The call from the Minister came in just as Hermione Grainger finished a long parchment updating the uses of mobile phones. There was considerable interest among many in the wizard world in the small devices muggles used to communicate with each other.
Hermione had just finished writing up new descriptions including the definitions of words such as app, selfie and eating data. She rolled the parchment and was about to flu herself out of her office when the fire blazed and the Minister for Muggle Affairs appeared in the flames. Or at least his head did.
"Good evening Hermione. I'm glad I caught you. I am sorry to bother you at this late hour but we have just received reports of a curious incident in Chelmsford. Seems a woman was standing at her clothes line when she accidentally stepped on a stray clothes peg and found herself whisked as if by magic to the centre of Stonehenge. Coincidentally at the very time the Pixies music festival was about to start," Arthur Weasley said.
"Good evening, Arthur. Let me guess, Cotton Whitmore?" she smiled as she thought of the elderly witch renowned for her love of music festivals. "The very one. We've warned her about placing port keys before but when she's hurrying to catch the latest big thing in wizarding rock, she spares no thought for anything else. When The Sparkles played last summer four muggles were swept off to an island in the Hebrides and we had some job getting them home again. Two complained of nervousness around teapots for days afterwards," Arthur shook his head and Hermione grinned. She remembered that incident. Cotton was banned from muggle tea shops for six months afterwards.
"Anyway, the latest poor dear is back and is right now with a team from the ministry who will adjust her memory. Still, we need to organise a canvas of the neighbourhood, make certain that no one else saw anything suspicious or that Cotton hasn't left a few more magical implements lying casually in anyone's back yard. I hate to impose so late, Hermione but do you think you could run a quick once over of the area?" Arthur asked, looking apologetically at his deputy. Arthur's pale blue eyes peered hopefully at her and seemed to blaze more brightly in contrast to his thinning red hair, which along with the rosy apple blush on his cheeks made him almost blend into the fiery colours that surrounded his familiar face.
Hermione was already nodding her assent. "No problem, Arthur. I'll detour there now. Do you have the exact address?" she asked. Hermione accepted the details and her boss' thanks before he took his leave and she made ready to apparate to the location he gave her. In truth Hermione did not mind the delay. It was not as if she had any plans for the evening. For this evening or any other in the week, she thought with a curl of her lip. Unless you counted tucking up with the latest article on fat sprat ear worms that Luna sent her. She had received it this morning and it was in her brief case. Luna Lovegood relished her position as editor of The Quibbler and regularly sent Hermione editorials she thought would especially interest her.
As absorbing as ear worms undoubtedly were, Hermione welcomed the distraction from another evening at home, alone. She wasn't lonely, not really. She had her friends, she had her work, she had her books but sometimes, she missed Seamus. Their relationship had not lasted very long but it had been fun. At least mostly. It was nice to have someone to share with and Seamus had been good company. He had a deadly sharp wit and their common interests in books and history had formed the basis of their attraction.
Unfortunately, though he was comfortable to be with, Hermione couldn't deny a certain restlessness within herself. She couldn't understand it but Seamus sensed it and though he was kind about it, he had broken off the relationship. It was very amicable and they parted friends and looking back Hermione realised that it was that very lack of fervour that had unsettled her in the first place. Their break up, like their relationship was polite and thoughtful but bland.
"That's the trouble with you, Hermione, you are too exacting. What are you looking for anyway? Sparks? Keep it up and you'll end up like old Cotton. Nothing better to do than jinxing anything in sight just for a bit of excitement out of life," she said to herself as she picked up her briefcase and threw on her cloak.
In the blink of an eye her office was empty and only the echo of the shot like crack that had sounded as she apparated to a quiet, darkened suburb where though she did not know it, the unthinkable waited.
The semi detached dwelling was identical to every other in the quiet and leafy row. Neat lawns, shining cars in the drive, curtained windows lit from within.
The tortoiseshell cat perched regally on the wall beside the front drive looked completely in keeping with the rest of the image, no one would have looked at it long enough to notice the black rings about its eyes, mirroring the look of a pair of spectacles. This was the sort of neighbourhood where a cat wearing spectacles was too far fetched to be even contemplated.
The idea of a dark figure standing motionless in the shadows of the interior of the house was not to be contemplated either by any of the residents of this leafy suburb. The very idea would have struck fear into the hearts of every resident on the street, had they but known. This was a man whose past was as murky as the shadows he inhabited. A man whose intent was as irascible as steel. Whose heart could be just as cold when he chose for it to be.
