Chapter 16


When she apparated back to Sayre Mansion, Voldemort was by the fire with a large, ancient-looking tome in his lap, studying it carefully. Nagini was curled by the fire but looked to her and hissed a greeting. For a moment, she wondered if it was the only greeting she would receive. A false hope.

"Where did you spend the day, little witch?" Voldemort asked, not looking up from his text.

"I visited the gardens of one of the Malfoy's French estates," she lied convincingly. "I missed running around in my Animagus form."

Voldemort nodded at her in acknowledgement before turning the page of the tome. "Come, select a book and sit by my feet."

Hermione scoffed openly at that, earning her the first look up from the pages. His eyes narrowed at her.

"It was an invitation, not an order," he told her with a peculiar glint. "I could force you, but I wish to spend a pleasurable evening reading this text and not fighting you for control. If you would like to read, you will do so sat by my feet like the good pet you are. If not, the bed is there."

Expecting her obedience at the threat of removing her books, he turned back to his text and allowed her time to seethe at him. Hermione really wanted to give him a hexing, but knowing that her opponent was a vicious and powerful man stayed her wand. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself. She didn't want to go to bed yet, she was sure. Yet, she certainly didn't want to be perched at his feet . . . like last night.

Hermione's breath caught as she tried to remain firm in her resolve. She tried to rationalize the desire she had to be at his feet as a need for her regularly given physical affection – she did, after all, have two male best friends who were constantly hugging her and a father and mother who would kiss her on her forehead goodbye whenever they left for work – and it wasn't something she should feel ashamed for. But feeling like she wanted something like that from the Dark Lord was something she shouldn't be tolerating, even in exchange for books.

As she was conflicted, Nagini had taken it upon herself to slither to the witch she'd started to enjoy and offer encouragement. Nagini lifted herself from the floor to nudge Hermione forward towards her Master, making Hermione stumble before turning to give the snake a warning look. Unfazed, Nagini pushed the young charge again with her head.

Because of her insecurity in the situation, Hermione let the nudges of Nagini make her choice for her. She strode towards the bookshelf and selected a text on craft magic before striding confidently over to the Dark Lord's armchair and plopping herself down on the carpet without ceremony.

"Don't think I'm so easily convinced," Hermione told him with a mild threat in her tone. "I would normally fight you tooth and nail over this. You're lucky Nagini is more persuasive than you."

That earned a warm laugh from the evil overlord that made Hermione want to laugh as well. She fought her reaction to him, favouring looking over the text in her lap over showing emotion. She felt his hand come to her curls and begin stroking her, gently and firmly all at once, never snagging on a curl. The pressure felt wonderful against her scalp.

"I am lucky," Voldemort agreed, his tone warm with regards to his familiar. "Do not forget though, she is a cunning little thing. She knows how I enjoy having something to pet while I read, and unfortunately doesn't always feel up to it. She is using you to keep her proximity to the fire."

Hermione glared at the snake comically. "Traitor."

Nagini hissed back at them without malice, and Voldemort laughed at her. Hermione didn't ask what she said, but smiled at the familiar herself.

Voldemort stroked her for a while, and Hermione said nothing of it.

"You do not object to my touch, little witch?" Voldemort asked after a while.

Hermione tried to shrug off the judgement there. "If I'm your slave-wife-thing, I think I should get some benefits."

"Oh?" He didn't stop massaging her scalp.

"Don't worry, I'll keep your hidden talent a secret," Hermione teased half-heartedly. "The only person to put his hands through Hermione Granger's hair without getting stuck. You should get a certificate for the accomplishment."

"Hmph," Voldemort huffed at her tone, but apparently in good humour because he kept his hand moving through her hair. "You may use my services until you find a competent man, then."

At his unexpected joke, Hermione accidentally let out a laugh before slamming her hand over her mouth, horrified. She focused on the text in her lap, ignorant of the victorious smile the regenerated Dark Lord was giving her kneeling form.

Her next few days were fairly consistent. She would wake up with only Nagini for company in her bed and would eat whatever the house-elves put out for her. After prepping herself in the different robes that were in the wardrobe, she would apparate to Hogwarts. If Snape wasn't in his private brewing room, she would wait there for him while practicing her Occlumency or reading books he left out for her in just that situation. With only a few days until term recommenced and Harry and Ron would see her, Hermione gave everything in her to at least learning occlumency. She wouldn't allow herself to compromise Harry and more.

Then, she'd apparate back to Sayre Mansion to find Voldemort in his armchair, pouring over another ancient-looking volume. He wouldn't tell her what he was researching, and she never asked. She simply selected one of the rare volumes from the shelves and sat at his feet without prompting, reading until she would lean back and fall asleep against Voldemort's legs and chair. She assumed he would put her in the bed after that, because that's where she'd wake up the next day.

