Adjustments

Disclaimer: I don't own the Potterverse, it belongs to JKRowling. I'm not making any money from this.

A big thanks to my Beta, Larilee, for her advice and editing.

Chapter 4: Adjustments

Hermione woke to her sixth day as a captive. Her days had fallen into a routine of sorts. Snape woke her in the morning, they had breakfast, and then a lesson for about two hours. Each day, they concentrated on one subject. The morning sessions were devoted to lecture, explanation and demonstration of that day's particular topic; then Snape left for his lab and Hermione practiced new spells and did the required reading. In the afternoon, he assessed her progress, corrected her technique if necessary and they discussed any questions she had come up with (typically a lengthy item of the agenda). During the first week, the men kept a close watch on her. When Snape was not present, she had to endure Pettigrew's presence. Sometimes it seemed that the only time she was alone was in the loo!

She felt restless this morning, had a difficult time concentrating on the Tracking and Signaling Charms and consequently, drew Snape's ire. "If you would PAY ATTENTION AND CONCENTRATE, Granger," he finally barked, "you would have no difficulty with this! Even the notoriously-short attention span of a teenager should be able to focus long enough to set a Tracking Spell!"

"Sorry, sir," she said. She was contrite but that didn't improve her state of mind. When Snape finally left her (in disgust) to work in his lab, she tried to analyze what was wrong. She felt both tired and full of nervous energy at the same time. She hadn't slept well the past two nights, so that could account for her lack of attentiveness, but then why was she feeling so jittery? She finally decided to go lie down for a bit and see if that didn't help.

Pettigrew followed her from the room. She felt his eyes crawl over her body like a physical presence, from her legs, to her hips and then up her back. Her skin began to prickle, and she wondered if he was actually using some sort of charm on her or if it was just her imagination. She spun around abruptly to confront him, found that he was closer than she had realized, and jumped backwards in surprise. "Why are you following me?" she asked, breathing deeply to recover her composure.

"Sorry to have startled you," he said in his squeaky, timid voice. "It's just that you usually stay in the sitting room all morning. When I saw you leave, I wondered if you were all right... Hermione. That is your first name, isn't it?"

"Um, yes it is. But I think I'd rather you called me Granger, like Snape does."

He took a step closer and replied softly, "There's no reason we can't be on more friendly terms, Hermione." His watery eyes were fixed on hers.

Oh my God, she thought, I have to get away from here. Aloud, she said, "Actually, I'm not feeling well. I was going to lie down – in Snape's room," she said pointedly. She turned and fled up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she sighed in relief. Pettigrew wouldn't dare intrude into Snape's personal room. She threw herself onto her cot, thinking, That sodding pervert! If he touches me, I swear I'll kick him in the crotch! Then, As if being a prisoner isn't bad enough, I have a sleazy, rat-faced scumbag coming on to me! That in turn made her realize how much she missed Ron, and a rush of self-pity and loneliness overpowered her. She cried bitterly into her pillow for a while.

Later, when she had calmed down, she tried to think rationally about her situation. It wasn't easy. What, indeed, could she do if Pettigrew became more aggressive? If he used magic, she would be at a great disadvantage, considering the limitations on her wand. That meant she had to either avoid him or preempt him by going to Snape. Crap! Why do I have to depend on him for virtually everything? By nature, she was a self-reliant person, so it really bothered her to be so dependent on someone else (and Snape of all people!). She finally decided that she would only ask Snape for help if she had no other alternative.

She stayed in the master bedroom practicing the charms from this morning, only venturing out around mid-afternoon when she was sure Snape would be ready for their next lesson. Coward, she chided herself, you can't even face a rat! But another small voice in her head replied, A rat with a wand!

The afternoon's class went much more smoothly than the morning's, giving Hermione her first positive feeling of the day. Since it was her turn to make dinner that night, she headed straight for the kitchen after her lesson to decide what to make. Hermione knew that she was very far from being a gourmet cook, but her meals were definitely better than those prepared by Snape or Pettigrew. Although neither of the men ever complimented her efforts, she had noticed that they always took second helpings – a rare occurrence on other nights. It was a small satisfaction, but in this situation she would take whatever she could find to keep her spirits up.

