AN:

After five and a half months I bring you a new chapter.

Chapter Six

"Yes..." She reluctantly confirmed, curling her lips in to prevent any further deluge of her secrets.

Less than thirty minutes into being conscious and in Snape's presence again and already she was word vomiting her secrets. Swearing under her breath, Hermione pressed her fingers to her still throbbing temples and again avoided making eye contact with him. She feared that if she continued to meet his penetrating gaze that she would spew even more hidden truths about herself, telling him Merlin only knew what else. Or worse, that he would just glean the heavily guarded information right from her mind before she could even make an attempt at stopping him.

She had never told anyone - not even Harry and Ron - that she had been adopted. As a child before finding out she was a witch and starting at Hogwarts it had made no difference to her. In fact, several of the children she had attended primary with had been adopted as well. It was rather commonplace in Hampstead given the affluent jobs most people had, having chased their career goals over family goals during their childbearing years. Even after she found out she was a witch, she hadn't paid it any mind because logic said that if she wasn't a muggleborn surely she would have been in a wizarding orphanage. Little did she know at the time, no such places existed in the Wizarding World.

The odd things the Sorting Hat had said to her that first night at Hogwarts - those things being what had turned her into a hatstall as she tried to puzzle out her lineage while simultaneously fighting the hat on its decision - had set her on an obsessive path of research. She had meticulously combed the archives, examining every student and their corresponding family trees that had graduated prior to 1979, looking for anyone who fit the hat's riddled speech. However, after two months of digging, not even a whisper of her true parentage had turned up. By then she had finally made friends with Harry and Ron, her attention diverting to researching the stone. Then when a stone unexpectedly turned over providing her with the answers she had been seeking, she quickly buried it into the deepest recesses of her mind, regretting having ever gone down that path. The truth of her biological family was information she couldn't unlearn no matter how desperately she tried to forget it. Now it served as a reminder that knowledge was not always power; sometimes it was better to live in ignorant bliss.

"Keep your secrets, Miss Granger," Snape casually dismissed, though she could feel his eyes searching over her for any tell or resemblance that would hint at her family. "You're going to be here for a while yet. Plenty of time for us to work up to learning things about each other we wish weren't true. Though yours is quite curious. How did you manage to hide it from everyone, Dumbledore included?"

Looking back at him, she appreciatively took notice of how casually dressed he was. He was so much more kept and at ease here in his home than he had looked the night before, or any of the previous years when he had been her professor.

Her subconscious quickly bit her though for the thought as she retorted, "Whose to say he didn't know?"

"I could not have done my job with such success if Dumbledore had not trusted me implicitly," he answered plainly as if he hadn't managed to fool everyone of his allegiance for fifteen years. "I made myself indispensable and in turn he told me nearly everything that pertained to Potter and his circle of friends. How else would I have been able to properly protect him until Dumbledore's preordained time to die came? You don't effectively play on both sides of a war without making each leader think you are wholly in their pocket and they cannot possibly succeed without you.

"There were very few things he did not tell me over the years and even less in his final months, and what he didn't tell me I was able to deduce on my own. Your adoption however, never came up and believe this if nothing else Miss Granger: If Albus Dumbledore had even the smallest inkling that you were not a muggleborn, he would have searched endlessly for your true parentage in hopes of being able to exploit that knowledge for his own gain."

Sneering at his words and the cocky smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth she spat, "You're despicable."

"No pet, I'm a chameleon," he seduced, leaning forward in the armchair with his obsidian eyes turning hypnotic. "I made myself into something both sides of the war desperately needed because it suited my own endgame. And before you go casting your Gryffindor judgements, you may want to look in the mirror because you and I are two sides of the same coin. Our only difference is that I recognize and own what I am, while you deny that you've been doing the same thing for years in order to keep whatever family secret you hold hidden.

