The Pensieve

Thank you, Lariope, and thank you, all of you who reviewed the last chapter. I'm thrilled to see that the HP/RW twist worked so well. If you have the inclination, please go back and re-read chapter 3--if everything works as I intended when I put it together, it should read rather differently in the light of last chapter. Anyway, curious to see what you think. And in the meantime, here's chapter 6. Enjoy!

Chapter 6 – The Pensieve

Her wand was in her hand before they had even stopped spinning.

"Stupefy!"

Instead of feeling the grip on her wrist loosen, however, the spell rebounded, nearly hitting her shoulder, and her wand flew out of her hand. Panicking, she twisted, trying to break the hold, and managed to land an elbow in the chest of the robed figure towering over her. Her wrist was free, but the next second an arm went around her, trapping her other wrist and effectively locking her arm behind her back. The arm pulled and she lost her balance, crashing into a hard chest. She screamed.

"Miss Granger, desist!"

It took a couple of moments for the implications of the voice to register, but when they did, she slumped in relief. She raised her head and met the stare of her former professor, blazing down at her in anger. For a moment, they stood perfectly still, heavy breathing the only sound between them. Something flickered through his eyes...a fleeting look of something stirring deep inside...gone so fast that she thought she must have imagined it. He released her roughly, virtually pushing her away.

"Get your wand."

"Acc..."

"Wordlessly."

She closed her eyes and held out her hand. The familiar piece of wood flew into it without delay. Knowing better than to expect praise from him, she just lowered her arm, waiting for him to speak. He regarded her intently for a few seconds and then turned his attention to the surroundings. They were in a Muggle kitchen, one which bore the looks of not having been used for a while. Two large windows allowed for some light to penetrate from a nearby street, illuminating the dusty counter. On one wall was a ticking clock, on another last year's calendar. A stack of old newspapers lay in a stand next to the wall. No curtains.

"Your house, I assume?" he asked, moving cautiously to the window.

"It's my grandmother's actually," Hermione replied. "She passed away last summer. It's been empty ever since."

"And you decided to leave the safe-house and come here alone in order to help with watering the plants?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

No. She would not let him provoke her this time. This house was quite possibly even safer than the one she'd just left. No one in the magical world knew that she'd even had a grandmother for most of her life, much less where her house was located. She didn't talk about her family. Even Harry and Ron had only ever heard of her parents. She swallowed. Not now.

"I'm astounded, Miss Granger," Snape remarked, coming a bit closer. "Normally, not even a Silencing Spell would shut you up. Not that I'm complaining."

She kept her gaze firmly on a crack in the wallpaper. It was a blue blossom pattern, she noticed. Funny, she remembered it being lavender. The moonlight perhaps...

"Miss Granger, look at me." She jerked a little. Last time he'd spoken, he'd been on the other side of the room. Now he was nearly in her face. A strong hand grabber her chin, tilting it up a little. His eyes were completely black. "Now is not the time to fall to pieces," he said firmly. "There are things to do, duties to fulfil. I warned you not to get involved with Potter, but you decided not to heed my advice. Perhaps this will teach you that there are consequences to every action, sometimes a lot more severe than you could ever imagine."

Her brain seemed to freeze, refusing to operate the connections in her body and help her move away.

"You knew?" she breathed, something closely related to fear in her voice.

"That Potter was in love with the redheaded moron?" he said, rather snidely. "I'm afraid it was painfully obvious ever since Miss Brown's brief interlude. Not to mention Miss Weasley's."

She turned her head, breaking his hold on her, physical and mental. He didn't reach for her again.

"Betrayal is a powerful thing," he said instead. "Strong enough to turn saints into villains and back again...to twist the hearts of men and gut them of everything noble and just until the only thing left is a shell filled with vengeance." He leaned in and whispered to her, almost brushing the edge of her ear with his lips, "Isn't love grand?"

