Evasive Answers

When Hermione's weightlessness abruptly ended, when she could make out images beyond incomprehensible blurs, when the strong arm around her waist suddenly ceased to support her staggering form, she knew they had reached their destination. The world around her still spun wildly, but she knew it had nothing to do with the Side-Along Apparition.

The man beside her moved forward at a brisk pace, leaving her behind as she gasped for breath. They had been transported to what seemed to be an unfriendly and uninhabitable neighborhood. Houses lined the streets in various states of disrepair and decay, and the only sounds she could hear were soft noises made by small creatures that lived in the grassy fields that must have, at one point, been manicured lawns. Yet again the icy fingers of fear gripped her stomach and heart. This place was deserted. She was alone. With him. Fleeting thoughts of Apparating herself back to Hogwarts flooded her mind, but before she could even successfully concentrate on the destination, a hand clutched her wrist roughly. The man, Severus Snape, had turned and stalked back to where she stood, as if summoned by her thoughts of fleeing.

"Come with me," he growled, then paused, stared at her a moment, and whispered painfully with a wince, "Please."

For the second time that day, she felt as though her jaw met the ground with enough force to shatter her teeth. Please? What game is this? She stood her ground and wrenched herself from his grip. "I will not move an inch until you tell me where we are going and why."

He raised his eyebrow at her, his black eyes searching her own, and eventually acquiesced. "While it may be encouraging to see that you refuse to blindly follow others into what could be the path of danger, I must confess I am disappointed to see that you honestly believe, at this point, that you have the authority, or ability, to demand anything. This little rebellion is a bit too little, too late... Although it has proven that you interpret signs of kindness as an invitation to take advantage of any given situation. Thus, kindness is something that I will no longer take pains to repeat in your presence." He grasped her forearm much more harshly than before and dragged her to his side. "However, I will tell you where we are going, so that I might avoid further delays. That," he pointed down the street to a house at the end with crumbling brick walls and an odd shaped chimney before continuing, "is my home, in which we will spend a few moments while I gather some... supplies." He looked down at her and arched his eyebrow once more, as if in a non-verbal challenge. She simply nodded numbly, and they began to walk toward the dilapidated structure together, his hand still tightly wrapped around her right arm, her eyes desperately seeking a means of escape.

When at last they stepped up to the last house on the row, Snape relaxed his grip on her. Hermione risked a quick glance at his face in hopes to catch a glimpse of his expression – any tiny hint that might explain what she should expect next. His profile, however, was shrouded in the curtain of lank, jet hair. He released her after pushing her ahead of him to the front door and blocking her exit with his lanky form, ensuring she could not break free. The silence that hummed between them was a tense, living thing.

He raised his right arm, wand in hand, and performed a series of complicated movements accompanied with muttered words that she could not comprehend. The door before them shimmered slightly and after a few seconds returned to its original, dull, weathered finish. The wards on the house had been disarmed.

Severus reached around her, causing her to start slightly, and turned the doorknob. The heavy door slowly creaked open to reveal... darkness. She turned and gazed up at him expectantly. He shoved her forward, causing her to stumble into the nothingness before them ungracefully.

The door shut silently, and from somewhere in front of her she heard his malicious voice drawl sardonically, "Welcome to my humble home." At his words, the house was suddenly lit, and she frantically spun around to find him, her wand pointed directly in front of her.

"Put that away," he commanded in a bored voice. Whipping her neck around, she saw him leaning against a bookshelf at the opposite end of the room, arms crossed, gaze directed at something she couldn't see. Obeying the request, she slowly slipped the wand back into her robes, all the while casually observing her surroundings with an air of nonchalance, though her body visibly trembled.

They were in a small room that seemed to serve as a living room of sorts and smelled faintly of tobacco smoke. There were two ratty armchairs positioned in the center and facing a stone fireplace. A few small tables were placed around the chairs and were coated in a thin film of dust. There was a grand bookcase that took up the entire wall across the room, the same piece of furniture that her employer was presently inclined against. The rest of the room was indiscernible, as books and parchment littered every nook and crevice, pouring out of alcoves and shelves, stacked upon anything remotely stable enough to support their weight.

Though the room was shabby and in dire need of tidying up, it still was suffused with a certain warmth – a cozy feeling that Hermione attributed solely to the amount of books. After her brief observation was completed, she returned her attention to Snape, who, she was pleasantly surprised to see, was staring at her with a look of trepidation. Another awkward silence descended as the two stared at each other, each willing the other to speak first.

"Where is...May I use the restroom?" squeaked Hermione. She winced at how helpless and pitiful her voice seemed to sound.