"Don't forget Miss Granger, we're soulmates. Supposedly perfect for each other in every conceivable way. From how we manipulate those around us and bend them to our will, to our baser, more sexual desires. No one will ever match us as well as we match each other, our soul marks have seen to that. And if you're a good girl, I'll teach you everything you have ever wanted to know about magic and not just about soulmates."

"And what do you want in return?" She asked, surprised that her words were absent of the heated anger that she had had in her mind, and sounded impossibly close to being curious if not hopeful. "For me to crawl and beg?"

The smile that could make the Devil cower was back as he leaned in close enough for his warm breath to heat her skin and purred, "No Miss Granger, your submission isn't something with which to barter for; it's something I plan to earn. Something you'll give to me of your own free will because you want to be on your knees for me as much as I want to see you there."

Jerking her head back as his words thankfully freed her from the allure of his voice, Hermione's rage was reignited. Dropping the sheets and duvet that she had bunched around herself to keep him from seeing any more of her body, she shoved him back from her and repeatedly pounded her fists into his chest when he didn't move so much as an inch. The responding dark chuckle that was Snape's answer to her assault only served to fan the flames of her fury further. Prepared for him to intercept her hit as he had in the bathroom, she wrenched her left arm back to slap him only to ball up her right hand into a fist and throw the entirety of her small frame into punching the cocksure smile right off his face as he went to grab her left wrist.

"Son of a bitch!"

"You're fucking deranged if you think I'll ever submit to you, Professor ," she laughed maniacally, feeling slightly unhinged herself as she proudly watched him swipe his thumb over his split and bleeding lip. "My sentiment from earlier still stands. If I'm ever in your bed it's because I'm smothering you with your pillow. And to cover all my bases, if I'm ever on my knees for you it's because I've just slit your throat and want to hear you choke to death on your own blood."

Giving in to the feral mania she felt in response to the cavalier way with which he had spoken about manipulating them all, she lunged for the chair he had retreated to and sent them both crashing to the floor. Cupping the air as her hand sailed for his face, she screamed her ire when he caught her wrist again. Twisting her torso, she tried to jab her elbow into his sternum while searching out his crotch with her knee. Roaring out her frustration as he easily prevented every subsequent attack and locked down each of her limbs in retaliation, she heedlessly reared her head back ready to headbutt him in a final attempt to bring him even a fraction of the pain he had caused her that morning alone.

Fast as a striking snake, Snape released his hold on her arms and unceremoniously grasped the sides of her face, halting the forward motion of her head.

"You two-faced coward!" She yelled, struggling against his hold. "Fight back!"

Again moving with a predatory speed and grace that left her rattled brain disoriented, he rolled her under him and flipped her onto her stomach with startling ease. Roughly pinning her arms behind her back, he used his chest to keep her in place while one of the large hands she had once thought graceful but were now soaked with the blood of her friends, he kept her head firmly pressed against the polished wood floors. Brushing his lips against the shell of her ear and drawing forth a reluctant shiver, he whispered with a quiet forcefulness that had his words resonating their truth deep within her bones.

"I may get off on the idea of having you gagged and bound to this bed with your crimson colored arse in the air, but I will never strike you in anger. So if that makes me a coward, then I'll wear it proudly. You belong to me now Miss Granger, and I always respect and take care of that which is mine. Which is why I'm going to put your disobedient arse back in that bed and heal your injuries instead of administering the firm correction you've been begging for all day. Now, do you think you can restrain your volatile tendencies on your own or should I summon my silk ties or leather cuffs and do it for you?"

Seething under him, she hissed, "I hate you."

"The feeling is mutual, Miss Granger but hate is better than apathy. At least with hate we have something to build upon."

Scrunching up her eyes as her rage fueled adrenaline swiftly dissipated and gave way to her screaming injuries, Hermione gave up her fight and deflated underneath Snape. The continuous fighting and wearing down of what was left of her body's reserves would only do her more harm than good in the long run. She had been going far too long on far too little, and if she had any hope of escaping and surviving any amount of time on the run, she was going to have to surrender her pride and allow him to care for her. She couldn't trust him, not by a long shot, but in her current state she had no other choice. And while she couldn't trust him, she could at least have faith in the fact that for whatever reason, he wanted her - or at least what she represented - despite their mutually explosive hatred of each other.