She refused to listen. His words made something twist inside her, something ugly and violent, wanting to claw and crawl its way out of her stomach in flows of red blood. Anger such as she had never felt surfaced within her, threatening to spill from her fingers in great bursts. She wanted to hit things, to hurt them, to pull the metaphorical knife from her back and bury it deep within flesh and bone of another body. Snape studied her intently, noting the shifting emotions as they played on her face.

"Before you run off to kill someone, Miss Granger," he said matter-of-factly, "I have a small project where I believe you could be of use."

Some of the manic look disappeared from the girl's face and was replaced by mild curiosity. He had to admit: sometimes that Gryffindor willingness to serve...and tendency to have their noses permanently stuck in other people's business...could be rather convenient. He pitied the girl, briefly wondering if she had any other friends than the ones who had just pushed her out of their Golden Trio. He was slightly impressed with her composure. He had been standing in the small grove of trees for close to an hour when she'd come running past. The map had shown him that Potter was in a house full of Weasleys only a few hundred yards ahead, but since he couldn't see anything but cliffs, he assumed that it was kept under the Fidelius Charm. Studying the map, he had seen the dot marked 'Harry Potter' turn from a neutral grey (sleeping or unconscious) to a bright yellow at the arrival of more Weasleys than he dared to count. The dot 'Ron Weasley' appeared next, causing the Harry-dot to shift over apricot and orange to a deep, pulsating pink. The pink grew deeper as the two dots practically overlapped, only to shift abruptly to a sickly green at the appearance of the dot labelled 'Hermione Granger'. He certainly did not want to ever know exactly what the girl had walked in on, but it wasn't hard to divine the basics of the overall picture. In a way, this was good for him. He needed her anger. Sliding his right hand into a hidden pocket on his robes, he withdrew a wand and handed it to her.

"I have reason to believe that there is an object of great worth currently hidden in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts. Bellatrix was kind enough to lend me her wand." The girl accepted it mutely, her eyes bombarding him with questions even as she kept her mouth firmly shut. "As a female, you are better suited to impersonate her, and I have my own, legitimate reasons to visit the vault. You will need these, however." Opening another pocket, he withdrew several phials of what looked like silver mist, swirling within the glass confines.

"Are these Bellatrix's memories?" she asked, quite taken with the beauty of the liquid thoughts.

"No, they are cooking recipes from my great aunt Rupie," he was tempted to say...but that would only rile the girl. He nodded instead. "The security measures at Gringotts have increased considerably in the last year. Simply walking up to the counter under the influence of Polyjuice Potion would not be sufficient. Goblins might be shunned from polite society, but they are no fools, and they know their standard break-in plots. So," he concluded, handing over one last phial, this one filled with a thick, murky substance, "you get to be a Death Eater for a day. Now come here. You need to be close if I am to Apparate the two of us through the wards at Hogwarts. Charming though this place may be, I highly doubt that there is a functioning Pensieve stored away in one of the bedroom closets."

She hesitated. Hogwarts. The calm stone and the warm hearths, a place bubbling with life and learning. Home. A fierce longing struck her, and she fought to keep tears from welling up in her eyes. She would be home again, if only for a short while. Stepping close to Snape, she took hold of his arm and was surprised as he pulled her closer, guiding her arms around his waist. "Keep as still as possible," he instructed. "I have to dissemble the wards while we're in transit. Try to empty your mind as much as possible so as not to interfere."

She nodded into his black robes, holding him a little tighter. She trusted him, she realised. Perhaps she always had, or perhaps it was simply because he was, at this moment, the only solid thing she had in the world. Breathing deeply, she took in scents of wool and spice, of parchment and various Potions ingredients. She closed her eyes and let the sensations fill her, tuning out the workings of her mind. A second later, they were both spinning.

"Headmaster, I've been unable to contact the girl. I believe she's..." Phineas Nigellus broke off, taking a closer look at the pair that had just Apparated into the room. "...standing half-naked in your bedchamber. How vastly inappropriate."

