A/N Look at me - not leaving a two year gap before my next chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed my last installment. I was so touched to see so many familiar faces. It inspired me to keep writing. Thank you to wonderful Vitellia for beta reading for me and also keeping me going and encouraging me to finish. If you are looking for a light hearted story to take your mind off all the misery going on in the world at the moment I thoroughly recommend her new Dramione with a slice of Lumione, Parents Behaving Badly. Happy Easter for tomorrow if that's your thing and happy day off work and excuse to eat chocolate if it's not!

It is several days before Hermione sees Snape again. She finishes all of her allotted brewing. She looks back through her records and brews several potions which Snape has previously asked for and which she believes he may request next. She hovers over the cauldron of Felix Felicis and considers trying the next step herself. Except she can't remove the stasis charm Professor Snape cast over it in such a cavalier fashion. Sometimes the loss of her wand is like the physical ache of a phantom limb.

Try as she might she is unable to prevent herself from worrying about the dark wizard. Draco said he had been tortured. Has Madame Pomfrey overlooked something in her treatment of him? Or has he relapsed? Perhaps he has been the victim of some dark curse of which Draco was not aware. Perhaps he is dying. Perhaps he is dead.

She tries to push such thoughts from her mind. There is no good in pointless speculation and she certainly can't ask Lucius for answers. Things between them are as frosty as ever and he is behaving in a manner best described as erratic.

He ignores her completely. Hermione supposes that whatever sexual thrall she held him in has been completely extinguished by their single encounter. She is surprised. Is that how sex works? She had always imagined that attraction would be cumulative. That the more you had of a person the more you would want. Not Lucius it seems. He has had his fill.

Yet there is an odd tension around him. It is only because Hermione has become so very attuned to him that she is able to discern the subtle difference. There is almost nothing to see but she has a very distinct sense that his feathers are seriously ruffled. His reading habits have changed. Gone is his set regimen of thirty minutes before sleep. Gone are the diverse texts of fact and fiction. He now has a teetering pile of books beside his bed and he pores over them for hours on end. He reads late into the night. So late that Hermione has to put aside her own book before him. She's never met a person before whose reading habits are more extreme than her own. In the mornings before the house elf comes to take her to the Potions Lab she creeps over to his bedside table and runs her finger down the list of titles. They are too boring even for her. He is reading solely on the topic of economics now. Great weighty tomes some almost too large for Hermione to lift. And then (and she finds this most peculiar) Muggle texts on the same topic. She wonders what has sparked such an obsession. Is the Malfoy empire in difficulty? Has Lucius lost all of his money? The opulence with which he surrounds himself suggests not. But she daren't ask him. It is simply another mystery she has no way of unravelling.

When she has exhausted her store of potions ingredients she practices her Occlumency and re-reads the textbooks Snape has given her. Soon she will run out of reading material and will be forced to beg Lucius for the privilege of reading his text books.

Snape returns before this can happen. He appears in the potions lab looking more pale and gaunt than usual.

"Miss Granger."

"Professor. Are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" He scowls darkly as he answers.

"I haven't seen you for days and Draco said you were tortured…" She stops talking. In the days during which Snape has been gone they have become much closer in her mind than they truly are. She has allowed herself to forget the reality of his acerbic nature.

"That boy talks entirely too much. Come, we are going to gather ingredients. I can see you have used up all of the supplies I left you." He sweeps out of the room with Hermione following behind in his wake.

"Yes, but…" She wants to demonstrate how clever she has been in finishing her brewing and even anticipating his future requests. But she realises she will not score any points with him through such a pathetic display of attention seeking.

"But what?" He is preceding her down the hallways and Hermione trots obediently after him.

"Nothing," she answers meekly. It is clear she is not going to receive any further intelligence from Snape.

He leads her to a part of the house she hasn't seen before. Downstairs through what she guesses must be servants' quarters and past the kitchens to the back door. He is carrying a heavy cloak over his arm which he fastens round his own shoulders. After giving her a brief look, he removes a handkerchief from his pocket and briskly transfigures it into a second cloak which he hands, wordlessly to Hermione. She represses a smile desperate to mention 'foolish wand waving'.

It is a cold crisp day and she appreciates being outside. She had thought after her years on the run that she would be delighted never to spend a day out of doors again. She had been wrong. Even a home as beautiful as Malfoy's can become oppressive when one is not allowed to leave. She almost skips after Snape a wicker basket hanging from the crook of her arm. She willingly gathers the herbs and fungi he points out to her.

Once or twice she catches him wincing as he stoops to pick plants from the ground.

"Let me do that, Sir" She reaches down to pick the Fly Agaric that Snape is ponderously reaching for. She almost expects a put down but instead he merely purses his lips and allows her to place the toadstool in his basket.

