Chapter 2: Down the Rabbit Hole

Warning: Depending on where you are, there is some limited under-aged drinking in this chapter.

Disclaimer:Still not mine.

What matters most is how you walk through the fire. – Charles Bukowski

Chapter 2: Down the Rabbit Hole

"There are rules, Miss Granger," Snape said as he led her back upstairs into the dark hallway.

"Yes, sir," Hermione agreed, shifting the weight of Moste Potente Potions off of her injured wrist.

"First and foremost, don't snoop. If you find a warded door, don't try to get past it. If I tell you not to touch something, don't touch it. If you think you can escape while I am not paying attention, I would highly advise you not to make the attempt. The house is heavily warded, and an attempt to leave it without me might kill you. And even if you do survive, you won't survive the Incendium. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"The parlor and kitchen are acceptable places for you to be. You may read almost any of the books, except those on the top shelves. Some others may shock you when you try to pick them up. Should that happen, take the hint and leave it be."

"Yes, sir."

"You may have the second bedroom," Snape said, opening the door. Daylight only slightly brighter than the hallway gloom cast Snape into a sharp contrast of shadows. "I warn you, however, until a few days ago, Peter Pettigrew was living in this room."

Hermione grimaced. Pettigrew was responsible for the deaths of Harry's parents and for Voldemort's resurrection, and that would have made him a respectable villain in her eyes, someone of whom she should truly be frightened, if she didn't remember the craven way in which he had begged her to save him that night in the Shrieking Shack, wringing his hands and sniveling at her, calling her a 'sweet girl' and a 'clever girl' and simpering. He had made her skin crawl. There was something fundamentally slimy and repulsive about him, and the last thing she wanted was to sleep in the same bed as Wormtail. It would almost be better to sleep with Snape.

"Don't worry," Snape continued, revulsion tingeing his voice. Hermione had the momentary sense that he was on exactly the same page as she was where Wormtail was concerned. "I've cleaned it thoroughly. However, if you find something that you expect may have belonged to him, bring it to me so that I may burn it posthaste."

"Yes, sir."

"There is only one bathroom in the house. I will put a door on the hallway for you. Until then, you may go through the master bedroom."

"Thank you, sir."

Snape moved past her, letting more light into the hallway. "We have a couple of hours until the shops close. Use the bruise-healing paste I've left for you on the bathroom counter and clean up a bit. I expect you down stairs in half an hour."

"Yes, sir," Hermione answered to his retreating back. Suddenly remembering that she still didn't know what happened to her wand, she said, "Er, sir?"

Snape stopped and turned, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Where's my wand?"

"I don't know," said Snape, as if the question wasn't as interesting as he had expected it to be. He turned away again and disappeared into the stairwell. "And even if I had it," he called, "you wouldn't be using it, anyway."

Hermione's heart fluttered. Her earlier panic resurfaced as she stood in the hallway and listened to his retreating foot steps. Without a wand, her chances for escape had narrowed severely, down to nearly impossible. She knew she wouldn't be able to get past Snape's warding without a wand, and she certainly wouldn't be able to protect herself against him even if she could get out. She felt hopeless and defeated. Tears threatened to come.

A sharp pain in her injured wrist reminded her of the heavy book in her arms.

Hermione took a steadying breath and stepped into the bedroom. It was half the size of the master bedroom and just as gloomy and dilapidated. A narrow twin bed covered by a tatty quilt, a battered bedside table, and a wardrobe with a missing door barely fit in the room. The curtains were drawn here as well, though some daylight leaked in around the edges. Hermione wondered if maybe Snape really was a vampire. He certainly seemed to be adverse to sunlight.

She set the book on the bedside table and, cradling her arm to her chest, plopped down on the bed. She was exhausted, and between the torture of the night before and the emotional rollercoaster she had been on all afternoon, she thought she might collapse.

