In answer to a question I got by email - there will be NO character deaths in the story. Also, the rating will go up in future chapters.

Thank you again to the people who took the time to review. It brightens my day. :-) Again, suggestions, questions, welcome. If I don't answer your question, it means that it'll be answered in a future chapter.

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Someone's banging on the door. I let out a whimper of protest - my alarm hasn't even gone off yet, it must be close to six in the morning.

It's been four days since the odd discovery that Professor Snape has a penchant for tucking me into bed. He hasn't laid a finger on me otherwise, and I haven't seen him at all.

His emotionless declaration that I am his Mudblood whore still lingers with me.

"Go away," I mutter through my pillow, still half-asleep.

"Miss Granger, get up, now."

I sit bolt upright at Snape's sharp-as-crystal voice, and scrabble out from the covers and into the bathroom. Usually I wash my clothing in the sink during the day and wear it to bed at night; I don't need Snape to see me in my underwear.

"Miss Granger, are you awake?"

"Give me a minute," I mutter.

My pants and shirt are still damp from their sink-washing the night before. I hate the feeling of wet, cold denim against my skin. I drag a comb through my hair, clip it up, and move to the doorway.

"I'm fine," I reply acidly. "Do you need something?

This morning I'm feeling angry, not my usual submissiveness, probably because I haven't had my morning cup of paint-stripper-masquerading-as-tea.

The door opens just a crack, and I can see one black eye peering inside to check if I'm decent.

"Follow me," he says. "You'll be assisting me today."

I watch him suspiciously, but he doesn't give me any clues as to what I might be assisting him with. After a minute, I shrug and follow him out of the room. After all, it must be more interesting than being locked in that room, and if I don't, he might just put me under the Imperius curse.

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Professor Snape and I didn't make many potions together after the first month; shockingly, that task was left to our Potions assistant, Anthony Goldstein. Dumbledore made some excuse about Professor Snape working on research for the Ministry, and that I had become his library research assistant. Thus, Madam Pomfrey needed a student to brew the infirmary potions - and Anthony was the man for the job.

Not far off, in truth. It should've been Draco brewing the Infirmary potions, since his grades were near mine, but he took the Mark in sixth year. In our long hours spent together in the library, Professor Snape somehow let it slip that blonde, waifish Draco was now a Death Eater.

Professor Snape became more chatty with me as time passed. Not that I protested; much as Ron and Harry hated him, he and I seemed to get along well. He was terribly bright, terribly witty when he wasn't angry with you, and I held some detached admiration for his heroics.

His voice interrupted my thoughts. "These books were sent to me from Durmstrang, be careful with them, please, Miss Granger."

I realized my school robe was brushing against one book's thready spine, flaking bits of leather off and onto the table.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I'm a bit tired."

"Ah, yes, the tragic fourteenth breakup with Casanova."

"I know, it's silly," I replied absently. "The only reason I get back with him at all is because I get so lonely..."

He stared through me with that glassy stare he put on whenever he didn't want you to guess what he was thinking.

"Take a short break, then, Miss Granger."

"No, no, you've been working longer than me and you're fine, I'll just sleep it off when I get through this book."

"Actually I could do with a break," he muttered, standing up.

I stood too, furrowed my brow. "Where are you going?"

"Though it's none of your concern, Miss Granger, I thought I might go down to the kitchens."

"May I come along? I don't want to have Mister Filch shouting at me for being out after curfew."

He shrugged. "I suppose. Hurry up, though."

We walked alongside each other in silence. It was long past curfew - twelve fifteen, to be exact - and I should've probably been doing my rounds and scaring snogging couples off from their hiding-holes.

They were lucky, for once; neither Snape nor I had the time to do so.

The castle, that night, seemed almost abandoned, and I kept inching closer to the Professor, wishing we were back in his brightly-lit office, reading over old dark texts over cups of milky Earl Grey. I was curious as to why Dumbledore let me read about dark magic, but didn't question it - perhaps he trusted me more than he trusted Harry to maintain a detached and scholarly interest in it.

Then again, maybe he knew something I did not.

Professor Snape held the door open for me, and when we stepped inside we were met by two house-elves. They gasped and shivered and cowered at the sight of me, and began muttering something about 'no sweaters, no sweaters,' as they tried to use one another as shields.

My reputation preceded me, apparently. When I glanced over at Snape, I was even more shocked - a smile played at his lips.

When he noticed me staring, his smile vanished.

"Now I see why you scowl all the time, you'd never intimidate anyone looking like that," I said impishly.

He opened his mouth to protest, but I didn't give him the chance. Instead, I turned to the house-elves and began ordering what I wanted.

"A chocolate bar, Muggle chocolate, Drifter or Curly Wurly if you have it. I know you keep some around for the first years away from home, and I want one." I nodded down at them. "And a cup of hot chocolate."

"How unpredictable," he muttered dryly. "Flissy, Glenfiddich, double, on the rocks."

I opened and shut my mouth in a delicate fish impersonation, and he crooked his eyebrow in amusement.

