The Unfortunates

Here it is, chapter fifteen... Just a quick note; I rewrote this like a hundred times and never got fully satisfied (got to give an extra thanks to my beta JessiokaFroka for making sense of my ramblings), but hopefully you’ll survive just the same. In addition, I’m excited to see what you think of the developments in this chapter. And, last but definitely not least, I can hereby promise you that the real turning point in regards to the Snape/Hermione situation will happen in the very next chapter! Honest!

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN: RETURN TO THE MALFOYS


Later that same evening, Hermione was – not at all in accordance with Harry’s advice – exploring the many rooms and levels of the Snape home.

Mind you, she wasn’t stupid; there was nothing tempting about gallivanting down strange passageways that led to unknown rooms or dungeons, nor ascending great staircases or mysterious towers that seemed to just go on forever.

No, she simply explored what she dared. Which, basically, meant the rooms such as those she’d seen other Rebels spend time in and rooms she’d been told she could explore.

She’d reached a small study on the first floor that Harry said he’d often used when wanting some peace and quite when she heard it: the music. It was a sound not unlike any she’d heard before, and yet it still was so strange and mystical to her, like something long forgotten and rediscovered.

Curious, Hermione went through the study to follow the sound, passed through a door and a corridor and reached yet another room which looked strangely abandoned compared to the rest of Killengreen she’d seen so far. Its furniture looked particularly dusty and unused, and there was an uneasy air to it that didn’t feel right to Hermione... as though something was very wrong with this room, and it knew it.

Oh, that’s it. I’m going crazy – now the room knows there’s something wrong with it?

The music, however, was closer now than ever before, and Hermione was certain it was coming from behind a door at the other end of the room which was closed, save from a small crack. Through the crack leaked the most beautiful, melancholic tunes of what could be nothing but a cello. Hermione recognized the sound now; it was most definitely someone playing a cello.

And suddenly she felt as though her blood had turned to ice.

The silvery shadow from the evening before struck her, as did all the talk and warnings that came with her moving in to Killengreen. The thought of a cello being played, in such a distant room that she was certain was out of bounds...

There was something seriously wrong with this house.

And for some reason, although Hermione was a witch and had seen more weird and terrifying things in her few years than most people did in a lifetime, at this very moment she was utterly terrified.

Yet that cello’s sad tune kept playing, and she couldn’t simply turn and run from it, curious as she was to who might actually be playing it.

Forcing out that infamous Gryffindor courage, Hermione stepped closer to the door and dared, though shaking, to take a peak through the crack.

The room beyond the door was poorly lit; it looked as though only a few candle lights beyond her view were illuminating it. What little she could see of the furniture suggested that this room was as abandoned as the one she was currently in.

And then, she saw it: The cello.

And the one playing it.

Hermione didn’t know it, but at that moment she had walked in on Snape doing something no one had actually seen him do since he’d been a teenager. Back then, his mother had encouraged his playing, but ever since – well, since back then, he’d never played when around people and kept his skills on the beautiful instrument well hidden.

Hermione stood, awestruck, watching as her former Professor elicited the most wondrous, sad tunes from the instrument. The elegant, smooth way his hands moved, the concentration in his eyes... He looked nothing like the vile, emotionless man who’d exposed himself when Hermione had revealed her real identity; he looked like... well, like Tiberius Granger: The man who’d actually listened to her; almost, seemingly, cared for her...

And all too soon, Snape stopped playing, drawing a deep breath. He still looked guarded, as though that look could never fully leave his face, but still, he now seemed... poetical, somehow; more human.

Hm. Perhaps his skills with the instrument had just dulled Hermione’s senses.

“Miss Granger?” a voice suddenly snapped – and it was Snape’s.

He’d spotted her and was quickly putting the cello away to stride over to the door and pull it open wide. Hermione quickly straightened up; her head was bent though, with her gaze fixated on the old floor.

