Hermione knew this day would come. Not the day that she faced off against Severus Snape - no, that thought had never even crossed her mind. No, she always knew the day would come when she would face off against a Legellimens that was more powerful than her and could slide into her head like a hot knife through butter.
Truth be told, given enough time, anyone's mind could be invaded - even the great Severus Snape, she was sure. However, staring him in the eyes, she wondered how futile it was that she was going to fight to keep him out. And she would fight, without a doubt.
It was seconds that felt like hours before her nose began to bleed, and she knew she was in for a long afternoon. He'd get in eventually - quicker than just about anyone - but she wouldn't roll over and offer up information.
"Who's side are you on, Snape?" she growled as he pushed against her brain like a battering ram.
"Where. Is. Potter?" he answered back, sneering. From what Hermione could tell, he looked ...bored. As if he were insulted he had to waste his time doing something so mundane.
"I don't know," she answered through gritted teeth, and she felt her shields cracking. "I wouldn't tell you if I did," she spat.
Hermione felt the first memory slip past her shields. It was a memory of her and the Weasleys surrounding Harry's body before he was whisked away to wherever Molly had taken him. Snape could search until he was blue in the face: Hermione had no idea where Harry was - there was no more to that memory once Molly and Arthur had hugged Harry to their chests and Port Keyed away.
Snape's head tilted as he followed that thread to another memory, Harry and Ginny dancing at The Burrow at Bill and Fleur's wedding before the Death Eaters crashed the party.
And another memory - Molly and Arthur watching as Harry opened his Christmas presents -
"I already know he is with Molly Weasley, stupid girl," he said. "But they are not at the Burrow! Where are they?"
"I already told you that I don't know! I don't want to know. I won't be tortured into handing him over and losing this war!"
"You've already lost this war!" he said, ejecting himself from her mind so forcefully that Hermione fell backwards against the back of the couch. It was another moment before she was able to catch her breath. "You lost this war the moment the Dark Lord marked Potter for death. Despite all of Dumbledore's planning, you lost this war before you ever fought in it."
Hermione wiped at her nose with the back of her hand, the blood a deep burgundy against her pale skin and looked back at Snape with a sneer that could impress even him. "We'll never know what Dumbledore's plans were, will we?" she asked, standing.
Though Snape stood his ground, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking down his nose at her as if she were nothing, Hermione advanced on him. "We'll never know because you murdered him!" She was as close to him as she dared to get before she stopped, looking up at him. "Killed him and ran away, like the coward you are," she hissed, and she never even saw the stunner coming.
One minute she was on her feet, the next, she was flat on her back staring up at him. She'd never even seen him twitch to cast that spell. For the second time in as many days, she found herself staring down the length of an ebony wand pointed at her face. To her credit, she didn't even flinch. What was he going to do to her that hadn't already been done the day before?
"Do not call me a coward," he said in such a stunted, soft voice that Hermione had to strain to hear him. She wondered if she was supposed to.
They stayed like that for long minutes before he spoke again.
"You will pull your weight here. You will do as you are told. You will assist me when I have need of you and you will not attempt to escape, or so help me, you will pray for something as merciful as the Avada I cast on Albus."
Hermione moved to sit up and the second her palms flattened on the floor, she was hit with another stunner from his wand, stronger than the first. And something was now keeping her pinned down.
"You will get up when I allow you to," he told her in one of his most deceptively dulcet tones. "You will be provided with food, shelter and clothing, in exchange for this, you will brew potions when I need you to, complete any tasks I assign you, run any errands I have; your obedience is paramount to your survival - I will not hesitate to terminate you if the need arises."
He stepped back from her, wand still pointed, letting her know that she was still not permitted to move. "There is a shower upstairs, I suggest you use it - there are also clothes in the closet of the guest bedroom, which is to the right of the stairs. When you are finished, report to me in the basement; we have work to do."
