Chapter 12: The Uninvited Visitors

Dear Hermione,

I'm glad that you wrote back. Ron and I have been really worried. Thanks for the cake and it was almost shocking that you didn't send me a book or five! Ha! Just kidding. I appreciate the cake so much more. Anyway, I'm still at my relatives... I hope Dumbledore lets me visit The Burrow at some point, and it'd be amazing if you could be there, too. But don't worry, I can understand if you need some time... After all, I know how hard it is to come out of these things... And I know, Hermione, that you and Ron both are with me. There are things that I need to tell you both. But I can't say anything in a letter. But when we meet, I will. Until then, take care of yourself. And remember, what you're going through is something I totally get, so if you ever need to talk, I'm all ears. Ron, too, of course. And it's really okay about late greetings and all, I'm glad that you wrote at all. And my OWL results are good, considering all that had happened last year. But if you must know, I failed Divination and Astronomy for obvious reasons. And I got only an E in Potions, so I guess that's a problem because I'm sure Snape will never let me in. Maybe I'll just have to choose some other career. But hey! I got an O in Defence! So that's something, I guess. I loved the cake. Thanks! Anyway, you take care, okay? And please keep writing, even if you just write one-liners or something...

-Harry.

Hermione smiled—a typical Harry-style letter, with no paragraph changes, no planning, but written with true emotions. Yes, he understood. He would. In her own misery, she had completely overlooked that Harry had just lost his Godfather, too.

She decided to continue writing to Harry, even if she couldn't tell him the truth of her situation or didn't want to interact with the Wizarding World at large... Harry needed it. And perhaps, so did she.

UUUUUU

"Ready," Hermione nodded.

With a whisper of 'Legilimens', she felt the now-familiar presence tug into her mind. After about five sessions, on alternate days, Snape's presence and invasion in her mind had become familiar. Her frail Shields were invigorating, but at a gradual rate.

The sessions only lasted an hour, yet they were enough to exhaust her thoroughly. On their third session, she had asked Snape why it was that they could not have only two or three sessions per week. The answer was obvious—they could not afford to lax.

Today, in the sixth session so far, Hermione was feeling relatively more confident. When Harry had begun Occlumency lessons, Hermione had not only read but also made notes on the subject. After some sorting of her books and parchments, she had finally found them. She had revised the notes only a night before, and was looking forward to put those techniques to use.

The first random memory that Snape chose took them to when Hermione was only Eight. One glance into it, and she knew where they had landed.

A younger Hermione was in the kitchen of her house. She was trying to retrieve a canister from one of the upper shelves, but short as she was, she had to climb on the counter, while her Mum and Dad were working on their dinner, chatting about their day.

Older Hermione smiled at her childish self. Life was just so easy... Quickly pushing those thoughts away, she concentrated on the water that was her Shield. But obviously, Snape's invasion was stronger than her attempts.

A yelp from her younger self, followed by the shattering of her Mum's favourite tea set interrupted her meditation.

'Oh, no!' The younger child covered her mouth with both hands, horrified at the prospect of hurting her Mum's sentiments. That tea set was a gift from her Granny, after all.

With the desperation to fix it back, younger Hermione's Accidental Magic had come to her aid. The broken pieces of china repaired themselves as if it were never scratched. But the fixed tea set had not relieved the young girl, it had only made her bewildered and terrified of her own self.

It had not been the first time with her Accidental Magic, but it was so prominent that excuses like 'I-must-be-half-asleep' or 'It-must-have-been-a-dream' could not let her overlook it.

Her Mum and Dad, who had witnessed the entire incident, looked just as astounded, but they were quickly by her side.

'Sweetie...' Her Mum was trying to calm her, rubbing small circles on her shoulder as younger Hermione was not able to avert her eyes from the spot where the pieces of the tea set were, just a moment ago.

'Hermione, love... Come here,' her Dad led her out of the kitchen, followed by her Mum.

Older Hermione again tried to concentrate on her Shields, trying not to listen to their exchange as her parents were trying to comfort her.

'What...what's wrong with me?' Younger Hermione cried out.

'Nothing is wrong with you, Dear,' her Mum was trying to reassure her.

Hermione decided not to watch them, though the urge was great. She meditated on drawing water, to cover and conceal the memory from Snape.

