The Undesirable Miss Granger

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Chapter 3: The Undesirable Miss Granger

Hermione wouldn't have screamed even if she were able. Whatever courage she had had a moment ago dimmed, died and finally dissolved into thin air leaving in its place a gutful of cold, shuddering fear more paralysing than the spell.

The invisible grip squeezed her shoulders painfully and moved her plank-like body with ease. Forced to stare straight ahead, Hermione could only watch as the bathroom scrolled haphazardly across her vision. The ceiling became the mirror again as she seemed to fall in reverse, and then the stalls paraded before her at a strange angle as she was pivoted and dragged across the room. She came to rest against the locked door, posed at a precariously acute angle and staring into deceptively empty space. A nauseous feeling began to well up in her fear-fluttered stomach.

This was only made worse when he finally Disillusioned himself. Up this close, it was monstrous to watch. The ebony tip emerged first, tapping once into nothingness a mere foot away. For a second, there remained nothing. Then the air began to ripple around it, like the ribbons of steam above a hot bitumen road. The image of Snape was regurgitated by his own wand, spreading forth its shape and colour like a spider's web until it covered her entire vision with very real and very familiar details.

He was tall, but she had been posed to stare directly into his face. Strange that she recalled his handwriting but forgotten his cruel sneer and his empty eyes, like long, dark corridors. He was staring imperiously down at her in a way that reminded her ridiculously and hysterically of Potions class, and despite it all Hermione laughed.

A frenzy of pain shot through her body as it fought against the curse, her throat swallowing its own silent tremors.

"Do not struggle," warned Snape, too late.

His voice was low, smooth and as inscrutable as his expression. He stared back for what seemed an eternity, studying her and looking for god-knows-what: Fear? Surrender? She remembered with a jolt that he was an expert Legilimens.

Suddenly, the ebony wand tip was pressed directly between her eyes.

"Imperio," he whispered.

She might have fought it if he had been a second slower.

The pain of her stiff body slipped suddenly and blissfully away, and she stopped struggling. Warmth seemed to blossom from his wand – from him – and as it trickled through her body, she felt suddenly light on her feet. Her fingertips tingled gently, and she felt a small, contented smile creep across her face. From that small smile grew a bigger one, one that seemed to trickle down her body until it made her heart dance. Or was it the other way round? It was difficult to care when you were so happy. She hadn't felt so unburdened for years. She had been caught– found. This meant she no longer needed to worry about running away. All she had to do was what her captor told her. All she needed to care about is how to obey him, and soon – very soon – it would all end...

Surrender control, said the low, seductive voice in her head. She listened.

She felt the body-bind give out so that she could move the muscles in her legs, her arms, her throat – if she wanted...

Stay silent. There is no need to speak, said the voice.

There is no need to speak, she echoed.

Stand up straight.

She stood up straight. It felt good to be free of the hard door with its bruising knob. She was grateful to stretch her aching muscles.

Give me your wand. Turn out your pockets.

This was a good idea. She hardly needed it anymore, and her pockets felt awfully heavy. With care, she handed over her wand handle-first and began to empty all her pockets. In the left pocket of her coat she found the scrap of parchment and was glad to return it to him.

Snape raised an eyebrow, but received it. He muttered something and sneered, but she didn't catch it as the voice outside was not as important as the one inside. She opened her coat and unzipped the secret, interior pocket. She took out her wallet and placed it into his hand.

She waited for the next instruction.

He was now looking down at her expectantly.

Nod if there is anything else. Shake your head if there isn't.

She shook her head. He frowned, as if puzzled, and put her things into the pockets of his Muggle outfit. She waited for an instruction.

Now climb out of the window.

Yes, that was a sensible thing to do. It had been her original plan after all, and now she had help. Snape was giving her a boost up to the ledge. She went over gracefully like a gymnast and landed on her feet in the darkened alley.

Wait for me, said the voice.

But the alley was empty, and she could hear Snape climbing out himself. In the distance, she saw the lights from Charing Cross Road and the evening bustle.