And really, she reasoned, it could be worse. True, Voldemort had given her as a gift to a loyal Death Eater, and if she had interpreted Snape's brief, furious lecture on her intended role as his captive correctly, she was meant to be some kind of sex toy. The mere thought of it turned her stomach, but, she remembered, he hadn't seemed any more pleased than she was. He also hadn't made any indication as to whether or not she would be filling the role, which she hoped was a good sign.

It didn't seem that she was in any immediate danger. Snape had fed her and given her her own space, allowed her free range of some of the downstairs living areas, and though he had shouted at her, which really was nothing new, he hadn't really threatened her, except with an Imperius Curse, and she wasn't really sure if he was serious about that or not....

Hermione shivered and gave the curtains a halfhearted tug and wasn't all that surprised to find that they had been spelled shut.

Moste Potente Potions beckoned her, and she really did want to read about the potions Snape had mentioned, but he was expecting her downstairs soon, and she didn't want to make him angry. She wanted to keep him placated long enough to think of a plan and make her escape, and being late had never endeared anyone to Snape. Hermione resigned herself to waiting just a little longer to contend the complications that the potions would undoubtedly bring and went off to the bathroom to do something with her battered appearance instead.

Half an hour later, Hermione descended the stairs into the living room, clean and bruise free. Her hair had been rinsed and somewhat tamed, although she still looked ill around the eyes, and her clothes were rumpled and dirty. The bruise-healing paste had taken care of the bruising, not only on her face and wrist, but on a dozen other places she found when she undressed.

But she looked respectable at least, and less like a captive of war or battered housewife than she had an hour ago.

She also had nearly sixty five pounds and her debit card, which she had found in her jeans pocket. The sixty pounds and change were from her parents to exchange at Gringotts for a new set of scales, and her debit card was intended to be drawn upon to buy school books, although Hermione had intended to use the money for Horcrux hunting. It seemed a small miracle that they were still there, that the Death Eaters hadn't taken them from her, although they might not have known what the cash and the plastic rectangle could do for her in the Muggle world.

Now she intended to put the money to other uses, namely making a well-timed escape if she had the opportunity.

Snape looked up as she entered, giving her his usual spiteful look. "It's about time," he snarled at her, putting a book back on one of the top shelves.

His mere presence reduced her bravery by half. "Sorry, sir," she mumbled.

Snape made an impatient noise and stalked to the door where he paused to mutter an incomprehensible password before opening it.

Hermione blinked in the brightness of the afternoon sunlight as she followed Snape out onto a cobbled street in a run down, and as far as she could tell, deserted neighborhood. Windows and doors were boarded up, trash filled the gutters, and the hulks of abandoned cars crouched by the curb, rusting away in the elements. A single monolithic smoke stack loomed over the row of houses across the street, and she realized that if she had been able to open the drapes in her room, she would have been able to see it from her window.

Snape was already halfway down the block. She hurried after him, trying to memorize street names and form a mental map while keeping up with his long-legged stride. She was skittish at first, worried by the sinister atmosphere of the empty neighborhood, before she remembered that she was hurrying after a Death Eater, and anything that might attack them in this neighborhood wouldn't stand a chance. At that point, she decided that this was what going mad felt like: feeling safe in the presence of the same Death Eater who had killed the Headmaster and betrayed them all.

After a few blocks, they emerged onto a high street with several shops: an off license, a chemist, and a Marks and Spencer among others. Snape stopped at the head of the high street. He turned to her and, to her surprise, shoved 80 quid into her hand. "Is that enough?"

She stared down at the Muggle money. The Queen smiled up at her blithely. "Er, for what, sir?"

"Clothing and any other necessities you might need at the moment."

"It should be."

"I will be back for you in half an hour. See that you are waiting here when I return."

Hermione looked up at him sharply. She seemed to be living from one surreal moment to the next. "You're letting me shop alone?"

"The Incendium will kill you in just under –" Here he pulled out a gold pocket watch and flipped it open. "– thirty six hours. I highly suggest that you wait long enough to read up on it before you make any inadvisable escape attempts."