"Fine, I'll be on my best behavior but don't think this means I'm giving up," she muttered in warning. "This is merely self preservation, something I'm sure you are intimately familiar with."

Briefly chuckling in a way that both sent fear and something much worse coursing through her body he said, "I would honestly be disappointed if you gave up that quickly," as he once more manhandled her with an ease that was equivalent to maneuvering a rag-doll and not an adult witch.

Refusing to acknowledge the gentle way with which he placed her in the bed and arranged the pillows so she was propped up before tucking the sumptuous duvet back around her, she finally took notice of the room that had become hers by right of nausea. Heavy drapes were drawn over the wall of windows that were opposite the bed, hiding the showcase view of the rolling fields between his home and the stables. While the early evening sun was barred entrance into the room, the bedside lamps were dimly lit in favor of the opulent, crystal chandelier that hung above the center of the room. The soft, warm glow was enough to see by while in the bed, but provided a soothing protection to her concussed senses. Like the dichotomy of his gentleness in the face of having taken her prisoner, this too was something she refused to acknowledge despite being appreciative of it.

The cream colored chair Snape had been occupying before she had tackled him out of it, had a mate under the bank of windows with a small table that sat between them and a matching lamp atop it. At the foot of the bed was a plush, crepe colored bench that matched the window dressings, as well as the drapes that cascaded down from the crown canopy above the all white bed she sat in. Finishing off the layout of the room were two ornately carved baroque style wardrobes flanking an even more elaborate silver mirror on the far wall. The details of the furniture were painstakingly replicated on the ceiling surrounding the chandelier, in the corners of the room, and along the crown molding. Even the doors that led to the bathroom and back into the corridor bore the same intricately sculpted pattern, all of it lightly brushed with antique gold leaf.

"The manor was built in the early 1600s. All the architecture and furniture is original," he quietly commented, laying out a series of potion vials on the night table.

"I'm sorry?"

Circling his finger up at the ceiling without looking up from his notebook, he explained, "You were studying the details of the room. I was saying the manor was built in the early 1600s; 1623 if I recall correctly. Aurelius Prince was the last born son of the Prince family back in France and married off to Cassandra Hawthorne, a pureblood daughter and only child of an only child here in England. Their marriage solidified personal ties between the two countries, expanded their society circles, and kept the Hawthorne line alive by agreeing to name their second born son a Hawthorne instead of a Prince.

"The Princes had this place built for their union as a show of their wealth and political power with their connections to both the Wizarding monarchy France had at the time and the muggle monarchy. In actuality, it was nothing more than a pissing contest between them and the Malfoys. They were rather affronted by Reznor and his accusations of Aurelius being new money gauche when he had come over to properly meet his bride. Like the peacocks that still roam their grounds, the Malfoys liked to strut about flaunting their connections to Elizabeth and later James and so Tacitus, Aurelius's father, decided to match them monarch for monarch. Then after seeing Malfoy Manor, this place was constructed with the use of the new, lighter, more detailed and expensive style of baroque that was beginning to sweep across Europe to counter the dark, imposing, gothic style of their new rivals. But like our deeply buried secrets, we have plenty of time to get into family histories and educate you on the expected manners and customs of society later. Right now I need to tend to your abrasions, malnourishment, concussion, and most pressing, Bellatrix's curse which is leeching your magic from you as we speak."

"You can't be serious?" She shrieked. "Isn't it enough that that bitch carved me up like a Sunday roast?"

"For Bellatrix? No," he snorted, tracing a series of runes over her. "She thought you a muggleborn and undeserving of your magic, so she wanted to take it from you and force you back into what she perceives as your proper place. Be thankful your dalliance with Draco didn't come out until after she tortured you. She probably would have kept you on the brink of death for weeks for soiling her nephew with your harlot muggle ways."

