A/N: The muse of Severus Snape tapped me none-too-gently on the shoulder and told me he had something to say. As a lowly, humble authoress, I begged his pardon for having neglected him so long and said I was now ready to listen.
Hands poised above the keyboard, I tried to record as best I could as our favorite potions professor began to speak.
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Ch. 9— The City of Dis
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Severus held her to him, and something within him shifted as he had a realization.
She had become his reason.
Yes, he wanted to stop Slytherin from attaining a hold on the wizarding world, but his primary objective had changed. Ensuring Hermione Granger continued to live was now his primary goal.
You've certainly done a good job, thus far, haven't you? his thoughts taunted as his hand stroked the newly-healed skin at her back, feeling the rough ridge where she'd been bitten by the harpy. The thing had been an inch away from severing her spinal cord. As it was, her spinal column had been exposed, and he couldn't truly heal the wound without anti-septic bruise paste as well as a restorative draught for muscular regeneration.
She'd always bear a scar.
When he thought back to how he'd landed on her, he cringed. In fact, there'd been so many cringe-worthy moments with this young woman throughout the entire course of their ordeal. But she'd handled them all with a grace that belied her years. He was, in fact, quite in awe of her. For with her intelligence, she'd unlocked many a gate, with her wit, she'd kept him amused, and with her courage and strength, she had earned his respect.
And not to mention her boldness.
Good God, was she ever a Gryffindor! And too young to know any of what she asked so insistently to have. What he would love to give if his morality didn't betray him. She was eighteen, sweet and lovely. And she had her entire life ahead of her. He'd taken too much of her already.
Again, he cringed.
But she brought out a feeling of protectiveness within him that he hadn't felt since Lily, and he was giving her comfort. He, Severus Tobias Snape, scourge of the wizarding world, was holding this woman-child in his arms, and giving her comfort as well as gaining a measure in return.
It was so novel as to be surreal for in the last year, he'd been loathed, utterly loathed. And he'd borne it. It had been difficult, but he'd done so. Not that he was overly-fond of being held, but Albus had been the last one to touch him; patting him on the shoulder the night before his death.
And for almost a year, no one else had dared.
But then along came an insufferably intelligent, bushy-haired angel who quite literally upended his many plans to hell, who'd dared to touch him—to hug him to her to seek comfort in this place. He tried to tell himself that it was this place, this situation, it was not him. Given the same circumstance, she'd hug Potter to her just as much. His mind rebelled at the thought that she probably had done in their time spent on the run together.
But you're the one who'd taken her virginity, his thoughts reminded. And oh, yes; how could he ever forget that?
And she'd borne it, as she had so much of what happened within this place, with grace, seeking to comfort him after the fact. He shook his head.
He owed her. He owed Miss Hermione Granger a great debt. For due to her meddling, he was now free. And now that he was, Severus realized he had quite a lot to live for. She'd given him that as well, and he desperately wanted to be alive to live it.
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Her back still hurt, even after he'd healed her, and she supposed it would until they returned above. She hoped she wouldn't be stuck with the pain for the rest of her life; it was quite distracting. Her confusion was lessening with each moment that passed. And she hoped her dysphasia had gone away by now. Drawing a deep breath, she released him and said, "What are we going to do, sir?"
"Get out Headmaster Black's portrait," he said, his hands still had a hold of her waist with his thumbs moving in soothing circles. "We should check in with Albus before we do anything else."
He released her, and Hermione drew it out of her bag. Once more she watched as he shrunk the frame down to the size of a muggle cellular, and it occurred to her then that he did not want the headmaster to know of their nudity. As far as she was concerned, what happened in hell, could stay in hell, the promise of their date notwithstanding.
"Severus, it's been twelve hours since you've left," the headmaster exclaimed, "and Salazar has only just gone to lie down. How's Miss Granger?"
"She could fare better. Have you any more news concerning the founders, Albus?"
"They're doing a great bit of talking in how Slytherin could've resurrected himself. They've speculated everything, but I'm leaning towards one theory in particular." His tone said he was settling in for a tale, and Hermione listened close. "There was a portrait-maker named Capellini that was a contemporary of the founders, and it is he who is the original creator of portraiture magic.
"Rowena attended a discussion held between Herpo the Foul, Arturo Capellini, and Salazar Slytherin in which they were discussing the transmutable permanence of one's soul. Rowena listened for a time, hearing Herpo the Foul exclaim, 'the only way to attain immortality is by creating a horcrux'.
"However, Capellini posed another alternative. There was an ancient belief, held from the time of the oldest gods, that to make a graven image of oneself would be to make a reflection that could encapsulate one's soul. And it was postulated by Capellini that this would enable the subject of the portrait to transport to any destination that had a frame, much as any Hogwarts portrait is able to do. All one needed would be an accurate rendition of oneself painted and animated by Capellini, and then immortality, as far as one's own consciousness, would be assured."
"But Slytherin himself is flesh and blood, right?" Hermione asked, saying absently, "You know, it reminds me of this book I read once by muggle author Oscar Wilde called The Picture of Dorian Grey. In it, the soul of a young man is captured in the painting of himself, and he is gifted with the ability to never age. Instead, his portrait does, taking on the sins and taint of a life lived without scruples. By the end of the novel, the portrait is a macabre monstrosity that its subject seeks to destroy, and thus when destroyed, the subject destroys himself."
