A/N I'm so so sorry that this update has taken so long. Lots of stuff going on in real life and then... horror of horrors...my laptop will no longer connect to the internet.
My laptop is older than 2/3 children so I'm not entirely surprised by this, but I don't quite know what to do. I can't stand the thought of buying a new one right now! I'm uploading this from the local library...there is no way I can access this site from a work computer.
Thanks as ever to Vitellia for her beta reading skills and general encouragement. Thanks also to my sick 7 year old who is watching the demon baby while I type this.
Apologies I haven't done a final check on this so it could be filled with errors - I'm convinced library users are looking over my shoulder and judging me!
She is in the eye of the storm. Following her encounter with Lucius she is experiencing a clarity of thought of which she no longer thought herself capable. She is both relieved and terrified. She had thought that she was permanently damaged. That something had broken so badly inside her that her intelligence, the very essence of what made her Hermione Granger had been permanently removed. She had likened herself to an ex Olympic athlete who could only look back on their former glory with no hope of ever attaining such peaks again. Now she knows that is not the case. Her brain is still here, as agile as ever, just waiting for her to utilise it once more.
And she is terrified. Because the fog keeps her safe. Within its cloudy embrace nothing can truly harm her. She is cushioned from the horror of her circumstances. There is no need to mourn the death of her friends, to wonder about the horrors that are almost certainly ongoing beyond the walls of her prison. She is prevented from contemplating her own dark and painful future. She is reduced to only the most basic of functions like a laptop in safe mode and she is grateful for this. Nothing can truly hurt her when she is like this.
Her mind feels gloriously clear. She sits cross legged on the futon and revels in the ability to think. She wants to engage in mental gymnastics, to draw Arithmancy equations on the wall and scrawl ancient runes across the bedsheets. She hates that Lucius has caused this. It was not his threat of violence which awoke her. That would somehow be more acceptable. Instead, she was seduced by his actions and his intent. It felt suspiciously like kindness when he began to wash her hair and Hermione blossomed beneath his touch with no more control than a bud opening beneath the rays of the sun. Lucius' physical touch has temporarily awoken her. It has banished the black dog that has sat on her shoulder for the past few weeks. It has brought her back into herself. She could feel it as he washed her hair. As his large hands massaged the shampoo into her impossibly tangled curls the misery and helplessness begin to ebb away. All along had she merely needed to be touched? She isn't sure, but she could feel herself becoming more and more alive as he continued to tend to her.
There had been nothing sexual in his touch. She had noticed that he kept his eyes studiously averted from her body. She disgusts him. He has told her that enough times for the fact to have sunk in. Perhaps the sight of her naked body would have caused him to swoon like a Victorian lady. Even if his physical rejection was borne out of bigotry she was grateful for it. As he stripped away the layers of her depressive armour with his ministrations she felt herself become more and more vulnerable, more suggestible. She hungered for his touch. As he washed her hair she longed for more. She wanted his hands to cover every inch of her skin, to wash away the fear and isolation along with the dirt. There ought to be a mark she thinks. A brand. Perhaps a miniature version of the Dark Mark. Something to indicate that she has been tainted. But her skin looks no different.
Seeing his reluctance had been a slap in the face. A harsh reminder that whatever this was it was entirely one sided. She had taken the soap from him and washed herself not wanting to see the disgust on his face at being forced to sully himself further.
Hermione remembers, as a teenager, selecting a romance novel from her grandmother's bookshelf. It had been shocking reading. A young woman held captive by an older, powerful man had fallen under his spell and believed herself to be in love with him. She had endured any number of atrocities and excused his appalling behaviour all in the name of love. At the time Hermione had scorned the heroine. Stockholm syndrome was a myth, she thought. There was no way anyone could fall in love with someone so patently evil.
It is a premise she finds less easy to dismiss now. She is not in love with Lucius Malfoy. Indeed, she still hates him. But today, he has exhibited traits she never thought to see. He has shown kindness and compassion. He has behaved in a manner which is not entirely self-serving. Hermione knows herself to be susceptible to these traits. Here, confined only to his room with no other person to talk to Lucius has become her world. Already, she depends on him. It would not take much to cross the line from dependence to fascination to…something more.
She needs to hate him. Sometimes, it feels as if her hatred of him is the only thing anchoring her to reality. If she loses that, if she begins to tolerate him, or like him even, then she has nothing, she is nothing. She is not Ginny. Ginny has forged some sort of alliance with Draco which appears to satisfy and benefit them both. Hermione knows instinctively that there can be no such arrangement between herself and Lucius. She senses that they have the capacity to cause each other untold amounts of damage. It would be like mixing bleach and vinegar. She and Lucius are such polar opposites that they are constantly at risk of a mutually catastrophic explosion.
