2

When Hermione woke up, the bed was empty, and Snape was gone. She got up, used the loo, and then showered, scrubbing herself red in an attempt to wash away the mental horror of the battle and the stench of Voldemort's victory. Physically she was sore...probably from using muscles she'd never used before, she thought with a grimace. She was confused and scared because she didn't know what to expect from her captor. Professor Snape hadn't left a note. She had no idea when he'd be back. She had no idea where she even was. Her prison could be in the middle of a city or far out in the country with not a soul around.

She wondered, as she dried herself, what he thought of last night. He had wanted her...she was sure of that...but what about today? Was he disgusted with himself, or didn't he even care? He'd told her she was beautiful. Had he meant it, or was he trying to play her? She didn't know what to think about last night. She'd given herself to Snape, and she had enjoyed it. She'd found she craved his touch. She'd always wanted his approval. Was she translating his need to be with her as approval? She was so confused. He was her hated Potions professor, was he not? Yet last night in his arms, they had been able to forget about Voldemort's victory. They had needed each other. Was that enough for now?

She went to look for something to wear. The white gown was ruined. She found the robe he'd given her last night and put it on. It was so long. She went to the door and called to him, pounding her hands on the door.

Snape sat in his parlor. He'd heard the pounding on the door but had not moved. He yelled, "Fancy, go see what she wants. And do not tell her anything about where we are."

"Yes, sir. Fancy is going," the little house-elf said, cowering away from him.

In her room, Hermione turned at the sound of a loud crack. There stood a house-elf about half the size of Dobby. She was a pitifully small thing and looked half frightened to death.

"Miss, you wanting something? Fancy is getting you food." Her tiny voice trembled.

"Where is Professor Snape?"

"Master Snape instructing I not telling you anything. You want food or clothes?" she asked.

"You could make this fit me better. It's the professor's robe," she said, pulling the hem off the floor.

Fancy snapped her fingers, and the robe reshaped itself into a garment that fit her perfectly.

"Thank you," Hermione said as she smoothed the fabric appreciatively.

Hermione studied the trembling elf and asked, "Are you mistreated here?" she asked kindly.

"No, but Fancy wants to go home. Fancy's master was killed in the battle, and Fancy now serves Master Snape. He is frightening, but he not hurt me."

Hermione got on her knees so she could make eye contact with the little elf. "Fancy, I've known Professor Snape for many years, and he has always scared me half to death, too, but he's never physically hurt me...not even last night." She saw the house-elf's eyes widen. "Try not to be so scared. His voice is harsh, but he's not so bad. You could have had a much worse master, Fancy."

The little house-elf's eyes welled with tears. "I'm glad you are here, ma'am. Now let Fancy get food and more clothes." She vanished with a pop.

Hermione looked around her and then went to sit on the bed and wait. The hours grew long, and she barely nibbled on the food Fancy brought. Had Snape been summoned? Why was he leaving her alone? She finally got up and selected a book and curled up on the bed. She found she couldn't read, so she watched the door.

*****

Snape turned to stare at the fire. He'd been in the parlor since the middle of the night when he'd woken to find her pressed against him. Her body was so soft, so desirable, that he'd nearly gathered her in his arms. Then what he had done hit him: He'd had sex with a former student who was barely out of childhood. He'd slipped from the bed, grabbing the discarded robe, and left the room, locking and warding it behind him.

She'd been willing, and he'd been devastated about the scope of things before him. He'd taken her; he'd tried to be gentle, but his desires had gotten away from him. He needed not just sex but to connect to a warm, living being who needed him, no matter how misguided she was to offer herself. There was no guarantee that Voldemort would allow her to live through this day. He might take her for his own entertainment. That beautiful, young woman would be destroyed mentally and then physically. He wanted to take her and run. He knew a few places he could hide her, but he doubted it would take long before Voldemort would find him. And what kind of life would that be? Running, hiding, starving. The horror of being hunted.

"Bloody Potter!" he cursed the boy again. He got up and stalked around the room. He wanted nothing more than to go in and take Hermione again and again and forget what hell might be in store for him. He wanted her to care for him. He was a fool; no one that young and beautiful would ever care for him. Was she as horrified this morning as he had been last night? He'd heard the shower run an awfully long time. Had she wanted to wash him off her skin? Would she look at him with hate in her eyes when he returned to her?

He'd seen Potter fall on the field, and he'd watched Voldemort fire the Avada Kedavra at him. It had seemed in slow motion, and he had to clamp his hand over his mouth not to shout, "NO!" He'd emptied his breakfast all over the ground. The horror of Voldemort's triumph had felt like a kick in the gut from a mule. He'd been drawn to look at Potter's face, which had blood trickling from his mouth.

Voldemort had turned away from the boy's dead body and screamed in triumph, calling his troops to him. He'd bragged for hours as the boy lay there. Then Hermione had been brought before him, and Severus had to fight for breath. He'd felt his legs weaken with fear. Then by some miracle, Voldemort had looked at him and asked, "Do you want her, my faithful servant?"

