17-Jul

Chapter Seven

Day 52

Everything starts to take on a dreamlike quality when your days all blend together. At first I thought it would help keep me sane to make note of how many days had passed, but now I'm beginning to think I was wrong. It just reminds me of how much time I've lost, how much I'm missing.

If only he saw it the same way.

Snape passed the tray under the door of the cell. Instead of grabbing the food, Hermione snatched up the book. Of Human Bondage.

And was that a blush? Was Snape blushing as he watched her read the title?

This was one of the few books she'd never read before. It would be a nice treat to read something for the first time. She always read too quickly when she already knew the ending, trying to get there as soon as possible to get that fleeting sense of satisfaction when one reads the final words of a long novel.

Was he blushing because of the sexual connotations of the word bondage? Possibly. But maybe he was blushing because it was something of a gaffe to give a book thus entitled to a person in a cage.

But the likeliest cause of his blush was the warmth of the room. If Hermione couldn't clearly see every corner, she'd swear there was a fireplace blazing in the room. It seemed to get warmer and warmer, and yet, whenever she said anything, Snape acted as though he didn't know what she was talking about, even though he'd long since stopped wearing his heavier robes when he came down to read.

"Will you read to me today?" Hermione asked, taking the tray to her bed and settling in to eat. Sandwiches today, with crisp veggies on the side. Hermione tapped both her water glass and her teacup for refills.

"I think not," Snape said in a low voice, opening his version of the same book he'd given her. That was a good sign, at least. It meant he'd be willing to talk about it with her after they'd finished, or, if she was lucky, as they read.

"I'll behave," she vowed, meaning it. Feeling the cadence of his voice soothe over her nerves was almost as good as climaxing to his words, and she felt she could control herself, at least until he left. She suspected that once he did, she'd be ripping off her trousers and plunging a desperate hand between her thighs to relieve the tension.

But Snape didn't answer, only took a long sip of tea. Hermione tried to keep her anger in check. She hated it when he blatantly ignored her like that. Picturing that bubbling cauldron, Hermione calmed down.

"Will you open the door now?" she asked a few long moments later, indicating that she was finished eating.

Snape opened the cage, key and spell, and entered, taking the tray from her bed without even looking at her. He left the cage and placed the tray on a sideboard before settling back into his chair.

Hermione basked a little in the illusory freedom of the open door, letting the sensation wash over her in waves. Such a small thing, but it was her favourite part of the day. Though she could see Snape through the bars, having the door opened made her feel closer to him. Like she was a guest instead of a prisoner.

Her thoughts were ridiculous, she knew. And yet, they didn't want to be banished.

"Professor Snape, could you please read to me? My eyes are hurting again. I didn't give myself enough of a break yesterday, but I'd very much like to read with you."

It was a lie. Her eyes hadn't hurt since he'd switched the oil in the lamps.

He looked at her sceptically. She smiled back, trying to convey that she really did intend to be good. Snape must have believed her, for he sighed and began to read from the beginning.

As he read, Hermione was lying on her back, looking up at the ceiling. It was stone, just like the floor. Just like the wall. Just like the heart of the man whose voice destroyed her.

She had no concept of the amount of time that had passed. She was listening with half an ear, enough to get an idea of what was happening so that she could converse with him when he finished. It wouldn't do to ignore what he was saying completely, for if he knew she wasn't absorbing it, no doubt he'd stop reading to her altogether, and then she'd really be lost.

But she went into a strange headspace where she couldn't even feel the bed beneath her. It was like his voice was cradling her, carrying her. She was floating along in the blackness on a wave of Snape's words. When she closed her eyes, words danced before them, pulsing in tandem with the highs and lows of his voice. She could almost taste them, taste them as they left his mouth and fluttered into hers, bonding them together through language.

Her arousal was a mere side effect to everything else that was happening to her. There was no sight, no sound but for his voice, no smell, no taste, no touch. There was only Snape, enveloping her, keeping her safe and cocooned, not letting anything in, not letting anyone out.

But Hermione's blissful reverie was shattered by two loud cracks. Gasping, she sat up, looking around for the source of the noise.

Snape put his book down quickly, his face white and expression blank.

He spared Hermione one single glance before he left the room, closing the wooden door behind him. She heard him tramp up the stairs, but she could hear nothing else.

The cracks had sounded like Apparition. There were Death Eaters in the house right now. They might come down here and find her. Snape wouldn't be able to protect her because to do so would be to give away his cover.

She might be tortured and killed right in front of him, right in this cell. She might be taken away and given to Voldemort as an enticement to make Harry come to him.

Flashes of torture scenes from her worst nightmares blinked in front of her eyes. Hermione didn't know how much torture she would be able to bear...she had a moderate threshold for pain and a stubbornness that was unmatched...but eventually, she would succumb to the pain and tell Voldemort everything. And the minute she did, he would know they knew about the Horcruxes, and he would make more. And all their work would be for nothing. They would lose the war.

