Hunter and Prey

Hermione thought about the first Saturday in July. She had just got out of the shower when she had felt it. A kick. She had been distantly aware of previous internal activity but given the various intestinal indignities she had been enjoying she had not remarked on it. Honestly, how can you have constipation and wind? Not to mention her stomach’s objections to food seemed to have migrated southwards.

But the kick was a kick.

She had lost it completely. She had been sobbing in her bed for an hour when someone tapped on the window. Hermione had looked up, registered it was Draco on a broomstick and had gone back to weeping hysterically. He had gone away only to return with Harry and her parents in tow.

It had not been a good day. She thought about it now because the same light-headed, sick feeling of shock washed over her. Emptiness, hollowness as though she was made of blown glass and the lightest blow might shatter her. But the first Saturday in July had been worse than this. She could do something about this. So Hermione took a breath that was mostly gasp then spoke with a calmness that surprised Severus Snape.

“The vials have serial numbers. If you would make note of all of them, I will be able to track where the substitution was made.” She turned to her laptop and made a note. It would be simple stock control verification, much easier in a database than a dusty overladen cupboard as was the usual wizarding method. Hermione regarded Professor Snape levelly. This was not the worst. She could cope. “What is the status of the project?”

“With the proper materials we may be able to make up for lost time.” Severus did not like the cut-crystal precision of her voice but he recognised it. He had spoken that way himself, taking refuge in ice when everything inside was vitriol. “The research notes are meticulous. We can retrace our steps and I have kept samples of the potions that were successful.” He did not hesitate to say it. “You have quickened by now.”

“I have.” Hermione confirmed, her voice flat. “It is been more than a month since I could feel them for certain.” Their gaze met unflinchingly. She did not say that with modern medical technology if she delivered now chances were the babies would survive although with significant disabilities. He did not say even if he rechecked every potion they had made there was no guarantee any would work. They sat there and said nothing, thinking the same thing. They had lost the battle.

“Do you wish me to keep you apprised of the research?” Snape inquired. The project would go on for as long as it had funding. They had not run out of time unlike Ms Granger. What he was asking was whether she intended to risk herself with an untried potion. She shook her head slowly.

“Your project has significant possibilities when paired with the research the SMS is undertaking. I would be obliged if you would provide progress reports to my department.” Hermione made a pushing gesture, divorcing herself from his efforts. She glanced at her hand. Her fingers were trembling. “Thank you, Professor.” Their eyes met. “I am sure you have not heard that enough for all you have done.”

“Ms. Granger.” Severus Snape stood up, inclined his head in a polite nod and excused himself. He Apparated away feeling as though he had left a funeral.

Hermione sat in her garden and stared at nothing for a while. Up and down, up and down. She did not know how she would be feeling from one day to the next. Sometimes she cried at nothing and sometimes she could soldier on like a Legionnaire. She looked at the spreadsheet on her laptop. Someone in her Department was torturing her. After packing up, Hermione grabbed Crookshanks, locked her house and fled.

She couldn’t go to her parents. She couldn’t go to Harry and Ginny or any of her other friends. She would not go to the Burrow and she couldn’t stay at Hogwarts. So Hermione went to Malfoy Manor. It was not flattering for Draco but he was the best choice. His home was warded with and against the Dark Arts, and he wanted her to play along with his plan. When he had found her sobbing, he had got Harry. She hoped he cared enough that he would not turn her away. The irony of it struck her hard.

There were house elves running around everywhere getting ready for the party. One ran to fetch the master while Hermione clutched Crookshanks to her and fought for calm. She tried to distract herself, aware delayed reaction from Snape’s news was kicking in. Malfoy would think her a basket-case. But she couldn’t stay in her house warded with Department spells when someone she worked with had betrayed her.

Draco was not running. He was merely walking quite briskly. Fate was a sadistic trollop to bring her here before he was ready for her. Tomorrow was the fete and tomorrow they would cavort about playing pretend. He had braced himself for that ordeal. It would be durance vile but hardly anyone had refused his invitation. The plan was working. Though bloody hell it was hard on him.

And there she was, white as alabaster and trying not to tremble. Draco had never given much credit to the much-praised Gryffindor courage. Charging in headlong took more stupidity than nerve. Looking at Hermione and listening as she clung to social niceties trying to excuse asking a favour of him, he found respect for her.

He took the horrible cat out of her arms and the computer satchel off her shoulder before leading her inside.