“May I ask,” asked Snape dangerously, in a silky, low voice, “what you are doing in this part of the house? I do not believe I invited you.”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” replied Hermione quickly, “but I just wanted to see the study Harry had been using, and then I heard you playing... I know I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, I just couldn’t help myself – it was really beautiful, Professor. What was it?”

Snape sighed then and retreated away from her, actually allowing her to step into the poorly illuminated room.

“It was Bach,” he replied simply. “I have known it since I was a child; I guess it’s just always stuck with me.”

“Well, it was beautiful,” repeated Hermione, slightly breathlessly. The cello that stood leaned against an old chair caught her gaze, and she studied it intently.

“Did you ever play?” Snape suddenly asked her then.

“Me? Oh, no,” said Hermione quickly, looking back at him. “It was never for me, I’m afraid. I adore music, but I never got around to playing any instrument myself.”

“I see.” He didn’t appear too interested.

“Professor? Can I ask you a question?”

“Undoubtedly, Miss Granger, you will do so whether I would refuse or not.”

Hermione gave a small smile. “Why – when we first met at Lilly Barrette’s –”

Snape’s head jerked up; he looked clearly uncomfortable at the mention of their encounters at the brothel.

“– you introduced yourself as Tiberius Granger,” finished Hermione. “Why?”

Snape turned away from her then and started packing the cello back into its case.

“It was a mere pseudonym, Miss Granger,” he replied dismissively. “Nothing of importance.”

“Professor,” Hermione pressed, her confidence enlarged now, “you used my last name. There must be a reason for that. And what is with the unusual first name, anyway? Tiberius; it’s not exactly common.”

“Miss Granger,” said Snape sternly, standing in front of her again with all his intimidating height really coming to its right, “as I said, it was nothing of importance. A mere choice of a false name. Please let your insufferable mind rest for just one evening and leave me in peace.”

Reluctantly, Hermione left the room and then hurried back to the part of Killengreen she at least partly knew and trusted.

Snape had, as soon as the instrument was put to rest, transformed straight back into the vicious man he’d always appeared as. But Hermione wasn’t fooled, though. She was certain this wasn’t all there was to him.

Not really.

A man who played Bach’s cello Sonata in G minor so beautifully just had to have a heart, even if it was buried so deep that practically no human alive could possibly be believed able to relocate it.

---

As it was now more or less settled – with still the occasional, weak argument from Potter – that Miss Granger would indeed be sent to the Malfoys, a lot of planning and plotting was in order, and Severus had wisely chosen to spend his days caught up in just that.

He feared that if he didn’t keep himself occupied, he would be left thinking of things that were best left not thought of.

So instead he sat, practically at every spare moment he had whilst not eating or sleeping, with three or four other Rebels; among them most frequently including Lupin and Bill, producing a plan for Miss Granger to follow as she left Killengreen.

Occasionally the little know-it-all herself would stop by and ask for updates, and whenever she was there she would always point out some hidden flaw that the others had overlooked, or suggest an idea that would solve every little challenge they were currently struggling with.

The girl was nothing short of a genius.

Because she would, to say the least, be venturing into enemy territory, it was essential that the Rebels would be able to contact her in some inconspicuous way, and vice versa. Not surprisingly, it was Miss Granger herself who came up with the answer.

“Take this, Professor,” she said one afternoon as they sat gathered around the dining table. She was reaching across it, handing Severus what looked like a silver pendant on a chain.

“What’s this, Miss Granger?” he asked uninterested, taking it.

It was indeed a silver pendant, but a quite plain one without any apparent abilities or hidden purposes.

“It’s a pendant I’ve charmed,” she replied. Then she pulled out an identical one from her robe. “I keep this one, and that one there is yours.”

“And what, pray tell, is the use of this?” asked Severus impatiently.

“Let me demonstrate,” she smiled.

