17-Mar

Chapter Three

Day 27

Despite all the things I said to Snape two days ago, he hasn't punished me. The first time my food arrived afterward, I stashed it away in case he was just teasing me. But the meals have been regular, and I felt safe in eating the food I'd hidden. He hasn't spoken to me much, but at least he doesn't seem angry. Just indifferent.

I haven't had another attack like that, and I hope I never do. I've always prided myself on being in control of my emotions, and I've so little control these days that I need to cherish and hoard it whenever I do get it. That means being more resilient. One day I will get out. I can't doubt that. Hope is all I have to keep going.

Hermione heard Snape's footsteps outside the heavy wooden door to her room. She watched from her bed, pretending to be asleep, as he entered with another tray. This was her fourth meal today. She wondered why the schedule was so erratic. She hated it. Routine was safe. Eating four and five meals a day made her worry that her next one wouldn't be coming at all.

"I can tell that you are awake," Snape drawled, sending the tray across the stone under her cell door.

She opened her eyes, not even bothering to wonder how he knew, because he just seemed to know everything. Things even a Legilimens shouldn't know.

The tray contained buttered bread, cheese, and little cutlets of meat. Just a snack, then.

And there was tea.

Hermione's eyes widened, and she looked to Snape, but he was settling into his chair and opening a book. She couldn't see the cover, but it was thick and quite beaten.

She fell to her knees in front of the tray and picked up the cup of tea. She burned herself a little, drinking it, but that didn't matter. It was the best thing she'd ever tasted. She knew, just knew, that it was the stuff served at Hogwarts. She'd never had tea that tasted so strong and homey anywhere else.

When the tea was all gone, Hermione made a little whimpering noise. She didn't mean to, but thankfully Snape didn't look up from his reading.

It occurred to her, looking at the heavy cheese, salty meat, and thick bread, that she should have saved some of the tea to wash down the dry snack. But she wasn't really that hungry, anyway. She ate a little of the bread, a nibble of cheese, and a bite of salami before pushing the tray back through.

Snape looked with disapproval at the still-full tray, and Hermione looked down, feeling ashamed. He'd made her a nice snack and had even given her tea...had he noticed the desperate way she'd been staring at his, so carelessly tossed against the wall?...and she wasn't even good enough to finish the food.

"Was it not to your liking?" Snape asked in a voice that suggested he really didn't care.

"It was," she said slowly, fingering the hem of her shirt.

"Then why did you not finish it?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked into his face. He didn't seem angry. Emboldened, Hermione said, "Because I drank all my tea, and the food would have made me thirsty."

Snape's eyebrows furrowed together, and he watched her for a moment, but she didn't do anything to deserve or warrant such scrutiny.

Finally, he spoke. "You are capable of speech, yes?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes."

"And you are more than willing to beg and plead, barter and bribe for parchment and reading materials, are you not?"

That was obvious. She'd caved on the second day of her captivity and asked for a book. "Of course."

"And yet," Snape said, not breaking eye contact, "you are unable to so much as ask for something to quench your thirst? You would face my wrath to ask for a book, but not water or tea?"

Hermione suddenly felt very small.

"Sir," she began, breaking his gaze. She really didn't want to be punished for this, but he seemed to be inviting her honesty. "I could live without a book or parchment if you decided to deny me. But if I asked for water, and you said no, I wouldn't be able to survive."

"So you think me such a monster that I would essentially exsiccate you out of spite?"

Hermione gasped. "No, sir! I just didn't want to... I don't know!" She took a deep breath. "May I have some more tea, Professor Snape? Maybe with some milk and a little more sugar?"

Rolling his eyes, Snape waved his wand at her cup. It immediately filled to the brim with tea. Biting her lip, Hermione reached for the drink, but stopped herself, looking at Snape as if for permission. He nodded at her, and she took a sip. As good as the last...better, even.

"I don't keep milk, but there is more sugar. Whenever you want more tea, tap the cup with your finger and say, 'Repleo.' I will bring you a glass, and when you want water, tap the cup and say the same."

Hermione couldn't help the way her heart was racing over this concession. Snape have never given her power before. She'd had to count on him for everything. With water, she'd be able to survive for about a week if something were to happen to him, whereas before, she would have died in a few days. He'd told her that the tap water was not potable, and she dared not risk it.

