Rules and Terms

Hermione watched as Wishington tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and disappeared in a burst of green flames, leaving her to her fate. When Snape turned to look at her, the anger in his expression had dissipated, leaving in its stead an unreadable mask.

"You disappoint me, Miss Granger. I always considered you to be the sole brains behind the entire Gryffindor operation, as it was. Obviously, I was mistaken."

"Sir, I..." she bit her lip, uncertain what else to say. An apology would be advisable, but hypocritical – she had meant what she said. Exile had been her only hope, and he had taken that away from her. Fortunately, Snape seemed to expect neither an apology nor an explanation.

"This way," he hissed at her. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, not waiting to see if she would follow.

After becoming lost in the first house where she had been placed, and being severely punished for keeping her hosts waiting for half an hour while she found her way to the dining room, Hermione had learned to pay close attention to the layout of every strange house she entered. Snape's home was a giant maze of dark corridors and winding stairwells. She concentrated on mapping her way, trying not to think about the man walking in front of her, his shoulders rigid, his footsteps silent against the hard stone.

They walked out of the parlor and into an adjacent dining hall. Turned left through a doorway and up a flight of stairs that opened into a circular landing. After about twenty paces down a narrow passage, they took the short flight of stairs on the left – not the one on the right – and came to a small sitting area with bookshelves piled with books all around. The long corridor to the right seemed to lead nowhere, but Snape walked confidently through the garden scene tapestry at the end, and Hermione followed. She found herself in another sitting area, this one surrounded by portraits of several vigilant wizards and witches. Not quite twelve paces from there, Snape came to a halt in front of a massive wooden door.

"This, Miss Granger, will be your room."

The door opened to reveal a room bathed in late afternoon sunlight; it was startling after the relative gloominess of the rest of the house. Like the other rooms she had seen, it was spacious, but sparsely furnished and unassuming. There was a bed, a table and a lamp, a large window framed by white curtains and a bench underneath it, an armoire, an oval rug, a trunk at the foot of the bed, and nothing else – no mirrors or flower vases, no picture frames. The dark circle on the ceiling, from where a chandelier had obviously been removed, stared down at her like an empty eye socket. Hermione walked to the partially open window that she knew wouldn't budge if she tried to open it further. The room had been prepared according to regulation – nothing breakable, nothing sharp, nothing from which she could hang or jump. The Ministry had instituted the mandate after the rash of suicides during the first year of the program.

"It's a big house," she commented, because she didn't know what else to say.

"Actually, the house isn't as large as it might seem. It is enchanted to appear that way, in order to disorient intruders. We are no more than one flight and ten yards from where we started."

She turned toward Snape in surprise. "Very ingenious."

"Indeed. Your valise arrived earlier today and is in the armoire. I'll leave you to get settled."

Snape turned hastily away and had one foot out the door before Hermione could react.

"Wait, sir! May I ask a question?"

Snape turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow and a muted sigh. "If you must, Miss Granger," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"When will I be meeting her?"

Snape frowned. "Meeting whom?"

"Your wife, sir – Madam Snape."

Snape took a step back and his eyes flickered briefly to a spot above her head, before they returned to study her face.

"There is no Madam Snape. I am unmarried."

"You mean, you live here alone?"

"That is two questions, Miss Granger, but yes – you and I will be the only residents here. For now," he added.

Hermione knew what he meant – until their future child was born. She didn't ask any more questions. She felt suddenly very tired, and slightly ill.

"I think I would like to lie down for a while."

Snape nodded. "As you wish." He closed the door softly behind him as he left the room. Through the solid wood, Hermione heard the unmistakable faint crack of wards being raised.

As soon as she was alone, Hermione sank into the bench in front of the window and stared out at the quickly setting sun. She had no idea as to her location. She saw no buildings or villages anywhere, just a vast expanse of grassland, with a range of brown and purple mountains looming in the distance. By the landscape and the weather, she assumed she was somewhere in the Highlands of Scotland, but she couldn't even be certain of that. Not that she was entertaining any thoughts of escape; she had already explored that route and had the scars on the soles of her feet to prove it. With a resigned sigh, she pushed off the bench and walked to the bed. She removed her robes, folded them neatly, and placed them on top of the trunk, before kicking off her shoes and climbing into the bed.

The mattress was soft, and the silken sheets were lightly scented with a delicate perfume that reminded her of apple blossoms. It was nothing like her hard and coarse camp-bed that reeked of antiseptic, back at the Center. Those beds were meant for sleeping, or not. This bed, she knew, was meant for something else. Still, she sank into the softness and closed her eyes, enjoying the rare moment of peacefulness and privacy.

She awoke with a start to find Snape's face scowling down at her. "Breakfast is ready, if you care to follow me."

Hermione frowned and looked to the window. A sliver of bright sunshine filtered in through the gap in the closed curtains. She found it hard to believe she had slept the entire night.