The girl on her way to this house had no idea of what he intended for her and that was as it should be. He had decided his course and her fate, had she but known it was sealed. Few in the sleepy suburban estate would have encountered someone like him in their very midst before. He was familiar with both sides of the fine line standing between life and death and his countenance would have instilled terror into the heart of anyone who caught sight of him.
But none had. He had arrived here unseen, gained access to this house easily and without rousing the slightest suspicion. He would be gone before anyone even knew he had been. But he would do what he had come here to do. And for one young woman, it would be the end of things as she had always known them.
To the casual observer, it would have looked as though the young woman had walked out of the dusky shadows between street lights. Another city worker that had disembarked from the bus at the end of the street, making their way home to a late supper, maybe a quiet night in with her boyfriend.
Hermione walked smartly to the darkened house and made her way towards the front door. She was a little bit tired and anxious to complete this last minute assignment, expecting it to be the work of seconds. Arthur had told her where to find a key of the front door and as expected, she found it nestled under a flower pot by the front step.
As she let herself in, Hermione cast a quick glance over her shoulder but the other residents were already tucked in for the evening in their cosy homes. Buttery rectangles of light glowed softly from behind closed curtains and Hermione envisioned couples snuggled together on couches in front of the tv or children gathered around a kitchen table soldiering through homework. The images made her feel somewhat wearier and she gave herself a mental shake and stepped forward into the house forcing her mind to return to the job at hand. Find anything that may have been enchanted by the music mad Cotton and then she would be homeward at last.
The hand that clamped around her mouth prevented the scream from leaving her mouth and she felt herself dragged inwards while the door closed behind her, shutting out the glimpses of neighbouring houses.
Hermione's heart pounded but when she would have reached for her wand, she found that an arm had reached to pin her arms by her sides, as though held by a band of steel. She struggled with every ounce of strength she had but it was futile, she may as well have been hit by a binding charm.
The house was in darkness and in the gloom all she could see were shadowy shapes of furniture as she felt herself being dragged backwards.
"I am going to let you go in a second but if you make a sound, I will stupefy you. Do you hear me, Miss Grainger?" the sinister whisper reached her ears, the voice was calm and controlled and incongruous though it was, Hermione recognised it. It would have been impossible not to but she wasn't sure if her frightened mind was playing some kind of bizarre trick on her.
If anything, the familiar rasp had instilled more terror in her than she had already felt. What was going on and why was someone pretending to be a man whose legend stood tall in the wizarding world? She could not answer these questions but she knew one thing. They meant she was in a lot of trouble.
She struggled more fiercely and was rewarded only with a rough tug backwards and she found herself pinioned against the hard body of her attacker, breath almost driven from her lungs. "Stop fighting me and listen, you silly girl," the imposter instructed and something in the imperious tone reached her and she stilled. Not that she had much choice, she was no match for his strength. She was being held too tightly to break away and stupidly, she had left her wand in her sleeve, as unreachable as though she had left it in her office.
"I am not going to hurt you. I will let you go but you must calm down first. Just take it easy and you will be fine," the voice insisted. The sound made Hermione's stomach twist. How she wished that the true owner of that voice was here now. She had not seen him in many years but Severus Snape was a fearsome opponent and this sinister being would have stood no chance against him.
He held her for several seconds longer but it was enough for Hermione to drive back the panic that had assailed her initially. Her rational mind began to function even as the strands of raw dread receded to a dull fear. She had to regain control. Play along, she told herself. That was the first thing.
She nodded against the hand that was pressed against her mouth, signalling her acquiescence. Almost instantly she felt his grip loosen and she tore from him, swinging around to confront whatever monster had been lurking with the intention of waylaying her.
It was dark inside the house, the shaded interior making it difficult to make out much of anything, other than the vague outline of the a nearby couch and the veiled window. The man was a silhouette against the window, the faint light from the moon and streetlights outside casting him into darker relief.
One thing the gloom could not disguise was that he had his wand pointed at her and before she could process another thought he pointed it at her. "Expelliarmus," his voice was like the crack of a whip.
Her wand flew from her before even as she reached to extract it from its hiding place in her sleeve. Hermione felt the pulse of fear escalate and fought to bring it under control. She had to keep a clear head, her life may very well depend upon it.
