Chapter 3

A/N: Additional thanks to Scoffy (Sc010f), for the non-canon Latin incantations in this chapter, which was, as always, looked over by my Golden Trio: Shug (sshg316) alpha read, DeeMichelle beta read, and MagicAlly Brit-picked.

Rumour Has It

by Subversa and SubHub

Chapter 3

She lay in the cold dark, hands bound uncomfortably behind her back, the surface beneath her hard and even colder. Her eyes were covered by a blindfold which she had been unable to dislodge, but she could see no light about its edges. She was being held in the absolute darkness of a windowless room in the Ministry of Magic.

But worst of all, she had been drugged, and her usual ruthless command of her intellect seemed here and there ... squishy ... and for Hermione Granger, that was the worst cut of all.

Oh, how stupidly careless could one witch be? She had stayed a bit late at the office to tidy up before she went on holiday...perhaps a week of sun and sand would help to ... clear her mind...and they had been upon her before she knew what was happening. What was the world coming to when a woman couldn't be at ease in her own workplace?

She jerked her hands futilely against the ropes and fumed. Oh, how she would get serious stick from Harry and Ron about this! You didn't have your wand up your sleeve, Hermione? Why don't you just wear a sign that says 'Please victimise me'?

She exhaled in sharp exasperation, feeling embarrassed...almost ashamed of herself. She had been bent over her desktop, signing last minute paperwork, when a flash of magic had washed over her. She had become as rigid as a statue, falling to the floor and bruising her hip as the hard edge of A Holidaymakers Guide to Antigua, which she had tucked hurriedly into the pocket of her robes but not yet borrowed, dug into her flesh. The room had then been cast into darkness, and an indistinct figure had forced a burlap sack over her head. She had heard her captors speaking to one another in hushed voices...did the dimwits really think she, the witch who had hired them for their positions, would not recognise their voices?...as they levitated her body and moved her, none too expertly, through the Archives and down into one of the storage rooms, bumping her frequently and rather painfully against walls and doorways as they went.

Fuckwits.

Now, the confused part of her brain, made fuzzy by the drug they had forced upon her, wondered: Was it a promotion or demotion to move from dimwit to fuckwit?

Hermione shifted her position, the ropes which bound her ankles chafing against her skin. She tried to dress professionally at work, as befitted her role. She wanted to be a good example for her staff, and she wanted to disprove the talk which said that she had only got her job by being Harry Potter's friend. She had bloody well earned her place as the Head Librarian of the Research Archives! She had the education, she had paid her dues, and she had worked circles around the other people in her Department. Circles ... no, don't think about that ... dizzy ...

She was wearing her favourite navy blue suit beneath her robes, but her tights had been torn as she squirmed and struggled against her ropes, after the Full Body Bind had worn off. But nothing she had tried to free herself had served to do anything more than tighten the knots on the ropes. She had dozed fitfully, off and on, as she lay upon the stone floor, her dreams bizarre and confused because of the drug. She did not know how many times she had been dosed, but she remembered at least twice that they had come in, one with a wand and one with a potion phial. The first coward Stunned her, and the second poured the foul-tasting concoction down her throat, leaving behind the horrid taste of valerian.

Now, she desperately needed a pee. She was thirsty, and she was hungry, and she was bloody well going to curse the bollocks off those idiotic Retrievers when she got her wand back. Just see if she didn't!

And furthermore, she was going to see that they were sacked, which was even worse.

And distracting herself from her hunger, thirst, and need for the loo with extravagant, if confused, fantasies of revenge upon her kidnappers, she drifted into another dozing dream.

The sound which woke her was the squeak of a sticky hinge, followed by the thump of something relatively heavy hitting the floor...something like a body. She was fully awake in an instant, biting her lip to stifle the urge to scream invective at the person now making his stealthy way to her across the storage room floor. The kidnappers had checked on her periodically; she had heard them moving about in the room, and even sensed them staring at her. But they had not entered the storage room by way of the overhead trapdoors, so who was this?