She shudders and inhales deeply as she remembers the peculiar moment they had shared before Vera re-entered the room. He had been threatening her. His large body invading her personal space, her hair wound around his finger as it always was when he wished to control her. And then…she wasn't sure what had happened. He had been so close. She could still smell his cologne. She still felt the heat of his body. She had almost thought that he intended to kiss her. And she had begged him to stop.
She twists her head and digs her fingers into her eyes as she attempts to block out the painful memory. She hadn't asked him to stop because she hated him. It was not his touch that she couldn't stand. It was the horrible tangled maelstrom of emotions that he trailed in his wake. Lucius Malfoy could hurt her. Not physically, she suspects she is immune to physical suffering. But he possesses the ability to delve into her psyche far deeper even than Voldemort and to undo her from the inside out. She cannot allow it.
Her time is almost done. The depressive clouds are gathering once more. Lucius somehow temporarily blew them away, but they are not so easily banished. She is almost grateful as she feels the sharpness of her mind begin to dull once more. She is too tired to analyse, to plan, to prepare. She doesn't know how to protect herself from Lucius and the threat of his insidious humanity. Better, she thinks, to skink back into the complacent fug of her dissociative stupor. As long as she obeys his commands he has no reason to interact with her. Their precarious status quo will be preserved and Hermione will, for the time being, be safe.
She is lying flat on her back staring up at the ornate ceiling rose. A spider is busy spinning its web between the plaster ornament and the chandelier and Hermione watches with interest as it works back and forth. She's never had the time to observe such a phenomenon before. Now she has all the time in the world. She plans to stay here all day until the web is complete.
The bedroom door clicks and she gives a sigh of irritation. What is Lucius doing back at this time? If he finds her actually enjoying herself he will be sure to spoil it. She imagines him fastidiously dusting away the spider and its web. Or maybe he will shout at her or threaten her with more terrible punishments. Maybe it's a pureblood spider and scum like her aren't even good enough to watch it spin its web. Perhaps he will throw her to his pet Acromentala. She prefers to demonise him. It is infinitely safer than considering the alternative.
"Miss Granger." The voice is not that of Lucius Malfoy. She recognises the hateful sarcastic tone immediately.
"Professor Snape." She doesn't bother to look away from the spider. She might miss something and she has seen enough of her ex-teacher to last a lifetime.
"What are you doing?" His head comes into view. Greasy hair hangs down and she can see up his nose as he peers at her. It is not his best angle.
"I'm observing," she snaps. "Please move. You're blocking my view."
Another groove appears between his already furrowed brows, but he moves a little to one side.
The spider has paused in its spinning and Hermione glances at Snape.
"Mr Malfoy isn't here," she says unnecessarily. "He's probably out torturing children or ripping the legs off of beetles...or buying hundreds of new books none of which he'll ever let me read." She stretches her back and wishes she'd put a pillow under it before she lay down. "I don't mean to be rude, Professor, but I really don't like you anymore so if you would just run along…" she makes a shooing gesture with one hand.
"I don't give a flying fuck whether you like me or not."
That penetrates Hermione's stupor just a little.
"You never used to say fuck in school."
"No, it would have been completely inappropriate to use profanities around innocent children."
"I think killing the headmaster was a little more inappropriate, don't you?"
"Miss Granger, what is wrong with you?"
She tilts her head back in order to see him better.
"I'm not precisely sure, but" - she holds up a finger as she thinks- "I believe I may be experiencing a dissociative state. I rather like it."
Snape pinches the bridge of his nose in a manner which would once have horrified her. She finds it hard to believe that there was once a time when this man's approval meant everything to her. "Congratulations, Miss Granger. You appear to have rendered yourself even more irritating as an adult than you were as a schoolgirl. I would not have thought it possible."
"Oh anything is possible." She gives him a look which she hopes conveys her disappointment and sorrow. "I really thought you were on our side. Even when Ron and Harry kept insisting I was wrong and calling you a greasy git I defended you." She returns her gaze to the spider. "I really hate being wrong."
"I can only apologise for causing this crisis of confidence
"That's not true," she interrupted him. "You could make amends by dramatically switching sides at this point and rescuing me from this hell hole."
Snape looks pointedly around the comfortably furnished room. "Yes, I can see you are truly suffering."
Hermione whips her eyes away from the spider and sits up so quickly she gives herself a head rush.
"It has been seventy-three days since I left this room," she tells him. "The only person I have spoken to in that time is Lucius Malfoy."
"I apologise," Snape says dryly. "That does sound like torture."
"My last conversation with Lucius was a week ago," she continues as if he hasn't spoken. "He insisted I get up and wash because he found sharing his accommodations with a vagrant more than he could endure. It's a unique complaint, Professor, I realise that, but I may just be the first person to actually die from boredom." She returns to her position on the floor.