"Perhaps it's best we not discuss Slytherin's demise at present," Professor Dumbledore said. "We still don't know what we're dealing with in regards to his immortality—" Professor Dumbledore broke off as a child's laughter echoed around them, and Hermione looked up at Professor Snape in shock. Something small struck the ward and flew back on a whimper.
Hermione dove for the Spectrespecs and put them on.
"Professor!" Hermione cried.
There was a child of no more than seven or eight, wearing Harry's invisibility cloak. She had tried to run up to them and ran into Professor Snape's ward instead and was thrown back.
Hermione's palm itched for her wand, wanting to disable the ward he'd cast immediately to see if she was alright.
With a tap of his wand to her glasses, the Spectrespecs were duplicated, and Professor Snape put them on, saying, "This could be a trick to have us lower our defenses."
The child whimpered.
"Sir—" Hermione said, a note of pleading in her voice.
He huffed. And quickly taking his ward, levitated the child to them and cast an all-but-impenetrable ward to shield the three of them further.
"She's going to be fine," he said after examining her. "She's only stunned. That ward was meant to kill."
Hermione's mouth opened.
"I had an age-detection failsafe in place as you did see. She was only stunned and should be waking up any moment now." Even now, her eyelids were beginning to flutter.
"Well, I guess I know who took Harry's cloak," Hermione said, watching the material shimmer in and out of existence with each breath she took. "What is she doing here?"
"Severus… Miss Granger—" Albus Dumbledore called from below them. Hermione knelt and picked up the discarded portrait, careful to hide her nudity from him.
"Yes, sir?" Hermione asked.
"There's one more thing before you go. Think of mirrors, won't you? Slytherin disintegrated all of them in the headmaster's suite. That's all." He shoo'd her on, and Hermione quickly replaced his portrait in her bag and signaled one of her jars over to her, engorging it so she could see properly in this tight space.
She looked around, noticing where they were truly for the first time.
They were in an ossuary, like the kind one would find in the Paris Underground, the city built on a mound of bones. They were traveling down a corridor with skulls stacked floor to ceiling, and if Hermione looked up, she could see where they were in relation to the above. They'd descended further than she thought, and below them were still more catacombs riddled with bones.
There was a gasp and then the young girl was awake and blinking up at them. Immediately, she began struggling against Professor Snape's 'immobulus', her blue eyes wide and panicked.
Hermione said calmly, "It's alright. We won't hurt you."
The girl spoke, and it sounded like the hissing of snakes.
Parseltongue. The little girl was a parselmouth.
"Easy," Hermione hissed gently. "It's alright. We're not going to hurt you."
"You can understand me?" the girl asked.
"Yes," Hermione hissed.
"But you're one of the Above Ones."
"And that would make you—" Professor Snape hissed.
"Slytherin's captives," hissed a voice outside of Professor Snape's wards.
Hermione looked up. There were dozens of faces surrounding them, many of them kind and openly curious, all of them wearing homespun dress.
"Give us back the child; we mean you no harm," a man with a gentle mien and kind eyes said. "It's been quite a few turnings since ones from above have been sent here, and Eleana," he gestured to the girl, "is unprepared."
"Prepared for what?" Professor Snape asked uncertainly.
"Prepared to witness the adoption of two new members to our family. Welcome."
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Professor Snape dropped the ward but kept his wand drawn and aimed, and Hermione gestured the little girl should go back to her family. She let the cloak go, too, figuring she would get it back… eventually.
Stepping closer to Professor Snape, she felt suddenly self-conscious. She was in the nude after all, and there were plenty of people now staring at her. Even as she had the thought a rough-hewn blanket was being offered, and Hermione looked down and then back up at them. "To cover you up, mistress," a soft female voice said to the side of her.
Hermione blushed, but then took it, gesturing her thanks.
"Wait a moment, Miss Granger," Professor Snape cautioned, taking it from her. He proceeded to inspect the blanket from every angle as well as perform high-level magical detection charms before unfolding, cleaning, and draping it over her, quite covering and cocooning her.
She blushed again and said quietly, "Thank you, sir," before hissing to them all, "Thank you—"
"What do you mean we're now a part of your family?" Professor Snape hissed to them all, his acid tone familiar to anyone who took a class of his. She winced.
An older man stepped forward and said in Parseltongue, "We've all of us have endured bits of Salazar's shop of horrors, and here is where we stay."
"I beg your pardon, what did you say?" Hermione asked, dread settling in her stomach.
"He's saying, missy," a big-chested woman with a hairy mole on her chin stepped up to her and gestured, "He's saying we all of us are stuck here. Each and every one of us sinners who've crossed his lordship is here for eternity immortal until the end of time."
"But why?" Hermione asked, incredulous.
"Some are here by Slytherin's design, others by misfortune, still others besides who want to be here, and it's those what you have to worry about," said the woman who handed her the blanket. She was quite a bit older than her, but still quite beautiful. In fact, many of the women here were.
