AN: Happy New Year. I've read all the reviews - thank you to all who took the time, as always! I'll try to work in the formatting suggestions starting with the next chapter. Please add in your suggestions or predictions, as I'm still trying to write the concluding chapter.

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Snape's office is only a few steps from the library. He tends to read in his office, so I know I won't bother him when I stay in the library. It's a tiny room, the book collection is small, and many of the shelves lie empty. I assume some past Snape sold off the books to pay off the debts Loki once mentioned.

The green carpets are frayed along the edges. Dusty velour drapes hang over sliver-thin windows, blotting out any light. I always open them for the light as soon as I come in. The dark books are shelved near the ceiling. Now that I'm really looking closely at the lower shelves, I notice children's books neatly arranged at a child's height. I'm torn between laughing and crying at some of the titles - The Very Bad Muggle? No Pants for Me? The Life of the Savage?

"I certainly didn't pick them."

I jump, then smile nervously at Professor Snape - should I call him that? - standing in the doorway.

"Did you read them when you were younger?" I ask.

"Of course," he replies. "Every child in my family has, I'm sure, for the past half-dozen generations."

I purse my lips. Is he still indoctrinated with such ideas? I look down at the cover of No Pants for Me, a book-cover showing a pair of pale wizard children laughing at a pair of bow-backed Muggles in rawhide pant and shirt sets.

"Do you believe it?" I ask, quieter this time.

"Don't be foolish."

"You must've at one time," I say. "I mean, just as I once thought witches had green skin and warts..."

He snorts derisively.

"Never mind."

I sigh. We'll never be able to have a conversation. Even this is too intimate for him to handle.

"Until relatively recently, I found my preconceptions, for the most part, still held," he tells me slowly. "But my opinions of Muggleborns have changed."

"Why?"

He shrugs, and doesn't offer a reason. I suspect I already know.

I slide the book back onto the shelf, keeping my eyes on the spines, trying to spot something distracting to read. At the same time, I try to extend our conversation, knowing that any discussion with him is a rarity.

"Most of the Dark Lord's followers agree with it," I say. "You're definitely in the minority. Purebloods despise witches like me."

I finally turn, making eye contact and moving just a few inches closer to him. He still stands languorously beside the door, watching me as he pours himself a drink from a glass decanter on the table.

"What happens when you get married? I'm sure along the way you'll want a dog, and a wife, and children, and the lot. I highly doubt any future Madam Snape will be particularly impressed by the thought of sharing the place with a faithful Mudblood."

I sound awfully bitter to my own ears.

He narrows his eyes at me and takes a drink. "Do not call yourself that."

"Why not? It's a very real possibility. You won't want to stay alone here for the rest of your life."

He steps closer to me, so there's one foot between us. His black eyes look almost soft. If it were someone kinder, someone I understood, I'd dare to call the look affection.

"I'm not alone, am I, Hermione?"

His voice sounds thick and warm, like honey in July. I blink, holding a book against my chest, not even noticing what I've grabbed.

"Hermione..." his voice is low; he turns his head down to the carpet.

Loki appears, cutting off what Professor Snape was about to declare.

"What is it, you infernal creature?" he shouts.

I jump at the sudden change, and he lets out a frustrated growl in my direction.

"Loki sorry, sorry, sorry, but Misters Malfoy both is here again, they says the Great Lord sends them to be talking. Loki sorry..."

He sounds so sad. It's not his fault that Lucius Malfoy seems to be Voldemort's messenger boy.

"It's all right, Loki." I scratch his ears, and he lets out a trill, not unlike Crooks' soft purr.

My eyes grow wet. Poor Crooks - last time I saw him, he lay under my window, sunning himself and yawning. I doubt I'll ever know what happened to him.

"You cannot..." Snape looks at me and sighs deeply. "You must look docile and obedient, Hermione. You must not look up - you must not respond to Lucius or Draco. They must think they have interrupted us. They must think I'm still ill, and that I require your - attention. They would never understand why I would spend time with you other than..."

I nod mutely and pull the ribbons from my hair. He doesn't finish his sentence, just watches me. My curls stick out in every direction, a few falling awkwardly over my eyes, and I impatiently try to flick it away as I work at a particularly stubborn ribbon.

He steps closer to me, tentatively brushes my hair back so he can unlace just the first few grommets on my robe, and I fall still. Like last night, he's unnaturally gentle. The feather-light touches at my throat remind me of the way he handles fragile ingredients in the lab.