Severus had only nodded; grabbing Granger by the arm, he'd Apparated away. He could not help Potter now, but maybe he could save Granger. He'd known what was expected of him, but he also knew he was not a rapist. He had planned to give her a lust potion, which would save them both from a forced encounter. Then she had offered herself, and he'd found he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone.

Life was always preferable, wasn't it? He was not sure now. He could not bear it if she turned from him. He had lived his whole adult life fighting for Voldemort's destruction, and now he was faced with compliance or renewed fighting. He was tired and dead inside. Last night, for the hour he'd been with Hermione, he'd felt alive for the first time in decades.

He heard Fancy in the kitchen gathering food and then the crack of her Apparition back to Granger. He sat heavily into his chair and placed his face in his hands.

"Merlin, what now? What will Voldemort want when I am next summoned? I will not surrender her. I will kill her myself before that happens."

His thoughts kept jumping to Voldemort, then to Granger, then to the touch and feel of her last night. Was there heaven within hell? He was sure he had experienced it last night, but then he'd lost control, too. Had he hurt her? She had not cried afterwards, but he still dreaded facing her.

He heard Fancy leave her. He sighed and stood. He walked to the door and listened. There was no sound. He went back to the kitchen. "Fancy, what is Miss Granger doing?"

"Sitting, staring at the door, and waiting, sir," she said.

He nodded and returned to the fire.

"Bring me some firewhiskey."

He drank several glasses and then sat before the fire and stared at the flames. He drifted off to sleep.

When he woke it was late, and he was starving. "Fancy."

"Yes, sir," she called from the kitchen.

"Bring some food for Miss Granger and me to my room," he commanded and then turned away.

Fancy stared after him; he seemed scared. Maybe miss wasn't wrong. Maybe Fancy would be safe here.

Severus unwarded and unlocked the door, stepped into the room, and locked and warded the door again before he turned to face to Hermione.

She had moved from the middle of the bed to the edge. Her feet were just touching the floor when he turned.

"You're here," she said. "Why did you leave me?" The fear and confusion on her face made him sigh with relief. There was no reprisal there.

He came a step closer. "I did not know if you would regret last night. I lost control."

She stood, came closer to him, and reached out to touch his arm. "I really don't have much experience with sex, but I think that's part of it: to lose control some and let yourself just feel."

"You are okay... with what happened then?" he asked, warmth creeping up his neck.

She smiled. "Yes, sir, you were very considerate, and if you lost control, then I did, too. You might remember I urged you on."

He smirked at her. "You did." His tight muscles started to relax. Had he wasted a day with her? He'd been so afraid to look into her eyes and see rejection. He was a coward.

She asked, "What happens now?" She returned to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I wish I knew. I could be called any moment, or it could be weeks. I never know until the last second, and I must get there as fast as possible."

"Are you sure we couldn't run and disappear to some remote country?" she begged.

"You forget your place," he said scathingly and then immediately regretted it when tears formed in her eyes. He felt the need to explain. Severus looked down at his arm. He pushed back the sleeve and showed her the Dark Mark. "There is no place to hide, Miss Granger. It would be only be a matter of time, and he would find us and kill us in a most horrific way."

Hermione got up moved closer. He didn't back away, so she put her arms around his waist and laid her check against his chest. She was trembling against him.

Severus was surprised at her willingness to touch him. He stood there for a long time and then raised his hand to touch the back of her head and caress her hair.

Hermione smiled against his chest.

"You know, this emotionalism you are showing me is totally unprecedented. You should hate me, rebel against me. I don't understand, Miss Granger," he said as he drew her to the bed and they sat beside each other.

Fancy brought food, and they did not speak until she was gone. They ate for a few minutes in silence. Hermione realized how hungry she was as she stuffed food into her mouth. She couldn't remember when she'd last eaten a full meal. She'd barely picked at the food earlier today.

"Sir, I don't understand it either, but I think it's because everyone I know is gone, captured, or hopefully hiding. I just can't think about it. I can't go there, or I will go crazy. You have always defended me in the past. When you stood in between us and Professor Lupin, I knew you were on our side. But I never knew until now how much you worked to help Harry win."

"He failed..." His voice was bitter. "I don't know if I can keep you safe anymore."

"I have faith in you," she told him.

He frowned at her and moved off the bed. When he turned his face toward her, it was filled with frustrated anger. "Do you still not hear me? I have no control over what happens anymore. But I will promise you if it's with in my power, I will kill you before he can hurt you."

Hermione stared at him. She wanted to cry, to scream, to tell him death was never preferable, but he had been at Voldemort's mercy many times and she had not. He knew horrors she could only imagine.

"I will make a deal with you. I can stand some torture. I can take some abuse. If you see that I am to be tortured and death is inevitable, no chance of an out, then I will ask that you take my life. But I want to fight. I want to live."

"If you die, I die, Hermione." He spoke her name softly. "I promise I will only take your life and then mine if there is no other choice."