It was strange, having evenings with the resident evil overlord. She found herself enjoying those evenings with him as much as anything in her life, much to her guilt. He would answer any questions she had about a text with no judgement or doubt in her abilities, simply an enthusiasm for the magic she was learning about. He would stroke her head and make her feel special, and she found she craved the interaction.

She was shamed by her own response. Professor Snape saw this in her mind and took pity on the girl. She had started sobbing when she'd accidentally revealed her shame to him, and he knelt down next to her on the floor of his private brewing room.

"Miss Granger," Snape addressed her, "there is nothing shameful about this. Nothing at all."

"But there is!" Hermione had protested, her voice cracking. "He's evil!"

Snape sighed. "It is not so simple, Miss Granger. Evil he may be, but evil does not mean he is not human. You forget, his followers come to him willingly. He has a great deal of charisma, and an ability to know what it is you want. It may seem to you he is unconsciously eliciting these feelings in you, but I would wager he knows exactly what he's doing. He knows you crave physical attention, he knows you want to be treated like a prized person, he knows you love knowledge. In some ways, he may even want to provide them for you. But don't make the mistake of thinking he is doing this for anyone's benefit but his own."

"I'm betraying Harry!" Hermione sobbed. "Every time I crave his company, I'm betraying my best friend!"

"No," Snape insisted adamantly. "You are surviving, finding the best in your situation. Are you not still determined to spy for the Order?"

"Of course I am!" Hermione shrieked, insulted.

"Then he has done nothing to change your loyalties," Snape pointed out. "Do you still want Potter to kill him?"

Hermione's magic protested the thought of Voldemort's death, but her mind knew it would come and pushed through. "Yes."

Snape nodded, aware of the words she hadn't said. "You do not need to feel guilty for treating the enemy as a human, Miss Granger. I have friends in their ranks as I do not have in the Order, yet I know that they must either be imprisoned or killed by the end. It is not something I relish in, but I am aware of what must be done. Let it be the same for you."

She had flung herself forward then, holding onto Professor Snape and seeking his comfort. He provided it without a second thought. It was the beginning of a tentative friendship between him and the girl, one he strangely hoped would continue.

She continued her lessons. Despite Professor Snape's encouragement that Occlumency should take a while to build up, she found herself angry and disappointed at her slow progress. She couldn't keep anyone out, only deflect them from memories. She was pushing herself to exhaustion by practicing every hour of the day, but nothing Professor Snape said could stop her. It was the only action that kept her guilt at bay.

One day, she felt a shift in the wards while she was waiting for Professor Snape. She reached out, but the of the three people who were entering two had no magic to register. Her heart stopped. Muggles.

She immediately apparated to the gates of Hogwarts, and saw Professor Snape walking towards the castle with two familiar muggles beside him.

"Mum? Dad?" The couple turned around to look at her, and her eyes travelled all over their figures and to their familiar, comforting faces. Her parents.

She fell to the ground and sobbed.

"Hermione!" Her parents cried, dropping their trunks and launching themselves at their lost daughter.

Hermione couldn't find her words. She was suddenly face to face with the people she loved, who represented her old life, her parents. She hugged them back with everything she had in her.

"Are you alright, baby?" Her father asked her.

She just shook her head with her tears, hugging them desperately.

"We're here, we're here."

Professor Snape watched the interaction between parents and child with an awkward disconnect. When Dumbledore ordered him to move the girls' parents into hiding, he had nearly done it without a thought of the girl and her feelings. Her occlumency still wasn't good enough to force out the Dark Lord if he wanted to find something, and it could mean a round of torture for him to allow her her goodbyes.

Yet, seeing her break down at the sight of her parents made him feel almost parental as well. The round of torture in order to bring her this little bit of her life back seemed more than simply worth it. When he witnessed her breakdown at the sight of her parents, he was reminded that she was just a 17-year-old girl. A teenager whose life had been flipped on its head within the span of a week, and who was in desperate need of someone to comfort her. He had managed well enough to keep her psyche from breaking, but to have her parents here . . . he was painfully aware of all the times he'd wished his own parents would offer a shoulder to him, and knew that the girl would find their presence healing no matter how short a time they were here.

He watched in quiet reflection on the changing dynamic between them as the girl sobbed her apologies to her parents and they, in turn, comforted her in a way no one had taught him to do or receive.

While they shared their pain together, Snape saw the Headmaster come down from the castle. Snape went to intercept him, intent on letting the girl have her moment with her parents before the manipulative Headmaster took them away.

"Don't you dare interfere," Snape said immediately upon being within hearing distance of the Headmaster. "She needs this, and for Circe's sake you owe her this much."