Predictably, both men followed her into the kitchen. Hermione sighed, thinking, I am soooo tired of them watching me like hawks! She wondered how long she would be under such vigilant scrutiny. Her plan was to behave herself long enough for them to relax their watch over her; then she could explore the house and look for possible escape routes. But not tonight, she thought sourly.

-----------------------------

"Arthur! Come down for breakfast now, or you'll be late for work!" Molly Weasley called. She turned to the three teens sitting at the kitchen table. "Well, I certainly hope you lot get your school letters today, or we'll never get all your supplies on time. It's only two weeks until the Autumn term starts!" Ron and Harry shared an uncomfortable look. They had yet to break the news that they were not planning to return to school.

Ron cleared his throat, preparing to speak, but Harry kicked him under the table and mouthed, "Later. After the letters come." Ron shrugged his assent. Harry knew that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had no real say in his decision, but as he was living in their house, he felt awkward doing things he knew they would disapprove of. Ron, for his part, was quite willing to postpone the eruption that would follow his announcement. Both boys were nonetheless determined to stick to their plan. No school. Search and destroy mission: Voldemort's Horcruxes.

Toward the end of breakfast there was a sharp rapping sound at the window. Three handsome brown owls were perched on the ledge waiting to be let in. Molly said, "Well, it looks like your letters are here at last, kids. Ron, will you please get those?" Ron retrieved the letters, offering some toast to each of the owls.

"Here, one for each of us," he said, tossing one envelope to Ginny and another to Harry. He tore his own open and read. After only a few lines, he stopped and looked up at his mother, an expression of incredulity plastered on his face. "Mum, they've closed Hogwarts..." he whispered, trailing off into silence.

Molly leaped to her feet and snatched the letter from his hand, reading rapidly. Her face became pale as she read. "Arthur, it's true! Hogwarts will be closed until further notice. Apparently, between the war and parents' safety concerns, enrollment is terribly low. The school staff and Board of Governors have decided it's best to close."

Arthur took Ginny's letter and calmly read it. "I believe this has more to do with Dumbledore's death than it does with the enrollment rate," he said with a grim expression.

Molly looked put out. "Why didn't Minerva McGonnagall let us know this was going to happen?"

"I imagine the decision was just made, Molly. The last time Minerva was here, she wouldn't have known for certain," Arthur answered. "Did you see this notice from the Ministry that's included? They've waived the prohibition against underage magic outside Hogwarts so that parents can home-school their children in magical subjects. Advanced classes are going to be offered at the Ministry. Yes," he said thoughtfully, "I suppose many parents won't have had the same Newt-level courses that their children are taking."

Ginny looked as if Christmas had come early. "This is great!" she crowed. "Fred and George won't know what hit them!"

"Ginny!" her mother said warningly, "you're only to use magic for your lessons and practice times."

Ginny rolled her eyes saying, "Sure, Mum." Harry and Ron exchanged an amused look, knowing that Ginny's acquiescence would last for about as long as she remained in the kitchen.

"If you two are done eating, let's go upstairs," Ron said. Harry and Ginny nodded.

The three teens went up to Ron's room to consider how the new situation would affect their plans. "Well, right off, I'd say we were bloody lucky to avoid one of my Mum's explosions," Ron said to Harry with evident relief.

Ginny gave her brother a look of disgust. "Ron, you are so shallow," she said. "Don't you see that this will allow us to search for the..."

"No!" interrupted Harry. "Don't talk about that here!"

"...objects we need to locate," Ginny finished, talking over Harry and giving him a significant glare.

"I'm not a moron, Ginny!" Ron said angrily. "I can see the advantages of Hogwarts being closed as easily as you! Just because I don't want to have my ears boxed – or worse, end up in a fight like the one Mum and Dad had with Percy, doesn't make me some kind of superficial berk!"

"Will you two cut it out?" Harry said. He turned to Ginny. "And what do you mean 'we'? You're not going with Ron and me on our 'missions'!"

"Well, why not? If Hermione were here, she'd be going with you! You're going to need all the help you can get!" Ginny replied hotly.

"Hermione's different," Harry said flatly.

Ginny looked outraged. "Listen," she began, "I may not have memorized half the library like Hermione, but what I lack in I.Q., I make up for in cunning. And I've proved I can handle myself under pressure – or have you forgotten our fights with the Death Eaters at the Ministry and Hogwarts?"