'No, I'm weird, I make things happen, I am...I'm... Something is wrong with me!' The little girl was blabbering frantically.

'Hermione!' Her Dad's sharp tone had put a stop to her blabbering. 'Look at me.'

Older Hermione recalled how she had looked up at her Dad with tear-filled eyes.

'You are not weird,' her Dad said firmly. 'You will not call yourself as such. You are special.'

'Yes, Love,' her Mum had joined in. 'After all, you have done nothing...bad. You have in fact saved Granny's gift, haven't you? So, how can anything be wrong with you?'

'But how can I do these things, Mum?' Her voice had a quiver. 'It's not possible.'

There was a long pause as the family had sat contemplating the reason. Meanwhile, the older Hermione was trying to concentrate harder, but was still somewhat failing.

'Matilda!' Her Mum cried out enthusiastically. 'Didn't you read Matilda, Hermione. She, too, had special powers and she, too, was so intelligent, like you, grasping everything. Matilda wasn't 'weird', Love, was she?'

'But it was a story, Mum,' the young girl protested.

'Aren't stories inspired by real life?' Her Dad added. 'And, Pumpkin, we do not want you to live in denial. No matter how incomprehensible it is.'

'But if anyone gets to know...' The little girl had trailed off in horror.

Finally, the older Hermione could feel herself fetching her Shields up. The translucent blue was slowly becoming opaque.

'Even if somebody gets to know,' her Dad said resolutely, 'Your mother and I will take care of everything. And who knows, my little Angel, as you grow up, you can use your powers to benefit those in need.'

The water settled into the scene, blocking away the view and her emotions from Snape.

The distinct murmur of their voices could still be heard, though, and Hermione felt Snape trying to break her Shields.

But with a deep breath, Hermione let the blue deepen and darken, leaving no space for the invasion.

In the last five sessions, Snape had mostly stumbled upon her moments with her parents. Perhaps because they were always on the forefront of her mind. The few other memories had been from Hogwarts—of the night when she had rescued Sirius and Buckbeak with Harry; her quarrel with Ron during their Third year; Hermione solving mystery of the pipes in their Second year; Hermione misleading Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest; the fight at the Ministry; her shared dance with Victor at the Yule Ball; and so on. Snape had never shown any interest in his findings, for which she was relieved. She had never been questioned about any of that. Even the memory of punching Draco Malfoy hadn't drawn any visible attention from the man.

Not giving Hermione any time, Snape latched upon another memory.

Hermione found herself in Madam Pomfrey's office, at Hogwarts. It had been after the fight at the Ministry. Hermione had asked the Medi-witch if she could be an Apprentice under her for the last two years at the school.

'Why do you want to become a Healer?' Was the first question that the lady had asked her.

'Madam Pomfrey,' her memory-self said, 'The war is coming, and there will be people injured. People in need. The Order does not have any other Healer but you. And with the casualties that are estimated, we will need more help. I am willing to help, while pursuing my passion.'

'Well, Miss Granger, I do know that you are quite studious and diligent with your work. Your reasoning is good enough, too,' Madam Pomfrey was saying, while Hermione was sitting at the edge of her seat in anticipation. 'But Healing takes a lot more than just that. Healing takes compassion and empathy in your Charms, and patience.

'Sometimes, you might encounter patients who would refuse treatment or hide the extent of their injuries, but you have to be patient with them. If you have a temper, you will have to restrain it. And most of all, you will need to be gentle. Not just at treating wounds, but also at dealing with the people who come to ask help. Like, say, First years. Or an abused child who is frightened enough not to reveal the cause of his wounds.

'Do you think you can bring yourself to be patient and compassionate, so much so that your patients are benefitted?'

Hermione felt it relatively easy to conjure the Shields now that she was not getting distracted by the conversation.

'If that's what it takes, I am willing to work on it, and give it a genuine try...'

Her memory-self's voice had trailed off as Hermione successfully conjured the Shields over the scene. It had been by far, her quickest attempt.

But Snape was hardly merciful to let her rest or rejoice in her little victory.

The next memory took them to Hogwarts. She found herself standing among Gryffindors and Slytherins. A look at her vicinity told her that they were outside the Potions classroom.

Hermione recognised it to be a day in their Fourth year and the realisation had hit her with embarrassment as she knew what was to follow.

Absolutely eager to hide the memory and the feelings it had accompanied from Snape, she ignored the exchange in the background completely.