The hateful figure of her attacker moved forward and even as she took a retreating step away from him, her eyes were adjusting to the dark and she could see his face. Her eyes were already wide in her fright but they rounded further as recognition dawned but comprehension failed her. For the first time in her life, Hermione Grainger lacked the capacity to mentally process what she was seeing.
He raised his wand yet again and Hermione stared, transfixed and unable to find a single word as he pointed it. "Muffliato," he cried but she barely heard the silencing spell he cast because the world was falling away and darkness was claiming her, inky fingers pulling her away from the scene before her eyes, from a threat too awful to believe.
Snape saw her fall and moved with lightening speed to catch her, taking her up once more in his arms. She felt light, no burden at all for him. He looked down upon her, unsettled to see the form of a young woman in his arms. As he remembered her, she was a child, a student, whose only distinguishing feature was her blazing intellect. In his arms was a woman, her honey coloured hair spilling over his arm. He felt her soft curves press against him, became aware of the citrus scent of her perfume. She looked achingly familiar to him, yet different.
What was he doing? Terrifying a young woman into unconsciousness? And what has she been thinking of, anyway, setting foot into unknown territory without her wand? Lucky to be still alive, that's what she was.
He set her unmoving form on the couch. He aimed his wand at the muggle light form attached to the ceiling above their heads and immediately the room filled with cheery light. He looked down at the prone woman before him. He had not seen her for some years now. In his mind he saw her as the gangly teen he had last encountered, a girl who stood at the cusp of womanhood, poised like a butterfly before first flight.
He saw now that she was no longer the awkward child to whom he owed his life. She was a young woman and even in a dead faint, she was not without beauty, dark lashes resting against prominent cheekbones, rosebud lips that were slightly parted and the hair that had once cascaded around her face in unruly curls was now a chestnut cloud that lay fanned against the cushion beneath her.
He took a moment to stare. The last time he had seen this girl she had been frantic, her butterscotch eyes boring into his, pleading with him to fight, to resist the poison that was coursing through him. He remembered yet that even as he felt death's grip drain the warmth from him, her hands had pressed against his skin, staunching the flow of his life blood as it drained from him. Her lips had said that incantation that had ultimately saved his life. The last thing he remembered seeing before waking up in the hospital was her eyes, tear filled and holding him to this earth with the most tenuous of holds.
Once again he found himself staring into their chocolate depths as her eyelids fluttered open and this time, he saw fear and confusion at war. Hermione returned to consciousness to meet the dark gaze of a man she had thought a hero. There was no spark of empathy in the black depths as they regarded her as they might an insect on the dissecting table. By sheer force of instinct she struggled to sit up, to get away but his hands were already reaching for her, taking her shoulders, pressing her back against the cushions of the couch she was lying on.
"Easy now, Miss Grainger. Just stay still," he said and she shrank back against the over stuffed couch. "What is going on? Who are you?" she demanded even though as she looked into his face her eyes told her she knew the answer. The trouble was, her brain would not accept it. Why would Professor Snape, Hogwarts Headmaster and war hero of great renown be here now, accosting her? It made no sense and everything in Hermione's world made sense these days.
"Unless you have amnesia, I think you know very well who I am. You fainted, that is what is going on. There is much you need to know but I'm afraid I don't have the time to explain it just at this moment. But I can tell you this, Miss Grainger. You are in danger and that is why…"
She struggled into a sitting position on the couch. He sounded rational and very much like his old self, the old self she remembered. The Potions Master, eloquent but economical with his words. Detached from every scenario as though standing behind invisible glass.
"Danger? I have just been manhandled by you! You scare me half to death and now you are issuing threats. Professor Snape, I don't know if this is your idea of a fun reunion with past pupils but it is not amusing, I promise you," she said, hoping her tone betrayed none of the residual fear that still sizzled through her.
"There is nothing amusing about any of this! Now for the last time, you need to listen!" he growled at her, his eyes blazing at her but Hermione was shaking her head.
"What would happen if I stood up and walked out of here right now?" she asked, looking at him as though expecting him to turn into a fire breathing dragon at any second. "Right now? You would fall flat on your face. You are whiter than a ghost, Miss Grainger," he sneered. "If I hadn't fainted, I mean. Would you let me leave?" she asked and he curled his lip. So she hadn't changed so much after all. Always with the perceptive questions.
"No."