After inwardly debating a minute, I reach my hands up to his throat and unbutton the collar on his shirt. I expect him to push me back, tell me he's capable of doing it himself, but he doesn't, just nods in silent gratitude.

"Here, lie on the sofa, then you can look like you have no energy and are still awfully distressed from your illness," I say.

He complies. I move to top up his drink. As I pour from the liquor decanter, the doors fling open, to reveal both Malfoy Senior and Junior, in their full glory. They sashay in, dressed in fine linens and silks in russet and emerald, and seat themselves across the library without a word

It takes all my concentration not to drop the glass. I keep pouring, then once the glass is topped up, freeze, eyes downcast, arms folded around myself.

Lucius laughs. "We've interrupted his leisure time once again."

"Hmph," Draco grunts, sounding suspicious.

"You always seem to appear at the most inopportune times, Lucius, Draco," Severus grumbles from the sofa.

"Is it my fault you seem to be making up for lost time with your new toy?" Lucius smirks. "Give her an order, she looks like a rabbit in the path of a broomstick, standing there."

"Come here," Snape barks.

I move to his side, then, after thinking about it a moment, kneel in front of the sofa so that I'm sitting lower than he is.

"And I thought you said he hadn't trained her properly, Draco," Lucius says. "She seems obedient enough. Look, she even fetched him a drink. Drink up, Severus, I know you have a fondness for noon drunkenness."

From Malfoy's tone, I know it's a jibe to put Professor Snape in his place. A snide little reminder about their relative positions. I've never seen Snape drunk at noon, but even if he got snackered at every given opportunity, it wouldn't matter. At this moment, I realize that I loathe both Malfoys with a hatred as pure as quartz crystal. Given the opportunity, I wouldn't hesitate to use an Unforgivable on them, and the knowledge that not only that I would, but that I could frightens me.

"Get your pet to do something useful, or I'll put her to work on Draco..." Lucius's cool tone snaps me from my thoughts.

I look up at Professor Snape. Lucius and Draco can't see my panicked expression, but Snape does. He reaches around my neck and pulls my face upward, closer to his. From Draco and Lucius's angle, it looks as if he's biting me or pinching me behind my curtain of hair, and I let out a startled squeak. Really, he's just whispering in my ear, but Lucius laughs at my feigned injury.

"Just sit beside me and do as I say," he whispers. He grabs a tube of healing salve from somewhere inside the nearby desk and throws it into my lap.

"Get up here and put this on me," he barks.

He rolls up his white shirt-sleeves and I kneel beside him, focusing intently on the cuts and bruises marring his skin. I pretend not to hear their conversation.

"Bella is jealous that your pet is protected," Lucius says. "She asks for her own, but Rodolphus protested."

"If I had a wife, I would not want to keep her, Lucius."

"Ah, if you had a wife, you would want to keep her even more." Lucius chortles. "Believe me, I speak from experience. Look at Draco. Do you think I would rid him of his plaything simply because Parkinson is marrying him? That would be foolish, to take away his small pleasures. Either way, Bella's temper is why I came. I thought perhaps your injuries would be more severe. Then again, you always had a knack for... turning situations to your advantage, didn't you, Severus?"

"My pet is decent enough with healing potions."

"You can trust her not to poison you? You must have her exceptionally well trained... or else you're quite foolish, Severus. But you've never been a fool. You chose the winning side, after all." Lucius pauses. "Remember well that a woman's place is in your bed for an hour, but her own for the rest of the night. Men who don't ward their doors at night don't wake up in the morning."

"Your advice, I'm certain, is well meant, but I would prefer if you allowed me to worry about such things, Lucius." Severus sneers, and Lucius's face pinches.

Snape downs the drink. He shoves the empty glass into my hand. I refill it without being asked.

"Don't you put her to any better use than as your own little nurse and waitress?" Draco sneers.

"Your jealousy is all too apparent, Mister Malfoy. You still haven't learned any subtlety," Severus snaps back, drinking more liquor and wrapping one arm around my ribcage, yanking me closer as I keep banishing away his little bruises and cuts.

"I shall tell the Dark Lord that you will be indisposed for a few days," Lucius says, voice sharp, "But he will expect you at the Swansea raid, and will certainly wish you to join him in Brighton for the celebration."

"I'm aware of my obligations, Lucius, though it is quite kind of you to make the trip to remind me," he replies, shifting around, letting his eyes flicker down my half-open robe before glaring meaningfully back at Lucius and Draco.

"Well, we should leave," Lucius cooes. "Let us return home, Draco, we've found out what we wish to know..."

"But Father..."

"Draco, it's time to leave."