While Harry, Ron and Hermione's younger self were arguing and later fighting with Malfoy and the other Slytherins, the older Hermione was determined to conjure her shields.

But it was not until younger Hermione was hit by the hex and had her teeth enlarged, could the older one manage to at least start fetching the blue. Memory-Snape's entry in the scene only worked to strengthen Hermione's resolve to put an end to the unfolding events. But she was not quite so quick.

'I see no difference.'

Memory-Snape's derisive and demeaning comment and younger Hermione's overwhelming feelings of hurt, insult and a sudden loss of self confidence, were the last straw for the older Hermione.

She did not want to give Snape the satisfaction to know how deeply he had hurt the pride of the young girl. Outer appearance were not as important to her, yes. But for a growing teen girl, they did carry some amount of significance.

Older Hermione, too, felt furious at Snape, and added onto her meditation. It did not take long after that for her Shields to be intact and in place.

After that, instead of latching onto another memory, Hermione felt Snape withdrawing from her mind.

UUUUUUU

In all honesty, Severus did not even remember that exchange between the girl and himself.

Severus cared little for others' sentiments. Either he could not empathise or did not want to, with no other excuse. He had been every bit nasty with some students, especially the Gryffindors. Longbottom and Potter topping the list. But he had mostly refrained from personal comments such as on one's looks. He did taunt Potter for being like his good-for-nothing father, but not in the context to his looks.

He inwardly snorted, as if he had a right to point a finger at anybody else's looks, anyway.

But what he had said to the Granger girl was...even low for himself, he decided after retreating from her mind. Perhaps, he had had a distressful meeting with Albus or Karakoff regarding the Dark Mark that was coming to life, suddenly. But in truth, he did not remember what had driven him to make a remark on the girl's teeth.

He looked at Granger who was trying to control her breathing and compose herself. If she was feeling any anger, Severus could not tell with the usual panting that followed her after drawing up the Shields. But by now, the girl had so much more to be furious about with him, that he hardly thought that an incident almost two years back could still affect her.

Or could it?

What was he suppose to do, anyway. Ask Granger for forgiveness for something he had said long back? After killing her parents and assaulting her, that was where he was drawing a line? If he could ever muster enough strength to ask for her forgiveness, he did not even know where he'd begin from.

"You should not have said that." Granger's steely voice drew his attention. She was sitting with her arms folded, and looking at him resolutely.

"I beg your pardon?" He said only as a pretension. He knew well enough where the girl was heading to.

"What you said to me, in the memory," she clarified briefly. "You should not have said that. Being a teacher, you are expected to fuel ideas of confidence and self-love in your students, not shred their confidence to threads."

If Severus had any less self-control, he would have been gaping and gawking at the girl. Angry or not, hated him or not, nobody had ever dared to point out his fault to him so directly. Even Albus resorted to sugar-coated words if the situation wasn't out of hand.

And here was this chit of a girl, telling him what he was supposed to do as a teacher—unabashedly and unapologetically. Her eyes betrayed no fear, whatsoever.

"Miss Granger," he finally said after a pause, "I have no inclinations of learning from you the nature of my profession."

"But someone needs to tell you how deeply it can affect a pubescent teen to be insulted so blatantly by a figure of authority, before one's peers," she said just as firmly.

"Do not be so theatrical, girl," he barked. "It was not as if I had revealed a secret to you. Surely, your mirror showed you for exactly who you were."

Severus, you idiot! As the words left him, he regretted it. Now, the steely expressions were replaced with those of annoyance and anger.

"Whatsoever I looked like, Sir, whether it was my teeth, my hair or my entire body that I disliked about myself, you, as a teacher, somebody whom students looked up to, should have known better than to make a remark like that," Granger's lips were pursed firmly.

"I must say, Miss Granger, coming from a Gryffindor, it crosses all limits of hypocrisy," he snorted derisively. "Do not think that I am unbeknownst to what your House members refer to me as."

"And what makes you think that I, too, ever used those demeaning monikers in regards to you, or anyone else?" She climbed to her feet. "And even if I had, you, too, behaved like the Gryffindors whom you so obviously dislike."

The worst part, Severus decided, was that the girl did have a point.