Snape tucked the watch back into his pocket and looked at her thoughtfully. She dropped her eyes a second too late, realizing that he had used Legilimency on her in the few seconds it took her to remember he was a Legilimens. "The train station is outside of my wards, and although the Muggle money and credit card in your pocket would certainly buy you a train ticket to London, I promise that I will get to you before you can hand it across the counter."

It wasn't a threat as such, she realized, just a statement of fact. And besides, she should have known better. Snape wasn't stupid. He wouldn't have let her set foot out of the house if he thought she had any possibility of escape. Her chest tightened with panic again. Even the likelihood of a Muggle escape had narrowed dangerously.

"Yes, sir," she managed.

Snape smirked. "Half an hour, Miss Granger," he said and turned away.

Hermione watched him disappear around the corner at the end of the block. The feeling of looming madness increased; Snape had left her alone with enough money in her pocket to buy a train ticket, and she wasn't even going to try to escape.

Hermione pushed her growing sense of hopelessness back again and walked down to the Marks and Spencer.

This store was much smaller and more cramped than the one she and her parents had often frequented; the lighting flickered and the selection was smaller. No one paid her much mind as she moved through the racks of clothing. She picked up two t-shirts and a pair of jeans and had just enough left to buy a dressing gown, knickers and socks.

She emerged with five minutes to spare and a little under 20 quid in change. She popped into the chemist across the street for toiletries: shampoo and conditioner, toothpaste, dental floss and a toothbrush, the whole while grimly amused at the fact that her parents had so ingrained dental care that she worried about even while held captive by a turncoat Death Eater.

Snape was coming around the corner again as she was leaving the chemist. He scowled at her as she crossed the empty street but said nothing as she fell in step with him. She noticed that he was carrying a plastic bag and decided that she was wrong. This was what going mad felt like, walking along calmly in broad daylight with Snape, who was wearing more or less Muggle clothing and carrying a plastic bag with a Tesco logo on it. She knew he was a half-blood – now at least – but years and years of watching him swoop about with his robes whirling behind him had ill-prepared her for Snape in a Muggle environment.

She was Alice falling down the rabbit hole with no end in sight, and the sensation only deepened when he stopped suddenly.

"Are you allergic to fish?"

She blinked in surprise. "No, sir."

He handed her another twenty quid. "Then pick up enough for both of us. I will be back in a moment."

Hermione turned and saw that they had stopped in front of a fish and chip shop. As Snape disappeared around another corner, Hermione did as she was told. When she came out a bit later with their dinner, Snape was waiting for her. He relieved her of the food without a word and stalked away.

The walk back to the house was conducted with the same silence as before, but Snape had slowed his stride somewhat, and Hermione was able to pay more attention to the streets they took. She still felt uneasy walking through the empty streets. The sun was descending towards the horizon now, the shadows growing deep and long, and the abandoned houses looked like crouching trolls ready to devour them.

She was absurdly relieved when Snape warded the door behind them and wondered whether she should redefine the feeling of going mad again.

They ate their fish and chips at the kitchen table in silence, and although Hermione was neither here nor there on fish and chips, or fried foods in general for that matter, she was still hungry and devoured every bit of the meal.

As soon as the last chip passed her lips, Snape was looking down his nose at her. "Don't you have an assignment to complete?" he said.

Hermione could take a hint. She rinsed her dishes in the sink without having to be told as she doubted his hospitality extended to washing up after her, then went up stairs to take proper shower with shampoo and conditioner. She also brushed her teeth with toothpaste and an actual toothbrush and put on a clean shirt and knickers and jeans. Then she made herself comfortable in bed with Moste Potente Potions across her lap, at least as comfortable as she could be on a lumpy mattress with a murderer downstairs and a mysterious potion hanging over her head.

It wasn't so bad, so far. She had always imagined that life among the Death Eaters would be full of wild revels and Muggle-torturing at every turn, although that was a rather impractical way to conduct a war, but it was just Snape snapping and snarling at her and mustard on her sandwiches.

Or so she thought until she opened to the chapter on Forbidden Draughts and read the first paragraph.