"Don't tell me you're a teetotaller, Miss Granger?"

"No, I just thought... well, you seem so adamant against students drinking in Hogsmeade, and at dances..."

"And do you really think it would do for the head of Slytherin to be chumming around with the imbeciles he's forced to teach, chanting, 'hey, boys, another round, on me,' Miss Granger?"

I blushed. "No... I suppose I just never really thought of any of my teachers as anything more than that persona they put on for the students. Silly, I suppose, considering all the times Harry and Ron have gotten drunk and raucous and none of the teachers seemed to notice..."

"And you don't join in such crapulence?"

I smiled. "I was always afraid of getting caught."

He let out a snort. "Believe me, Miss Granger, if Albus believes you to have the maturity to decide whether you wish to join the Order of the Phoenix, I doubt he can fault you for indulging in the occasional alcoholic beverage."

I bit my lip and took the tray from the house-elf. "But you don't think I have the maturity to decide, do you?"

Snape looked uncomfortable, as if he were actually worried he might hurt my feelings.

"I believe," he began slowly, "That the course of one's life should not be based on one decision made at age eighteen."

I followed his eyes to where they lingered; his right forearm, where I knew the Dark Mark was still incised deeply into the skin. His expression was as deeply regretful as I'd ever seen before. He swallowed his entire drink in one gulp, leaving just the ice clinking about in the bottom, and pawned it off on Flissy to be refilled. I settled on a nearby bench and watched him; Snape and I had never had such an... intimate conversation before.

"You were eighteen when you took the Dark Mark?"

I'd expected him to bark back at me to mind my own business, but it seemed that the scotch had loosened his tongue.

He gave a bitter half-grin. "To the day, Miss Granger."

"Why did you change sides?"

He snorted. "Honestly? Dumbledore offered me a better deal."

My eyes widened. "So... you still believe in... the Dark Lord's ideology?"

"If I did, Miss Granger," he answered quietly, "I would not be speaking to you as I am now."

I furrowed my brow and sipped at my hot chocolate. He really was brilliant, funny... but I knew he was, in some way, permanently damaged. I'd never been the sort of girl that wanted to 'fix' damaged people, and I knew, especially in Snape's case, that it was better to stay far from him.

I sometimes wondered if he even recognized his own cruelty, anymore.

"I think we have worked enough tonight," he abruptly said. "Return tomorrow evening at seven to continue our work."

I set aside my now-empty mug and nodded obediently. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."

He stared at the wall, eyes glazed and mindless.

"And Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Do not be in such a hurry to do your Gryffindor duty." He tapped his fingers against his arm. "You owe no-one but yourself."

I furrowed my brow - what in God's name was he prattling about? After a minute I shrugged it off, murmured polite good-byes, and scurried back to my room to ponder our odd exchange.

---

"Get inside."

I flush and step through the threshold, afraid at what he might have awaiting me on the other side of the door.

Apparently nothing really awful. I'm now in the tidiest, best-stocked potions lab I've ever seen. Deeply-warded cabinets are lined with every rare ingredient I've ever read about, and some I haven't, from mermaid's tears to kappa scales. Cauldrons of every size and material sit on a smooth black-marble countertop.

On the corner of the bench are a neatly-arranged line of ingredients, a knife, and a cauldron.

"You'll be brewing a contraceptive today," he says. "Get to it, and you better not do anything foolish, or you'll never see outside your room again."

"Where are you going to be?"

He sneers. "Entertaining the owners of said contraceptive, Draco and Lucius Malfoy."

I blench and turn toward the bench.

"Yes, Sir."

It isn't a difficult task. In fact, it's supremely boring - still, better than my cell, with nothing to do. The three ingredients are simple to mix together, and then require only five clockwise stirs with a wooden spoon every five minutes. I set my watch to beep at five-minute intervals, and when it finishes, I strain it into phials, cap them and wait for the cauldron to cool so I can scrub it clean. I lean back against the counter and examine the shelves around me. The books look fascinating, though I can tell some are very dark.

I wonder, momentarily, if he's left me here to taunt me.

"Hermione?"

That's definitely not Snape's voice. I freeze, thinking, perhaps, that I've finally cracked, and am now imagining the voice of Ginny Weasley calling out to me.

"Hermione, is that you?"

I turn on my heel. What I see isn't little Ginny Weasley in her school uniform, the image of the eleven year old I befriended when I was in second; it's Ginny Weasley, an eighteen year old woman in a wispy gown made from expensive silk, her hair rolled into bouncy pin-curls and her face made up like a Regency painting. She doesn't have that skinny, tomboyish look I remember; no, Ginny, without me noticing it, has somehow undergone a metamorphosis into a curvaceous hourglass encased in expensive fabric.

"Ginny?"

I keep the knife in my hand, just in case this is some sort of trick.

"God, Hermione." Her voice cracks. "You're so thin... and you're so pale, what's he done to you?"

"Done to me?"

"Snape, of course."