"Miss Granger-" But he was stopped from saying anything more when a silver phoenix came rushing in his Lab. The Patronus was from Albus, Severus recognised well. It flew to him to whisper its owner's message in his ear.

"Severus, come immediately. My office. Alone. Peanut-berry pastries."

The terse message and the quaver in Albus' weary voice was a clear indication that something was gravely wrong.

"Granger, do not leave the house." He quickly paced out of the Lab, and the girl followed. He assumed that she could see the seriousness of the situation as she did not question him. He summoned his travelling cloak from his room, and headed to the Floo.

Then, after a moment of thinking, he added, "Don't leave the house except in any emergency, until I return." Again, he added, "Please." Though it was imperative that Granger stayed inside, the girl was not a fool to leave, anyway, and he was not going to pass a command to her knowingly, ever.

With his words amended sufficiently, he threw some Floo powder into the already burning fire. "Severus Snape's office, Hogwarts." He called, and found himself whirling in the Floo network.

UUUUUUU

Albus was dying.

Severus downed a glass of Firewhisky. It burned his throat but provided some relief.

Albus Dumbledore was dying.

Another glass went down his throat. Severus, who hardly ever drank, did not even wince as his throat burned.

The omnipotent, omniscient wizard was dying—and Severus did not know how to feel. Was he supposed to feel loss because the man who had offered him a place in the light side, the Order and Hogwarts, was dying; or was he supposed to feel relatively relieved because after all, the man did control Severus and pushed him to do his bidding, making him risk his life to the Dark Lord?

Severus could only feel baffled. After three glasses of Firewhisky was down, he also started feeling angry—Albus' lapse in judgement had made him wear the accursed ring! What a bloody fool the old coot was! To think that the entirety of the Wizarding World took him as an idol...

Then, he started feeling numb. Albus was dying, he was soon leaving them to their doom. Nobody knew who would take the charge of the Order. Minerva was not ready.

There would be no stopping the Dark Lord after Albus...

Severus had never truly attached himself to the venerable leader personally. But on a professional level, the man was the source of security. That man was dying.

Well within a year.

Severus had helped him contain the curse for the time being, but it was bound to spread, gradually but certainly. It was bound to reach the heart and provide a most humiliating and agonising death to Albus. And although Severus did not care much for people, there was a strain somewhere in his chest, a weight, that he could not quite explain.

Severus closed his eyes and willed himself not to think.

Yet, the scene came back to him.

** 'Why,' he demanded, without preamble, 'Why did you put on that ring? It carries a curse, surely you realised that. Why even touch it?'

The ring that he recognised to be a Slytherin heirloom, was laid on the desk before Albus. It was cracked; the sword of Gryffindor laid beside it.

Albus grimaced.

'I … was a fool. Sorely tempted …'

'Tempted by what?'

Albus did not reply. **

He erected his Shields and pushed everything away. There was a lot to figure out. But tonight, he could not bring himself to.

UUUUUUU

From the stairs, Hermione watched Snape.

A man whose countenance held nothing but impassiveness, held worry and strain. A bottle of gin stood half-empty before him. For a man who relished in maintaining a tight control on himself, Snape was behaving in peculiar ways.

Something bothered him. Not a physical pain, but a mental stress.

He winced after every sip he took of the drink, and in turn, Hermione winced only by watching him. It was a defence mechanism, she understood. He was drinking to numb himself. There was a side of her, probably the one inclined towards Healing, that was telling her to stop the man from taking another sip. But why she was feeling any shred of concern towards this man was beyond her to contemplate.

What could have possibly happened to him? He wasn't even summoned today, was he? He had gone to Hogwarts in a hurry—was there an attack?

Was Harry safe?

She clamped a hand on her gaping mouth. Something had happened, something drastic.

Hermione took slow steps towards him, Snape did not notice. He was lost in an open-eyed illusion.

"Sir?" Hermione's voice was trembling.

He was startled. Clear liquid spilled on the armchair from the glass clutched in his hand.

"Was there an...attack?" She asked carefully.

He looked up at her, appalled, as if he had momentarily forgotten of her presence in the same house. Suddenly, he stood up. In a blink of seconds, his glass and the bottle vanished.

Hermione watched him trying to regain his composure, as if deeply ashamed of having been spotted inebriated. She wouldn't have disturbed him, had she not suspected her friend's life to be in danger.

"Is Harry alright?" Hermione asked.

