Out of the Silent Planet

Title: Out of the Silent Planet (25/39)
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Plot driven smut, Darkfic, Romance, Drama, Angst...
Warnings: M/F, Bondage, slight non-con, voyeurism, oral, anal, Dom/sub issues, Dark!Draco, and HBP spoilers.
Summary: Post-Hogwarts - Hermione Granger fulfills Severus Snape's final wish, to journey to Japan to ‘retrieve' something of importance. Set eleven years after HBP.
Author's Notes: This is my first DM/HG ficlet, so please be kind to the newbie! The title of this fic is taken from C.S. Lewis' book, first in the Perelandra Chronicles.


Many thanks to kazfeist for improving this chapter!


Out of the Silent Planet
Chapter Twenty-five – Of the passage of time and secretive glances



He had not seen her in over two years, but he knew her immediately. She had changed, undeniably changed, but he knew her as well as ever before. Her hair had been cut short, so short that the chestnut waves had been slicked back against her head so that she looked younger, fashionable, and lighter. The short hair curled around the back of her small ears which were unadorned by heavy jewels like most women at this ball...the short hair also allowed an unrestricted view of the open back of her dark green dress, the back low enough that he could see the concave curve of the small of her back and the gentle slope at the top of her buttocks. The front of the dress was loose, the collar plunging past the swell of her breasts so that he could see the cleft between her breasts and the slight indentations of her sternum. The dress was almost obscene, however, as she danced, it was surely by charms that the dress did not slip off her shoulders and to her feet. She wore no jewels and very little makeup besides the muted red of her lipstick. Despite being two years older, she looked younger than he had remembered her looking when they had been in each other's company...the last time he had seen her, Hermione Granger seemed to be far older than thirty-one.

She moved across the floor slowly, dancing with her partner Neville Longbottom as if she had never been crippled in her life, as if she had never fought in a war...

And he could barely stand the discomfort of his cock trying to burst from his tight dress slacks.

It was pathetic, he knew, standing just behind a column, peering out into the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, watching Hermione Granger dance with Neville Longbottom. There were all sorts of women at whom he could gaze, follow with his eyes, but he had to watch the one woman that he knew inside of whom he could lose himself and never want for anything again. She was not the most beautiful woman, but, to him, she was the most alluring. The way she moved conveyed her grace and power, the way she smiled revealed that she did not let her true emotions leak through the thick veneer of her façade, the way she allowed herself to be touched by other people proved that despite her aura of power and control, she was needing something to keep her from crumbling into a million pieces... He could see this, for he knew her in a manner that most people did not...he knew her on a level that she barely knew for herself...and he grinned.

The song ended and Neville escorted Hermione to the edge of the dance floor, smiling at Millicent Longbottom who, heavy with their child, was laughing as he put Hermione’s gloved had to rest upon her shoulder. He was too far away to be able to hear what was being said, but the three people, four including the child in Millicent's womb, were like a family unit of its own, the familiar touches and gazes reminiscent of a time he had almost forgotten in his own life. He leaned against the stone column, the width of the white marble as wide as his shoulders, effectively hiding him from view unless he moved only a few inches around the circumference of the pillar.

His vision flickered across Hermione's face as her eyes began to move around the atrium, apparently looking for someone. He wondered who could make Hermione Granger seem to appear so alone and so vulnerable. If he could, without drawing too much attention to himself, he would delve in through those honey eyes and see for himself what Hermione Granger was really thinking and feeling. Did she think of him, perhaps? Did she miss him? Who was it that occupied her heart and mind now as she gazed through the nameless faces, searching? Surely she was not searching for him, was she? And as her eyes settled, he stiffened as she smiled, her mouth opening slightly as if to speak and her face softening. She took two steps in his direction and he held his breath. Surely she could not see him...could she? Two more steps, and the music began again, the marble floor filling with ladies and their gentlemen, waltzing in step with the music.

