For All Intents and Purposes

Disclaimer: Don’t own it.

Edited by: thyme_is_a_cat

Chapter 05 – A Walk About Town

The borrowed library book was once again the size of a matchbook and stowed away in a pocket in Hermione's robes. Two abreast and with brisk, determined steps, they walked through Hogsmeade to a Potions supply shop that Snape favored in order to purchase a couple of ingredients that he simply had to have “Right now, Miss Greenglass. Do make haste.”

“I suppose after all that,” Hermione had said, gesturing toward the garden door as she swung her light summer cloak over her shoulders, “you could call me Heidi, if you like.”

He’d merely nodded and hustled her out of the house without a parting word to Madam Beetlebump.

Hermione couldn’t imagine what could be so critical to their research, but she was heartily intrigued. According to the book, Shades of Grey: An Itemization of Obscure Magical Curiosities of Unknown Orientation, the Starglass was a unique artifact that amplified the bearer’s intent. Certain rumors went as far as to suggest that it granted wishes, though they were discounted as exaggerations or falsifications, as no known bearer of the phial had met a happy end. No one was quite sure how it worked or to where it had disappeared. The last to own it, a witch by the name of Griselda Goldwater, had vanished with the phial in England at the turn of the century. The creator was also a mystery, as was the method of creation. The phial was said to contain a small amount of stardust (and at this, Hermione winced, for she had never seen star dust for sale anywhere, and they had used a bit during their experimentation) collected from a fallen star, but this had never been confirmed. Hermione wondered how Snape intended to determine astronomical properties and thought that they might make more progress if they were to find a book or three that did not deal in vague, unsubstantiated rumors. They would need to do more research to confirm whether or not her phial was, in fact, the Starglass.

‘And what in bleeding hell does it have to do with my impromptu trip to the past?’ Someone trod on her foot, and she yelped, her train of thought broken.

They were now in a part of town with which Hermione was unfamiliar. She hadn't wandered here as a student, and despite the fact that she had been staying Hogsmeade for over a week, she hadn't had much opportunity or desire to explore. The street was crammed with rambling structures that were wider on their upper stories than they were on the ground floor to the point that a witch could step from one rooftop to the other with relative ease, even though an alley separated each structure. The streets seemed narrower and darker here, the buildings crowding out the daylight and looming over pedestrians. Vendors had set up kiosks along each side of the road, and often in the middle, routing passersby into thin tributaries that were further constricted when a wizard or witch paused to shop.

The scents of fried dough, meats, cabbage and wood smoke hung heavy in the still air, tangling with more pleasant aromas of dried herbs and oncoming rain. The noise was not quite deafening, but certainly damaging to one's eardrums: incessant shouts of vendors, no matter how close one was to the stall; contained explosions as hawkers demonstrated their wares; shrieks of children as they tore between the robed legs of adults; the occasional bray of a beast and companions yelling at each other over the din, conveying much of the conversation with gestures as with words. It was all very medieval, and once Hermione had gotten used to the overwhelming racket, she was quite enchanted.

Snape sluiced through the crowd much like he had passed through the halls of Hogwarts: people naturally stepped out of his way under the force of his scowl, young man though he was. The glances cast his way were less fearful and more disgusted, but it got the job done. Due to the press of bodies, Hermione was forced to follow slightly behind.

“Cor, if it isn’t Snivelly!” a man shouted over the din of the street.

“I do believe you’re right. Hey! Hey, Snivellus!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione caught site of two men on the other side of the road just out of their teens, one waving a beefy hand in the air. Snape went rigid in front of her and stopped cold. She almost stepped on his heel, catching herself with a hand on his arm. “Who are those people?” she asked, affronted on his behalf.

“Idiots. Let’s go.” He started forward again, his glower more fierce than before. The young men were elbowing each other and laughing.

“Snivelly! Who’s the poodle?”

“Ignore them,” Severus growled, increasing his pace. Hermione latched onto the back of his sleeve in an attempt to not get separated by the crowd and tried to lighten the mood with a self-deprecating shrug.

“My hair does get frizzier in this weather.”

