(This chapter was deleted for some reason after I originally posted it - I'm not sure how I managed it, but this badly-formatted version is temporary til I can find the original chapter 6 file - Sorry)

Snape's property is
much larger than I anticipated. After a few hours working at it,
I manage to dismantle the ward at the front door with my
newly-returned wand. The spells he's left on my room still prove
difficult to overwhelm; he's used rather complex magic in the
hopes that I wouldn't cut my life short prematurely.

I don't mind, not
really; with my wand, I can clean my clothing with just a few
swishes of my wand, repair any little tears in the denim. My
jeans and sweater look almost new. A measure of freedom - it
leaves me breathless with excitement.

Snape's been gone
five days, but I don't worry, not yet.

I decide to go
exploring. Walls encircle the property, tall gray-stone ones.
Pines peek over the tops. Gravel paths meander through what once
must have been magnificent gardens; through the thistles and
grass, I can see stringy narciscissi and irises trying
desperately to blossom without any sunlight. A fountain in the
centre lies dry, encrusted with algae.

The paths trail off
into groves of wiry apple trees and melancholy willows. Someday
I'm sure I'll explore them, but not today. Today I'm just going
to circle around Snape's house, stretch my legs, take things in
from another perspective.

Loki perpetually pops
up out of nowhere, glaring at me suspiciously, as if he's not
quite sure that I'm allowed to be running about on my own.

But I'm the one with
the wand now, and he can do nothing to irritate me, not unless he
wants to be petrified and left out on the front doorstep. Since
Snape's earlier warning that he is the master of the
house and Aurelia is not, Loki hasn't tried any
pranks.

From my new vantage
point at the front step, I look up at Snape's house. It looks
small. The paint peels off the windowframes, and the wrought-iron
grille is falling off a few of the windows. It's two stories.
I've never been upstairs; I wonder what he's got hidden.

"What's up there, Loki?"

"Master's bedroom, other bedrooms." He smirks. "Baby
nursery."

I cringe. I can't imagine Professor Snape as a child; he'd probably been born with
that scowl and temperament.

Loki's comment,
however, brings up a question I haven't considered. I know from
my years at Hogwarts that purebloods simply do not stay swinging
singles and die bachelors without heirs; even the gay ones
usually manage to knock up some particularly fertile, willing
friend with the help of liberal doses of lust potion.

They need heirs.
Heirs to their family property, heirs to their well-groomed
pedigrees and titles and names. I have the feeling that Professor
Snape holds some sort of attraction toward me, though it could
easily be because I am the only female in thirty kilometres, but
Muggle women don't make anything but convenient whores, as he has
already pointed out.

What if he finds some
Malfoy or Nott woman to wed? To produce children with?

I'll be out on my
arse. Where would I go? From what Snape has said, England's
Muggles are now Voldemort's slaves. Perhaps it really is better
'belonging' to him; Snape generally leaves me alone, gives me
food and shelter and books, and even, on the rare day, speaks
civilly with me. After Snape said everything in the room belonged
to me, I'd acquired seven sets of unused robes still in
old-fashioned Madam Malkin's packaging, four backissues of Witch
Weekly dating from the 1970's, and a tortoiseshell cigarette
holder.

I won't touch them,
partly because I can't figure out the complex lacing, and partly
because I don't know who the previous owner was.

If anyone will know,
it will be Loki. He seems to be in a good mood; he hasn't bared
his teeth at me once all day, and he answered my earlier question
about the house.

"Who owned all
the things in my room before Snape put me in there?"

"Master,"
he draws out the word, "be having one sister, Aurelia. She
is used to be using that room as her own sitting room, after Old
Mistress is dying. You know, we cannot be having nice young
ladies entertaining their boys in their bedrooms, you know. They
isn't like Muggles, must be proper."

"Oh, I
know," I reply. "Positively scandalous."

The sarcasm goes
right over his head, and he smiles conspiratorially.

"Mistress
Aurelia be wishing she is rich." Loki smirks. "She is
liking to spend lots of galleons, though, so she be marrying a
Malfoy, they has money she thinks, and very pure, no dirty blood.
Once she has babies, she cannot fit into all the clothes she buys
and leaves here, so they just sit, never being worn. You should
be wearing them, you is small enough. They is in your dresser,
look much better than ugly Mudblood things. Master says to be
giving them to Missy Mudblood."

I cringe. "I
couldn't even figure out how they unfasten. All those
buttons..."

Loki rolls his eyes.
"Is why you has house-elves, stupid Missy."

"Perhaps later
you'll show it to me."

