Chapter 4
By the end of the first lesson, the students were left in no doubt as to how the school would be run now that it was officially under Voldemort's control. The Death Eaters that had been assigned to each professor made no effort to assist in teaching the class, most likely because they were not knowledgeable enough to do so.
Instead, they sat at the side of the teachers' desks, looming over classes like Dementors, a foul presence that sucked all the joy out of the room. They did not speak, other than to halt a professor if it was felt that they had not paid due deference to the Dark Lord, and the teachers bit out the humiliating, glorifying words, since they would be if killed if they didn't. The freedom of speech was gone.
In truth, Hermione felt, not even Voldemort was deranged enough to think that his motley crew of Death Eaters had the capability to educate young witches and wizards, even his precious purebloods would need good teachers. This was undoubtedly why Professor McGonagall had been allowed to live after her outburst in the Transfiguration classroom, where Dean Thomas had been felled. Voldemort needed these experienced, qualified, exceptional professors to provide tutelage to his students, and the Death Eaters were there to intimidate, and to contain any sniff of rebellion.
Charms class had been instructive, and Professor Flitwick had provided Hermione with a stack of parchments containing everything they had studied since September, everything she had missed. Dolohov had growled as Flitwick had handed it over, but there was nothing he could do, she was a member of this class and as such, she needed to be given the same instruction as the other students.
Flitwick had seemed nervous throughout the lesson, standing on his desk to teach as he always did, but his eyes kept flicking nervously to Dolohov, not trusting the dark wizard one inch, especially when he began tapping his wand upon his knee. The diminutive professor knew that one wrong word, just one misinterpreted action, would see him punished, and he was careful to teach only what was on the approved lesson plan, that he had provided them with at the beginning of the class.
Herbology after break was no different, Professor Sprout seemed (understandably) tense as she took them through the maturation and cultivation stages of a Venomous Tentacula under the appraising and suspicious eye of one of the Lestrange brothers, who seemed particularly disgusted at being deputised to spend his days in a rather smelly greenhouse, and kept brushing bits of falling plants off his robes. Hermione wondered whether Sprout was doing that on purpose, her own silent piece of rebellion. She hoped so, especially when a small Snargaluff pods burst on the front of his trousers and he was forced to Evanesco the sticky mess that resulted.
Defence Against the Dark Arts, now renamed simply Dark Arts, was the only lesson that was not supervised by a Death Eater, undoubtedly because a Death Eater was already teaching it. Amycus Carrow was every bit as vile as Neville had described, two nights ago when they were sneaking down the connecting tunnel from the Hogs Head to the secret entrance of the Room of Requirement.
Carrow spoke of dark curses and violent hexes with lust in his voice, calling them in pairs to face each other at the front of the classroom, Slytherin against Gryffindor, for it was still with Slytherin that they shared all their lessons. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff seventh-years were taught together on a different timetable.
She was called to the front against Warrington, whose sheer height meant he loomed over her, even before he took the two steps up to the raised platform. Seamus and Parvati looked worried, Warrington looked insouciant and unconcerned, and Professor Carrow was practically salivating the thought of this troll taking down the little Mudblood.
He would be disappointed.
Size was no guarantee of magical power, and Warrington's head was full of meat and witches. His family were not rumoured to have Death Eater leanings, but he was a Slytherin, and as such he moved in dark circles. She needed to take him down, if only to prove to herself that she was capable.
She had survived Death Eater torture, destroyed a Horcrux, fought Voldemort's giant snake and smashed her way out of Gringotts on a stolen dragon – she could win a supervised duel against Warrington, surely?
Hearing him incant a dark hex towards her, she raised her Protego immediately and on reflex, dropping it as soon as she heard the hex hit the shield and returning it with a Stupefy of her own, the red jet from the end of her wand hitting Warrington so hard and suddenly in the chest that it knocked him across the platform and into the wall behind him, where he slid to the floor, breathing heavily and his eyes unfocused.
Carrow leapt to his feet from behind the desk, exclaiming loudly.
