The Man Who Sold the World
by Meggory

In their hurry to get back to Hagrid’s hut, Hermione and Severus made all the noise of elephants tiptoeing through the underbrush of the Forbidden Forest. Since leaving the library, they had not spoken a single word to each other, and the grim set to Severus’ mouth suggested he was not going to start now. The hidden pockets within his robes bulged with the curves of Erlenmeyer flasks and small crystal decanters. A cloth satchel stuffed with unidentifiable shapes bumped against his hip as he strode around the trees. Hermione practically had to jog to keep up with Severus’ long pace; in the darkness, the tip of her toe snagged a protruding root and she planted her face into the ground.

Groaning, she pushed herself up and spat out several leaves. Her tongue tasted the metallic tang of blood from the inside of her lip. As she brushed herself off and rose to her feet, she squinted in the dark and realized Severus had gone at least twenty paces before noticing her tumble. She started towards him, rolling her eyes, just as he turned to see if she was all right. They closed the distance between them, and Severus bent his head towards her. “Are you--”

“Fine,” she replied abruptly. “Come on.” She brushed past him and continued walking. He joined her wordlessly, and did not speak again until after they had found and entered Hagrid’s hut.

Hermione peeled off her sweater in the warmth of the hut. Vasiliy was sitting by the fire, the light flickering off the reading lenses perched precariously on his nose, with a book propped up against his crossed knee. “It’s about time,” he said with a hint of humour. “You nearly broke your curfew.”

Severus offered him a droll look as he set his satchel on the table and began to empty his pockets. Carefully, he set the flasks and bottles on the surface with exactly three finger widths in between each container. In the firelight, the cut quartz and glass surfaces winked and sparkled. Some were clear, showing the contents, but some were smoky and opaque. His forehead was set in a furrow of concentration, his fingers moving deftly over the wax-sealed corks. Hermione watched him from just inside the doorway, hypnotised by Severus’ graceful movements.

As he withdrew the final bottle, he wrinkled his forehead. “If we are going to pull off this charade, I need a few more ingredients. I need to go to Hogsmeade.”

“Tonight?” Hermione asked, both curiously and worriedly. “It’s awfully risky, Severus.”

“Less risky than in broad daylight,” he replied briskly. “I should be back by dawn, but it may take a little longer.”

Vasiliy rose from his reading chair with an eye of scrutiny for Hermione. “What is that in your pockets, Hermione?” he asked curiously. A thin, broad-knuckled finger held his page.

Startled out of her fixed attention, Hermione patted the kerchief-wrapped morsels of food the house-elves had given her. Averting her gaze from Vasiliy’s in an attempt to not look guilty, Hermione suddenly realized her shoulders were no longer being poked by paper. “Oh, fuck!” she hissed.

Severus’ head turned abruptly to her. “What is it?” he demanded, his eyes worried and serious.

“I--I lost something on the way here. Probably when I fell. I have to go back and get it.” Hermione grabbed her sweater and pulled it over her head hastily. Before her hand could turn the doorknob, Severus seized her shoulder.

“You are not going back out alone,” he said forcefully.

“You have to start on whatever potion you’re going to make, and that means going to Hogsmeade,” she replied with equal strength.

“I will go with her,” Vasiliy put in as he shrugged into a short brown cloak and drew his wand.

Severus nodded shortly and returned, his mind focused once again, to the table of potions ingredients. Vasiliy reached past Hermione and opened the door for her. “After you, my dear,” he said politely. With a smile for the wandmaker, Hermione stepped out into the dark forest once more.

As they slipped away from Hagrid’s hut, Vasiliy asked quietly, “What happened in the castle?”

Hermione briefly relayed their adventure in Hogwarts up until Madam Pince and Severus locked her in the library. Hoping he would not ask for the kind of detail that would force her to lie to him, she fell silent and concentrated on retracing her steps. Between the footfalls of the pair, the Forbidden Forest was rife with sound; the denizens of the Hogwarts owlery were hunting, a werewolf and his mate were howling in the remote and wild areas, and foxes were barking nearby. The air was chilly this late at night, and Hermione’s breath misted gently. She ducked around a tree and came across the spot disturbed by her fall. There, partly covered by leaves, was the bundle of papers.

Hermione bent down and scooped the papers up, shrinking them with her wand and tucking them into her back pocket. Before she straightened, a rustle of leaves to her right, away from where Vasiliy was standing, caught her attention. She raised her wand to point at the noise. From behind an elm tree, a cloaked figure stepped towards them. “It’s me, Hermione,” Ginny said in a low voice.