"And then there's our magic," a studious lad who was a little younger than Hermione, spoke while adjusting his spectacles, "Some of us still have a little magic, but the majority of us don't. This place tends to leech it from you. And there's no telling how long we've been down here. Tell me what year are you from?"
"1998," Hermione answered.
There was a collective gasp.
"Explain," Professor Snape demanded. "Explain the nature of this place."
"Here, in the city of Dis," a self-possessed voice answered from the back of the crowd. As she watched, the crowd parted for him.
It was no exaggeration to say the man was an Adonis, and he seemed to be their leader. Easily towering over her, he had to be six inches above Professor Snape's already towering height. He came right up to them and looking down at Hermione, said, "Here in the city, you will find those that Salazar Slytherin has judged fit to decorate his city of the damned."
"But that's—that's criminal!" Hermione exclaimed. "How could he do that to a little girl?" She gestured to the little girl who had Harry's invisibility cloak.
"She's a thief," the woman who'd given her the blanket said, and stepping forward, she took the cloak from the girl and handed it back to Hermione. "We're all of us guilty of trespassing against Slytherin in some respect. I was guilty of the sin of 'lust'. His, not mine."
"And I, gluttony," a rather large man said from the back of the cave.
"I'm a liar."
"A traitor."
"A blasphemer."
The voices kept coming faster and faster until Professor Snape deafened, "Enough!" Bones crumbled to dust above him, and rained down upon them all. "What was the manner of your arrival to this place?" he asked. "Did each of you begin with level one and have to endure all the trials to get to where you are now?"
All but one shook their heads.
The Adonis answered, "Godric and I were friends—brothers, really. Slytherin did not care for me and set me a little challenge." He gestured to the way below. "Come, we will take you to our village. There's food and relative safety there."
"Relative?" Hermione asked uncertainly.
"Have not you found this to be the case in this place?" he asked her, smiling down at her. And truth be told, Hermione was a bit taken by that smile.
Professor Snape cleared his throat… loudly.
She snapped to attention and blushing, said, "Sorry, errm— yes, I have, rather. He does like to lull you into a false sense of security."
"Precisely." He grinned and saluted her with a fist to his heart. "I'm Callum, by the way." His smile was perfect, absolutely perfect. And with his leather battleskirt and thronged shoes made of leather, he looked like a Roman soldier. And he'd greeted her exactly as a Roman would which put him in England around the fifth century at least.
Oh, my.
"Hermione," she answered back a bit breathlessly caught up in his gaze—his eyes were violet-colored. She didn't know eyes could be that color!
"And I am Severus Snape," Professor Snape hissed silkily, inserting himself between Callum and herself. "Hogwarts Headmaster, and more importantly, Hermione's guardian."
Hermione blushed once more and looked away.
Dear God, she had just made a fool of herself, but good Lord! The man was the equivalent of female catnip.
And Professor Snape had introduced himself as her guardian. She wrinkled her nose, unhappy with his choice of words. But then… it was hardly anyone's business what they were to one another. After all, who's to say Professor Snape and she should trust these people?
The crowd parted for them, and Professor Snape was given a rough-hewn blanket to wear as well.
He engorged it, and tying it toga fashion, affixed it with a sticking charm at his lapel, and Hermione smiled to herself. Next to the Roman Adonis dressed in his battle skirt, Professor Snape could pass for Callum's emperor, living up to his Roman namesake most assuredly.
Callum continued, "Slytherim told me if I survived his little quest, I would be given the power to control the past, present, and future. What he neglected to tell me was I would be trapped forever in time."
"So, you've been through all the levels?" Hermione asked, "Gone through all the gates? Did you find the map?"
"I've done it all, mistress," he said solemnly. I've survived this little hell time and time again, and I'm here to tell you, there's no way out. We are all of us damned. For eternity."
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Wearing the Spectrespecs, for that was the only way Professor Snape and she could see them, she and Professor Snape had followed these… these lost ones through the ossuary catacombs until they reached a gate.
The moment they left the level, the heat disappeared, the flames were gone, the taste of ash and soot dispelled, and they were looking at a perfect blue sky above burgeoning onto evening.
This was a part of Slytherin's hell they'd yet to come across.
"Where are we?" Hermione asked, taking off the Spectrespecs and looking around, amazed.
It was a perfect English summer evening with a slight breeze. There were birds and insects, and she even saw a few cows grazing in a meadow. It was as if their Valhalla had a township, and Hermione was impressed to see a small community gathered in a green clearing perched upon a hill. There were fairy-lights burning above them in rows, large tables in the common area that reminded her of the Hogwarts.
"We're in what we call, 'Elysium'," Callum said, "It's the most peaceful part of Slytherin's Hell. This is your reward for passing all the levels and trials." He gestured around them. "Near as I can tell, I'm the only one to do so that is still yet living. Our number," he gestured to those still coming through the gate; they numbered a little over fifty, "was much greater before Slytherin went to ground. Slowly but surely, whether by choice or design, turning after turning, another of us is lost."
She said, "You keep saying that 'turning'. What's a turning?"
An older gentleman said from her right, "It's what you would call a 'year', I believe, but we cannot measure the days accurately as it's always the same. Although there are stars, mistress, they do not move. There's only sun and a stationary darkness. And the sun is always at the same spot in the horizon. Time ceases to exist. No one has grown a minute older than when they arrived in this place. Near as I can tell, I have been down here for approximately 790 turnings, and I haven't aged a day."
