Moody sent word that Severus would be at Spinner's End late in the afternoon on Friday. Hermione got ready and hoped it would be an easier conversation than the one she'd had with Minerva.
She and Severus had struck up a friendship of sorts during the war. It had been started by Hermione when she appeared at his door following Dumbledore's death, asking him to train her in potion making. Over the years, as Hermione's relationships with other Order members had grown fraught, they came to enjoy the mutual bitterness of each other's company.
Not that they were close.
Neither of them had time to be friends with anyone.
They simply signaled their respect for each other with small gestures. Severus by not viciously insulting Hermione during Order meetings the way he insulted everyone else, and Hermione by shutting down the ongoing suspicions of Harry and others about whether Severus was truly on the Order's side since they weren't winning.
When Hermione arrived at Severus' home, she found the door left ajar for her, and Severus brewing in the kitchen. The steamy room was a sensory assault. Potion making had given Hermione the habit of compulsively identifying scents. The air was thick with the combined aromas of stewed herbs and tinctures. Sharp and sweet yarrow, the mustiness of dried dandelion flowers, the mineral bitterness of ground roots, and burn and grittiness of ashwinder eggshells she could almost taste in the air. The tang of Magic was effused through the scents, clinging to her skin and hair.
"Something new?" she inquired after watching him huddle over the cauldron for several minutes.
"Clearly," he replied in a snide tone as he added a drop of Acromantula venom.
The potion burped a cloud of sour yellow vapour, and Severus stepped back to avoid it with a faint hiss of irritation.
Hermione glanced at the ingredients laid out.
"Is there a new curse?"
"Indeed. Dolohov has outdone himself this time. Effortless to cast and highly effective. Countering it is simple but the damage is immediate. They'll start using it in the field soon."
"What type?"
"Contagious acid boils."
Hermione pressed her lips together, and drew a sharp breath. She'd have a lot of research to do in preparation. Acid spells had rarely appeared during battles in the past, but the effects of them were often devastating and difficult to heal.
Severus added four drops of moondew, and then turned to stare at her.
"You have twenty minutes," he said, sweeping ahead of her into the sitting room. She dawdled a moment longer to study the slowly simmering potion before turning to follow him.
"I hear you're sacrificing yourself for the cause," he drawled from an armchair before she'd seated herself.
"Moody said you thought it was a legitimate offer," she said evenly.
"True," he said.
He didn't offer tea.
"Why?" she asked. There was no point in being coy. She wanted straight answers. After so many years of war, she had found Severus answered short direct questions better than any other.
"Draco Malfoy does not serve anyone," he answered.
Hermione waited.
"Of course, technically he serves the Dark Lord," he said, making a dismissive gesture with his hand, "But that is out of necessity, not loyalty. His motivation is personal in nature. Whatever that motive is, he has decided that the Order can enable him to achieve it better than the Dark Lord can."