"Now is good, is
going to rain." Loki shrugs. "Your hair be getting all
frizzy from the water. Is very frizzy hairs. Not pretty."

Sure enough, less
than thirty seconds later the air goes from damp to full-on
buckets of water splashing down, accompanied by crashing thunder
and the sound of trees being split by distant lightning. I race
back to the front door, Loki following closely, and don't mind at
all when he vanishes, then reappears with a fat white towel and a
cup of hot tea.

"Now, Missy,
what you be doing today? Nice bath? Nice books? Nice robes? Nice
food?"

Maybe, I think to
myself, it might be better if I simply relax and try to take some
small pleasures from my situation. I have no Death Eaters to
worry about, no homework or studying. Just what I want to do,
when I want to do so.

I'm surprised at the
realization that it could be far, far worse.

---

We settled in for a
long Order meeting. Despite Snape's earlier warning, I agreed to
join the Order of the Phoenix, and attended the meetings
religiously with Ron and Harry.

Not tonight, though.
Ron had gotten particularly drunk and vulgar two weeks earlier
when he'd discovered I had plans to study in Italy and France
next year while he stayed in England to become a Quidditch
player. He had some unrealistic fantasy in his mind that I'd
follow him from game to game and pop out titian-haired babies at
a rate roughly equal to that of a rabbit in heat.

He and I were still
on uncomfortable terms; I'd expressly told Harry to stay by his
side, try to keep him calm. I knew that of the two of us, Ron was
the one who'd try to make Harry choose sides, perhaps even shun
Harry's friendship if he perceived that I was getting any sort of
preferential treatment.

I was the one who did
the dumping. Maybe I was supposed to suffer a bit.

In any case, I seated
myself in the far corner of the room, where the shadows would
shield me from most of the discussion.

"Miss
Granger."

I jumped, then
smiled.

"Professor."
I nodded in acknowledgement.

"May I
sit?"

"Of course,
Sir."

He settled at the
opposite end of the small loveseat. I didn't look at him - I was
too busy trying to decide whether Ron was all right or not. Ron's
eyes were puffy and ringed with red, and he sniffled quite a bit
into his cloth handkerchief. When Professor McGonagall appeared
with a tea tray, I turned to Snape, and spoke with him for the
first time that night.

"Would you like
me to bring you some tea?"

He looked taken
aback. "Yes, thank you... Miss Granger. I take it
with..."

"Three sugars,
black, I know." I offered him a small smile. "Do you
want any of the biscuits or sandwiches?"

He stared at me.
"No... thank you."

I prepared two
beakers, one the way I liked it, one the way he did.

After a languorous
sip, Professor Snape cleared his throat and turned to speak with
me again.

"Have you heard
back from Mistress Crocetti?"

"Yes, she asked
me to send her two potions samples," I replied quietly.
"She was quite impressed with my background."

"That's what
brought on your sudden breakup with Mister Weasley?"

"Not so sudden,
but yes." I nodded. "I want to thank you for sending
that letter of recommendation."

His voice was low,
and his eyes stared down at the worn carpet. "It was...
deserved."

"But coming from
you, it means a lot," I whispered, yawning widely. "I
spent half the night brewing them."

He opened his mouth
to reply, then changed his mind once he caught Harry watching our
exchange with curiosity. Then Headmaster Dumbledore appeared,
smelling of mint toffees and frowning in a rather
uncharacteristic way.

"We are here to
discuss Voldemort's plans for England," he began after
delicately sipping his tea. "Professor Snape has discovered
his intentions for Muggles and Muggleborns, should he win.
Explain, Severus."

My ear perked up, and
I tensed.

"He has certain
Muggleborn targets he intends to use as rewards for his
followers," he began slowly. "I do not know who,
exactly, they target, though I suspect Lucius Malfoy has his eye
on Miss Granger."

I pressed a hand to
my mouth to keep from squeaking.

"Worry not, Miss
Granger, remember that these are his plans should he win."
Professor Snape drank back the last of his tea before continuing.
"He also plans on disabling electrical power generators, the
telephone grid, and the means for pumping water into Muggle
homes. Reading by Muggles will also be banned."

My stomach lurched;
it had a sickening similarity to the Bantustans in South Africa.

I looked over at
Snape, one thought clear in my mind. If we lose, that will be my
future. Either that, or as Malfoy's toy.

He stared back at me
with dark eyes, but continued with his story; that Pansy
Parkinson had taken the mark, as had Vincent Crabbe. That the
Dark Lord was promising valuable rewards in exchange for the
completion of certain tasks.

