Hi guys! Sorry for the delay. I've had relatives over for quite some time (ugh). Next chapter is already written. I just need to correct it. Thanks to all my reviewers! You are all great! I really enjoyed your comments. Well, here is chapter 3. Enjoy.
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And so it turns out that he does. I try to lie down and die, but it does not come. Even weeks after I became his property, I lay here and try to will myself to stop breathing- a skill that I thought my misery and pain would bestow me with. Severus knows. I can tell by that sick smile on that pale face. He always knows. That's why he once made such a wonderful spy.
"How are you?" Severus' heavy voice comes from the doorway to the room as I involuntarily jump at the sound. Unbidden, an overwhelming sense of sadness comes over me. What the hell have I become? I used to worry about OWLS and schoolwork, and now…Years of war will do that to a person.
"What business is it of yours?" I ask, shrugging, my face once again an impassive mask. It was not his business anymore. He looks at me with his lips twisted into that same thin smile I had grown so accustomed to.
"Do you feel well enough to go out for a while?" He asks, going to the trunk at the foot of the bed and unlocking it.
I sit here, catching flies in the gape of my mouth, wondering what in the hell this strange man is talking about.
He stops his rummaging for a minute to give me a somewhat condescending look.
"Well, well, well, Ms. Granger, I always assumed you were at least somewhat intelligent. Can you really tell me that you do not know what I mean when I ask you if you would like to leave this place for a while?" He brings out a wand as I advance on him, all of my previous doubts and astonishment abandoned, the witch in me hungry for the familiar feel of the magical stick in my hands. I can almost feel the ridges under my fingertips and the thrum of magic flowing through me. Severus pulls back, like one might play with their cat.
"No, no, no, Ms Granger. I seem to recall your promise to…what was it? Oh, yes, stick a wand through the cold lump of stone I call my heart. No, no, no, darling. I believe if you behave, I might give you a peppermint stick, see what you can do with that."
I grimace at him, refusing to give into begging. Through months of torture, I had refused to beg. Why in the hell would I start now. The light in the room dances on the shiny wood, weakening my resolve. Oh, God, I am going to beg…
"Severus, please. You know I didn't mean it." The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. A part of me crumbles at the smile he gives my broken pride. Sick bastard…
"I was emotionally overwrought." It is such a childish behavior, really, begging for something so material simply because I want it and perhaps, just perhaps I know that he will eventually give in and hand it to me.
He refuses.
With as much indignation and stubbornness as I had used to take months of torture without begging, he refuses to hand me that wand, a wand I realize looks suspiciously like mine. Minutes of begging and his sick, gleeful smile convince me that I will not convince him tonight. And so I, clad in black and full of anger follow him, simply because I think beating the shit out of something would keep me from beating the shit out of him, not that I really could with the charms on my enslavement. I can't lay a hand on the fucker if he doesn't want it. Still, though, I probably will try if I do not get some of it out of my system. And so we leave, to embark on some great adventure and end up in a techno club on the eastside of town. Before my enslavement, I never frequented these places. The noise alone is enough to bust one's eardrums, and despite some pretty amazing powers of healer's magic, I have no desire to grow new eardrums. So, wincing, I follow him in to the dark, loud, dirty place that he apparently wants to meet someone in. Now, there is one thing that must be understood about my nature. I am a true Gryffindor, proud, defiant, stubborn, reckless, and fearless. I will get dirty and be dirty if I have to. I will get injured if it's necessary. It is in my stubborn nature to prove that I can suffer any of these situations. However, under no circumstances do I like doing these "grungy" things. It is just like I said, I will do the necessary. When I am not fighting or killing, I like for the air around me to be clean and dust free. I don't like any kind of personal pain. In fact, if I am not in a situation where I feel the need to prove myself, I will cry over a throat ache.
Harry used to say that my erratic behavior was the result of me being someone I was not supposed to be. Harry used to say that I was meant to be a healer or a teacher, but never a fighter to which I would look at him and ask: "have you ever seen a healer or a teacher that can chop a person into pieces with their wand?" That would always make him laugh, remembering some of our funnier times. Harry, he---. The part of my mind that is still somewhat sane ( and oh is it a small part) is screaming at me that Harry is dead. It's times like these I wish I was completely nuts, just so I wouldn't have to remember that. A deep breath of the filthy air brings me back to the club. Gods, is this disgusting. The air is so thick with fuck- knows- what that I feel as if I could cut it with that knife I see tucked into the back of Severus' pants. So, instead I suck up a breath and follow him, the vile air nearly shutting my lungs down. He stops a moment, putting up one of those thin pale hands with those thin pale fingers. The light off the disco ball catches the metal of the skull on his ring as he intently looks around.
There's a pain in my head.
A sharp drone hits my senses and I feel it as I begin to retch violently. Severus looks at me somewhat awkwardly, like he doesn't know what to do for my pain. I want to tell him to fuck off, but the part of my brain that is capable of coherent speech is letting the pain shut it down. He puts and agitated hand on his waist, as though waiting for me to recover, but I only sink to the ground in a weak and very uncharacteristic show of submission. Then the world goes black…..
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We are in a café, eating something that is definitely not good for us. Harry scarffing down three double cheeseburgers and an order of fries, while I peck at my measly bacon cheeseburger and chilly-cheese fries, we are talking.
"Have you ever considered what you would do if we lost?" he asks through a mouthful of food. It strikes me as odd that he would ask such a serious question with gobs of half- masticated food peeking out of his mouth.
I take a thoughtful slurp of my milkshake and ponder his question.
"I guess they'd kill me just like they will everyone else" I tell him, putting my milkshake down.
He laughs and I start to laugh too. After all, I was much more forgiving in those days. "No they wouldn't. You're like a cockroach. I mean, I doubt that even a nuclear weapon could kill you. You're just to damn stubborn to die, to give up like that"
"Harry….close your mouth when you chew. And second, everyone dies. Even cockroaches."
"But not the invincible Hermione."
"Shut up and eat…"
"But you didn't answer my question."
"No," I correct him, "I answered. You just didn't like my response"
He puts up two hands to grab a cheeseburger "Bloody hell. You've gone cranky in the past few months."
"Well, war does tend to alter one's attitude towards life."
He grins, one of those boyish lopsided grins that I had come so much to love.
"Promise me something…" he asks quietly, all hints of our previous playful banter gone. "Promise me you will always trust Snape."
I groan at him. "Gods…. I hate that greasy git. Why in the world should I trust him?"
Harry and I had had millions of arguments over the sneaky double agent working in our war.
"Just, Mione, I know you don't like him, but he will help you some day, but you have to trust him. Please, for me."
He was serious, so serious that it frightens me. I nod dumbly, wondering what exactly Harry knows, and when I will get to find out what he means.