He stopped walking again to give her an odd look. Beaming at him, she nudged him forward. “Come on, before they decide to share their wisdom and insight with us at close range.”

He grimaced and, grabbing her elbow, propelled them through the throng to a side street. It was less crowded, for which Hermione was grateful, but smelled strongly of vinegar. She wrinkled her nose as she glanced around, finally spying a shadowed doorway above which hung a wooden sign that depicted an endlessly melting cauldron. Purple froth bubbled up to the sagging rim, spilling over and collecting at the bottom of the sign to vanish under more foam. It was into this shop that Snape led her.

Despite the fact that there were no windows that Hermione could see, the shop still seemed to be lit by cheerful, yellow sunlight. Dust motes danced in the light that streamed between tall shelves full to the brim with potions equipment. Cauldrons of all shapes, sizes and materials were stacked to the ceiling, from tiny golden ones that could have been strung on a chain as a pendant to an enormous pewter vessel on the bottom shelf that could have easily passed for a makeshift spa. Stirring rods, flasks, scales, knives, grates, cutting boards, burners, drying racks, and several implements that Hermione had never seen were meticulously arranged and labeled in a labyrinth of aisles. The urge to browse drew her toward a shelf displaying tongs, from the practical to the delicate and ornate, but Snape’s hand on her elbow would have none of it. Past the equipment, he led her into the back of the store where a long counter had been erected in front of yet more shelves. These contained jarred, bottled, or open bushels of ingredients.

“Oh,” Hermione breathed as she leaned her forearms against the counter to get a better look at the shelves behind. Was that a pickled harpy hatchling in that jar?

A copy of that day’s Daily Prophet lay folded by her elbows, and she glanced briefly at the front page, noting the date. ‘August 12, 1982. I’ll be, what, three this year?’

Snape slapped his hand against a bell that sat on the edge of the counter, startling her, and scowled impatiently at a closed door at the side of the room.

“Do they sell pre-made potions?” Hermione asked curiously, breaking the quiet that had settled over the shop as they waited for the shopkeeper.

“Just supplies,” Snape answered in that way of his that seemed pleased that he knew something she did not. It didn’t bother her, but she had a strong suspicion that his accusations of her being a know-it-all might have been a case of the pot calling the kettle black. “They have a distributor in Diagon Alley and are famous in the profession as having the widest selection in stock.”

The side door swung open on oiled hinges, and a large, pallid, burly man with an evident limp hobbled over to them behind the counter. His gaze brushed over Hermione dismissively, settling on Snape with a tight frown.

“Mr. Snape.”

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Snape said darkly, drawing himself up as tall as he could, which was only a half a head taller than Hermione. “Where is Mr. Simons?”

“He’s not here. Ministry had a few questions for him, they did.” The man smiled nastily. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” the man stated more than asked, narrowing hostile blue eyes.

“I wouldn’t.”

Hermione sidled closer to Snape, perplexed and unnerved by the antagonism thickening the air. The shopkeeper’s eyes flicked to her, censure clouding his expression. He seemed to be judging her and finding her lacking, but for what, Hermione could only guess.

“Perhaps we should do our business elsewhere,” she said coolly, staring him down. She didn’t appreciate his attitude or his intimidation tactics, and she wanted to make it clear that she supported Snape against his blatant mistrust.

Snape’s eyes met hers and gleamed briefly, but he shrugged languidly. “If you insist, though it would be a shame if I were to move the Hogwarts account to another shop after we have… enjoyed,” he laced the word with a hearty dose of sarcasm, “…such a long business relationship.”

The shopkeeper shifted restlessly and drummed blunt fingertips on the polished wood of the countertop. “That’s… that won’t be necessary, sir. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just making conversation, you know?”

Hermione, who had been serious about doing their shopping elsewhere, had to smother a grin at the shopkeeper’s abrupt about-face. Sniffing haughtily, she tilted her chin up and gave him a glance askance before turning to Snape, saying, “I’ll wait for you outside. I find I need some fresh air.”

