In the Great Hall the next morning, Draco stared at her, grinning. Sneering, really. It gave her a jolt. He shouldn't be able to remember, she thought, and then realized that he didn't remember at all. He wasn't grinning because he remembered what he'd done to her; he was grinning in anticipation of what he thought he was going to do to her soon.
She shivered.
Try it if you like, Draco, she thought. She'd arranged escorts between all of her classes. If Draco tried anything, he'd have to get through Harry or Ron (or both of them) first. He wouldn't take her off-guard again.
She wondered with some unease how Bellatrix Lestrange would react to the news of Draco's failure. She'd got into Hogwarts once; what would stop her from doing it again?
Well. Two more weeks. They only had to make it two more weeks. Less now, really.
"You're awfully quiet this morning, Hermione." It was Ginny, across the table as usual.
Hermione wondered what to tell her. Draco Malfoy tried to rape and kill me yesterday but it's OK because I escaped in time and Professor Snape Obliviated him.
She thought not. She suppressed a sigh and wondered if she'd ever be able to talk honestly to her friends again.
"Just thinking about N.E.W.T.s," she said, feigning interest in her breakfast.
Ginny smiled. There was a glint in her eye. "Oh, is that it? I thought it might be something else."
Hermione realized, a split second before snapping her head up to ask what the hell Ginny thought she was talking about, that of course her friend was talking about the Ball. Just a few days away now. Ron, sitting next to her, seemed oblivious as always, deeply engrossed in his black pudding. Just as well, considering. She had no idea what Ginny was playing at. Maybe she'd ask her later... but no, she had a lesson with Snape later. No time for girlish chit-chat tonight.
She felt a surge of frustration; she hadn't asked to be thrust into this situation. She hadn't asked to play a role in a secret plot to assassinate Lord Voldemort. She hadn't wanted any of this. All she'd wanted was to have her research proposal reviewed.
Well, that's what happens in war, I suppose. She just wished that she had some friends to share the burden.
And no, she thought, stabbing an egg with her fork, Snape definitely does not count.
—~—~—
Hermione found that she had less and less interest in what she was starting to think of as her "useless" classes: anything other than Potions, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Herbology, Arithmancy, and Divination had no relevance to her life at the moment. She was smart enough and practiced enough that she was still doing quite well in them, but she felt sure that her professors had noticed her comparatively lackluster performance.
Well, let them notice, she thought. In two weeks they'll know why.
That afternoon when she entered the Potions classroom and saw Professor Snape, her heart skipped a beat. She was used to this reaction now, had stopped even feeling guilty about it. Seeing him caused an entire chain reaction of physiological responses: irregular heartbeat, increased breathing rate, flushed cheeks. She found that using Occlumency helped; she could slow her heart rate and her breathing with concentration. So that nobody would realize that she was behaving like some kind of ridiculous lovestruck schoolgirl.
Well, isn't that what you are? came the treacherous voice in her head. But she shut it down, as she'd done a hundred times before and would do a hundred times again.
No. I may be a schoolgirl but I'm certainly not in love, and if my heart beats faster when I see him, that's to be expected; we've been through quite a bit together. That's all. It doesn't mean anything. She quieted her mind and slowed her heart rate, barely noticing how easy this was for her now, and went about the daily Potions assignment.
Later on in the Gryffindor common room, Ron wanted to chat about the Ball, and Ginny wanted to chat about Harry, and Harry wanted help with his Charms work. None of them can see that I have put on a false Hermione-face over the top of my real one, she thought. None of them can see that I am hiding in here from them.
She found herself looking forward to visiting Snape that evening. At least in his presence she could be herself. Being herself with someone who fundamentally disliked her was much better than being with people who liked a false version of her.
She thought of her racing heart in the Potions classroom and sighed, and wondered if anything in her life would ever make sense again.
—~—~—
That night, she sat on the edge of her bed at 7:40. Five minutes early. She wondered if Snape were going to come and get her personally, and stifled a snort of laughter at the thought of him sweeping through the Gryffindor common room in his black robes, snarling at everyone in his path. But no, he'd never want to draw attention to himself. (And to her... to himself with her.) So what was it to be? No one except another Gryffindor or a professor would be able to get into the tower.