"Vicious little Mudblood, aren't you?" he roared, "let's see how you do against someone your own size!"
His threat was clearly ludicrous, since Warrington stood at least four inches taller than the Death Eater, but she would not allow herself to be intimidated by him, despite her heart pounding into her chest. Amycus Carrow was no normal professor; he was one of Voldemort's pet psychopaths, and would not pass up the chance to do her some serious harm.
He was so busy posturing; arranging his stance and attempting to destabilise her that he didn't even realise that she had already whipped her wand into the air, casting a stinging jinx straight in his face that caused him to bring his hands up in pain, before blasting him in the stomach with a hex of such power that it shot him across the platform to join Warrington against the wall.
Carrow recovered quickly, however, scrambling to his feet and grabbing her hard on the arm, his face contorting painfully as the stinging jinx took hold. One of his nostrils was trailing blood.
"We do not attack teachers, you filthy Mudblood," he hissed, yanking her towards him.
"You told her to!" Seamus bellowed from the front desk, before being cut down with a silencing charm blasted from Carrow's wand that slashed across his face like a whip.
She struggled to free her arm from his vice-like grip.
"Get to the Headmaster's office, Granger."
He conjured a slip of parchment that no doubt explained her misdemeanours.
"I could punish you myself, but no doubt Snape requires your … presence by now. I shall allow him to exact your punishment, on this occasion."
She snatched the parchment from his hand, uncaring that he might try and hurt her, before grabbing her books and bag from her desk and stalking out of the classroom, wondering if that had been Carrow's intention all along – to remove her from the lesson and get her into Snape's office.
-xxx-
She entered the Headmaster's office at his barked command to enter, and looked around in shock at the walls that were now bare of the dozens of animated portraits that would usually greet student visitors so cheerily. Professor Snape was seated at the desk in the middle of the room, the two further levels of the office rising behind him, his desk covered in neat piles of parchments, and he was writing with a small, unusually-plain black quill.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"I've been sent out of Defence class, Professor," she replied, walking over to the vast desk and standing in front of him, holding out the slip of parchment that Carrow had given her, which he snatched from her outstretched hand.
He read it, cursorily, before taking his wand from the desk top and pointing it at the office door through which she had just entered, and she heard and felt him set a security ward.
"Sit."
He indicated the chair in front of his desk.
"You hexed Professor Carrow in the face?"
"Yes."
"For what reason?"
"He told me to."
"He told you to hex him in the face?" Snape asked, his eyebrow arched in a way that suggested he did not believe her.
"He had instructed us to come to the platform in pairs and cast dark spells against each other. I knocked Warrington to the wall and Professor Carrow didn't like it. He told me to pick on someone my own size and took a duelling stance against me. He was taking rather a long time to cast so I got in first and sent the stinging jinx, and sent him to the wall as well."
"I see."
Professor Snape tapped one long finger thoughtfully against his chin before continuing.
"Miss Granger, should I presume that the Warrington of whom you speak is the Slytherin boy who is the size of a small mountain troll?"
Her lips twitched with amusement but she forced herself not to smile. This was most definitely not an occasion where smiling would be helpful.
"That's the one, Sir."
"Then in that case, I would suggest that you did rather well."
What?
She noticed the tiniest glint of humanity in his usually shuttered eyes.
"I'm sorry, Sir, I don't understand?"
He sighed. It was time to make her understand.
"Miss Granger. Are you aware of the reason why I requested … possession of you from the Dark Lord?"
Her eyes opened wide in surprise at the blunt and unexpected question.
"Um … no, Sir?"
"You do not, I hope, think that I wish to ravage you in the same way as Yaxley has taken your friend, Miss Roach?"
"I don't know what to think any more, Sir."
"Then allow me to assist you. Let me advise you that I have no wish to cause you harm. I asked for you to be given to me so that I could ensure you were not subjected to abuse from one of my fellow Death Eaters. I believe that you are valuable to the Light and it is in my interests to keep you safe."
"Valuable to the light? I don't understand."