“I won’t be long,” Snape drawled in a tone that left very little doubt that any more lip from the shopkeeper would mean the loss of a great deal of revenue for his business. Hermione nodded and glided out of the store, chin still held high. As soon as she was on the street, she succumbed to a fit of giggles. Snape’s thinly veiled threats had been a terror to her when she was a student, but as a co-conspirator they were quite a lot of fun.

True to his word, Snape stepped out of the shop only minutes later, tucking a small parcel into his robes. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of Hermione leaning against the building chuckling.

“That was brilliant, Severus,” Hermione pronounced, beaming at him as she pushed off the wall to stand in front of him.

“You are an odd woman, Heidi.” He turned to leave the side street and join the fray of the market, but not before she caught the twisting of his lips into a small smile.

Hoarse shouting and several loud bangs erupted from the crowd, and like a school of minnows, witches and wizards turned their heads and headed en masse toward the disturbance. Hermione and Snape shared a glance and joined the throng.

Severus Snape enjoyed a fight as much as the next wizard. Looney old widows, schoolmates and rude shopkeepers aside, this jaunt through Hogsmeade was shaping into one of the more pleasant outings he had had in a long time. A brawl between two drunken sods was just the thing to finish off the day, giving him a subject upon whom he could look down and whose idiocy he could later ridicule with Heidi.

His friend.

He unsuccessfully smothered a grin.

His sharp-tongued, impatient-with-stupidity friend.

The grin faded. He wouldn’t think about his recent purchase or what it would mean to that friendship. That could be dealt with when the time came.

Grabbing her elbow, he nonverbally cast the spell he had developed to encourage people to get out of his way, his eyebrows drawing down into a habitual frown of concentration.

With no real effort, they were soon standing next to the fruit and vegetable carts near the front of the crowd, which had formed a semicircle around the front of a post office and a red-faced crone shouting at a young man sprawled in the street clutching a familiar looking bag.

“How dare you come in here? I should call the Aurors on you!” The witch shook a fist at the scruffy man who was trying to pick himself up off the ground and mollify the woman with placating gestures at the same time. The crowd jeered raucously, some shaking their fists in imitation of the woman.

“Please! I was just looking for a job!”

“We don’t employ werewolves in this town!” The crone spat at his feet and stormed back into the office, slamming the door behind her. At that, the mob erupted in angry cries, derision morphing into fear and hatred.

“Death Eater!”

“Kill it, before it can find another Dark Lord to follow!”

A head of cabbage flew out of the crowd and burst against the side of the young man’s head. He had risen to his feet, gazing at the door beseechingly, but now he was frantically searching the faces surrounding him for any sign of compassion.

“Oh my god…” Hermione whispered quietly. She now recognized his face – and the bag he carried. She gasped as another vegetable flew toward the hapless young man. With a flick of her wand, she redirected it away from him. Several more sailed toward him, and Hermione struck them away with a nonverbal spell. “Stop!”

His eyes rolled toward her, meeting her own for a second of silent gratitude, and then he Apparated away.

The crowd let out a collective groan of disappointment, and several people glanced around, searching for the witch who had helped spoil their fun. A wizard on her right made a grab for the front of her robes, his face twisted in a furious sneer, but long, strong fingers had wrapped around her upper arm and were now dragging her forcibly through the crowd. He pulled her off the main street and into a narrow alley that smelled of stale beer and urine.

Snape dropped her arm with an angry shove and rounded on her, dropping something at his side. Her angry hiss cut off the invectives that were boiling on his tongue.

“What is this?” she pointed, disbelieving and horrified, to the apple that he’d cast to the ground. Tears were beginning to well in her eyes, but she blinked them away, disgusted with herself, Snape and the wizarding world in general. Snape glared at the apple, then raised his eyes to hers. When no answer was forthcoming, she whispered, “What were you going to do?”

“He was a werewolf, Heidi. Didn’t you hear?” His voice had developed a faintly pleading whine to it that dismayed him. Why did he feel the need to explain himself to this chit? It was none of her business.