"Ginny, you're still underage," said Ron. "You'll be lucky if Mum lets you out of her sight! Me and Harry are just going to have a lot less restrictions than you." He put his hand on her arm. "This isn't about how smart you are or how good you are in a duel, Ginny," he continued in a quiet voice. "You know I'm right about Mum, don't you?" he asked.

Ginny seemed to deflate. She sank onto Ron's bed despondently and answered, "Yeah, I guess I do." After a minute though, she looked up at the boys with determination. "I can still help you two decipher that journal – and I can help you plan. I've learned a bit from the Twin Masters of Deception, after all," she said with a mischievous grin.

Privately, Harry thought that in some ways, Fred and George could learn from Ginny. Aloud he said, "Okay. Let's take another look at Black's journal."

* * * * *

A little less than an hour later, Harry looked up from the entry he had been reading. They were going through Regulus Black's journal methodically, making notes about the events and people mentioned. It had been Ginny's suggestion that writing down things this way would help them to spot patterns and keep track of names, especially names that were mentioned repeatedly. Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Let's review our notes from this part," he suggested. The others nodded.

Ron read aloud, "January 16: He went to Hogsmeade with WM and RL. There was trouble, mission incomplete, DL unhappy. February 2. He went to KA alone to talk to CB and EB. New info: #2 at Hogwarts? February 12: DL suspects traitors among DE. Two killed. February 19: He heard that CB was dead. February 23: He went home. He doubts he will see his parents again." Ron stopped reading. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "From that last entry, it seems like Black was thinking of doing a runner, and he knew he wouldn't be able to come home for a long time, if ever."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Harry agreed. "But what do all these initials mean? Do you think they always stand for a person?"

"No, I don't think so," Ginny said slowly. She pointed to their notes from the second entry. "In this one, KA can't be a person, because he went there to talk to two other people. I think Black was being purposely inconsistent with his entries for the sake of secrecy. So that means that initials can be either people or places depending on the context."

"These two people – CB and EB – they could be related. Maybe they were brothers," Ron said.

"Or a married couple," Ginny added. Both boys nodded in agreement.

Harry sighed. "I wish Hermione were here," he said softly. "She's always so good with logic puzzles and she doesn't get confused by an excess of information."

"Yeah. She'd have this solved in half the time it will take all three of us," Ron added. "I wonder what she's doing right now."

Ginny turned her head away and took an unsteady breath. Ron and Harry, it seemed, were able to derive comfort from talking about Hermione. It was as if they were reassuring one another that she would be okay, that she would eventually be back with them. But Ginny couldn't help but feel scared of what might be happening to Hermione. Sometimes, when the boys talked about her, Ginny felt tears well up in her eyes. To keep from crying, she forced herself to talk. "It's been fifteen days since she was captured. I keep wondering why there haven't been any ransom demands or anything. When I ask Mum and Dad, they just tell me, 'We'll hear something soon.' I hate when they act like I'm three years old or something!" she finished in a low mutter of complaint.

Ron threw his arm around Ginny's shoulder in a comforting gesture. She gave him a shaky smile and taking a deep breath said, "I'm okay. Don't worry, I won't start bawling."

After a thoughtful silence, all three of the young people made a determined effort to get back to work.

Harry was mumbling under his breath, apparently going through all the combinations of names and places that fit the initials in their notes. Suddenly, he sat up and said triumphantly, "KA is a place: Knockturn Alley!"

Ron's eyes lit up. Ginny gave Harry a genuinely happy smile, saying, "Excellent! That's one down. Unfortunately, I've never been in Knockturn Alley so I don't know anyone there, not to mention who CB or EB might be."

Ron became excited. "Harry," he said, "we have been there! Remember when we tailed Malfoy? What if CB and EB stand for Borgin and Burke?"

"Bugger!" Harry exclaimed. "I should have seen it before! Dumbledore told me that Voldemort worked for Borgin and Burke after he finished school!" Harry dropped his head into his hands; he appeared to be thinking hard. After a minute he said, "Dumbledore showed me a memory of Burke gloating over how he cheated Voldemort's mother – he only gave her a few Galleons for Slytherin's locket. What was the name Professor Dumbledore used?" he asked rhetorically. A moment later he snapped his fingers, saying, "Caractacus Burke! It fits!"

"That means EB must be Borgin," Ginny said.