Toying with the sheets of the bed as he pulled up a map that resembled her circulatory system, Hermione felt her eyes go wide at the sickly colors that bled out from her left arm. Turning her arm over to expose the hate filled mutilation, she watched the pulsing read out of her suffocating magic. The veins that surrounded the crudely carved slur had turned oily in color. Towards her hand and fingers and up her elbow and bicep the color morphed into a sickly shade of chartreuse that seemed to be darkening before her eyes. In contrast, her yet to be tainted right arm radiated a beautiful shade of orchid, the shimmer of magic as it coursed through her body almost palpable.

First running her fingers over her unmarred arm, then over the raw cuts of the other as though she would be able to feel a difference between her pure and poisoned veins, Hermione looked up at Snape and quietly impetrated, "You can fix it, right? You won't let me lose my magic?"

Holding her gaze as he lifted her hand from where she had begun picking at her scabbing arm, he sat on the bed and assured her, "The process will be painful, leave you bedridden for several days if not a week, and we will have to do this at least twice, if not three or four times in total. However, you went through far worse under her wand and knife, so the pain of purging her handiwork from your core will be nothing by comparison.

"I meant it when I said, 'I take care of what's mine,' and whether you want to be or not, you are now mine. So yes, I will not let you lose your magic. As for being capable of fixing this, I brought you back from the brink of death in your fifth year. While Bellatrix may have been clever with her design of the dagger, she is nowhere near as skilled with curse creation as Dolohov."

He curiously hadn't removed his hand from hers, but instead of drawing attention to it, Hermione took a quiet solace from the soft grip of his fingers around her own. Looking down at the putrid color her magic was turning before dying off, she asked, "So how do we proceed?"

Squeezing her hand before releasing it and canceling his spell, Snape stood up and handed over his journal with his illegible jiberish about his observations and theories and laid out the process he had created for healing her.

"To begin, you're going to take the first round of nutrient dense potions I brewed while Mopsey tended to you after you collapsed. It'll help bolster your system and give your body some much needed replenishment. You'll take those five times a day for at least two weeks each time you eat. However, to spare you the indignity of uncontrolled vomiting, I won't have you actually eat until we're done with today's purge. You've become emaciated after your time on the run and with your body running past empty, it's slowing down your recovery. It's amazing you've lasted this long without incurring permanent damage or your systems giving out."

"What can I say? Fear driven determination is a powerful thing," she quipped.

Except for the raising of a scornful eyebrow, he continued as though she hadn't spoken saying, "After that, I'm going to rub a local anesthetic into the M and surrounding areas. Once it takes effect I'm going to slice it open and allow it to begin bleeding while you take the first Blood Replenishing potion so it can work as you lose blood."

Looking at the jar filled with a thick cream she assumed was the anesthetic and the lined up vials of rust colored liquid that was Blood Replenisher, she tried to decipher his cramped script. The only other potions on the night table were a bright orange one that was the nutrient supplement, an eggplant one that was Dreamless Sleep, and a muddled bluish green one that she knew was for concussions having brewed several dozen doses herself for their medi-kit before going on the run.

Unable to figure out how blood letting her with a numbing agent was going to be painful, she looked back up to his waiting eyes and questioned, "What aren't you telling me?"

Nodding at the journal, he instructed, "Turn the page."

Slowly taking her eyes off him, she flipped the page and scanned his equations trying to follow his rapid fire thought process. Agreeing with his dismissals of the first several theories on the left, she tracked her eyes over to the right and snapped her head back up as she read his settled upon course of action.

"Absolutely not!"

Rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms, Snape mocked, "Well unless during your downtime between planning and executing Ministry raids, explorations of England's majestic national forests, and doing the impossible by breaking into Gringotts, stealing from their vaults, and liberating their abused dragon, you've found the time to study and master dark magic and its effects on a person, as well as ways to combat it, I assure you this is how it has to be done."

