Chapter 8

Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and any quotes you may recognize are those of William Shakespeare.

The icy wind blew across the water, chilling Severus despite his repeated application of warming charms. Nodding to the guard, he opened the door and willed himself to enter Azkaban, a place he had been trying to avoid the better part of his life.

As required, he relinquished his wand at the security desk before he was escorted to the cell. The heavy iron door clanked closed, locking him in the dank oubliette. The dim light from a lantern he had been handed barely illuminated the three feet in front of him. He slowly walked toward the huddled form in the corner.

“Lucius,” he sneered.

There was no response.

He raised the lantern in front of him; its soft rays did nothing to blunt the shock of what he saw before him.

Lucius Malfoy, once as proud as he was arrogant, lay a mess in tattered rags that barely covered his near-skeletal body. His once luxurious hair was limp and dirty, with patches gone from the scalp.

Snape stared at the shell of the man he had once called friend. But the time of friendship had long passed. The man before him was the one responsible for Hermione’s suffering, and he intended to do something about that.

~*~

Severus stood outside of Ambrosia, the newest restaurant in Diagon Alley. Lupin had mentioned to him how much Tonks raved about it when they went last week. Brushing imaginary lint off of his frock coat, he tried not to allow doubts due to past let downs enter his mind. As much as he knew his date with Hermione was not a ruse, he still felt on edge. They had agreed to meet up here because Hermione had thought it was silly for him to fetch her at her office. Relief seeped through him when she materialized before him with a pop.

“You came,” he said softly.

“You did invite me.” She flashed him that brilliant smile. “Shall I go?” she asked playfully as she turned to walk away, but he reached out and caught her arm.

“No, stay,” he urged. He stared at her for a moment, trying to decide what to do next. He was not affectionate by nature, yet he wanted to take her hand, but he worried she might see that as a sign of possessiveness. He was well aware of her stance on the opposite sex, and he felt pretty certain that whatever emotions she may have for him wouldn’t change her fundamental principles.

She made up his mind for him by standing on her toes and brushing her lips gently against his.

“Hello, Severus,” she said, stepping back.

Tucking an errant tendril behind her ear, he whispered his greeting before offering his arm, which, to his relief, she took without hesitation.

As they approached the restaurant door, Colin Creevey, photographer for the Evening Prophet, rushed them, snapping pictures, momentarily blinding them with the flash.

“The last of the war heroes pair off. This photo is going to get me a raise,” Colin said excitedly, trying to wave down the reporter who was currently interviewing the establishment’s owner.

Snape ushered Hermione into the foyer and excused himself as he set off toward his former student, who was still clicking away.

“Mr. Creevey, a word,” Snape said as he dragged the young man out of the restaurant.

Snape returned shortly with a smirk, knowing he had instilled a fear only the former Potions master was capable of into the heart of Creevey and those photos would not see publication.

“You seem pleased with yourself,” Hermione noted as they were seated.

“If you can’t take pleasure in the little things …” he shrugged.

She laughed. “What did you do? Hex the camera?”

“Nothing transpired between Mr. Creevey and myself other than a few civil words and an assurance that the photos would not be printed.”

“I doubt Colin would describe it that way,” she mused.

He raised his eyebrow, and she laughed. It was good to hear her laugh. He realized it had been some time since he had heard it.

Watching her as she perused the menu, he noticed that though she looked beautiful, he could see the shadows under her eyes that the charms didn’t completely hide. There was also a tiredness behind the twinkle in her eyes. He reached out and took her hand.

She looked up and offered him that special smile of hers that he was quickly becoming addicted to.

“How are you?” he asked, concern evident in his deep voice.

“I’m fine,” she assured him.

Before he could counter, the waiter appeared to take their order, disappearing quickly back into the kitchen. Alone again, he claimed her hand once more.

“Seriously, Hermione,” he started.

“Seriously, Severus,” she interrupted. “I am fine. I swear.”

He gave her an appraising look. “No you’re not,” he said decidedly. “But you will be,” he added with certainty.

“What do you mean?”

“I went to Azkaban today.”

“Oh, Severus! You didn’t — ”

“No, I didn’t harm Lucius,” he assured her, hoping to wipe the worried look off her face. “I simply wanted to see if I would be able to get any information through Legilimency.”

“And did you?” He could tell that she was trying to sound unaffected, but hope was evident in her voice.

“Yes. I know what the curse was, and there is a counter potion. You were right; it does require use of the Dark Arts to work, or more specifically, one ingredient.” He pulled out a black, glass vial from his pocket and set it before her. “Blood of the caster, forcibly taken.”

She opened her mouth to respond but said nothing as she picked up the vial and held it tight in her hand. “How?” she finally asked, looking down at her closed fist.

“He no longer had the mental capacity to consent. A small cut to his forearm provided all the blood we need, and I was able to heal it immediately after. He is unharmed, and you will have your cure. We can brew it tonight if you wish,” he offered.

After a moment of silence in which he began to wonder if he had done something to offend her, she looked up at him, tears trailing down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered.

His eyes locked on hers, and he found himself drowning in her tears. “I swore to you that I would do whatever was in my power to heal you.”

This time, it was she who reached for his hand. “You did.” Her stare penetrated him with such sincerity and feeling that it stole his breath away. “You always were a man of your word, Severus.”

The remainder of dinner passed amicably enough, but the promise of a cure being only a potion away occupied both of their thoughts to the point that they skipped desert and left their half-eaten meals behind in favor of his potions lab. They Apparated to his home at Spinner’s End and set about preparing to brew.

Author’s Notes: Many thanks to Zafania and Tjwritter, who suffered through the first draft, and to Logical Quirk, who made sure I didn't make more mistakes.