Was she found?

In the next instant, a blaze of light washed about her, and hands were busy with the ropes at her ankles.

'Are you conscious?' a familiar voice inquired quietly, and Hermione felt all of her defences crumple in an overwhelming surge of relief.

She was no longer alone, she was safe and saved, and the renegade Retrievers would pay for how she had been treated...now she knew it for certain!

'Professor Snape,' she breathed in answer to his question, and she was overcome by an absurd desire to cry like a girl.

Strong hands massaged feeling back into her ankles, then he repeated the process by freeing and rubbing her wrists.

'Can you sit up, if I assist you?'

She murmured her assent, embarrassed by the scratchy sound of her voice forced past the aching lump in her throat. He seemed not to notice, for he put an arm beneath her and lifted her up, holding her steady against his chest as her head swam sickeningly. All of her neglected bodily needs, which had been somewhat suppressed by the potion still in her system, made themselves distressingly known.

Even so, she revelled in the unspeakable comfort she felt, cradled against him so carefully, and she could not help but be aware of the undeniable strength of the arm which held her, the firmness of the torso against which she was braced, and the scent of his shaving lotion, faint but present upon his skin.

How many times had she wished to be close enough to him to inhale that scent, which she had detected many times but been unable to get close enough to truly enjoy?

'Close your eyes,' he instructed her. 'I am going to remove the blindfold.'

He did not release her to accomplish this but pulled the cloth over her head, allowing it to hang by the strands of hair in which it was tangled. Hermione cracked her eyes open, dazzled by the light, then she shut them again with a whimper.

'You'll adapt,' he promised, his lips somewhere in the vicinity of her right ear. 'While you do, tell me what your most pressing needs are. We cannot remain here for long.'

Hermione felt the frisson of possibility as it rippled down her spine, even as the warmth of his breath touched the skin of her cheek. Unable to resist, she tilted her head back until it came into contact with his shoulder, and she turned away from the light, pressing her cheek to the smooth fabric of his robes, a familiarity she would never have dared to attempt in her role as Head Librarian of the Research Archives. Now, befuddled by drugs, with her intellect in a puddle of goo where her brain used to be...in effect, as a damsel in distress...she knew she could get away with it, so she took full advantage, twisting about a bit and pressing herself against him.

'I hoped you would come,' she confided, realising it was true.

Her shoulders were grasped firmly, and she was held away from him as he said, 'Look at me, Miss Granger.'

Hermione was not averse to looking at him...she rather liked the view and didn't care what anyone else said. She cracked her eyes again and found that she had indeed adapted, just as he had said she would. She discovered that he was looking at her with a rather grim expression on his face, his black eyes calculating. Hermione tried to smile, hoping to soften his expression, and then she looked away from him. Her eyes wandered over the jumbled piles of books stacked about the walls and untidily scattered about the floor. Was this the state of the storage rooms? She would really have to do something about that!

'Miss Granger,' he said again, forcefully, and she moved her eyes back to his face, seeing that his lip was curled disdainfully.

'What have they given you?' he demanded.

Hermione blinked and tried to make her mind work, but it skittered about like a new-born colt on spindly legs. 'I ... I'm not sure,' she admitted. 'Something with a strong after-taste of valerian.' She consulted her taste buds. 'And mushrooms.'

His thin lips thinned further. 'You've been given a sedative draught mixed with an hallucinogenic, a fact which you would doubtless have worked out for yourself, had you not been given it.' He turned his face from her, his head cocked in such a way that he seemed to be listening for something. When he looked at her again a moment later, he spoke with some urgency. 'Tell me your most pressing needs.'

Hermione had no trouble with this command. 'I need to pee, and I'm thirsty. Hungry, too, but mostly thirsty.'

He took his hands from her shoulders. 'Can you remain upright?' he asked.