Why? asked a second, quieter voice. Why wait? Why not run now – there's no one to stop you.

Stay, said the first voice. Snape was out too, now.

You should've run, whispered the small voice.

Snape waved his wand in the direction of the street, and a red brick wall materialised to cover the narrow alley. The Muggles, as usual, saw nothing. She was sealed in with him.

Open your mouth and tip your head back.

She had just parted her lips when the she saw the small, clear vial he had withdrawn.

That's Veritaserum – don't do it.

Snape frowned and gave a small, sharp flick of his wand.

Open your mouth. Tip your head back.

The voice was insistent. Her mouth opened fractionally more, and Snape managed to wedge the vial between her teeth.

Now tip your head back and swallow.

No. The small voice had grown. Don't. Look, there, in his pocket! She obeyed. Her wand was there, the end sticking out of his trouser pocket. Do it! Quickly!

With a great shudder Hermione spat the Veritaserum vial into Snape's face (where it bounced off his overgrown nose) and made a grab for her wand.

Snape leapt back with surprising nimbleness. Her grasp slipped and the wand clattered to the floor.

"Accio..."

But she'd dived before he could finish, and her right hand closed around polished wood. She spun her arm upward and brandished it wildly, hoping against hope that something might happen, that something might land.

"Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Reducto! -"

Uneven jets of light flew in all directions as dormant magic flooded impatiently down her arm and exploded out of the tip of her wand. They missed Snape, but the wall had come down, and she could see the street lights ahead. She scrabbled off the floor and made a run for it.

Snape returned fire behind her, and she saw a red jet out of the corner of her eye where it missed her by an inch. She had a second to make her choice: run and take her chances or face a duel with Dumbledore's killer.

She ducked her head and ran zigzagging towards the street, pointing poor Shield Charms blindly behind her. Snape's Stunning Spells were flying everywhere now, too, ricocheting off the walls and metal skips so that the air was filled with colour and jets of light that collided above her, behind her, around her, exploded erratically with spark and fire.

But by a miracle nothing hit her and she ran on, towards the streetlights and people and the slimmest chance of survival...

...and slammed headfirst into something solid in midair.

Her own momentum carried her forward until she was crumpled, pressed tightly against an invisible barrier, absurdly defying gravity for the briefest of moments.

Then she fell.

By the time she hit the ground her hands, and feet were tightly bound by smooth black cords. She had fallen in a twisted heap with her left ear pinned painfully against the invisible wall and her nose in the grimy bitumen. The street beyond was so close, yet the humdrum had been muffled. No one would hear her scream. Out of the corner of her eye, dragonhide boots stepped briskly, purposefully, fatally towards her.

It took her a moment to muster her strength before twisting her neck painfully up at Snape. She wore the defiant, fearless expression she had been practising for just this occasion. She had prepared many different last scenes in her head, and this one was just for him.

She had tried, hadn't she? No one would blame her for losing, would they? She could think of nothing to do, so she laughed. It was a short, joyless yap that sounded wholly foreign to her.

Snape looked quite demented with rage. His breath came out in ragged puffs between crooked teeth as he glared down at her with revulsion.

"Quiet," he said, in a voice just louder than a whisper.

"Or what?" asked Hermione recklessly, shrilly. She half hoped to goad him into ending it. Half. "You'll murder me like Dumbledore? Sell me out to Vol..."

"Quiet!" he said, much louder, raising his lethal wand.

"Or maybe..."

"QUIET!"

She waited for the curse, but it didn't come. Instead, the sound of Apparation rent the air. Three cracks in quick succession, right outside the mouth of the alley, somehow breaking through the sound charm. The barrier fell and left her on her back.

Snape stepped over her body to meet the mystery trio.

From her vantage point on the ground, Hermione could just see past his legs. The one closest to Hermione was a skinny, dirty-looking wizard with long hair and kohl-lined eyes. Behind him, Hermione could just make out a tall blond wizard and with him – her heart skipped a beat – Cormac McLaggen. She felt a pang of regret, even though she couldn't honestly say that she was surprised.