Suddenly the swirling of gowns and the flash of diamonds upon bejewelled and self-important society ladies obscured Hermione.

“She wasn't looking at you, brother...”

Between holding his breath and stiffening his spine, he nearly lashed out as a hand rested upon the shoulder of his dress jacket. The voice was all too familiar...and slowly he turned, letting his breath issue from his patrician nose in hot streams. His eyes settled upon a face that was nearly like that of a man who had died...a man who had abandoned him to his current torment...

“I doubt she even knows you are here. But of course, how could she know? You have been hiding all evening like some mad recluse, too afraid to show his face, but one who has too much pride to not turn up at such an important event. Isn't that right, Viscount Malfoy?”

Draco Malfoy tried to appear relaxed by crossing his arms before his chest and leaning back into the column. In truth, he was horribly unsettled, the man standing just before him bearing a striking likeness to Severus Snape--the only difference being the almond shape of the eyes and the ashen pallor of his skin...Severus had always had an olive-coloured pallor to his skin, much less healthy looking than that of his son, Yuki Matsumoto.

“I cannot tell what sort of welcome I would receive, brother. I have been away for a long time.”

Yuki Matsumoto smiled, but it was neither warm nor welcoming. He resembled his father so much that even Draco had to keep reminding himself that Severus was far saner and more benevolent than the man who was currently staring at him, unable to see into Draco’s eyes for the long silvery blond strands of hair. Draco could see Yuki well enough, purposely keeping his eyes hidden. Yuki had grown taller, it seemed. Even in black dress robes, he seemed more substantial than Draco remembered. His hair had grown long, past his shoulders, but was much tidier than Severus' hair, pulled back in a green ribbon at the nape of his neck. Yuki was handsome, rivalling Draco’s beauty by only being the tonal opposite…the dark to Draco’s light skin and hair.

“She would greet you warmly, I am sure, but it would be an empty welcome. Much has changed in the time you left her side, Draco.”

Draco’s jaw twitched as he felt Yuki’s black eyes try to pierce his own, in a manner that could be nothing more than a threat. Quickly Yuki glanced away, his eyes moving to the open air of the atrium and the swirling of dress and cloak hems upon the dance floor.

“Why have you come to London, Yuki?” Draco uttered, his eyes moving to the tips of his shoes, the black shiny leather contrasting with the white travertine floor.

“I needed to come and take up my rightful inheritance, Draco. And while doing so, I found that I was needed to stay.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. His network of intelligence had somehow failed him. All the while he had been away, Draco had made sure that he knew all the goings-on in Wizarding Britain…who had married whom, who was about to have children, how many Pureblooded families were left, various details that could benefit Draco’s business ventures in Britain. There had been little happening in his homeland that he had not known about…but the fact that Yuki Matsumoto had come to Britain…that had escaped Draco’s network of information in some fashion that alluded to subterfuge…

“It was nice to see you, brother. We should have tea sometime. I’ll send an owl…”

And with that Yuki Matsumoto, the son of Severus Snape, stepped past Draco and across the dance floor as it emptied after the waltz. Draco’s obscured eyes followed his foster brother until the dark man stopped just short of embracing Hermione Granger. Draco felt his blood freeze inside his veins as Yuki’s hand clasped Hermione’s raising it to his lips and kissing the delicate and pale backside of her small palm.

His eyes moved to her face…she was smiling, her cheeks flushing, her breath catching…

Draco turned his gaze away, and after feeling that the circulation of his blood had begun to move through his taut body again, he turned his body away…to walk to the nearest Apparition point and home…


* * *


Hermione quickly plucked her hand away as soon as Yuki’s lips were free from her flesh.

“I have half a mind to slap you, Yuki.”

The dark man straightened and grinned benignly…so much like his father that Hermione inhaled sharply. That was the real problem and the mode in which Yuki had come to be a part of her life…by being almost a mirror image of a man Hermione had loved and admired…a man she had looked to…to be her anchor.