Pulling out her wand, she pointed it at her own pendant, speaking in a clear whisper: “Perscribo ‘The Shrieking Shack, six thirty’.”

Seconds later, the words The Shrieking Shack, six thirty were slowly becoming visible along the edges of the pendant in elegant, loopy letters, as though someone had just whispered a revelation charm on invisible ink.

“That’s brilliant,” said Bill in awe. Lupin nodded.

“Where did you get this idea, Hermione?” he asked with interest.

“I did something similar back in fifth year when we founded the DA,” she smiled. “Look at your pendant, Professor,” she said to Severus.

Glancing down at the silver item in his hands, he saw to his own unwilling amazement the very same words in the very same writing along the edges of his own pendant.

“We’ll be able to communicate through short, simple messages,” said Miss Granger in a matter-of-fact voice. “And if there’s too much to say to be written on the pendant, we can arrange a meeting place on it. And I’ll be able to worry about escaping Malfoy Manor,” she added with a small, hesitant smile.

“We’ll have to work on that as well,” said Lupin. “We can’t have you in that house without a wand.”

Miss Granger nodded, then returned her attention to the pendant in her hands again. “A simple evanesco will remove the latest message,” she said, and as the word “evanesco” escaped her lips, the words The Shrieking Shack, six thirty melted back into plain silver.

“And it works both ways?” asked Severus hesitantly.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “You’ll be able to send me messages – or reply to mine – and vice versa. The really good thing about this pendant is it’s not originally magical.”

“Meaning...?” asked Bill curiously.

“It’s two identical pieces my father gave to me when I was younger,” said Miss Granger, “So they’re Muggle, not magical in essence. This means, put simply, that whenever there’s no message being sent between them they will not be detected as magical items. Only when you actually communicate through them is the magic activated. So in theory, the Malfoys won’t have any objections to me wearing a pendant as I enter their beloved home.”

Severus was nothing short of speechless.

Had he said genius?

Oh yes, she was brilliant. And gods, how he hated to admit that, even to himself. Everything about this girl was rapidly getting on his nerves, and yet he was with equal speed more and more intrigued by her person and the need to be in the same room as her.

His common sense was taking its leave, undoubtedly; thoughts like these had never been running through his mind ever before. It was unnerving, yet not totally unwelcome.

---

Days and days passed with preparation for Hermione’s departure. Their overall biggest concern was whether or not the Malfoys would let her hang on to her wand, as they would be powerless to stop it should Draco or Lucius decide to deprive her of it without warning.

As the day on which she would be returning to London approached, Hermione grew steadily more nervous. She was prepared, to say the least, and she already had her cover story ready and was determined to make a memorable performance when she met up with Malfoy again. It had to be memorable; she was dependent on winning his sympathy, without that she had nothing.

So her cover story was one of outmost tragedy. And hopefully, Malfoy would fall for it. If he did, he would probably take her for the naïve, lost girl she was anything but and let her bring her wand into his home.

Perhaps he would even let her come and go as she liked, if she was lucky. The chances were slim, though, and Hermione had fully prepared herself for the possibility that she would have to sneak out of the Manor was she in the need to meet up with her fellow Rebels.

The pendant had remained in Snape’s custody (much to Harry’s annoyance). There had been heated debates regarding this, as the little silver piece on a chain was quite literally the only thing the Rebels had to keep track of Hermione once she was in the Manor. Harry, it would appear, did not relish the thought of Hermione’s only forms of human contact being that of the Malfoy family and Snape.

But all arguments were in his favour. He was the most experienced, not only with the art of spying (which Hermione would soon be practicing for herself), but also with the Malfoys and their likes. In addition he was a Slytherin; the cunning and suspicion was vital in cases such as this one.

Of course Snape would keep the Rebels fully informed of all information that passed between himself and Hermione, but in theory he would be the only one at their end of the cans with strings, so to speak. Hermione would be at the other.