The long-haired wizard gave Snape a low, somewhat outlandish bow.

"M'lord," he said, with a humour that Snape did not return, "I didn't expect to see you today."

"Neither did I. Nor am I particularly pleased to be disturbed." Snape's voice was cool, but there was, Hermione noted, a degree of familiarity.

"And we wouldn't disturb you, Headmaster," said Cormac, in a way that was somehow at once arrogant and ingratiating, a trick that only Cormac could pull, "but we had reports of a disturbance from the Leaky. Had we known it was you..."

He glanced past Snape, and for a second his eyes met Hermione's. Hermione tried to make her silent glare mean everything she felt.

"...Merlin! Who's that?" Cormac's eyes narrowed. "What were you doing with her, Headmaster?"

The long-haired one gave him a dirty look. "Mind your tongue, McLaggen."

If Snape angered, he did not show it.

"As it happens," he drawled, sounding almost like he did in class, giving a particularly basic explanation. "I was apprehending an Undesirable. She had a little more fight in her than anticipated."

The long-haired wizard's face lit up with a hideous expression that was between hunger and derision. He too peered around Snape to get a better look.

"It's the Weasley girl, isn't it?" he said, eyeing the fall of dyed red hair.

"Better than that," replied Snape. Although she couldn't see his face, she could hear his lips curling unpleasantly as they often did. "This is..."

"...Hermione Granger," finished Cormac. He had gone slightly pale and a small crease appeared between his eyebrows.

Hermione wondered if he was remembering the time they had spent in the Slug Club together and what he had been trying to do to her. She wondered whether that would be enough to get him in trouble with the his new friends. She certainly hoped so. Out of nowhere came the image of him hanging with a sign around his neck that read "Mudblood Lover". It was at once horrible and delightful. She strengthened her glare.

All three crowded around her now, pointing bright lights into her face. The blonde one, who looked oddly familiar somehow, knelt down beside her. He rummaged around in his robes and withdrew a piece of parchment that Hermione recognised as her own wanted poster. He held it up to her face, his eyes darting from the one to the other.

"The hair is different, but it is definitely her," he pronounced. Oddly, Hermione noticed a faint European accent underneath the polished, posh tones.

"I will take her to the Dark Lord at once," said Snape. "You three will return to the Ministry and wait for my call. Take no action until I return. No action – do you understand?"

"But, Sir," said Cormac, a little shakily, "It's policy..."

"No. The Dark Lord will decide. Until then, you will take no action."

They looked less than pleased – the long-haired one in particular had a mutinous look – but they made their bows and their "yes sirs" before Disapparating to leave Snape and Hermione alone again.

She made no overt struggle when he grabbed her arm. Instead she concentrated with all her might as the world compressed around her.

She disappeared – and reappeared.

Splinched.

She hoped it was bad enough. There was a fiery pain shooting up her right thigh, and it reminded her suddenly and inconveniently of a recurring dream. Ron splinches his arm during his exam, and the dittany hisses like Nagini as it seals his wounds... the blood spreads over the wooden floor from a sea of black robes and black hair... or was that something else... she was feeling a bit queasy... it was a good splinch after all...

She crumpled onto the soft grass.

It took Snape a moment to realise.

Through the haze across her vision that had come from nowhere, she saw his dark shape swoop down beside her, then the long, thin arm press her flat onto her back. She might've stopped him tearing her clothes out of the way if he didn't move so unnaturally fast. She looked down at her handiwork too. There was a fist-sized chunk of flesh missing, grotesque and caricatured like a bite out of a gory cookie, with an awful lot of blood.

Snape had taken his wand out at some point, and he pressed the tip to her injured flesh as he muttered something that sounded like a low, mournful song. The pain receded, and then stopped altogether.

It was the first thing that had gone right for Severus Snape all evening, and the last in a line of things gone horribly wrong for Hermione Granger.

"Fuck... you... Snape," Hermione managed before she blacked out.

-o-

Author's Note: A short one this time. Next chapter promises to be longer, more action-packed and possibly quite surprising. Tune in. Flip over.

-Zhangers