His answer did not surprise her and though she was feeling more bewildered by the second, anger was slowly replacing the blind terror that she had felt earlier.
"Arthur Weasley sent me here, Professor. He knows where I am. If anything were to happen to me, he would raise the alarm. I am his Secretary now, in case you are not aware of it. Which means you are assailing a Ministry official. That is not a wise course of action for you, no matter how high your standing since… since the war," she said in her best autocratic tone.
"Always the insufferable know it all, Miss Grainger. I bow to your superior judgement. This is not a good idea, not a good idea at all. But the choice is not mine to make. Or yours. So be a good girl and do as I say and this will be over all the quicker," he sneered.
Hermione's mind was racing. He had clearly gone mad. Perhaps he was under some sort of behaviour altering spell, maybe one of his own potions had backfired on him. Whatever the reason, Severus Snape had gone off the deep end and she knew only that she had to get out of here. She would tell Arthur and Snape would get the help he so obviously needed.
"Okay then, Professor. Why don't you give me back my wand and then you can tell me what this is all about and we will fix it," she tried a different tack but his lips were upturned in a sardonic smirk before she finished her sentence.
"On your feet Miss Grainger. It is time to go," he said, as though she had not spoken. He had been perched beside her on the couch where she lay but as he rose to his feet, she was glad to comply, at least about standing up. She could better regain control now that she was upright and her head cleared of panic. Not that she had any intention of going anywhere with him, not when he had clearly lost his marbles.
She took an appraising look at him. Professor Snape, the most feared teacher at Hogwarts, one of the most celebrated heroes the war against Voldemort had produced, the man whose life had almost slipped away before her very eyes the last time they had met.
Still tall and thin, his angular features were hawk like, patrician nose, jutting chin giving his face an arrogant set that the dispassionate gaze of his black eyes did little to dissipate. There were wisps of grey beginning to shade the hair at his temples and always grim of expression, the lines around his eyes had deepened, making him appear more austere than ever.
His robes were immaculate, pressed sharp and he stood now with an almost eerie stillness, another trait that she remembered. His poise had always given him a weight of authority that few ever dared question. Perfectly composed as always, Professor Snape did not appear as she imagined a mad man would. In fact he looked like the distinguished and elegant academic he had fashioned himself into since the war.
"Go where, Professor? I told you, I am here on Ministry duty. I.. I am sure that it would be lovely to catch up and all that but this is hardly the time or the best way to go about it," she replied haughtily.
"Miss Grainger, time is running out. I am aware why you are here. Arthur picked the time and place. Now we do not have time for lengthy explanations. It will be easier by far if you co-operate. But believe me, one way or the other we must leave. Now!" he snapped but she inched away from him. He was not making sense and it appeared talking rationally to him was a waste of time.
"What do you mean Arthur picked the time and place? Professor, before you so something you will regret, give me back my wand and we will forget this happened. No one has to know…" she began but she saw his lips tighten impatiently. It was an expression she remembered well. It was the one that had reduced many a student to a trembling heap before him.
He moved rapidly and closed the distance between them in a single stride to take hold of her arm, making her heart fly to her throat, strangling the words before she could form them. "Enough, Miss Grainger. Not another word. I have tried asking you nicely. If you do not have the ability to listen, then from here, we do it my way," he growled, towering over her with a menace that made her mouth go suddenly dry. His black eyes glinted at her with a resolve that she knew she could never hope to overcome.
They were the last thing she saw before she felt herself being jerked away, her feet leaving the carpeted floor of the neat suburban home and the world blurring before her as he apparated with her, taking Hermione clean from her own safe world and unceremoniously into his.
Within a heartbeat, Hermione found herself back on solid ground and just as quickly he let go of her. Without pausing to take stock of where they were, Hermione rose stormy eyes to his. "What do you think you are doing? Kidnapping, Professor? Are you that eager for a trip to Azkaban? Because you are going to earn a one way ticket if you don't start thinking straight! I have to get back. I am leaving, now and if you know what is good for you, do not try to stand in my way or the Minister for Magic will hear of it," she said forcefully. She was beginning to feel truly frightened now. Snape had broken the law and who knew what ridiculous notions he was entertaining.