Giddy with her new sense of agency, Hermione tapped the delicate teacup and announced, "Repleo! " The already full cup filled and overflowed, soaking the tray and ruining her food. She'd thought it would only fill to the brim, not that it would try to put the volume of another cup on top of the first.

Her eyes began to water as she stared at the soggy food. She'd ruined it. Snape was going to be so angry.

But when she looked up, wincing, to meet his eyes, they weren't angry at all. In fact, the corners of his mouth were twitching as if to hold back a laugh.

"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered, not brave enough to be sure that he wasn't going to yell.

Snape waved his wand and the food mess disappeared, leaving only the battered metal tray. The tea in her cup was back at a normal level. She took it and drank deeply from it, watching him all the while. After a moment, he went back to reading, and Hermione gulped and gulped until there was no tea left.

Making sure he was ensconced in his reading, Hermione tapped the cup and whispered, "Repleo, " inordinately gratified to see it fill up once more. It almost felt like getting a first paycheque, or coming home with the groceries...the pride and security of being able to provide for oneself.

Hermione stayed on the floor for a while longer, watching Snape. He seemed to read slowly, but then again, no one absorbed what they read as well as Snape did. He read every line like it was something he had to memorise, like there would be a test the very next day. She wondered if he had perfect recall.

Soon, her bladder was rather insistently urging her to use the loo. She'd never had to use it while Snape was right there. Shifting her weight, Hermione wondered how long she could last, and what that was in comparison to how long he would be sitting there.

He licked a finger and turned the page. Hermione surmised that he would be there a very long time.

"Er, sir?" she said, crossing her legs.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he intoned without looking up.

"I need to use the loo," she admitted, cheeks flushing.

Snape looked at her as if she'd suggested she needed to swing from the ceiling. "And?"

She huffed. "I can't go with you here!" she exclaimed, whimpering at the pressure raising her voice put on her bladder.

Snape marked his page and stood. "I shall be back in an hour to remove those bandages and tend to your wounds. With dittany, you can be sure they will not scar, but you must not touch them as they are healing. They need air at this stage, so you need to control yourself."

Hermione thought managing not to piss her pants right then was a pretty good show of controlling herself, but she only nodded meekly. Snape left the room and Hermione lunged to the bathroom behind the folding curtain.

True to his word, Snape reappeared an hour later. Not that she knew he was exactly on time, having no way to measure, but she doubted he would ever allow himself to be anything less than perfectly punctual, even in his own home.

If this was his home.

"I'm going to open the door," he announced, his voice making Hermione shiver as she sat up on her bed, placing her book on the narrow bedside table. "You will not leave the bed the entire time I'm inside. If you attempt to escape, I will stun you. If you manage to evade that, which you will not, the door will not open to you. If you manage to bypass that, which you will not, a front door will not show itself to you, and you cannot Apparate within this house, which I'm sure you've noticed. If you somehow manage to get outside, which you will not, you will be captured and killed within hours of your escape. Do you understand this?"

Hermione's eyes had grown wide during his speech. She realised she was trembling and shook it off. "I understand," she said solemnly. Of course she'd tried to Disapparate. She'd tried to make a Portkey, as well. She'd tried everything.

Snape nodded and unlocked the cell door. She noticed that he waved his wand at it as well; for the first time, she wondered if there was a spell keeping the door shut as well as a key. She made a note to watch more closely next time.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Snape pulled three vials from his inner pockets, as well as three handkerchiefs. None of the bottles were labelled, but the vials were different shapes, the potions different colours.

"Lie back," he ordered softly, arranging her pillows to prop her up as she did. She felt vulnerable in this position, but a part of her was excited that he was going to touch her. Besides the slap when she'd been hyperventilating, he hadn't laid a hand upon her. No human should go nearly a month without contact. It was a wonder she'd kept her mind at all.

Snape touched his wand against the bandages on her throat, and they parted as if he'd cut them. He pulled them away, whispering a spell when they'd stuck a little to her half-healed wound.

She felt strange without the bandages, naked and bared to him. She watched his face as he Banished the gauze and reached for the first potion bottle. It was squat with a thick cork, the potion itself a murky green.

"Disinfectant," he murmured, apparently having seen her looking.

She nodded as if approval had been sought. He poured a little on his fingertips, and with a look of intense concentration, began to smooth his fingers along her neck.

She cringed a little, because even though the touch was soft, her wounds were very sore, and sensitive from not being exposed for a few days. But warmth was spreading from his touch, and she wondered if the potion wasn't a little more than mere disinfectant.