"Are you out of your mind?" Hermione screeched. Snape looked up at her, startled, as she barreled into the kitchen where he was reading a dusty potions tome and drinking tea.

Hermione had read through the chapter on the Forbidden Draughts with a growing, sickening horror. There were seven potions, all horrible and cruel in their intent. One was the Inversus Draught, which turned the drinker inside out, something she had briefly glanced over when she was a second year trying to brew Polyjuice Potion. There were others that were equally horrifying, but she paid little attention to those as she was more interested in the two which that mad Lestrange woman had poured down her throat. Those two, though, those two made her stomach twist into painful knots, and her vision skew, and her sense of self-preservation dwindle in the force of her outraged anger.

"It will burn me alive if I don't... if we don't –" Hermione made a vague gesture that encompassed everything loathsome and terrifying about the Incendium. "There's no bloody way that is going to happen!"

"No? I beg to differ," Snape said, setting down his cup with infuriating calm. "You will do exactly what you have to do to stay alive, whether you like it or not."

"You're disgusting," she snarled at him and regretted it immediately, because Snape's eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. He stood, leaning towards her, supporting himself on the tips of his fingers. Hermione backed away from him in terror, her indignant anger long forgotten. What had happened to placating him? She was an idiot and, now he was going to hurt her or curse her or – What had she been thinking?

"You idiot girl," Snape snarled between clenched teeth. "You are a bargaining chip. You are strategically useful in many different ways to many different people. Believe me, the last thing I wanted as a reward was you or any of you vile creatures I've had to put up for the last sixteen years, which is exactly why Bellatrix Lestrange chose that potion as a means of revenge!"

She stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes, expecting something horrific to happen, but his anger suddenly went out like a candle flame, and he straightened up with a sigh. "Sit down," he said, gesturing at the table. "I need a drink."

Hermione obeyed, hoping she hadn't ruined her chances for escape, although now, after reading up on the potions, escape was essentially a death sentence. It seemed that not only was she was tumbling down Alice's rabbit hole, she was also bouncing off every painful, outlandish obstacle along the way.

Tears threatened to spill. Hermione buried her face in her hands and willed herself not to cry. She wouldn't cry in front of him, and not about this.

"Drink that," Snape said and something heavy thumped on the table in front of her. Hermione looked up after she was fairly certain that she had regained her equilibrium. There was a tumbler of amber liquid in front of her, whiskey probably, as that was what he had tried to give her earlier. Snape had reseated himself, setting his own tumbler on the table and filling it.

She pushed it away. "I don't want it."

"Merlin's beard," Snape said wearily, lifting the glass to his lips. "Drink it, Granger. I won't have you wailing at me like a banshee all night."

"Fine." Hermione grabbed the glass and threw it back. The whiskey was vile and burned its way down her throat, killing her taste buds and scorching her sinuses along the way. She doubled over and coughed violently; when she was able to breathe again, she found Snape watching her with an impassive expression.

"What did you learn from you reading?"

"That I'll burn to death," she said sullenly, fiddling with the glass. A warm feeling was spreading through her, like a milder version of the potion she had been forced to drink the night before.

"Taking a page out of Potter's book of people skills, I see," Snape said. "I want a proper report."

Hermione took a deep breath and began. "The Incendium is a timed potion. Whole Ashwinder eggs, dragon's blood, sulfur, aloe, pomegranate seeds, strawberries and the blood of the binder are brewed together, stirred every seven minutes, thirteen times counter clockwise, for forty nine minutes by a married person of either sex. Within forty eight hours the drinker develops a fever. By the end of seven hours, if the requirements to deactivate the potion are not met, the drinker literally bursts into flame."

"I see your knack for memorizing entire paragraphs word for word has not depreciated in the last three months," Snape commented. "Do enlighten me as to the requirements."

"You know what the requirements are," she muttered.

"I do. But I would like to hear it from you."

Prickly heat ignited in Hermione's cheeks and spread down her body. "The binder and the victim have to... they have to...."

