A/N: I think this stays in the bounds of the T rating, but know there's some (mostly non-sexual) nudity here and suggestive language.

Chapter 5: Snape POV

She walks down for breakfast, barefoot as usual. I hate how vulnerable it makes her look. Vulnerable like her name – Daisy. What sort of drugged out hippie names their child for a plain flower? But then, though there is nothing plain about her, I suppose the name is fitting enough, given how delicate she appears, with her slender neck and long legs that curve beautifully at her calves. It seems as though every inch of her is a curve. Which is particularly obvious given that she's inexplicably wearing that damn dress she arrived in. It shows every tempting swell of her body. I clench the edge of the newspaper involuntarily at the sight. What can she mean by this – is she trying to torment me?

"Snape, I was wondering if I could do laundry today? I think I'm starting to smell quite ripe."

She's not wrong, I think sardonically. Though I can forgive that while she's in that cursed dress.

"Leave your dirty clothes in the hall."

She makes a face of surprise. Not for the first time, I resent how readily she shows her every thought. Clearly she didn't grow up in a household where showing even a silver of emotion was a recipe for a beating. "I don't mind doing it myself. I could use something to do."

But I can't rightly explain why I don't have a laundry machine or any of the usual Muggle contraptions. And it seems unnecessarily cruel to make her do manual labor while I can simply magic them clean. "It's no matter. I will take care of it."

"Okay, thank you. Also, if I am going to be here for a while, I would like some more, er, undergarments. And, I will need some...feminine products." She colors slightly as she says this, turning the tips of her ears bright red and giving a charming pink tinge to her cheeks.

But I keep my expression nonplussed, maintaining a glare. "Write down a list of what you need. And be specific or I can't promise I'll pick up what you need. I suppose you'll want some more outerwear?"

"That would be greatly appreciated."

I turn my attention back to the newspaper, trying to shut her, and this conversation, out. "I'll go out this afternoon."

"Thank you," she repeats, and I fight not to flinch at her unnecessary gratitude. She's a submissive one indeed. The animalistic male part of me longs to figure out just how eager to please she is, just how grateful she would be if I bent her over the table and had my way with her. Would she thank me after for making her feel alive again? I cannot help but smirk to myself at the thought.

Though I suppose I shouldn't think ill of her for being so deferential to her captor. As much as I hate spending my summer trapped with her, for her the experience must be infinitely worse. Despite cautioning myself against sticking my big nose where I shouldn't, her behavior intrigues me. Not to mention her past. She's got some spark of magic in her, however slight it may be, since she saw past the wards I put on the fridge lock, which were supposed to hide it from all Muggles. That was an unpleasant realization as I quickly took stock of everything that meant she was able to see that I thought was disguised: my wizard attire, the occult house décor, and probably countless of other items I forgot I was hiding in plain view.

I wonder if Voldemort knows she's a witch. He must – perhaps that is what caught his attention. Still, I do not know what he has planned for her, despite attending multiple Death Eater strategic meetings since she arrived.

I glance at the piece of paper she tentatively slides across the table. I'll have to go to muggle stores to get her requested items, but that's no real surprise.

Daisy POV

I don't hear Snape when he leaves even though I don't read all day in hopes of hearing when the front door opens. But it is already two in the afternoon, so he must have already left for the store. I pad tentatively down the stairs, searching for any sign of him. But the air downstairs is still, just particles of dust floating in the sunbeams. And there isn't a sound.

I've started to grow restless with the boredom, and my body longs to feel the sun and fresh air. I haven't tested Snape's claims about knowing if I try to leave. Maybe he's been lying about everything, and I could just walk out of the front door if I chose to do so. With him out, it's time to test the limits of my captivity. However, in case he hasn't been lying, I need plausible deniability that I wasn't trying to escape. Also, I'd be lying to myself if I said I wasn't curious to try to find out more about my handsome captor.

