Chapter Three: Into the Lair of the Beast

Hermione followed her professor down, down, down into the gloom of the dungeons. Apparently, he hadn't moved his quarters after he had taken up the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts. She couldn't imagine why. Even in the middle of August, there was a persistent chill that seeped into your bones.

She glanced towards her professor warily. If he had even the slightest desire to hex her into oblivion (and he certainly looked like he did) now would be the perfect opportunity. There would be no one around save her.

"Stop looking at me like that," he said through clenched teeth.

Her head immediately tilted toward the ground, even before she had decided to do so. She frowned but quickly forgot about it as Snape came to a stop at a painting of a dark, withered cluster of trees. A slight sense of foreboding swept over her as she watched something move restlessly just beyond the tree line. Hermione couldn't quite make out what it was.

Her professor leaned towards the painting and said, "Hemlock."

The painting swung outward to reveal a passageway that he quickly ducked into. He gestured for her to follow him and she did, stooping slightly to fit through the door. With a flick of his wand, flames sprung to life in the sconces that adorned the stone walls.

The room they were standing in was a decently sized sitting room. There were bookshelves on almost every wall and a roaring fireplace against another. Several plush, forest green armchairs were scattered about the room and a lone sofa was situated in front of the hearth.

Hermione's heart clenched at the sight of all of those books. It made her feel slightly better about her predicament. After all, she had always equated a happy life with a large library. She took a few steps closer and ran her fingers along the spine of a particularly dusty volume.

Then she remembered where she was and turned back to Snape, shooting him a slightly abashed look. He was watching her, his expression inscrutable. There was a heartbeat of hesitation and she shifted awkwardly under his gaze.

Then he moved to one of the armchairs and lowered himself into it. He nodded to another chair that sat across from it and said, "Have a seat, Miss Granger."

Just when she was about to open her mouth to tell him she would much rather remain standing, her body, once again, betrayed her. She felt herself move and sit down in the chair, even though she hadn't wanted to do so. She let out a tiny squeak of surprise, and her eyebrows shot upwards.

Hermione's stomach clenched. So, she definitely hadn't been imagining things earlier. He had told her to do something, and she had had no choice but to obey. Was this another part of … whatever this thing was? Obedience? To him, of all people?

"What?" he snapped.

Her eyes widened, and, shaking her head, she muttered, "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

It wasn't that she didn't trust him, because she did. He had done more than enough during the war to earn her, and everyone else's, trust. After all, he had been exonerated by the Wizengamot. But there was something deep in her soul that said she shouldn't tell him.

"Tell me."

Oh, no. She hadn't expected that. Hermione bit her lip painfully, trying frantically to stop the words that threatened to spill from her lips. "I think I am being forced to obey you." She groaned and covered her mouth with her hands.

"What was that?" he asked again, an eyebrow arched.

Surrendering, she dropped her hands to her side and gave him a resigned look. "I said I think whatever is happening is forcing me to obey you."

For a moment, he merely looked dubious. Gradually, his expression changed from disbelieving to a burning curiosity. "Stand up."

She stood.

"Jump."

She jumped.

"Touch your nose."

Her fingers came up to lightly skim over her nose. Hermione pursed her lips. "Alright, that's enough!"

The ghost of a smirk crossed his lips, and for a brief instant, she worried what he would do with this information. But no devilish grin crossed his lips; no mischievous look entered his eyes. Nothing at all to suggest he was about to take advantage. She sighed with relief as he merely nodded in a scholarly manner.

"I have no idea what this could be. But I think that it has something to do with Dominic Atherton," Snape said. "Until we get this mess sorted out, I will be careful with what I say around you."

He then stood and passed through the doorway at the back of the room. She hesitated, unsure of whether she was supposed to follow him.

After a moment, she took a few steps and peeked around the edges of the door jamb. The next room was the bedroom, decked out in the same shade of green as the sitting room. She could see into the bathroom through the open door on the left. Snape stood his back to her, beside a large, four-poster bed that dominated the area. He turned and, seeing her position, rolled his eyes and gestured for her to enter.

As she entered the room, she noticed a smaller bed tucked against the wall. Hermione's face flushed when she realized that was where she was supposed to sleep. Her stomach squirmed pitifully. At least the two beds were as far away from each other as possible.

He nodded towards the trunk at the end of her bed. "The house elves have already brought your things. If you need anything, I'm sure they would be more than happy to assist you."

Hermione managed a polite smile. "Thank you, Professor."

She watched him, unsure of what to do next. The squirming returned to her stomach. At least he seemed to be just as lost and uncertain as she did.

He hesitated for a time, and then took a few awkward steps forward. He extended his arm towards her, palm up. Confused, she merely stared at him before realizing what it was he was trying to do. She offered her hand, and he reached out to her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. The contact only lasted for a few seconds before he jerked his hand back, as though her touch had scalded him. But it would be enough to give her a few hours of sleep uninhibited by pain.

Hermione was awoken from her restless sleep by the ache that had settled into her body. Her breath escaped her in a hiss as she curled into the fetal position on the bed. She blinked her eyes to clear the sleep from them and squinted through the darkness.

There was a large, put-upon sigh from the other side of the room. Then, the creaking of the bed and heavy footsteps. She could just make out her professor's outline as he stood beside her bed. Her face burned as she offered her hand to him.

His fingers skimmed across hers before he retreated to his own bed. "I can see I won't be getting a decent night's sleep any time soon," he grumbled.