"I didn't realize," she said sleepily.

"You sleep like the dead, Miss Granger. Twice I walked into this room without you being aware of my presence. Had someone managed to slip through my precautions, as unlikely as the prospect is – someone with intent to harm you – we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

"With all due respect, sir, the last person I know of who even tried to slip through your precautions was Vincent Hawes, when I was in my third year at Hogwarts. Two years later, he still walked with a limp."

"Carelessness, Miss Granger, is a luxury few can afford, and most pay for with their lives. You'll do well to remember that," Snape stated defensively, but the smirk on his face told her that he remembered the Hawes incident fondly.

Hermione started to sit up before she recalled that she was clad in nothing more than a thin cotton shift and her knickers. "Sir, if you don't mind, I need to get dressed."

"Certainly. I shall be waiting outside your door."

Snape left the room with a little more haste than Hermione deemed necessary. It wasn't until he had closed the door that she realized she needed to use the facilities and had never asked Snape where they were located. She spotted a small door in the opposite side of the room and made her way to it, retrieving her valise on the way.

The bathroom was small, with no mirrors and no tub – just a toilet, a small sink, and a shower. She looked at the shower stall longingly; her skin was itchy from the rough, stiff fabric of her Ministry issued robes. But she was aware of Snape waiting for her, and she didn't suppose the dour wizard to be a patient man. She quickly used the loo, brushed her teeth, splashed some water on her face, and ran a brush through her short-cropped hair. Back in her room, she donned her hated robes. Not only did the fabric chafe her skin, but she thought the drab, mustard color made her skin look jaundiced. She quickly slipped on her shoes, Ministry issued and substandard, like everything else she owned, and went out into the hallway to meet Snape.

"This time, Miss Granger, you will lead the way," Snape informed her.

She had noted every turn they had taken, carefully counted her steps, and memorized a point of reference in every room. She was confident in her ability to find her way back to the main floor. Except that when she turned toward the direction from which they had come, she was confronted by a door she didn't remember been there. She quickly turned to look in the opposite direction, but all she saw was an unfamiliar, seemingly endless corridor, lined with closed doors. She glanced at Snape in confusion.

"That way," he instructed, pointing in the direction of the door.

She took a few steps before she paused. "This door wasn't here last night, was it?"

"No, it wasn't. Open it."

Hermione obeyed, expecting to walk into the sitting room with the portraits, but instead found herself in a strange room – a sort of pantry, lined with shelves. Rows of mismatched dinnerware and pottery were stacked haphazardly floor to ceiling. There was no other way out of the room other than from which they had come. She once again turned to Snape for direction, but this time he just stared back at her.

"Breakfast is getting cold, Miss Granger."

"I'm sorry, sir; I don't know where I am."

He seemed to consider her statement for a moment. "Perhaps it would help if I told you that while the layout of the house changes, its infrastructure remains intact."

Hermione pondered the new information. She closed her eyes and visualized the route they had taken the night before, concentrating on direction and distances and ignoring all the visual cues. When she had reached her conclusion, she opened her eyes and pointed to the row of shelves on her right. "That's the wall we walked through last night, the one with the tapestry."

Snape nodded and Hermione walked toward it, effortlessly emerging on the other side. She was in another unfamiliar corridor, but this time she didn't hesitate. She followed the corridor, counting her steps, and then turned left. What had been a sitting room the previous night was now a narrow, winding passage. She walked twelve paces ahead, and was about to follow it around, when Snape stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"How many paces last night?"

"Twenty," Hermione answered confidently.

"Then why are you turning after twelve?"

"But I'm not turning, I'm just followi... Not walking straight ahead," she conceded.

She continued to walk straight ahead, through a false wall, and after eight more paces reached a flight of stairs, only this one looked to have many more steps than the one she had climbed the night before.

"Go ahead," Snape encouraged. "The staircases change appearance, but not location."

After that, she had all the information she needed and was soon back in the main parlor, which to her relief, still looked the same as she remembered it.

Flushed from the exertion and excitement, she whirled around to face Snape. "That was brilliant!" she exclaimed.

"Thank you, Miss Granger. Ten paces to your right and through that door is the kitchen." Snape's words were clipped, but Hermione detected no cynicism in his tone.

The kitchen was smaller than she expected, but quaint, with a round table and four chairs in the center, and a pot bubbling invitingly on an old-fashioned looking stove.

Snape pointed to one of the chairs and walked to stand in front of the stove, where he summoned two bowls from a cupboard and proceeded to fill them with porridge. Hermione took the proffered chair, but was still too curious about the house to remain still, or quiet. She had heard of enchanted houses – Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and Hogwarts Castle with its shifting staircases and secret rooms, had not been without their share of surprises – but she had never seen a house like this.

"But, sir, there's one thing I don't understand. If the rooms constantly change around, how do I know that even if I count my steps and follow the same direction, the room will still be there when I arrive?"