“Yes, but that doesn’t make him any less of a thinking, feeling human being.” Snape opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off with an impatient gesture. “Oh, don’t be a smart-arse, you know what I mean. Do you think he chose to be a werewolf? It wasn’t his fault he came to be like this, and he’s obviously miserable. He probably doesn’t have a friend in the world…”

Hermione trailed off, her heart constricting painfully in her chest. At this point in his life, Remus Lupin would have been alone: James and Lily dead, Peter Pettigrew presumed dead, Sirius locked in Azkaban for murder with the onus of betrayal weighing on his head. Hermione knew little about Lupin’s life before he taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in her third year. If this were any example, then his life must have been difficult, indeed.

“How could you?” Her eyes were beginning to sting again, and she blinked rapidly.

“Heidi, I…” he stopped and sighed. “You don’t know anything,” he mumbled, his shoulders hunching in a defeated posture.

“No. I guess I don’t,” she agreed quietly. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, until she sighed and hugged her arms to her chest. “Thank you for getting me out of there. I think that wizard would have—”

“Yes, he would,” he interrupted, his words clipped and harsh. He didn’t want to think about what that lout would have done to her had he been given the chance.

“Well…”

Scuffing dirt over the apple with the toe of his shoe, he interrupted her again. “I’ll walk you back to that madhouse.”

“It’s not a madhouse,” she corrected him. “Madam is mad. The cats are quite sane.”

Severus snorted in spite of himself. Heidi grinned at him, and he knew he was forgiven. Damn her. She hadn’t forgiven him.

“Besides, I thought we might go back to your place and do a bit of research. To settle the stomach, as it were.”

Severus almost declined. He wanted to; not because a spot of research didn’t sound tempting, but because it would mean the end of all… this, whatever this was. Better not to name it. Really, it would be better to do what he had to do and put this whole, sordid affair behind him.

It was a pity that the thought didn’t make him feel better.

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They Apparated to Spinner's End directly onto his front porch. The house itself had anti-Apparition wards (it was a wise precaution considering some of the company he kept), and he had no neighbors worth speaking of. The last family, which had been Muggle, had deserted this street when he had been seventeen, due in no small part to the hazing that he and a couple of his buddies had inflicted upon them. He wasn't proud of what he'd done; he hadn't been when he was a teenager, either. But the sense of belonging to a group, even as his co-conspirators had heckled him for having a "filthy Muggle father," had beat the shite he'd dealt with in school. Besides, he'd managed to cast a few discreet hexes at the more obnoxious young Death Eaters without any retaliation. Dumbnuts, all of them.

This was his chance to make up for the worst of his mistakes, to right the thoughtless wrong that had cost him so dearly. He was almost positive that he had the key within his grasp: the moment Heidi had named it the Starglass, the planets had aligned in his head, and his vague impression that the phial was valuable to him had become an illuminated path so clear that it could be nothing short of destiny. One simple test would verify that her heirloom was the Starglass, and then...

And then…

That was the part that troubled him. He had never put much stock in Divination, but it was during ruminations like these that he wished that the future were mapped out in the soggy leaves of one’s afternoon tea. Having been a tool of prophecy himself, he felt that he should be entitled to a quick peek at what fate had in store for him, much like the “Get Out of Jail Free” cards that had come with a board game he’d had as a child. Then again, perhaps he’d already used that particular card.

If these were the final few steps toward salvation, then why did his feet feel as if they were encased in lead? He shook off the idea as preposterous. Yes, he would lose something if he went through with this, but he was inured to sacrifice. This was worth it.

Heidi pulled the book from her pocket and enlarged it with a dexterous flick of her wand. Pushing a tangle of curls out of her face as she flipped through the pages, she asked, “Would you like to go through this one? I’ve marked all the passages…”

“You’ve bent the corners of the pages,” he corrected harshly to distract himself from the slow rolling in his stomach. He wished, hopelessly, that it was the effects of an off bit of ham, but there was no point in fooling himself. In any case, he would never eat spoiled meat.

She shot him a half exasperated, half amused look and rolled her eyes. “Yes, thank you for pointing out that I have vandalized stolen school property. I wouldn’t have figured it out on my own.”