Having lost her appetite, she took the food and set it on the table and asked, "Please, let's never talk about this again. Just hold me, Severus. So much is lost, but we can be here for each other."

He studied her face. Then he nodded and crawled on the bed and held out his arms. She came to him. She was unable to stop the flood of emotion that overwhelmed her in the face of comfort. Tears filled her eyes, and she cried, laying her face against his chest as he held her close. He knew the tears were not for him, but it broke his heart to hear her cry for her lost friends.

He understood her need for him was because she had no one else to go to...better the devil you know than the devil you don't know. She was smart enough to know what the situation was. He sighed. It didn't matter that this might be wrong in the world they had come from. This was a whole new world, and if she needed him, he would be here for her. Who was the slave and who was the master? He'd always been strong as long as he was isolated. His weakness had always been for women. His mother had kept him from killing his dad over and over. Her tears and pleading had kept him compliant far too long. Lily had been his only friend, and he'd fancied himself in love. But look what that 'love' had done to him, to her. He tried to hide the growing pain in his heart that this would end badly. He'd stayed away from women because he had known he was a fool and fell in love with only the tiniest of friendship offered from them. After Lily, he'd vowed never to let himself be hurt again. But his heart was already opening for Hermione. Damn his weaknesses. Yet he caressed her hair and whispered comforting words and became someone he didn't really know for her.

Severus wondered if she knew how much he needed her right now. When he'd seen Potter die, he'd let go of all the hope and pain. He'd thought, Now I die. My purpose is gone. He wanted to rail against Voldemort so the monster would kill him. Then Hermione had been dropped at his feet. And he'd found purpose again. They were two different people from different generations brought together by their hate of a megalomaniac. She was right; the thing that held them together was their past relationship of teacher and student. He was glad that she had noticed he'd helped the three of them on several occasions. He leaned his head down and kissed the top of her head. He had noticed that she had matured years past Potter and Weasley. He'd secretly admired her incredible ability to think things through, and her magical power was phenomenal. She'd left behind the irritating child she had been and had been more attentive and inventive.

He should have treated her as Voldemort expected him to and not let her tear his heart out. But it was already too late; he'd allowed her under his skin last night when she'd offered herself. He'd had very few sexual relationships in his life: mostly women who fancied themselves Death Eater groupies. They had never wanted him, just an in into the organization. They had barely co-operated, making sex so horrible he'd finally left it behind as not worth the embarrassment he'd felt after every encounter.

Her willingness last night to have sex with him, her gentle touches, her urging him on... He was lost. He groaned. God help him, he was lost in her. It was now up to him to kill Voldemort. Was it even possible? Did he have the advantage in being able to get up close? He'd never tried before because Dumbledore had always said it was Harry's destiny. It had to be Harry. Well, he was dead now, and so was bloody Harry Potter. Now what?

He suddenly had a horrified thought, and he held Hermione a little closer. If they had a chance of killing Voldemort, she would have to do it. She would have to carry in the potion that would kill him. Voldemort never let any one close enough to touch him except groveling, powerless women. He seemed to get off at having them beg for mercy. She would have to be the bringer of death. Years ago he had had a plan, thwarted by Dumbledore and his bloody prophecy. Sudden tears burned his eyes. They would certainly die in the attempt. But there was no other way. The monster had to be stopped one way or another.

He let his hand run down her arm, and he felt his desire ignite. He pushed it away as he had his whole life. Let her sleep tonight. She would need her strength for what was to come. He lay half the night just feeling the marvel of her body against his. She would press herself harder against him and whimper in her sleep...no doubt having bad dreams about the final battle. He tightened his hold on her, and she calmed and slipped into a deep sleep.

Finally Severus let himself fall asleep.

When Hermione woke the next morning, she was alone again, but then she heard the toilet flush. She stretched her hand out across the sheet and felt the residual warmth of his body. He must have just left. That was progress; he hadn't left her during the night.

As she rubbed at her face, she realized she'd slept most the night, and Severus had not woken her for sex. She knew he'd probably wanted to have her again, but he had respected her need to sleep. She slipped from the bed and waited until he came out. She nodded to him, and her fingers reached out to slide over his fingertips as he went by.

Severus turned and watched her go into the bathroom and close the door. He looked down at his fingers. It had been a tiny gesture but so intimate. He heard her use the bathroom and then brush her teeth. It was odd having another person and their things in his bathroom. Fancy had supplied her with the things a woman might need to take care of herself.

Hermione came from the bathroom wearing a gown not as see-through as the first ones, but he felt himself get hard at the sight of her.

"Hermione, will you come to me willingly again?"

Hermione looked into his eyes and saw his fear and his need. She reached out her hand, and he took it.

Later, as they lay wrapped in each other's arms, Severus suddenly stiffened, pulled away from her, and got up and dressed. She called frantically after him as he locked and warded the door behind him.

Hermione stared after him. Had he been summoned? What had happened? She ran to the door, calling after him.