It had been a strange journey to this particular point, Hermione thought idly as Yuki moved away from where she stood with Neville and Millie to speak with Horace Slughorn, who sat nearby. It had been two years of pain and recovery, and not just in the realm of the physical. However, Hermione could not claim to be or feel as if she were happy or even content. She could claim that she was living a life that suited her at this particular time in her life…barely over thirty, successful, in good health, blessed with good friends, and possibly, if only she would allow it to come to fruition, a doting lover…

“Hermione?”

Hermione turned slowly to smile at Millicent Longbottom, heavy with child and gazing at Hermione with brow furrowed.

Hermione moved to sit next to Millie in an adjacent seat while Neville stepped a bit closer to his wife, sensing that something was wrong by the way his wife’s dark brow was dipping in the middle.

“I thought I saw…” Millie began, but stopped as Yuki returned to lay a gentle hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “I think I want to go home now, Neville.”

Hermione blinked in confusion, Millie’s hand moving to squeeze Hermione’s hands. A look passed between them, a meaningful look that meant that Millie had something to tell her…in secret. These secret glances had become a common occurrence ever since Yuki…

“I think I will have to agree with Millie, I’m knackered,” Hermione announced, shrugging off Yuki’s cool hand and helping her friend to stand.

“Shall I see you home, Hermione?” Yuki asked, retrieving a dark green shawl from the back of a nearby chair and draping it across Hermione’s shoulders.

Hermione nodded to Millie as her friends nodded their goodbyes. Turning to Yuki, Hermione let the walls inside her mind rise…

“No, I don’t think so.”

Yuki’s dark eyes seemed to glitter momentarily, and Hermione felt only a nudge in her mind and nothing more. She was sure it was only curiosity and concern, but Yuki’s habit of peeking into her thoughts every time she refused him was beginning to wear on her nerves. She was not sure that her companion realized he was using Legilimens or not, but it required a constant exercise of her Occlumency skills.

Finally, at the Apparition points set up in the atrium, Hermione wished her companion a goodnight, squeezing his hand warmly and stepping back to think herself away for the night…

Popping just inside the door of her home, Hermione sighed as she let her shawl slip from her shoulder. Millie’s knowing glance troubled Hermione…just as the gleam in Yuki Matsumoto’s eyes had when he came up to her and kissed her hand.

Falling into a wing-backed chair before a banked fire, Hermione sighed. Rubbing her face into the side of the chair, she could still smell the scent of Severus Snape…faintly. It was a mixture of sandalwood, smoke, soap and Severus, but it was soothing to her nerves even though Severus’ presence had long left the cottage she now lived in and had not sat in this particular chair in over two years…

So much had changed, so very much, but as Hermione gazed with heavy eyes at the embers in the fire, she felt that it was a step toward something she wanted…a step toward her own happiness which she had to make for herself…


* * *

One year and five months earlier…



She had not ever expected to feel as low as she had that day. Three weeks after being released from the hospital wing at Longbottom Apothecaries, she had felt restless. Everything had gone well, despite being bed-ridden for several months…it was no wonder she was restless, but it was not only that… It had been months since Draco Malfoy had walked out of her life for good.

After all was said and done and Hermione Granger had walked out of the hospital wing on her own volition, the first thing she did was to begin packing up her apartment. It was a painful reminder of a life that should never have been, and Hermione was anxious to leave it behind. However, when she contacted Minerva McGonagall about buying the cottage where Severus Snape had lived his last days, Hermione knew that her friends; Millie, Neville, and Minerva, thought her to be a bit mad. It had been a rash decision and Minerva sold her family cottage at a reasonable price…but Hermione did not move in…not immediately.

One day before buying the cottage, Hermione Apparated to the gate leading to the weatherworn Dutch door, noting that the lavender bush had grown unruly, the lawn had not been trimmed and the twisted willow at the southeast corner of the house had a broken limb that hung from the tree to the ground in a sad, neglected manner.