His eyes flickered briefly then shifted in the direction of the corridor. "It's the last door on the left. Hurry up, we will leave soon." He pushed himself away from the bookshelf in a lithe, graceful motion and exited the room through the long, dark corridor, himself taking the first right.

"We're returning to Hogwarts?" she called after him, curious as to why she had to dress in 'professional attire' if they were only going to his home, unless it was to meet someone? Her heart fluttered nervously. The house seemed empty, except for the two of them.

"Don't be daft," he replied to her from the other room, "This is merely a scheduled stop. Now, go and be quick, I don't want to arrive late because a slip of a girl wasted my time by asking ridiculous questions."

She rolled her eyes and started down the dark hallway, unsure if she would be able to find the last left in the absence of any light. It was of no real importance, however; Hermione, of course, did not need to use the facilities. This was her opportunity to find a way out, to find a way back to Hogwarts, to escape. That word kept scrolling though her mind in an endless cycle. Escape. She quickly continued down the corridor, her ears perked for even a ghost of a whisper to gauge her captor's whereabouts. She fumbled for her wand, cast a quick Lumos, and looked around.

The corridor was simple and as dingy as the first room she found herself in; the walls were adorned with faded, cracking wallpaper, and the wainscoting was yellowish, dirty, chipped and decayed in a few spots. Affixed to the walls were numerous picture frames; most of them were empty or else sporting the fantastic burns of hexes, obliterating the contents. One, however, remained untouched, though not by lack of trying (Hermione saw the scorch marks and holes in the wall that surrounded the picture, but the object itself was intact and in pristine condition). As she leaned forward to examine it more carefully, she pressed her hand onto the wall for support and felt something blunt push into her palm. Glancing underneath her hand cautiously, she found a common light switch. A Muggle light switch. Bemused, she flicked the tiny lever upward, illuminating the hall with artificial light.

Hermione returned her gaze to the undisturbed portrait. It seemed to be immune to dust and dirt as well as hexes and jinxes. Within the spotless glass enclosure was placed a slightly faded magical photograph, depicting a small family. A tall, wiry man was glowering at the camera, perched behind the other two inhabitants, and sporting a beak of a nose. He had short, black hair, dark eyes, and wore a thin, white t-shirt and dirty denims. He also wore a pair of black worker's boots that were caked in some sort of dark substance. Standing next to him, with an expression of dreamy listlessness that would rival Luna's at her best, was a frail-looking woman with fine, black hair that was tied back and revealed a thin neck with several suspicious-looking blemishes that formed a shadow of a hand. She wore a wispy sundress that fluttered in the wind and looked several sizes too large. Between them, though, was a figure that captured the most of Hermione's attention. A small boy, no more than four or five, stood with an air of solemnity that was far beyond his few years. He shared the same shade of black hair as the two adults, and it was also cut short to resemble the style of the man's behind him. The boy's nose was thin and long, his eyes as dark as his hair. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that she was staring at a young Severus Snape.

And the more she examined the photo, the more disturbed she felt. The young Snape's fists were tightly clenched at his sides, his legs slightly apart, and anger seemed to radiate from his tiny form. His left cheek and the area surrounding his left eye were noticeably darker than the rest of his face – and it was here, when she was staring into the boy's eyes, that she saw an action that troubled her more than the obvious bruises that decorated Mother Snape and Child Snape's skin. Every five seconds or so, the boy's eyes rolled back into his head for a fraction of an instant, and his entire body trembled slightly, listing to the side as though he were about to collapse. Then the enchanted loop of the magical picture would start again, and the boy would return to, for lack of a better word, normal.

Was the boy seizing? Was he being cursed, hexed, jinxed? Hermione quickly ran these symptoms through the catalogs of medical information stored within her mind, magical and Muggle alike. She remembered tales told from other Muggle-borns that similar physical ailments were suffered due to the suppressing of magic within one's body for an extended period of time. That, of course, would make complete sense, were Snape a Muggle-born. Which, she knew, he was not. But she did know that he was a half-blood, that his father was a Muggle, and by the evidence in this picture, he was not a tolerant man. But was he a man that would abuse his child for accidental, involuntary displays of magic? Harry's relatives did. Was Tobias Snape the same? Or, possibly, even worse?

Hermione tore her gaze from the picture and resumed searching for avenues of quick departure; she could no longer stand to see the young child in obvious pain. She passed the room that Snape was engaged in with only a secondary glance. It looked to be a kitchen – or dining room – she wasn't entirely sure which. She hazarded another brief, cursory peek inside, and it revealed his figure bathed in natural light from an unseen window; his black robes and cloak discarded once more, the sleeves of his white shirt pushed up, the bandage on his arm exposed with a faint, red semi-circle seeping through the cloth. Around him was an assortment of what seemed to be liquor bottles. The rest of the scene she was unable to retain in such a short span of time. She quietly slipped away, journeying deeper into the hall.