As they walk slowly toward the distant pond Hermione glances once more at Snape. A shaft of weak sunlight highlights the sharp lines of his face. There is a shadow of a bruise across his cheek and his face never handsome to begin with has somehow become even less attractive.

"What happened to your face?" She blurts the question before she can stop herself.

Almost involuntarily Snape lifts a hand to his bruised cheek and turns to glare at her. Hermione winces expecting a vicious put down. Instead he merely sighs and turns to look towards the lake.

"My cheekbone was broken. I believe Madame Pomfrey made and error in setting it."

Hermione frowns at this. She can't imagine the indomitable Madam Pomfrey faltering over something so simple as resetting a broken bone.

"I believe I could fix it, Professor. If I had a wand." She looks earnestly at him.

"Curb your enthusiasm, Miss Granger." He is still not looking at her. "Let us allow Poppy her petty grievances." His fingers brush once more over the bruised cheek and Hermione bites her lip. She reminds herself once again that Snape is the enemy. He is Voldemort's right-hand man, the murderer of Albus Dumbledore. She should be applauding Madame Pomfrey for striking back in the only way she can against her oppressors. And yet, it seems unbearably cruel to her to further disfigure the man.

"Let us stop here for a moment." Snape draws to a halt and takes a seat on a convenient tree stump. He is slightly out of breath and rummages in the pockets of his robes for a vial which he unstoppers and downs in one mouthful. Hermione recognises the pungent odour of blood replenishing potion. She opens her mouth to speak and then closes it again.

"Wise decision," Snape mutters.

He shows no sign of moving on so Hermione sinks down onto the soft loam next to him. She crosses her legs and fiddles with a pinecone. The damp of the ground is penetrating through her clothes, but she doesn't really mind. It is simply pleasant to be outside breathing the fresh air even if it is in the company of Professor Snape.

"How is your Occlumency coming along?"

She starts a little as he breaks the silence and turns to look at him. Before she can reply he is invading her mind. He shoulders past her automatic attempt to deflect him and begins to ransack her memories. He is deliberately aggressive in his approach and despite her panic she has a moment to wonder if he is punishing her for her impertinent questions or testing her for her own benefit. She leaves him tearing through recollections of the last few days of brewing while she builds her own defences. Then she draws his interest in the direction she desires with a string of false memories. Snape watches with interest as Lucius leaves the bedroom they share. Hermione sits reading for a few moments before she is disturbed by an owl fluttering at the window. With a quick glance at the door Lucius recently left through she hurries to the window and opens it just a crack. She covertly takes the note attached to the owl's leg and rewards it with a crumb of toast from her breakfast tray.

She unfolds the letter with trembling fingers instantly recognising Harry's bold scrawl. She reads and rereads the note. She blinks back tears as the words begin to penetrate her brain. Harry is sorry. He has tried his hardest to think of a way to rescue her and Ginny. He misses them both. Wishes they could all be together again. But he knows she is the bait in Voldemort's trap and he can't let the dark lord win. He is going away. Abroad. He has contacts in Spain. With time, he will be able to build an army there and return to the UK. She is not to think he is abandoning her. He will come back for both of them. But not for a long time. She must do her best to make a life for herself without him and Ginny must do the same. Hermione's tears drip onto the letter smudging the ink and making Harry's scrawl even harder to read.

Snape is gone from her mind as quickly as he entered.

"Bravo, Miss Granger."

She isn't sure if his praise is genuine or not. She massages her aching temples and waits further judgment.

"The tears were a particularly nice touch." He withdraws a vial from his pocket and passes it to her. She takes it and without hesitation downs the contents.

"How very trusting of you," he comments.

"Hardly." She swallows trying to clear the bitter taste of the pain-relieving potion from her mouth. "You have your wand and I am defenceless. You don't need to poison me."

He smirks in response and gets to his feet. "Come along. I need to replenish my stocks of duckweed and mare's tail. We won't achieve that sitting around all morning."

Hermione decides not to point out that it was he who initiated their rest stop not she.

They gather the weeds before heading back to the house. Hermione's headache has abated and she is enjoying the outing. Snape has even been cajoled into extoling the alternate uses of many of the plants they have gathered. Hermione enjoys listening to him lecture. It is strangely comforting lulling her mind into a euphoric state of educational rapture. She feels almost as if she is back at Hogwarts when the acquisition of knowledge was all that mattered.

As they approach the house Snape takes a deep breath.

"Tell me, Miss Granger. How is your relationship with Lucius?"

Hermione glances across at him hoping in vain to read the motive behind his question in his expression. Of course, his face is as blank as always.