"It's simple, Miss Granger. Not all the rooms change locations, or appearance. The main parlor, this kitchen, your bedroom and mine are anchor rooms, never changing location or appearance. Other rooms, like my personal library, my laboratory, and a few others, change location, but not appearance, and there are clues to finding them, for those who know what to look for. The rest of the rooms serve no function other than as decoys, and those constantly change both location and appearance, but since they have no practical use..."

"There's never any need to find them, like the pantry room," she concluded.

Snape nodded. "Correct."

The teakettle whistled as if it had been awaiting their arrival, and two cups of tea soon joined the porridge on the table. They ate in silence, Snape keeping his eyes steadily on his bowl, Hermione looking around the kitchen and stealing surreptitious glances in Snape's direction. She studied him closely for the first time since her arrival. Almost seven years had passed since she had last seen him, but other than a slight deepening of the lines around his eyes and mouth, he was little changed. He had exchanged his official black and silver robes of the previous night for simple black linen ones, similar to the teaching robes he wore at Hogwarts. He gripped the spoon tightly, and his movements were methodical, but too elegant to be considered mechanical. It was like the man did everything smoothly, with an economy of movement.

"Something wrong with your breakfast, Miss Granger?" As far as Hermione could tell, Snape's eyes had never left his bowl, not even as he spoke.

She set the spoon down and shook her head, quickly averting her eyes. "No. I'm finished. Thank you."

"Good." Severus did likewise and sent both bowls to the sink with a wave of his wand. "We have a few things to discuss before I retire to my laboratory for the day."

He summoned a roll of official looking parchment from the kitchen counter, and Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This was the moment she had been dreading since her arrival, when they would discuss the terms of their arrangement, and his expectations of her.

Snape unfurled the parchment with a flick of his wrist. "It has come to my attention that your previous placements have been marred by a series of unfortunate incidents. I think it prudent that we go over the rules of this household, so that there are no regrettable misunderstandings."

Hermione had a feeling that she would be the only one regretting any misunderstandings.

Snape's eyes glanced over the parchment as he spoke. "I will tolerate no kicking, spitting, cussing, and especially crying. You will refrain from hurling any objects at, near, or around my person."

Hermione winced; she really wasn't proud of some of her past behaviours. She absently scratched her arm as she listened to the litany of trespasses that Snape was unwilling to tolerate.

"You will not damage any of my personal property... Miss Granger, is there something wrong with your arm?"

Hermione shook her head and began to scratch her other arm.

"Is the scratching a nervous condition, then? Because those can be inherited." Snape studied Hermione with more than a hint of concern on his face.

"No, sir. It's the robes. The fabric irritates my skin."

Snape set down the parchment and walked around the table to where Hermione sat. He reached for her wrist and pushed up the sleeve of her robes to inspect the red blotches on her arm, some of which had become raised welts after her careless scratching. His hands were surprisingly gentle on her skin, and warm. For some inexplicable reason, she had always presumed his skin would be cold, like a reptile's.

"And no one has addressed this?" he asked.

"The healer at the Center prescribed an ointment, but it smelled like disinfectant and scorched bones." Like my parents' office, she didn't add. "I threw it away."

Severus scuffed. "A martyr for vanity? How inspiring, that you would suffer rather than reek."

Hermione had not been suffering. During her previous placements she had been receiving a steady supply of the most wonderfully smelling, and effective, lotions from her masters, in exchange for special favors when the wives were not around – but that didn't bear mentioning, or thinking about. There were a lot of things in Hermione's past that didn't bear thinking about. She had learned that too much thinking hurt one's chances of survival, and Hermione wanted to survive.

"Well, try to refrain from scratching so much. It is distracting."

Snape released her arm and returned to the other side of the table to once again look over the parchment. His eyebrow shot up in surprise and he tilted his head in Hermione's direction.

"You purposely poured boiling water over Oliver Crispus' lap?"

Hermione felt a blush rise from her chest to her cheeks. "He was taking unwelcome liberties with my person, and his wife wouldn't do anything to stop it," she explained meekly.

"I see."

Snape set down the parchment without further comment about the matter. "In addition, you will confine yourself to your room except for meals. I don't need you wandering around my home when I'm not present." Snape's eyes narrowed. "You could become lost and it might take me days to find you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, then. I have work to do. I'll trust you to find your way back to your room," Snape said as he rolled up the parchment and tucked it away in his robes.

Hermione hesitated. "Sir, we haven't gone over the other part of the arrangement."

"What is that, Miss Granger?"

"I assume I'm here because you hope that I will give you a child; my fertile period starts in a week," she explained.

"Yes, of course. You are familiar with the process, are you not?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then we have nothing further to discuss."

Snape's tone left no room for argument, so Hermione simply nodded and left the kitchen for her quarters.