The hallway from the stairs to the kitchen has three separate closed doors along it. And my curiosity is starting to burst. What will I find behind the forbidden doors – severed heads? Newspaper articles pinned up like a conspiracy board? Naughty photographs?

Picking the closest one, I place my hand along the door frame, running my fingers from the baseboards to as far up as I can reach on both sides. I don't feel any wires that an alarmed door sensor would need. Just as I suspected, and proof that he has been less than truthful with me. I'm already kicking myself for being so stupid as to trust the man who was holding me captive.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I crack the door open. A siren blares, and I immediately snap the door shut, pulse rushing. Thankfully, that turns off the alarm. Cursing my impulsiveness, I back away from the door, relieved that Snape is out so he didn't hear me disobey one of his rules.

"What are you doing?" his dark voice whispers from down the hall.

I let out a yelp of surprise, jolting further away from the door and leaning my back against the wall. I hold one hand to my heart. It's racing at his sudden appearance.

"I said, what are you doing?" He stalks closer to me, and I slide further down the hall.

"I, I didn't mean, I was just, was curious, wanted to see-"

"Wanted to see what?" he roars. "You dense girl, did you hear nothing I've said? You are not to open any doors." He's nearer now, less than a foot away, and I can see his eyes flash with anger and his face is flushed. "I have showed you so much leniency and restraint. And how do you repay me? By disobeying the simplest of orders!"

"I'm sorry," I stammer. "I wasn't thinking."

"No. Clearly thinking was the last thing you were doing. You're testing me now, I see."

"No, Snape, I didn't-"

He takes another step so his face, contorted with rage, is only inches from mine. His hands have grabbed each of my shoulders, pinning me to the wall as if I wasn't already cemented there by my fear.

"You didn't what?" he grits out, spitting each word like a blow.

"I didn't mean to upset you," I say, forcing the words out past my trembling fear.

He eyes me coolly now, dispassionately. "Take off your dress."

"What?" I sputter. I worried it would come to this. But I had hoped. Hoped I wouldn't have to endure a man forcing himself on me.

"Take. Off. Your. Dress." He spits each word like an insult.

His black eyes, glaring at me and sparking as if they might ignite any second, leave no room for argument. I choke back my sobs and move a fraction away from the wall, closer to him, so that I can reach my hand around for the back zipper. I can practically feel him inhale, feel the tension radiating off of him. I shut my eyes, not wanting to look into the depths of his eyes and see his contempt for me.

I peel the dress off, my hands trembling. I have to work it past my hips, and then I let it fall to my feet. I step out of it, back against the wall. His clothes rustle as he kneels down to pick up the dress. Surprised, I open my eyes once more.

"This wretched thing shouldn't exist. Makes you look like a streetwalker." He holds some strange lighter to the fabric, and I bite back a cry as the fabric catches. My last vestige of familiar, going up in flames. He holds it for a moment, the fire spreading quickly, and then tosses it into an empty umbrella holder, where it continues to smoke as it is turned to ash.

I stand before him in my bra and underwear, my knees shaking despite my attempt to put on a brave face. I've clasped my arms across my chest, trying to shield myself.

His eyes rake over my form, and fear clenches around my throat. But a twisted desire settles in my stomach. To have him take me and make me his. He steps closer, and I wish I could melt into the wall. Bracing myself, I hold myself up with the wood trim, disregarding how it bites into my lower back. I feel as though I am a prey being stalked by this formidable predator. But I've trapped myself and have nowhere to run.

"Do not disobey my rules again. The next time, I won't be so forgiving. Do you understand?"

Too choked with fear to respond verbally, I nod emphatically.

He backs away from me a few paces. "Get out of my sight," he snarls.

I run up the stairs double time, slamming my door to impose some sense of security. How am I supposed to face him again? And how will I not spend each moment afraid that he'll take advantage of me? And even worse, terrified that I want my mysterious captor to do just that.