"Antagonistic," she answers honestly. "You must know he hates me."

"Indeed." Snape shoots her a sly look. "I had thought that it was perhaps more complicated than simple hate."

"Perhaps." They pause not far from the back door and to Hermione's surprise Snape shoots out a hand and captures her chin between two fingers. He angles her jaw toward the sun. Hermione knows exactly what has caught his eagle eye. The faint imprint of Lucius' fingers still stains her skin. He releases her and curls his cold fingers into the sleeves of his robes as if her skin has burned him.

"Let me be blunt, Miss Granger."

Hermione waits. She has never known Snape to engage in plain speaking.

"If you have any influence over Lucius it may be of benefit to us all."

Hermione frowns. She doesn't know what to say.

"Influence?" she eventually manages to stammer.

"Do not be coy." Snape snaps. "It does not become you and we do not have time to pander to your girlish sensibilities."

"Professor Snape." There is harshness in Hermione's voice which a long time ago would have shocked her. She would never have dreamed of addressing a teacher in such a manner. "Perhaps I should remind you that I am a prisoner in your friends house at the mercy of a dictator whose reign you helped to establish. I do not owe you any of my confidences."

Snape goes very still. For a moment she believes she has finally overstepped the mark. He will explode, curse her, or storm off never to speak to her again.

"We are more alike than you might think, Miss Granger." He looks down at the ingredients they have gathered and shifts some of the toadstools in the basket. He avoids her eyes. "Neither of us are willing to give an inch. We are both too afraid of giving something away which might be used against us." He finally looks up. "Perhaps I should not have taught you to occlude so well."

She meets his gaze, unafraid. "Perhaps not."

He gives a soft sigh. "Lucius is a complex man. Even I do not fully understand what drives him. His childhood was… not as pleasant as one might assume."

Hermione interrupts him with a snort. "If you are trying to rouse my sympathies, Professor please do not bother."

"Not sympathy." He looks over toward the house. "Understanding maybe. I don't know exactly what Lucius wants. But I do know that he does not have it. There will come a time when he is forced to make a choice. I believe that it is in your power to influence the outcome of that choice."

Hermione scowls at him. She doesn't understand and she hates not understanding. "Urgh. Must you constantly talk in riddles?" she snaps.

"Hardly riddles," Snape snaps back. "You are being deliberately obtuse. I frequently wonder what it is that I have done to deserve such a hapless ally."

Hermione laughs knowing it will aggravate him. "One of the worst things about your teaching, Professor Snape was your inability to see that not everyone is capable of grasping abstract concepts as quickly as you. I have absolutely no idea what it is you are trying to tell me."

Snape stares at her his eyes wide. Then to her surprise he throws his head back and laughs. It is a thoroughly unappealing sight. His yellowed crooked teeth are fully on show and the spreading of his lips only accentuates the uneven pull of skin across his ruined cheekbone. Despite this Hermione cannot help but smile in response. She doesn't exactly get what he is trying to tell her, but she feels a glimmer of understanding stretching tentatively between them. Embarrassed by the intimacy of the moment she looks away and takes a few steps onto the immaculate lawn. A single dandelion seed head stands proudly amidst the perfectly cut grass.

She plucks the maverick weed and brings it to her lips as she remembers playing in her parent's garden as a young girl. She looks impishly at Snape.

"Make a wish." She purses her lips and blows as hard as she can. She watches the seed heads scatter on the breeze her mind a curious jumble of half formed thoughts and suppositions. Perhaps there is hope, she thinks.

Lucius shifts uncomfortably in the ornately carved leather chair which once belonged to his father. His discomfort is not the fault of the furniture. He has been crouched over his desk for over six hours and no chair could be expected to prevent his back from seizing and his fingers from cramping. He removes the silver rimmed reading glasses which vanity dictates he only wear under extreme duress and rubs at his tired eyes. A glance at the mantle clock indicates that it would not be unreasonable to pour himself a drink.

He stands and stretches his aching back before moving to the decanter by the window and splashing a small amount of firewhisky into a crystal tumbler. He replaces the stopper firmly. He has been drinking too much lately. He is aware of his weakness and has no desire to slip back into the alcoholic fugue which consumed him prior to the Battle of Hogwarts. He returns to his desk and sets the glass aside. Its ontents, untasted and steaming gently a symbol of his self-control.