And with that, he dropped his wand at his side and turned to leave, only stopping to look over his shoulder for a moment. "Your Occlumency shields are disappointing. I expected more from an insufferable know-it-all."
It wasn't until he was out of sight that the spell that was keeping her pinned to the floor dissolved and she was able to sit up. She wanted to lash out at him, to scream at him and ask him why he'd betrayed them, to provoke him into some action that she could react to, but she knew it was an unworthy use of her time. Snape wouldn't tell her anything he didn't want her to know, and she wouldn't be able to force it out of him.
She stood on shaky legs and made her way to the stairs. Somewhere during that exchange, her brain registered the word 'shower', and was very much ready to take advantage of its offerings. She took the steps one at a time, her body still achy from the previous day's activities and and the previous moment's humiliations; the man was 20 years her senior - how was he able to move that quickly?
Gingerly stepping, Hermione made her way up the stairs to the room to the right. There was nothing special about the room. There was a full bed, made up in hospital white with an older looking blanket draped across the foot. At least she'd have a bed to sleep in. A perusal of the closet showed robes in navy, black and green, and … dresses in several colors? Cardigans. Flats were on the floor in what she assumed would be her size. What the hell?
She moved over to the lone dresser in the room and opened the drawers to find fresh under clothes. On top of the dresser was a toothbrush and toothpaste. Soap. Shampoo. Conditioner.
Had he shopped for all this?
She didn't dwell on it for too long. She was anxious to wash away the previous day's dirt and she could taste the coppery tinge of her own blood in her mouth from where she'd been thrown on her back by Snape's wand moments before; she'd bitten the inside of her cheek so as not to cry out.
Deciding not to push her luck, Hermione was in and out of the shower as quickly as possible. She was able to use a wandless spell to detangle and dry her hair, braiding it and letting it fall heavily against her back.
She picked out one of the black dresses, surprised to find that it fit her perfectly, and slipped her feet into matching shoes. She almost felt like herself again, if not for the constant tripping of her fight or flight instinct everytime she remembered where she was. And who she was locked in the house with. And on whose orders.
She was halfway down the stairs when Snape's first spell whizzed by her face. She fell backwards and the rest of the trip down the stairs was made on her bottom. She stood, looking for him, but did not see him, though his next hex hit her in the arm.
"What the hell, Snape?" she screamed, ducking behind one of the chairs in the sitting room. "You attack unsuspecting, unarmed wizards now?" In truth, she was surprised. And in this particular instance, it was completely unnecessary. She couldn't take him in a duel. She didn't even have her wand.
His next hex hit her square in the back and knocked the air out of her lungs. His voice came from over her left shoulder.
"I attack whomever needs to be attacked, whenever they need to be attacked, armed, unarmed, aware of my presence or not. We are at war, Miss Granger. I would have thought you and your stupid comrads would have gotten that through your heads by now."
Hermione was slumped over, trying to catch her breath, looking at him incredulously.
"I assume the question you are about to ask me is 'why did I attack you', no? The answer is simple: because I could. Because I knew you were unshielded and vulnerable. A state that will get you killed. Quickly."
He shifted closer to her, though he made no effort to help her up. In fact, he looked amused.
"Do not think you are under some kind of protection from followers of the Dark Lord just because he said so. There are some that would see you dead, consequences be damned. Bella is among that group. You had best learn how to be prepared for an attack at all times."
"I don't even have a wand," she wheezed out, bracing herself on the back of the chair and standing.
"I believe I instructed you in the use of non-verbal magic during your schooling. I thought, perhaps, you of all people would have paid attention!"
"I don't have a fucking wand!" she said again and he hit her with another stunner.
"I suggest you learn to manage your tongue and your temper, Miss Granger, or you will not last long here. You do not need a wand to cast Protego. There is no wand movement to go along with the basic spell. Learn to channel your magic and cast a shield charm and keep it up - it may very well save your life."
There were several long minutes where neither of them said anything, warily watching each other, before Hermione finally found the strength to stand up straight.