"No! I won't-"

"Miss Granger!" He snapped, descending upon the bed with his hands bracketing her body. "The nick on your neck alone is enough to slowly turn you into a squib. You have eight letters carved into your arm. It's already a bloody miracle you didn't die or go insane from Bellatrix's psychotic temper tantrum. The fact that you've been doing as well as you have given the abysmal condition of your health is a testament to, I assume the eldest Weasley and his wife's initial care and management of your recovery.

"The curse on that blade has already leeched ten percent of your magic and it's only been a month. So you can either go along with the treatment plan I have laid out for you willingly, or I can hold you down and force it upon you. Regardless of how we get there, this is happening because unlike you, I am not willing to take the risk of your health and magic deteriorating further while you search for another option. You will only come back to this one when you find there is no other choice."

"I hate you," she snarled, nearly spitting in his face.

Grinning maliciously at her, he retorted, "We've already established that pet, so how about you use that considerably sized brain of yours to find other ways to express your displeasure with me."

Losing the rest of her hard fought composure, she did spit in his face as she said, "You're certifiably insane if you think I'm going to allow you to crucio me, repeatedly !"

"Admittedly I imagined that the first time I tied you up it would be under much more enjoyable circumstances, but if that's your answer then so be it," he flippantly dismissed, his eyes burning with a cold fire that betrayed his anger and frustration with her.

"Why does it matter to you?" She demanded as he pulled back from the bed, swatting her attacking hand aside while aggressively waving his wand in summons. "Why claim me? Why care for me? Neither of us wants me here, so why? Answer that honestly and directly and I'll do this."

Matching his stare as she waited to see how much her consent actually meant to him, four cuffs soared into the room, dropping onto the center of the bed. Tearing her gaze away from him, Hermione reached out to pick one up, surprised that he had actual restraints and hadn't planned on subduing her with magic. The whiskey colored leather felt cool and supple under her fingers as she traced the exquisitely tanned hide. Each cuff was adorned with gleaming gold hardware for fastening them to size, as well as D rings to link the cuffs together or to some sort of fixture or additional prop. Fingering the matching chain that had quick release clips on each end until the metal began to warm, her imagination flooded her mind with vivid visuals of what he had been threatening to do with her all afternoon.

More like promising, she thought, looking up at him with a stunned expression as she tried to banish the growing warmth between her legs at what she was picturing.

Caressing the cushioned, satin lining, she whispered, "You were serious."

"Very."

"I thought you were just trying to keep me unbalanced. Psychological warfare and all that."

Taking the cuff from her confused fingers and sending it and its mates along with the chains to the night table, Snape admitted, "That was just an added bonus."

"You're an arsehole."

"Guilty," he shrugged. "Now, can we get started?"

"Not until you tell me why," she reaffirmed.

Looking as though it pained him to be honest, and it probably did given how deep his duplicitous nature went, he answered, "I was fine without a mate, happy really. Unlike others, I never held a secret, romanticized dream about finding mine and how we would instantly fall in love upon first contact and feel like we couldn't breathe without the other. Frankly I found it as ludicrous of a notion as you do and I grew up in this world. However, in the blink of an eye I lost all my fucking self control, unable to not touch that freckled falling star after seeing it. I damned us both in that moment and since there's no going back now that we've acknowledged the bond's existence, we may as well find a way going forward."

Searching his words for some hidden manipulation and finding none, Hermione huffed and handed his journal back to him.

"Well let's get this over with, Professor. The quicker you heal me, the faster I can recover, and then I can begin planning my escape in earnest."

"Looking forward to it, Miss Granger." Uncorking the orange vial and handing it over to her, he instructed, "Bottoms up."

Taking the potion with a scrutinizing glare, she questioned, "Why do I feel like you aren't just talking about the potion?"

With a salacious grin that served as both a siren's call and a warning bell for her already conflicted desires, he purred, "Because I'm not."