It was perhaps the lowest point in her life…

She could walk properly, the pain and the twisting of sinew and bone a long-gone nightmare at best. Hermione was healthy, vibrant even, standing taller than before. The time spent in hospital had also made her leaner than before, shedding ten pounds from simply being unconscious for months… That day, she felt so light that the damp late October wind could blow her away.

The night before she had dreamt the first time about Draco Malfoy, and she had woken up, sleeping on the couch in her flat, crying. The flat was empty besides that red couch in the sitting room, and it had been a place where Draco had touched her…made her his slave…

Standing at the gate to the path to the door of the cottage, Hermione gnawed on her left thumbnail nervously and seriously considered Obliviating herself…

The memory of Draco Malfoy and all the emotions he had awakened in her body and soul were beginning to drive her mad. She was whole again, but not…and she would be damned if she were to go looking for Draco Malfoy again…on her knees, begging him to repair the horrible misalignment she felt in her soul. She was lonely, haunted, and wondering what to do with her life. After his departure she never acknowledged just how lonely her life truly was…it was trite, she knew, but unfortunately and desperately true.

So she returned to the last place where she had not felt lonely…Severus’ home.

Oh, how she wished she could see her mentor and friend again. Hermione knew she could always count on Severus to get her roused enough to get through any bout of depression. She knew that if Severus were alive and knew what was going on her life, he would definitely have plenty to say to make her happy that she was free of Draco Malfoy.

She opened the gate and started up the sodden path to the door, the heels of her dressy kitten heels sinking slightly in the soil. It was a cool late autumn day and in the reflection of the window in the Dutch door, she could not feel the least bit depressed about the way she looked. Hermione had finally grown into the woman she had always wanted to be…untainted by curse scars, standing firmly on her own two feet, and walking without the limp. She was curvy, lithe, wearing black long slacks, and a white tank top under a blue corduroy jacket. If only Severus could see her…

Hermione paused with a hand upon the knob of the door, knowing that it would be unlocked since this house was well protected with wards as well as being Unplottable to those who were not familiar…the wards still recognized her although the curse that had crippled her and tainted her was now gone.

With a subtle movement of the hand, the door opened, the hinges squeaking only slightly as she entered. The entryway was dark, but as dim autumn light fell across the hardwood floor, Hermione at once noticed a pair of black leather boots sitting just at the edge of the rug in the entry way.

Hermione’s first thought was that Severus had been outside again…

And tears sprang to her eyes.

But then her heart began to pound…someone was in the cottage, and it was surely not Severus.

Amber eyes travelled across the floor to where the worn Persian rug rested beneath the two wing-backed chairs before the large fireplace and the low fire burning in the grate. She could just see a pair of bare feet resting upon the floor among the dark oaken chair legs and the crown of ebon hair over the top of the chair. Hermione could feel her heart pulsing in her throat and her vision began to shimmer and wave.

Severus…her heart seemed to sing.

As impossible as it was, Hermione felt her tears trickle down her cool cheeks and drip down into the corduroy nap of her jacket from the tip of her chin. She could only stand in the entryway for a moment, glancing from the black boots to the dark crown of raven hair…

Suddenly, with a burst of power and speed, Hermione closed the distance between her and the man sitting with his back to her. Around the chair, Hermione collapsed to the floor, her head falling into the lap of the man she had missed so terribly. The black fabric of robes and trousers even smelled of him...felt like him…the one man who could put her at ease…

“Oh, Severus…I have…missed you…” Hermione sobbed, wiping her tears into his robes, grasping his pant legs in her fists. And when she felt a familiar hand rest upon the top of her head, Hermione began crying in earnest…

Minutes passed, perhaps hours, until Hermione could no longer bear to cry…her throat, nose, and eyes burning painfully, she wiped the last of her grief into his robes. She knew Severus would scold her for soiling his clothes…so impeccably clean he always was, no matter if he had been working on a potion, eating crackers or tending what he could in the poor excuse for an herb garden outside the kitchen…he was always…

“Severus?”