Smoothing a creased corner with an almost reverent press of her fingers, she inserted a sheaf of parchment to mark her place. He followed the motion with his eyes, observing the slightly thick first knuckles and ragged nails, though her fingers were long and slender. Ink stained the tips of the right index and thumb, and the faint lines of claw marks marred the backs of both hands. They were busy, scholarly hands, always in constant motion and beautiful for their imperfections. One of those hands reached up to wave in front of his face, and he snapped out of his fascination.

“I must run a test,” he snapped more severely than he’d intended. Heidi winced as her eyebrows puckered in confusion. Dejected, and yet excitement tingling along his skin, he turned away from her questioning gaze and headed down into his basement laboratory.

“All right.” She followed him down the basement stairs, drawing the phial from an inner pocket in her robes. “How do you suppose that woman knew he was a werewolf?” she asked suddenly. “It’s not something one would put on a CV.”

Severus, by now used to her abrupt change of subjects, just shrugged. “She probably has one of those Beastioscopes. Many people bought them when it became known that the D—You-Know-Who was recruiting magical creatures.”

“I see.”

He glanced sidelong at her; she was tilting the Starglass so that the light reflected through the facets and cast rainbows on the workbench. Why didn’t she know that? She seemed to pride herself on knowing just about everything else. He shrugged the thought away, holding out his hand and saying with forced politeness, “Would you hand me the Starglass?”

There was no need to irritate her into uncooperativeness. He’d been watching Lucius charm his every desire out of humanity for far too long to dismiss the value of civility. A trickle of sweat crept from under his hairline, sliding down the back of his neck and into his collar, cooling as it traveled. He hoped that he didn’t appear as nervous as he felt.

Acquiescing with a curious glance and a nod, she dropped the phial into his palm, and he breathed in silent relief. “We don’t know for certain that it is the Starglass.”

“In a moment, we will.”

“How are you going to test it? With what you bought this afternoon? What did you buy? How much do I owe you, by the way?”

“Owe me?” he asked, momentarily baffled. He met her eyes for an instant, then glanced away, wishing that she hadn’t brought up that particular facet of their arrangement. This was hard enough on him as is, though it shouldn’t have been.

She flapped a hand at the phial, still clutched in his clammy palm. “You know, for all this.”

“We shall discuss it later,” he said dismissively, turning away. With hands that trembled very slightly, he weighed the phial in his hand, shifting it in his palm and staring absently at it as he considered how to unlock its magic. It appeared that it wasn’t the contents alone that powered the object, but the sum of the parts. “Hm.”

“What is it?” Heidi asked, her breath tickling his ear as she leaned over his shoulder.

“It seems to have…” he trailed off as he uncapped the bottle and peered into its depths. The fine, gray dust was now more of a large-grained substance that tended to clump together. Severus capped it and gave it an experimental shake.

“Let me see,” Heidi demanded, reaching for it. Without thinking, he snatched it out of her reach, twisting his body so that she was further separated from it. “Hey, what are you playing at?”

Backing around the workbench slowly, he surreptitiously let his wand drop from his sleeve and into his hand. “I haven’t finished.”

“I think you have,” she said calmly as she followed him. He couldn’t mistake the steely glint in her normally warm brown eyes; she meant business. Well, so did he.

His nonverbal Obliviate rebounded off of her Protego and skittered across the workbench. Wand flashing deftly in a hand that he could have sworn was empty, she reached forward, and the phial rocketed out of his clutches, slapping against her palm. With one final, distressed look back at him, she was pummeling up the stairs and out of the laboratory.

Hermione tore through the kitchen and out the back door, casting a barring charm as it slammed behind her. Snape bellowed in fury, and she thought fleetingly that a stunner would have been more effective, but she just couldn’t bring herself to hurt him. She should have known that something was wrong when he’d gone all Lucius on her. But they had become friends…

She dove behind the giant tree by the fence just as the back door was blown open. Hoping that he expected her to Apparate away, she crouched down and silently Disillusioned herself. A sharp crack broke the air, and she huffed in relief. He had left.