She crossed her ankles together, then uncrossed them. She smoothed her robes down over her lap. She considered checking her hair in the mirror and then dismissed that as foolish. No time anyway; it was 7:44. She watched the door.
As the second hand of her clock swept past the 12, she heard a small pop behind her. She leapt up and spun around in surprise, to find a small, grinning house elf standing in front of her hearth, holding out his elbow in a jaunty pose. "Miss Hermione!" the elf said, "I is Melvin!"
"M... Melvin?" she asked, and then recovered. "I'm pleased to meet you, Melvin."
He beamed at her but then drew his eyebrows together, looking fierce. "Master Snape sends me to fetch Miss Hermione! Keep her safe. Some bad people at Hogwarts want to hurt Miss Hermione."
"He sent you, did he?" Hermione said, suppressing her instinctive disapproval of this sort of thing.
Melvin nodded, his already-large eyes widening as he spoke. "Master Snape sent me himself! Master Snape is good to house-elves. Always very good! It is an honor for Melvin to serve him!"
Hermione blinked. She was tempted to explain to Melvin that he didn't need to serve anyone, but she supposed that this was hardly the time. And she couldn't bear to disappoint him, anyway. He looked so eager and excited. She sighed and took his still-extended elbow in her arm. He felt warm to the touch, warm enough that if he were a human she'd have said he was feverish. She wondered if all house-elves were this warm. It occurred to her that she had never actually touched one before.
"Well, Melvin," she said, "are you to be my escort to the dungeons?"
His grin threatened to engulf his entire face. "Oh yes, Miss Hermione. You could say that!"
She opened her mouth to ask what he meant by that, but before she could speak, she felt the gut-wrench of Apparation turning her inside out, and in a whirl, the world dissolved.
—~—~—
They appeared inside the familiar confines of Snape's private office. Snape stood waiting for them, his hands clasped behind his back, face impassive.
"Any problems, Melvin?" he said. Hermione watched; Snape made eye contact with the elf, and spoke in a serious tone.
"No, Master Snape! Melvin does not see anyone bad. Melvin brings Miss Hermione here safely!"
Snape inclined his head. "Indeed. Thank you, Melvin. You may go now."
The elf could not have looked more deliriously happy. "I is always pleased to serve Master Snape!" And then with a furtive little wave at Hermione, he popped back out of existence.
Hermione, still disoriented from Apparition, looked up at Snape, wanting to ask him why the house elf seemed to like him so much. Before she could, he raised his wand and said, "Legilimens."
She staggered backwards, but caught herself. She could feel him in her mind, rifling through her memories; his touch was light this time, but unmistakable. Quick images of the past few weeks flashed through her mind; he was looking for something.
No, she thought. Not this time. She focused her concentration, felt her heart rate and breathing slow, felt the snow fall in her mind, descending like a stage curtain over her thoughts, protecting them, keeping them from exposure. Just as before, the memories Snape had been searching for faded out, faded to white. Her eyes were locked with his, but there were no thoughts for him to read, nothing for him to grasp hold of in her mind. Nothing.
After a while—she could not say how long—he withdrew, never allowing his eyes to leave her face.
"That was... adequate," he said.
It took her a moment to find her voice, to tell him, "Thank you, Professor." She was suddenly aware of how near she was to him, only inches away, and took a half-step backward.
"No." She froze, mid-step, looking at him uncertainly. "Stay where you are," he said.
Proximity was not strictly necessary. But forcing her to remain so close would keep her on guard, would help sharpen her senses. And made Legilimency easier, of course. She was so close that he could see each individual strand of her hair curling around her face. He quelled the temptation to reach out and brush one of them away where it had fallen across her forehead.
"You have proven capable of dismissing your existing thoughts to protect them from a Legilimens," he told her. She absorbed this in silence, ever an attentive student.
