After Ginny's visit, I'm more single-minded about not taking anything. I don't want to become like her, an empty, pretty, plastic toy.
Illogical, I know. Part of me knows he hasn't asked anything of me. Part of me knows he hasn't acted wholly monstrous. If he truly hated me so, he would've just beaten me up or kicked me out long ago, left me in a dungeon or placed me under Imperio. He certainly wouldn't keep sneaking into my room at night and slipping me under the covers or making sure I got enough to eat.
But he must want me here for something.
The nutritive-laced tea sits on the bedside table, untouched. I don't drink it today. I don't even know why. Maybe I'm just too proud to admit that I'm desperate for any human contact.
Snape doesn't often leave the house anymore, but other than his odd nightly visits he hasn't seen me for a week.
Tonight he slips in, finds me sleeping in the corner again. Though I didn't take any of the potion-laced tea, I still managed to fall asleep. He must have figured out by now that my choice to stay on the floor is intentional, but he doesn't change his pattern.
Long fingers dig into my shoulder blades, under my legs, and in my unaware half-slumber, I sigh and curl into them without realizing who it is. He freezes, but after he figures out that I'm not really awake, he relaxes and continues to work at settling me under the bed sheets. As he does so, he speaks in a low voice, the tone usually reserved for calming stray animals, low and soft, and even with my fuzzy, dreamy mind I wonder how long he's been having one-sided conversations with my unconscious self.
It's bizarre.
"Miss Granger, you are making things entirely too difficult. Even the Dark Lord's motives are simpler to comprehend."
He always seems to find my hair fascinating. It's so frizzy in the winter, so revolting, and yet he always seems to look at it, even now touching it with the barest feather-touches.
"In all things, defiant," he sighs. "Defiant and hard, too much like me. You never used to be that way. I've done this."
Fingers continue to trace over the tendrils of my hair curled over the pillow, never anything closer. He begins slipping his hands away from me, and I let out a whimper of protest. He pauses, then finally draws back entirely.
"Whatever do you want?"
At this point, I'm still in a filmy haze of sleep, and am not quite aware that Professor Snape, the real one, not just some dream fabrication, is asking me the question. I smile and shift under the covers and I can feel the tension, the sudden instinct to flee.
"Books," I murmur. "I'm hungry."
He lets out a deep sigh and when I hear the door click shut, I know he's left. With the sound, I'm suddenly, acutely awake, and it's only the lingering smell of pine and smoke that confirms that he's been there.
---
Our hiding place was a three-by-six foot storage area underneath an area rug. The wards had been breached, Professor Snape and I hadn't been anywhere close to a floo, and our portkeys were sitting in the library.
We'd only left the library for a second, just to check up on a steeping cauldron of Pepper-Up.
We both felt pretty stupid now that we had been cramped up against one another for forty minutes, waiting in silence for either an Order member to come to our rescue, or a Death Eater to bring us to our end. It was just a brick box, dirty brown-red brick, damp and smelling of mould. The only light was the pale green glow off my watch.
"Professor?"
"What?" he snapped.
I swallowed. "Sorry, nevermind."
He sighed. "Forgive me, Miss Granger, this situation has left me... unnerved."
I shifted against the uncomfortable stone surface, moved my legs a few inches, trying to keep from bumping up against him too much. The cold and wet from the rough brick surface, I knew, would leave me with red marks later.
If there was a later.
"Sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to bump you."
"Miss Granger," he said tiredly. "We are encased in a storage area approximately the size of a large bread bin. Believe me, there is little you can do in here without 'bumping' me."
I didn't answer, just shifted my back against the rough wall.
"I wish I had something I could transfigure into a pillow." I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. "I wish I could use my wand without the magic giving us away."
He shifted beside me, and a moment later, I felt him drop something in my lap. His cloak. I ran my hands over the rough wool, breathing in the smell of smoke and exotic potions ingredients for just a moment before I slipped it behind my back. The familiar scent of the Potions lab settled my racing heart just slightly, and I offered him a timid smile.
"Thank you, Sir."
He nodded absently.
"Aren't you a spy, still?"
His eyes snapped toward me, dark and cold, and his face went blank and expressionless again. I bit my lip.
"I'm sorry, I don't blame you, I just wondered... it doesn't matter."
"The Dark Lord doubts my loyalty, Miss Granger," he replied softly. "He may be many things, but he is not a fool. In twenty years I have not managed to bring him Dumbledore, or Potter, or even a Weasley to off. Only an utter maladroit would maintain such a poor record."
"What will he do when he finally decides you aren't loyal to him?"
He snorted bitterly instead of answering. An admission of his own pending death, the realization of which sent a thread anger through me. Harry and Ron had made fun of him for seven years, whilst he risked his life to keep them safe. From his expression of quiet acceptance, I could only assume that he had already decided his life would end in the process of spying; it was just a matter of when and how he wasn't quite certain of.
No wonder he was so unpleasant. When had he last done something he really desired?
"Very few people appreciate what you do," I murmured. "How can you stand serving everyone but yourself?"
I could hear him swallow, hear his knuckles popping as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
Heavy footsteps fell over our heads. A man's footsteps, not the light-footed tread that Harry or Ron would've made. I involuntarily clutched Professor Snape's arm, shaking and wondering whether I was only a few seconds away from a painful death. Torture? Rape?
Time flowed thickly, like cold syrup, in those few seconds after the footsteps paused over us.
"I don't want to die," I whispered.
I felt his warm fingers over my own ice-cold ones, a small gesture of reassurance.
"Miss Granger." His voice was hoarse. "Hermione..."