Hermione released the fabric from her sore fists, having clutched the fabric so hard for so long… She straightened her back before raising her head, but when she raised her bleary eyes to look into Severus’ face…it was not Severus that had been stroking her hair.

His face was too young and too smooth. The eyes were more almond and the nose not nearly as hooked. His skin tone was more cream than the slight olive tone she was so familiar seeing…and his fingertips were not calloused as Severus’ had been… He wore Severus’ clothes, but even with the long black hair and the thin lips, this man was not Severus Snape…

“Miss Granger…” he said, his voice a pale imitation of Severus Snape’s.

Hermione jerked when his fingertips brushed across her trembling lips and she flew backwards and to her feet as if pulled by invisible strings. With reflexes that she barely knew she possessed, she had moved around the back of the chair, one hand grasping the man’s hair and the other holding a wand and digging the point into the man’s throat.

“Who are you and what are you doing in this house?” Hermione ground out, her grief turned instantly to fury.

She derided herself harshly in her mind. How could she have been so stupid? Severus was dead…

“Answer me!” she screamed, her mind only set upon the track of her own silly desires to speak to Severus again.

A hand, pale and graceful, slowly grasped Hermione’s wrist, but not to fight, only to slowly pull the wand tip out of his throat so that he could answer.

“Yuki Matsumoto… Miss Granger, do you remember me?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, the name slow to register in her mind, but when it finally did, Hermione pulled her wand away and released her hold on the man’s silken ebon hair. She felt even more foolish than before. Letting her wand hand fall to her side, Hermione sullenly stepped around the chair to gaze down through puffy eyes at the man she had mistaken for her friend and mentor.

“I am so very sorry…I…” Hermione began, falling back into the adjacent chair in defeat.

Yuki Matsumoto had changed, only to mature since Hermione had seen him at the ryokan the winter before. He still resembled his father, perhaps more so than ever…

“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked blatantly, her brow furrowing as she watched the half Japanese, half English man run tapered fingers through his hair, which was longer than she remembered.

“I was simply visiting the last house my father lived in…”

His words were like shards cutting into her heart and Hermione felt her hands begin to tremble. She knew that Yuki Matsumoto was aware of who his father was, but to hear it come from his mouth as an acknowledgement shook her to the core. Remembering the night that Draco had blown Yuki Matsumoto through the panel door, Hermione wondered how long Yuki had known that he was Severus’ son.

“You lived here with Severus, didn’t you?”

The question was a strange mixture of innocent curiosity with a slight accusatory intonation and Hermione did not answer. Instead, Hermione gazed at the man sitting across from her, her brain slowly differentiating Yuki Matsumoto from Severus Snape.

“You did not answer my question in a suitable manner, Mr. Matsumoto. Or should I rephrase my question: Why are you here, in this house, and not in Edo?” Hermione muttered icily, her eyes no longer dimmed with tears. She remembered also that this man had tried to convince her, albeit poorly, to kill Draco Malfoy…

“As I said, I wanted to see the place where my father lived in his last days, the place where he, and you, Miss Granger, made the breakthrough to cure lycanthropy, among other things. Is it wrong that I be here? Minerva gave her permission that I might visit…”

Hermione blinked. “What do you know of Minerva McGonagall?” she whispered heatedly, her hand tightening around her wand. Her grief had wrung her dry and had exhausted her, and she could only convey her anger and confusion by the coldness of her voice and the hardness in her eyes.

Yuki Matsumoto shifted in his chair, not out of discomfort, but to meet Hermione’s eyes directly. It was a bold move, but as he spoke, his voice was so like Severus’ in timbre and pattern but different in accent, reminding Hermione more of the accent from southern France than that of Severus’ cultured Derbyshire accent, that she was still mentally separating one man from the other. However, as Yuki Matsumoto answered Hermione’s question, she could not be bothered by this any more than with the question of why…

“I teach at Hogwarts, Miss Granger, Minerva is my employer and, thankfully, a professional friend. I took up her post this past September…”

It was almost November…Yuki Matsumoto had just recently joined the staff…but why hadn’t she known?