"Miss Grainger, allow me to save you some trouble. The Minister for Magic is aware that you are, as of this evening on a sabbatical from work. It was a sudden emergency and though the details are not yet clear, it seems you have had a family emergency and are unavailable for the foreseeable future. Arthur Weasley has passed on the news and will be replacing you in his department temporarily and with immediate effect. Your flat has been cleared of your belongings and is, even as we speak being sub let by a perfectly respectable young man who is in the UK for a number of weeks, an ecology student from Germany whose speciality is the Dauberon bat. He keeps unsociable hours and is practically invisible," Snape listed out a story that could not be true. For one second, Hermione thought she might faint again. Apparently Snape thought so too because he took half a step towards her but Hermione held her hands up, palm outwards as though to guard against him.
"My job. My flat. You have taken all of it away? Why, Professor? What do you want from me?" she asked, feeling desperately helpless. It was a feeling that she was not accustomed to and did not care for.
He saw the colour leave her face and he saw the first glimmer of tears in her eyes. Snape clenched his jaw. This is what comes of being too stubborn to bloody well listen, he thought to himself. Hermione Grainger had not changed one iota since she had sat before him in her Hogwarts robes, still single minded to the point of aggravation.
"If you would do yourself a favour and listen to what I am saying, you hard headed brat, you would save yourself a lot of grief. You are not going to be harmed. This is a passing inconvenience and I will answer as many of your questions as I can but you must calm down and stop acting as though I am about to cut your throat!" he ran his fingers through his hair, still longer than was fashionable and silkily black.
A pulsing silence followed as he fought to control his temper and she struggled to bring her fear back to manageable levels. There was only the sound of their breathing and Hermione cast her eyes down, ashamed at the indignity of finding herself on the edge of tears. She could not cry in front of this heartless beast.
"Tea is served, Sir," a tremulous voice announced as though someone was speaking from a great distance away. Hermione's head shot up at the sound and she looked about for the source. At first she thought she had imagined the voice but then she looked down and saw the aged form of a house elf, his back hunched over, his head devoid of hair except for a few feathery grey strands. Wrinkled skin looking papery thin covered a tiny frame that seemed impossibly frail. Yet when his cobalt eyes met hers, Hermione saw the flinty strength still as she recalled it.
"Kreacher?" she gasped, a spark of real delight igniting at the sight of the aged creature. She looked at him as though gazing upon a long lost friend.
"Tea is ready. When Master wants," the elf said again, turning away without the slightest indication that he had saw or heard Hermione. "The mud blood speaks my name. This is what I am reduced to," the elderly elf whispered in a bitter undertone, deliberately intended to carry and in other circumstances, Hermione would have smiled. Frail and old beyond counting, the magical creature had not changed at all. She and her friends owed him an enormous debt. Without him, none of them would be alive.
"Remember Kreacher, I always have more clothing than I know what to do with. See to it that you don't make my mind up for me," Snape said in a satin tone that little betrayed the threat his words carried. The gift of clothes was the signal of freedom for house elves, the final and awful symbol of dismissal from a family they had built their lives around.
Hermione looked at him as though he had spat in her soup. He saw the accusation in her eyes. "Why do you speak to him like that?" she demanded as though the elf's insult to her had been but an eccentric but well intentioned greeting. Snape snorted. "I see you have changed very little, Miss Grainger. I wish that was a reassuring concept."
She began to take stock of her surroundings. They were standing in a tiled hallway, muted light flickering from a chandalier overhead. A stairs rose behind her, old wood, darkened with age. A door opened to her left, leading into a lighted room. They were in a house and it appeared large and venerable. His house?
"Where are we?" she asked. "Snape Manor. Welcome to my home, Miss Grainger," he replied smoothly, as though greeting a guest and this was all completely normal. Hermione shook her head as though trying to rouse herself from a bad dream.
"There has been a huge mistake. Just let me go and we can sort it out. Or I could just fire call Arthur and we can… ," she began, keeping her tone calm and reasonable. She was starting to feel truly afraid but knew that cold reason may just reach him.
When he advanced towards her, his eyes flat and hard, his mouth set in a firm line, she caught herself before she gave in to the instinctive desire to step back. She would not show him her fear. She straightened her back and glared at him but quailed under the artic gaze he raked over her.
Inches from her he stopped and lowered his head as if he were about to whisper a confidence. Hermione saw the angular features, so familiar to her, yet somehow different. He was the austere teacher she remembered, yet she also remembered the man who had put his own life on the line to save others, whose blood had oozed through her fingers, even as she had prayed for his life force to stay strong.