Hermione drew a startled breath. "Are you the errm… oldest resident?"
"No. That honor is strictly mine," said an even older wizard beside him. "Herpo the Foul, mistress Hermione."
Hermione's mouth opened, and she took a step back from the squint-eyed old man.
He smirked, "I see my reputation precedes me."
"You… you bastard!" Hermione accused impulsively. "You had absolutely no right creating a horcrux, let alone making a 'how-to' manual on the thing. And creating a basilisk! You'll be happy to know that little edition to Slytherin's hell has been vanquished thanks to my friend Harry." She broke off as she looked at him curiously. "Wait a minute. How'd you get in here?"
He looked amused. "I think you've thus observed Salazar likes to play games, mistress. He took my horcrux, and he hid it in his Chamber. I've yet to find it."
She laughed. She couldn't help it. She laughed. "Serves you right."
He gave her a scathing look, but then said, his tone insinuating, "You don't look like you'd be one to know of such things as horcruxes, mistress."
She smiled, and her eyes sparkled. "I'm not knowledgeable about creating them, but at destroying them, I'm level 'expert'."
He took a step back from her, and she nodded, a hint of a smirk in her smile.
"Be aware," Callum said, clearing his throat and regaining her attention, "there are dangers here: the most dangerous being a wandering hole that appears in a different location each day and could see you falling back through the tunnel right to the front door of Slytherin's Chamber within the Chamber of Secrets. Then you'll have to repeat the trials again from level one. We've lost a good number of people that way. Dannon, where's it at today?"
A man with a blond, tufted beard that ended in a point answered, "It's out by Margot's paddock. It nearly got one of Kyah's horses—the filly."
"What else are we to be wary of in this place?" Professor Snape asked, coming to stand beside her.
"There's the torrential rain that happens nearly every week or so," another answered, this time a sweet-faced girl about Hermione's age. "We've built on higher ground and have learned to not wander too far from home when the weather is particularly fine."
"And there's those that are 'rogue'—those we can't see. They stay away from this place mostly, but they make it hard to leave as only a few of us can practice magic. And even then it's a great strain—"
"That's quite enough," an older woman said, and Hermione found herself face-to-face with a Molly-Weasley clone in homespun dress. She looked at Hermione and said, "Dear, would you like to put on something other than that blanket?"
"She doesn't leave my side," Professor Snape asserted, drawing her away from them all. "Miss Granger, you can wear your cloak for now." Drawing his wand, he cast a spell she'd seen only once before—earlier today in fact. And suddenly a pink, treacle mist began to pour from his wand and formed all around them as he cast his 'bubble' ward. They were secluded from everyone, and she knew that those looking on could see nothing within the ward he'd cast.
"Why pink?" she asked, reaching out to touch it, and as before, it came away like soap bubbles in her hand.
"Miss Granger, focus!"
"Sorry, sir." She drew herself back to attention. "Do you think we should trust them?" she asked, immediately shedding the blanket they'd given her and putting on the cloak.
Picking the blanket up, he folded and handed it back to her, saying, "They've given us no cause to be alarmed, and we could learn a great deal about this place from them."
"And do you think," she swallowed thickly, "do you think we're really trapped here… forever?"
He looked unimpressed. "I think this another one of Slytherin's games, one in which no one has won yet."
"But not for lack of trying," she interjected.
He continued, "We cannot trust these people. They could be a part of it, and so, don't divulge anything about yourself and observe much. Do not leave my side," he ordered, giving her a pointed glare.
"I won't, sir. In fact," she dimpled, "I'm quite afraid you're stuck with me… for eternity apparently."
Her comment caused him to draw up short as his eyes softened as he looked at her. She grinned and tried to stand on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. But found she couldn't and hissed in a breath as the place on her back twinged.
"Are you alright?" he asked her, concerned, his hands moving to cup her waist.
"I'm fine," she assured, indicating the spot on her back where she'd been bitten. "I wanted to kiss your cheek but have found a yet undiscovered limitation."
In answer, he immediately lowered his head so it was nearer hers with his hair falling in a curtain beside them. And he was so near, she didn't have to reach but only turn her head to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, professor," she whispered softly, feeling one more piece of her heart slide away towards him.
"Hermione—" he said lowly, his eyes meeting hers. He looked resolved, as if what he was going to say was going to be difficult for him.
"Shouldn't we get back to them?" she broke in anxiously, knowing what he said next might not be something she wanted to hear.
She saw his jaw tighten. "Very well. Mind what I've said and be watchful. You don't know when this situation could turn volatile."
"Yes, sir," she said a bit relieved when he dispelled the ward. He was going to treat her differently now that there were others present, and she knew he was going to try to establish boundaries between them once more.
Hermione refused to let him.
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"Are you hungry?" the woman who looked like Mrs. Weasley asked her, gesturing they should follow where she led.
"Very," Hermione said.
"Dealing with the trials is exhausting work," she continued. "We'll feed you and then find you a place to rest. You both look done in. I'm Dunhielda by the way."