And so, the day had finally come for her departure. The Rebels had found there was little more they could do for her at this point, other than hope. She’d been given countless pieces of advice, warnings, and suggestions on precaution, but in the end it was really all up to her.

Before leaving Killengreen she had charmed her looks back to Mira Gideon’s and said her sincere (and hopefully, just temporary) goodbyes to her friends. Harry had been sulking worse than ever, but he nevertheless hugged her as though she was his very force of life when his turn had come.

“Please, please be careful and come back to me,” he begged her silently.

Hermione nodded determinedly; his choice of words – me, not us – had not been lost on her. Harry needed her around, she knew this much. And by gods, she’d be back to make sure he was alright.

And then, in the end, they would without question find out what had happened to Ron. There was no arguing that.

There was no temporary farewell hug between Hermione and Snape, obviously, but he did advice her to “act naïve, watch her back and keep her curious and unstoppable tongue in check”. She figured it was the closest to a “be careful” he would ever get, and accepted it without a biting comeback.

And before she knew it, her feet were on the outside of the great entrance doors of Killengreen and making their way down the hill, as she listened to the sound of the November frosted grass crunching under her feet as the sun rose in the distance.

Soon she was mounted on one of the old brooms that had been sitting in the Snape home, heading back to London. She desperately wanted to seek out Mandy when she got there, but grudgingly decided that wouldn’t be wise – she really didn’t want to have to face Lilly Barrette, who would undoubtedly not be pleased with her.

Hermione had heard Lilly could get quite nasty when her employers didn’t do as they were supposed to. And the gods knew Hermione sure hadn’t.

So instead, as she landed in the same, dark alley that she and Snape had departed from a while back, concealing the broom carefully, she figured she would do best just to go to Tom’s at The Cauldron and wait there for any sight of either Malfoys. It was really the only way to get in touch with them without quite literally going public, which was definitely not a good idea. There was no need to make people talk about Mira Gideon, after all.

So she went to The Leaky Cauldron, immediately heading for the bar as she entered, seeking out Tom. He looked completely thrilled to see her, and was anxious for news in regards to the mysterious Tiberius Granger.

“He was... not what I expected,” Hermione settled for at last at his inquiry.

“I gather that,” nodded Tom confidently. “Believe me, Mira, Mr. Granger’s trustworthy.”

She gave a faint smile, but Tom didn’t return it – something behind Hermione had caught his attention then, and he was glaring with a mixture of both fear and dislike.

Hermione turned to see just the man she wanted to see enter The Cauldron: Draco Malfoy.

He caught sight of her almost immediately. She must have caught him by surprise, because he seemed to momentarily forget his usual, calm posture as he rushed over to her and grabbed her arm, staring into her eyes with confusion and what looked rather like fury.

“Where have you been, Mira?” he demanded, as though she’d been a possession, lost.

Well, thought Hermione. Time for the act.

“Oh, Mr. Malfoy,” she said with feeling, “I’m so happy to see you!” For an extra effect, she chose to throw her arms around him and pull him into a desperate embrace. He returned it, though rather hesitantly.

“Where have you been?” he demanded again.

“You would not believe it,” whispered Hermione with trepidation. “I’ve had the worst days of my life; I barely thought I would live to see you again.”

“Well... what happened?” He was eyeing her with curiosity rather than anger now, which was a good sign.

Do as Professor Snape said, Hermione – play naïve. Fool him.

“Remember Mr. Granger? Well, he came to see me at Lilly’s, you see,” said Hermione, “and he caught me completely by surprise – dragged me off from the House and brought me back to his home!”

Well. It was the truth, when all came down to it, right?

“To his home?” barked Malfoy angrily. “What do you mean, ‘to his home’?”

“To his home!” she confirmed. “Apparently he’d developed some weird obsession with me... Believed I would be more than willing to spend the rest of my days with him – he was just so hideous!”

Not quite true, but still – not far off, was it?