He was about to go after the Headmaster, but the look in the Headmaster's face was enough to halt his approach. He was . . . crying. The last time he had seen tears on the old man's face was the time he'd held the infant body of Harry Potter in his arms. Albus had seen memories of his where women were beaten, where men were tortured, yet the only time the man looked away with disgust was when a child was harmed.

"Forgive an emotional old man, Severus," Albus said with a sad smile. "I had merely forgotten how young Miss Granger was."

Snape agreed with him. He had been angry at the headmaster for days since he'd admitted his part in Miss Granger's fate, but now the anger faded into understanding. There was never a sight more child-like than a child seeking comfort from her parents. Dumbledore was admitting that he'd been wrong, in a language few understood but Severus himself. So, with his heart no longer bearing anger, he stood at Dumbledore's side once again and turned his attention back to the family kneeling on the frozen ground by the gates.

Hermione let her parents comfort her through her tears as if it were all just a nightmare she had woken from. The crying felt like a release of all the darkness hurting her soul. Her collar and magic became the only reminder of that terrible night as the bulk of her pain and shame fell from her eyes with her tears. They didn't judge her, they loved her, and it was what she needed. A piece of her heart healed.

Finally, with everything out in the open and her knees frozen on the ground, Hermione's tears ended and she pulled away from her parents with a wet smile.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," Hermione admitted to them, her final tears still finding their way down her cheeks. "Why . . . how are you here?"

"Perhaps I can answer that."

Dumbledore approached the family with Professor Snape at his side. Hermione felt awkward under the Headmaster's sad gaze, but she only tightened her grip on her parents' hands and listened to what the Headmaster was to say.

"With your connection to Tom, we felt it best to have your parents moved to a secure location," Dumbledore told her with his grandfatherly smile. "Severus brought them here to give you a chance to say your goodbyes."

Hermione looked at her parents, their eyes sad.

"You guys are giving up your practice?" Hermione asked. "But your life . . ."

Her dad squeezed her hand comfortingly. "We love you, sugar plum. Our life can wait until you're safe."

"Besides, we've been given work to do," her mother told her with a grin. "Apparently, the house we're going to be in is a little run down, and we'll be given a bunch of magical items for safekeeping, and then we'll have anyone who needs a place coming to stay. We're actually going to be running the safehouse."

"While the Dark Lord may have promised you their safety, Miss Granger, he did not promise their comfort and freedom," Snape reminded her. "Eventually, he will exploit that loophole. He may be unable to harm them, but nothing would prevent him from taking them prisoner. Therefore, we felt it necessary to take a few precautions."

Hermione nodded, her expression now somber. "Thank you."

"Let's take this conversation inside," Dumbledore recommended mildly. "We can take an early lunch and have a conversation. I sense some hot apple cider might not be unwelcome either, given the situation, am I correct?"

The Grangers jumped to their frozen feet at the prospect of a warm drink and followed the Headmaster into the castle. Hermione didn't let go of her parents' hands, and they didn't make her.

They went to what Hermione had to guess was a staff room, because it was equipped for a small gathering to eat as opposed to the Great Hall. Elves were called to prepare a luncheon, and Hermione's parents shed their winter wear and went to the fire to warm up. To keep Hermione close they sandwiched her between them and wrapped her in their arms. She didn't mind in the least.

"I don't want to leave you," Hermione murmured, so only her parents could hear.

Their arms tightened, and she could see just how tight their expressions were. "All this magic, the problems it's making for us, even if we don't understand it, we will be here," her father said firmly.

"The biggest thing is that you're alright," her mom sighed, tightening her embrace. "We don't know exactly what's going on, but it's clear you're in danger and we will do what we can to help you."

Hermione's heart stopped at her comment. "You mean you don't . . . no one has told you?"

Her parents grimaced. "We understand that the man who took you, er, did things to you. Things that should be kept between a man and wife."

"I want to kill him," Hermione's father muttered darkly. "Dark Lord or not, he touched my baby girl. I would go after him myself if anyone in your organization thought it wasn't a suicide mission."

"It makes it complicated, doesn't it?" Her mother murmured to her, her voice strangely soft. "It's not a crime that we can punish him for, if he lives outside the laws of this world. And they tell us you can't leave him?"

"This," Hermione touched the collar on her neck, "means he can, er, he can teleport me back to him whenever he wants. If I try to leave, I'll be back there anyways. He's only used it once, but . . . the threat is there. Always."

Both parents' arms encircled her tenderly, comforting her against the tears she felt clawing at her throat. She returned their embrace.

"It is the worst crime to have your free will taken from you," a dark voice came from behind the family. Professor Snape stood there, observing the family. "It gives a perspective to exactly why this war is important to our world, and yours. This is far from the worst crime the Dark Lord has committed, and it will not be the last."