Hermione nodded, and he withdrew a flask of water from his pocket. She took it with a hum of thanks, and he rose to his feet. Producing his wand, he conjured a plain white curtain on a wooden frame, quite like the ones in the infirmary at Hogwarts. Then he bent and put his hands beneath her elbows.

'Stand,' he instructed.

Hermione allowed him to compel her to her feet, but her legs were shaky, and she leant upon him heavily, her heart racing with the physical effort...or was it because of the sensation of her softness conforming so naturally to the hard, angular planes of his body? 'I'm dizzy,' she explained, trying to sound more apologetic than she felt.

He motioned to the curtain. 'There's a chamber pot...can you manage?'

Though she staggered the short distance, Hermione found that she could, indeed, manage.

Almost.

'Severus?' she called, after sitting for a moment with no results.

'Yes?' He sounded curt.

Her face burned with embarrassment. 'Can I call you that?'

'Yes.' Now he sounded as if he were speaking through gritted teeth.

'Could you, erm, put your fingers in your ears?' she asked. 'I ... I can't ...'

A moment of silence preceded the heavy sigh. 'Yes,' he supplied. 'I am putting my fingers in my ears.' He said the words as if speaking them aloud were an effort. 'Now, make haste.'

Hermione giggled and thought, 'What he really meant was make water.' Resolutely, she told herself she had complete privacy, and her body believed her.

Her bladder much relieved, she tidied herself and stood, clinging unsteadily to the wooden frame as she crept around it.

'Thank you,' she said. This was a man who thought of everything.

He stood next to the lantern upon the floor, and it cast its light upwards, giving him a rather demonic aspect, but Hermione didn't care. To her, he looked like rescue and safety and ... everything she wanted.

Even if he didn't have his fingers in his ears. Damn.

He stepped forward, Vanishing the curtain and the chamber pot with a wave of his hand.

'Do you know where your wand is?' he asked her tersely, reaching out once again to steady her.

'No,' she admitted ashamedly. 'It was in the outer pocket of my handbag, in my office. I was almost ready to leave ...'

He motioned her to silence and cocked his head again, and this time, Hermione heard it too...sounds coming from behind the far wall. He placed himself between her and the wall, and another wave of dizziness stole over Hermione. She swayed on her feet.

Holding tightly to her upper arm with one hand, he produced an object from his robes which he enlarged and placed upon the floor amongst the litter of books. Hermione saw that it was an enormous atlas, from the ...

'That's not supposed to be taken from the Reference Room!' she protested weakly.

'No time for that now,' he said, guiding her to a kneeling position beside the book. 'Open it.'

Hermione lifted the cover of the atlas, revealing the blank first page. 'But don't you think it's time to leave now?' she asked plaintively, casting a worried look at him.

'Do you think I can levitate you up through the trap door and fight off your captors at the same time?' he snapped.

Hermione looked up at him with an expression of absolute trust. 'Yes,' she replied, surprised that he even had to ask.

A look of incredulity passed over his features, and he shook his head with a snort that might have been laughter. 'Perhaps I could,' he conceded, 'but I don't want to try it today...and you're too impaired to help me fight at the moment.'

Hermione could only nod.

The muffled noises resolved into indistinct voices, and Hermione reached for Severus' trouser leg and held on.

With his wand arm extended in the direction of the voices, he hissed, his urgency palpable, 'Now, open the damn book!'

Hermione pressed her fingertips against the gilt-edged pages and flipped three-quarters of them over, past the brightly coloured maps. 'It's open,' she whispered, and he tossed an incantation over his shoulder, scarcely taking his implacable gaze from the far wall.

'Aperi Librum!' he intoned, and the open book was outlined with silvery light.

At the same moment, a blue light appeared on the far wall as a hidden door shimmered into existence.

'Quickly!' he said. 'Into the book!'

Hermione saw that the open atlas page now appeared to be three-dimensional, as if its depth stretched down through the floor.