Hermione noticed Tom glaring suspiciously at her from behind a glass he was busy cleaning, but he didn’t speak.

“What – he held you captive?” said Malfoy, grasping her arms firmly.

“It sounds dramatic, I know,” sobbed Hermione, pretending to be fighting back the tears, “but I swear he wasn’t sane... It took days before I finally managed to sneak out when he forgot to lock the door. It was so horrible...” She grasped Malfoy’s arms in return, leaning on him for support like a woman very much in pain.

Reluctantly, he patted her back.

“Come now, Mira,” he said; there were traces of the old smugness back in his voice, “you are safe now. With me, remember?”

Hermione faked a sob into his shoulder, pulling an act ten times the one she’d pulled in Umbridge’s office back in fifth year. “Yes,” she whispered. “You know, I so regret not taking you up on your offer, Mr. Malfoy... I let a wonderful opportunity slip me by; I know I would have been so much safer with you; you would never have let such a man go near me...”

She pulled back to look at him, her eyes wet with unshed, insincere tears.

“Well,” drawled Malfoy with satisfaction, “I guess I could still take you with me... I mean, if you’re that desperate...”

“Oh, I am!” whimpered Hermione, grasping his arms firmer. “You wouldn’t believe how horrible this man was...”

“This man...” mumbled Malfoy, frowning. “Mr. Granger, you said it was?”

“Yes, it was,” sobbed Hermione. “Why?”

Well, that was also true – although the name of the gentleman really hadn’t been Tiberius Granger, but something different altogether. Still, if the name could help convince Malfoy, then it had served a purpose after all.

“Nothing. Just – Lilly Barrette mentioned him in regards to your disappearance,” said Malfoy dismissively. “Don’t think about him, Mira, he won’t get to you. I’ll keep you safe, okay? You know that, don’t you?” He didn’t sound sincere at all.

“I know,” said Hermione, allowing a small smile of gratitude to grace her lips.

Malfoy pulled her into yet another embrace.

“So you’ll move in then?” he asked bluntly. “You will, right?”

“I...” Hermione hesitated, making sure “Mira’s” reluctance came out right. “I would love to, Mr. Malfoy, I truly would. But after an experience like that, surely you understand that I’m a bit paranoid?”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Malfoy automatically. “You’ve got nothing to worry about at the Manor. It’ll be like... like a vacation for you. And you talked about freedom back at Lilly’s, well, you’ll have more freedom with us than you ever had at the brothel – I promise you!” he sweet talked.

“Really?” said Hermione softly. “Because obviously I need to get out once in a while, you know, to check up on my friend Mandy, for instance... Not often, though,” she added quickly, as she saw his eyes begin to narrow. “And... and I’m afraid I really don’t feel comfortable without my wand with me.”

“Alright, you can have all that,” said Malfoy dismissively, “just come, won’t you? Just come.”

Wow, thought Hermione, the bloke’s really getting desperate, isn’t he?

Which obviously was only to her advantage.

She smiled at him.

“I’ll come, Draco. I’ll come.”


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A/N: As always, thanks so much to my brilliant beta JessiokaFroka, who really saved this chapter.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking – Snape playing the cello? Undoubtedly many would think this to be very OCC, but I’ve given it a lot of thought and I’ve reasoned that something was necessary in order for Hermione to see him in a bit of a different light; to be reminded of the “Tiberius Granger” part of him. Also, I think the cello is a perfect instrument for Snape to play, as he is the typical, melancholic type. The cello playing will not be an issue in this story; I just felt I had to add this particular scene to make him a bit more human and vulnerable. Also, can’t you just picture how beautiful he looked whilst playing? Don’t know how many of you will accept this as a Snape trait at all, and it’s not something he does a lot, believe me, but what with him returning to his horrid childhood home and so on he’s bound to have the occasional maudlin feeling, right?

As always, thanks to all my fantastic reviewers! Couldn\'t go on without you!