She couldn't say it. She could barely even think it, and he wanted her to give him a report on it?

"Yes?" Snape prompted in a tone of voice that implied it would be best to obey.

Hermione took another deep breath and looked anywhere but at him. The words tumbled out of her mouth as quickly as she could speak them. "The victim has to have intercourse with the binder during the seven hours that the Incendium is active, otherwise, the dragon's blood, Ashwinder eggs, and sulfur ignite and burn the victim to death from the inside out. If the requirements are met, the aloe activates and suppresses the other elements."

"A passable summation," Snape said. "What about the Vacuum?"

Hermione eagerly switched topics, even though she couldn't decide whether the Incendium or the Vacuum was the worse potion. "There wasn't much about it, sir. There was no formula, just a description. It some how dampens the magical core for three minutes so that any spell or potion applied during that time will bind to a witch or wizard's magic. Whatever that spell or potion is, it lasts for the rest of their lives." Synapses fired and Hermione looked up at Snape. "Does the spell or potion draw its power from the wizard's magic?"

"Yes. Indefinitely."

"So if someone were cursed with a Cruciatus Curse, it would last until it killed them?"

Snape nodded as he poured himself, and her, another drink. "Now that you have worked out the intricacies of the Vacuum, how does it interact with the Incendium?"

Hermione frowned. "Well, meeting the requirements wouldn't work, would it?"

"Not necessarily. Where many spells have no time limit and will not end unless stopped by an outside force, timed potions like the Incendium are designed with a termination point."

"So, it would end, but...." And here she had to pause to put her sudden understanding into words. "But would the cycle would restart?"

"Precisely."

Hermione found herself reaching for the tumbler of alcohol, if only to distract herself from deepening horror with physical pain. She endured another coughing fit while the whiskey burned through her. "It's a ridiculous potion," she said, once she could breathe again.

"Oh?" said Snape, and she'd never heard him speak to her like that, as if he were interested. "I would have used the modifiers cruel and terrifying."

"But it is also absurd and excessive. Why not use the Imperius Curse or a love potion?"

"It is a love potion."

"In the way that a Killing Curse is a gentle incentive," Hermione huffed. She pushed her tumbler toward him for a refill. "It's... it's...humiliating."

"And there you are, Miss Granger," Snape said as he refilled her glass. "It was invented by a wizard who wanted revenge on a wife who wouldn't let him touch her, but went through other wizards as if they were disposable tissue."

"Did it work?"

"Yes and no. She died, screaming in agony, and he received a one way-ticket to Azkaban."

Hermione drank the whiskey down, and although she winced as it burned its way through her sinuses and down her throat, she did not have another coughing fit. Afterwards she felt warm and kind of wobbly, definitely more relaxed than she had been all day. It was almost nice.

Hermione pushed the glass towards him for another refill.

"I don't think so," Snape said, capping the bottle. "I don't care to deal with a hung-over teenager tomorrow morning."

"I won't do it," Hermione insisted suddenly. She was much calmer now, but much less brave than she had been when she charged into the kitchen to shout and rage at him. But, she needed to make it clear that it wasn't happening, ever, not if she could help it.

"When the Incendium activates, I suspect you will change you mind," Snape said and pulled the book he had been reading when she had entered closer. "Now go away. I was in the middle of something."

And then he was reading again, his hair hanging limply around his face, and had totally dismissed her. Hermione pushed away from the table, feeling rejected and terrified and deeply confused, and left him to his reading.

Upstairs, she slipped out of her jeans and slid into bed. The springs poked at her, but she didn't notice, because she was crying finally, with great heaving sobs, and when she finally exhausted her tears, she slept.

A/N:

1. Incendium = Latin for "fire," pronounced "inkendium."

2. Vacuum = Latin for "empty" or "void." In Latin, the u's are pronounced separately (vac-u-um).

3. Inversus = Latin for "altered." This seemed like an acceptable name for the potion Hermione read about in CoS, since JKR didn't provide one for it.