Neither of them eyed each other, caught in thick awkwardness.

"Yes, yes," he cleared his throat. But she did not miss the slur. "Yes, Potter is alright."

"There was an attack?" Her heart sank.

Light from a dim bulb was shining on him, highlighting his grim face. Hermione crossed her fingers in childish hope.

"No," he finally said. But his demeanour was not quite convincing. "No, no attack."

"Then what-"

"Miss Granger," he breathed out, still not looking at her. "I would request you to leave now. This does not concern you in any way."

For a moment, Hermione could not help but wonder what degree of self-control he was practising to choose his words, when he was clearly too drunk.

"Yes," she suddenly felt out of place. She was breaching a very private moment. "Sorry."

Hermione walked away as fast as she could, without practically running. Curiosity and concern both weighed heavily on her. She did not believe Snape to drink regularly, not that she knew him much, but as much as she did know him from sharing a house with him, she could tell something extremely important was bothering him.

UUUUUUU

Severus poured the beetle blood in the acid green mixture. The concoction took up an ugly purplish hue. The rancid stench burned his eyes and nose, but his mind was too far stressed to consider casting a Bubble-Head Charm on himself. There was only a slight chance that the potion would help curb Albus' curse, yet Severus was determined to try. If only to increase their glaringly slim chances of winning the war...

He poured a second vial of blood. But his hand faltered dangerously as the wards that Severus had put around the neighbourhood at Spinner's End went off. A wizard with a Dark Mark had entered the vicinity. He was instantly grateful that it was nearing Ten at night, because Granger had long returned from the bakery. Thus, she was safe. The girl was as usual in her room, having never stepped out after returning from work.

There was no way of telling who it was, but as nobody but Narcissa Malfoy knew where his house was, she could be there. But the woman did not bear the Mark herself. So she had someone in tow who did bear it.

Granger was going to remain in her room, so that would hardly be an issue. Severus quickly wrapped things up in his Lab, in case he was inspected. The Dark Lord could not know about Albus' condition at any rate. That would be equivalent to directly give the megalomaniac the war, itself.

When there was loud rapping on the main door. Severus cursed under his breath.

He grabbed his robe that he had discarded on a chair, and flung it on. At another impatient rapping, Severus cursed himself for not alerting Granger, in case she heard the noise and decided to show up.

He hastily made his way to the door and opened.

"Ah, Narcissa, Bella, to what do I owe this displeasure?" He sneered.

UUUUUUU

Hermione had been engrossed in her book on behavioural psychology when she heard the loud knocking coming from downstairs. Crookshanks was curled on her lap, purring contently. When she heard the main door being opened, she had to refrain herself from getting up.

Nobody ever came through the main door to meet Snape... But when she could hear nothing more from down, she went back to the book in her hand.

Hermione had never been too fond of sleeping early. And now, she had come to read at least till midnight. The book on behavioural psychology was intriguing, giving her an insight in much of what Snape expressed—or his lack of expressing. She read about suppressing emotions and wondered if overusing Occlumency could cause something akin to suppression? If so, she was quite sure Snape was suffering from that. But she could not be quite sure for the topics belonged to two very different realms—Wizarding and Muggle.

At intervals, Hermione was disturbed by a shrieking laughter of a woman from down below. Whoever it was, had a shrill laughter, one that was reaching her to her room.

My room? The guest room.

She tried to curtail her curiosity to check who it could be, and concentrated on reading. As the noises continued, Crookshanks, at one point, groggily got up from her lap, and dragged himself to a corner to sleep peacefully.

Hermione continued reading for another twenty minutes before giving up. Damn curiosity! She tiptoed to the door to try and listen anything she could.

No, nothing.

Hermione flung her night-robe over her nightgown and opened the door slowly to avoid any sound, and got into the corridor. She did not close the door for the sane reason.

Hermione could hear two woman speaking while Snape added somethings in his cold, silky voice. But she could hardly make up any coherent words.

Giving into her curiosity, she quietly descended the stairs. The voices became more and more prominent. As she reached the last step, Hermione stopped in her tracks.

Bellatrix Lestrange! Hermione remembered her shrill voice and borderline lunatic way of speech from the Department of Mysteries.

There was another woman there, but she could not remember who...