"Then stop talking and start listening, Granger. Always with the questions. What I am about to say to you now does not leave the confines of this office, do you understand? To do so would mean certain death for both of us."
She nodded, her chest tight with anxious anticipation of what he was going to say.
"I confirm to you now that I am, as I have been since I started teaching at this school, loyal to Albus Dumbledore and to the side of the light. I work covertly for the Order of the Phoenix, and I shall not rest until the Dark Lord lies cold in his grave."
Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. Severus Snape – loyal to Dumbledore?
"But you killed him!"
"It was a mercy killing, arranged between Dumbledore and myself. He was dying, slowly and painfully from dying from a terrible curse that he had inflicted upon himself whilst collecting a magical object that he insisted he needed. My Avada Kedavra provided a two-fold purpose, firstly, it freed him from pain and saved him from a slow, tortuous death, and secondly, it ensured that the Dark Lord's trust in me was absolute."
"Marvolo Gaunt's ring," she murmured.
"It was indeed a ring that cursed Dumbledore's hand. How do you know about it?"
He leaned forwards, suddenly more interested in what she had to say.
"It was a Horcrux."
She heard Snape's deep intake of breath and watched his black eyes flash in shock. He was a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, he would know what a Horcrux was, she had no need to explain further.
"I should have known," he hissed, more to himself than to her. "I fucking should have known. How many are there?"
"Dumbledore believed there were six, with the seventh part remaining inside Voldemort."
"Six!"
An expression of shock mingled with cold fury spread across his face.
"Apart from the Gaunt ring, do you know of any others? What are they?"
"Tom Riddle's diary, that Harry destroyed in our second year. Helga Hufflepuff's cup, Salazar Slytherin's locket and Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem. Voldemort's snake is also a Horcrux, that's why Neville was trying to kill it. And I don't know for sure, but I believe that Harry also had an unintended part of Riddle's soul inside him too. He could hear the Horcruxes. Whenever we were near them, he knew, he could feel them. We never discussed it, but I'm sure that I'm right."
"So, this is the suicide mission that Albus sent Potter on. And yourself and Mr Weasley alongside him?"
"It is."
"And may I ask how many of these items you were able to find and destroy?"
"All of them, Sir. The only ones that remain are Nagini, and Voldemort himself."
He stared at her for the longest time.
"I had no idea that was what you were doing when you were being sought from all corners. I am astounded at your achievement, and that means Potter and Weasley, as well as yourself."
She felt tears prick the back of her eyes and could not stop them tracking slowly down her cheeks.
"I am sorry for your most dreadful loss, Miss Granger."
Hermione could only nod in acknowledgement of his sympathy, and he sat back in his chair as he regarded her, his face serious.
"I do not know about you," he began, after a long pause, "but I am loath to accept that the battle has been lost while there is still breath in my body."
Her head snapped up. That had caught her attention.
"You will find you have very few allies, but I can assure you that I am one of them. I suggest that we begin our, admittedly small, resistance effort by locating the remaining members of the Order. Would you be interested in working alongside me? You are of age, and even though you were never formally inducted, I consider that you are an Order member. As I have been gifted you by the Dark Lord as a plaything," he winced at his own words, "we must be seen to spend time together, alone, so that the Death Eaters in this school think I am using you for my own pleasure."
Work alongside Professor Snape? The surly wizard terrified her, she knew nothing about him other than he'd worked her harder than any other teacher, was bullying and partisan, and had made both Harry and Neville's life a misery, along with countless others, no doubt. He appeared to be universally hated, his face was like a neutral mask and she had never once managed to see a shred of personality inside the protective black armour he wore.
Until now.
If what he was saying was true, and she had no reason to doubt him, then he could be her only ally in this school. He had asked for her to be gifted to him, but he had not touched her or shown intent to harm her. He had looked embarrassed when he suggested they would need to fake his abuse of her. Having observed Orla Roach over the Great Hall that morning she could see that the other Muggle-born had suffered brutal treatment at Yaxley's hands the night before. She had fortunately not suffered at all, and that was entirely because of Snape.