"I'm Hermione and this is Severus Snape," she introduced, going where indicated to one of the tufted pillows spread on the ground before the large community table. Dunhielda gestured they should sit, and Professor Snape made certain he sat them towards the corner of the table with Hermione sitting on the outside so that no one could sit beside her.
And he glowered at anyone who got too close.
"Errm, sir," Hermione ventured tentatively, "perhaps we should try to befriend—"
"Not yet," he said lowly. "You are to trust nothing and no one in this place, or have you forgotten?"
"No," she said earnestly, "but we need information."
"We need to determine if it's safe to be here or not."
A plate of food was sat before her and knowing better than to reach for it, she looked to Professor Snape to examine it first. There was some kind of starchy plantain-like fruit cut medallion-sized and covered in a honeyed glaze. There was also some kind of meat—it looked like a pork cutlet, expertly prepared— and slivered greens that resembled French-cut green beans.
Professor Snape tasted a bit of everything, all while surreptitiously observing others around them beginning to eat.
There was a beautiful young woman, Hermione later found out her name was Lisette, who came over to them bearing a pitcher of juice. After casting 'scourgify' on the earthenware cups in front of them, Professor Snape allowed the young woman to fill them both up, making certain Lisette went to another's table and served them the same juice from the same pitcher.
Callum sat opposite them across the table, and Professor Snape drew Hermione's tufted pillow closer to himself when the blond Adonis did.
Hermione grinned to herself, allowing this rather primitive display without look or comment. In this place, which had the potential to be lawless, and where a shiny veneer could hide a multitude of sins, it was best they stay close.
"I'm certain you have questions," Callum led, gathering a forkful of greens.
She grinned and hissed in Parseltongue. "Yes, actually. I have lots. How in Slytherin's hell were you able to create this Eden?" Everywhere was green and lush, the grounds cultivated and well-tended. There were gardens, a pond with a dock, a paddock that held horses, even a windmill. There were even fruit trees bearing delicious-looking fruit resembling apples but looked to have more in common with peaches. And the sun was just beginning to set over the horizon. Even as she watched, Herpo the Foul pointed his wand, and the fairy lights above the table twinkled for them all.
"Over many turnings of trial and error, we've established this place," Callum answered her, gesturing she should eat.
Hermione looked to Professor Snape, and he nodded, giving his permission.
Picking up her wooden fork, she began to do so, but drew up short when she realized she was going to have to pick up her 'chop', and eat it bone-in.
Mentally shrugging, she did so, listening as Callum expounded, "Although there are plenty of nasty surprises, there are good things too, and it's those we've allowed to fill this place. It's true while here, you will never age. And therefore, you must be aware you cannot reproduce. However, our livestock can, and thus we can have a semblance of agriculture and animal husbandry. In the beginning, our number was much larger, and we had more access to our magic.
"We were able to send out more 'scouting' parties to the other levels than we do now. We find horses here, a flowering vine that we could cultivate there. In fact, a large celebration was had when we found a hidden orange grove and were able to grow our own orangery."
He gestured to the crop of trees behind them. "Other than the stagnation and the occasional malevolent prank played in this place, it's paradise."
"It's hell," Professor Snape said baldly. "No matter if it has pretty window-dressing or not. How is it you all can speak Parseltongue?"
Callum finished chewing and swallowed, saying, "Any 'new-comer' is taught the 'universal' language in this place. I suppose you've realized Parseltongue is what you must speak to gain access to the gates? Forever is a long time, and those that populate this place are from all walks of life. If we didn't have a commonality, then we'd all of us be damned, and so, patiently, we've all had to learn Slytherin's 'mother tongue'." He gestured between both her and Professor Snape with his fork. "And how do you know it? And for that matter, know one another?"
Hermione drew breath to answer, but Professor Snape silenced her with a look and said succinctly, "She is my ward, and I am her guardian." He chose to ignore the question about Parseltongue entirely.
"He isn't particularly chatty is he, mistress?" Callum asked her, a flirtatious glint to his smile.
Feeling Professor Snape stiffen beside her, Hermione raised her brows and answered a bit stiffly, "No, he's not. But what he says, he means." She changed the subject. "You said there were a great many others… how many once populated this place?"
"Oh," he took a drink from his goblet, and continued, "in Slytherin's heyday, there were hundreds of us sent down here, many of us tricked. Little Eleana," he gestured to the little girl that had taken Harry's cloak, "was sent to level eight when she stole Slytherin's ring. It seemed the ring had an enchantment on it to make any wearer but its owner immediately transport to level eight if the wearer's intention was to steal it. Luckily, Kyah and Dannon were on a scouting mission to that level when she arrived, and thus, were able to ferry her here to safety. Otherwise, she could've been lost."
"But you said you cannot die…" Hermione said, trailing off, confused.
Callum shook his head. "I said we do not age, mistress. You can die in Slytherin's hell; it's just very hard to do so. And by 'very', I do mean nigh impossible. Nothing short of beheading gets you out of eternal damnation, and there are those we don't speak of that have chosen just that. If you venture further in this place, you will get hurt. It's a guarantee. But your body will heal after much suffering. Thus, making it nigh impossible to die."