For a moment, she was shocked that Snape associated with his fellow Death Eaters so openly. But then again, it was the first time Hermione had seen any of them visiting. But as she usually stayed out, nothing could be said with surety.

On second thoughts, she still had her doubts that Snape was originally Voldemort's man. But after the Occlumency sessions that he had been providing her with, that notion was becoming harder and harder to maintain.

Hermione immediately decided to return to the room and not draw any unwanted attention from the Death Eaters. For one, she had no idea how she was supposed to behave in front of them. They expected her to be siding with Voldemort, but Hermione was not a good actor. Second, she was still miserable at Occlumency, despite the gradual progress she was making. But if any of the women were a Legilimence...

She was thankful to still be hidden behind the wall that partially separated the staircase from the living room. Very quietly, Hermione tiptoed up the steps.

"Oh, look who we have here!" Bellatrix Lestrange's voice pierced through the room, startling Hermione. "Severus' new wifey-wife!"

Hermione involuntarily winced at that, glad to still be hidden from view.

"Come on, Mudblood, present yourself," Lestrange called with a hint of sadistic glee. Hermione's stomach dropped.

"Won't you attend to your guests like a good lady of the house? Well in your case, vixen of this shack."

Hermione pushed the tip of her wand out of her sleeve, her heart beating faster. What was she supposed to do? She should have never come down!

"Ah, look, Severus, your little bitch is all nice and shy," the madwoman laughed. Hermione's blood boiled in her veins and a surge of fresh fury ran through her. "Won't you call your young tart to greet us like a good pet, Sevy, dear?"

Hermione heard a snort coming from Snape, one that indicated derision. "Too eager, aren't we, Bella?"

"Bella," the other woman spoke, "We should better return now-"

"No, dear Cissy," Lestrange cooed. "I want to meet and give my blessings to Severus and his wifey. Why, Severus, still haven't tamed the wild mare? I wonder what My Lord will say to that."

Christ! If the madwoman got a hint of anything, their entire plan would be jeopardised—assuming there was one, where Snape wasn't entirely double-crossing the Headmaster.

Hermione willed herself to face them.

Snape sneered, "Bella, you-"

"May I...present myself? Sir?" A chill ran down Hermione's spine as those words escaped her in a contrite and meek tone—one that she had promised herself never to use with the man.

"Good girl," Lestrange cried in glee. "Let her in, Sevy-Sev. Please?" Her faux sweetness reminded Hermione strongly of Umbridge. "After all, My Lord will want to know how His newest ally is faring."

"You may," Snape called, giving nothing away.

Mustering up her courage and somewhat stifling her self respect, Hermione stepped out from behind the wall and into the view of the three other occupants.

Snape had his back to her, facing the two women. Beside a broadly grinning Bellatrix, the other woman looked a bit hesitant. She was tall, slim and very pale, with blue eyes and long blonde hair. At another encounter in other circumstances, Hermione would have complemented her for her beauty. But as the woman laid eyes on Hermione, she sniffed, like one did when in the company of their inferiors.

Suddenly, Hermione realised that her band was invisible, that could betray their secret. She surreptitiously hid her hand in the folds of her night-robe.

"Not too tamed, I see," Lestrange said, eyeing her with a smirk.

"Granger," Snape spoke coldly. "Greet the ladies. Mrs. Lestrange and Mrs. Malfoy."

Swallowing her pride and her anger, Hermione inclined her head in what could be confused for reverence. "Mrs. Lestrange. Mrs. Malfoy."

At least, that cleared one mystery. The other woman was Draco Malfoy's mother. Though she did not have the trademark hair and pallor that the Malfoy name carried, her aura of haughtiness and supremacy matched her family name.

"How are you, Mudblood?" Lestrange took a step towards her. "Nice and settled, hmm?"

"Yes—Ma'am," Hermione said in a strained voice. She averted her eyes down to keep the woman from using Legilimency on her, just in case.

Lestrange towered over her with her benefit of a few extra inches, too close for Hermione's comfort. She tilted her head to a side, a twisted smirk spread on her face. Lestrange's unruly hair skirted her face and fell into her heavy lidded eyes that danced with absurd insanity. Hermione realised that the woman was truly unstable only by the way she eyed Hermione, with an unutterable hunger. The woman drew one of her long and twisted nailed finger down the side of Hermione's face. She flinched, in spite of herself.