"Well, before you expire I need your help."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I have a project with which I require your assistance."
"Sorry," -she waves a dismissive hand- "you must have forgotten, I don't know anything. Whatever cunning plan you and your little Death Eater chums have come up with you can count me out. I'm useless - it's been verified" -she taps her head- "by your boss."
"This has nothing to do with Potter." He says Harry's name with as much disdain as always. "I require the deductive power of your brain not the information contained within."
"Oh." Hermione thinks for a moment. "There's just one small problem, two actually...no three!"
"Why don't you enlighten me, Miss Granger?"
Hermione ticks off the points on her hands. "One: Mr Malfoy will never allow it; he's enjoying my slow and gradual descent into insanity. Two: I don't want to do anything that contributes to your cause, and three: I really am very vexed at you personally. So I'm just going to lie here like Robert the Bruce and watch this spider until I'm as mad as Bellatrix."
She lies herself back down and stares up at the ceiling. The spider is gone its half built web flaps sadly in the breeze her movement has created.
"Fucking brilliant," she mutters.
She is startled by a loud thump followed by several smaller ones. Snape has dropped a briefcase on the floor next to her.
"Open it," he commands.
Hermione shoots him what she hopes is a mutinous look. She finds Snape much easier to defy than Lucius. She is shocked out of her complacency by his wand at her throat.
"Don't try my patience, girl. Open the briefcase."
Hermione glares at him. "Fine. But if some horrible animal jumps out and bites me I'll be even more disappointed in you than I was before."
He folds his arms and glares down his nose at her.
"Okay okay, I'm doing it."
Gingerly, she unclips the briefcase and leans back as she flips up the lid. It is immediately obvious that the case has been magically extended. It contains a layer of books; potions books. She removes them slowly examining the titles as she does so. Beneath the first layer there is another and another. By the time the briefcase is empty there must be almost one hundred books stacked around her along with several piles of parchment.
"Are you trying to buy my loyalty," Hermione asks as she clutches Most Potente Potions to her chest, "because it's working."
Snape smirks. "No. I'm merely showing you the research material which would be made available to you should you wish to accept my task."
"Alright I'll bite. What's the task?"
"I need someone to rewrite the Hogwarts potions curriculum for first through third year."
Hermione is momentarily taken aback. "You're still headmaster?"
"Obviously."
She strokes one of the books lovingly. "Why me? You know all this yourself."
"It may surprise you to learn, Miss Granger that with running the school plus the brewing requirements placed on me by The Dark Lord I am rather busy. The school is also without a potions master at present. Hence the reason I am searching for someone else to draft a new curriculum. Do you accept?"
"Mr Malfoy-"
"You may leave Lucius to me."
There isn't much to think about then. She will have access to all the lovely books and something to do other than stare at the ceiling. "Yes, I accept."
"Good. The current curriculum is outlined here." He gestures to one of the bundles of parchment. "And my suggestions regarding a number of changes are here. How long do you think the rewrite will take you?"
She eyes him speculatively. She wants to prolong the task for as long as possible in order to give herself time to read all the books. She could probably do the whole thing in a week if she pushed herself. It's not as if she has anything else do to. "A month?" She offers.
Snape scoffs. "I'll give you two weeks."
"Deal." She finds herself smiling at him and quickly hides the expression. "Why are you doing this, Professor?" she asks instead.
"I thought I made my reasons quite clear."
She shakes her head slowly. "There are a hundred people you could ask to do this." She chews her lip. "But why would you help me?"
"Why indeed?" Snape looks as if he is about to leave. "Do not flatter yourself that I have any concerns for your mental health, Miss Granger."
"No of course you don't." She springs to her feet feeling suddenly energised. "But Ginny does."
"Miss Weasley is also not high on my list of priorities. Goodbye, Miss Granger, I shall see you in two weeks."
"Wait!"
He pauses his hand resting on the door handle.
"It's Draco isn't it? You do care about him, he's your godson."
Snape neither denies nor confirms her statement he merely regards her with his strange black eyes. "Draco desires that nothing cause any upset to Miss Weasley when she is so close to her confinement." The closest thing to a smile she has ever seen flits across his lips. "Such concern becomes him, I believe."
"Thank you, Professor."
He inclines his head and opens the door.
"Oh, Professor?"
"Yes?"
"I don't think anybody actually refers to a woman's confinement anymore."
He leaves without another word and Hermione is left alone surrounded by books. She feels a broad grin stretching her face. She would never have guessed that the ferret and Professor Snape would have been the ones to rescue her from herself.
A/N 2 Just a warning - I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again. Also the next instalment is only 1000 words, but it really needs to stand alone so I will publish it on its own, but don't get too excited. No point in making a cup of tea before you read it, it will be over before it's cool enough to drink!
