A/N: I am SO sorry for the delay. I did not mean to leave you without an update for so long!

Thanks for all of your patience - and your urging! 83annak, .A.F, LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL, Kayleigh-FanfictionAddict-21, cinnamin, tennis14321432, Sic Vita Est, Lover of Fantasy, Angelwells, Phoenixica24, becknox71270, Mel, BellasBeingBad, wintersong1954, MadamigellaSnape, Anonymous, Jack, and DedicatedReader!

Bound to Him

Chapter 17

Several minutes and a number of corridors later, Hermione finally slowed her pace to a quick walk. Her heartbeat was racing, and she struggled to get a decent breath. She had not meant to run in any particular direction - her only goal had been to get away. Finally stopping in the middle of a wide hallway, she listened for any signs that she had been followed. Hermione could hear nothing, but she was unable to shake the feeling of Snape's fingers brushing against her arm as he tried to prevent her from fleeing.

Ducking into an alcove behind a suit of armor, she wrapped her arms around her waist and gasped painfully for air. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she doubled over and slid down the wall. When her bottom rested on the floor, she pulled her knees up against her arms.

Pet? ! What right did he have to say that? To call me that? Hermione squeezed her arms tighter around herself, and stifled a sob.

"You bastard!" She shouted into the darkness. "I hate you!"

No, you don't. A pained expression appeared on her face as Hermione leaned the back of her head against the wall. You just want to hurt him like he hurt you.

Her inner voice of reason was arguing with her emotions, and the assault of logic upon her outrage was suffocating. Disgust radiated from her as she realized it was the same feeling that had sent her running out the garden door and into the waiting arms of the Death Eaters.

If she had only been able to shut off her emotions and rationally speak things through with her parents - or even abandon logic all together and just scream at them until she was blue in the face. If only she could have separated those two pieces of her mind, they could have had a chance. She could have had a chance. She could have been at the house when the Death Eaters came knocking. She could have at least tried to make it to her wand in time to fend off their attack. If she had fought them, perhaps her parents would be alive. Perhaps she could have even alerted the Order somehow. If she had only done that, she would now be snuggled in between her parents in the sitting room of a safe-house instead of curled up on the cold floor of the dark castle, completely alone.

But I didn't. Hermione unfolded her arms and covered her face with her hands. She had not stayed, she had not fought. Instead, she had laid on a picnic table - pouting like a child who did not get her way - while her parents were brutally slain in their own home. Instead, she had let herself be easily captured by the enemy, just to be tortured, raped, and offered up as a prize to a man who had no option but to violently accept. Instead, she had let herself be bonded to him as if she were a second-class citizen; as if she were a slave; as if she were a pet.

An overwhelming feeling of nausea overtook her, and Hermione rolled forward onto her knees, pressing her forehead to the stone tiling.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered against the floor. The image of her mother and father concernedly staring at her from their parlor was seared into her mind as she repeated the phrase. "I'm so sorry."

How long she stayed there in that odd position of penitence, she could not be sure. She knew only that she stayed just long enough to let the room stop turning. A shiver rippled through her body as a chill replaced the queasiness of earlier.

Hermione sighed as she shakily rose to her feet, once again wrapping her arms about herself. She stepped out from behind the suit of armor and began making her way down the corridor. She stopped suddenly, however, when she realized just where in the castle she actually stood. The statue of Boris the Bewildered loomed ahead of her, and, for the first time in her residency at Hogwarts, she felt as though she were more lost than he.

Blinking slowly at the confused expression carved into the stone, she could almost see agony lying beneath it. It was painful to stand there not knowing, and it hurt even more for her to admit it - even if only to herself.

But it's not just to myself any more, is it? Hermione chewed on her lip as she realized Snape was now undoubtedly more than aware of her personal faults and culpabilities. It was unfair. She had been laid bare before him - both physically and mentally - and yet he could still escape into the shadows.

She sighed as she finally tore her eyes from the statue.

Snape had made an effort, hadn't he? He had offered her the knowledge he held regarding their new connection, and he had even allowed her to ask questions. If she were to survey any of the hundreds of students that would be walking this very hallway within the week, they would confirm the theory that Professor Severus Snape hated questions, and yet he had granted her that opportunity.

Though it wasn't like he was opening up to me. There was still so much he was hiding - so much she needed to know.

Hermione swallowed heavily as she glanced down the hall at the door leading to the Prefects' Bathroom. Closing her eyes, she quickly came to a decision and pushed away her uncertainty. She let out a deep breath before stepping past Boris and sidling up to the door.

"Cinnamon Burst," she stated firmly, hoping the password had not yet changed. The door swung open, and Hermione took another steadying breath of air before stepping across the threshold. There was an odd silence in the room as Hermione passed by the gleaming row of toilet stalls and the swimming pool sized bathtub, which stood empty.