Following that room was a door on the right, the surface scratched and riddled with large pieces of wood missing in chunks that were not fresh, judging by their smoothness and dark color. Hermione surreptitiously glanced down the hall in the direction of the kitchen area before cautiously, soundlessly, turning the knob and entering the room. Once on the other side, in complete darkness, she used both hands to close the door to ensure its silence. She stood absolutely still for a few tense moments, straining to hear if the Potions master had somehow been notified of her trespass and was on his way to... to what? Kill her? Not likely. Punish her? Definitely.

But no heavy hand of scorn rained down upon her, no roaring voice split her eardrums, no indication whatsoever that he was aware of her presence in this room. Cautiously, she stepped further into the chamber and wordlessly cast Lumos. At once, the shadows surrounding her yielded to the bright light that burst from the tip of her wand, revealing a tiny bedroom fitted for a child.

Thick layers of dust lined everything in sight – a great amount of it disturbed by Hermione's entry, causing her to forcibly stifle a few coughs behind her free hand. The bedroom seemed to currently double as a storage room with stacks of discarded items littering the dirty wooden floor. Through the heaps of neglected objects she could discern a small bed in the corner near the only window – which was boarded up to prevent any light from leaking through. The bed was covered in blankets of dull gray and green, the sheets a silver hue, the pillowcases mismatched in differing shades of emerald. It looked as though it had not been slept in for several years.

The walls were also a matte gray with a coating of a thin film of dirt, and nearly bare, save for one faded poster too worn to distinguish. There was a closet opposite the bed, and a chest of drawers shared the closet wall. Hermione was unable to differentiate anything else amid all the clutter.

Sinking to her knees while listening for any indication that Snape was near, Hermione gingerly began to sort through the mess, unsure of what she may find, or even why she was still interested. A few minutes into her dividing of used Hogwarts standard textbooks, a few packs of Exploding Snap, and the shattered remains of a Quidditch broomstick, she happened upon a curious-looking box. For all intents and purposes, it appeared to be an old Muggle shoebox advertising the name of a popular footwear company. Quite ordinary to find in a Muggle child's room, but for some reason, it struck Hermione as an odd object to find in the boyhood bedroom of Severus Snape. When she had first spied the container, she felt an intense spark of curiosity. However, upon touching the box, she felt a faint flutter of anxiety and a sudden determination that it was only a box – a plain, common shoebox. Puzzled, Hermione set the box back down and cocked her head to the side as all the previous thoughts immediately drained from her mind.

She smiled, recognizing at once that some sort of cloaking spell had been cast over the container. Judging by its present weak state, the spell must have been cast decades ago, and most likely by a child. Possibly, a young Snape. "What is in this box that you don't want anyone to see? What secrets could a little boy possibly need to hide?" she whispered quietly at the shoebox.

Hermione took a moment to once again check for any sights or sounds of her employer within her proximity. Satisfied, she focused her attention to a quick wandless disarming spell, should the box contain any traps. Slowly, she pulled away the cardboard cover and gazed inside in wonder. The shoebox had been magically expanded and was filled to the brim with loose parchment, photographs, broken toys, medals, coins, snapped quills, sweets, and a petrified rat carcass, among other things. Hermione let out a tiny shriek and dropped the box at the sight of the animal corpse, then quickly covered her mouth and listened for footsteps approaching. Though none came, she realized that she had been absent for far longer than time normally allotted for a toilet break. She quickly gathered the shoebox and lid together, cast a charm to reduce its size and pocketed it in her robes. As carefully and silently as she entered the room she exited, undetected.

When she returned to the sitting room, he wasn't there. Retracing her steps, she stopped again at the first right off the corridor. The kitchen/dining room. This was where she found him, still bent over the suspicious looking bottles with an expression of intense concentration. Again, her mind screamed at her to escape, to flee while he was distracted. Yet she was intrigued with the mystery of where he planned to take her, of what he was doing with these bottles and potions ingredients spread out before him. She was intrigued by him.

Her sharp gasp at this sudden epiphany startled Snape, and before she could blink, he was before her, his wand digging sharply into her throat. A few moments passed, agonizingly slow, before he frowned, narrowed his eyes and lowered his wand. Tilting his head to the side slightly, his eyes traveling from her head to her feet and back again, he quipped, "Were you struck by an illness of some sort?"

"An illness? No..."