Hermione swallowed what felt like her heart in her throat. “Christ, Ginny, don’t sneak up on decent people like that.”

Ginny smiled and managed to make it look like a grimace. “What are you doing out here this late?”

“Just out for a stroll,” Vasiliy told her casually as he held out his free hand to help Hermione to her feet. “The night air is very refreshing. We will be on our way now.” Hermione felt his hand grasping her elbow, ready to pull her away.

“Wait,” Ginny said, “I wanted to talk to you.”

Both Hermione and Vasiliy paused, but his hand remained and tightened around her arm. “Yes? Talk.” Hermione raised her eyebrows.

Ginny shook her head, and a lock of dark auburn hair caught in her mouth. It looked like a line of blood against her scarred, pale face. She spat it out violently. “Not here. The Chamber would be safer.” She glanced around and gestured to the shadowed forest surrounding them. “You never know who may be listening. Come on.”

The robed professor started back into the forest, heading towards the hidden tunnel. Hermione caught Vasiliy’s eye; his normally pleasant face was lined with worry and even fear. “Go back to the hut, Vasiliy,” she whispered.

“I will not leave you alone with that woman. There is something about her that I do not like.” His voice was so insistent that Hermione could not help but nod her head.

“Okay.” The lines of worry on his face altered to grim furrows of determination. Hermione set off after Ginny, who was still walking through the trees, apparently not caring that they were not following her. Vasiliy’s grip on Hermione’s elbow loosened to a feather light touch of thumb and forefinger.

Hermione and Vasiliy closed the gap between Ginny and them, but allowed Ginny to lead them through the forest and to the paired trees with the wedged boulder. As they walked, the air began to smell of moisture. The sky showing through the trees was clouding over, blocking out the stars in rapid succession. The wizards did not speak as Ginny opened the tunnel with a tap of her wand and guided them through the long, dark tunnel running beneath Hogwarts’ property.

When Ginny bent down and hissed at the door, Hermione watched Vasiliy’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. He said nothing, however. A few moments later, Hermione found herself once again in the Chamber of Secrets. Tonight no pouffes littered the floor beneath the basilisk skeleton, and the desk behind which Millicent Bulstrode had sat was resting against the far wall. Vasiliy was staring openly at the hanging puzzle of bones, murmuring to himself in Russian.

Hermione turned to Ginny with her arms crossed over her chest. “So, what was it you wanted to talk about?” she asked, trying to sound more casual and less suspicious than she felt.

“I--” Ginny was suddenly interrupted by a loud clatter emanating from one of the small chambers lining the main room. Seeing Hermione’s curious face, Ginny said hastily, “Rats, probably.”

“Pretty big rats,” replied Hermione as she brushed past Ginny and made her way towards the source of the noise. Only one doorway of the many along the wall was lit from within, and Hermione had nearly reached the threshold when a hand clamped down on her shoulder. Ginny pulled her away from the door, her eyes ablaze with--worry.

“It is not your concern,” she said intently.

Before Hermione could reply, a door crashing open startled all three of them. One of the young men she had seen at the URF meeting dashed into the room, his face red and his neck corded with exertion. He skidded to a halt in front of Ginny. Gasping for breath, he wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his dark pants. “Professor Weasley,” he said deferentially, “sorry for interrupting.”

“I assume you have a good reason, Wolsey.” Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and stared coldly at him. He shrank away from her minutely before drawing himself up with a deep, calming breath.

“There’s to be a surprise inspection patrol in Hogsmeade at dawn. Graving has ordered sixty men to search the village and randomly check identification cards.” Before Ginny could reply, Wolsey peered inquiringly at Vasiliy. “I know you from somewhere,” he said slowly.

Vasiliy turned his head away slightly and shook his head. “No, you must be mistaken,” he said very quietly in an attempt to hide his Russian accent.

Wolsey cocked his head like a bird, trying to catch a better glimpse of Vasiliy’s face. “I’m sure I’ve seen you before. I don’t think we’ve met, though.”

The sound of Ginny clearing her throat brought the man’s attention back to her. “Thank you, Wolsey. Begin the warning procedures immediately.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, but did not go so far as to salute. He turned on his heel and walked away for a few steps; Hermione watched Vasiliy relax noticeably before Wolsey whirled and pointed an accusatory finger at the wandmaker. “I remember now! You’re Vasiliy Gregorovich, the wandmaker, aren’t you? I remember seeing your picture in a textbook at school. I didn’t even know you were still alive!” Wolsey’s small grin vanished as Ginny cleared her throat once again. Like a chastised dog, the man raced out of the Chamber of Secrets the same way he had come.