The door over us flung open, and I curled up in a ball.
"Hermione! Severus!"
I let out a sob at the familiar timbre of Remus's voice, and literally jumped from the tiny hiding-hole to throw my arms around him.
"Remus!" I cried. "I thought you were a Death Eater!"
He laughed and patted my back. "There there, Hermione. Ron and Harry are waiting in the sitting room with a pot of tea for you. It was just a false alarm. A group of Ministry officials tried to break through the wards."
"Thank God." I sighed. "I'll never go anywhere without my portkey again."
I turned to help out Professor Snape, but he sneered at my proferred arm and heaved himself from the small enclosure without another word. He crossed his arms, glowered at Remus and I, and stalked out of the lab.
"What's wrong with him?" Remus asked.
"I don't know." I sighed. "I think I might've asked too many questions and annoyed him."
"Pity, I thought he was getting on with you."
"Me too." I shrugged. "Lead on, Macduff. You're supposed to be bringing me to my boyfriend and his water-masquerading-as-tea."
Remus chuckled, and he led me out for a relaxed tea and biscuits with Ron and Harry.
---
When I wake up there are a stack of books beside my bed. Someone has left them there during my short nap; Professor Snape, who else could it be? He's chosen eclectic volumes that the Hogwarts library never had. Transfigurations, Potions, History, Architecture, even a tiny chapbook of medieval charms. I feel my resolve melt.
Books. Why did it have to be books?
He has found my weakness, and I finally break down. The cracked leather bindings on the charms book lures me like crows to a bit of foil. I last only twenty minutes before I reach out to touch the linen cover on the topmost book. Just a peek at the cover, I think. Then just a glance at the front page. Just the first sentence, then paragraph, then page. Soon I've degenerated into reading the entire first chapter.
As I immerse myself in the old hand-copied illuminations, I barely notice Loki appear and leave a dish of cherries with me. By noon, I have a bowl of pits and half a dozen pages noted in my mind for future reference. I've broken.
From the corner of my eye I see him pass by the door, just a dark shape against the thin crack; he pauses, but I don't look up. I wonder what he does with his day? He certainly can't spend eighteen hours brewing contraceptives for the Malfoys.
I wish it could be like it was before. Not equals, but not enemies, either.
By the time I get to the last book, my stomach is doing flips. I haven't eaten this much in ages... I don't know how long. I groan, rub my belly, and try and prop myself up on the pillows, half-remembering my mother's warning that lying flat with a bout of nausea was a bad idea.
Ugh, what had she said? Tea with honey and lemon? No, that was for a sore throat. Chamomile? Wait, no, that was for insomnia. Peppermint? Yes, peppermint sounded about right...
"Eurgh, Loki..."
"Yes, Missy Mudblood?" he asks sweetly.
"Please, please can you find me some peppermint tea?"
Loki's bulbous eyes narrow.
"What is being wrong with ugly Mud... miss?"
My race to the bathroom and subsequent retching adequately answer his question, and I can hear him twittering to himself before he pops of in whatever the house-elf equivalent of apparating is.
I sigh. I'm all right, I've been sick before, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. Just rinse my acid mouth, wring a cold cloth and wipe my face, and have a bit of a lie in.
No feeling sorry for yourself, I mentally bark. Not like last time. Be strong, and tough...
Oh, who am I kidding? Right about now I'd love a plush toy, a quilt and a liberal helping of mothering.
"Miss Granger?"
Three taps on the door. Snape. Why couldn't he just leave me alone?
"Please go away..."
"May I come in?"
What, into his whore's little room?
"I suppose."
The door slips open, and he eyes the room before stalking over. He looks down - the patent Snape glare - and pauses with indecision before settling into the nearby chair.
"Are you all right?"
I glance at him guardedly. What's he up to? His eyes are hooded and dark.
"Stomach's a bit sick."
"I shouldn't have asked Loki to bring you fruit, even though I knew you would take it first." He frowns at me as if disgusted. "You're still weak."
He fishes around in his pockets and pulls out a glass flask, reaches over for my wrist without the usual halting movement, and feels it for a moment.
"Just as I thought, no fever," he mutters. "Here, drink this."
I feel cold glass against my mouth, and I slowly swallow, blushing furiously as a droplet falls from my lip and down my chin. His thumb brushes it away, and - a beat - he leaps away once he realizes what he's done. His eyes dart about, meeting anything but my own, and I realize with surprise that he's just as unsure as I am about this situation. It makes me feel a bit less bitter, and my inner resolve to stay leather-tough weakens.
Now is as good a time as any to ask him what's on my mind.
"Sir?"
"Yes?"
I pause. He'll be annoyed at me, perhaps angry, but I have to ask.
"Why have you been acting this way, like you hate me?"
He glares. "I'm naturally hateful."
Even though I still feel a little queasy, that makes me laugh.
"No, you're not." I shake my head. "Or if you are, you were quite the actor... I liked you so much that way, was it all false?"
My voice trembles; I sound foolish. Does it matter anymore? Everyone's forgotten about me but Professor Snape. It's as if I never existed.
Though he doesn't speak, his answer is clear. His hand reaches out and brushes a piece of invisible fluff from my shoulder. Then, as if that gesture was terrifyingly intimate for him, he draws back.
"I will be attending a dark revel. Your wand is in the top drawer of the desk." He gestures jerkily to the furniture. "Anything in this room you may consider your own."
He stalks out, leaving me even more confused than before.
---
Sorry if this came up poorly edited - I got my LSAT score today and I was just so damned excited that I couldn't sit down.
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