Hermione found herself surprised at the amount of area he covered. She hadn't known she'd done so much damage with only her fingernails, but then again, they were quite ragged, what with living in a cell.

Snape cleared his throat, causing her to look to him, but he didn't speak. She wondered if touching her made him uncomfortable.

Wiping his hands on the first cloth, Snape reached for the second vial. The thin, test tube-like container held a very slippery-looking clear potion. Snape touched the skin on her neck, and apparently satisfied that the first potion had been absorbed properly, began to smooth the new potion in.

"What's this one?" she asked, feeling the pressure of his fingertips over her larynx.

Snape paused but didn't look away from her throat. "For healing," he said simply, continuing to rub it in. Hermione was sure this one was creating a warmth that hadn't been there before. Heat was radiating from his fingers, making her flush. She wriggled a little on the coverlet. The way he was leaning over her, touching her so softly... she hadn't known he was able to touch like that, without derision, without judgement.

He spread the healing potion farther than the last one, going as far as the area behind her ears and as low as the top of her shirt, getting the neckline a little wet. She would change it after he left; Snape had provided a few drawers full of clothing for her, and if she put them back into the drawers at the end of the day, they were clean when she took them out again. It had taken her days to realise that.

Snape's fingers on her chest made her shiver. His hand was moving more and more slowly, caressing, really. Hermione exhaled, knowing her breath would hit his hand. She couldn't deny that she wanted more, more touching, more contact. It was beautiful, to feel so real, so human. It was too easy to forget she even existed, for what are people but their connections to everyone else? If she was never touched, how could she be certain she was truly there?

After cleaning his hands on the second handkerchief, Snape dipped just a fingertip into the wide mouth of the third potion.

Bringing his finger to her neck, he smeared the sticky, pale blue potion directly onto a long cut. Hermione whimpered in her throat, not expecting the rather harsh contact. Looking at his face, Hermione saw that Snape appeared to be almost apologetic. He looked down at her, his eyes dark.

Again and again, he dipped his finger into the vial and drew it across her various cuts. Again, she hadn't realised there were so many. She hoped she didn't suffer another attack like that. She was so grateful he'd been there to save her...

An almost unfamiliar anger rose inside her. He hadn't saved her; he'd been the reason behind her attack! If she hadn't been trapped, she wouldn't have panicked like a coyote ready to chew off its own leg for survival!

But he was taking care of her now, she knew. He hadn't meant for her to get scared like that. She could blame him all she wanted...and she did...but it wouldn't change the fact that she was here. If she wanted to escape, she needed to keep her head.

"What's..." Hermione began, but her voice was only a breathy whisper. Snape pulled his fingers away as she cleared her throat. "What's this one?"

Snape peered at her neck critically. A final dab with a discerning finger, and he wiped his hands on the last cloth.

"For scarring," he said, putting a stopper to the potion. He took the first two and put them in his pocket. The last, he gestured to, saying, "Every evening for a week. You only need to apply it to the wound. There isn't enough to spread liberally. Make it last."

Hermione nodded, looking at the vial. "But I can't see the cuts, sir."

Sighing, Snape got up from the bed. "Stay," he ordered, though she hadn't made a move to get up.

He walked over to the wall above the bureau and waved his wand at it. He tapped the wall and murmured something. The stones where he tapped shimmered a moment and then faded back.

"If you want to see your reflection, tap the wall and say, 'consulo.' The spell will only last an hour, but is infinitely renewable."

Snape said no more as he swept out of the cell. Hermione watched as he twitched his wand just as he turned the key in the lock. There was definitely a spell involved.

Giving her another spell could mean he was beginning to trust that she wouldn't take advantage of his kindness. Hermione snorted. In reality, giving her another spell meant he knew she was defenceless with absolutely no hope of fight or flight. He wasn't afraid that she would get out.

But it was a kindness that he need not have given her. She could have just felt where the cuts were and applied the potion accordingly. Actually, he needn't have given her the anti-scarring potion at all. He had no concern for her appearance, and no need to appease her vanity. It wouldn't have made a damned difference to him if she was scarred, and at this point, Hermione herself couldn't have cared less. In the long list of things that mattered, a blemish-free form was significantly low on the list.

Still propped up on the pillows as Snape had commanded, Hermione looked at the stones where the spell was. She didn't need to apply more of the potion tonight. There was no reason for her to get up and see what she looked like.

She didn't want to know.