Snape cocked his eyebrow at her response, but said nothing. Belatedly, she realized he was offering her an out as to why she had taken so long to return from the toilet. Frowning inwardly as she mentally chastised herself, Hermione quickly shifted her gaze to the left of him to avoid his probing stare. More minutes ticked by, the silence making her shift uneasily. When she gathered the courage to glance back at him, he was once again behind the worktable, corking the two bottles with a silent charm.

Without looking up from his activity, he stated, "Where we are going, you will need to present a gift. Seeing as you have nothing valuable, I purposely refrained from informing you of this before." Hermione clenched her jaw to prevent a retort. He continued, addressing the ingredients he was now cleaning up, "You will offer this Muggle wine – a Japanese plum wine. They will accept, though they will not drink it. You will request that it be served, and you will drink it, and only it. It has added elements of crushed beozar and other anti-poisoning agents, should you forget my instructions, or should you be offered food that you will, undoubtedly, have to consume." Snape at last looked up at her, waiting for a sign of understanding that she soon rewarded with a slight nod of comprehension.

"And that bottle?" she inquired bravely, indicating the green glass container that was crafted with a magically embossed fairy that circled around the circumference of the bottle lazily.

"That will be my gift. And it will be consumed. Though, again, not by you." Severus began to unroll his shirt sleeves, starting with the left and covering the faint bubblegum-pink scar that was the only remnant of the Dark Mark, and reaching over to his right before abruptly stopping with a mutter curse that sounded suspiciously like the word "fuck." Hermione's eyes widened perceptibly at the obscenity – it was a bit of foul language that she never expected to hear from her former professors, not even him. Her vision of her boss, in a long standing position of authority over children, on the high pedestal she placed him upon with all the other former teachers in her life, all the adults – this vision cracked and wavered a bit for the second time in a day. Professor Snape has sex. Professor Snape says 'fuck.' Professor Snape is... human.

The entire thinking process took only a few seconds, leaving her dazed slightly at yet another epiphany. She glanced at the source of his frustration: his right arm. It had bled through the bandage. He glared at his limb with such irritation, an expression that she and her two best friends were often treated to in her school years, that she briefly wondered if he would attempt to take points from it.

Snape peeled the bandage back slowly, barely suppressing a wince as he tugged on the piece of cloth that stuck to the wound. Despite her conflicting feelings toward him of equal parts fear and fascination, she could not resist walking toward him and leaning over the worktable slightly to get a better look at the offending injury. The area surrounding the abrasion was swollen with an angry red color. The bite mark bled freely now; the removal of the bandage had taken with it any healed skin, reopening the series of small cuts. As she leaned even closer, Hermione saw that not only blood, but also a yellowish liquid oozed from the lacerations. She recoiled and stated, more to herself than to the man present, "It's infected."

"Again, your skills of observation astound me." he growled. Snape turned his back to her and rummaged through a few drawers and cabinets before returning to his spot and laying his right arm roughly on the table surface. In his other hand, he set down a jar filled with a brilliant red paste and glanced up at her. "Open that, but be careful not to touch the contents." he commanded.

She did as he said, all the while watching him keenly as he snatched a nearby bottle of Firewhiskey. Snape then turned away from her once more, retrieved a small shot glass and faced her again as he filled it with the liquor. Placing the bottle aside, he reached toward her with his uninjured limb, and after a small awkward moment of confusion on her end, Hermione quickly offered him the opened jar. She watched with growing interest as he set the jar down, wincing slightly as he gathered up some of the crimson paste and proceeded to apply it to the wound. She gasped as the affected area began to audibly sizzle, barely visible smoke rising from his skin as the smell of burning flesh assaulted her senses. Snape's wince had graduated to a painful grimace, his eyes tightly shut as he blindly fumbled around for the glass. Hermione reached forward hesitantly to assist, but he finally grasped the shot glass, throwing back his head as he downed the amber liquid... and subsequently collapsed.

In a panic, Hermione rushed to his side, kneeling down on the floor as she did so. "Professor?" she inquired in a high-pitched voice. He didn't answer. His body rocked somewhat, listing to the left then the right as he cradled his injured limb, his eyes still clamped shut. She watched in horror as the skin on his right arm sealed itself and the sizzling sound slowly subsided.

Snape panted and carefully opened his eyes after a few minutes, then sat up and rubbed the newly formed scar gingerly. An eternity seemed to pass by as they both stared at his forearm, the silence hanging between them like the stench of burning flesh that still filled the room. Slowly exhaling, he carefully unrolled the right sleeve and stood, a bit shakily at first, and donned his robes and cloak, flexing his arm every so often.