He was older now and though he would never be described handsome, she was a little surprised to notice that there was a compelling quality in his face. The wings of grey at his temples, the crows feet at his eyes gave him a depth that would have made him an attractive man if he wasn't looking very much as though he was about to squeeze the life out of her.
She had never noticed before that he had almost perfect bone structure, pronounced cheek bones and a square jaw that gave him classical features, framed by the dark hair that tumbled in a satin sheen to his shoulders.
It was through gritted teeth that he spoke. "If there comes a moment when you stop this infernal chattering I will explain why you are here, Miss Grainger. Know that you are in danger and it is imperative that you co-operate with a few simple measures that are purely for your own good," he snarled.
His stern face was inches from hers, so much so, she could feel his breath on her skin, she could smell the musky scent of him. He smelled faintly of old parchment and dried spices. Hermione realised that this was the second time he had spoken of danger. She frowned as her unease spiked all the more. What was he intending to do to her?
He read the thought in the alarmed eyes that locked on his. He sighed deeply and fought the urge to take hold of her and shake her until her bones rattled. It occurred to him that this was unlikely to reassure her that he was not the threat and so he folded his arms over his chest and gave her a flinty stare.
"Please," was all she managed to say. He closed his eyes, hoping to block the pleading he saw in the look she was giving him. In response, a rare feeling came to him. She looked young and painfully vulnerable. He suddenly wanted to see the laughing girl that shimmered along the aged corridors of Hogwarts. Before the war, before darkness came. He wanted to see what the bright spark of the promise she had shown had flared into. By all accounts she was stunningly capable. She had entered the ministry as a lowly clerk but her ascent to the position of secretary was swift and sure. It was an open secret that within a year or so, she would have her choice of a ministerial post of her own. Her reputation went far and wide in the wizarding world. Gifted was the word most often used in connection with her name.
He had always wondered about her in the years after. He had kept an eye on her progress. Always from afar. He owed his life to her. There was something about the intimacy of that fact that made him uncomfortable. Made it impossible for him to seek her out. He was happy to know that she was living her life, living it well, happy and successful.
And now he had ripped her from it and she was standing before him begging for it back.
He opened his eye and stared with hard won equanimity at his unwilling visitor.
"Miss Grainger. Will you join me for some tea? Kreacher has prepared a light supper. We have much to discuss. No reason to do so on empty stomachs ," he stood to one side and with a sweep of his hand, he indicated that she should preceed him into a room off the hallway, the dining room, she supposed.
He was inviting her to tea? Sounding as if this was a perfectly routine social call. An old friend dropping in unexpectedly. She was a guest and he was being the polite host. Hermione felt a bizarre laugh rise in her throat. Or maybe it was a scream. Either way, she suppressed it. "You have lost your mind," she gasped, realising too late the folly of antagonising someone whose faculties were in an already perilous condition.
"It is starting to feel very much like it," he concurred with a heart felt sigh. Then he appeared to regain the self control he guarded zealously.
"Come, sit down, eat. I have not poisoned the food, I promise you. I will answer any question you have. But I cannot let you leave. I am no more enamoured of the idea than you are, I assure you but for the moment, you are my house guest. In the absence of a choice for either of us, I suggest we are civilised about it," he said in a voice that was as close to coaxing as he was ever likely to get.
Hermione looked at him and made her mind up. She was stuck, at least for now. Until she devised a way to get in touch with Arthur or Harry or Ron, she would play along with Snape. Maybe if she appeared docile enough, he would return her wand. Certainly direct confrontation was not having much success. Her only hope of escape was to keep her wits and above all, to avoid invoking his ire. She was in danger, he had said and she truly knew him to be a very dangerous man. This as no time to fall apart.
A fire burned in the iron grate in the dining room where a large mahogany table gleamed with silverware freshly laid by the aged house elf.
Hermione sat at the seat he indicated for her. "Have you eaten this evening?" he asked and she shook her head. The situation was slipping from the treacherous to the ridiculous and for several seconds, Hermione wondered if this was a prank that someone was playing on her. Perhaps Ron or Ginny. Or maybe someone at the Ministry thought getting a good rise out of her would be a laugh.
He spooned steaming soup from a silver tureen on the table into a china bowl and set it before her. "Asparagus. It is Kreacher's speciality. I fact, I have a suspicion it is the only soup he can make, for it is the only one I have ever known him to serve," Snape said.