"Before you ask," he said silkily, "the answer to your question is 'yes'. I do have a shield charm up at the moment. To follow that question up with a warning … should you decide to attack me, Miss Granger, I suggest you kill me, for you will not like what happens when I am able to return fire."
Hermione didn't question him - she believed him. He tucked his wand somewhere in his sleeve and turned his back on her. "Follow me," he said over his shoulder, and didn't slow his stride or look back to see if she were following him.
They passed through a moderately sized kitchen and small dining area to a door at the back of the house that obviously led down into the basement. She followed him into the darkness on shaky legs, until he cast Incendio and lit the sconces on the walls that lit their path.
When they finally descended and her eyes adjusted, she could see there was a fully functioning potions laboratory - the basement was huge with areas for several cauldrons to sit over perpetually burning fires at once.
"You will take every precaution in this lab. Loss of limb will not excuse you from your duties. I suggest you grow accustomed to its lay-out, where the ingredients are and supplies are. I will not always be down here with you and will rely on you to brew when necessary. Do you understand?" he asked, turning on her, and then frowned, looking her up and down.
"I will speak with Narcissa to acquire clothing more appropriate for down here," he said brushing past her and making his way back up the stairs.
Narcissa. That made sense. Well, as much sense as anything else that had happened to her in the last day or so. At least she could get the picture of Snape shopping for her knickers out of her mind. With a small smile that she was unable to hold back, she followed him back up the stairs.
"I do not require you to cook for me, however, you will be required to care for yourself. Familiarize yourself with the kitchen - I will provide you with money to go shopping for whatever nurishment you need in the house along with whatever I may need. I expect you to return promptly. If I must come looking for you, you will not like what happens when I find you. And I will find you," he told her.
Hermione was trying to remember if she'd ever been more afraid of him. In fact, she was trying to remember a time before he murdered Dumbledore that she found him scary at all. Intimidating, certainly. Maddening. Mean. Scathing. Sadistic. Sure - but she was never afraid of him. Perhaps it was because she knew he could only get away with so much at Hogwarts.
But this man? This man was terrifying. She absolutely believed he'd follow through on every threat he'd made. Hell, she didn't know if he was about to curse her again, just because he could.
"Do you have any questions?" he asked her, and raised an eyebrow, almost daring her to get cheeky with him. Honestly, Hermione wasn't going to test him further that day.
"How do I cast a wandless shield?" she asked, almost afraid of his scathing answer, but he surprised her, taking on his most professorial voice to answer her question.
"Sit," he said, pointing to the kitchen chair. "That is the most intelligent thing you have said since your arrival," he said, and then began to explain. "What is the function of a wand?"
Hermione, comfortable in this role, was able to answer easily. "To focus your magic. Wands make casting spells easier and more accurate."
"Correct, however, they do not create magic. Did you know that up until the 20th century, most African witches and wizards did not use wands? The same can be said about Native Americans - - wands themselves are a European invention, used precisely for what you stated."
Hermione folded her hands on the table and listened.
"You learn at a young age to focus your magic in your wand, but it does you a disservice - what if you are disarmed? Learn to draw your magic under your control without. Focus on using your hands instead of your wand, learn to touch your magical core without the interference of instruments, and you will be able to practice wandless magic. Or, at least, this very specific thing. It will take practice."
Hermione listened to him with her eyes closed, and tried to do as he said. Until she felt another of his hexes. Not nearly as powerful as earlier, but enough to make a point. She rubbed the spot on her shoulder where his spell hit, her eyes flying open, a curse on her tongue.
"I see you have not found it yet. Until you do, I would get used to that feeling," he warned her as she glared at him. "I have potions to look after. Take inventory of what you need and find me in my lab when you are ready."
He turned to leave, before stopping in the doorway. "And one more thing Miss Granger… never close your eyes on your enemy," he warned her.
"Is that what you are? My enemy?"
"I am certainly not your friend," he informed her, and made his way back to the basement door.
Of that, she was absolutely certain.