"Yes, Father."

Draco glares at me before him and his father stalk out the door. I smile with relief and open my mouth to speak. Professor Snape places one finger over my mouth to silence me before leaning in once again to whisper in my ear.

"They are waiting outside the door, using some sort of spell to spy on us."

His breath smells sweet, like liquor and the syrup he had on his breakfast.

"Lucius didn't come here to give me instructions, he hopes to find evidence that I'm not entirely loyal. As always." He sighs. "Can't you feel the spell they've cast?"

No, I can't. I can see Draco, blatant idiot that he is, through the crack in the door, peering in at us with watery grey eyes, mouth open, nearly salivating at the peep-show. He reminds me of a dead fish.

I give Draco what he wants. I lean in and curl my arms around the Snape's middle. He yanks me onto his lap and shoves his half-empty glass into my hands. I eye it for a moment before taking a tiny, tiny sip. His fingers work into my spine, and I wonder if it's for the benefit of the two Malfoys, or whether it's for himself. He starts unlacing my bodice, but I don't really care - I run my hands over his hair, as if he were ike a cat, as he pulls down the shoulders on my robe.

My back is turned to the Malfoys. They'll see nothing but my spine, and Snape saw me in dishabille just last night.

He wriggles off the gown, leaving me in just my slip. After glancing at the pool of yellow fabric on the ground, he surveys me, my bare shoulders, bare arms, cotton-clad chest and hips and legs. He smiles, a small, reassuring smile, and after looking toward the door, presses a kiss to my shoulder. I keep brushing at his hair. The sunshine highlights the road-map of scars and cuts mottling his skin.

"You're all hurt," I whisper, tracing my finger between the wounds like a macabre connect the dots.

He sucks on my shoulder. I look backwards - Draco and Lucius are gone.

"The Malfoys left."

"Mmm," he grumbles against my skin. "If they had been there still, I would not be behaving as I am now, my dear."

He sucks hard enough that I'm sure there'll be a mark on my shoulder. He starts pulling up my slip before he stops and draws back, stares at me. I'm perched on his lap. He wants me; I can feel it, I can see it in his eyes.

"Push me away," he says, breath short. "Now, do it now, before I try to... try to..."

His eyes are round, black, almost childish when he's in this mood. He doesn't look like the same person. Why do I feel almost-protective?

I can't push him away. I don't encourage him, either, just sit there, letting him decide. He loops his arms around me and pulls me closer.

"Good," he mumbles into my hair. "Good."

---

The Order kept watch whenever Professor Snape went out on missions or whenever Remus transformed. I volunteered when Professor Snape went out. I liked to keep watch on my would-be mentor, make sure someone reliable waited for him when he returned from the revels.

He didn't like me waiting for him. He shouted at me, especially when he returned still twitching from a bout of Crucio. He took out all his frustration on me until Professor McGonagall or the Headmaster would silence him and send for Molly Weasley, who, though she could do nothing for the twitches, had a motherliness that even Professor Snape was defenseless against.

Every time, when the night was over, he would come to me to stiffly ask for assistance in the lab; perhaps it was the closest he could come to an apology.

I always accepted. I had a hope that after school finished, we might become friends and that the silent wall remained only because he was the Professor and I was the student.

I neverconsidered the possibility that I might not finish my schooling.

He came back, that last time, utterly spent. I was the one to find him crawling across the front lawn just after midnight, his robes masking the seriousness of his injuries.

"Professor," I whispered as he crawled up the stairs. "Are you all right?"

He recoiled when he realized it was me, just as he always did.

"Get back to your room, you imbecile, and get Madam Pomfrey." He winced as a shudder overtook him. "Just fetch the old bag."

I licked my lips. "I need to get you inside first, it's near freezing out here."

"Do as I say you stupid child!" he bellowed. "I am not playing some foolish game with you, get away from me and follow my commands!"

I knelt down beside him and touched his hand. "Here, use my shoulder for support."

"Stupid child," he hissed. "You disgust me, do you realize that? Were it not for my physical state, you would not even consider disobeying me."

I nodded passively as his fingers clutched my shoulder, his entire weight resting against my frame as he hobbled through the door, insulting me and hissing at me and swearing the entire way to the sofa. On some level I knew that he was angry at me seeing him like this. He didn't really mean his insults, though they still managed to cut deeply.

"Find someone else to bestow your pity on," he growled. "I will not have you simpering over me like some wayward house-elf just so you may feel better about yourself, you arrogant little know-it-all."