Hermione was at a loss for words. She knew better than to acknowledge his display of humanity, or weakness, as he would undoubtedly perceive it to be. Her only option was to ignore the scene that had played out before her only moments ago. Snape was gathering the bottles together as she rose to her feet and cleaned off imaginary dirt from her skirt, wishing that she could somehow dissolve the thick tension between them.

"Let's go." He hissed curtly, gripping her wrist gently and leading her back into the living room area. Snape let go of her then and glanced over his shoulder to ensure that she followed as they made their way out the door. Pausing on the steps, she patiently stood aside as he reset the wards, then turned to face her, his left arm bent and aloft in a gentleman-like fashion as he waited for her to grab on. Once Hermione did, they walked together to the end of the street, and she had just a moment to look back at the home of Severus Snape before the world around her once again spun violently.

***

They gracefully landed in a thick blanket of snow with a faint pop! There was a swoosh sound that grew louder and louder as she waited for her senses to stop reeling. As she opened her eyes, she jumped back in alarm as a brightly colored sleigh rushed by them, propelled by magic, with two figures seated at the top, laughing derisively as they passed. Snape did not move, but watched the event with a bored expression before offering his arm once more to her and assisting her across an expansive lawn that was inhabited by the strangest creatures Hermione had ever seen: white peacocks that preened and pranced around in the snow, visible only by the sheer radiance of their unblemished plumage against the suddenly dingy, off-white fluff that coated everything else in sight. She vainly tried to locate a female amongst them, but the effort was futile. The male birds huffed and haughtily strode out of their path when it became obvious that Professor Snape preferred to barrel through them, rather than gently wind his way around their bodies, as Hermione attempted to do.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, still trying to keep up with Snape and step around the peacocks as he dragged her forward. A bird squawked at her as her knee connected with its flank, causing her to dance awkwardly as she tried to avoid tripping over it.

"You'll know soon enough," was his gruff reply. They walked together in silence, Snape seeming to take pleasure in the occasional squeak of a peacock that had the bad grace to fall underfoot. Angry at both his lack of concern for the well-being of the animals as well as his evasive answers and the manner in which he dragged her from place to place as though she were a leashed dog, Hermione suddenly locked her knees and refused to go any further. Snape also stopped and turned to look at her with a curious expression on his face.

"I want to know where you are taking me. If you don't tell me, I'll Apparate back to Hogwarts immediately!" Fury infused her voice, and she glared up at him defiantly.

He smiled genuinely. An action that frightened her more than his infamous temper tantrums and rages. Still, she glared. "You can't Apparate from here. You've already been seen, so to leave now, without my presence, will leave you unprotected. But, by all means, if you feel you still need to prove something, go ahead."

Her eyes narrowed. "It is a simple, logical question. Please answer me. Where are we?"

"Malfoy Manor." He waved his hand around dismissively.

"Why?" she growled, her eyes narrowing even more, obstructing her vision.

"We've been invited to tea."

"Tea?"

"Yes. Tea. It's a afternoon event, in which you sit..."

"Let me rephrase. I know what tea is. My question is why are we having tea with the Malfoys? Why did you bring me here? Is this another intimidation tactic, because I will not be..." Hermione was cut off mid-rant as another voice, a sickeningly familiar voice with a false cheeriness interrupted.

"Severus! You had me worried; you are known for your punctuality! Oh, who is this, then? Your mystery guest? What woman this week...Oh! Oh, it's the M...Ms. Granger. Really now, Severus, I thought you had better taste than..."

"Spare me, Lucius, you know why she's here. Let's skip over the pleasantries, shall we?"

Lucius' voice suddenly dropped an octave into his normal pitch as he replied, "Jovial as ever, I see. Come then. Narcissa's setting the table as we speak." Malfoy senior then led his guests to the grandiose mansion that sat atop the hill a short distance away. Had Hermione been in a mood to appreciate the beauty of the house, she would have marveled at the architecture, the stone walls with ivy climbing to the uppermost top of the roof, the stained glass windows that rounded slightly before peaking sharply at the pinnacle. The Manor seemed to be elegance and beauty personified, yet it was bathed in a cold, emotionless energy, surely mirroring the family that resided inside.

Author's Note – Happy Holidays to all!

Angel Mischa truly is an angel for taking the time to correct all my grammatical errors, spelling errors, and my comma binging. Any mistakes found are mine cause I ...am human!

And special thanks goes to both Angel Mischa and Amsev for suggesting titles for this chapter (I was at a loss), and again to Amsev for not only coming up with the title you see here, but also changing it for me! Whoo, Amsev's awesome! (*leads everyone in a big round of applause*)

Up Next: Pansy enters stage left.