"Afraid, are you?" Lestrange asked in a coy voice. "Good. You should be."

Hermione clenched her jaw tightly, not willing herself to react to the woman. Lestrange was instigating her.

"Tell me, Mudblood," Lestrange came near her ear to whisper, but in her shrill voice, her whisper ran across the room. "Are you liking being Severus' pet?"

On its own accord, a lump was forming in Hermione's throat. The sexual innuendo brought back dreadful memory of the night of consummation came back to her. It brought back nausea and a sudden dullness fell upon her.

"Do you nicely satisfy his needs, little whore?" Something was rising in her chest, maybe anger, maybe a scream. It deeply unsettled her. Hermione wanted to physically push the words away from her being. The woman was so close that Hermione could feel her breath on her ear. Bile rose in her throat, and her eyes started stinging. "What does he make you do, tell us-"

"I see some curiosity there, Bella," Snape intervened. "Getting some ideas for yourself?"

Lestrange pulled away from Hermione to face Snape, who at some point, had come to stand beside her.

"Oh, don't you like me talking to your wifey?" Lestrange feigned a pout. "Afraid that she might slip up?"

Snape smirked at the woman, "I would not appreciate the likes of you, Bella, to taint a perfectly good witch of my mine with your perverse ways."

Hermione suppressed a wince. She could feel her brows furrowing all along, while her eyes stung to release the moisture in them. But no! Never in front of those Death Eaters.

"Give your little wifey to me for a day, and then you see what a good pet she will make." Lestrange brought her hand to Snape's chest to fiddle with the buttons of his robe, drawing herself closer to him. "Or I can show you and you can teach her in turn." The flirtatious tone made Hermione feel ill.

With his forefinger and thumb, Snape caught Lestrange's wrist, like one held a particularly nasty, dead rat, and dropped it away from himself.

"If only I could lower my standards to that extent, Bella," Snape said silkily.

At that, Lestrange emitted something akin to a snarl, matching that of a wild animal's. "Standards? You are given a Mudblood to fuck, what standards would you claim to have?"

Hermione clenched her fists tightly to keep herself from lashing out. Her anger would soon give rise to her magic cracking if she did not control her ire. Blood felt like fire in her veins, magic entrapped, struggling to strike.

"Careful , Bella, or one would think that you are questioning the Dark Lord's generosity," Snape raised a brow. "Have the last lesson he gave you not seeped in, yet?"

"Severus, you are a-" But before Lestrange could finish her sentence, the Malfoy woman spoke, "We need to head back to the Manor, Bella. Or somebody will take a notice."

Lestrange threw a glare at Snape, who returned it with a cold smirk. The madwoman turned to Hermione, towering over her again. Lestrange slipped a finger under Hermione's chin, and with her twisted nail, raised her face to meet hers. Hermione still did not look in her eyes. "It will be all too much fun to have you among us, little Mudblood. Young and innocent, too much fun to break."

"I believe you can show yourself out," Snape said coldly. "I am in the need of a drink to quell the headache perked by that exasperatingly strident voice of yours, Bella."

With a jolt, Lestrange left her chin, and turned to the door. The two Black sister stalked to the door, and left. When two loud cracks of Apparation broke the silence, Hermione felt herself releasing a long sigh.

She unclenched her fists and closed her eyes. Her breathing was quickened along with her heartbeat. She felt sick—at her own meekness and submission, even if that had been for putting up a plausible show.

Lestrange's words were still reverberating in her ears like sharp blades. All

the nasty names Hermione had been called had reduced her dignity to threads. Dignity—her one priced possession that she still held onto with safety.

Until today.

And then it came as a stale realisation. One that had always been at the back of her mind—no matter how she tried to forget about it, she would never get past it... It had been all about anger with Snape, her loss, but not the depth to which she was trapped into the sick plot.

The bond could not be broken.

What life did she have after this? She was compelled to be bound to the man she could not look at without recalling her loss. It would never end. Would she have to perform those infuriating duties all her life? Keep Living with him, keep lying to everybody... Even after the war would come to an end, she'd still have to bear the brunt for her entire life.

"Miss Granger..."

Snape was saying something, but the ringing in her ears was too loud for her to hear anything beyond her own racing thoughts.