He never called me a Mudblood; a know-it-all, imbecile, stupid child, irritating girl, but never, ever Mudblood, even now as he shook and shuddered with Crucio and blossomed violet with bruises.

"I don't pity you," I snapped back. "I fear for your safety, but not pity."

"Moronic doublespeak," he hissed. "People like you get themselves killed, Miss Granger, and manage to kill others with your so-called good intentions. I loathe the day that you got your letter."

That one hit the mark, and I turned to keep him from seeing me flinch. With a sideways shrug, I left the room to inform the Headmaster of Professor Snape's return.

"He's back," I called into the darkened bedroom, knowing from experience that Dumbledore never seemed to sleep.

"Excellent, excellent," Dumbledore murmured softly, rolling out of bed and padding, a silhouette of a nightshirt and cap, to the door.

"He's in a truly awful mood," I said. "You should be warned."

"I'd prefer if you didn't stay and listen to his usual hatefulness, Miss Granger, you've done enough as it is." Dumbledore paused. "Besides, it does him no good to let you see him like this, his mood only darkens. Have a rest, my dear, when he's healed, I'll rouse you."

I nodded and ambled to my bedroom at Order headquarters, but found it impossible to sleep. I couldn't concentrate on my books, either, and eventually settled on sipping at a glass of water and staring at the ceiling in the dark.

"My dear." I heard Dumbledore's familiar voice speaking to me. "He's a bit better physically, if you just want to look through the door at him. I'm afraid he's still in an unpleasant mood, but I know you won't rest until you see him for yourself."

I nodded from the bed, rolled out, and tiptoed over to the bedroom they'd settled Professor Snape within. Everyone else had abandoned him, probably to get away from his sour temperament, and his eyes were closed. I thought, for a moment, that he'd fallen asleep, and watched him as he just lay in bed, wondering how anyone could look so unhappy when they were dreaming.

"If you're going to stand there gaping, shut the bloody door, Miss Granger," he snapped suddenly.

I slammed it in surprise, my reflex action being to automatically do as he ordered.

"Come to be entertained by the old Death Eater, Miss Granger?" His voice was silky, but his words were cutting. "Perhaps you like to see me like this, like to see me weakened, is that it, Miss Granger? Some sort of roundabout form of revenge for all the cauldron scrubbing and daisy chopping?"

"Of course not!"

"Or is it pity?" His eyes got a cool glint in them. "Look closely, Miss Granger, and do not pity me overmuch. I am now what you will be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't you understand, you foolish girl?" he hissed. "You whimper and sniffle when you see me merely bruised and cut. By the time Lucius is finished with you, you will wish you had a dagger, so you could cut your own wrists..."

"I know what I'm getting into," I told him.

"You have no clue," he said. "You haven't any comprehension of what evil he possesses."

"As much as you may deny it, I am an adult. Anything that happens to me will be my fault, Sir. I've made my decision, and I will live with the consequences."

His eyes took on a strange, expressionless cast, and for a moment I swore he smiled to himself.

"Very well then." He gestured to the door. "Get out."

I nodded, head held high, and shut the door softly behind me.

---

He's lying on me, wearing just a cotton shirt, wide open, mother of pearl buttons unfastened. He unfastened them. I don't take off his clothing. He unfastens his clothes, and mine. When did I become so passive?

He looks like he's trying to catch his breath, unsuccessfully. his hands are fanned delicately over my breasts. His skin is pearl-white, scrawled with the markings of violence. I don't touch them. Just placed my hands on his sides for balance as he rocked over me, his breaths gasping out, into my ears, in an unsteady rhythm.

He watches me, watches me, with that same half-afraid expression he had before.

"Hermione?"

I look back at him, not certain what he's asking.

"Hermione..." he says. "You're always so quiet. Can you say nothing for yourself anymore?"

I shift one leg where he's cutting off the blood. I ache again.

"I thought it only hurt the first time," I say.

My voice sounds terribly matter-of-fact, terribly clinical.

He blenches. His face turns a horrible ashen grey, and he backs away from me. He says nothing more, just snatches up his clothing and runs out the library door. I lie there for a moment. How many times had I wished, back at school, that I could elicit some reaction, any reaction from him? Now I just feel sick with guilt and wish I had a time turner to take it back.

I feel so old, so tired.

"Loki?" I call out his name as I slide on my robe.

"Yes, Mistress?"

He looks so hopeful.

"Sleeping potion, if you wouldn't mind."

Loki's ears fall in disappointment. "Yes, Mistress."

I shuffle back to my room, down the potion, and settle into my bed for a forced rest.

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