I shake my head. He hasn't really done anything to me. How to explain that I've done this to myself? It sounds completely illogical. Maybe I have cracked...

In short order, Ginny steps forward, pinches the knife from my hand, lays it aside, and pulls me into a tight embrace. Within seconds my silent shock erodes, and I'm hiccupping into her shoulder, shaking under the arms that are so frighteningly reminiscent of Molly's.

"Shh, Hermione, it's all right, you can tell me."

"I thought... I don't know, I imagined all sorts of horrid things that'd happened to you," I mumble against her shoulder. "I was so scared."

"Nothing horrible's happened to me." She pets my hair. "You look like you need a sandwich. I know Snape hasn't been starving you. Why haven't you been eating?"

Why? Why? My only measure of defiance. Passive aggression, as Muggle psychologists call it.

Wait a moment... I narrow my eyes at her..

"How do you know that I've stopped eating?"

Ginny pauses, then smiles crookedly. "Snape asked me to find out, that's how."

"You were talking to Professor Snape?" I ask slowly, not quite comprehending.

"Well, yes, when Draco brought me along."

"Draco Malfoy!"

Ginny smiles dreamily. "Yes. He brought me along for the trip, isn't that sweet? Pity Snape has such a dreary little house. Malfoy Manor is much bigger, and my apartment's all in pretty shades of pink and yellow - can you believe Draco gave me my own apartment?"

"Ginny, what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong, I'm just so terribly lucky..."

"Lucky?" I step back and scrutinize her.

She's too giddy, too prettily dressed and bubbly and shallow and silly. A thread of revulsion works through me, and I hope I'm wrong, pray that I'm wrong. If I'm right, I'll have no respect left for her.

"Why, because you have the chance to fuck him?" I demand.

Her jaw drops at my casual foul language - I don't think I ever swore when I was in school - but her hot blush and averted eyes tell the truth.

"So he rewards you handsomely for your services?"

She splutters wordlessly, but dealing with Snape has left me with the ability to put off emotion until later, and for now, maintain a frosty exterior. Her face is mottled-red, and I well remember how much calm unemotionality aggravates a Weasley.

"No different than what you do with Snape!"

I snort in disdain. "I do nothing for Snape except what he forces me to. I don't take anything from him."

This is why I take nothing; I know that there's truth in the old cliche that there's no such thing as a free lunch. I have no inclination to find out what, exactly, Snape wants in return for his favours. I have the sickening feeling that taking his offerings would leave me like Ginny, mindless and twittery and utterly, utterly foolish. A half-woman trying to compensate with cosmetics and sweet giggles.

Ginny looks torn between anger and nausea.

"We're in love," she finally says.

"In love enough that he's betrothed to Pansy Parkinson, I notice," I reply coolly. "Or is that no longer in the cards?"

Her eyes grow misty; apparently Miss Parkinson is still planning on becoming the next Madam Malfoy.

"You do remember, don't you, that Draco caused the death of your so-called beloved brother, Bill."

"It's not as simple as that..."

She's crying now, but I don't care.

"Who knew that all it took to buy your adoration were a pretty dress and a few boxes of chocolate?" I reply, my voice steely, "It rather makes me rethink the value of your friendship with me."

I'm being terribly, horribly cruel, but for some reason I can't help myself. How could she sell herself to her brother's murderer, a Death Eater, like some common Knockturn Alley slattern?

When she lets out a long, throaty wail and runs out of the room bawling, all I feel is satisfaction. I walk out of the lab after her and watch as she flees down the corridor, hands to her face. My own arms are crossed over my chest, one eyebrow crooked. At the sound of her sobbing, Snape and the two Malfoys appear from within Snape's office to investigate. The younger Malfoy, just as cocky and revolting as ever, hurries to Ginny's side to try and comfort her. Draco glares over at Snape.

"What's she done to my girl?"

Snape snorts. "How would I know? If you'd forgotten, the Weasleys were not the most emotionally stable students at Hogwarts."

"Shut your little whore up, Draco," Lucius snaps. "I'll collect my potions and be on my way now, Severus. Don't worry, Draco won't be bringing her along with him next time."

"I should hope not," Snape replies acidly. "I could barely stand her when she was in my Potions classes."

Ginny lets out a fresh wail, and a smirk flits to my lips.

Lucius and Draco and Ginny stalk by me, none meeting my gaze, and before he follows them, Snape places a hand on my shoulder and sidles up just inches from my ear. I flinch at the touch, and he moves away.

"What did you do?" he seethes softly.

"I did nothing to her, just pointed out a few simple truths about what she's done to herself."

I look pleased with myself, even though inside, my self-satisfaction is already vanishing, to be replaced by guilt and the realization that I've lost the one person who might've been my friend.

"May I go now, Sir?"

He steps back and watches me with an odd look, as if searching my face for something. I don't give him anything. I'm tough, I tell myself. My armour's thick.

"I don't care, Miss Granger."

He stalks off after the Malfoys.

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