He went on, "You must now learn how to show the Legilimens a memory of your own construction, so that he does not know you are Occluding. This memory must resemble your real memories precisely. You must project not only images, but also feelings, emotions, associated memories. Everything you would normally broadcast when not Occluding. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"We will begin simply. I am going to explore your memory of earlier this evening, when you walked here from your room."
He watched to see if she understood. "But," she began, and then comprehension dawned in her eyes. "...oh," she said. "Yes."
"Legilimens."
He slid into her mind again. She reflexively allowed her thoughts to go blank and white but then remembered that she was supposed to project a false memory. She summoned up an image of herself walking down the stairs, of the stone walls of the dungeon, the smell of the air, the way her steps echoed on the floor. She imagined herself arriving outside Snape's door and knocking.
He pulled out of her mind abruptly. As soon as the contact was broken, her body slumped slightly. The effort had been more taxing than she'd realized.
"Juvenile and ineffective," Snape said. "You must do this without thinking about the fact that you are creating a false memory. You must be detailed. You must be precise. Again."
Her second effort was deemed equally unacceptable, as was the third, and the fourth, and the fifth.
After several more attempts, she said, "Sir, please, I think I'm getting worse, not better."
He let his eyes travel over her, saw her trembling jaw, her pale face, her bloodshot eyes. He was pushing her hard, punishing her, and she was right; she wasn't improving. Time and practice had led her to mastery of the first level of Occlumency, and unusually quickly at that. She could undoubtedly master this one as well, given even just a little time and rest.
In his mind he heard her voice, over and over: If you couldn't break me, what makes you think Draco could?
Watch me, he thought. See what I am capable of.
"If you cannot continue," he said, "you may go."
Her eyes narrowed. "I can continue," she said, just as he'd suspected she would. But she couldn't last indefinitely. He would prevail. He would make her give up.
"Again, then." He stared into her eyes, bright and wide, and descended through them into her mind again.
It occurred to him, some time later, that what he was doing to her could legitimately be considered torture. She was exhausted beyond reason, barely able to manage any sort of coherent image at all in her mind. She was an open book for him to read if he so chose.
Yet she remained, putting up her weak and battered mental defenses only for him to pierce through them and thrust into her mind over and over again. Break, goddamn you, he thought. Break, and I'll stop.
But she would not. "Again," he said, noting how she flinched at the word. This time, as he probed her mind, her knees buckled and she pitched forward, bracing herself against his chest. The feel of her hands against his body sent a near-electric shock through him. He hissed sharply; she'd have heard it if she weren't half-gone. But she did not even appear to notice she was leaning on him, her weight pressed against him.
He withdrew from her mind, and with obvious effort she focused on his face. "I won't give up," she said. Her voice was flat, tired. "If that's what you're trying to make me do, it won't work."
Her eyes were heavy and half-lidded, her cheeks flushed. A surge of desire swept through him that made his knees weak. Fuck. Control yourself, Severus. Control.
"Do not presume," he told her, in a voice as tight and controlled as he could manage, and then, "Again."
She moaned a little this time, and he felt satisfaction flooding his body. I can make you give up. I can break you. You have no power over me.
But she would not break. She didn't ask him for a rest; she didn't try to leave; she didn't even protest. She simply endured—endured assault after assault into her mind while she pressed against him, sometimes gasping, sometimes moaning, but never calling "enough," never telling him to stop.
Snape was at the point of exhaustion himself some time later when the girl suddenly grew heavier, became a dead weight against him. She had lost consciousness. Congratulations, he thought to himself, you've done what Draco Malfoy couldn't even do with Cruciatus.
He felt hollow, unsatisfied. He had no control when it came to this girl. No control at all. He'd meant for this to be a simple Occlumency lesson, not a bitter contest of wills.
A contest that I apparently lost, he thought, looking down at Granger, collapsed against him. He held her up with one arm wrapped around her body, her mass of chestnut curls splayed against the fabric of his robes. He stood there holding her for a moment, and then knew what he was going to do. He would be damned if he entrusted her safety to anyone else tonight. If she asked later, he'd tell her that he'd summoned the elf to take her back.
He cast an invisibility charm about himself, and then swept her up into his arms, to carry her all the way to Gryffindor Tower.