The mermaid in the stained glass window awoke from her slumber at the girl's sudden intrusion. Under normal circumstances, Hermione always made sure to greet the glass figure, who would then respond with a smile and a polite dip of her head. In this instance, however, she was too preoccupied by the revolting curiosity churning in her gut, and the routine exchange was forgone.

Pulling her jewel-toned hair behind her ear, the mermaid fixed Hermione with an inquisitive stare. Her sparkling eyes silently followed Hermione's form as she moved hesitantly towards the girls' shower chamber. When the girl disappeared from her view, the creature flapped her tail in concerned annoyance.

Hermione attempted to steel her nerves as strode past the shower stalls towards the rear dressing room. Rarely had she ever seen the need to utilize that space as her appearance was not high enough on her list of priorities to compete with the more vain of her prefect counterparts for use of the full length mirrors. Pansy Parkinson, for instance, would slither her way into the small room, magically secure the doors, and proceed to take as long as humanly possible to primp her hair, straighten her tie, and ruffle her skirt.

Pushing the door ajar, Hermione slipped into the room and nearly jumped out of her skin when she caught sight of herself in one of the mirrors. Working hard to regain her composure, she clicked the door shut - more out of habit than security - and stood stiffly in the middle of the room. Four large mirrors towered over her, each portraying her bedraggled image from a different angle. Her eyes were red and puffy, while the rest of her skin was abnormally pale. Her hair was tousled in all directions - even more so than usual - and she could see that her chin and collar bone were beginning to jut out more than usual.

Hermione took a deep breath as she faced herself. She could see her hands were shaking, so she closed them into fists and dropped them to her side. "You wanted to see this, remember?"

You need to see this. You need to know. Closing her eyes momentarily, she brought her hands to the bottom of her T-shirt and began slowly lifting the cotton material. She raised the fabric until edge of her bra was visible and she shivered slightly as the air settled on her exposed flesh. Swallowing a nervous gulp of air, she opened her eyes and turned until her back was visible in one of the mirrors.

She audibly gasped at the sight. Across the pale skin of her lower back, the name of the Potions Master was essentially carved into her flesh. Tentatively, she reached a quivering hand to the spot and gingerly ran her fingers across the area. A look of morbid awe settled on her face as she felt the raised edges and the depressed grooves of the letters. She halted the movement of her hand and held her breath as a prickling sensation attacked her fingertips. It was the same feeling she experienced when reaching for some of the Dark Arts books in the Restricted Section of the library.

Dark magic. Her chest tightened, and the blood seemed to drain from her head. As nausea began to settle into her stomach, Hermione removed her hand and let the shirt drop back into place. The mirror's image of the wound disappeared beneath the white cotton, but it was still emblazoned sharply in her mind.

Severus Snape

It was the same angrily elegant scrawl that one would normally associate with the ornery wizard. It was the signature one would expect to see at the bottom of angry note sent home after an incidence of great dunderheadedness. It was the signature one would expect to see at the bottom of a contract or deed. It was the signature one would expect to see claiming ownership of a book or set of robes. A signature was what one expected to see upon property.

Property. His property - to do with as he pleases. Hermione felt the bile rising quickly as the room began to spin. A hand flew to her mouth as she yanked the dressing room door and ran through the shower chamber. Plowing into the first toilet stall, she barely made it to her knees before vomit propelled itself from her mouth. Tears streamed down her face as she heaved the contents of her stomach into the porcelain basin. When there was nothing left to expel, she collapsed onto the floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

A minute passed before Hermione pulled herself into a seated position. Leaning her weight on one arm, she brushed her hair out of her face and placed it behind her ear. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slowly rose from the ground.

Her vision was still slightly blurred as she stumbled to the nearest sink, grabbing hold of its edge for support. The faucet, sensing her presence, began running water. Hermione hastily cupped her hand and scooped the water into her mouth to rinse away the horrible taste of stomach acid. After several bouts of rinsing and spitting, she splashed the cold water onto her face before waving the water away.

Hermione let out a sigh as she brought her head up to view her reflection in the small mirror over the sink. She wiped away the drips of water trickling down her chin as she attempted to gather her thoughts. She shook her head mournfully as she whispered to her reflection. "What are we going to do?"

"Well, you could start with a spot of rouge, dear," a hazy voice drifted from the mirror. "You're looking rather peaky."

Sucking in a quick breath of air, Hermione narrowed her eyes angrily.

"There's no need to get upset about it, child," the mirror cooed. "And you could do with a spot of hearty cooking. No man - at least not any of the good ones - likes to look at skin and bones."