The handsome wizard gestured to a wicked patch of scarring on his upper left arm close to his brachial artery, very near his heart, that looked like it was a bite mark. "I got this from a 'rogue' in level seven. Vicious thing. Nearly tore my arm right off trying to get at my heart. I was incapacitated for a turning, but, eventually, I healed."
Looking less than impressed at Callum's wound, Professor Snape said, "The term 'rogue' has been mentioned before. What does it mean?"
Hermione mentally tilted her head, watching him eat out of the corner of her eye. Observing him at head table once or twice, she knew Severus Snape was elegant and fastidious while dining, and she half expected him to transfigure their utensils into metal cutlery so they'd have an easier time. However, he did not, managing to look elegant even with a pork cutlet held in a long-fingered hand to his lips.
God, she had it bad.
Callum continued, "The 'rogues' are all around us in this level and beyond. Two or three dwell in the previous levels, but the majority are in the 'nethers'. We can't see them, and we're not able to detect them. That's what makes exploring beyond this place a difficulty. There are those of us who've trained to become warriors." He gestured to a group separate from the rest—numbering fifteen or so. And these men and women were dressed in leather armor, like Callum, and thus sought to differentiate themselves from the 'civilians' wearing homespun.
They looked tough and militant, and Hermione supposed that in this place, they had to be.
All of them warriors and civilians alike wore thronged sandals.
"Would you like more kala juice, mistress?" Callum asked her, seeing her cup was empty.
Professor Snape drew his wand and filled her cup with water. Hermione raised her eyebrows, but nevertheless picked up her cup and took a drink, her eyes pointedly meeting her professor's glare.
There was a pluck of some stringed instrument, and then another of the 'lost ones'—a woman by the name of Laelonnie stood in the centermost space while a man with what looked like a lyre brought a tufted pillow to sit at her feet. He began to play, and the woman began to sing.
Professor Snape moved Hermione's tufted pillow so she was right beside him, and turned them incrementally so they were facing the complete opposite of Callum. Thus, she was showing the man her invisible back.
Again, she let this very masculine display pass without comment.
The song had the 'shooshing' quality of Parseltongue to it and was melodic and pleasing to listen to. And Hermione was lulled after a time to lean her head on Professor Snape's shoulder and close her eyes, contented.
She wasn't expecting his arm to come around to draw her closer to him, tucking her into his chest. He did it so naturally, as if they'd been doing it for years, and she nestled close, listening to their impromptu concert play.
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A while later, they were shown a cabin somewhat secluded from town's center. Dunhielda had shown it to them, saying, "There are those we don't speak of; those who've chosen to move on from this place instead of staying here." And Hermione realized she was speaking of those who'd committed suicide. "There's another cabin to the left of this one that is unoccupied if you'd rather have your own…" she led, speaking to Hermione.
"We're together," Professor Snape said disapprovingly, taking the pile of homespun linen and garments the woman held in her hands and effectively showing her the door. Once she'd left them, and Professor Snape had cast his strongest ward around them, Hermione looked around.
It was rugged.
A one-room hut with a table and two chairs as well as a feather-tick mattress nestled against the wall. There was a fire place, and Professor Snape wasted no time in casting 'incendio' so a fire burned cheerily in the grate.
Hermione gravitated towards the mattress, and after making the bed, she lay down with Harry's cloak, becoming quite invisible.
God, she was sore, every single inch of her, and her back was killing her! Something about it still felt off.
"Miss Granger," Professor Snape said a bit hesitantly, "would you mind if I took inventory of the contents of your bag?"
She turned around, and lowering her hood, said, "Of course not, professor. Help yourself. I'd like to take a bit of a nap if you don't mind?"
"Suit yourself," he said, reaching for her bag on the table and beginning to rifle through it. She did a mental scan of its contents for anything that would be considered incriminating by this man. And other than a few random illicit items from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes that Harry had brought with him in his knapsack, and a few of her more feminine toiletries, there was nothing to arouse suspicion.
Mainly, it was just their survival gear, and she didn't know how long that would be needed.
The thought that they could be stuck here forever made her head hurt.
Just how in hell did time factor in this place? Professor Dumbledore had said it had been twelve hours since they left, but it seemed she'd lived lifetimes since this morning. And oh, what a mess they were in. To not be able to leave this place if the inhabitance of the City of Dis could be believed, forever trapped in Salazar Slytherin's hell.
She could think of no greater punishment.
But, at least, Lord Voldemort was defeated, so there was that.
She wondered about Harry and Ron though. Were they worried yet? When she failed to return above, what would they think? And what of her relationship with Professor Snape?
If they ever did return above, the man would no doubt want to distance himself from her as much as possible, the promise of their date notwithstanding.
God, she felt heartsore and discouraged.
They were in another of Slytherin's little puzzles, she knew it, and there had to be hope, didn't there? But there was no telling how long these people had been down here; some of them seemed to have spent centuries in this place.
But one thing was for certain, she needed rest in order to function, and she wasn't going to get it while her mind whirred.
So thinking, she began to occlude, picturing her seaside bath, all while hearing the comforting noise of Professor Snape as he quietly sorted through her things. And she felt herself drift off to sleep.