"Well," Harry said with satisfaction, "I think our next move should be a visit to Knockturn Alley."

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Hermione had finally pinned down the source of her restlessness: physical inactivity. Although she'd never been athletic, she was used to frequent walks around the school grounds or in her parent's neighborhood. The forced confinement of the past couple of weeks (combined with a good deal of stress) was, apparently, wreaking havoc with her nerves. Hence the jittery feeling and lack of sleep she'd been experiencing. The solution was simple: exercise. She began spending about an hour at midday working out upstairs. After the incident with Pettigrew, she always went up to her and Snape's bedroom when the morning class was finished, anyway. She noticed an immediate improvement in her sleep and that, in turn, made it much easier to concentrate during the day.

She was relieved that Snape and Pettigrew had, after about ten days of 'constant vigilance,' relaxed their guard a bit. They no longer followed her everywhere. They also began to leave the house periodically, although never at the same time and never allowing Hermione to go out. As she had planned, Hermione began a cautious exploration of the house. Snape always stayed in his laboratory between their morning and afternoon lessons, relying on Pettigrew to keep tabs on her. So, with him out of the way, she had only to avoid being detected by Pettigrew. This turned out to be quite easy, since he seemed to regard her as being in a 'safe' location and never checked up on her when she was in her and Snape's bedroom. She usually practiced spells for about an hour and then crept out to explore the other upstairs rooms.

Her forays were not, however, very productive. After four sessions of ferreting around the upstairs rooms, she concluded that Snape had been correct. All the possible escape routes had been sealed, and she was not able to break a single one of his wards. She resolved to try the downstairs rooms next. Perhaps, she thought, if Pettigrew goes out while Snape is in his lab, I can try then. Unfortunately, the opportunity did not arise.

One morning, sixteen days after her capture, she noticed that Snape was preparing to go out. She sighed, resigning herself to spending the time upstairs. Maybe, she thought hopefully, I could convince him to let me go out too. "Sir, could I go with you?" Hermione asked.

"No. That is not possible," Snape said. "Unless you are eager to meet more of the Dark Lord's followers?" Seeing her expression, he flashed an ironic smirk and continued, "Actually, I have prepared some basic medicinal potions on the Dark Lord's orders. I want you and Wormtail to decant and bottle them while I am gone."

"Together?" she squeaked out.

"Yes, together! Odious as his company is, he is at least capable of performing such a straightforward task," he said with a scoff. "I need the potions ready by the time I return; that will require both of you."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, then said, "Sir, I'm sure I could complete the job myself. I don't need Pettigrew's help."

He stopped buttoning his cloak to give her a penetrating look. Something in the tone of her voice had alerted him to her apprehension. "Granger, what is wrong?" he asked sharply.

"Well," she said hesitantly, "he makes me... uneasy, sir... very uneasy."

"Yes, most females have a similar reaction to the presence of vermin," he said, voice thick with scorn. She paled and fell silent. His eyes narrowed at her reaction. The girl is clearly afraid, he surmised. His anger flared. What has that rat done now? He stepped close to Hermione and looked directly into her eyes. "Stay still," he directed her. "This will not harm you." He pointed his wand at her and said clearly, "Legilimens."

Snape saw the girl in his bedroom, dressed in her Muggle clothes, exercising... She was in Gryffindor Tower, laughing with her dorm mates, all dressed in their pajamas... She was leaving the sitting room of his house, Wormtail at her heels.... He watched the scene play out: she rebuffed Wormtail then fled to his room. That must be it, he concluded silently. She's afraid that wanker will attack her! He terminated the spell, his anger swelling to rage.

Seeing his face, Hermione cringed and stepped back. He took a breath and tamped down his anger, smoothing his features into an expressionless mask. "Granger," he said in a low voice, "I want you to go to my lab and take care of those potions. Wormtail will not be joining you. There," he said, pointing his wand at the usually locked door, which promptly unlatched and swung open, "Go get started." As she made for the door, he spoke again, "Granger! Be assured that I will not allow anyone to harm you."

She nodded and disappeared into the lab. He, on the other hand, unclasped his cloak and went in search of Wormtail. If he has destroyed the little trust that I have managed to build with the girl, I will hex his rat-tailed arse into the next century!