An irate growl escaped Hermione's lips as she vibrated with rage. Without so much as a word, her wand appeared in her hand, the tip of it glowing red. The Reducto spell seemingly launched itself at the mirror with a nasty crunching sound. Shards of glass slid from the wall, clattering into the sink and onto the floor.

Hermione stared at the glass strewn about her, each piece yielding somewhat distorted reflections of her reddened face. She closed her eyes and threw her head back in disgust as she thought of the old wives' tale. Seven years' bad luck. Great.

"Well at least you have to be alive to have bad luck," she snorted darkly as she made her way towards the door.

"Completely uncalled for!" the mirror's voice called shrilly as the door shut behind the girl. The comment drew a sharp glance from the stained glass mermaid, who shook her head and crossly slapped her fins against her rock.

X

Snape paused on his way to the dungeons after leaving the Headmaster's office. Hermione's thoughts were wearing on his conscience. He did not care that she had called him a bastard or claimed to hate him. He had heard much worse from students before, and in this instance, he knew he deserved any nasty, spiteful comment the girl could throw at him.

But when she had shifted the censure to herself, he felt a deep sadness settle into his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out if there was something he should do. A part of him desperately wanted to interrupt her wayward thinking and forbid her from blaming herself for anything that had occurred in the past week. He could do it, he knew. He had the power.

Severus sighed and shook his head. It seemed wrong to continuously interfere in her personal thoughts. Currently, they were not any risk to her physical safety, and he decided it best to remain a silent observer. To give her some semblance of privacy, at least.

He kept a tight control of his features as he continued on toward the next flight of stairs. His eye twitched slightly as the image of Boris the Bewildered's statue appeared in his head. He slowed his gait noticeably, a small breath of relief escaping his body as he now knew where to find her if the need arose.

It was only a few steps later when he felt that, indeed, it had.

She wanted to see it. She wanted to see what he had done. Snape blanched and then sprinted towards the staircase. Barely a minute had passed before he found himself on the fifth floor, striding quickly towards the Prefects' Bathroom.

"Stop." McGonagall stood just before the door, holding her hand up to halt his progress.

His eyes widened in surprise at her presence, but he made no indication of following her instruction. As he attempted to step past her, she grasped his arm firmly and yanked him to a halt.

"Severus, I'm warning you." She stared forcefully at him, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. "If you go in there, you will regret it."

Snape narrowed his gaze. "I'm beginning to think, Minerva, that your threats are nothing more than empty promises."

McGonagall snorted and released her hold on him. She watched carefully as he straightened his robes and she relaxed significantly when he made no further motions towards the bathroom.

"You are aware, madam," he raised his eyebrow quizzically, "of what she has gone in there to do?"

The witch gave a quick nod of her head. "I am. But I am also aware that it is something she needs to do."

Severus sighed mournfully and glanced at the door.

At his continued silence, Minerva cleared her throat and placed a soft hand on his arm. "I know you're trying to protect her from it, Severus, but you have to understand the girl. She's the most stubborn and curious student I've had the privilege of teaching since you yourself sat in my classroom. And as such, you have to realize hiding the truth from her like she's a child is not the way to go about it."

"She is a child!" He hissed, angrily snatching his arm away from her and pacing to the other side of the hallway.

McGonagall sighed and dropped her arms to her side. "On paper, perhaps, but you and I both know that Hermione Granger is no longer a child."

Snape glared at her, before shaking his head and placing a hand on the wall. His stomach took a turn as he could see Hermione examining his transgression.

The deputy headmistress took a tentative step towards him. "She has seen so much -"

"I know what she's seen!" He shot a dark look at the witch, whose eyes only widened slightly in surprise. His voice cracked to just above a whisper as he turned his face back to the stone wall. "I have seen everything she has."

Minerva set her mouth in a rigid line. "Then you cannot tell me she has not grown into a strong, competent woman. Do not dampen this by babying her, Severus. She has a good head on her shoulders, and she needs to know what she's up against."

Severus dropped his shoulders, but nodded slowly. A moment passed before he cautiously spoke. "There are some things, however, that she cannot yet know...for her own safety."

McGonagall drew in a sharp breath of air and dipped her head in acknowledgement. "I am sure you know what's best."

She stepped towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It pains me that you were yet another child who was forced to grow up too quickly."

Snape sighed, avoiding eye contact with her. He felt her give his shoulder a squeeze, and he glanced after her as the witch made her way down the hallway.

A few lonely minutes passed before he heard a small blast and realized Hermione was on her way out of the bathroom. He quickly ducked into the dark alcove behind the suit of armor.