'Go!' he insisted as the door across the room burst open, and he cast a non-verbal Shield Charm.

Terrified that she would end up bound and blindfolded again, Hermione dove head and shoulders first into the book, falling through the air and landing with a thud on the floor. With her heart pounding in her ears, she scooted to one side, lost her balance as a bit of drug-induced vertigo assailed her, and fell flat on her back.

In the next moment Professor Snape was through the opening, and it was apparent that he had possessed the presence of mind to grab the lantern before he leapt in, for she could see him clearly as he landed on his feet. He pointed his wand upward and cried, ' Claude Librum!'

The opening overhead disappeared from right to left, as if ... well, as if someone had slammed the book closed.

'Shite!' he muttered as the ceiling smacked him soundly on the top of the head, forcing him to stoop. He held the lantern aloft and looked about the extremely cramped space, then turned his annoyed gaze down to Hermione. 'What map did you choose?' he demanded crossly. 'This place looks like a broom cupboard.'

Hermione struggled to a sitting position and cradled her suddenly sweaty brow. 'I didn't choose a map...you told me to open the book.'

He knelt, placed the lantern on the floor, and produced a handkerchief from his pocket, offering it silently to her. Hermione took it gratefully and wiped her face.

'To what page was the atlas opened when I cast the spell?' he asked in a tone of thinly stretched patience.

'It was past the maps...I think it was in the index,' she said, attempting to give the handkerchief back, but he waved it off and bowed his head, his hand rising to pinch the bridge of his considerable nose.

'Of course,' he said, sarcastically. 'I have the foresight to choose an atlas of the whole damn planet in which to secret ourselves, and you land us in the bloody INDEX!'

Hermione knew this was entirely unfair, but instead of feeling a flash of indignation, tears flooded her eyes. Oh, she was very tired of the effects of the potion! 'I didn't know!' she cried. 'I've never heard of that spell before!'

He subsided into a sitting position, his knees practically at shoulder level in the narrow space. He cast her a sardonic sideways glance. 'Have you not?' he said, his manner at once snide and resigned. 'I am surprised to hear it. Perhaps Potter was only interested in the offensive spells in my old potions book. He took to Sectumsempra right away, as I recall.'

Hermione felt a hint of interest. 'You invented the spell? What was the purpose of it?'

The adult, nearly professional tone of her question, of which she had been quite proud, was ruined by an audible rumble from her stomach. She placed a hand flat on her tummy, blushing, and he produced a bar of chocolate from his pocket, placing it in her hand with no comment save the quirk of an amused eyebrow.

When she had torn open the sweets wrapper and begun to devour the Honeydukes chocolate, he rested his head against the wall and said, 'I thought it would be handy to have a spell which would permit me to disappear in an enclosed space, so I could not be trapped in a room.'

Hermione swallowed a mouthful of delicious chocolate and took a breath, feeling the sharpest of her hunger pangs resolve. Strangely enough, the chocolate seemed to clear her mind a bit, as if counteracting Dark magic, and she wondered if the potion she had been force-fed was a Dark one. Then she darted a glance at her companion from the corner of her eyes, wondering why a boy would create such a spell. Of course, Harry had shared many stories from his parents' past, including the persistent victimisation of Severus Snape by James Potter and his gang of Gryffindors.

Sadly enough, Severus had probably had many opportunities to hide out between the covers of a book as the Marauders hunted him.

'Then we'll just wait for them to go, and we'll climb out again,' she said complacently, relaxing against the wall at her back, her shoulder pressed to his upper arm.

'Oh, we'll be in here a bit longer than that,' he murmured softly, even as her head drifted to lie upon his shoulder, and she twined her arm with his, as if to hold her pillow closer.

'Why?' she inquired sleepily, but his next words banished thoughts of sleep from her mind.

'Because we won't be leaving until our reinforcements arrive, and that won't be until morning,' he said and closed his own eyes, seemingly deaf to her barrage of questions.