Vasiliy laid a trembling hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “We must go, Hermione,” he said in a low, troubled voice. She almost waved him off in favour of pursuing Ginny’s mystery, but his hand squeezed tightly. “We must warn Severus.”

Ginny was watching them with her usual cold suspicion and a mixture of subtle apprehension. Hermione growled in frustration under her breath and seized Vasiliy’s hand. “Come on,” she ordered, pulling the balding man towards the door to the tunnel. Vasiliy followed willingly. Hesitating at the threshold, Hermione threw Ginny a warning glare and received a blank look in return.

As Hermione and Vasiliy ran out the tunnel and through the Forbidden Forest, Hermione was hyperaware of the tiny bulge of papers in her back pocket. A part of her mind burned with the desire to rifle through the pages and find exactly what she was looking for, but her higher conscience tamped it down with concern for Severus. She hoped he had not yet left Hagrid’s hut, but she knew Severus would not be there. The pair dashed around trees and over roots, crashing through hedges and kicking up clods of dirt and leaves. Behind her, Vasiliy was wheezing, but he did not stop until Hermione reached the doorknob of the hut.

As she expected, Severus was nowhere to be found. The bottles and phials stood peacefully on the table, still positioned at equidistance from each other in a rigid grid-like pattern. Vasiliy drew more than a few deep breaths before choking out, “What now?”

Hermione paused to think for a moment. She had concentrated so deeply on not falling on her face in the forest that she had not considered what they should do. “Severus has to know about this patrol. If he’s caught by Death Eaters, I cannot imagine what he will do. Or what they will do to him.” Vasiliy nodded gravely, but let her continue sounding out her plan. “We have to find him and get him out of the village. I can only assume he is at the apothecary, but there are at least two other shops in Hogsmeade which sell potions ingredients. And that’s assuming the shops haven’t closed since the last time I was in the village. Wait, what time is it?”

Vasiliy pulled an ornate pewter pocket watch in need of a careful polishing. He muttered to himself in Russian for a moment as he opened the lid and squinted at the clock face. “It is nearly four o’clock.” He glanced at her inquiringly. “Sunrise is soon. How far is the village from here?”

“Twenty, thirty minutes on foot, probably longer because it’s dark. We don’t dare Apparate.” She tapped her finger against her bottom lip. “Once we’re in the village, we should split up. We’ll be able to find Severus faster that way.” Vasiliy nodded firmly in agreement. Hermione extracted the parchment from her pocket and left it on the table next to a red crystal phial before hurrying out the door.

It was only due to her memories of Hogsmeade weekends that Hermione managed to lead Vasiliy along the edge of the Forbidden Forest and off the Hogwarts grounds. More thick clouds had moved in from the south, cutting off the meagre light of the moon and stars and leaving the earth utterly dark. Hermione wished for the sickly orange glow of Muggle street lamps to point their way, but between Voldemort and the ancient anti-Muggle wards around Hogsmeade, her wish was utterly in vain. Once they were further away from the castle, both Hermione and Vasiliy lit the tips of the wands to help them see more than a few feet in front of them. They hurried along in silence except for the odd occasion when Hermione would whisper to Vasiliy about a bend in their route or an obstacle in their way.

Sweat was cooling on the nape of her neck when she finally spotted the diffuse, weak pinpoints of light from Hogsmeade’s iron street lamps. She paused at the crest of the hill overlooking the village and snagged Vasiliy’s cloak. They hunkered down and put out the lights from their wands. With her free hand, Hermione pointed to a cluster of dark buildings closest to the bottom of the hill. “The apothecary’s shop is down there,” she whispered, and Vasiliy nodded.

“Where are the other shops?” he asked, his gaze fixed intently on the village.

“There.” She pointed to another cluster of buildings further down the main thoroughfare.

“I’ll take them. You go to the nearest shop. We’ll meet back at the hut at dawn whether or not we have Severus,” he said quickly before straightening and rushing down the hill. Hermione opened her mouth to shout at him in protest before snapping it shut. This was not a time to make any noise, or bring any attention upon them.

She watched Vasiliy sneak into the edge of the village, counted to fifty, then followed. The hill was not terribly steep, but she descended more slowly than Vasiliy had in fear of falling and snapping her ankle. The apothecary shop was a two-storied building with a high, peaked roof to prevent collapse in the winter months. She approached the closest window, cupped her hands around her eye and pressed it against the glass. All she could see was blackness; not even the detail of furniture was visible inside. With a small sigh, she turned to move to the side of the building when a muffled thump caught her attention. The window was still black, but instead Hermione pressed her ear against the cold glass.