Snape's jaw clenched quite noticeably, and he glared at the man in the gilded frame while Hermione blushed, stepping away quickly.

"These are Muggle clothes, Black," Snape replied evenly. "I assure you they would be considered fully appropriate outside of the magical world...though how it is any business of yours how she is dressed or where she is escapes me. If I needed an extra conscience, I would go up to my office and chat to Dumbledore." Phineas looked quite cross.

"Pardon me for caring about the school's reputation," he mumbled sarcastically. "Well, then, since you have found her, I shall be on my way." He turned on his heel and almost dove towards the edge of the frame.

"Phineas!" Snape barked, making the man stop in his tracks and unwillingly step back towards the painting's centre. Snape approached the wall slowly, carefully enunciating every word. "Remember your oath, Phineas," he said softly. "You are bound to the Headmaster's office, to serve me and to protect my secrets. I have tolerated your impertinence, but it will end here." He turned half-way, indicating Hermione with his right hand. "No one must know that Miss Granger is here, or that I have ever spoken to her since she stopped being my student. You will not gossip to Albus or any of the other portraits, or in any way indicate what you know, or think you know, to anyone with whom you might come into contact. Furthermore, you are to keep the portrait connection closed for the time being and stay away from your frame unless I call you. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Phineas snapped, marching from the frame with all the dignity he could muster. Hermione thought he rather resembled one of the angry gnomes that usually frequented the Weasleys' garden. Immediately, Ron's face appeared in her mind. She pushed it back, focusing instead on the man before her.

"Sir?" she asked, waiting for him to turn around. Instead, he went over to another wall and pushed a series of points in the oak panelling with his wand. Part of the wall fell back, and a beautiful dais appeared. She had never seen a Pensive before, but she figured that was what it must be. Transfixed, she approached it, watching the silvery substance swirl inside, giving off a pale, blue light. Sticking her hand into her bag, she withdrew the phials of liquid memory.

"Should I pour all of it at once?" she asked, looking at him for instructions.

"Please do," he confirmed, moving aside to remove his cloak and hang it in a nearby armoire. When all of the substance had fallen into the Pensieve, he held out a hand in invitation. "After you, Miss Granger," he said. "Insanity awaits."

Twice, she thought she would faint, and many times more, she was certain that she would end up losing what little was in her stomach. Harry had told her that it felt like watching a scene from the outside, only being in it. The description didn't match her experience at all. As she walked through the memories, darkness seemed to seep into her pores, getting under her skin and spreading through her entire body. She felt dirty, with an overwhelming need to claw at her own flesh, to get whatever was inside of her out. She wondered if the tactile qualities were the result of Bellatrix's mental instability. These were not just memories, they were little pieces of soul and mind, wrapped together with a heady dose of insanity.

She was lying on her back on the cold stone floor in her cell in Azkaban, looking up at the stars and waiting. Her mark had been growing stronger for a while now, awakening her through the faint prickling in her skin. She held it closely against her heart as she stared into space, ignoring the filth of the cell and the spiders and cockroaches that sometimes crawled over her body. None of it mattered. He was on his way. She would live to serve him again. When the mark burned black, the scream started in her toes, travelling through her body like liquid fire before it tore from her throat, leaving her gasping for air.

"I think that will be quite sufficient for tonight," Snape said softly, taking hold of her limp hand and pulling her off the ground. A flash of white light later, her feet touched the dungeon floor, and she faltered. Her legs were too weak, threatening to send her crumpling into a heap on the flat stone. Trying to regain her balance, she clung to him, putting her face against the dark robes to stop the world from spinning. She heard him mutter a short curse, and then she was floating, floating through the air until she landed on a soft, cotton cloud. Unable to fight the exhaustion any longer, she let her head fall to the side and closed her eyes.

A/N: Please review! Each and every one really makes my day.