I saw Dumbledore
stroking his beard thoughtfully, but I was tired, and by the time
the meeting moved onto publicly reading Tonks and Lupin's
progress reports from Death Eater activities in Romania, I was
already yawning.

Ron and his brother
Bill had already gotten into a heated argument about some
minutiae in the report, and I found myself working hard to keep
awake.

"Miss
Granger," Professor Snape said quietly. "Do not worry,
you will miss little of consequence."

I smiled at him.
" Promise you'll wake me if anything fascinating
happens?"

He paused, as if
debating whether to throw an acidic comment in my direction, but
decided upon simply nodding.

I fell asleep on the
sofa next to him, but when I awoke, I found myself in my bed at
Order headquarters. My shoes were even set off to the side.

I thought, at the
time, that it was Molly's doing.

---

Loki rifles through the drawers, chatting amiably about his house-elf parentage and
how this relates to the Noble House of Snape. Apparently, this
house was placed in escrow by the Ministry, under the control of
Lucius Malfoy of all people, and was only recently returned to
Professor Snape. Debts from an earlier Snape generation, Loki
says.

Lucius Malfoy is, by Loki's account, Professor Snape's sister's husband's brother.
Which, I suppose, makes him some sort of roundabout
brother-in-law. The idea of him as someone's family is unnerving;
does Draco think of him as an Uncle?

I think not. The Malfoys are richer than Snape, put on far more airs and graces.
They have that unnatural surface perfection that you find only in
propaganda films; beautiful, rich, charming.

Loki's small fingers pull away from my hair. He said he wanted to play with it, and
rather than let him get into another snit I allow him to do so.
He's not very good at it, tugs a lot and snags, and complaining
loudly about my dryness and split ends.

"Does Missy want green or gray?"

"Oh, you've got
to be kidding me," I snap. "Even the clothing are
Slytherin coloured?"

"No," Loki huffs, "Loki just be liking green and gray. In here is
also... yellow, and some blue. Black. Mistress Aurelia is being a
Ravenclaw girl. You likes books, you's in there too?"

"No," I reply shortly as he yanks on a lock of hair too hard again.
"Just pick one, it doesn't really matter, does it? We're
just... how did you put it before? Playing dress-up."

"Yes." Loki offers me a genuine smile. "You be having fun with
Loki."

He motions for me to
raise my arms, and when I do so, not only do my clothes vanish,
but they reappear folded and pressed on the nearby chair. Loki
ignores my sudden blush and embarrassment from being suddenly
stripped down to my underclothing.

I've never had anyone
dress me before, and it seems unnaturally lazy to do so. The
folds of silky material float out of the packaging, settle
delicately over my shoulders, neck, waist, hips. He's picked
white, frothy with gold and white lace and ribbon.

"Ohh." Loki whimpers. "Loki is no good with ribbons! Ribbons is always
Loki's undoing."

I laugh at the unintended pun, and absently pat him on the head. He's being
positively kind to me today. Hopefully his good mood will stay
for a few days.

Suddenly the lacing
around the neck tightens around the front. It's cutting off my
breathing. Oh, God, he's trying to kill me. I'm going to die by
house-elf strangulation, via gold satin ribbon, pass out on the
floor...

But no, I've thought
wrong. Loki's jaw drops, he gasps, and suddenly the ribbon
loosens.

"Missy? Is Missy okay? Ohhh, Loki is bad. Loki needing punished. Loki make
accident, too tight, hurt Missy. Master would be so angry put me
out with sock when Missy tells him..."

I swallow.
"Well. Perhaps we can forget about this... as long as you're
polite and obedient with me, all right?"

He nods automatically, looking awfully relieved, then cocks his head. His
face grows thoughtful, and he doesn't look like he's listening to
me anymore.

"Something be
wrong," Loki murmurs. "Master here... but..."

He vanishes with a soft crack, and I'm left alone. I look in the mirror; I look
strange, like an idealized painting of myself or a large, pale
doll. I don't like it; I'm reminded of Narcissa Malfoy or Pansy
Parkinson. I'm too thin, as well; I've always been the type of
girl who thought I should probably lose ten pounds, but now I
don't like it. Despite my admiration of Elle McPherson and Naomi
Campbell, I realize now that I can never look like them; my
breasts and hips have been replaced by unattractively-angular
plates, ribs, beads of bone under my skin.

Loki appears again.
He's got mud on his feet and he looks like he might cry.

"Missy... Loki needs help. Master sick."

"What? Where?"

"Outside. Master cut up. Maybe Master
dead." He lets out a soft, sad squeal.

I swallow hard.

"Take me to him."