“I cannot give that to you!” said a hoarse, insistent voice Hermione did not recognize.

“I need it, Sherwood, and you’re the only man I can ask.” Severus’ voice was low and intense.

“No, Severus, I absolutely cannot. My stores are inspected weekly. If they find something missing, they will torture my family until I tell them what they want to know.” The second man’s voice became higher pitched with anxious fear. “Besides, you haven’t even told me why you want these substances.”

“It’s better you don’t know,” replied Severus.

Hermione pressed her eye against the window once more in an attempt to see something within the shop; one of her fingernails scratched softly against the window pane, which rattled slightly in its frame. The voices she had been hearing continued. Sherwood was again speaking, only now with more nervous trembling in his voice. “My answer is final. The answer is no.”

“Very well, Sherwood. I understand. I wish you well.” Hermione heard footsteps and shuffling chairs within, and moved away from the window. If Severus was coming outside, she would not have to intrude. Rubbing the cold tip of her nose, she sighed and resigned to wait for his appearance. A creaky door opened behind her. As she glanced over to greet Severus, she heard a muttered word and promptly fell to the ground.

*

Tapping someone’s face to wake them was such a cliché, she thought groggily. “What? Stop it,” she slurred, weakly batting away the offending hands. Her cheeks throbbed, and she rubbed them with the flats of her palms.

“Hermione, are you all right?” Severus asked. He actually sounded contrite. Perhaps she was imagining it, but there was a little furrow between his brows that suggested otherwise. “Here, open your mouth.”

She did so obediently, and Severus popped a small leaf onto her tongue. “Now chew and swallow.”

“What is it?” The words came out garbled as the leaf impeded the motion of her tongue.

“Just chew and swallow, for Merlin’s sake.” Now he sounded irritated. She did so, glowering at him. To her surprise, the taste was sweet, and she swallowed without hesitation. The pain throbbing inside her skull was still there, but somehow it seemed more distant than it had before. Blinking, she realized she was staring at the ceiling of an unfamiliar building.

“Where are we? What happened?” As Hermione reconciled her headache with the tingling in her fingers, she pulled a face of utter annoyance. “Who Stunned me?”

Above her, Severus’ expression flickered from smooth to guilty and back to smooth. Had she not been gazing directly into his face, she would have missed the change altogether. “I did,” he confessed casually. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

“Don’t blame this on me, Severus,” she spat as she tried to push herself up. It took a few tries, but eventually she managed. The table underneath her had been scrubbed a rather unnatural bone-white. Quickly she surveyed the room; the floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with sealed opaque jars and mortars and pestles of varying sizes told her they were in the apothecary’s shop. “I was coming to get you.”

He squinted at her in confusion. “Why?”

Before she could reply, a tiny man with a huge moustache emerged from behind a shelf. “Fine, she’s awake, now go, Severus!” he cried, his green eyes wild with fear. “You have to go!”

“Not until I get what I came for, Sherwood.” Severus loomed over the diminutive, weedy man in his most threatening Professor Snape pose. Hermione could almost see Neville Longbottom cowering in Sherwood’s place.

“I have already said no, Severus, and that is final.” The man’s firm stance was belied by his shaking hands.

“Very well, Sherwood. I am sorry to have to do this. Petrificus Totalus.” Hermione did not even seen Severus pull out his wand, he moved so quickly. His stint as Gilderoy Lockhart’s duelling assistant had certainly not given him justice. The apothecary stiffened in place, but did not fall over. Swiftly, Severus moved to the nearest shelf and plucked a jar from the row of containers. With his wand, he broke the wax seal, pulled out the cork and tapped a handful of the ingredient onto the table. Then he threw the jar to the floor with a heart-stopping crash.

“Severus, what--” Her question was cut off with the deafening sound of an entire shelf of jars shattering against the hardwood floor. Involuntarily, Hermione flinched. Severus turned to her with an eerie smile of enjoyment.

“How satisfying,” he said with a tiny, wicked chuckle.

Hermione made a frustrated noise in her throat. “We don’t have time for this. I came to get you out of the village. What time is it? How long was I out?”

Severus walked around the statue of Sherwood the apothecary and pointed to a small three-handed clock next to half a dozen hourglasses. “It’s nearly six in the morning.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Come on, Severus, we have to get out of here.” Hermione leapt off the edge of the table, staunchly ignoring the pain in her head and limbs.