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Severus sat in the chair at the table, a small mountain of the girl's possessions surrounded him. She'd brought along a respectable beginner's compendium of magical books as well as a great many muggle ones.
The topics were far-ranging; everything from a beginner's guide to healing spells, to living magical in a muggle world, survival guides including what native plants were safe to ingest each growing season as well as books on understanding the rudiments of dark magic and how to counteract it with other dark spells—and these were dark realities Hogwarts never exposed to its pupils. She had these as well as other darker texts, and Severus had to admit he was more than a little surprised.
Hermione Granger didn't appear to be the type who would dwell in such a particularly dark shade of gray.
And, of course, she had her seventh-year course material as well, and a great many spells seemed to be 'crossed' off her list.
He was pleased to see she enjoyed the gothic genre for pleasure-reading, specifically romance, which he filed away for later, telling himself he never would… but could use the knowledge should it be needed.
He found her diary warded just for herself to open.
With a wave of his wand, he could break the enchantment and read it, but he'd violated the girl's privacy enough. He would leave her this.
He found the tent, crockery, and cookware as well as Potter's knapsack, of which, he took inventory as well. Curiously, there didn't seem to be any of Mr. Weasley's things, and then he remembered the boy had left them a month or so after they'd gone on the run. And Severus had the feeling this split had quite cost the boy her romantic affections.
There was pleasure at the thought, but he quickly tamped it down. She was not his. She never would be his, and he needed to remember it.
The dollhouse sized replica of a porcelain clawfoot tub surprised him though, and he wondered where this factored into her things.
She had the rudiments of a respectable potions kit as well as a few more esoteric potion's ingredients.
One more shrivelfig, and she would've had the makings for a restorative healing draught. As it was, he could offer her nothing for the pain he was certain she was experiencing. After all, a fair-sized chunk of meat from the girl's back was now gone, and a scarred divot was in its place. And at the thought, he was once more reminded he needed to get them out of here. The longer they waited, the more he feared the wound he'd so haphazardly healed could turn septic.
Severus refused to believe they were trapped. No matter what this Callum fellow said, his mind refused to believe it.
There was the slightest moan as nothingness rustled and turned over on the bed, and Severus could now see her face peaking out from the invisibility cloak she wore—the exhausted, bushy-haired angel that was his companion.
She moaned again and once more turned over restlessly in her sleep, becoming invisible once more, and it occurred to Severus she could be having a nightmare. He had no idea how to help her with this other than to wake her, and he didn't want to do that, not unless he had to.
But perhaps he could, with the right enticement, get her to rest easier.
Picking up the muggle book she'd mentioned earlier, The Picture of Dorian Grey, he began to read it aloud, beginning almost as loudly as he would during a lecture. She turned to face him, and he could see her face once more peaking out of nothingness.
She was still asleep, but her sleep was more shallow than it had been, and he began to read softer. She sighed, settling down. Having a seat at the table, he read aloud for five minutes or more until he was certain she was resting easier and allowed himself to get engrossed in the tale.
It was curious, the portrait being a reflection of the young man's soul. There was no explanation how this came to be, just that it was, and while the portrait aged, the young man did not. In fact, anything that happened to the young man would happen to the portrait instead. Cut the boy, the portrait would bleed.
And Severus wondered if Slytherin's portrait was much the same.
He was not pleased to know Herpo the Foul was in residence. The wizard was as evil as the Dark Lord, and Severus was just as wary around him. Although this Callum fellow seemed to be the city's 'mayor', it was Herpo the Foul that was its protectorate, and as far as he could tell, the wizard was the only denizen that could practice magic outside of himself and Hermione.
An hour or so later, when he was two-thirds the way through the novel, she awoke, sitting slowly up in bed, wincing as she did so.
He put down the book he was reading and went to her, kneeling before her and drawing his wand. He cast a diagnostic charm and saw that although her body was bruised, and for which he could do nothing without bruise paste, otherwise, she was fine.
An idea occurred to him, and he said, "How would you like a bath, Hermione?"
Her honey-hued eyes went wide, and it might've been his imagination, but he thought he saw her tear up at the prospect before nodding enthusiastically.
And yes, Severus now knew the purpose of the dollhouse tub.
Finding it among her things, he engorged it, and filling it with water from his wand, cast a warming charm on it until it steamed. She rose from the bed, and immediately moved to take off the invisibility cloak, but he said, "A moment, and I'll leave you to bathe alone."
She looked at him quizzically. "Sir, after all we've been through, I hardly think my taking a bath in front of you is going to make much of a difference. Besides," she smirked, "who's going to wash my back?" She looked thoughtful and shrugged. "I suppose I could ask Callum…"
"You'll do no such thing," he said acidly. And this caused her to grin up at him, the little Delilah.
He watched her remove the cloak, and surreptitiously, his eyes once more took in the sight of her naked form. He should've grown used to it by now, but he hadn't. The young woman was the embodiment of Venus herself with high, firm breasts, a shapely torso and a rounded seat perfect for his hand to cup.
He wished he didn't have the memory of it.
She moved stiffly, and Severus realized she was in quite a bit more pain than she was letting on. He went to her, and holding out his hand, helped stabilize her as she lowered herself into the water.
Her relieved sigh was gratifying to hear.