He set a second bowl in front of his own place setting and took his seat. He helped himself to one of the bread rolls heaped on a platter before them.
"I'm sure it will be lovely," Hermione said. She wondered what etiquette was expected of kidnapped people and again, a hysterical laugh threatened. She cut it off by swallowing a mouthful of soup, which in fact was quite delicious.
"Professor, what is going on? Why am I here?" she asked. He took a mouthful of his own soup, swallowed and set the spoon down before replying.
"Miss Grainger, you are in possession of a magical object given to you many years ago by Professor McGonagall while you were still a student at Hogwarts, is that correct?" he asked. Hermione nodded, uncertain where this was going. "The time turner? Yes, it was given to me, but.. " she began but he rose a shapely hand for her to be silent.
"Do not say any more of it. The fact that you are believed to have possession of it has put you in grave danger. The Order has come into solid information that this object is being sought and should it fall into the wrong hands, the consequences would be too devastating to contemplate," he said.
"Sought by whom? And for what purpose?" she asked, perplexed. "Someone you know quite well, Miss Grainger. Lucius Malfoy. He has just recently learned of its existence. He has made a mission of finding it. His aim is to use it to turn back time. To save the Dark Lord and restore him," Snape said and Hermione's head spun.
The spoon in her hand sagged limply and the soup dribbled back into the forgotten bowl.
Her appetite gone, Hermione set worried eyes on his. "Why? Surely Malfoy has much reason as any of the rest of us to be glad that Vol… that the war is over," she said, a cold dread worming through her as though her very blood had been chilled.
"His fortune is gone. He is on the fringe of our society. My sources indicate that the manor is but a hollow husk now. My guess is that Malfoy has somehow convinced himself that bringing back the Dark Lord, choosing the right moment in the past will see him reclaim his own position as it once was. What we do not know is just how many others Malfoy had won over to his side with this mad scheme. What we know for certain is that he is aware that you are the last known holder of the time turner and that he is already moving to claim it. You are no longer safe, Miss Grainger."
Hermione heard the words and the cold feeling intensified. Her very self felt numbed.
"What do I do, Professor? How do I stop him?" she asked and Snape looked into her frightened eyes and found a spark of respect stir for the instinctive courage she was showing. "You simply have to disappear. He can have no inkling where you have gone to. That is why you are here. Malfoy will be certainly keeping an eye on your place of work, your home, your friends, the places you are known to frequent," he said.
"But why wasn't I told about this? If the Order knows, then why have I been kept in the dark all of this time?" Hermione felt the welcome heat of anger stir, dissipating the clammy fear that had been coursing through her.
"I have told you, Malfoy is watching, Miss Grainger. The slightest clue that you knew of it and he would act. We cannot take a risk like that. So Arthur came up with tonight's ruse. I am sorry that you have been discomfited but you must see that we had good reason…?" he began but Hermione was getting to her feet and shaking her head.
"Discomfited? Discomfited? You assaulted me, Terrorised me. Kidnapped me. You are, I do believe holding me against my will. And all of this, all of it has been conspired by people I thought to be my friends. Arthur set me up to be kidnapped? Did it occur to any of you to come to me and tell me about any of this? If I am the one in so much danger, why am I the last to know about it?"
She was aware that her voice has risen to a near scream as she finished speaking but she didn't care. She had been lied to and bundled about like a sack of potatoes and most offensive of all, treated like child.
"Miss Grainger, I appreciate you have had a shock. But believe me, hysterics will not do you any good at this point," Snape said with barely concealed impatience.
To her mortification, tears once again burned hotly behind her eyes. "So what will, Professor? The loss of my job? Of my home? How dare you? How dare all of you railroad me like this!" she yelled.
Snape was also on his feet now. And a fire was smouldering in his own eyes. "Get a hold on yourself. You are acting like a spoiled child. Do you realise the care that the Ministry and the Order have dedicated to keeping you out of harm's way? If you suppose that I am relishing having you foisted on me, then you are much mistaken. There is no other choice. Believe me," he snarled at her.
Hermione's face flushed at the insult.
"There is always another choice, Professor," Hermione whispered. "Everything I have worked for is gone in an instant and I never even saw it coming," she sobbed. He stepped around the table and stood before her, maintaining a measured distance between them. To his amazement, he felt an impulse to draw her to him, to comfort the distress he saw in her. He scowled at the unfamiliar thought.