Hermione had moved without having realised it. She was standing before the open door of her cage. It was the first time she'd stood there, so close to freedom. It was strange to see the other half of the room without the bars marring her vision. She wondered what Snape looked like without bars superimposed over his face. Which was stupid, because she'd seen him without them for six years at school, not to mention the few times he'd come inside the cell. But she'd never stared at him like she did through the bars.

She hated the bars.

Feeling sick to her stomach, Hermione took a step forward. She was now standing directly in the doorway to her cell. Not quite out. If Snape came back right now, she might not be in too much trouble.

Hermione took another step.

She was out. She was free! She was outside of her cage for the first time in seven weeks. She could run, she could leave right now! She could hide in another part of the house and wait for the Death Eaters to leave, and when Snape came back to check on her, she'd run up the stairs and out of his house. Forget the traps he'd set for her, she knew, she just knew she'd be able to make it out.

Hermione began to shake and tremble. Her hands felt slick and clammy, and her eyesight was blurred with tears. Her breath was short and her lungs didn't seem to be able to draw sufficient oxygen. She was dizzy. She let out a hoarse sob, horrified at the noise. She clamped her hands over her mouth. Snape would be so angry if she made a noise. She couldn't make a noise, not now.

Hermione fell to her knees, ignoring the angry collision with the stone floor. She could still run... there was still hope. Desperately, she looked behind her to the cell. It looked different from the outside. She'd never seen it from anywhere but within. It looked even smaller than it had from her perspective, and she hated Snape for a moment for forcing her to stay there, but making her feel so sick and wrong, just for wanting to leave. It was completely normal to hate her captor! She shouldn't feel desire at the sound of his voice; she shouldn't be desperate for his cock when he kept her in captivity!

But how could she knew which of her feelings were real and which were wrong?

Snape's chair was right there. It probably smelled like him, especially at the headrest where his greasy hair always rested. It probably even felt greasy. She wanted to walk toward it and find out, sit in his chair and run her fingers over the arm where his hands had clenched as he'd watched her masturbate.

She shuffled a few inches toward it, but she just couldn't go any farther. She needed the cell to stay within reach. She needed to have the option, to be able to touch the bars and make sure she was still here. In Snape came back, and he saw her outside the cage, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she stayed close to the cell.

But as much as she didn't want to leave, she just couldn't make herself go back inside. If she did, it meant that she made a choice, a choice to stay captive, to allow Snape to control and rule her. She'd never be able to forgive herself if she turned and crawled back into her cell like a beaten animal. She wasn't beaten.

Hermione lay down on the floor, curling up into a foetal position, holding her knees as tightly as possible to her chest. With one hand, she touched the door of the cell where it was swung open into the room. With the other hand, she covered her mouth to muffle her sobs until she simply couldn't breathe any longer.

*

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione heard the voice, that hated, loved voice, but she couldn't move. She wished she was back in the cell. She was safe there. Here outside the bars, she was nothing; she was floating free, trying to grab hold but slipping, always slipping.

Hands were touching her. She wanted to arch into the touches but she was too stiff, too cold. Fingers were prying hers off the icy cell bar. The room was freezing again, and it made Hermione think of the time before, before the room had become warm and Snape had started fucking her with his voice.

Those same fingers were moving over her face, brushing her hair away. She was dimly aware that her eyes were open, but her mind didn't process anything that was happening in front of them.

A hand rested on her neck, too fully to simply be checking for a pulse, and she was sure Snape didn't think she was dead.

Suddenly her body was being hauled into an embrace that was so warm and encompassing, she wanted to stay within it forever. She might have even said so, but she couldn't hear her own voice. Her arms wanted to go around his neck, but they were unwilling to obey the orders her brain was trying to send, so all she could do remain still and hope that he never put her down.

But nothing Hermione hoped was coming true these days. Snape brought her back into the cell, and the moment she passed the bars, almost like a tangible switch being flicked, her body relaxed and her mind settled. Her sight came into focus, and she stared at Snape for a long moment before he very gently deposited her onto her bed. She'd never known him to be gentle, not with words or actions. Except that time with the healing potions, but other than that, Snape had never been truly kind.

She wondered what sort of person it made her to love him anyway.

Snape very carefully pulled the blankets over her. She was alone for a few interminable minutes, but she took the time to look out the open cage door, hoping she never had to see it open again. The freedom wasn't just an illusion; it was impossible. She vowed to never ask Snape to open the door again.

He came back with potions and a tall glass of water. She sneered at the glass. That wasn't her glass. She looked up at Snape with pleading eyes and gestured toward her own water glass, which was sitting on her desk. He started blankly for a moment before getting up to retrieve it, tapping it to fill it.

She let him feed her potion after potion. The room grew warmer, while the potions warmed her inside, as well. She felt safe. She could close her eyes.

Snape made her drink the water, and she did it to make him happy. Only he didn't look very happy.

He left the cage and locked the door behind him. Hermione felt much better. She snuggled deep into the covers.

The only thing she regretted was that she hadn't had the guts to go to his chair and sit in it, smell him in it, just that once.

For she knew she'd never get another chance, and that didn't hurt nearly as much as it should.