His gaze shifted briefly to hers. "Miss Granger has not only used her situation to save lives in a time when no one would blame her for shutting down, or giving up, but she has been working with me in the hopes of turning the horror she has experienced into a great aid in the war effort. You should be very proud of the daughter you raised."

His words raised her spirits remarkably well. For all the times she had tried to impress Professor Snape in class, all the times she'd vied for his praise, he was now saying he was proud of her. With this, and the rapport he'd engaged her in during the lessons, she thought perhaps there would be a friendship with the dour Potions Master in the near future.

"Thank you," Jean said, her voice watery. "From what I understand, you are in a dangerous position yourself, sir. We're grateful that you've been helping her."

Snape nodded severely at the couple. "Unfortunately, my loyalties need to remain divided. I will, however, do everything in my power to help Miss Granger succeed in her situation. You have my word."

"Severus' word has never been given lightly," Dumbledore interjected then, finally becoming a part of the conversation. "Michael, Jean, everyone on our side feels greatly for your daughter. Whatever can be done to help, will."

"Thank you, Headmaster."

Dumbledore's twinkle returned abruptly. "That is quite enough of this depressing conversation. A lovely repast awaits us, and then we can discuss your accommodations."

They enjoyed a warm meal and several mugs of cider together, not bringing up the conversation again for quite some time. Dumbledore distracted them with stories of the Order, or Professor Snape really pushed his limit on interaction to discuss occlumency and potions with Hermione whenever they threatened to draw her into discussion. He seemed to understand her need to internalize the problem, no matter how much Hermione was glad to see her parents.

When it came time for Dumbledore to take her parents to the safehouse, the awkwardness of the situation and the unease over the incomplete and dangerous end to their discussion left the two parents unsure of how to talk to her, and Hermione afraid of what would be said.

Finally, after a moment's pause, Jean wrapped her arms around her daughter in a goodbye hug.

"I never thought these things would happen to my wonderful, good little girl," her mother murmured to her, holding her tightly to her chest. "Your father and I are here for you. I'm sure you can ask your Headmaster to send us letters with any questions you have, my sweet girl."

"If that Dark Lord tries anything again, remember the self-defense I taught you," her father encouraged. "Go straight for his nuts. Kick, punch, stab . . . he deserves every bit of pain."

She remembered that she could. She could hurt him, just as he could hurt her. She couldn't kill him, though. The thought came easily, unbidden, and yet at the same time her stomach clenched awfully at the idea. She hated blood, true, but this wasn't about that. She didn't think she could kill. She didn't think she could kill him. And she wasn't even sure why. It wasn't her magic that said it this time, she knew, and the thought made her sick.

"I don't think he'll do it again," Hermione reassured weakly. "He got what he wanted."

Both parents wrapped themselves around their daughter, staving off her tears with their comfort. Severus once again found himself feeling deeply for the girl who had been thrust into this situation.

"Mum? Dad?" Hermione whispered carefully to them, hoping beyond hope they'd know what to say. "Am I an awful person if I don't think I can watch him die?"

There was no need to clarify who their daughter was talking about. Father and mother looked at each other, similar expressions of heartbreak on their faces. They had taught their daughter to be compassionate, to see the good in everyone. They had wanted her to forgive and forget as often as she was wronged. But this . . . They clutched their daughter close, reassuring her where their words couldn't. They vowed to help their little girl.

Despite intending it only for her parents, the other two occupants of the room heard her words and shared a look. They knew of her bond with him, how she couldn't kill him if she tried, but her words were not of one being forced to hold back.

Snape knew well enough that the girl enjoyed the man's company – to her horror and guilt – and with her delicate mental state it may well break her to see the Dark Lord dead or to be forced to defend him. He felt nothing but pity for the girl. He'd felt close to the man at one point, before he'd become unhinged, and at time his own guilt at those feelings overwhelmed him. His feeling of debt to the man who'd put him through his apprenticeship, shared his magic with, talked to like an equal at times . . . he had, at one point, considered the Dark Lord a friend. He knew exactly what the girl was going through. His promise to help her through this rang through his head and lodged itself in his heart.

Dumbledore, however, saw something more. He pitied the girl who was so much like her captor. Of all the people currently under Tom Riddle, she was one of the few who entered it with her eyes wide open and with atrocities performed against her first. Yet . . . Tom had clearly regained the pieces of his soul he had lost. His humanity restored, perhaps he was more kind to the girl than he'd previously supposed. He pitied her for her large heart, and for her situation. He promised himself that he would show her the memories he had of Riddle's past. If anything would help her guilt, it was knowing of the violence of Tom's quest for immortality.

So, with newfound vows in everyone's hearts, the group separated and Hermione's schedule began again.