He knelt beside the tub and said, "If you must know, it's the intimacy of the task in aiding you more than anything else."
She turned her head to look at him, her honey-hued eyes dancing with mirth. "Oh, we wouldn't want to get too intimate, now would we, sir? Why, think of the scandal!" she teased. And he found he rather liked it when she looked at him like that.
Transfiguring a cotton flannel and dipping it in the water, he began to rub lather from the cake of soap he found among the girl's possessions and said lowly as he studied her, "It would be scandalous."
"Will be," she was quick to correct. "And as far as I'm concerned, if we survive this mess, the wizarding world can go hang. I've done my bit for God and country, and I could give a fig for what wizarding society thinks anymore. Being labeled 'mudblood' and villainized by the press as Harry Potter's 'Gryffindor whore' will do that to you."
She smiled and said softly, "And believe it or not, I'm very much enjoying our intimate time together, sir. That is, when we're not fighting for our lives."
That makes two of us. But he did not say the words. Instead, he began to rub lather onto her dewy skin, being careful of the newly-healed skin at her back. "Lean forward," he said, "I'm going to see if I can do anything more for your back. How bad's the pain?"
"On a scale of one being 'm'eh' and ten being 'excruciating', it's hovering around a six or so."
He winced. "There's a spell I can perform to deaden the nerves temporarily in order to block your body's pain response so you may rest easier." He began to wash her. "Would you like me to cast it after your bath?"
Her breathing hitched as gooseflesh rippled across her skin, and Severus realized how close they were, and that his voice was pitched very near her ear as he spoke. She shivered and leaned in closer to him.
He'd come to realize some time ago the girl was attracted to his voice, and this only made him want to speak more. He moved closer to her, and pitching his voice lower, said, "I can also give you a hot compress if you'd like?"
She shivered, and as close as they were, she turned her head and nodded, nuzzling into his neck.
Gooseflesh rippled across bare skin where she touched him.
He gasped. And mentally cursed himself. He should stop this now.
Instead, he continued to bathe her, dropping the flannel in the water so he could cup water in his hands to rinse the bubbles from her skin, and he was thorough, washing every inch he deemed appropriate to do so . But now that his chore was complete, he was left without an excuse to touch her.
And how he wanted to continue to touch her—beautiful creature that she was.
"You forgot my shoulders," she said softly as she looked up at him. "It's hard for me to reach above my head, you see, as it stretches the skin." She gestured to the divot where her scar was located.
"Of course," he said, picking the flannel back up and beginning to lather—
"Actually," she looked over her shoulder at him, "would you mind terribly just using your hands? The flannel's a bit rough, and my skin's tender."
"As you wish," he heard himself say distantly, watching this little tableau unfold as if outside himself.
She tilted her neck to the side so that he could better bathe her, and Severus built lather in his hands. And then he was once more touching her, caressing her satiny moist skin, this time without the excuse of cloth between them, sweeping his fingers up and down the slender column of her neck to her shoulders in a light massage. He did the same to her other side, and she sighed softly, closing her eyes, and leaning trustingly back into his hands.
It must be said for many moments, he worshipped her, his fingers going no lower than the uppermost swell of her breasts. Although he wanted to dip lower, he very much wanted to.
Once, he was finished and had rinsed her clean, she lowered her head and nuzzled the back of his palm with her cheek, saying softly, "Thank you, professor."
Severus felt something in his heart shift.
She smiled gently, and gathering the flannel to her, began to bathe in earnest.
Severus found himself unable to look away.
Finding a seat near the table, he watched as she bathed herself, seeing the water sluice up and down her body. There was a cluster of bubbles along her nipple, and seeing them there had his staff—long held at attention—harden uncomfortably.
He adjusted the toga he wore.
Although, she did not look up at him, he knew she was aware of him, and she spent many moments tending to her breasts.
His cock twitched.
She then lifted one leg and then the other, bathing both… thoroughly.
He watched as each shapely calf, each delicate ankle and toe got scrubbed, and then she knelt on her knees in the tub and faced him. Her eyes met his and did not leave them as she tended to the rest of her, her hands gliding down over her torso to her mons, leaving a trail of bubbles where his fingers longed to explore. Bubbles he'd happily kiss away if circumstance allowed it.
He groaned softly. And for a man like him that was quite a tell. Severus was hungry for her, starved. And he had to keep reminding himself of her age and his position. He HAD to!
"Professor, could you hand me the towel?" she gestured after to the linen cloth by his elbow. With a flick of his wand, the towel was floating towards her, and he knew he did not imagine the disappointed look on her face as it did.
She quickly hid it behind the cloth, before turning her back towards him to finish drying herself.
And he knew disappointment as well.
But this had to be!
He had to keep some distance between them.
He had to.
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A/N: There now, a nice long chapter for you, reader. *grins*
That being said, it's that time, my fellows. Time for me to stew on things and regroup in order to write more. This is a WIP, and so I beg your pardon and ask for patience as I continue to develop this little plot o'mine. I will try very hard to post soon, time, tide, and muse willing.
Reviews feed the muse, so if you're enjoying this little tale, let me know. It makes my heart sing to know what people think of my work as well as gives me motivation to continue.
Until next time,
—K