The war would end for everyone—for Harry, for Ron, for the whole Wizarding World. They would have lives to look forward to, their freedom to cherish. But what about her? Her life, her future, her career, her freedom? She would be lost while the others would walk past these years of war. Her life would be paused on this point, tied by this bond!

Was it what she was reduced to—a whore? A pet? A toy, a pawn in the game on a board controlled by Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort?

She could not take it, the thoughts were too loud, the house was too loud. She could not stand it, not another moment. She needed to go, to release the steam before it consumed her.

Hermione ran. She sprinted out of the main door, out of the house, into the street in the dead of the night. She found no resistance from the completely empty and silent street. She ran and ran and ran, with no destination in mind. Her vision was blurred by her tears, now freely slipping down her cheeks.

Lestrange's words still echoed in her ears, bringing back the memories of the consummation, the sight of the band, the burning in her finger... The utter humiliation! What was she? Not a woman, not a witch, but a whore, a pawn?

And when she finally stopped, she found herself kneeling in the grass. Her sobs freely racked her body, still panting. Her shoulders shook as she cried in her hands. The wetness from the grass seeped into her cloth-clad knees and she felt miserable and wretched.

"I can't do it, I can't do it anymore," she mumbled to herself between her sobs. "I can't go on... I can't keep going..."

"Yes, you can." Snape's voice startled her.

Hermione looked up to find the man standing before her, albeit at a distance. His face expressionless, but looking down at her with a mix of hesitation and...? Something she could not decipher.

He extended a handkerchief, white and crisp. His lips were pressed in a line and if she had the strength to notice, she would have seen that his eyes never tried to meet hers as those black orbs held regret.

With some hesitation, Hermione took the handkerchief slowly, still sobbing, and caught in a haze. She turned away from Snape and hid her face in her hands. Tears continued to spill down her cheeks and her shoulders shook with each sob.

For a long time she thought that her tears would not dry, they could not... But in the silence of the night, with only her own sobs and Snape's inaudible breathing, she found herself so exhausted that no more tears could she shed.

At a gradual pace, she tried to gain her composure back and wiped her eyes with shaking hands. Her knees were hurting. She vaguely noted that Snape was still there, waiting patiently. She would not call it comforting, but she did not feel terribly alone, even if just on a physical level. Though even in that moment she hated the man, she wouldn't have preferred finding herself all alone after the recent episode.

Hermione slowly climbed to her feet, feeling weary. It was only then that she observed her surroundings. She was in the park in the locality. But at night, it was thankfully empty of children who occupied the swings in the day. The fact that she was still wearing her Wizarding night-robe in the Muggle locality was a clear indication of her extreme distress.

"Come," Snape said quietly.

Wordlessly, Hermione followed the man, too tired to argue or feel embarrassed.

They made their way back to the house. Even when a couple of men passed by, they did not pay any attention to them, and Hermione realised they were under a spell cast by Snape.

Neither of them wanted to discuss their visitors, it seemed. Snape kept glancing her way every now and then, as if to confirm that she was following. Still sniffing, Hermione did not question him.

Coming inside the house, Hermione only wanted a long, long bath. With no mind to converse, Hermione made a beeline for the staircase.

"You did well today," Snape said, his tone betraying a hint of...pride?

Hermione did not know how to feel about it, but she stopped near the staircase, her back to the man. It had taken a lot out of her to play along in that sick ploy, yes, and she had loathed every bit of it. But at least, it had worked...

She gave a small nod in acknowledgement of Snape's...praise? After which, she made her way upstairs, his handkerchief still tightly clutched in her fist.

A/N: A bit of plot development here. It's actually quite tough to keep their gestures subtle towards each other. I really hope you like where it's going. Do let me know.

Among all the encouraging reviews that I received by my very generous readers, I was asked a few things very commonly.

How long will it take for them to come together and develop feelings?

Well, it will take them quite long. Though I'm mostly posting two chapters combined in one, it will take time. But I didn't want to make this story about instant romance and smut. But I promise, the wait will be worth it. I have a beautiful storyline ahead!

Another question is about how long has it been in the timeline of the story.

I have mostly skipped through the summer. As the last chapter had mentions of Harry's birthday, this chapter takes place in August. I'll make sure to highlight the timeline better in the next chapter.

Also, a huge, HUGE thank you to everyone who reviews, especially some of the more frequent readers who are kind enough to review every chapter. I look forward to hear from everyone. :)