"No need to get upset about it...stupid," Hermione was aputtering as she emerged from behind the door. He could tell even in the dark that her face was flushed and her free hand was balled into a fist, while the other clutched her wand tightly. She expelled an angry breath as she folded her arms against herself and began slowly walking towards the stairs.

"Just great, Hermione. How bloody brilliant of you," she criticized in a soft voice. "Snape - the champion of taking away points - knows everything you do, and now Gryffindor's going to start in the red just because you couldn't keep calm in front of a pathetic mirror."

Severus snorted without thinking, causing the girl to sharply turn around. He froze, holding his breath as her eyes scanned the hallway. He relaxed when she shook her head and continued on her way.

"You're going completely mental," she spat harshly.

X

By the time Hermione reached the Fat Lady's Portrait, her anger had boiled down to a low simmer. She politely gave the password and even managed a nod to the portrait's night-time well-wishes. As the painting clicked shut behind her, Hermione sighed and relaxed her shoulders. As she slipped her wand into the pocket of her jeans, she glanced about the empty common room and shuddered at how quiet it was. It did not seem right to see it without a cheery fire lit in the hearth or without a large group of Gryffindors doing whatever they could to put off their homework.

Soon enough, it will be back to normal, she thought wistfully. However, a dark look crossed her features quickly as she realized that was not at all true. Some of the others may return with the same disposition of previous years, but she was sure those closest to her would not. Those who had been in Dumbledore's Army and who were involved in the attack at the Ministry would forever be changed. They now knew firsthand that evil was actively threatening their way of life, and that war was not just a possibility, but a reality.

The few letters she had received that summer had been rather morose. Harry had not found the time to write her, but Ron and Ginny had kept her updated with what they knew. Sirius's death had affected him substantially, and he was still tormented by nightmares of his confrontations with Voldemort. Something we have in common.

Hermione blew out an annoyed breath. Harry was probably the one person who would be the most understanding of her situation, and she was forbidden to speak to him about it. She desperately wished to rely on the support of her friends, but Snape had limited her possible confidants to those who already knew of it.

As she began her way towards the girls' dormitory, her eyes narrowed crossly. Harry always sought advice from Professor Dumbledore, but she could not see him as her own sounding board. She respected the man and would trust him with her life, but the doddering old wizard act quickly wore on her nerves. Harry never seemed to see it, but she knew there were many things Dumbledore kept from them and she was sick of being treated like a child.

Professor McGonagall had tirelessly stood by her throughout the past week, and Hermione knew she would continue to do so. Her Head of House had always been her favorite instructor and her biggest role model, but she was not ready to confide everything in the witch. There were some things that one wanted to discuss with friends or equals and not with a superior. She had too much respect for the woman.

Which only leaves Snape. Hermione frowned as she walked into her room. Nearing her bed, she saw the pile of textbooks and materials stacked neatly at the foot. There was no doubt in her mind that he had purchased them, and her frown turned into an absolute scowl.

A frustrated scream came the girl as she grabbed the first book and flung it across the room. Again and again, she angrily cast the objects from her presence. When the very last item - a package of quills - smacked off the wall and dropped to the floor, Hermione sank somberly onto the bed.

The man was now integrated into every aspect of her life. She hid her face in her hands and groaned. You're just going to have to deal with it.

Pulling her hands to her lap, Hermione glanced about at the mess she had created. The books were haphazardly strewn on the floor, and surprisingly the inkwell had neither shattered nor spilled its contents. She exhaled deeply before kneeling on the floor and gathering everything together. She picked up the nearest book, straightening its pages and grimacing at the nasty crease now visible on its spine.

Running her hands across the smooth finish of its cover, she sighed and sat back on her heels. The title was the same that had been listed as the required text for Advanced Potions, but she knew this book was different. There were no markings in the margins, no tears or stains on the pages, and the only damage had been caused by its sudden trip to the floor. Flipping to the cover page, she drew in a surprised breath. Not only was it the most recent edition, it was also the apprentice-level version, expanded to include for each potion its derivatives, variants, and history. She remembered eyeing the apprentice table at Flourish & Botts the year before and, as such, she knew how expensive even the used copies were.

Hermione closed the book, and with a small sob, pulled it to her chest. It was then that she noticed that the other textbooks were just as pristine as the one she held. One by one, she tenderly pulled them into her lap and flipped through the pages. Transfiguration, Defense, and Charms were also apprentice-level texts, and the others -Herbology, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy - claimed to be "for the more-advanced of advanced students."

Rising to her feet, Hermione balanced the inkwell and quill set on top of her books and carried them all over to her desk. She left the ink and quills on the desktop and began placing the books onto her bookshelf. When finished, she lazily ran a finger across the spines of each of the books. She could not fight the small, appreciative grin that appeared on her face as she turned away from the desk to get ready for bed.