He returns his attention once more to the quarter's fiscal accounts but his brief sojourn to the decanter has made no difference. He is facing an impossible task. His mind turns like an unruly horse toward the girl and his treacherous body hardens just at the thought of her. If he could just have her again. If she would just submit to him then everything else would be bearable. She is like a canker in his side or a particularly bad bout of toothache. She impacts on every element of his mind fuddling his brain and distracting him from the work which is so vital for his own and Draco's survival. He had thought aking her once would be enough, but he had been so wrong. He realises now that it is not merely the physical act he needs. He needs her supplication, her acceptance. He needs her to give herself to him entirely. Only then will he be satisfied. Only then, will he be able to fix Voldemort's mess.

The numbers of the bills and ledgers dance tauntingly before his eyes. His red inked quill leaves chicken scratches rather than legible notations. In a fit of childish pique he sweeps his arm across the desk and clears the pile of papers onto the floor. His whisky glass follows. Cushioned by the mass of parchment it doesn't even shatter but the burning liquid spills out smearing the ink into a coalescent muddle of red and black. He buries his head in his hands.

When he looks up he sees the girl as if she has been conjured by his subconscious. She is standing on the lawn just outside his window. Deeply engaged in conversation with Severus, she is entirely unaware of his presence. Unable to resist her lure Lucius steps across the pile of soiled parchment and spilled whisky to stand by the window slightly to one side in order to escape the notice of both the girl and the other wizard.

Both of them have wicker baskets hanging from one arm. They contain a collection of herbs and grasses which Lucius quickly disregards as beneath his interest. He vaguely recalls giving Severus permission to walk in the grounds with the girl. He struggles to admit it even to himself but the sight of his friend bruised and beaten in the Hogwarts infirmary has shaken him. He doesn't know why. He and Severus have both suffered their fair share of torture at Voldemort's hands in the past but somehow Lucius is more painfully aware of his own mortality and that of his friend. Perhaps it is Narcissa's death which has changed him. Or his fear for Draco. He could not deny Severus' very reasonable request that the girl be allowed to accompany him on the occasional expedition to gather potions ingredients. Lucius already knows that she is doing most of Severus' brewing for him. It would be petty to deny him this additional service.

They are not gathering ingredients now though. They are standing on the lawn less than a foot apart and the girl is listening intently to something Severus is saying. His lank hair blows in the wind revealing a shadow of purple bruising across one cheek. He looks even more pale and gaunt than usual his voluminous robes plastered against his skinny body by the brisk northern breeze. He is not an attractive man, never will be. And yet, the girl hangs on his every word. Her expressive eyes are fixed on his face as he lectures her. Her small white teeth bite down on her plump lower lip and she nods contemplatively. When Severus finally finishes she asks a question. Severus sneers an answer and Lucius waits for the girl to cower at the vicious put down. But she merely laughs and says something in response which causes Severus to throw back his head and laugh his teeth bared in mirth. Lucius doesn't think he has ever seen his friend laugh like that. Not since their school days anyway and Severus had precious little to laugh about then.

He likes her. The realisation is accompanied by a visceral blast of involuntary magic which shakes the window frame and causes both witch and wizard below to glance around in surprise. Lucius draws back into the shadow of the window while he processes his realisation. He had thought that Severus tolerated the girl. She was an annoyance, a know it all, a thorn in his side. And yet here there is plain evidence that he does not consider her so. He is looking at her with genuine warmth in his black eyes. Lucius' fists clench. How dare he? How dare he take pleasure in something that belongs to Lucius? She is his. Given to him by The Dark Lord himself. Severus has his own Award. Let him laugh with her!

He takes several deep breaths. He can't remember the last time his magic escaped him like that. Not since he was a teenager, perhaps even younger. He has always prided himself on his ability to supress even the strongest of emotions.

Almost against his own will he looks once more out of the window. They are still talking the girl smiling although there is a slight frown between her eyes. Jealousy pounds like firewhisky in his blood. It burns and sears its way from his stomach to his heart. She never looks at him like that. In fact, she doesn't look at him at all these days. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. Why should he care? She is nothing more than chattel. It doesn't matter what she thinks or says who she likes or doesn't like. She is his to do with as he pleases and her strange relationship with Severus exists only at his sufferance. None of this reasoning makes him feel any better.

The girl turns away from Severus her attention caught by something on the ground. She stoops to pick a single out of season dandelion head and holds it up to Severus talking animatedly as she does so. Lucius' fingers grip the sill turning white with the pressure as the girl lifts the weed toward her lips. Her cheeks are stained pink with the cold. Despite the fact that she is several metres away he can make out every detail of her dark lashes as they slowly lower and her lips purse.

"Make a wish." He lip reads the words. Then she blows hard and the tiny delicate spores fly off in every direction to embed themselves on the pristine lawns of the Malfoy estate. Lucius lets out a low moan of despair. She has ruined everything.

A/N Next chapter I'm planning to actually have our two protagonists in the same room for a protracted length of time - crazy I know!