As if anticipating her question, he continued: “I was informed that you have just recently been released from the hospital. I am sure that with the event of your procedure and the start of the new term at Hogwarts Minerva did not think to tell you or mention it…”

Hermione nodded slowly; that was plausible. She had seen Minerva only once since waking in the hospital wing at the Apothecary facilities…all other communication had been through owl post and short communiqués at that… But surely Minerva would have mentioned that Severus Snape’s son was teaching Transfiguration at Hogwarts. Unless…

“She doesn’t know that you are Severus’…” Hermione trailed off. “But it is so obvious…”

“She knows, but don’t think that it curried any favour when she confirmed my appointment. As much as she loved or hated my father, she does not speak of him to me. And I do not broadcast the fact that I am the product of his loins…”

Hermione was a split second away from hexing the dark man.

“…I do not want to be compared to him should I turn out to be a colossal failure in my post.”

Hermione did not relax until Yuki Matsumoto looked away from her and to the smouldering fire. She could not bring herself to trust him or any of his explanations. There had always been something about this man that made her uneasy and it was not just the striking familial resemblance. Yuki Matsumoto had a predatory quality about him, much like Draco Malfoy had, but under far more restraint.

“I might ask why you are here, Miss Granger. I did not expect anyone else to come here today…”

“I am buying this cottage,” she answered quickly.

Afterwards, Hermione was not exactly sure why she had told Yuki Matsumoto why she was going to buy the cottage. Perhaps it was jealousy, or perhaps it was her territorial instincts kicking in. All she knew was that Yuki Matsumoto did not belong in Severus’ chair or in his cottage where he had lived out the end of his life…

Yuki’s dark brow curved upward slightly, a Snape trait that continued to startle Hermione with its familiarity. They sat in silence for a long while, Hermione staring at Yuki Matsumoto’s dark eyes but seeing nothing.

Finally, “I know that I offended you, scared you even, the last time we spoke. Nevertheless, I must confess that I am relieved that you are well, safe, and cured of what ailed you when we first met.”

Hermione felt her heart twist painfully for his words were sincere…

“However, I should like to know why you came here in tears…obviously seeking solace in a manner from my father who is no longer in this world.”

Hermione flicked her wand toward the fireplace making flames burst upward with a sudden flare of warm light. The sun had set outside the cottage, and the chill of an early winter was seeping though the stone walls.

“Draco has left you.”

At that, Hermione rose from her chair and moved closer to the fire, leaning a forearm against the stone mantel and resting her forehead against her hand. She still felt foolish, but angry…not so much at herself now, but at the dark imitation of her deceased friend.

“That is none of your concern, Matsumoto,” Hermione growled. “In fact, nothing about me is any of your concern…and yet you are here…in my…” she trailed, uncertain of what to say. She had almost said ‘territory,’ and nearly laughed aloud.

“I was not trying to pry, Miss Granger; in fact, I think you owe me an explanation. Why did you decide to pour your grief out on me…quite literally I might add…”

Hermione turned slightly, her eyes flickering in the firelight as if they too were made of flame. “This was my home as much as it had been Severus’ at one point, Matsumoto. I came here to be alone and feel the comfort of a place that has always brought me a degree of peace.”

“Fair enough.”

Silence fell between man and woman, but at the last comment the tension seemed to fall away. Hermione later wondered if it had something to do with her resignation to change everything about herself in order to cleanse herself of her grief, but as she stood by the fire and Yuki sat watching the flames leaning toward Hermione, a kinship began. It was not until Hermione yawned that her company stood and came to her side to gaze down into the fire with her.

Hermione tried to ignore his guarded glances so filled with admiration, but slowly, it became a comfort as well…