* * * * *

Spinner's End was stagnant and quiet, blanketed in a mid-day haze of late summer heat, when Severus Snape returned several hours later. He found the girl still at the task he had set her, methodically and carefully filling the bottles he had set ready for the cooled potions. She really is quite deft in the lab – not one of those incompetent morons I used to have to teach. He silently watched as she worked. Keeping himself hidden in the shadow by the door, he was as good as invisible.

He let his mind drift over the possible ways to establish a better rapport with the girl. She, for all appearances, had accepted him as a tutor, but that was merely a continuation of their former teacher-student dynamic. And, he was aware that she harbored a healthy dose of skepticism and caution regarding his motives (as indeed, she should). He needed to find avenues through which to gradually secure her trust. Offering her knowledge would not be enough. It had to be done subtly, incrementally, so that her suspicions were not aroused. She was, after all, quite intelligent. Luckily, Wormtail had not tried to physically force himself on her – that would have had disastrous repercussions on his chances of eventually turning her loyalties.

First, he decided, I must be vigilant, never allowing any harm to come to the girl. Then she will see me as her protector rather than her captor. Second, I should look for insignificant ways to make things more pleasant for her – grand gestures will only make her wary. Granger was, after all, well-acquainted with the malevolent temperament he had displayed at Hogwarts. Then, he thought, when those two steps are accomplished, I can move on to include her in my work, gradually drawing her in. My apparent trust in her will lead her to reciprocate. He sighed in satisfaction, pleased with his plan.

Hearing the slight noise of his breath, Hermione spun around abruptly. Spotting him in the shadows, she exhaled in relief. "Oh, it's you, sir. I didn't hear the door open. I'm just about finished here – there's only one more potion to decant and bottle."

Stepping forward, he nodded brusquely, saying, "Good. I see that you were correct; you did not need any assistance to complete this chore." She didn't smile or reply, but Snape noticed the slight straightening of her shoulders in reaction to his subtle praise. Yes, he thought, small steps will suffice.

* * * * *

That night, Hermione went to sleep in something other than the T-shirt and pants she'd been wearing when she was captured. In fact, she now had several Muggle outfits, including two sets of sleepwear, shorts and a T-shirt for exercising, and a pair of loose slacks with a matching blouse.

She had been reading after dinner, as was her habit, when Snape interrupted, quietly bidding her to follow him upstairs. Once they had reached their bedroom, he had indicated a dusty, cardboard box (apparently just taken out of storage), saying, "That contains items of women's clothing. Feel free to take whatever you want."

She regarded the box for a moment, a solemn expression on her face, then began slowly looking through it. Her lack of enthusiasm for the task was obvious to Snape, and he felt some irritation. After all, he was making an effort to promote the girl's comfort. Damn it, don't all females enjoy clothing? he thought. He decided to be diplomatic and explained, "I realize that most of the articles there are dissimilar to the clothes that girls your age currently wear. These have been in storage rather a long time. In any case, I am certain you will find a few items suitable for your use. Feel free to alter them magically," he finished stiffly.

She sighed and looked up to meet his gaze. "It doesn't matter what they look like. It's not as if I was ever known for being fashionable – besides, who will see me while I'm locked up in this house anyway?" She turned her head away and taking a shaky breath said, "It will be good to have a change of clothes. Thank you," she finished, not sounding remotely sincere.

He was dumbfounded. What is the matter with the girl? he wondered.

As he turned to leave, she called out, "Sir? Does this mean that the Order is not willing to meet the Dark Lord's ransom demands for my release?"

Her face held a mixture of sadness and hope. Looking at her, Snape felt a twisting sensation in his gut, something remarkably similar to guilt. Not being familiar with sympathy, much less regret, he didn't try to identify his reaction for what it was. He simply suppressed it. "There has been no positive reply as of this time," he informed her in a flat voice. Compressing his lips into a thin line, he spun on his heel and left the room.

Son of a two-headed Kneazle! he fumed as he made his way to his lab. That backfired rather spectacularly! He should have known she would grasp the implications of the situation immediately. Now he had needed to lie to her. He was not averse to lying when necessary, but he knew she would trust him much more quickly if she believed him to be sincere. Every lie he had to tell her would be a weak point. He hoped that she wouldn't become depressed; he hated weepy females. I suppose, he thought resignedly, I will just have to wait until she accepts her current circumstances before proceeding any further.

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