A/N Longer chapter than normal.  I know it doesn't make up for the long wait, but it'll have to do.  I'll probably write more this weekend, but anything more than weekly updates is completely out the window… for the next month or so, at any rate.

Hermione ran from his room, tears streaming down her face.  She met nobody before she reached the dungeon toilets, a fact for which she was grateful.  She splashed her face with water, and stared at her reflection in the mirror.  No tears anymore, but her face was red and blotchy, an obvious sign that she had recently been crying.  Her hair was a mess, probably because she had been running all over the school.  There were deep bags under her eyes, which themselves looked haunted.  She sighed heavily.  No amount of acting would explain this away, and, with the way she presently felt, she did not know if she would even be capable of putting the mask back on.  Snape had torn her carefully constructed façade to shreds. 

She slowly began to recreate the person the world assumed her to be.  With a hairbrush and makeup she managed to conceal the worst of the physical evidence of despair on her face.  Then, hating herself for it, she levelled her wand at her face and spoke a cheering charm.  Immediately, she felt happy.  Cheerful.  She grinned.  Life did not get any better than this.  And, buried deep inside, her subconscious screamed at her for her weakness. 

"Where have you been, Hermione?" Harry asked, looking up from his chess game with Ron.  "You're almost never up this late!" 

"I went to the library," she responded happily.  "I got some work done."

"You and work," Ron said, rolling his eyes.  "Do you ever think of anything else?" he asked, smiling indulgently.  "Come on, Harry.  You're losing and you're not going to distract me this time."

She spent the morning reading in an armchair by the fire while Ron soundly beat Harry and chess and then proceeded to do the same with Exploding Snap and Gobstones.  By lunchtime, Hermione's induced euphoria had faded off so she excused herself, ostensibly to go to the bathroom, and put on another cheering charm.  She would see Malfoy in the Hall, and did not want to break down in front of everyone.  Her nerves were becoming less stable with each day, and after last night and this morning Hermione felt emotionally exhausted.

Harry and Ron kept up a lively Quidditch discussion on the way down to lunch, one that Hermione tuned out of.  Presently happy or not, Quidditch held absolutely no interest for her.  Before they could reach the Hall, Malfoy stepped out in front of the trio, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.  "Potter, Weasley," he sneered in acknowledgement.  "I want a word with your mudblood girlfriend.  Kindly piss off while I talk to her."

"If you think-" Ron began, but Harry put a warning hand on his arm.

"What do you want with her, Malfoy?" he asked dangerously. 

"None of your business, Potter," Malfoy snarled in response. 

"She doesn't want to talk to you!" Ron spat.

"Yes she does," Malfoy replied coolly.  "Don't you, mudblood?"

"Stop calling her that!" Ron shouted, a dull red tinge coming into his cheeks. 

"And you'll do what, exactly, to stop me?" asked Malfoy, smugly raising an eyebrow.  "Come!" he commanded to Hermione. 

With a helpless shrug, she obeyed, sending Ron and Harry reassuring smiles.  For some reason, she was smiling happily.  Her emotions did not seem to want to recognise the severity of the situation.  Neither, it seemed, did her legs, because they followed Malfoy out of the entrance hall, while Ron and Harry seemed to decide, from her smile, that she would be okay, and went into the Great Hall for lunch.

Malfoy had a strong grip on her wrist as he pulled her from the room.  His grip turned bruising as he led her through the corridors and down into the dungeons.  Terror, fear, and hysteria were slowly overcoming the power of the cheering charm, and at last she began to struggle.

"Stop it," Malfoy hissed.  "Otherwise I shall ask Crabbe and Goyle to carry you."

At that, stopped struggling.  It was futile and pointless anyway – he had her under his thumb, and knew it.  What did he want with her, though?  Had he not had his fill of her last night?  He generally waited a week between the evenings he… saw her.  Had she done something wrong?  Had he… and hysteria suddenly became almost too much to bear as she thought it… had he carried out his threats against her mother?  Had he found out what she had said to Snape, and killed her parents for it?

As if on cue, the sweeping figure of Snape suddenly appeared before them.  "Mister Malfoy, Mister Crabbe, Mister Goyle.  I would have thought you would have been at lunch, not consorting with Miss Granger.  It appears that your grip is hurting her arm, Mister Malfoy.  Release her," he said smoothly.

Malfoy did so.  "I was just coming down here to find some privacy, sir," he told Snape smoothly.  "I wanted to ask Hermione a question, and we were just finding a place… where we could be alone," he replied with a smirk.

"Really?  Well, with your friends following you it is unlikely that you will find privacy for yourself and Miss Granger down here.  I suggest that you three return to the Great Hall.  I have a matter to discuss with Miss Granger."

And Hermione, once again, found herself alone with Snape.