Chapter 2

Voldemort accompanied them when they left. The three of them appeared in a dark living room, its decorations sparse but in good condition. Severus, still holding her by her arm behind her back, pushed her forward toward a staircase in the corner. Upstairs, he gestured toward a door-less room for the Dark Lord to precede them. He swept into the room, glancing around the room with an expression of vague distaste.

"This will do," he said dismissively and set about casting charms at the left-hand corner beside the doorframe.

Severus steered his captive into the room and she saw that it was a sparsely furnished bedroom. A bed decorated with nothing but an off-white sheet was the only piece of furniture in the room. In the corner, the darkest wizard in history was pulling something from inside his robes. Hermione noted with both disgust and horror that it was an eye. A fucking eyeball. Voldemort levitated the eye onto the wall and stuck it there, casting a few more spells at it. A wave of his hand and a small image appeared before him of the room. She could see them all standing there, including herself staring at the horrible thing stuck to the wall.

"I look forward to the show," was all he said as he turned on his heel once again and disappeared from the room.

Severus shoved her forward toward the bed. "I wouldn't try to escape if I were you, Mudblood." Pulling his wand from his pocket, he waved it lazily toward the door and she could see the flash of light before it faded, signaling the wards that had sprung into life around it. Removing the Death Eater mask finally from his face, he turned fully toward her, his back to the eye, and mouthed the words "Stay calm." He fixed a leer on his face and strode from the room.

oOo

The first time he had joined her in the library of Grimmauld Place she had been wary and on edge. Curled up in an armchair by the fire, book in hand, she had felt more than heard him enter. She had almost thought him to be one of the boys or Ginny but no, he felt different. She looked up to see him just as he settled himself into an armchair across the room from her and proceeded to ignore her totally in favor of his own book. She had remained another hour but had found herself quite unable to focus on the words in front of her. She did not doubt his loyalty but she was well aware that he was dangerous and could do severe damage – not only physically. Eventually, she rose silently from her chair and retreated to her bedroom.

The next night she had arrived at the library with book in hand to find him in her usual seat. Biting her lip, she hesitated in the doorway before crossing the room and perching on the chair directly across from him. She liked being close to the fireplace. It was warm. It was the reason she came to read in the library rather than remaining in her room. He did not so much as glance at her and slowly she relaxed until she was absorbed in the pages of her book.

After a week, she had managed to muster the nerve to announce as she arrived, "Professor, you're in my spot."

"I was not aware that there were assigned seats," he had remarked smoothly without looking up from his reading.

She huffed quietly and sat across from him once again. No more words were exchanged that evening. However, the next night she arrived to find that he had chosen a different armchair rather than her preferred position. As she settled into it, she murmured, "Thank you."

He had, of course, ignored her.

"Professor?" she had asked one evening as he had stood from his chair to leave. He rolled his neck a few times, stretching out the muscles, before turning to look at her mildly. "Why are you here?"

A single brow quirked. "I am reading, Miss Granger. I had thought that much was obvious."

She had the grace to blush. "Yes, sir. I just mean… Why here?"

"Does my presence disturb you, Miss Granger?"

"No, sir," she answered truthfully. She had adjusted to his presence. Knowing what kind of a man he was, she had felt safer knowing that he was within the walls of the house. That was saying nothing of him occupying the same room. The boys were great and all quite capable, but Snape… Well, Snape was a double-agent whom she had no doubt was more than capable of killing a man with a wave of his hand if he so desired.

"Well, then. Good night." Without another word he had strolled casually from the library.

She had arrived the following evening to find the library empty and tried to ignore the sinking feeling she had at his absence. Sighing, she had crossed to her chair and become engrossed in her book. After a few hours without him showing up, she retreated to her room where she tried not to feel hurt. When Harry had come down from his room the next morning and announced over toast that there had been a Death Eater attack last night, she felt instantly guilty at her self-absorption. She had given his absence no more thought than he was avoiding her after her questioning.

It was with trepidation that she arrived at the library that evening… to see him in his usual chair, hair curtained around his face as he leaned forward in his seat, intent upon his book. She let out a breath she hadn't known she had been holding and silently took her own seat. He glanced up at her when she sat but said nothing, returning quickly to his reading. An hour later he had absentmindedly pushed at his sleeves, shoving them up his arms and she gasped as she caught sight of two long wounds, almost like burn marks, red and angry on his arms.

"Professor," she had cried out, "what happened to your arms?"

His eyes snapped up to hers before dropping to his wounds with a glower. "I do not think that is any of your business, Miss Granger," he had said shortly.

But she had already closed her book, setting it aside. "Have you been to see Poppy?" she asked urgently.

Mouth downturned, he replied "I have not."

"Let me. I'm a fair hand at healing," she explained. She waited for his consent, which came in the way of a stiff nod, before moving across the space between them and grasping his left arm gently. She began to push at his sleeve, asking, "How far up does this go?"

He hesitated before he admitted lowly, "They are connected."

She had pursed her lips before standing and gesturing at his person. "Right then, off with the shirt." He blinked at her dumbly and she tapped her hand against her thigh impatiently. "I can't do a damn thing for you if I can't see what the damage is."

He had been motionless for a moment before turning his fingers to the row of buttons at his collar and undoing them slowly. As he worked on that, Hermione stared at the wall behind him, her mind working furiously, listing the various possibilities of the cause of damage and the spells that could be used in mending them. He paused when he reached the last button. His shirt fell open and she gritted her teeth at the sight in front of her. The two lines did indeed run up from his arms and meet in the middle of his chest, where it looked like an explosion had hit him square on. Small tendrils snaked their way in all directions from the target like winding red rivers.

"I don't suppose you have any idea what spell this was?" she asked as she leaned in closer to inspect the marks. Her hands had gone to push the shirt back from his shoulders and he had obliged in shrugging out of it completely.

"Irradiant curse," he answered lowly.

She nodded almost absently. She had heard of it. Nasty piece of magic designed to eat up the victim as it slowly spread through the body. It was supposed to be very painful and if she wasn't mistaken it was the only reason he hadn't ripped her head off by now. Thankfully, she knew the counter curse, which she spoke clearly while she touched the tip of her wand to the mark on his chest. A low growl left his throat and his hands balled into fists as the angry red lines over his skin retreated, seemingly sucked into the tip of her wand.

When it was finished, she pulled back her wand. "Any more?"

Without looking at her, he had admitted to a probably broken rib and extensive internal bruising. She had healed both without batting an eye and returned to her armchair while he shrugged his shirt back on and got to work on the buttons. She had been careful not to let her eyes linger over the Dark Mark standing out starkly against his pale skin.

When he was once again fully dressed, she had admonished him quietly, "You should have been to see Poppy rather than coming here. That curse could have killed you."

"Clearly, coming here worked out fine."

She had snorted. "I happen to be a swot who reads every book she can lay her hands on, including medical texts. If I weren't…" She paused. "Were you planning to see Poppy?"

He hadn't replied and she knew the answer was probably no. She doubted that the man did not know the counter curse and could have healed himself but she doubted that he would have done so right away. It occurred to her that perhaps he felt that he somehow deserved to suffer through the pain he received. She filed that bit away for later analysis.

"Was this a Death Eater?" she asked.

His lips tightened. "Auror."

She frowned. "An auror used the irradiant curse on you?"

"Death Eater," he answered simply, shrugging.

Eventually they had returned to their respective books but Hermione had a hard time focusing on the words in front of her. When she crawled into bed that night she had found that sleep was difficult to come by.