"Miss Grainger, this is a temporary situation. Once the time turner is destroyed, Malfoy will be on his way to Azkaban and you will be back in your own home, able to resume your own life and this will be but a bad dream. You will be safe and free. I guarantee it," he said.
Hermione rose tearful eyes to meet his black gaze. His face was intent and she would have sworn, sincere. Then again, he was a consummate liar, a man who had secured victory in the war by his wits, his ability to act a role perfectly.
"I have no options here, do I Professor?" she sniffed, blinking back the glistening tears.
"Not quite true, Miss Grainger. You can make this difficult or you can see sense and co-operate. Obviously I would recommend the latter, for both our sakes. I have no desire to spend the next few weeks listening to a diatribe on my general worthlessness. Nor do I wish to have you spend them hexed to your bed posts but know this, if you give me any trouble then I will not hesitate," his brows drew together in a ferocious frown and his eyes glinted wickedly at her.
She quailed. "You are a monster!" she squeaked. "That would be the consensus view, Miss Grainger," he said, his voice gravely and quiet.
He saw her eyes widen and noticed how her breasts rose at her intake of breath. Her lips were parted and her cheeks were flushed pink as emotion coursed through her.
He wondered fleetingly just how those lips would taste, how her skin would feel if her were to reach out and to touch her. He imagined summer days and light and warmth.
She frowned at the pensive expression in his face. Something had changed in the way he was looking at her. Gone was the look that said he clearly wanted to throttle her and in its place was a speculative regard that made her feel even more vulnerable, exposed somehow. She fought an instinct to fold her arms over her breasts.
"Bed posts? If I am to be your guest, Professor, then where am I to stay?" she asked, suddenly.
Snape's expression veiled. He was shaken at the turn his thoughts had taken. He knew that he had unsettled her but he felt anger flicker at himself. He was allowing her silly hysteria to distract him. What was wrong with him? Had he become so solitary that the mere sight of a female could reduce him to a drooling adolescent boy?
"Miss Grainger, do not flatter yourself that your allure is such that I am likely to lose the run of myself," he sneered at her.
"We may be shackled together for the time being, so to speak but the little privacy I have left, I intend to preserve. This is a large house, though you may not have had the chance to discover for yourself as of yet. A room has been prepared for you. If you are supposing you can flutter your eyelashes at me and secure your freedom, then I promise you, you are wasting efforts best served directed at young men more in your league," he jibed.
Hermione swallowed and felt indignation swell within her. "I was doing no such thing! You are vile human being!" she spat at him. He gave her the ghost of a smile. "Just hold that thought, Miss Grainger and we shall get along famously."
He turned from her and with a gesture of his wand he had summoned Kreacher who appeared with a loud crack. He bowed so low before Snape, his hooked nose almost touched the carpet. The corner of his eyes flicked to Hermione, undisguised distrust gleaming.
"Kreacher show our guest to her room," Snape ordered, stalking towards the door, not taking the time to look back or to say another word to her.
The room that Kreacher delivered to, muttering a stream of insults under his breath with every step was on the first floor. Hermione opened the door to find a comfortable looking room, lit overhead with a candle laden chandalier. The bed was small but was covered with a cotton spread that looked hand stitched. Impossibly, a small bag lay on the floor beside the locker. "Master sent me to fetch some of your things. This is what Kreacher is reduced to, carrying for a worthless wretch now," the old elf pointed to the bag as though it might explode at any moment. Hermione opened it and found to he surprise that several changes of clothes were carefully packed within, neatly folded. Some of her personal possessions were also in the bag, including some photos of she and Harry and Ron and others of her parents. There were also some of her books, her favourites, as it happened, the covers frayed and dog eared from being read and re-read.
Hermione was touched and looked at the aged elf. "You chose these?" she asked, running her fingers over the familiar things, finding more comfort from having them than she could have imagined.
"Kreacher just threw what he could find into the bag. No time to waste touching dirty things!" he snarled but Hermione saw the care he had taken in folding her clothes, the thoughtful selection of her favourite items. His kindness threatened tears anew. "Thank you, Kreacher," she said but he was already bowing and withdrawing. "It's not as though Kreacher does not have enough to do. Now another one to feed and fetch for," he was still expostulating as he apparated with a loud crack, leaving Hermione alone and feeling suddenly overwhelmed as silence settled around her.