As he stuffed the loose mystery ingredient into the pocket of his robe, he shot her an exasperated look. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“A patrol of Death Eaters is about to carry out a surprise search of Hogsmeade. We have to get the hell out of here,” she reiterated fiercely.

“Is Vasiliy with you?”

“We split up to find you faster. He’s over at the other potions shops, down the street. We agreed to meet back at Hagrid’s at dawn whether or not we found you.”

“I can’t risk letting him be caught. He does not know Hogsmeade like we do.” He nodded for her to move to the door at the back of the room. As she complied, she watched out of the corner of her eye as Severus reanimated poor Sherwood.

“I’m terribly sorry about this, but you would thank me later if you could. Obliviate.” The apothecary promptly fell over, blinking wildly. Severus moved out of his field of vision and followed Hermione out the door silently.

The sky was slowly brightening in the east. The clouds were low and thick, promising rain later in the day. Severus strode towards the next potions store, keeping to the narrow, still-dark alleys behind and between the various buildings. Hermione kept close to him, trying to watch every direction at once for signs or sounds of Death Eater patrols. Severus led her down a passage which led to the main street of Hogsmeade. He bent down to speak into her ear. “Peugeot’s Potions is across the street. We’ll have to make a dash for it.”

Before he could straighten and break into a run, the sound of many feet marching in step and approaching rapidly reached their ears. “Fuck,” Severus breathed. He whirled, placing his hands on her shoulders, and pushing her back against the closest wall. “Just follow my lead.”

The footsteps grew closer, and Severus bent his head and leaned into the nape of her neck. She could feel his warm breath on her skin. His hands skimmed over her body, not really touching her but brushing against her clothes here and there. “I said to follow my lead, Hermione,” he whispered urgently. “Be convincing.”

She could hear muted voices now, conspiratorial and insistent. Coming closer with every fluttering heartbeat. Between the blood rushing in her ears and Severus inhaling and exhaling along the column of her neck, the voices dimmed for a moment; out of the corner of her eye she saw hints of Death Eater uniforms--a boot, a cuff with blood-red braid, a glint off of a silver skull pin--and reflexively clutched Severus’ robes. Beneath the fabric she could feel his ribs, and as she moved her hands towards his back, her fingers met a long column of vertebrae. He shivered in her arms at her touch, and had she not been so frightened for her life, she would have wondered if Severus Snape was ticklish.

At the mouth of the alley, the voices of the Death Eaters suddenly echoed in subdued tones. “Ah, bloody lovebirds,” one man muttered with a mixture of jealousy and amusement.

“Shall we haul them in?” At this, Severus skimmed his lips against her cheek, and Hermione pulled him closer into her personal space with two hands on the hollow of his back.

The first man spoke again. “Oh, I don’t know. Seems an awful shame to break them up.”

She moved her head a little, just to get a glimpse of the men at the mouth of the alley, but Severus intercepted. His mouth was so close to her earlobe that she felt his teeth graze her flesh. “Don’t look, for the love of Merlin.” She tightened her grip, and Severus’ fingers gently squeezed the back of her neck.

“Ah, bugger,” one of the voices said, and the other chuckled. A scuffling of boots heralded their abrupt, amused departure. Hermione tried to twist out of Severus’ grip, but he held her tightly. She heard him counting under his breath. Once he reached fifty, he detangled himself from her and led her slowly to the mouth of the alley by the hand.

Carefully, Severus inched the right side of his face around the corner of the building. He effectively blocked Hermione from peeping out as well, so she wrested her hand from his in protest. When he pulled back to glare at her childishness, Hermione darted into the tiny space between Severus’ body and the wall. In the street, about a dozen Death Eaters were walking in a loose knot, looking in all directions at once. Like a flock of sparrows alighting, one darted ahead with his wand drawn, and the others followed instantly. Their voices reached Hermione’s ears too slowly.

“You there! Stop immediately!”

“Halt in the name of the Dark Lord!”

“Stupefy!”

And then, the quiet voice behind her cursed. “Vasiliy.”


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Author’s Notes:
1) A big thank you to all my reviewers and readers!
2) Apologies for repeating myself, but here’s a shameless plug. “The Man Who Sold the World” has been nominated for Round Five of the Multifaceted Awards in the “Rapture: Best Het Fic PG-13 and under” category. We will find out the winners soon!
3) There you all go, a hint of sexual tension and a cliffhanger. I hope it was good for you.