"I'm in," she replied, quietly. "I'm not sure what we can do, but if I can do it, I will."
"Stupidly brave little Gryffindor," he muttered, his mouth still set in a straight line, betraying no emotion. "Our priority is to arouse no suspicion. I shall summon you regularly, and shall be insinuating to the Death Eaters that I am using you for my sexual pleasure. I appreciate that will be distasteful for you, but there is no other way."
"It's fine, Sir. I am only glad that I do not look the same as Orla did this morning."
He pressed his lips tightly together, as if he too had noted Orla's injuries and distress, and felt guilty. He had not saved her, he could only save one and had chosen Hermione, not Orla.
"You will then attempt to contact the Order of the Phoenix. At present, I am still considered their greatest traitor, so I cannot make contact with any survivors without being a target for instant retribution. Your post, at present, is still unmonitored and you may communicate by owl as freely as any other student. I forsee a point where this is no longer the case, but my valued comrades are not the brightest of wizards, and I feel it will take some time before one of them decides to make a decree that students' mail should be intercepted and subject to inspection."
"I will do what I can," she agreed. "I don't have an owl, so I'll use a school one."
"Vary the owls that you use," he instructed, "and report to me as soon as you receive any answers. The silver lining of our forced time together means that you will be able to keep me regularly updated without arousing suspicion."
"I will."
He cleared his throat, and Hermione was surprised to see that he looked uncomfortable.
"There is one other matter I need to discuss with you."
"Yes?"
"I do not know whether you are aware, Miss Granger, but the Dark Lord placed a curse upon the both of us, last night."
"I wondered what that was. I felt it, it was like something bursting inside me? It didn't hurt, but it was quite a strange feeling. What was it?"
His black eyes bored into hers, burning with an unfathomable expression. Was he angry?
"It was a compulsion curse."
"A compulsion curse?"
His gaze flicked to the fire in what seemed like embarrassment, before travelling back to hers with new resolve.
"It is a dark curse that is cast between two people, forcing them to develop an intense sexual desire for each other. This desire turns into a physical need that compels them to seek … satisfaction … from the other person. We will be unable to achieve relief by our own hand, or from another partner, until Dark Lord either lifts the curse or dies."
Hermione stared at him. She'd understood every word but still couldn't believe it. Sex with Professor Snape? She never so much as smiled at him, let alone touched him.
"The curse," he continued, in a tone that reminded her of his classroom lectures, "is exacerbated by spending time with the other person. That, unfortunately, we cannot avoid. It is also intensified by touch, and the more satisfaction that is taken, the more will be needed. Desire begets desire. These curses are very loud, and all-consuming. Many of those afflicted are driven to madness when their needs are not met. Our only hope is to bring down the Dark Lord once and for all."
"I understand," she said, slowly. "We will have to ensure that we do not touch one another. I'm sure it will not be difficult since we've managed for the last nearly seven years."
"Do not make light of this, Miss Granger. This morning you inadvertently brushed against me as you entered the main doors. It took several minutes for the compulsion I was feeling to dissipate."
Oh, bloody hell, she remembered that. She had entered the Great Hall very aware that she had accidentally bumped against him, and had felt a flush of embarrassment, but also … something else that she hadn't been able to identify. Now she knew, it had been the compulsion making itself known. Hermione could feel her face burning red.
Severus watched her blush, wondering if she knew how delightful she looked with a scarlet flush to her face and neck. How far down did that flush go? Suddenly, he wanted to slowly unfasten all the buttons on her blouse, and find out.
Realising that he was staring as well as fantasising, he needed to get her out of his office now, lest the compulsion take a firmer hold. He dismissed her, reminding her that all they'd discussed was of the utmost secrecy, not that he needed to. She understood everything.
Once the door had closed behind her, he let out a long breath of frustration, kicked his chair back from the desk, and rubbed what was the definite stirring of an erection roughly through the front of his trousers, suddenly very glad that there were no longer any portraits on the walls in the Headmasters' office.
