, with a hint of humor.

"Neither, I think," Hermione answered. "I felt... it was like the incident at the Riddle House. I can't explain it. It was as if a feeling of danger came over me, and I dove for cover."

"A very useful piece of magic in dangerous situations, Hermione. You are fortunate to have such a skill."

She felt the now-familiar tingle of warmth at his praise, even if it was praise for an unconscious skill. "Um, in any case, you came in right after Malfoy tried to hex me, so you know the rest." She was silent for a minute. "What happened after I went upstairs?" she questioned. "She seems to have left in a hurry. What did you do?"

''I kicked her off of her own property," he said dryly. "Threatened her with the Dark Lord's retribution, among other things," he added darkly. "I doubt she will be back soon."

"Did you loom menacingly? No one does that better than you," she deadpanned.

His eyes widened with surprise. "Cheeky girl!" he chided.

"So, what were the 'other things' you used to scare her off?"

"The horror of intimacy – with me." His tone was flat and hard.

She either didn't hear, or didn't want to hear the warning in his voice. "I thought you'd have threatened to hex her at the very least! It seems your bark is worse than your bite, after all," she teased. ''What did you do, offer to snog her? Not a very terrifying tactic, if you ask me!"

"Contrary to what most of my former students believe, I do use mirrors. I know better than anyone how repulsive I am to women," he bit out.

"Looks aren't everything," she countered, unconcerned by his ire. "Anyway, if that's the criteria the former Narcissa Black used when she chose a husband, then she deserves the multitude of objectionable qualities in the one she got!"

Snape didn't answer. She was bang-on-target about the Malfoys. There was no point in discussing an indisputable fact like that. But what really sealed his lips was the implication behind her words. She seemed to be saying that she didn't care how he looked. He replayed her words: 'What did you do, offer to snog her? Not a very terrifying tactic, if you ask me!' It's not possible, he told himself. Pretty young women are not attracted to me! But he couldn't deny the teasing quality in her voice. It sounded almost as if she were...­ flirting. All his past experience told him he must be wrong, but still, a seed of hope had germinated somewhere inside him. He resolved to observe her closely. He would deduce her intentions eventually.

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*My deep appreciation goes out to Larilee for her work Beta reading this story.

Author's Notes:

1. Fimusco is adapted from the Latin word fimus = dirt/filth

2. Globus = balloon (in Spanish)