To her immense gratitude, the fence still sported the hole through which she had crawled those many years in the future. Unwilling to cross his yard and tempt fate or proximity wards, she gathered her robes around her small form and squeezed through, cursing quietly as the voluminous fabric caught on sharp points of metal. Several snagged threads and colorful phrases later, she was standing in the field and brushing the dust off of her robes, pondering what to do next. He would probably go to Madam’s first, to see if she were there. Hopefully, he would leave when he didn’t find her and not cause the poor widow any grief. Would he next search for her in Hogsmeade? Canterbury? At any rate, he would probably be gone for a good while, and this might be her last chance in the near future to examine the well. Perhaps she had to toss a bit of dust from the Starglass into it to activate it? Or, the whole damn thing?

Hermione blinked, suddenly recalling his peculiar frown as he’d examined it. Opening her hand and rolling it to her fingertips, she held the phial up to one eye as she walked toward the well.

“Oh,” she breathed. No wonder he had been perplexed. What once had been dust now resembled small shards of obsidian. Was it her imagination or had the phial gotten heavier since their altercation in his basement? What had possessed Snape to attack her in order to acquire it? The book had said that it “amplified the bearer’s intent,” but what did that mean?

“He had better return that library book,” she grumbled to herself as she let the hand holding the phial drop to her side. She had never failed to return a library book. The well was now almost underfoot and with a peremptory flick of her wand, she had drug the cover off to the side.

“It is not my job to fix your mistakes,” he sneered behind her. She gasped, whirling around to face him.

“How did you…?” Of course, he must have cast wards around this place, and she simply hadn’t discovered them. It had been arrogant and foolish of her to assume that she could unravel all of his tricks. He seemed to read the realization from her expression and smiled unpleasantly.

“What is it about this place that has you so… enamored?” His wand was drawn and resting against his thigh, but she had no doubt that he could have it ready in instant.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she pleaded sadly. A cold drop of rain landed on the top of her head, then another on her cheek as thunder rumbled in the distance. She noted that he looked rather soggy; it must have started raining in Hogsmeade, as well. Head tilted forward and through lank and drippings clumps of hair, he was giving her a calculating glare. His robes were plastered against his spare frame, lending him the air of a drowned scarecrow. He advanced a step, and this time it was she who retreated.

“Indeed.” He held out his hand, palm up. “Give it to me.”

It had begun to rain in earnest; large drops pelted from the sky to seep through her robes and soaked into the ground, mixing with the earth around the well to form thick mud. Lightning streaked across the sky, a jagged blade that rent the bleeding clouds. Her shoes squelched as she shuffled backward, feeling with her feet for the edge of the well that she knew was behind her. Wrapping her fingers tightly around the phial, she shook her head. “Why do you want it?”

“That is none of your concern!” he shouted over a crescendoing growl of thunder that climaxed in a sharp crack.

“Severus, whatever is so important, we can do it together!” Hermione’s heel hit the back of the well, and she stopped, waiting to see how he would respond. To her surprise, she meant what she had just said. He seemed desperate, driven, and she was sure that he had a reason behind his actions, bizarre and disturbing though they may be. Dumbledore had trusted the man; therefore, she would trust him. If he could only just put his faith in her, then she would put her plans on hold and prove to him that it was not misplaced.

He dashed his hair out of his eyes, and the sudden movement made her jump. Mud slid under her shoes, and swinging her arms out, she tried to catch her balance. In a move that would later remind her of her dear late friend and comrade-in-arms, Tonks, she stepped on the hem of her robe. Almost as if she were a player in a movie that had been filmed in slow motion, she felt her body tilt backwards, and the foot that wasn't holding down the edge of her robes slid out from under her and into the air. With detached amusement, she watched as Snape's eyes widened comically, his mouth gaping as he yelled and reached for her. 'I must look just as silly,' she thought as his face disappeared from view and cold, wet darkness, reverberating with the sound of her own scream, surrounded her. An instant later, she was blinded by light.

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A/N: Thanks for reading and I appreciate your feedback. It's good to see those of you from the IY fandom!